St. Mary’s Trumpet Call

Late night, the remains of the stars were extinguishing in the sky as the trumpeter from St. Mary’s Tower traversed the Krakow Market Square. Usually he was still asleep at this time, but today he had nightmares, and some bad premonition had him get up earlier and go to the station.
Times were restless, Tatar hordes ravaged Polish lands, burning cities and ruthlessly murdering people. The terror took over the inhabitants of Krakow. Recently, news about the desolation of Sandomierz came here, so it was feared that the Tatars would soon reach Krakow.
The trumpeter had unhappy thoughts as he climbed the winding stairs to the tower of St. Mary’s Church.

Finally standing on top, he took a deep breath and looked around closely. The gray of the sky slowly began to turn into a bright pink, the birds were still silent, and Krakow was still asleep. as far as the eye could see, there was undisturbed peace.”Thank God, thank God,” the trumpeter whispered and sat around the top of the tower, sat on a narrow bench. Soon he fell asleep, pressing his trumpet to his chest.
He dozed briefly; some noise made him open his eyes and jump to his feet. He went to the window, looked down and … numb.It was the Tatars who were approaching the city gates! He could see their hunched silhouettes clearly, as if they were overgrown with the backs of small, lively ponies. They were swarming, and new warriors kept coming to the city walls.

You need to wake up the inhabitants and warn them of the danger, the old man thought. – Let them take up arms, let them save themselves and the city!

He pressed the trumpet to his lips and played the bugle call with all his might, as loudly as he could. The sound of the trumpet flowed in the cool morning air over the roofs of churches and houses. He reached the ears of sleeping Cracovians. – What is happening? awakened people were surprised, rubbing sleepy eyes. “It’s not time yet!” –
But the melody of the bugle call did not stop for a moment, it was louder and more insistent. The trumpet’s voice heralded misfortune and called for battle. Krakowians have understood: it is the enemy who stands at the city gates! They rushed to the city walls breathlessly. And the time was already high because the Tatars were getting ready to storm it.

Who was alive, stood up for defense and soon a fierce battle for life and death began. Boiling water poured over the attackers and stones fell. Tartar arrows whistled in the air. The horse’s neighing mixed with the screams of people, the moans of the dying and wounded. A bugle call was still ringing over Krakow, warming people up to the fight, comforting and hoping them.
The Tatars quickly saw who warned the inhabitants and who gave them strength. Immediately, the best archers began to aim at the figure at the top of the tower. Shots flew, and one of them hit the old trumpeter’s throat.

Half a bugle call broke off and silence fell over the city. Someone climbed the tower but it was too late. The old trumpeter lay dead. The memory of his heroic deed is alive today.

In remembrance of this event, every day from the top of St. Mary’s Tower, an unfinished bugle call spreads out to four corners of the world, the same as the one that was interrupted by a Tartar arrow several hundred years ago.

Half a bugle call broke off and silence fell over the city. Someone climbed the tower but it was too late. The old trumpeter lay dead.

The memory of his heroic deed is alive today. In remembrance of this event, every day from the top of St. Mary’s Tower, an unfinished bugle call spreads out to four corners of the world, the same as the one that was interrupted by a Tartar arrow several hundred years ago.

The end.