History's Greatest Battles
The battles that made us -- a detailed, entertaining, and tangent-free program about history's greatest battles. In this program, we embark on a journey through the constancy of human conflict, where the fates of nations and the course of history have been decided on the battlefield. This program delves into our world-history's most significant and seminal battles, exploring not just the events themselves but their profound impact on the world timeline we live in today. Each episode is meticulously crafted by ardent and dedicated history fans with a passion for military history and an appreciation for the art of storytelling. Join us as we unravel the strategies, heroics, and consequences that have shaped civilizations and forged the destiny of entire continents.
History's Greatest Battles
The Battle of Lechfeld, 955 AD Magyar Horde Defeated by United Germanic Forces
The crushing defeat of the Magyars marked the end of over 90 years of terror that had haunted Western Europe. The survivors, their dreams of conquest shattered and their ferocity tamed, abandoned their nomadic ways. In the ashes of their once-feared horde, they forged a new destiny, planting the seeds that would grow into the nation of Hungary.
Lechfeld. 9 August, 955 AD.
Germanic Forces: ~ 10,000 Bavarian, Franconian, Saxon, Swabian, and Bohemian men.
Magyar Forces: ~ 50,000 Warriors.
Additional Reading and Research:
- Markov, Walter. Battles of World History.
- Vambery, Arminius. Hungary in Ancient, Medieval, and Modern Times.
- Balasz, Gyorgy. The Magyars: The Birth of a European Nation.
Note from Themistocles, the Narrator: I attempt to use native pronunciation to my best abilities. I apologize in advance for all mispronunciations in all episodes.
Welcome to History's Greatest Battles. Season One, Episode Nine. The Battle of Lechfeld, 9th of August, 955 Modern Era. German Forces estimated at 10,000 men. Magyar forces estimated at 50,000 men.
The crushing defeat of the Magyars marked the end of over 90 years of terror that had haunted Western Europe. The survivors, their dreams of conquest shattered and their ferocity tamed, abandoned their nomadic ways. In the ashes of their once-feared horde, they forged a new destiny, planting the seeds that would grow into the nation of Hungary.
Though myths whisper of a mysterious Middle Eastern ancestry, the true roots of the Magyars lie in the Finn-Ugric bloodline, interwoven with the fierce Turco-Tartar strands that add complexity to their heritage. For countless generations, the Magyars roamed the windswept expanses of Central Asia, honing their skills as nomadic warriors. But the call of the west grew irresistible, leading them across the monumental barriers of the Ural, Volga, Don, Dnieper, and finally, the majestic Danube. As they pressed westward, the Magyars clashed with the hardened tribes that stood in their path—the Bulgars, Khazars, and Petchenegs—each encounter a brutal test of their endurance and martial prowess, which they passed with deadly efficiency. Ultimately, it was the relentless pressure from the Petchenegs and Bulgars that forced the Magyars to abandon the steppes, propelling them headlong into the heart of Europe.
Upon their arrival in Eastern Europe, the Magyars encountered the might of the Byzantine Empire, which swiftly recognized their martial talents and enlisted them as mercenaries, sowing the first seeds of Christianity in their ranks. Germanic kings, too, sought their lethal expertise, drawing them into their conflicts with the Slavic peoples. By the ninth century A.D., the Magyars, led by the indomitable Arpad, had firmly established themselves in Central Europe, a region that would soon tremble under their control. Under Arpad’s command, a formidable host of 150,000 warriors surged into the Hungarian plain. There, they vanquished the Slavs and Alans, seizing the fertile land as their own and transforming it into a launching pad for audacious raids deep into German and Italian territories. The Magyars laid down roots in this region, becoming its permanent masters and reshaping its destiny.
In 899, Arpad’s warriors boldly ventured into Italy, reaching the illustrious cities of Milan and Pavia. Yet, rather than through force of arms, it was the weight of gold that ultimately persuaded them to withdraw. The Magyars fought with a ferocity reminiscent of the Huns, their swift, unpredictable raids prefiguring the devastation that the Mongols would later unleash upon Europe. Masters of mobility, the Magyars relied on their nimble light cavalry and skilled archers, striking from a distance to wear down their enemies. Only when the foe was weary and disorganized would they close in to deliver the fatal blow. In contrast to their Hunnish kin, the Magyars wielded straighter bows, a subtle yet significant divergence from the traditional curved designs of the steppe. Their arsenal also included slightly curved swords, a fearsome weapon adopted from the Alans, alongside the heavy maces they wielded with devastating effect in close combat.
The nascent heavy cavalry of Western Europe initially struggled against the elusive Magyars. However, as the western knights began to integrate Eastern strategies into their own, they gradually found ways to counter this formidable foe. For a time, the Magyars played a shrewd game of alliances, forging pacts with Germanic principalities while accepting bribes to direct their wrath away from one region and toward another. But by 907, the Magyar threat had grown so grave that the Germanic nobles, once bitter rivals, were compelled to unite in a desperate bid to protect their lands. Luitpold of Bavaria, joining forces with Ditmar, the Archbishop of Salzburg, sought to halt the Magyar advance. Yet, at the fateful Battle of Presburg, their combined efforts crumbled under the relentless Magyar onslaught.
Throughout the 920s, the Magyars unleashed a torrent of destruction, sweeping across Europe from the lush vineyards of Champagne to the rugged heights of the Pyrenees, and once more plunging into the heart of northern Italy. The Magyars, like the Vikings from the north, cast a long shadow of terror over Europe. But the tide began to turn as the Germanic nobles, battered yet unbowed, learned to stand against these marauding invaders. In 933, Henry the Fowler, Saxony’s stalwart king, dealt a crippling blow to the Magyar horde at Merseburg, where 36,000 Magyar warriors met their end in a brutal clash that would be sung of for generations. In the wake of this triumph, Henry and his heirs embarked on a campaign to fortify the frontier, a strategic move that curtailed the Magyar incursions. Meanwhile, the Bavarians, emboldened by Henry’s victory, took the fight to the Magyars, launching raids deep into their territory.
Upon Henry’s death, the Saxon throne passed to his son Otto, a formidable leader in his own right, born of Henry’s second marriage—a ruler destined to leave an indelible mark on European history. In the early years of his reign, Otto found himself embroiled in a relentless struggle to quell internal rebellions, all while contending with the persistent threat of the Magyar scourge on his borders. Even by 954, Otto was still locked in battle against defiant vassals within his realm, unaware that the Magyars, ever watchful, were marshaling their forces for a grand and devastating invasion into Western Europe.
As early as 925, the Magyars had forged a strategic alliance with Hugh of Provence, lending their might to his campaigns against rival Italian rulers and even the formidable Moslem kingdom of Cordoba, whose ambitions threatened to spill beyond the Pyrenees. By 954, the cunning Magyars had persuaded Hugh to grant them unfettered passage through his domain in southwestern France, a decision that would have grave consequences for the lands beyond. Commanding a fearsome force numbering between 50,000 and 100,000, the Magyars unleashed a whirlwind of destruction, sweeping through Bavaria and cutting a swath across central France, reaching the very borders of Aquitaine. This bold Magyar incursion only served to fortify Otto’s appeals to the German nobility, galvanizing them to unite under his banner in a desperate struggle against their common enemy.
After crushing an insurrection led by Conrad of Franconia, Otto swiftly assembled an army in the late summer of 954, but the elusive Magyars proved frustratingly difficult to pin down, evading his forces with their customary agility. Undeterred, the Magyars struck again in 955, sweeping into southern Germany with the confidence of a force that had so often triumphed on these very lands. The Magyar war machine was commanded by two formidable leaders: Bulcsú, who held the title of harka and led with civil authority, and Lél, the gyula, whose iron hand guided their military campaigns with ruthless precision. Their strategy appeared clear: to decisively crush the Germanic princes, securing the extensive frontiers that marked their adopted homeland, a vast territory stretching from the rugged mountains of Transylvania to the rolling plains of Austria.
Having already laid waste to a broad buffer zone encircling their domain—a scorched earth defense designed to thwart any would-be invaders—they were determined to maintain this desolation, ensuring that no neighboring power could curtail their relentless raids into Western Europe. The Magyars began this campaign with a move as unorthodox as it was bold. Eschewing their usual lightning-fast cavalry raids, they marched on the city of Augsburg, intent on laying it to siege—a stark departure from their typical hit-and-run tactics. On the 8th of August, they commenced the siege, but their plans were abruptly dashed when word reached them of Otto’s army advancing with grim determination, forcing them to abandon their efforts after a mere day. Retreating from Augsburg, the Magyars withdrew to the banks of the nearby Lech River, where they hastily established a fortified camp, bracing themselves for the clash that was sure to come.
Otto’s forces were a patchwork of warriors drawn from Bavaria, Saxony, Franconia, Swabia, and Bohemia—a diverse yet formidable coalition united by the urgent need to halt the Magyar tide. Setting up camp upriver from the Magyar encampment, Otto commanded his soldiers to fast and pray through the night, seeking divine favor and purification before the impending battle, a ritual as much to steady their nerves as to sanctify their cause. With the grim knowledge that their 10,000 men would face a Magyar force five times their number, it’s likely that few soldiers had the stomach to eat even if permitted, their anxiety a palpable presence in the still night air. As dawn broke, they gathered to celebrate mass, seeking solace in their faith before mounting their steeds and riding out to meet the Magyar host, their hearts steeled for the battle to come.
The German army, composed largely of heavy cavalry, banked on their sheer mass and the weight of their armor to crush the more numerous but lightly armed Magyars, counting on the momentum of their charge to tip the scales in their favor. Henry the Fowler had employed this very tactic to great effect in his triumph three decades earlier, and now Otto, following in his father’s footsteps, sought to replicate that decisive victory. Otto led his men across the rugged terrain, their march organized into a disciplined column with units arrayed by nationality, each contingent prepared to defend their homeland under his banner. At the head of this column rode the Bavarians, a vanguard of steadfast warriors, followed by the Franconians under Conrad, who had once rebelled but now fought loyally at Otto's side. Otto himself commanded the Saxons at the center, with the Swabians and Bohemian cavalry bringing up the rear, each ready to give their all in the coming struggle.
As Otto's forces advanced down the eastern bank of the Lech, they overlooked a crucial detail—a Magyar cavalry detachment moving stealthily along the western bank, poised to strike when least expected. This near-f
atal oversight brought Otto’s forces to the brink of disaster. Seizing the moment, the nimble Magyar horsemen forded the river and swooped down on the unsuspecting Bohemians at the rear, who were charged with guarding the army’s precious baggage train. The suddenness of the assault threw the Bohemians into disarray, their ranks scattering in panic. The Swabians, stationed just ahead, soon followed suit, their discipline crumbling in the face of the Magyar onslaught. Surrounded and outnumbered, Otto's army seemed on the verge of annihilation, trapped between two converging Magyar forces. Yet, by a stroke of fortune—or divine intervention—poor coordination between the Magyar flanking force and their main body spared Otto's army from total destruction.
The Magyars themselves unwittingly aided Otto, as they broke off their attack to plunder the tempting riches of the baggage train—a momentary lapse in discipline that would prove their undoing. It was a mistake as old as warfare itself, one that had cost countless armies their victories throughout history, yet a lesson rarely learned amid the chaos of battle. Seizing the opportunity, Otto swiftly ordered Conrad’s Franconians to wheel around to the rear. They fell upon the dismounted Magyar looters with brutal efficiency, cutting them down before they could react. Those Magyars who survived the onslaught fled in haste, clutching whatever spoils they could carry, abandoning their prisoners to the advancing Franconians. With his rear now secure, Otto reformed his army from a vulnerable column into a formidable battle line, turning to face the full might of the Magyar host.
The knights, disciplined and resolute, spurred their mounts forward in a well-ordered charge, a wave of iron and muscle bearing down upon the advancing Magyar ranks. As the two armies thundered towards their inevitable clash, Otto is said to have roared to his men, "They outnumber us, I grant you, but they are our inferiors in both arms and valor. And we know this: God does not stand with them, which alone gives us strength beyond measure" (Guttman, "Survival of the Strong"). Though these words echo like the echoes of a battlefield legend, they capture the defiant spirit that infused Otto’s ranks as they faced their fearsome foe. As the armies surged closer, the Magyars unleashed a deadly volley of arrows, but the German knights, shields held high, deflected the lethal rain, pressing on undeterred. The Germans closed the distance with frightening speed, crashing into the Magyar lines before they could unleash another deadly volley.
Just as Otto had anticipated, the sheer weight and cohesion of his line proved overwhelming. The lightly armed Magyars began to give ground, their lines buckling under the relentless pressure. In a final, desperate gambit, Lél ordered a feigned retreat, hoping to lure the Germans into a disordered chase. But the Germans, disciplined and wary, held their ranks, rendering the Magyar ploy useless. As panic took hold, the Magyars broke and fled, but the Lech River cut off their escape. Many were swept away by the unforgiving current, drowning as the German knights closed in. Some sought refuge in nearby villages, but the locals, whether out of fear or loyalty to Otto, either overpowered the fleeing Magyars or betrayed their hiding places to the German soldiers hunting for prisoners. For two relentless days, Otto's forces scoured the countryside, capturing every last Magyar survivor they could find.
Most met a grim fate, executed on the spot, while the few who were spared returned to their homeland, disfigured and maimed, their ears or noses cruelly severed as a permanent mark of their defeat. From the initial assault on the German rear to the decisive rout of the Magyar forces, the battle raged for ten brutal hours. This, combined with the relentless pursuit of stragglers, shattered the Magyar force almost entirely. Yet, far to the east, a larger army still stood, ready to defend their homeland. Otto, wise in victory, chose not to pursue an invasion. The crushing defeat had already broken the Magyars' will to fight. This catastrophic defeat marked a turning point for the Magyar people. Confronted with the reality of a strong and united Germany, they understood that their days of marauding were irrevocably over.
Unlike the Huns before them or the Mongols who would come after, the Magyars did not retreat to their eastern homelands. The leaders who emerged in the aftermath of Lechfeld were the descendants of the legendary Arpad. It was under their guidance that the Magyars forged the Kingdom of Hungary—a name derived from their ancient tribal confederation, the Onogur, or "Ten Arrows." Once steadfast animists, the Magyar people soon embraced Christianity, a transformation that welcomed them into the fold of European civilization. In Hungary, under the wise and steady leadership of Duke Geyza in the 970s, the Magyars transitioned to a more settled and sophisticated way of life. As Christianity supplanted their ancient Asiatic animism and totemic traditions, the Magyars began to exhibit a newfound tolerance and openness to the diverse cultures surrounding them.
King Stephen, who reigned from 997 to 1038, fiercely defended his homeland from the encroachments of the Holy Roman Empire. His steadfastness earned him recognition from the Pope, who granted him authority over a national church. Stephen’s reign saw the rise of monasteries and cathedrals throughout his kingdom, a pious endeavor that would earn him sainthood, his legacy forever enshrined in the annals of history. The Magyar language, resilient and proud, became the official tongue of Hungary, and to this day it endures. Yet, had the battle at Lechfeld ended differently, it might have echoed across much of Western Europe as well. Ironically, the very people who once terrorized the West would later become its stalwart defenders. In the sixteenth century, it was the Hungarians who stood as a bulwark against the Ottoman Turks, thwarting their attempts to capture Vienna and spread the Moslem faith deeper into Europe.
Otto’s triumph at Lechfeld did not go unnoticed. The Byzantines honored him with the title of "emperor," a distinction soon echoed by Pope John XII, who conferred upon him the same title in 962. In that same year, Otto journeyed to Rome, where he reaffirmed the Pope's temporal authority, much as Charlemagne had done nearly two centuries before. Yet, under Otto’s rule, this relationship took a new turn—the Pope, while powerful, was now expected to serve as a vassal to the Germanic king who bore the mantle of Holy Roman Emperor. Although the borders of the Holy Roman Empire would ebb and flow over the centuries, the title of emperor endured, its legacy lasting until 1806. Otto's resolve to dominate the papacy was unwavering. In 963, he deposed the defiant John XII and installed Leo VIII, a far more compliant figurehead.
Upon Leo's death in 965, Otto appointed John XIII as Pope, securing his place on the papal throne through a decisive military campaign that crushed all Roman opposition to his rule. The bond between emperor and pope was a fraught and tenuous one, with each side vying for supremacy over the other through the centuries. Nevertheless, the union of Germanic and Italian states forged a formidable power structure that would dominate Europe until the ascendancy of Spain in the sixteenth century. Though Germany would not achieve unification under a single ruler until 1871, it was Austria that emerged as the central power from which the Holy Roman Empire was governed, shaping the future of the European continent.