'Are you sure you want me? I won't be of much help.'

'Jan, we've been in all the battles together. I trust you.' And the two old men reflected on the endless warfare they had known, and Lukasz, with obvious enthusiasm, told Alusia: 'One night at Czestochowa we crept out, Jan and me, and we blew up the Swedish guns. You never heard such a bang when they exploded. And in Transylvania one morning just Jan and me, we captured an entire village, and do you remember how terrified we were when we realized that no Polish troops were behind us?'

Their lives had been one unbroken battle conducted over the face of eastern Europe, with interludes now and then for the rebuilding of their homes, which some new enemy would destroy, and they had good reason to believe that this would be the nature of life in Poland for as far into the future as they could imagine. Now the battleground was Vienna, a new one, but the enemy was Turkey, an old one.

'On Thursday we ride west to Krakow, where we'll meet the king, then over the mountains to Vienna.'

All his life Jan had been obedient to the orders of those who owned him and he was obedient now: 'Thursday morning, I'll be ready.' But after Lukasz left, it became apparent to Alusia that her tired old husband was not prepared for this lengthy and dangerous trip, and when he failed to rise early the next day she knew that something was seriously wrong. She sent for the women who advised on such matters, but by the time they reached the cottage Jan was out of bed and packing the small amount of gear he would be taking with him: his good knife for hand-to-hand battle if that became necessary, a stout cudgel he had raised in the forest-an ash tree into which he had imbedded jagged chunks of iron while the tree was still growing, so that the spikes became an integral part of the club-and a pair of rude leather shoes for use in the mountains.

It was a pitiful collection to represent a lifetime of labor, but that is what he had, and in the past it had served him well.

However, at noon on Wednesday the old man had no appet.i.te for his turnips and kasha, and by sunset it was quite clear that he was not going to rise next morning from his bed, so Alusia sent Janko running to the mansion to inform Lukasz that Jan of the Beech Trees was far too sick to leave for Vienna, or for anywhere else. This news displeased the master, who came himself to the cottage to ascertain what the true situation was, and just as he entered the low door, his face ascowl, the old man gasped, tried to rise on his left elbow, and fell back dead.

At that moment there was a commotion in the village square, and those about the deathbed heard young Janko shouting: 'Here comes Brat Piotr!' and indeed it was the lanky friar, and when disgruntled Lukasz left the cottage, saddened only because he had lost a man who had served him so well, he saw Jan's brother-in-law ambling along with children at his heels, and on the spur of the moment he cried: 'Piotr! We leave for Vienna in the morning!' and the friar's face became brighter and wider than the setting sun's: 'Ah! What a glorious adventure! Vienna?' But immediately he became practical: 'Do I get a horse?' Satisfied on this point, he then asked: 'Do I get arms?' And when he learned that he would be given a lance, he grasped Janko's hands and jumped up and down like a wooden doll on a string: 'I'm going to war! I'm to be a knight!'

From the village of Bukowo to the imperial city of Vienna was a distance of two hundred and eighty miles, and in the last days of April and the first of May in the year 1683 the land was as filled with beauty as it had ever been. The route of the travelers-the elderly count, the petty n.o.bleman and the rather ridiculous friar, accompanied by a small detachment of soldiers who tended the extra horses-took them west to the ancient town of Cieszyn, which everyone called Chzn, as if it contained no vowels. This fine town, which guarded the area's only low pa.s.s through the mountains, had a tumbling river coming down the middle. The emissaries bought what provisions they would be needing on the ride to Vienna, packing their bags with the good sausages made there and the hard black bread filled with caraway.

On a bright spring morning they moved into Moravia, that gentle flower garden of eastern Europe, and slowly made their way along a roadway which had been used for a thousand years and by a hundred thousand adventurers. Lipnik, Olomouc, Brno and Nikolsburg appeared where expected and with the friendly reception accorded any potential ally who promised a.s.sistance against the Turks, whose armies moved closer week by week.

Among the people it was a tense, uneasy season, but with the land it was a time of glory, as if it wanted to remind its owners of what a paradise they had. Lukasz and Piotr were enchanted by the grape arbors; north of the Carpathians, grapes could not be grown, and their mouths watered to think of what those vines would be producing in September if the Turks allowed these grapes to mature. They were equally preoccupied with Moravia's specialty, the vast fields covered with poles along which st.u.r.dy strings had been stretched and up which grew the hops with which much of Europe flavored its beer.

And since all Poles loved flowers as much as they did music, the travelers were awed by the richness of the blooms that covered the Moravian hillsides. This was a land of plenty, and Lukasz asked the count: 'How does it happen that Moravia is not joined to Poland, or the other way around?' and Lubonski answered correctly: 'The Czechs and Moravians are such stubborn Protestants that no good can come from them.'

'Are the people of Vienna Protestant too?'

'No, thank G.o.d. They acknowledge the true church, which is why Jan Sobieski must come here to save them.' And Lukasz said with some enthusiasm: 'This Moravia is well worth saving.'

From Nikolsburg the travelers dropped due south toward Vienna, but as they rode they were met by Austrian soldiers who demanded to know their reason for being on the road at a time when Turkish forces might appear at any moment, and when Count Lubonski explained that they came with a.s.surances from King Jan Sobieski, the troops were delighted and began cheering, for they knew that by themselves alone they could never repel the Turks.

Lubonski and his unusual team were to be taken directly into the city, but since they could not reach it before gates were closed for the night, they camped at dusk some miles north, and in the morning they were awed by an experience which not even Warsaw or Krakow, grand as they were, could provide. Over flat land they approached the Danube River, and as they crossed it on a ferry they could see for themselves how broad and swift it was, how magnificent a river. When they landed on the south bank they a.s.sumed they were in Vienna.

Instead, they were in a large cl.u.s.ter of outlying villages, and from the way the defenses of the city were being hastily constructed, it was obvious that all this valuable territory was going to be surrendered when the Turks mounted their siege. 'Are you giving this up?' Lubonski asked in amazement.

'We have no other choice,' one of the soldiers said. 'There,' he said as he pointed directly ahead, over arid land that contained not a single structure, to where the walls of the great city rose. 'There, inside those walls is where we make our stand.'

Not one of the Poles could have visualized what a remarkable thing had been done at Vienna, since they had supposed it was going to be like any of the cities they had seen in their wars. But not at all. For a distance of about half a mile from the stout walls of the inner city, every building had been eliminated. There was not a shed, not a barn, not even the meanest house in which an invader could take refuge as he crept closer to the walls. Vienna was surrounded by a broad strip of emptiness in which a blade of gra.s.s became conspicuous and a mark of landscape. What was equally important, where this flat empty land joined the walls, a glacis had been constructed, a sloping, stone-covered, perfectly smooth rise, up which any attacker would have to scramble, finding no toehold or handhold as he crawled into the muzzles of the waiting guns. To subdue Vienna was not going to be easy.

The walls of the city, which completely encircled it, contained a dozen or so major towers, beautifully interlocked so that the firing from one covered the approaches of the other, and some two dozen smaller towers that supported the majors. In addition, an enormous ca.n.a.l had been dug-a river in itself, really-bringing an arm of the Danube right up to the city walls on the north and east, forming a moat of enormous width and depth.

But when Lubonski and his men entered the city itself they were struck by how small it was, and Lukasz, who noted such things, said: 'Two-thirds of Vienna lies outside the walls, and that's to be surrendered. It's this small central nut that counts, but it will face h.e.l.l when the Turks surround it.'

Before noon on their first day inside the walls, they met Hieronim Lubomirski, relative of the great Jerzy Lubomirski of Wisnicz, under whom Lubonski and Lukasz had invaded Transylvania in 1657. Like his predecessor, he was a daring man, commander of three thousand Poles who had come to the defense of Vienna more than a year ago. From the moment the visitors started talking with him they were a.s.sured that he intended staying at his post regardless of what happened to the city.

But he was not hopeful. As he conducted his fellow Poles through the city, he pointed out its manifest weaknesses. Once when a carriage pa.s.sed bearing some important personage to the palace, he said: 'Before the summer is out, we'll be eating those horses.'

'Is food so short?' Lubonski asked.

's.p.a.ce for storing it properly is.'

'You'll have plenty of water, with that arm of the Danube.'

'It stops outside the walls. First thing Kara Mustafa will do is deny us that water.'

'Is he an able general?'

'He's a Kprl. Those Albanian b.a.s.t.a.r.ds who've given the Turks such able leadership.'

'I believe he's not a Kprl himself,' Lubonski corrected. 'He's married to the sister of the great Kprl who died a few years back.'

'One and the same. They're a tremendous family, with victories from Venice to Kiev. And Kara Mustafa intends to improve the family record.'

'Can he capture the city?' Lubonski asked, and General Lubomirski stopped his inspection, turned to face the two Polish n.o.blemen, and said with grave emphasis: 'If we are restricted to our present forces, Kara Mustafa will subdue Vienna by the middle of July. Men like me will be slaughtered. Everything of value will be taken from the city. The people will be allowed to live, most of them, but they'll have to convert to Islam. The churches will become mosques, and the city will be used as a great base from which to subdue the rest of Europe.'

'But these walls? The excellent glacis? The moats? Do they count for nothing?'

Lubonski asked these agitating questions as they were entering a small, beautiful street near the cathedral, Anna Ga.s.se it was called, and at the far end, where a broader street intruded, they halted before a fine old house on which, set into the wall facing the street, there was a handsomely carved stone bearing the legend: ANNA Ga.s.sE.

22.

1648.

Lubomirski indicated the house and said: 'Don't those walls seem solid?' With his knuckle he tapped the carved stone, which returned no echo.

'They look strong,' Lubonski said.

Then Lubomirski did a strange thing. Standing close to the wall, he hammered with his heel on the surface of the roadway and said: 'Down there is where the Turks will defeat us,' and when Lukasz asked: 'What do you mean?' he explained: 'They have the best sappers in the world, and on the day the siege begins Kara Mustafa will take one look at our walls, and especially at the glacis at the end of that open s.p.a.ce, and he'll tell his men: "It is impossible for us to march up to the walls and reduce them," so he will put his sappers to work.'

'But how can they get to the walls?' Lukasz asked. 'To undermine them?'

'They will start far, far out there, even beyond the empty s.p.a.ce, and they will dig like swift moles under all that protected area, right under it, and they will come up three feet below the cellar of this house'-and again he thumped on the roadway with his boot-'and they will pile enormous sacks of powder right under this house, and one day in mid-July they will ignite the whole d.a.m.ned thing ... this house and that and that ... and into our city they'll swarm and ma.s.sacre us all.'

Very carefully Lubonski looked about him, and when he was satisfied that no Austrian soldiers or officials were listening, he asked: 'What about our leadership?'

'I think Emperor Leopold will scamper out of the city with his women at the first threat. He always does. But this Rdiger von Starhemberg, who will be left in command, is a very dependable man. If Poland and Germany fail to send help, and Vienna falls, as it would have to, I expect Von Starhemberg to be standing beside me when the Turks come rushing in. I would be appalled if he wasn't.' He hesitated, shook his head, and added: 'It would be unthinkable for him to desert me.'

When they returned to Lubomirski's headquarters, Lubonski bored in with the question which had immediate import: 'Will the other allies send troops to help?' and now the general became downright enthusiastic: 'Duke Charles of Lorraine is as dependable as the rising of the sun. He promises to bring twenty-three thousand additional Austrians from all parts of the country, and I a.s.sure you he will. Prince Waldeck of the German states will bring us at least twenty-eight thousand. Bavarians, Thuringians, Saxons and Swabians. He's a grand general, and I trust him. Now please tell me what Sobieski will do.'

Lubonski felt, and correctly, that the safety of Vienna and Europe depended upon what happened in the next few months, and he believed that a man as brave as Lubomirski deserved a completely honest statement: 'Sobieski has promised thirty-four thousand and the Seym has authorized this number.'

'Splendid! With that reinforcement we have a chance.'

'But as you know, promises on paper, sworn to on word of honor, do shrink when a final count is made.'

'What will the Polish thirty-four thousand shrink to?'

'I'd be happy if we mount twenty-six thousand.'

'I'd be happy to receive them.'

'With them, do we have a chance?'

'It becomes a race.' With his expressive hands he indicated compa.s.s directions. 'Will Sobieski and the Poles reach here from the north before Kara Mustafa's sappers blow us to h.e.l.l from the south?' He paused to allow the gravity of his remark to sink in, then asked bluntly: 'Tell me honestly. When is the earliest that Sobieski can leave Krakow?'

'August fifteenth.'

'Good G.o.d!' Lubomirski gasped. 'That may be too late.'

'But he will come in great strength ... and with his winged hussars ... and with the knowledge on both sides that he has already defeated the Turks three times.'

Lubomirski studied this response, and made small strategic patterns with his hands, as if he were disposing his troops. 'We will have a fighting chance to hold out. Not good. We'll be eating the horses before long. But we will have a chance ... if you hurry.'

In the remaining weeks of May and June, all the hurrying was done by the Turks pressing in from the east and south. They won a significant victory at Gyor, then routed General Lubomirski's Polish volunteers at Bratislava, and on the thirteenth of July approached Vienna with an army that had originally contained about 300,000 men, including even servants and muleteers, but which now had some 115,000 who could be called fighting units.

They were an extraordinary army representing an extraordinary state. Turkey, whose center of power continued to be Constantinople, was governed by Sultan Muhammad IV, who had ascended the throne at the age of six. This meant, of course, that the extensive empire had to be governed by a regency, in this case one person, the boy's mother, one of those terrible, remorseless women more capable of ruling than most of the men with whom she had to deal.

After watching the grandeur of Turkey decline through the in-eptness of her a.s.sistants, she had started to promote from rank to rank a man of notable ability, the Albanian Kprl whose freedom from the palace intrigue of the capital kept him relatively able to govern in an honest manner. And from a nation near dissolution from bad government, he had built an empire that reached from Italy east to Russia, from Persia north to Hungary, encompa.s.sing such European nations as Greece, Macedonia, Albania and Bulgaria.

The Sultan, meanwhile, had seemed to be concerned only with his own interests: women and hunting. To a.s.suage the former hunger he had enormous seraglios, but even when they were crammed with the most delightful houris from eleven nations, his princ.i.p.al joy continued to be hunting. He had extensive preserves throughout Europe, each area larger than Belgium or Holland, in which only he was allowed to hunt. On one historic occasion he dragooned ten thousand Christian inhabitants of an area to serve as his bearers over a period of three weeks, during which he shot or shot at several thousand deer, bear and buffalo. In one part of Bulgaria his Christian slaves served as custodians for a herd of eleven thousand buffalo, which were reserved for him.

The various Kprls responsible for governing the empire had adopted a simple policy: 'Keep the idiot happy, for as long as he lives, we live.' In the days of rapid expansion this tactic worked, for they managed exceedingly well and captured fortresses which the Christians had deemed impregnable; whole nations fell into the Turkish grip and the possibility of further conquests seemed endless. But starting in 1681 this irresponsible Sultan began to see that as his troops pressed forward on significant cities like Vienna, Christian retaliation would become inescapable, so he began to caution Kara Mustafa, his grand vizier of the moment: 'Take all of Hungary. It's a miserable land unable to govern itself. And take Poland too, if you will, because it has no future. But do not try to capture Vienna, because if you do, you will arouse the sleeping dragons.'

Kara Mustafa, eager to emulate or surpa.s.s his predecessors who had marched all the way to Venice, would not listen. 'If I can hold together my army, and if I can have enough Tatars on my left flank to harry whatever enemy we encounter, I can take Vienna and all of Austria.'

Muhammad was insistent: 'I foresee real danger if you try.'

But still Kara Mustafa would not listen. 'Since you ascended the throne in 1648, decisions of war and peace have been made by my family. Let it continue that way, and Turkey will rule Europe.'

Muhammad, now forty-one and surprisingly knowledgeable despite his preoccupation with women and hunting, became angry with his grand vizier for treating him like a child, and to the tremendous surprise of his court, he stepped forward and handed Kara Mustafa a green silk cord, very strong and more than two arms in length: 'Go to Vienna, besiege it, but if you fail, you are to hang yourself.'

In accordance with ancient tradition, while the Sultan and his court watched, the grand vizier tied the green cord into a running knot and pa.s.sed the noose over his head, tightening it when it reached his neck. From that day on, during the march through Hungary, and the battle at Bratislava, and the exciting approach to Vienna itself, Kara Mustafa never removed the silken cord from around his neck, and if General Lubomirski inside the walls was apprehensive about the forthcoming battle, so was Mustafa, for each man knew that this was a battle to the death.

The Sultan, for his part, decided to support his army by a display of austerity at home. From his several harems he dismissed battalions of his best concubines. In seven different countries he closed down many of his hunting establishments, turning the land over to peasants. And most important of all to a confirmed huntsman, from his many stables he released nearly nine hundred of his favorite horses to the military. He did not make himself dest.i.tute, however, for he did keep an impressive selection of the most attractive women, nine of the best hunting areas and about four hundred choice horses, and in the years 1682 and 1683, as the battle for Vienna approached, he continued to enjoy himself, but he often paused to speculate on how Kara Mustafa and his green cord were doing.

By early August, when he had a.s.sembled what expeditionary force he was going to be able to collect, King Jan Sobieski already knew that Vienna was completely surrounded by Turkish troops and that a siege of the most brutal efficiency was under way. On the fifteenth of July, the day after the attack began, General Lubomirski had asked a brave a.s.sistant to see if he could slip through the Turkish lines with an urgent message for Sobieski, and this man, riding at top speed, informed the Poles as to what was happening at Vienna: 'The siege began at dawn on the fourteenth. Trumpets sounded and three hors.e.m.e.n from the Turkish side cantered easily across the empty land leading to the city walls, set up a small catapult and threw numerous rocks into the center of Vienna. Each bore a message: "Surrender now and you will be saved. Open your gates, turn your churches over to us and lay down your arms, and no one will be killed. If you resist the Will of Allah, your leaders, and all of them, will be slain. Able men and women will be sold into slavery. You will be allowed no rights of worship, and your mighty walls will be thrown down. Fight and you die! Surrender and you live!' "

When Sobieski interrogated him regarding military details, the man said: 'On the north and east, where the arm of the Danube protects us, large concentrations of Turkish soldiers are blocking any movement in or out of the city. On the south huge arrays of cannon already bombard us night and day. And to the west, from which the greatest trouble will come, sappers already work at digging tunnels to deliver gunpowder under the walls.'

'How long did Lubomirski estimate the forces inside the city could resist?'

'You must reach Vienna before the end of August.'

'That I cannot do,' Sobieski said with heaviness of spirit.

'Then the city is doomed.'

Gravely Sobieski walked back and forth, a huge man whose monstrous unruly mustache made his head look even larger than it was. 'We must rely upon two miracles. Those in Vienna shall resist the siege until September. Those of us outside must reach there in time to save them.' He raised his large arms to heaven and cried: 'Blessed Virgin of Czestochowa, allow us those miracles.'

When all was in readiness at Krakow he delayed departure for four days to allow him time to journey to that shrine of the Virgin, where in the company of his advisers, including Count Lubonski, he prayed before the Black Madonna, and as he rose from his knees, a priest attached to the shrine presented him with a reproduction of the painting which one of the monks had done. It was about two hands high, one hand and a half wide and was suspended from a heavy gold chain, which the priest pa.s.sed over the king's head, so that the painting came down over Sobieski's chest, hanging like a small plate of armor.

The incident moved the king deeply, and placing his left hand reverently upon the painting he asked for his sword, which he raised in his right hand until it pointed to heaven, and cried in a loud voice: 'Poles! It has always been our duty to defend the Christianity of Europe from the threat of its barbarian enemies. Tomorrow we ride forth once more to hurl back the infidel. May G.o.d ride with us.'

On the trip back to Krakow he told Lubonski: 'Old man, it is not necessary for you to repeat this long and dangerous journey. You've served Poland well. Go home and pray for us.'

But Lubonski could not accept this advice. 'It seems I have spent my life fighting the enemies of my homeland. But the greatest battle was saved for the end. If we lose Vienna to enemies of G.o.d, we lose all.' And Sobieski, imbued with religious fervor, understood this att.i.tude and said: 'Come along, old man. You'll be the best warrior we have.'

So Lubonski sent Brat Piotr, the friar from Czestochowa, galloping to Bukowo to fetch Lukasz, but when those two reported to Krakow ready for the forced march into Austria, Lubonski saw that they had brought with them young Janko from the village, and he protested: 'We want no boys on such a venture,' but Piotr replied: 'He is the son of Jan who served with you in all the battles, and he is ready.'

'Bring him along,' Lubonski said, and next morning, 11 August 1683, the king and his army rode forth, as Cardinal Pentucci cried when he blessed them, 'to save the world.'

Not even the king knew how large his army was, for although he had promised the coalition 34,000 Polish troops, he had reason to believe that the honest number had to be smaller than 30,000, but how much smaller he could only guess. It was not that his clerks were careless; they handed him carefully compiled lists that showed a specific total: In all, 29,516 men under arms.

This precise figure, so neatly presented, was worthless, because each unit commander reported many more men and horses than they had in order to draw down excess stores, which he then sold for his personal profit. So when Sobieski marched toward Vienna he did not know whether he had 27,000 troops or 26,000, and in reporting to his fellow generals he would use either figure, knowing that regardless of what he said he would be wrong. But of course their figures would be wrong, too, and for identical reasons.

As they moved west toward the mountain pa.s.s at Cieszyn, they formed an amazing spectacle: the winged hussars in front, the cavalry made up of magnates and the lesser gentry, a horde of foot soldiers, a much larger horde of servants like Brat Piotr and Janko, and about a thousand wagons carrying the goods that would be needed. In the rear, utilizing most of the spare horses, came the hundred and twenty huge cannon which Sobieski hoped would offset those of the Turks. It was an act of considerable will power even to think of transporting such an army at great speed across mountains and rivers, but actually, it was an act of faith.

They did not follow the leisurely route which Lubonski and Lukasz had taken on their expedition into Austria, but rather a direct line to the towns of Brno and Hollabrunn, where the Austrian and German generals partic.i.p.ating in the battle would meet them, and as they marched, always at maximum speed, Brat Piotr, with Janko at his side, began to strike friendships with the n.o.blemen who formed the contingent of winged hussars. He was at their camp every evening, pestering them about their horses, their special lances, and especially that halo of turkey and eagle feathers they wore about their heads when they rode into battle.

'Could I see how the feathers are attached?' he asked on the fifth night, when the riders had become accustomed to him. They allowed him to inspect the contraption which held the tall feathers in place, and he studied every aspect of it, explaining it most imperfectly to Janko.

Some evenings later, when camp was struck early-about eight, when there was still plenty of daylight-Piotr prevailed upon one of the hussars to let him try on the piece of armor to which the crown of feathers was riveted. When he felt the armor on his body and could see from the corner of his eye the feathers rising above his head, he called to Janko: 'Fetch me a horse,' and once astride it, he began brandishing an imaginary lance and dashing back and forth over the campground, shouting in a high-pitched voice: 'I am a winged hussar. Stand back, you infidels.'

At one point, his long legs kicking at his mount, his elbows flapping and his dark-brown monk's garb flying in the wind, he came roaring down upon Janko, who would have been ridden over had he not leaped into a ditch: 'You are dead, foul Turk! Lie there in your blood!' Back and forth the wildly excited friar galloped, his feathers making a mournful sound in the dusk, and when slowly he brought his horse back to where the owner of the gear stood laughing, he was most reluctant to surrender it. Fondly he patted the armor, avowing that it was as fine as any he had ever seen, and with care he straightened each of the feathers.

'You must be proud to wear such a uniform,' Piotr said, and the hussar replied: 'I am.'

Now each night when halt was called, Brat Piotr mingled with the hussars, borrowing armor first from this one, then from that, and he galloped so fervently over the campgrounds, his arms and legs extended in strange directions, that the hussars began calling him The Flying Friar, for he looked like those pictures in German books showing goblins and other strange beings flying through the air at night. But always when he finished his ride he would seek out Janko: 'I used to think that being master of a great monastery was the best a man could hope for, but I would rather be a hussar with feathers singing about my ears, fighting for the will of G.o.d against the infidel. That I would very strongly like to be.'

On 31 August, when it was doubtful that Vienna could much longer withstand the dreadful siege being mounted by Kara Mustafa, Jan Sobieski rode into the small town of Hollabrunn, northwest of Vienna and only a short distance from the Danube River, which the army would have to cross before it could engage the Turks, and there he met for the first time with two of the finest gentlemen of Europe.

The meeting could have been terribly embarra.s.sing. Back in 1674, when Sobieski was elected king through French support, his princ.i.p.al opponent had been Duke Charles of Lorraine, a Habsburg for whom Austria was buying votes scandalously. The contest had been keen, with many believing that Duke Charles would win, but in the end the French poured in huge sums, bought magnates right and left, and secured the victory for Sobieski. Now the former antagonists must work together not only as allies but as generals sharing a difficult command.

Another reason for likely failure was that the generals, all of them, must devise a workable plan under which three disparate armies, which followed different systems and had not even a common language, could do battle against a force immensely larger than their own. When the three leaders, accompanied by their staffs, met for the first time in a poorly lit room in an inn at Hollabrunn, there was a moment of extreme tension, for on the rustic table confronting them lay the jeweled baton, about thirty inches long, which would be carried by the commander in chief, and no one knew who that would be.

King Jan looked at the splendid baton with narrow, conniving eyes; he was a vain man who might demand the baton as a kingly right. Duke Charles, stiff and proper, represented the host nation, which gave him a substantial claim. And watchers could see the German Prince Waldeck eying the baton with real desire; he was not only contributing the largest number of troops but he was also a proud, able warrior. This meeting could end in disaster.

However, it started well, for the moment Duke Charles saw his mighty adversary for the kingship of Poland, he stepped forward and embraced Sobieski: 'You are welcome, Sire, you are twice welcome!' And then Prince Waldeck kissed Sobieski's hand, crying for all to hear: 'We have waited desperately for your troops. Thank G.o.d you have come.'