Early August 1683
Wilhelm
Cracow
Wilhelm von Schor and the newly arrived messenger from Emperor Leopold were escorted to see King Sobieski as soon as the request was made. He took that as a sign that he was still in Sobieski’s good graces, a status unlikely to change with the news the messenger brought.
The king and his son studied a large map of Vienna that had been unrolled across the top of a table and was held flat with stones.
“Where do you think the Turks have set up camp?” the king asked, switching to Latin for the benefit of Wilhelm and the messenger.
Prince James Louis studied the map. “I would suggest sending out scouts once we get closer. Then we wouldn’t have to guess.”
“Yes, and we will. But to defeat the Turks, you must think like the Turks. Where do you think they would attack a city like this?” Sobieski placed a finger in the center of Vienna.
Wrinkles formed on the prince’s forehead as he concentrated. “I do not have the advantage my father had of serving as an envoy to the Sublime Porte. It is hard for me to think like the enemy.”
“Then think like a soldier.”
The prince pointed to the Wien River and then the Danube Canal. “The defenses around the rivers are not as strong as they are elsewhere. But it is difficult to attack across a river.” He looked at Wilhelm. “Edler von Schor, how strong is the flow of these rivers?”
Wilhelm bowed politely before answering. He was eager to give the king the news but didn’t wish to interrupt Sobieski’s instruction to his son. “The Danube and its canals have a constant flow, though the depth varies. The Wien is less steady, especially in the summer, but a few days of rain can cause it to rise quite suddenly.”
Prince James Louis tapped Leopoldstadt Island. “The walls are weakest here, but it is surrounded by water, so it would be hard to maneuver, and mines might flood. If mines are the Turkish strength, they will pick a place where they can be used. And if the Turks know their history, they will remember how their army was trapped at St. Gotthard by a flash flood.”
“I am pleased you remember the lessons of St. Gotthard.” Sobieski stood with his hands behind his back.
Red spots formed on the prince’s cheeks. “I might not have remembered had Edler von Schor not entered the room. The horse he was so happy to see again when we arrived in Cracow is named for the battle.”
Wilhelm held back a smile. Their arrival had brought him two blessings: the return of Gotthard and letters from Urszula, telling him that she and their son had made it safely to Passau.
Sobieski chuckled. “Then in the future, you must name your horses after the victories you wish to remember. But to the task at hand. Where do you think the Turks have focused their attack?”
The prince pointed to the wall between the Burg and Löbl Bastions. “The angles are off here, but the land looks dry enough to mine.”
Sobieski nodded. “According to the reports we’ve received, that is precisely what the Ottoman Army has done.” He looked from Wilhelm to the messenger. “Unless you bring news of a change?”
Wilhelm shook his head. “No. News of a different sort. As Your Highness is aware, we have had some trouble with our Hungarian subjects as of late.” Sobieski would know, but his son might not, so Wilhelm explained, supporting Sobieski’s obvious desire to educate his son in politics and warfare. “Two years ago, Emperor Leopold granted amnesty and increased religious tolerance for our Hungarian subjects, but it wasn’t enough for Count Emre Thököly de Kesmark. With aid from the Pasha of Buda, Thököly rebelled, not for the first time, and gathered an army of supporters. They allied with the Grand Vizier. Given the other threats facing us, Your Highness can understand the danger Thököly’s rebellion represented.”
The prince seemed to understand that the detailed explanation was for him, and he nodded his appreciation.
Wilhelm turned to the messenger and motioned for him to speak. “The Duke of Lorraine recently defeated Thököly near Pressburg. He will no longer be a threat.”
A look of satisfaction crossed the king’s face, an expression mirrored by his son. Wilhelm felt it too. There was little news of events in Vienna, but the Imperial Army hadn’t been idle, and one threat was now gone.
The messenger carried word of other preparations too. The Poles were not the only group sending aid to Vienna. But armies took time to assemble, and they took time to travel—King Sobieski’s group had made no more than twenty miles a day on the journey from Warsaw, and they’d been waiting in Cracow for over a week. Daily, new groups of Polish soldiers arrived, but the Lithuanians and the Cossacks had farther to come. Wilhelm heard the frequent discussions, all centered around one question—was speed or a larger army the higher priority?
Like King Sobieski, the Duke of Lorraine had a difficult choice—the longer he waited, the stronger his relief army would grow. But the longer he waited, the more likely it was that the city would fall. Xavier would say the emperor should have acted differently in the first place. With different policies, Thököly might not have rebelled. Had the emperor been more decisive, pieces of the relief army could have been called in June instead of July.
Wilhelm looked at the map and imagined his city surrounded by an Ottoman Army, an army that would pick out the weaknesses as easily as the young Polish prince had. An army that threatened his sister and maybe his brother. Xavier was good at pointing out mistakes—Wilhelm had firsthand knowledge of that. He hoped his brother was also good at survival.