by Peter Darman
‘What’s this?’ asked Rudolf angrily, ‘have the Oeselians conjured up an army from hell?’
To their left the battered remnants of Kalf’s warriors stood in the middle of a circle of dead. Exhausted men leaned on shields and gasped for air after battling the horsemen, others lay on the ground, their bodies cut and bleeding. In front the black mass was changing, horsemen forming into a compact body to face Volquin’s men and foot soldiers deploying into line beside them. A small group of riders left the foot soldiers and galloped to the front of the main body of horsemen. The banner among the smaller group fluttered slightly. Sir Richard pushed up his helmet.
‘They are not Oeselians.’
Rudolf also shoved up his helm. ‘He’s right.’
The smaller group of riders did not halt but continued to gallop towards Volquin’s horsemen. The grand master saw the black horses, the black saddlery and the riders attired completely in black. He turned to the trumpeter behind him.
‘Signal them to stand down.’
The trumpeter did as he was told as Volquin spurred his horse forward, Rudolf, Sir Richard and Sir Paul following. They travelled around two hundred paces before slowing and then halting as the riders with the banner did the same. Volquin and his companions removed their helmets as a rider opposite pushed his way through the four horsemen standing between him and the grand master. He too removed his helmet, a simple iron affair with a thick nasal guard, to reveal a man with a square jaw and thick black hair and beard.
‘Greetings, grand master.’
Volquin bowed his head to King Lamekins. ‘Majesty. I am greatly surprised to see you.’
‘Surprised, grand master? The Sword Brothers aided me in my fight against the Samogitians so it would be remiss of me not to return the courtesy.’
His German had improved remarkably, Volquin had to admit.
‘Your arrival is most timely, majesty.’
Lamekins turned to stare at the ragged block of Oeselians and called forward one of his men. He gave the man some orders in Kur and he galloped back to his army. Moments later two hundred Kur archers, men wearing no armour over their tunics and no head protection, ran forward, deployed into a line and began shooting at the Oeselians. Each archer carried a quiver holding forty arrows and in the space of three minutes the Kurs had shot three thousand arrows at Kalf’s men. Many thudded into Oeselian shields and the earth but others struck shoulders, legs and arms, felling dozens of warriors. The archers continued shooting even when there appeared to be no more Oeselians left alive, using half their arrows before being ordered to stop.
A few groans came from the pile of dead men. Kalf himself was dead, struck by five arrows in quick succession. The archers ran back to the ranks of Kur axe men and medium foot soldiers.
Volquin had no time to swap niceties but informed Lamekins that he had to ride to assist Conrad and Rameke. Lamekins insisted on accompanying him and so, detailing a few of his men to slit the throats of those Oeselians that still lived, he and over two and half thousand other Kurs marched with the grand master. Anu and barely a hundred Wierlanders were left behind to guard the non-combatants whose nerves had been shredded by the appearance of Prince Kalf and then the arrival of the Kurs. Many had heard of the Kurs and feared them; none realised that the black-clad warriors from south of the Dvina were allies of the Sword Brothers.
*****
Stark never launched his attack. He and his men were distracted by the appearance on their right flank by the return of Grand Master Volquin and his knights, accompanied by hundreds more riders and foot soldiers, half of them carrying two-handed battle axes fearsome to behold. The Army of the Wolf, exhausted and battered, still had one trick up its sleeve and played it while the enemy was distracted.
Conrad pulled off his helmet and turned to Leatherface. ‘Now’s your time. Get your men to shoot at them with every bolt they have.’
The mercenary needed no second prompting, bellowing orders to Ulric, Falcone and the crossbowmen of the Sword Brothers to get their men forward and rake the enemy.
Tired men placed stocks against their shoulders and pulled triggers, reloaded and shot again to send hundreds of bolts hissing through the air. They no longer aimed accurately as their senses had been dulled by what seemed like hours of non-stop combat, which meant that many quarrels went over the heads of the Oeselians. But enough found their mark to begin dropping the enemy, a trickle at first but then a flood as quivers were emptied. Among those killed was Stark, shot through the eye and killed instantly. The Oeselians physically wilted when word spread that their king was dead. But they stood and died around him rather than flee when the Kurs attacked.
Conrad collapsed to his knees and clapped his hands together in prayer to give thanks for the arrival of King Lamekins, an action duplicated by many around him. The crossbowmen, now out of ammunition, raised their weapons and cheered as the Kur medium foot soldiers hurled their javelins and rushed at the Oeselians.
Each Kur medium foot soldier carried a javelin and a heavier spear with a thicker shaft and broader blade at the point. His rectangular shaped wooden shield rimmed with iron could take a lot of punishment from enemy axes and spears and covered his body from neck to knees. He was trained to fight as part of a disciplined body presenting a wall of shields and a row of levelled spears at the enemy, akin to a giant saw that ground its way into the opposition. Every man was protected not only by his shield but also by an iron helmet with a thick nasal guard and a short-sleeved mail shirt. Above all, these soldiers were trained to retain their formation in the attack and retreat. But it was the former that they executed now, stabbing their way into the disorganised and demoralised Oeselians.
Stark’s men, grouping round the body of their fallen king, began to rally and fight back, stalling the Kur advance. So Lamekins, observing the engagement with a keen eye, gave the order that his medium foot were to retire. Horns conveyed the command and the Oeselians gave a blood-curdling cheer. But fell silent as a thousand Kur axe men, having marched around what was now an irregular-shaped square, attacked the Oeselians from behind. The axe men were all big, powerful men capable of wielding a two-hand broadaxe like it was a feather. Their round shields were strapped to their backs and their sleeveless, knee-length thick hide armour was capable of defeating a sword or spear thrust. But it was the broadaxe that made these men such formidable opponents. Its crescent-shaped blade was eighteen inches long and when swung had enough power to punch through a helmet or mail with ease. In addition, the pointed ‘horns’ at each end of the blade were kept sharp so they could be used offensively, which included making slashing attacks across the belly. The axe haft was long – nearly five feet – which meant the axe had a long reach, but was also smooth to allow its user to thread it through his hands to shorten or lengthen its reach – the space between combatants in battle was always fluid.
It was as if a thousand woodpeckers were tapping when the Kurs went to work, literally chopping into the Oeselians and whittling them down. As they did so Lamekins gave the order that his medium foot were to recommence their assault so the Oeselians were trapped between two blocks of Kur soldiers. And around the Oeselians was a ring of Kur and Volquin’s horsemen to prevent any of them from escaping.
Conrad watched as the last of Stark’s men were scythed down by frenzied axe strokes, the Kurs carrying on chopping to make sure none survived. Around him his warlords and their men looked on with relieved expressions, glad it was the Oeselians that were dying rather than themselves. It had been a hard fight, a bruising encounter that had tested their fighting prowess to the full. But as he looked around at the scene of carnage he realised that this battle had been decisive because it signalled the end of pagan Oesel. Henceforth the Holy Church would rule the island and its people. Had he been a philosopher he might have reflected that he was a witness to the ending of a way of life that had endured for a thousand years. But he was not; he was a soldier.
Another soldier came to him after th
e slaughter had ended, a grinning Lamekins who rode over in the company of Grand Master Volquin to seek out the commander of the Army of the Wolf. With his bodyguard watching he slid off his horse and walked up to Conrad.
‘I give thanks to the god we both follow that you are safe, Master Conrad.’
Conrad bowed his head. ‘It is good to see you, majesty.’
‘King Lamekins extricated us from a most unfavourable situation, Conrad,’ said Volquin, ‘for which the Sword Brothers will be eternally grateful.’
Conrad nodded and looked at his right hand and lower arm covered in blood, none of it his own.
‘A hard battle, Conrad?’ asked Lamekins.
‘Hard enough, majesty.’
Lamekins walked back to his horse. ‘And now the victors can enjoy the spoils.’
‘Spoils, majesty?’ said Volquin.
Lamekins hauled himself into the saddle. ‘Of course, a third of this island has been granted to Kurland by Bishop Nicholas and the Duke of Riga. Until later, Master Conrad.’
The aftermath of battle is ghastly. Conrad stared at the results of his handiwork and sighed. His axe was both a chopping and a crushing weapon and as such could inflict appalling wounds. In battle torsos were protected by shields and armour but faces, arms, legs and feet were not. He looked at a dead Oeselian lying on his back, his face unrecognisable after Conrad had hit it several times with his axe. Another corpse had a foot missing where he had ducked low and severed it at the ankle with a single blow. Those he had fought who had no metal head protection suffered the worst, their skulls being crushed and disfigured by multiple axe blows.
After the bloodletting came the priests to give succour to the wounded and the last rights to those who would soon be dead. Those with their bellies ripped open would die, as would those with severed limbs unless they were taken to a surgeon who could cauterise the stump. But even if the wound was sealed loss of blood and shock might kill the patient anyway. There was blood everywhere. He was always surprised how much blood a body contained and how much of it could be spilt in battle. His axe was covered in blood, his arm was covered in blood and the front of his surcoat was red instead of white. So much for glory.
‘A hard fight, Susi.’
Riki joined him to survey the carnage, a satisfied expression on his tired face.
‘None of my people will ever again be subjected to Oeselian raids or endure the agony of knowing that their wives and children have been taken to be sold in slave markets.
‘For the first time my people are free from the Oeselians.’
He laid a hand on Conrad’s shoulder. ‘And it is all down to you.’
‘To me?’
‘You were the one that forged this army, made it what it is and gave it victory this day.’
Conrad cracked a smile. ‘The Kurs and Livs might have something to say about that, Riki, to say nothing of the Sword Brothers.’
But he would have none of it. ‘You are the one who forged the victory we now enjoy.’
Conrad looked around at the mangled, mutilated bodies. There was little to celebrate. But when Andres, Hillar, Tonis and Ulric arrived the mood was definitely celebratory, egged on by Leatherface who was justly proud of the achievements of his crossbowmen.
‘If you lined up all the enemy corpses I’ll wager that over half of them have bolts stuck in them.’
‘Are you offering you and your men for burial duties?’ asked Conrad.
‘Not a chance. We can let Grand Master Volquin and his horsemen do that since they spent the entire battle sitting on their horses.’
The arrival of a limping, bleeding Anu dampened spirits somewhat, especially when he informed Conrad that only a third of his men still lived. Casualties among the other Estonian contingents had been lighter but not unsubstantial and so Conrad’s warlords set about removing their wounded back to camp and sending parties to slit the throats of those of the enemy that still lived. For men lying under a hot sun suffering horrific wounds it was a mercy. Conrad took himself off to find Rameke. Leatherface insisted on joining him and Riki allocated him half a dozen Harrien as a guard.
They threaded their way through the dead and skirted the lake where hundreds of men were sating their thirsts and refilling water bottles for their comrades. Conrad pulled the mail coif off his head to relieve the heat engulfing his body. His legs and arms ached and he was thirsty. Leatherface sent one of the Harrien to the lake to fill his own and Conrad’s water bottle.
‘Of all your victories this is the most important.’
‘How so?’ queried Conrad.
‘This battle has secured the eastern Baltic, which means trade will increase, which means Riga will grow richer. The good burghers of the city will be raising a toast to you when they find out, Master Conrad.’
‘I doubt that.’
The Livs had suffered many casualties; that much was apparent when they arrived at the spot Rameke and his men had defended. His brother’s eyes filled with tears of joy when he saw him, the two of them embracing and Rameke hugging Leatherface. While Kaja wrapped her arms around Conrad and even kissed Leatherface on the cheek, causing the mercenary to blush. Rameke told them about Kaja’s intervention.
‘She tipped the scales in our favour,’ said her husband with pride.
Conrad looked at the Danish sword hanging from Kaja’s hip.
‘You have not forgotten how to use a sword, then?’
‘I practise every day,’ she smiled with pride.
‘Form line!’
Weary men gripped shields and weapons and shuffled into a shield wall as Rameke’s bodyguard, their horses lethargic, covered in sweat, closed around the king and queen. But Rameke drew his sword and pushed his way through the forming ranks of his men; his queen, Conrad and Leatherface following. Ahead, emerging from the trees, were hundreds of Oeselian warriors. They exited the forest and stopped, one of their number continuing to walk forward, hands by his side.
‘What now?’ said Leatherface.
The figure continued walking as scores of drawn Livs faced their shields front and gripped weapons. He stepped over the bodies of his own dead, bare headed, arms still by his side.
‘You want me to drop him when he comes within range?’ asked Leatherface, loading his crossbow.
‘He comes to talk,’ said Conrad.
‘About what?’
‘We will soon discover,’ answered Rameke, walking forward. ‘Conrad, you only.’
He spun and gave Kaja a defiant look. She huffed loudly but stayed where she was as her husband and his brother walked towards the Oeselian.
The three met beside a group of hideously mutilated bodies, repeatedly stabbed and clubbed with axe heads. The buzzing of the flies coming to feast on dead flesh added to the grim scene.
‘I am Hastein,’ announced the Oeselian, ‘and I ask permission to burn our dead as is our way.’
‘Where is your king?’ asked Rameke brusquely.
‘Dead,’ said Hastein, ‘or else he would be standing before you.’
Hastein turned his attention to Conrad.
‘I remember you, Marshal of Estonia, you and King Sigurd agreed a peace treaty.’
‘Alas for King Sigurd and your people that it was not kept.’
Hastein, many links missing from his chainmail shirt, shrugged.
‘What is done is done.’
‘What is done is done?’ shouted Conrad angrily. ‘The butchery of this day could have been avoided had your king had the foresight to change. Why should we grant you the privilege of cremating your dead?’
‘It would be a gesture much appreciated by my people,’ replied Hastein calmly, ‘and an appreciative people are easier to rule than a resentful one.’
Rameke nodded. ‘You have our permission to cremate your dead.’
‘Though not to keep the weapons and armour that are currently worn by them,’ added Conrad.
Hastein regarded the Sword Brother who looked like he had been dipped in a vat of
blood.
‘Does victory not agree with you, lord marshal?’
‘The deaths of many of my men sit ill with me,’ said Conrad.
‘Is it not the desire of every warrior to fall in battle with a sword in his hand?’ asked Hastein. ‘Do not the Sword Brothers exist solely to fight the enemies of your religion?’
‘I will inform Grand Master Volquin and King Lamekins that you and your men will be organising burial parties for the Oeselian dead,’ said Rameke.
Hastein’s eyes opened wide with surprise. ‘The Kurs are here?’
Conrad smiled grimly. ‘That’s right, Oeselian, your king played a game and lost and now this island is to be divided between the Bishop of Riga and the Kurs.’
‘How short is the memory of the Kurs,’ said Hastein. ‘I remember a time when you yourself stood on the deck of King Sigurd’s longship when his and many other ships laid waste the Kur coastline.’
‘As I said,’ replied Conrad, ‘your king played a game and lost whereas King Lamekins won.’
‘The day draws on,’ said Rameke, ‘and we should address the matter of disposing of the dead unless we want this island to become a barren land filled with pestilence.’
He called forward horsemen and ordered them to ride to inform Volquin and Lamekins that he had given the Oeselians permission to cremate their dead. The priests among the army might object but since the Oeselians had died pagans they were not eligible for Christian burial anyway. So after hours spent butchering each other the Sword Brothers, the Army of the Wolf, Livs, Oeselians and even Kurs set about stripping the dead and either burying them or committing them to funeral pyres. The whole ghastly business took two days and when it was finished the air for miles around was filled with the nauseous stench of roasting human flesh and the infernal buzzing of flies.
Kuressaare, largely devoid of inhabitants, the women and children having been evacuated to the north of the island in longships and boats, was taken without a fight and occupied by the Sword Brothers and Kurs. Already the Army of the Wolf was being shipped back to the mainland, Conrad eager to remove the Harrien and Rotalians in particular from the island before they began settling old scores.