The bellowing of artillery began to intermingle with fresh cracks of thunder. Rain had begun to fall loudly against the men’s helmets and I remember feeling scared. I was out of my league. This wasn’t three witch hunters against a handful of farmers, this was 6,000 professional soldiers against 12,000 professional soldiers. I prayed silently for God’s support once more.
I had a good view of the battle from my location to the side of the battle. My unit of cuirassiers made up a tiny portion of Aldringen’s army so Mansfeld did not heed us. He had begun marching units of infantrymen across the bridge but they were being torn apart by our artillery. In response, the Danes manoeuvred their own artillery into a position where they could fire at ours, and thus force a back and forth artillery firefight which would leave his men on the bridge unharmed. Thankfully I had convinced Aldringen to put much of the artillery in a rear location from which the bridge was visible but most of the northern bank of the Elbe was obscured, and several cannons continued to fire at the approaching Protestants.
Eventually Mansfeld sent enough men over the bridge that Aldringen was forced to respond with more than cannon. Lines of unengaged gunmen stepped forward to engage the Danes with arquebuses and in response to that Mansfeld readied his cavalry.
I felt the men beside me become tense. Some drew swords and some drew pistols. Cavalry was most useful against disorganised infantry or other cavalry, and there was a likelihood that we would face both at the base of the Dessau bridge.
My suspicions were made reality when I watched the Protestant cavalry gallop onto the Dessau Bridge, pushing the surviving infantrymen forward with them. The Catholic gunmen pulled back and pikemen moved forward to cover them, but that weasel Aldringen had been too slow with his orders. The Protestant cavalry was going to reach our gunmen and cut them down before our pikemen could position themselves to defend them. Johann had taught me that the gunmen would inflict the most damage upon the enemy as long as they were protected and Aldringen had failed in that task, so it fell to me to right matters.
‘Charge!’ I shouted as I kicked my horse into a run. Johann saw the danger too and seconded my call to battle, and suddenly I was leading 150 men into a sectarian battle 200 miles from my hometown. I was surprised at the evaporation of my fear. I had been scared before in smaller battles – even in one on one fights, such as against Jaromil. Yet in the Battle of Dessau Bridge I felt no fear, only battle-rage. I was charging amidst hundreds and I was such a small part of that movement that my own emotions were almost insignificant. All of my emotions except anger, and perhaps hope.
The hope that Godke was one of the cavalry I was riding to meet.
The Protestant horsemen were awkwardly trying to make their way through their own infantry, who were crowded around the exit to the bridge. When they saw our approach, they were forced to turn to face us instead of pursuing our arquebusiers, as was my intention, and they were still trying to manoeuvre into position when our lines of battle collided. Some of the cavalrymen raised pistols and some of the infantrymen raised muskets and calivers and some of the men around me died but I survived the opening enfilade. I raised Joyeuse and I shouted ‘charge!’ one more time and then the Catholic and the Protestant Cavalry met at the foot of the Dessau Bridge.
There was a grotesque thump as thousands of bodies travelling in opposite directions crashed into each other. Metal met metal, and the sound of gunfire began to lessen as the gunmen and artillery on both sides held their fire for fear of striking down their own soldiers. The thunder of hundreds of cavalry filled the silence as Aldringen sent in the remaining cavalry to back us up, and I could see the pikemen rushing forward to assist us. He had no choice really, if the cavalry broke through they would have cleared the way for an infantry assault and they would destroy the Catholic gunmen. Now that our entire army was engaged at the base of the bridge I doubted that Mansfeld would refrain from firing into the melee combat for long.
I was immediately engaged by a Danish horseman. I was lucky that he did not have a lance for he would undoubtedly have unhorsed me as he had built up a lot of momentum while crossing the bridge. Instead he had a sword and I struck him off of his horse instead with superior swordsmanship and the benefits of having no heavy armour to weigh down my arms.
More men came at me, and I downed two more screaming blond horsemen by striking their horses and letting those with lances and pikes finish them off. Battle was different to single combat like that; you didn’t have to do all of the work yourself.
On the other hand, no matter how many Danes I killed more would step forward to ensure that I received no reward for my ability to dispatch them quickly. Some infantrymen would try to unhorse me with the long barrels of their guns, but I had a good sense of balance and resisted their efforts. I was scared that a pikeman would succeed in unhorsing me, but Mansfeld had sent very few across the bridge at that point. I did not consider him to be so unwise, and as such I thought that they were probably stuck on the bridge waiting for the cavalry and gunmen ahead of them to get out of the way.
Johann was unhorsed but I had no time to assist him as a Protestant cavalryman approached me from my now unprotected right flank. I was forced to turn to face him. He swung high and I blocked his blow and rode in very close to him, so that before our blades separated I shoved my elbow into his forearm. The momentum sent his sword hand moving one direction and I sent Joyeuse in the other, striking the man across the ribs. He cried out in pain and lost the ability to defend himself, so with my next strike I punctured his ribcage and finished him off.
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I pulled Joyeuse out of the man, with some difficulty, and that was when I saw Godke.
I caught sight of him for he had been slowly cutting his way towards me, man by man, on horseback, but now I saw his horse was pierced by an unseen weapon and fell to the ground. Godke recovered quickly and I shouted to him over the din of battle.
‘Godke!’
He turned to face me and his eyes glowed with a sad but anger-filled expression of recognition. ‘Come down and fight me Karl!’
I turned to Johann and leant down to speak to him. He was behind the front line as he was recovering his senses after falling from his horse. ‘Take Tencendur,’ I ordered him. I handed him the reins. ‘I have an oath to fulfil,’ I said.
Johann man looked at me with a look of understanding and respect, and he took the reins from me willingly as I dismounted. Godke was near the shores of the Elbe immediately west of the bridge and I reckoned we could fight with relative isolation if I were to join him there as the armies were clashing mostly to the east, so I fought my way to him. Mostly I evaded the fighting and I often left Protestants standing for I would need every ounce of strength that I had for the fight against Godke. Johann followed me on horseback, but when I neared Godke he rejoined the battle. I had no doubt that he would allow me to fight Godke without interruption if it was within his significant power.
Finally, I met Godke face to face. Joyeuse was wet with blood and so was Godke’s sword. It was strange that the journey we’d begun eight years ago would come to an end in the midst of such unrestrained chaos and large-scale bloodshed, but it was fitting for we’d spent the eight years sowing the seeds of chaos and bloodshed. The previous months of separation were as nothing to us now and it was as though we were back in the inn in Leipzig.
‘I fight now to fulfil my oath to avenge my father,’ I told him. Other men had noticed our interchange but decided that it would better if they were to choose other targets to engage. Johann did some convincing with his sword but we were fearsome, Godke and I.
Godke did not respond to my banter. I think he was in emotional turmoil, but if he was then I had the advantage for my mind was as clear as a razor. I’d spent eight years preparing for this day and he’d spent eight years avoiding it, denying it. Not that I hadn’t avoided it too, but I had also accepted its inevitability. I was ready, I was prepared, and to signal my readiness I tossed aside my zischagge. Godke was fast, and I wanted to be able to see and hear everything he did without obfuscation.
Then the fight began.
Godke stepped in to strike at my outstretched right leg but I withdrew it quickly and swung Joyeuse at his sword arm. He stepped forwards and used his left hand to thump my sword hand. My strike lost all momentum and bounced pathetically off of Godke’s thick leather bracers.
I spun away to give myself time to recover, but he was in my face again almost immediately. I quickly raised my sword vertically to parry a swift blow and Godke reacted quickly and swung again before I had time to attack him. He was constantly, doggedly keeping me on the defensive. Every time I tried to strike he would punish me and force me to relinquish any advantage that I had gained through repeated parrying.
I had spent some time observing Godke’s fighting technique during our many witch hunts together. I had known that this day would come and I learned that he had a very aggressive style. I decided that my best chance was to use my feet. When he raised his sword above his head to swing at mine, I took advantage of the fact that he had a high centre of gravity to kick him square in the gut.
The kick sent him sprawling into the mud and I leapt forward, ready to deliver the killing blow but Godke was too fast and he span aside on the wet dirt and then jumped to his feet.
We were getting nowhere, and I wasn’t sure who would tire first. I had the advantage of youth, but Godke had the benefit of experience.
I tried to feint and then rapidly strike in a different direction as I had against Jaromil, but Godke had evidently been paying attention to that fight and he never fell for the feint. Often the second strike would not occur because I would be forced to parry Godke’s razor-sharp blade. As with Jaromil, we both had matchlock pistols but we did not use them for that would be to discard honour in a matter brought to a head solely by honour. This contest was to be won by the sword and I put my hope in Joyeuse, a blade which had once belonged to Godke.
Even as I parried blow after blow from Godke’s sword, I noticed that around me, the Catholics were losing ground. Protestant horsemen had nearly cleared the area before the bridge of Catholics, and those Catholics on the bridge were faltering. Part of me wanted to rejoin the battle to help stem the tide of Danes, but I couldn’t focus on anything but my duel with Godke. He was a canny swordfighter and despite his age he hadn’t forgotten a thing that he’d taught me.
In an attempt to wrongfoot him, I decided to try something a bit unusual and bait Godke with the same leg that he had struck at the outset of our conflict. I put my right leg unusually far forwards and sure enough he swung at it with his sword. I withdrew the leg, but this time instead of striking at his sword hand, I leapt forwards as far as I could off of my other leg and held my sword before me like a spear.
Joyeuse’s tip pierced Godke Bresch’s leather armour through the chest.
Godke stopped dead in his tracks, his previously rapid movements ceased. Joyeuse had pierced clean through to the other side of Godke’s body, and for a moment I felt an unquenchable sadness at the realisation that I’d just killed the man who’d taken me in for the last eight years.
Then I quenched it. This was battle, this was honour, and this was a duel. Sadness had no part in this fight, and so I pulled Joyeuse out of Godke and readied myself for another, final strike.
Godke did not attempt to defend himself. He knew he had lost, and instead he looked into my eyes. ‘You should have died,’ he said, doubled over in pain. He groaned, then fell to his knees and closed his eyes. ‘I hope this gives you peace.’
The sadness came flooding back but I steadied myself and swung my blade in an arc, beheading Godke with a primal roar and ending a matter that had gone unresolved since a cold, rainy night in Bielefeld eight years earlier.