Luzhinsky's Battles Extract 1- Copyright Robert fullarton 2016

Luzhinsky's Battles

Extract 1- Copyright Robert fullarton 2016

In a log cabin at the fringes of Gustavia there dwelt a man called Arnold “Iron leg” Luzhinsky, who was a retired, wounded, weary, former colonel and mercenary for the Austrian cavalry divisions, though he was thoroughly a Polish patriot in body and soul. His ancestors were of mixed, Polish, English and Saxon blood. His right leg had been shot through with an iron ball the “size of a fist” or so the story goes while fighting the Turkish army at the battle of Zenta. 

His right leg had been amputated and in its place there was an impressive, almost ornate iron leg, which had been handcrafted by a silversmith in the back streets of Prague. Neither light nor sound was extinguished for ten hours of fine labour, by a silversmith and an artisan. This was to be the perfect “memorial” of a war wound that acted as a reminder of how far he had come in these violent wars that shaped the power system of the Balkans. The features of a cavalry officer, the lance, the sabre, the shield and emblem were intricately shaped upon the iron leg, where the calf bore the symbol of the Habsburg eagle, with gold dust for the royal crown and in remembrance of his loyal days of service.

Luzhinsky towered above most men at a stature of 6 ft 5, with a fine mane of steel grey hair, he bore a faint resemblance of his former self, his tremendous sense of daring, adventure, athletic tone and presence had diminished in time. This was indeed Luzhinsky late autumn in life, where he had increased in weight and had become a fretful and insular in his isolated home.

In those days every village, every man, woman and child gave pledges of allegiance to the powers of the region, whether it was the king of the Habsburgs, the Holy Roman Emperor, the Doge of Venice or the Sultan of the Ottoman realm. A quiet simplicity could exist at times in the humdrum routines of the peasant with their rural and humble existence, however by the borders of the realm, fear and war fever could be stirred up to the advantage of the nobles, with militias formed, mercenaries banding from far and wide into the ranks of every army.

Luzhinsky had fled the family home to fight for the Polish armies commanded by King Jan III Sobieski for the urgent defence of Vienna. It was 1683, a turning point, the high water mark for Ottoman expansion and control over the Balkans and their plans to press further into the continent. Luzhinsky’s patriot zeal for Poland was welcomed in an army which possessed a good fighting spirit flying high in the marching columns of the soldiers. Steel plated Hussars, heavy cavalry divisions, rode beside the light cavalry, who wore fine Cavalier like costumes and gave command over the pike baring infantry men that marched ahead of them. Their were ball-bearing musketeers, men toiling over the movement of the cannons lugging them in near exhaustion over the hills. Speed was to be achieved for the sake of the defence and the treaty between the Polish crown and the Habsburg crown, honour was at stake here, but each man wanted glory as well, for the men too well that the armies of central Europe would be converging on the planes of Vienna, it was a matter of timing, hearsay of the German and Italian armies had to be clarified as a pincer movement and for the flanking of the enemy positions had to be achieved.

Onwards galloped the Hussars in check and in pace with the units of the light cavalry. The sun rose in the dark lands of southern Poland, and the Hussars, armoured and fierce as they were in their resolve were like unto angles on the last day of the Earth. The sky seemed to burn at the edges of the landscape, whose banners and colours blew in the breeze by the bearers of the army.