He floated inside an abyss. The abyss was a cold, damp place, that much he knew, but his body was warm as if encapsulated inside a fire.
“The leg will most likely need to come off.”
He heard the words, but they were merely sounds; his mind was unable to put the sounds together so that they would have some meaning.
“We can do it now, I suppose.”
“Don’t you have to sort out the other one?”
“Dead. Died on the way over here; shame too, apparently he’s the one that killed Gábor.”
Gábor. That name was important, that much he could remember and discern. Who was Gábor?
“Pass me the saw, and hold him down, I’ve had patients rise out of comatose when this nasty bit begins. And tie that tourniquet tight, mind you.”
There was a soft bump on his leg. Leg? Inside his mind he tried to formulate what a leg was. Didn’t matter. Gábor was what mattered, who was Gábor?
The bumping had a steady rhythm to it, distracting him from his thoughts. The bumping suddenly transformed into a screeching, like the scream of a banshee, drowning out his thoughts. The first sharp little pinprick of pain began then, and with it returned a portion of his thoughts. Gábor the Usurper, the brother of Ákos. Who was Ákos though?
Another bite of pain flooded his senses and he could almost feel the memory drop into his consciousness as if a fruit falling from a tree to the earth. Ákos was the Emperor, whose son was Mihály, the same son that he’d fought a war against Gábor against. There his memory ended, and he waited impatiently for the next jolt of pain, almost begging for it to come so that his brain could awake from the tormenting abyss. Who am I?
Almost in response to his question another wave of pain coursed through him, this time accompanied by a dull scraping sound. Lázár. All his senses suddenly rushed in as a tidal wave, battering at him and he could feel the warm blood that coated his body, feel the saw scrape and cut away at the bones in his leg, and he could remember everything, the sword piercing through his stomach, and then another cutting through his leg. The crash when he hit the palace floor and a dead Guardsmen crumpled atop of his leg. Then there was the abyss, floating within it, unable to discern the frantic shouts and clamour of steel that assailed his ears. Then slowly that too had faded, until there was a silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity. Then a scream, and more silence, and now he was here. Captain Kálmán Lázár opened his eyes.
A grubby looking man in the black robe of a priest was standing over him, his eyes looking away towards Lázár’s legs, but he turned his head back and their eyes met and the man gave a visible start.
“He’s awake!”
The sawing stopped, but the dull pain persisted. Lázár couldn’t move his head to see who the other man was, and only saw a hand stretch forward and pass an object to the priest standing above him.
“Put this in his mouth. Welcome back to the land of the living, Captain.”
The bit of wood was forced into his mouth but it was hardly necessary. The grating and scraping of a saw against bone continued again.
“Gábor.” Lázár strained the name out, his tongue not properly working, but the priests understood well enough what he was asking.
“Dead; killed by one of your men. Not sure what will happen now.”
The faintest whisper of a smile showed on Lázár’s face before he again slipped into the abyss.
General Lorand Bocskai had heard the news, as had everyone in the city now. Gábor, the Emperor or the Usurper, was dead; and with him died all purpose of continued fighting.
He trotted along within the city’s streets, a retinue of senior officers behind him. Officers from his regiments, officers he could trust. He would need them too, for he picked his way through the streets towards the city’s eastern wall.
General Bethlen commanded the forces at the breach, and Bocskai knew the man would continue fighting even if the stars themselves started falling from the sky and so he made his way with his loyal officers the take command of the forces and surrender the city to the Army de Mihály.
They rounded a corner to find two riders trotting towards them, the leading one who spurred forward and made a hasty salute.
“Messenger from Carpathia, sir.” The first man gestured to the one behind, who Bocskai gestured to speak.
“General Alvinczy has defeated the Army de Koloszvár, sir. They’ve routed and Alvinczy has General Dávid Apafi in custody.”
Bocskai mulled over the news. It would have been splendid news if Gábor still lived, and even better if Bocskai didn’t hate the man, but as it were it could unravel everything.
“Who have you told of this?” Luckily the officers behind him had been out of earshot, or else the news would undoubtedly spread within minutes across the damn city.
“Nobody, sir. You’re the first officer I’ve met since entering the city.”
“Good. Tell nobody of this, you understand?”
“Sir?”
Bocskai narrowed his eyes at the messenger.
“Yes, sir.”
Bocskai nodded, and trotted his horse past the messenger, picking his way through the streets until he was nearby the breached wall. He waved his officers forward, who dismounted and insterted themselves among the defenders. Outside the walls, a steady drumming signaled the fast approach of the Army de Mihály’s third assault on the wall.
Once the officers were in place Bocskai stood up in his stirrups and shouted to the defenders above.
“Soldiers of the Empire! Our beloved Emperor is dead, there is no reason to continue fighting your own brothers! Lay down your arms, that is an order!” The dull crescendo of voices speaking hastily with one another sounded not unlike a bee hive stirred to action, before another voice pierced over that buzzing.
“Who said that!” The figure of General Samuel Bethlen appeared atop the walls and he glared down at Bocskai. “Bocskai! You were relieved of your post, these men do not follow your orders. They are mine to command!” There were a few sharp shouts of protests among soldiers loyal to Bocskai but they were hushed. An uneasy silence fell over the crowd; the steady beat of drums outside the walls the only thing audible.
“What do you fight for, Bethlen?” There was no real answer that would satisfy anyone, which was precisely why Bocskai had posed the question.
Bethlen looked down on the figure of Bocskai and spat before turning his back on him. “Back to your posts!”
Bocskai could see that most would not willingly surrender, and he had known that from the beginning, and so he clenched his fist and raised it, the signal to one of this officers above.
A deep voice bellowed out from near the breach, a parade voice that shouted orders to the soldiers of the 1st of Banat, who spun round muskets held horizontal on their hands and began forcing soldiers of the other regiments from the breach. At the entrance of the breach another soldiers ran forward and waved a white flag frantically at the approaching Army de Mihály, who upon seeing it gave a cheer and rushed forward.
The first shots were fired, the smoke swallowed within the crowd and like a string of dominoes the sharp cracks and puffs of smoke grew in volume until the breach was wreathed with the smell of gunpowder burning and bodies began toppling off the walls.
Bethlen was at the top, and Bocskai watched as he waved his sword at his soldiers who had started to flee and smacked them with its flat side. He was struck in the arm and fell, engulfed within the mass of soldiers pushing and shoving along the wall.
Finally, as the first soldiers from the Army de Mihály poured in through the now undefended breach the surrenders started, and soldiers threw down their arms or fled and hid within houses hoping to escape the slaughter they expected, but that slaughter did not come as the gate was opened and General Leopold Apafi entered the city, his soldiers maintaining impeccable discipline under the watchful eyes of their general.
Bocskai did not resist as his hands were tied behind his back, and nor did the unconscious Bethlen, or any senior officers for that matter. The Civil War was over, for all intents and purposes. As the Army de Mihály steadily crept within the city, the defenders laid down their arms, even the most diehard resistors persuaded to do so by their superior officers.
Finally, once order was established the soldiers of the Army de Mihály were paraded out into the city’s main square where a gallows had been hastily constructed, and a number of high ranking prisoners were brought out, including General Samuel Bethlen. Bocskai was pardoned by General Leopold, though it was a token pardon as it needed the consent of the Emperor (of which there currently was not one), or failing that the Internal Government, but it would save Bocskai’s life for a little while at the least.
As the prisoners were led to in front of their allotted ropes they were read out of long list of their crimes, foremost among them High Treason against the lawful and rightful heir and future Emperor of Transylvania, as well as sedition, espionage, murder, and a host of other minor crimes. There was only a single protest from one of the officers, a colonel from the 7th of Bulgaria who insisted he had nothing to do with any of that and was merely walking by the capital city with his regiment when he was hastily conscripted into its defense. There would be no escape for them, however, and on February 11th, 1635 the wagon was rolled away and the officers who had supported Gábor’s couped and the subsequent civil war were executed in Koloszvár’s city square.
The execution of General Samuel Bethlen and his subordinates, February 11th, 1635
The Empire would take some time to pick itself up from the disaster of the civil war, and it wasn’t until March 11th that it actually officially ended, when Samuel Alvinczy finally surrendered with the Army de Janos and released General Leopold’s brother from his custody. A treaty was signed by both General Alvinczy and Bocskai (who had both been officially pardoned by the internal government), as well as a few other prominent surviving members of Gábor’s faction on the same day. Captain Kálmán Lázár was even present at the signing, able to somewhat move around on his one leg with the assistance of crutches.
The signing of the Treaty of Transylvania, bringing the Second Transylvanian Civil War to an official end
Something else rather remarkable happened on March 11th, 1635, as well. By ruling of the Internal Government and with the assent of the sort of defacto regent General Leopold Apafi the bastard heir of Ákos, Mihály II was crowned Emperor of all Transylvania, King of Georgia, Milan, and Lithuania; all at the age of eight years old.
Mihály II ‘The Bastard’ Plater is crowned Emperor of Transylvania, March 11th, 1635
But there were still divisions within the Empire, as there was a huge amount of discontent over the handling of the civil war, and the legitimate concerns of having an illegitimate child sitting upon the throne of Transylvania were still present, and in an effort to squelched the flames of even more unrest, the heir of the Empire was named. The boy was only a year younger than the current Emperor, but was of pure blood, and of the Plater dynasty; it was the son of Gábor that was named heir to the throne.
“The leg will most likely need to come off.”
He heard the words, but they were merely sounds; his mind was unable to put the sounds together so that they would have some meaning.
“We can do it now, I suppose.”
“Don’t you have to sort out the other one?”
“Dead. Died on the way over here; shame too, apparently he’s the one that killed Gábor.”
Gábor. That name was important, that much he could remember and discern. Who was Gábor?
“Pass me the saw, and hold him down, I’ve had patients rise out of comatose when this nasty bit begins. And tie that tourniquet tight, mind you.”
There was a soft bump on his leg. Leg? Inside his mind he tried to formulate what a leg was. Didn’t matter. Gábor was what mattered, who was Gábor?
The bumping had a steady rhythm to it, distracting him from his thoughts. The bumping suddenly transformed into a screeching, like the scream of a banshee, drowning out his thoughts. The first sharp little pinprick of pain began then, and with it returned a portion of his thoughts. Gábor the Usurper, the brother of Ákos. Who was Ákos though?
Another bite of pain flooded his senses and he could almost feel the memory drop into his consciousness as if a fruit falling from a tree to the earth. Ákos was the Emperor, whose son was Mihály, the same son that he’d fought a war against Gábor against. There his memory ended, and he waited impatiently for the next jolt of pain, almost begging for it to come so that his brain could awake from the tormenting abyss. Who am I?
Almost in response to his question another wave of pain coursed through him, this time accompanied by a dull scraping sound. Lázár. All his senses suddenly rushed in as a tidal wave, battering at him and he could feel the warm blood that coated his body, feel the saw scrape and cut away at the bones in his leg, and he could remember everything, the sword piercing through his stomach, and then another cutting through his leg. The crash when he hit the palace floor and a dead Guardsmen crumpled atop of his leg. Then there was the abyss, floating within it, unable to discern the frantic shouts and clamour of steel that assailed his ears. Then slowly that too had faded, until there was a silence that seemed to stretch for an eternity. Then a scream, and more silence, and now he was here. Captain Kálmán Lázár opened his eyes.
A grubby looking man in the black robe of a priest was standing over him, his eyes looking away towards Lázár’s legs, but he turned his head back and their eyes met and the man gave a visible start.
“He’s awake!”
The sawing stopped, but the dull pain persisted. Lázár couldn’t move his head to see who the other man was, and only saw a hand stretch forward and pass an object to the priest standing above him.
“Put this in his mouth. Welcome back to the land of the living, Captain.”
The bit of wood was forced into his mouth but it was hardly necessary. The grating and scraping of a saw against bone continued again.
“Gábor.” Lázár strained the name out, his tongue not properly working, but the priests understood well enough what he was asking.
“Dead; killed by one of your men. Not sure what will happen now.”
The faintest whisper of a smile showed on Lázár’s face before he again slipped into the abyss.
-------------------------------------------------
General Lorand Bocskai had heard the news, as had everyone in the city now. Gábor, the Emperor or the Usurper, was dead; and with him died all purpose of continued fighting.
He trotted along within the city’s streets, a retinue of senior officers behind him. Officers from his regiments, officers he could trust. He would need them too, for he picked his way through the streets towards the city’s eastern wall.
General Bethlen commanded the forces at the breach, and Bocskai knew the man would continue fighting even if the stars themselves started falling from the sky and so he made his way with his loyal officers the take command of the forces and surrender the city to the Army de Mihály.
They rounded a corner to find two riders trotting towards them, the leading one who spurred forward and made a hasty salute.
“Messenger from Carpathia, sir.” The first man gestured to the one behind, who Bocskai gestured to speak.
“General Alvinczy has defeated the Army de Koloszvár, sir. They’ve routed and Alvinczy has General Dávid Apafi in custody.”
Bocskai mulled over the news. It would have been splendid news if Gábor still lived, and even better if Bocskai didn’t hate the man, but as it were it could unravel everything.
“Who have you told of this?” Luckily the officers behind him had been out of earshot, or else the news would undoubtedly spread within minutes across the damn city.
“Nobody, sir. You’re the first officer I’ve met since entering the city.”
“Good. Tell nobody of this, you understand?”
“Sir?”
Bocskai narrowed his eyes at the messenger.
“Yes, sir.”
Bocskai nodded, and trotted his horse past the messenger, picking his way through the streets until he was nearby the breached wall. He waved his officers forward, who dismounted and insterted themselves among the defenders. Outside the walls, a steady drumming signaled the fast approach of the Army de Mihály’s third assault on the wall.
Once the officers were in place Bocskai stood up in his stirrups and shouted to the defenders above.
“Soldiers of the Empire! Our beloved Emperor is dead, there is no reason to continue fighting your own brothers! Lay down your arms, that is an order!” The dull crescendo of voices speaking hastily with one another sounded not unlike a bee hive stirred to action, before another voice pierced over that buzzing.
“Who said that!” The figure of General Samuel Bethlen appeared atop the walls and he glared down at Bocskai. “Bocskai! You were relieved of your post, these men do not follow your orders. They are mine to command!” There were a few sharp shouts of protests among soldiers loyal to Bocskai but they were hushed. An uneasy silence fell over the crowd; the steady beat of drums outside the walls the only thing audible.
“What do you fight for, Bethlen?” There was no real answer that would satisfy anyone, which was precisely why Bocskai had posed the question.
Bethlen looked down on the figure of Bocskai and spat before turning his back on him. “Back to your posts!”
Bocskai could see that most would not willingly surrender, and he had known that from the beginning, and so he clenched his fist and raised it, the signal to one of this officers above.
A deep voice bellowed out from near the breach, a parade voice that shouted orders to the soldiers of the 1st of Banat, who spun round muskets held horizontal on their hands and began forcing soldiers of the other regiments from the breach. At the entrance of the breach another soldiers ran forward and waved a white flag frantically at the approaching Army de Mihály, who upon seeing it gave a cheer and rushed forward.
The first shots were fired, the smoke swallowed within the crowd and like a string of dominoes the sharp cracks and puffs of smoke grew in volume until the breach was wreathed with the smell of gunpowder burning and bodies began toppling off the walls.
Bethlen was at the top, and Bocskai watched as he waved his sword at his soldiers who had started to flee and smacked them with its flat side. He was struck in the arm and fell, engulfed within the mass of soldiers pushing and shoving along the wall.
Finally, as the first soldiers from the Army de Mihály poured in through the now undefended breach the surrenders started, and soldiers threw down their arms or fled and hid within houses hoping to escape the slaughter they expected, but that slaughter did not come as the gate was opened and General Leopold Apafi entered the city, his soldiers maintaining impeccable discipline under the watchful eyes of their general.
Bocskai did not resist as his hands were tied behind his back, and nor did the unconscious Bethlen, or any senior officers for that matter. The Civil War was over, for all intents and purposes. As the Army de Mihály steadily crept within the city, the defenders laid down their arms, even the most diehard resistors persuaded to do so by their superior officers.
Finally, once order was established the soldiers of the Army de Mihály were paraded out into the city’s main square where a gallows had been hastily constructed, and a number of high ranking prisoners were brought out, including General Samuel Bethlen. Bocskai was pardoned by General Leopold, though it was a token pardon as it needed the consent of the Emperor (of which there currently was not one), or failing that the Internal Government, but it would save Bocskai’s life for a little while at the least.
As the prisoners were led to in front of their allotted ropes they were read out of long list of their crimes, foremost among them High Treason against the lawful and rightful heir and future Emperor of Transylvania, as well as sedition, espionage, murder, and a host of other minor crimes. There was only a single protest from one of the officers, a colonel from the 7th of Bulgaria who insisted he had nothing to do with any of that and was merely walking by the capital city with his regiment when he was hastily conscripted into its defense. There would be no escape for them, however, and on February 11th, 1635 the wagon was rolled away and the officers who had supported Gábor’s couped and the subsequent civil war were executed in Koloszvár’s city square.
The execution of General Samuel Bethlen and his subordinates, February 11th, 1635
The Empire would take some time to pick itself up from the disaster of the civil war, and it wasn’t until March 11th that it actually officially ended, when Samuel Alvinczy finally surrendered with the Army de Janos and released General Leopold’s brother from his custody. A treaty was signed by both General Alvinczy and Bocskai (who had both been officially pardoned by the internal government), as well as a few other prominent surviving members of Gábor’s faction on the same day. Captain Kálmán Lázár was even present at the signing, able to somewhat move around on his one leg with the assistance of crutches.
The signing of the Treaty of Transylvania, bringing the Second Transylvanian Civil War to an official end
Something else rather remarkable happened on March 11th, 1635, as well. By ruling of the Internal Government and with the assent of the sort of defacto regent General Leopold Apafi the bastard heir of Ákos, Mihály II was crowned Emperor of all Transylvania, King of Georgia, Milan, and Lithuania; all at the age of eight years old.
Mihály II ‘The Bastard’ Plater is crowned Emperor of Transylvania, March 11th, 1635
But there were still divisions within the Empire, as there was a huge amount of discontent over the handling of the civil war, and the legitimate concerns of having an illegitimate child sitting upon the throne of Transylvania were still present, and in an effort to squelched the flames of even more unrest, the heir of the Empire was named. The boy was only a year younger than the current Emperor, but was of pure blood, and of the Plater dynasty; it was the son of Gábor that was named heir to the throne.
