Jan Zizka, ~ 1360 - 1424. EP 02 of 03. Earliest Code of War. Zizka Ends an Apocalyptic Crusade against Heretic Hussites. Second Eye Blinded by Arrow.

Thanks for tuning in to today's episode of History's Greatest Battles. As always, if you know somebody that would enjoy this genre of history, please share the podcast with them. Today is continuation of our experimental episode on the life and battlefield times of Jan Žižka.  is episode two of a three part experimental series. As we approach the end of  season one, which will end at about 85 or 90 episodes, we're gonna move on to season two, whereas yesterday I mentioned that I have a series of topics to cover. Roughly 50 fascinating sieges, a dozen or so deep dives like today's episode on incredible military commanders throughout history, And individual stories of heroism on the battlefield.

And so in an attempt to figure out what would be most fascinating, I'm doing this experimental three part series, deep diving into the life and battlefield times of Jan Žižka. If you haven't listened to episode one yet, please go back and start there, unless, of course, you'd prefer to start midway in the story. 

Let's now experience the life and times of Jan Zizka

 Welcome to History's Greatest Battles, experimental episode of Season 2, Episode One: The life and times of Jan Zizka: Birth, guessed at around 1360 Common Era, to his death in 1424. 

Jan Zizka was a relentless warrior who defied every convention of his time. Born in a Bohemian village, he rose from the ranks of minor nobility to become the most feared general in central Europe. Fighting without sight in one eye, and later completely blind, Zhizhka led his peasant army against the might of the Holy Roman Empire and the Catholic Church, commanding with a precision and brutality that shattered the knights’ traditional dominance. His brilliance lay in his unbreakable discipline, iron-willed strategy, and mastery of the wagenburg, his mobile fortress of fortified wagons and firepower that turned common men into deadly soldiers. Even his enemies feared him as a military genius who never lost a battle. Zizka’s life was a testament to raw resilience and tactical supremacy, his legacy a reminder that true strength lies in the unyielding will to fight for what one believes is right, no matter the odds.

If you missed yesterday's episode, here is a brief overview:

Jan Zizka’s early life remains shrouded in mystery, yet his ascent as a military leader during the Hussite Wars positioned him as a formidable figure in medieval warfare. Born into a modestly noble Bohemian family, Zizka’s trajectory shifted following the religious and nationalist stirrings led by reformer Jan Hus, who defied the Catholic Church’s authority. After Hus’s execution in 1415, tensions in Bohemia intensified, driving Zizka and other radical Hussites to form a determined military resistance against royal and church authorities. When Pope Martin V issued a crusade against the Hussites in 1420, Zizka rapidly distinguished himself by developing a unique mobile defensive strategy centered around wagenburg (wagon fort) formations. These war wagons, fortified and armed with crossbowmen, hand gunners, and the early use of cannon, proved especially effective against heavily armored royalist cavalry. His force’s discipline and Zizka’s innovative tactics challenged the cavalry-dominated norms of European combat, leading to decisive victories that cemented his leadership and turned the Hussite cause into a symbol of Bohemian resilience.

Zizka’s adaptive approach to warfare, leveraging the terrain, religious zeal, and skills of a largely peasant force, allowed him to hold against numerically superior opponents. At the Battle of Sudomer and later engagements, he capitalized on the Hussites’ use of gunpowder weapons, creating a significant psychological and tactical advantage that disrupted the traditional battlefield power dynamics. His methods reflected an early form of combined arms strategy, integrating missile troops, infantry, and fortified mobile positions in a coordinated defense. Zizka’s emphasis on maneuverable fortifications and close-range firepower ultimately redefined medieval siege and field warfare. His legacy endures in military history as a pioneer of innovative defensive tactics, underscoring the profound impact of adaptable strategies and resourceful command on the battlefield.

The soldiers got a taste of real combat early on when Zizka led a dawn assault on the nearby town of Vozice. Nicholas Divoky, one of Zizka’s foes from Sudomer, held the town and its castle. The surprise attack drove the defenders into the castle, allowing Zizka’s men to seize horses, weapons, and prisoners, whom they later exchanged for thirty captured Taborites. This raid gave Zizka the core of a cavalry unit, capable of counterattacks in battle and reconnaissance on the march.

On May 16, news came of a royalist threat in Prague, and within 48 hours, Zizka had his army on the march. Leading a force of 9,000 strong—5,000 infantry, a few hundred cavalry, and a column of war and supply wagons—Zizka set his sights on Prague. They covered fifty miles on their first day, clashing with a 400-strong royalist cavalry force at Benesov, which they drove off in short order.

South of Prague, the Hussites met a three-pronged royalist force numbering 13,000, bearing down on them near the village of Porci. Zizka set up his wagenburg on a hill and repelled the assault, inflicting around fifty casualties. It was enough to convince the Italian mercenary commander to order a retreat. On May 21, the Hussite force marched triumphantly into Prague.

Zizka wasted no time fortifying the southern moat facing Vysehrad Fort and launching a siege against Hradcany Castle. Sigismund, stationed in Kutná Hora, appeared frozen with indecision. He only feinted at Prague, just enough to divert Zizka while he slipped supply wagons into Hradcany Castle, but he wouldn’t commit to a fight.

At last, Zizka abandoned the siege and focused on bolstering Prague’s defenses. Meanwhile, Sigismund, having failed to take both Tabor and Hradec Krolové, set his sights on Prague again in mid-July 1420. Recognizing the threat of a siege, Zizka knew he had to secure the last open road to Prague—the route eastward over Vitkov Hill, overlooking the Vltava’s south bank. He commanded the hilltop to be fortified at once.

Sigismund’s massive force—80,000 strong—arrived from across the empire, warriors from thirty-three principalities and nearly every corner of Europe, save Scandinavia. His army fielded more infantry than cavalry—around 45,000 foot soldiers to 35,000 mounted—and the majority were hired mercenaries. Sigismund’s army camped on the northern heights above the Vltava, dominating the Old Town. With Vysehrad and the Lesser Town also in royalist hands, the Hussites found themselves nearly encircled.

Vitkov Hill’s slopes were stripped of cover. At its western ridge stood an ancient watchtower. Zizka had the watchtower reinforced and a rampart-backed ditch carved across the hundred-yard hilltop, with towers anchoring each end of the embankment. Each flanking position could hold no more than 30 men, but Zizka was confident he’d have time to reinforce before the enemy attack began. He miscalculated. Sigismund had planned a two-pronged diversion. On July 14, one force struck from Hradcany, clashing at the Charles Bridge, while a second swept out of Vysehrad to hit Prague’s southern flank.

Once both diversions were in motion, Sigismund deployed 7,000 to 8,000 cavalry across the eastern bend of the Vltava, where the river curved north. From there, they could storm Vitkov Hill along a gentler slope, with orders to charge straight for the ridgeline. The cavalry weren’t spotted until they’d crossed the river, and Zizka scrambled to send reinforcements to the hilltop. Until help arrived, the small band of defenders braced behind their parapet, prepared to hold out no matter the cost. The terrain played to the Hussites’ advantage, funneling the attackers into a narrow path just as the dike had done at Sudomer.

Thousands of cavalry could only advance in tight ranks, cramming their assault into a hundred-yard front. The ditch slowed their momentum, forcing some knights to dismount and slog through on foot. From behind their parapets, the unarmored Hussite peasants used their agility to strike with flails, while archers rained arrows from the towers. Zizka himself led a small detachment to the hill’s western end, bringing much-needed relief to his embattled troops. At the same time, he dispatched a larger force of Taborites and Prague soldiers up the road to the east, with orders to strike at the enemy’s exposed flank.

Heymann captures Zizka’s intervention: “Seeing the crisis unfold, he plunged into the fight himself, determined to hold the last bulwark with his small force, no matter the risk to his life. Between his arrival and the reinforcements, only a short time passed, but it was the pivotal moment of both military and morale.” The enemy, fixated on Zizka’s position, was blindsided by the flank assault.

It was a classic Taborite advance—led by a priest bearing the host, followed by archers, with peasants in the rear wielding flails and spiked weapons. The knights, caught off guard, broke formation, fleeing down the steep hillside. In their frantic retreat, they may have suffered greater losses than in the clash itself—up to 500 men. A reserve force of Hussites charged out from the Porcini Gate, chasing the imperial troops across Hospital Field. Though the royalists mounted no further attacks, Zizka still reinforced the defenses.

Zizka had fortified Vitkov Hill well in advance, strengthening old defenses and building new ones. But he had underestimated the need for security; the imperial forces hit with alarming speed, catching an undermanned garrison off guard and forcing them to defend with minimal support. Fortunately, the defenses held firm, and the rugged terrain favored the defenders.

With an unbreakable resolve, Zizka struck back, drawing enough reinforcements to pin down the attackers and secure his lines. Though the pace of battle was beyond his control, his counterpunch held the enemy in place. As the clash continued along the western ridge, few saw the flanking force maneuvering into position. Hidden by the slope, safely out of sight of the royalist camp, their advance was perfectly concealed.

The surprise assault was decisive, leveling the imbalance in numbers. With a mere 3,000, Zizka’s men unleashed a counterattack that shattered the royalist ranks. Pursuing them further would have been madness; it would have meant chasing retreating troops across the Vltava and straight into the imperial camp. Though Sigismund’s losses were small, the impact was enough to spark discontent and lead to the first wave of desertions. The scorching summer heat and outbreaks of disease tore through Sigismund’s ranks, further eroding morale.

With Sigismund paralyzed by indecision, rumors spread like wildfire through the camp, with whispers that he was in league with the Hussites. Watching his army unravel, Sigismund turned to politics. He retreated to Hradčany Castle, where he had himself crowned King of Bohemia at St. Vitus Cathedral. But it was a hollow ceremony; he had envisioned triumph, crowned by a decisive victory. Abandoning the siege, he withdrew his remaining 16,000 troops to Kutná Hora, determined to secure the silver mines if he could hold nothing else.

Though practical, these actions paled next to the staggering morale boost the Hussites gained by holding their ground in Prague and forcing Sigismund’s retreat. The fierce reputation of Zizka and his followers would prove decisive in the next three crusades launched in the coming years. One crusading force barely set foot in Bohemia before the sound of Hussite soldiers singing Zizka’s war songs drove them back in terror without a single clash.

Among Bohemia’s poorest, Hus’s teachings sparked radical visions—beliefs that a fully equal society would usher in Christ’s return. The middle class and lesser nobles resisted these ideas, more for economic reasons than for spiritual ones. Zizka, himself from the burgher class, relied heavily on city support. Those who rallied behind the most radical priests soon found themselves beaten back, their uprisings crushed. While some survivors drifted to fringe settlements, the majority—peasants and townsfolk alike—saw that any hope of real change lay in following Zizka.

In early 1421, Sigismund pulled his forces out of Bohemia, retreating to Germany. This withdrawal bought the Hussites time to handle internal conflicts and marked the end of the first crusade against them. With the crusaders gone, the Hussites seized the chance to expand their influence. They attacked town after town, sometimes laying siege for days, sometimes for months. During one of these sieges, Zizka took a critical wound. Leading the charge against the town of Rabi, near the Hussite city of Tachov, he was struck in the face by an arrow. The arrow cost him his remaining eye and nearly his life. But after weeks of recovery in Prague, he emerged with his health restored, though now completely blind.

Yet blindness proved no hindrance—Zizka went on to lead some of his most formidable battles and campaigns without sight. His reputation alone could have sustained him, but his skill as a leader remained as sharp as ever. By late July, Zizka’s name alone struck fear across the land. Even so, German forces from Meissen managed to cross the border and lift the Hussite siege of Most. In August, the Hussite forces in Prague regrouped under Zizka’s command and marched to confront the advancing vanguard of the second crusade.

Upon hearing that Zizka himself was marching toward them, still recovering from his wounds, the German forces chose to retreat rather than meet him in battle. The second crusade was even larger than the first, with estimates between 120,000 and 200,000. The crusaders came with brutal orders: to spare only young children among the Czechs. The first crusading force moved east from the Upper Palatinate, passing through Cheb en route to the Hussite stronghold of Zatec.

Another force struck from Meissen in a three-pronged advance, seizing towns northwest of Prague before merging with the main army. Zatec quickly came under siege but repelled six major assaults. Morale among the crusaders crumbled from repeated failures and Hussite counterattacks—and worsened further on October 2, when word came that Zizka’s forces were closing in. This news was all it took for the Germans to abandon their siege and retreat. Adding to their misfortunes, a fire erupted in their tent city just as they prepared to withdraw.

The Hussite defenders seized the moment, launching a sortie that left heavy casualties in their wake—around 2,000 crusaders lay dead. This stinging defeat struck before Sigismund’s forces even entered the field, casting a grim shadow over the second crusade. A third southern offensive kept Zizka occupied through the autumn of 1421.

Meanwhile, Sigismund was finally mobilizing his offensive. A Hungarian force of 60,000 troops, with 23,000 cavalry, advanced into Moravia under the command of Philip Scolari—better known as Pipo Spano, the Italian mercenary general. Sigismund joined Spano in late October at Jihlava, near the Moravian-Bohemian border. But instead of pressing on to retake Kutná Hora and its valuable mint, Sigismund’s old habit of hesitating took hold—he waited for additional reinforcements.

This delay allowed Zizka’s 12,000-strong force to reach Kutná Hora first, arriving on December 9 and fortifying the city’s defenses. As the 50,000-strong imperial army neared, Zizka formed his wagenburg before the city walls, creating a line long enough to guard both western roads leading into Kutná Hora. Scolari, commanding the operation, arranged his cavalry in a thin line opposite Zizka’s wagons and launched attack after attack throughout the day. The Hussite cannons cut down their ranks, yet the relentless assault held the Hussites’ attention to the west.

Scolari and Sigismund, knowing Kutná Hora’s German-speaking citizens leaned pro-imperial, had secretly reached out to their leaders. While the battle roared beyond the walls, an imperial cavalry unit maneuvered south and reached the Malesov gate. Their conspirators within opened it for them. The small garrison Zizka had stationed inside was swiftly overrun, leaving the Hussites trapped and surrounded.

Zizka now faced the gravest threat of his career. But his unbreakable resolve and tactical mind never wavered. At dawn, Zizka conceived a daring plan: a surprise assault on Sigismund’s own headquarters. Before first light on December 22, Zizka lined up his wagons and unleashed cannon fire directly at Sigismund’s command post. The sudden roar of gunfire in the dark sent shockwaves through the imperial camp, throwing Sigismund’s men into chaos—just as Zizka intended. The bombardment tore open a path through their lines, giving the Hussites a way to escape.

By dawn, the Hussite wagons had vanished, safely positioned on a hill about a mile away, where Zizka set up in case of a pursuit that never materialized. Confident the coast was clear, Zizka marched his forces to Kolin, where he spent the next two weeks rallying reinforcements from the surrounding region. Meanwhile, Sigismund, believing the Hussites were in full retreat, settled himself comfortably in Kutná Hora, assuming he’d have peace until spring.

With too many troops to house in Kutná Hora, he scattered them in nearby villages, especially around Čáslav, a Hussite stronghold to the east, and Nebovidy, midway to Kolin, as a protective buffer. Zizka seized the moment. On January 6, he struck the imperial troops at Nebovidy, catching them completely off guard.

Though the specifics of these battles are sparse, the outcome is clear: the Hussites attacked, and the imperial troops crumbled. A nineteenth-century account describes Zizka’s tactics as “like a thunderbolt,” with hundreds of Hungarians falling in the first assault and panic sweeping from village to village.

The crusaders fled back toward Kutná Hora, spreading panic that even reached Sigismund. Desperate, he pleaded with the German town elders to defend Kutná Hora against Zizka’s advancing forces. When they hesitated, he ordered the city set ablaze rather than let it fall into Hussite control. Kutná Hora’s citizens were hurried out of the town with little warning, as a Hungarian cavalry unit stayed behind to ignite the flames. However, the pursuit pressed so close and the remaining soldiers were so intent on looting that few fires were set, and those were quickly extinguished.

Sigismund decided to make a stand a few miles southwest at Habry, despite his advisors, including Scolari, warning that his troops were too shaken to hold their ground. When Zizka’s Hussites attacked, the defenders broke in a complete rout, abandoning all but their weapons in their mad dash to escape. Sigismund himself fled for Jihlava on the Moravian border, crossing the Sázava River far ahead of his own troops. Some tried to make a stand, but Zizka’s relentless pursuit drove them across the partially frozen river, where the breaking ice claimed an estimated 548 knights.

Zizka’s artillery made quick work of the town’s defenses. When an attempted surrender failed after a Hussite patrol breached a weak section of the wall, fighting broke out once more. The aftermath of this victory and the ensuing pillaging prompted Zizka to issue one of history’s earliest codes of conduct for soldiers in and out of combat, creating a discipline rare in medieval warfare.

The combat between January 6 and January 9, 1422, resulted in at least 4,500 imperial casualties, with Hussite losses believed to be minimal. This campaign, from Kutná Hora to Německý Brod, showcased Zizka’s mastery in both offense and defense. Even in the face of betrayal, Zizka focused his power against Sigismund’s headquarters, unleashing both physical and psychological force to secure his escape. His January 6 offensive embodied the principles of surprise, concentrated force, control of tempo, and audacity—an astonishing feat for a blind general leading troops across winter-ravaged terrain.

This campaign also marked a strategic victory for the Hussites, ending the second crusade and so thoroughly disheartening Sigismund that he avoided Bohemia for years. By remaining in Hungary and leaving the conduct of future crusades to German princes, Sigismund spared Bohemia the threat of a two-front war. Zizka’s reputation, and that of his fiercely loyal followers, would become a powerful deterrent in the three crusades that followed over the coming years.

One crusading army barely crossed into Bohemia before the sound of Hussite soldiers singing Zizka’s war songs drove them back without a fight. Historian Hans Delbrück notes, “Once the warlike character had gained the upper hand and had become completely dominant, the Hussites were preceded by a wave of fear so that the Germans dispersed before them whenever they simply heard their battle song from afar.”

Despite their formidable resilience against external foes, it was internal divisions that ultimately undermined the Hussite cause.