by Peter Darman
‘They are ready for your inspection, sire.’
Stark was roused from his morbid daydream by one of his earls, like him dressed in a knee-length mail corselet. And like his king he looked pale and drawn, the result of being harried from one end of Oesel to the other by marauding bands of Christian horsemen. Now the king’s army was camped in the north of the island and the men of iron had mercifully ceased their harrying, at least for the moment.
‘What are our scouts reporting?’ asked Stark.
‘That the men of iron have fallen back a few miles, sire.’
Stark had been standing on one of the limestone cliffs, a feature of Oesel’s northern coast along with long stretches of white sandy beaches where pine trees grew only a few paces from the water’s edge. The sea was a shimmering flat surface, a light breeze filling the sails of the fishing vessels bringing reinforcements from Hilu. He and the earl walked down the grassy slope towards the beach, in front of them a forest of tents stretched into the distance.
‘Are they armed?’
The miserable expression on the earl’s face gave him his answer.
‘Old men and boys?’ posed Stark.
The earl nodded. If the situation were not so serious it would be laughable. But desperate times called for daring measures and these were desperate times. Stark’s heart sank when he saw the latest batch of reinforcements.
‘Three hundred, sire,’ his earl informed him after one of his men had taken a tally.
The vast majority were boys around fourteen or younger, none wearing any armour or helmets and only a few clutching spears. They were wearing linen trousers, shirts and tunics, a few having woollen caps. All appeared to have a knife and some had hand axes tucked into their belts. A few were barefoot. The older ones, men in their fifties, sixties and even older, at least carried shields and wore helmets, though many showed signs of rust, having been stored away in sheds or under beds for many years. He stood before them as the earl called for quiet. He spoke the same words that he had told the others who had come from the islands.
‘The Blessed Isle has been invaded and violated by the enemies of our race. Many brave warriors have fallen trying to protect their families from the crusaders and their Estonian allies. I believe the gods have allowed this to happen to test our faith in them, to show the world that Oeselians will always destroy foreigners who set foot on the Blessed Isle.
‘While my brother holds Kuressaare I am assembling an army to destroy the Sword Brothers and their Estonian allies.’
He pointed beyond the beach. ‘That army is nearly ready to march and you will be marching with it. You will be taken to camp where you will be issued with weapons and shields. Always remember that the gods are with you and because of this you will not fail. You are fighting for the future survival of your families and your race. There can be no peace with the Sword Brothers or the Estonians, they are your mortal enemies who are pledged to enslave your womenfolk and conquer the Blessed Isle. Remember that.’
‘Dismissed,’ barked his earl.
They trudged off the beach, the youngsters looking nervously around at the strange surroundings. None would have left their island before, or indeed their village. But here they were, about to fight the men of iron in a battle that would decide the future of their people.
Oesel that summer was beautiful, as though the gods themselves wanted invaded and invader alike to see the island they had created in its best light. The sun made the surface of the dozens of lakes glimmer, the meadow grass was lush and the forests were bursting with life. The invaders, much to the surprise of Stark and his earls, did not burn any farms, villages or boats, which meant that although thousands of soldiers were marching across its verdant terrain there was no devastation. When Stark led his army from the north it numbered eight thousand men, over half of which comprised boys and old men. But by trawling every settlement and farmstead the length and breadth of the north he had managed to equip every warrior with at least one weapon, a shield and some form of head protection.
The king rode at the head of the army, behind him his great dragon banner barely ruffled by the gentle summer winds caressing Oesel. Ahead, on the flanks and behind the army’s long column were mounted scouts to warn of the approach of the accursed men of iron on their cloth-covered horses. But the Christians had disappeared.
‘Perhaps they have fled back to the mainland, sire,’ said his deputy.
‘They are deliberately making it easier for us to approach Kuressaare,’ replied Stark, ‘so they can meet us in battle.’
‘The boats we have sent to reconnoitre the town have reported that the enemy just sits outside the walls doing nothing. They have siege engines so why do they not burn it? They have not blocked the harbour so Prince Kalf can evacuate the town if need be.’
Stark was not interested in what occupied the minds of the enemy but amused his deputy anyway.
‘They know that as long as we live their hold on Oesel is precarious. They also know that I will not sit idly by and allow Kuressaare to be besieged. So they use it as bait to dangle before me.’
‘The scouts report it is the Marshal of Estonia’s army that besieges the town, highness.’
Stark grinned grimly. ‘There is a lesson for you, Hastein. My brother once had the same man at his mercy on Muhu, along with the rest of the crusader army. But the Marshal of Estonia, wizard that he is, tricked my brother into letting him and the crusader army go.’
Hastein, resplendent in a gilded helmet and knee-length chainmail suit split at the front and rear to aid riding on horseback, looked pensive.
‘You think he is a wizard, sire?’
‘How else could he have poisoned the mind of my brother?’
The size of the army and the absence of the enemy made the march south agreeable for those who had never experienced life on campaign before. The days were long and warm, supply of freshwater from the many lakes and streams plentiful, and the morale of those tramping through forests and across meadows high. The enemy was a distant thought; a mere irritant soon to vanish. Those who had stood in the shield wall, the warriors in their prime and those with grey hair and old limbs, who had not seen battle for many years, marched in silence, keeping their thoughts to themselves and scanning the terrain around for any signs of the elusive enemy. But if the Sword Brothers could disappear so could the Oeselians. Three days after starting out Stark’s army vanished.
*****
‘Gone where?’
Grand Master Volquin’s pavilion was not as splendid as that of Sir Richard and so space inside its simple square interior was more cramped, especially when filled with the army’s commanders. They sat on stools and accepted beer from fresh-faced novices of the order as Volquin stood and paced up and down.
‘Thousands of men can’t vanish into thin air,’ said the grand master.
‘They can if they melt into a forest and I’ll wager that is what they have done,’ opined Rudolf.
‘We should storm the town,’ urged Conrad. ‘The only reason Stark is marching is to relieve it. When he appears, as he surely will, we shall have to fight him with a hostile garrison at our backs.’
‘Susi is right,’ agreed Hillar.
‘We should burn the town today,’ said Andres.
Riki and Tonis shouted their support of their friends’ desire but Volquin would have none of it.
‘We are not here to burn but to conquer. Riga does not want Oesel reduced to a burning ruin and neither do I. With the arrival of King Rameke we number six thousand men.’
He smiled and tilted his head towards Rameke seated beside Conrad.
‘Stark has no mailed horsemen and no crossbowmen and I doubt there are many fighting men inside Kuressaare itself. Besides, the area around the town is open and filled with fields and pasture so Stark will have to reveal himself eventually.’
‘We should still storm the town,’ insisted Conrad, ‘even if we do not torch it.’
His warlords murmured their
support, causing Volquin to clear his throat in annoyance. But he had to tread carefully. Riki, Andres and Hillar were no longer Conrad’s pagan chiefs; they were Christian dukes leading hundreds of their retainers. He could issue orders to Conrad but not to them. Then again they took orders from Conrad so in theory he could order him to keep them in line. However, it was a theory he did not wish to test. In any case if he upset them they might storm the town anyway, with all the attendant atrocities that would ensue. The last thing he wanted was hundreds of vengeful Estonians running wild inside Kuressaare settling age-old scores.
He smiled. ‘My friends, the campaign is reaching its conclusion and all I ask is for all of us to hold our nerve. Stark will show himself sooner rather than later and when he does we will defeat him.’
They were far from happy when they filed out of the pavilion, though at least the prospect of imminent battle was something to look forward to. When they had gone Volquin and Rudolf took stock of the situation.
‘Being the puppets of the Duke of Riga leaves a bad taste in the mouth,’ complained Rudolf.
Volquin shrugged. ‘He and the members of Riga’s council are paying for this campaign, Rudolf, and have promised our order a substantial donation when it is concluded. Frankly we need it because our finances are, as ever, stretched, which is putting it mildly. Lukas’ victory at Reval cost us many men.’
‘Surely the money captured from the legate’s army has helped?’
Volquin downed his cup of beer. ‘A little. But the order’s finances have been in a dire state for years, Rudolf.’
Sitting on a stool, he chuckled. ‘Ironically our success has also been our downfall. Every victory won us more land, which in turn meant a new castle to control that land, which required a garrison. This in turn required equipping brother knights and sergeants as well as hiring mercenaries. And then there is the question of maintaining these strongholds, which requires a small army of stonemasons, carpenters and on and on. A never-ending spiral of expenditure with the result that the threat of bankruptcy hangs over the Sword Brothers like the Sword of Damocles.’
‘We have had our financial problems at Wenden, for sure,’ said Rudolf, ‘but have always got by.’
Volquin gave him a rueful grin. ‘Fighting the enemies of the Holy Church is not a profitable business, though making money from the peace that we have established seems to be for others.’
Stark appeared three days later, to the east of Kuressaare and not to the north where the Sword Brothers were scouting. The first the invaders knew of his warriors was when a foraging party was attacked five miles from the siege lines. A council of war was hurriedly convened where it was agreed that Stark should be immediately engaged. It was well past midday before the various contingents of the army were ready to march, Volquin deciding that the siege lines should be temporarily abandoned and the non-combatants and supplies should accompany the army. The mangonels and two trebuchets would be left where they stood, much to the anguish of the engineers.
‘Makes sense,’ said Leatherface as he marched alongside Conrad and the commanders of the Army of the Wolf, ahead of them the horsemen of the Sword Brothers, Sir Richard and Sir Paul deploying into line to screen the foot soldiers following.
The mercenary was in a talkative mood. ‘The Oeselians will probably sally forth and burn them, of course, but what will that avail them if their king is killed and his army destroyed? Mind you, they had better be mindful of the wind.’
Conrad looked at him. ‘The wind?’
‘Absolutely. When you set fire to things you best make sure the wind is blowing in the right direction, otherwise things might burn that you don’t want to. Kuressaare is built of wood, after all, and a few cinders carried on the wind could flatten it.’
‘God willing,’ said Riki.
Leatherface grinned. ‘Or you and your men could do it instead, Riki.’
‘They would not be alone,’ growled Hillar.
‘No indeed,’ agreed Andres.
‘Let us concentrate on the matter in hand,’ said Conrad. ‘Besides, there is no wind.’
But there was a sizeable enemy coming into view only two miles from the besiegers’ camp, a long brown line flecked by what appeared to be flickering lights as the sun caught whetted spear blades. The fields around Kuressaare giving way to a great meadow flanked by a lake on the right and a large area of forest behind where the Oeselians were deploying. On the left was another stretch of woods filled with oaks, the trees more widely spaced than the pines and birch to the front. The Oeselians had anchored their left flank on the lake and their right against the oaks. It was a sensible deployment because it meant that they could not be outflanked.
It was difficult to discern the exact number of the Oeselians because the terrain was flat, but Stark certainly had enough men to fill the space between the lake and the stand of oaks. The meadow grass was long, which meant that there would be no sudden rushes or charges against the enemy, though this did not concern Conrad unduly. He stood with Volquin, Rameke and Leatherface a few paces in front of the Army of the Wolf, all peering at the stationary enemy. Rameke’s warriors had been allotted the right wing – the place of honour in recognition of his high status – the horsemen of the Sword Brothers, Sir Richard and Sir Paul on the left flank of the Army of the Wolf. Reconnaissance had revealed that the ground in front of the lake was waterlogged and filled with reed beds and thus unsuitable for large numbers of horsemen.
‘Looks like Stark has settled on a slugging match,’ said Volquin. ‘It will be a hard fight.’
‘If you give me your crossbowmen, grand master,’ smiled Leatherface, ‘then combined with those of “The Bastards” we can soften up the heathens so Conrad and Rameke can finish them off with their men.’
‘King Rameke to you,’ Conrad berated him then pointed ahead. ‘We should try to the break their line in the centre to allow our horsemen to get behind them. Once they do their shield wall will fragment and collapse.’
‘What is your opinion, majesty?’ Volquin asked Rameke.
‘Conrad’s plan makes sense,’ nodded Rameke.
‘Right then,’ announced Leatherface, ‘might as well get started.’
He began to walk back towards the chatting and seemingly relaxed warriors of the Army of the Wolf when there came multiple horn blasts from the enemy’s ranks. Instantaneously men gripped spears and locked shields in preparation for an Oeselian attack. But Stark’s men did not advance; they about-faced and promptly began withdrawing. Leatherface came trotting back to the perplexed commanders.
‘Looks like they are going back into the forest.’
‘It makes no sense,’ said Conrad.
Leatherface cleared his throat and spat on the ground. ‘That’s the pagans for you.’
Volquin called to the sergeant holding his horse to bring it to him.
‘The plan still stands. Follow them and break them, Conrad. We need to finish this here, today.’
He hauled himself into the saddle, bowed his head to Rameke and turned the beast to ride back to where his horsemen were standing on the left flank. Conrad embraced his brother.
‘God be with you, and keep Kaja safe.’
‘Always,’ replied Rameke.
Conrad walked back to the Army of the Wolf with Leatherface as the enemy continued its leisurely retreat. In front of the Harrien warriors, its largest contingent, stood his warlords waiting for orders. Behind them men took the opportunity to take a final gulp from their water bottles and wipe their sweaty brows with a piece of cloth. The sun was high in the sky now, there was still no wind and the temperature was rising.
‘We are still going to offer battle,’ he told them, ‘if they do not melt away beforehand, that is. We will form a wedge to break their line, after which the horsemen will attack to destroy the survivors. Riki, your men will lead the attack.’
Riki clenched his fist and smiled triumphantly at his friends. It was a great honour to spearhead the attack but in truth a
ll of them would be close behind to support the Harrien. All accept the Wierlanders.
‘Anu,’ said Conrad, ‘your men will protect the non-combatants.’
The Wierlander commander was younger than the other warlords and was not yet part of the close-knit, almost incestuous circle of Conrad’s friends and leaders. He and his men had done well at Reval the year before but one victory did not grant him membership of the inner circle.
He took the decision in good heart. ‘Yes, Susi.’
‘They’ve halted.’
All turned towards the enemy where Leatherface was pointing and saw an enemy line that was no longer moving. Perhaps five hundred paces away or more, the Oeselians were now creating a racket banging the hafts of their axes and spears on the insides of their shields, along with hollering war cries and insults in an age-old pre-battle ritual. The din was odd sounding, though, being slightly high pitched rather than deep and guttural.
Riki drew his sword and pointed it at the Oeselians.
‘Soon they will be silent, that I promise.’
Andres and Tonis slapped him on the back and paced back to their men, barking commands to their signalmen when they reached them. The air was rent with horn blasts as the Army of the Wolf deployed into battle array, three hundred desperately disappointed Wierlanders trudging back to form a ring around the non-combatants. Among the Harrien, Jerwen, Saccalians and Rotalians white-robed priests went among the men to bless individuals and their weapons, like them natives who were now servants of the Holy Church. A few, like Hillar’s personal priest Eustace, were from Germany but the majority were Estonians, proof that the new religion was taking root in the eastern Baltic.
It was not so much a wedge as a blunt snout, the eight hundred of Riki’s men drawn up in a tightly packed rectangle made up of four ranks, each one of two hundred men. On their right flank stood Ulric and his six hundred ‘Bastards’, evenly divided between crossbowmen and their spearmen protectors. Falcone and his score of Genoese missile men also marched alongside Ulric. On Riki’s left flank were another three hundred crossbowmen and the same number of spearmen – mercenaries in the pay of the Sword Brothers and wearing the red cross and sword insignia of the order. Some among them had been part of Legate Baldwin’s army that had fought the warriors they now marched beside. Such is the nature of war and politics.