As Dust to the Wind

by Peter Darman

  He glared at Conrad. ‘I expected better from you, Conrad.’

  The Danish princes looked decidedly uncomfortable at this public display of disapproval and the bishop’s dismissive attitude towards their father’s contribution to the crusade. A knock at the door broke the fraught atmosphere. Lukas entered the chamber.

  ‘What is it, Lukas?’ complained the bishop.

  ‘You might want to accompany me to the battlements, lord bishop.’

  ‘I took a walk this morning, Lukas. I have no desire to freeze my ancient limbs again today.’

  Lukas persevered. ‘It will be worth it, lord bishop.’

  Hermann threw up his hands. ‘Very well. Bring me my cloak. You will all accompany me. We might as well all freeze together.’

  They walked through the neat, well-appointed palace into the cold, crisp air the short distance to the castle, sentries snapping to attention and novices bowing their heads as the bishop and his entourage hurried through the gates. A party of mounted sergeants, truncated crosses on their surcoats, halted to allow them to cross the courtyard to reach the main tower in the northeast corner. The guard wrapped in a white cloak sporting a black cross opened the stout oak door to allow them to enter. The bishop huffed and puffed his way up the winding stones steps.

  ‘I hope this is worth it, Lukas,’ he shouted.

  ‘It’s colder in here than outside,’ complained Rudolf.

  ‘Feeling your age?’ laughed Conrad.

  He heard the bishop curse under his breath when the old man reached the top of the tower and was greeted by an icy blast as he stepped out on its top platform. Attached to the flagpole was the banner of the Teutonic Order being buffeted by the wind. Lukas pointed to the west.

  ‘You should see this too, Conrad.’

  They all peered out across the frozen landscape and saw what appeared to be a large black snake slithering over the snow and ice. Closer inspection revealed it to be a large column of riders and sleds. They stared in silence as the column got closer, the riders at the front carrying banners and behind them men in armour on horses carrying lances. Conrad smiled to himself when he recognised the standards below and the hundreds of men on hardy Estonian ponies trailing behind them.

  The Army of the Wolf had come to Dorpat.

  Chapter 9

  Bishop Hermann was like a man reborn. Whereas before he had been irritable and morose now he was warm and generous, believing that God had answered his prayers by making the commanders of the Army of the Wolf see the bigger picture.

  ‘We have come because Susi marches with you,’ growled Hillar, ‘not because we are interested in taking Novgorod.’

  Hermann placed an arm around his wide shoulders. ‘Whatever makes your grace happy. Your men are well armed and supplied?’

  Hillar frowned. ‘This is the Army of the Wolf, bishop, not some ragtag force of settlers that barely have a pitchfork between them.’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ enthused Hermann.

  He clasped his hands together as he beheld Conrad and his warlords, behind him Rudolf and von Grüningen looked mightily relieved. The two Danish princes still looked uncomfortable. They were well aware of the antipathy of the dukes of Estonia towards the Danes. But in Bishop Hermann’s eyes they were all part of a great holy cause.

  ‘You will be pleased to know that there are supplies at Narva for the expedition,’ he told them.

  ‘That would be the same Narva that we took once after the battle on the ice?’ said Riki bluntly.

  ‘The past is the past, Riki,’ smiled Conrad. ‘We are allies with the Danes now.’

  Riki glared at the Danish princes. ‘I am picky when it comes to who stands on my right side in the shield wall.’

  The others laughed and Andres slapped him on the back but Abel took umbrage and walked towards the Duke of Harrien. His brother grabbed his arm.

  ‘What good will come of arguing among ourselves?’

  ‘Quite right,’ snapped the bishop. ‘Riki, save your anger for the apostates.’

  The following day the bishop vented his wrath on those apostates as the banners of the various contingents of the crusader army were arrayed in the town square and the churchman’s voice thundered in the freezing morning air. There was no wind and icicles hung from the eves of the wooden buildings around the square but there was fire in the bishop’s words.

  ‘We go to cleanse Russia of the evil of the Orthodox Church, the false religion that is an affront to God,’ he railed.

  Behind the nobles, knights and soldiers the large crowd that had gathered broke into polite applause, though the Russian merchants and sailors among them stood in stoic silence. After he had finished his speech the dean of the cathedral and his priests went among the banner men to bless each standard. Conrad smiled when he saw a priest reverently clutching the large white banner edged with gold bearing a red lynx with great claws, making the sign of the cross as he said a prayer to infuse Riki’s standard with the holy spirit. He remembered a time when he saw a similar banner across the field of battle when he and the Sword Brothers had battled Lembit. How long ago that seemed now.

  Only a small portion of the Army of the Wolf had been permitted into Dorpat, the town council being worried that to allow its nearly three thousand soldiers into the town would provoke trouble. Conrad, conspicuous in the uniform of the Sword Brothers, attracted quizzical looks and pointing as he stood among his commanders, the masters of the Teutonic Order flanking them. The two Danish princes had already departed Dorpat to prepare their men for the campaign.

  With the blessing of the standards complete the bishop and his priests returned to the palace on Toome Hill, escorted by a smart contingent of spearmen and crossbowmen wearing red.

  ‘Those boys won’t let you down, Master Conrad.’

  He turned to see Leatherface, wrapped in furs, grinning at him.

  ‘Trained the crossbowmen myself,’ he said, ‘so you can rest assured that each one can shoot four bolts a minute.’

  ‘How many are there?’ asked Sir Richard.

  ‘Fifty,’ answered Leatherface.

  ‘Ulric has five times that number,’ said Riki.

  ‘“The Bastards” thrive, I take it?’ grinned the old mercenary.

  ‘They would prefer their old commander back,’ grunted Riki.

  ‘As would we all,’ added Conrad.

  Leatherface shook his head. ‘I’m too old for all that nonsense, and that’s what this expedition is, you know, nonsense.’

  ‘The bishop believes we can triumph,’ said Sir Richard.

  Leatherface spat on the frozen ground. ‘Course he does. He’s been promised an archbishopric by the pope. Doesn’t change the facts.’

  ‘What facts?’ asked Hillar.

  ‘That Novgorod has strong defences and you have no siege engines.’

  ‘The bishop believes the city will fall without a siege,’ said Conrad, ‘especially as it has been weakened by its defeat at the hands of the Mongols.’

  ‘Have it your own way,’ shrugged the former mercenary, ‘but I talk to a lot of Russians at my inn and they will fight for their city.’

  Sir Richard was intrigued. ‘Your inn?’

  ‘It is called The Faithful Crossbowman,’ said Conrad.

  Sir Richard laughed. ‘It is impossible to write satire these days.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Leatherface.

  ‘It means that you are a godless heathen,’ Conrad told him.

  They collapsed into laughter, Hillar bear-hugging the old rogue. Leatherface invited them all back to his inn so he could fill their bellies with ale before they set off.

  ‘It’s only right you should all have a decent send-off before you become food for the crows.’

  As the banners were taken back to their respective contingents Leatherface led Conrad’s commanders towards his inn.

  ‘Master Conrad.’

  The group stopped but Conrad told them he would catch them up so he could speak to
Master Dietrich. He was younger than Conrad by fifteen years and a couple of inches shorter.

  ‘A word if I may. It concerns your attire.’

  ‘My attire?’

  ‘The Sword Brothers no longer exist, Master Conrad.’

  ‘Alas.’

  ‘That being the case you should not wear their uniform.’

  Conrad looked down at his surcoat. ‘I have worn these colours since I became a brother knight. I took an oath to the Sword Brothers and will not break it.’

  Von Grüningen’s eyes narrowed. ‘All the former Sword Brothers have taken an oath of allegiance to the Teutonic Order. I order you to do the same.’

  He was right, of course, there were no longer any Sword Brothers. But he took exception to the condescending tone in von Grüningen’s voice, his arrogant manner and the haughty disposition of the Teutonic Knights that had accompanied him from Germany.

  ‘I decline your order.’

  ‘What? I could have you flogged for your insubordination, Master Conrad.’

  ‘You could,’ agreed Conrad, ‘but if you do you can say goodbye to the Army of the Wolf taking part in this campaign.’

  It was ludicrous. He was acting like a petulant child. He had never been insubordinate but he had spent three years being a Lithuanian slave. He disliked being told what to do now, and resented this younger man treating him like a child. Who was he and who were the Teutonic Knights?

  ‘When this campaign is over you will be held to account for your defiance,’ said von Grüningen.

  He turned and marched away.

  ‘Idiot,’ said Conrad loudly.

  It was not an auspicious start to the campaign.

  That night Conrad and his commanders got riotously drunk in The Faithful Crossbowman and woke with thumping heads and dry mouths. Bleary eyed they made their way back to camp where the Army of the Wolf was already packing up in preparation for the march north. It was the last alcohol Conrad and his warlords drank that winter. They had learned long ago that in cold weather alcohol was a false friend, giving the appearance of warmth but in fact lowering the body’s temperature to a dangerously low level.

  Progress to Narva was slow, the mercenary foot soldiers formerly employed by the Sword Brothers trudging through the deep snow along with the Bishop of Dorpat’s spearmen and crossbowmen. Every man in the Army of the Wolf was mounted on a hardy pony and its supplies were loaded on dozens of sleds moving effortlessly across the white landscape. Von Grüningen rode with the bishop and his Teutonic Knights whose novices and servants struggled to haul their tents and supplies through the snow on carts they had brought from Germany. Rudolf and his castellans carried their supplies on sleds like Conrad’s warriors. Conrad himself chose to ride with his Estonians when possible to avoid the Livonian Master. The army crawled along at a snail’s pace, covering at most six miles a day, much to the frustration of Bishop Hermann. Each day had around eight hours of sunlight, though there was no sun when it snowed, which it did most days, further slowing the pace.

  Conrad insisted the army halted at least an hour before sunset to properly prepare camp, the site of which was always carefully selected to protect both man and beast from drifting snows and prevailing winds. This increased the bishop’s frustration and infuriated the Livonian Master, which delighted Conrad. It was very childish and highly enjoyable.

  As the light faded and the temperature dropped well below freezing the air was filled with hundreds of axes and saws going to work on the forest the army had camped beside. It was fortunate the land was covered with an infinite number of spruces and birch because the trees provided material for lean-tos, bases for fires and wooden frames for stabling areas. Sentries were posted as soon as this work began and were replaced every hour because the cold quickly dulled men’s senses. When darkness came the area was illuminated by dozens of campfires heating food for tired and hungry men.

  As the army neared Narva the falling snow reduced the pace still further, even the mighty destriers struggling to negotiate the deep drifts. There was no alternative but to order a halt and wait until the sky cleared. To push the horses and ponies would result in many suffering heart attacks.

  But after two days of heavy snowfall the skies suddenly cleared and the march could recommence. It was bitterly cold, a cruel easterly wind lashing the long column of riders and men on foot. Hoods were drawn over heads and men covered the lower half of their faces with cloth to avoid inhaling extremely cold air. No one took deep breaths and talking was reduced to a minimum. Progress was slow as the Army of the Wolf took frequent rest stops, thus dictating the pace of the rest of the column. The Livonian Master and his Germans complained incessantly but when they reached Narva on a bright and crisp afternoon not one horse or man had been lost to the cold. Unfortunately it was a lesson lost on the arrogant Dietrich von Grüningen.

  Narva was the outpost Conrad had taken with the assistance of Yaroslav Nevsky. How strange it was that now he was marching against the men of Novgorod, though perhaps no stranger than fighting beside the Danes. Times change and so had Narva. When it had been under the control of the Sword Brothers it had prospered from the trade between Reval and Novgorod. The wretched settlement clinging to the square wooden tower constituting the first stronghold had grown. The fort was still wooden but now had four stout towers and a wall encompassing a small courtyard, living quarters, store rooms and stables. It was well sited on a bluff on the west bank of the River Narva, now a frozen grey road lancing south from the Gulf of the Finns to Lake Peipus.

  Because the river was wide and a rich fishing ground there were dozens of villages along its banks, though the ones on the Russian side of the waterway were empty, their inhabitants having fled to the east.

  ‘So they know we intend to attack Novgorod?’ said the Livonian Master, a thick fur-lined cloak around his shoulders.

  He and the others were gathered in the former master’s hall of the fort, now given over to the Danish garrison commander, a man with a pinched face who was too old and too thin for an Estonian winter. He nodded and poured himself more warm wine.

  ‘Everyone has a keen nose when it comes to the whiff of war. As soon as we started stockpiling supplies it was common knowledge that something big was being planned.’

  ‘It is of no consequence,’ said von Grüningen, ‘the Russians can do nothing to change divine intervention.’

  ‘Though they might cause us much hardship trying to,’ suggested Conrad.

  He had been invited to the council of war because he commanded the largest contingent in the combined army now camped around Narva. The two Danish princes also attended, as did Rudolf due to his great experience and the fact that the Landmeister deferred his authority to Wenden’s castellan.

  ‘How many men can Novgorod put into the field?’ asked Conrad, much to the consternation of von Grüningen.

  ‘Numbers are irrelevant, Master Conrad,’ he sneered. ‘We are talking about Russians here not God-fearing men of conscience. Let us concentrate on our own preparations and fortitude.’

  There followed a long and very detailed account by the garrison commander of the supplies gathered for the campaign. Conrad had to admit it was a most impressive inventory. Large warehouses until recently filled with Russian pelts destined for Germany were now bursting with barrels and kegs containing food for the army. Among them were comfits: fowl or salted pork cooked for a long time in its own fat and allowed to cool. Sealed in its own fat and stored in a cool place, it could last for months. There were sweet preserves consisting of fruits sealed in honey, dried grains such as wheat and rye and dried fruits such as raspberries, strawberries, cherries and apples.

  Salt was an expensive luxury in Livonia and Estonia but in Denmark it was more readily available, albeit at a price. The Danes had assembled a huge number of kegs filled with salted meat. The usual method involved pressing dry salt into pieces of meat and then layering the pieces in a keg, with dry salt packed around each piece.

  Smoki
ng was an ancient practice in Estonia and Conrad’s men had brought their own supplies of fish and pork cut into lean strips and hung over fires to absorb the smoke as they dried. They had also brought great quantities of cheese, pottage and dried fruit but the Army of the Wolf’s three-months’ worth of rations were dwarfed by the amount of Danish food and fodder.

  ‘I must congratulate your highnesses,’ said von Grüningen, ‘regarding the effort that you and your father have dedicated to this campaign.’

  ‘At least we will die with full bellies,’ said Conrad caustically.

  After the meeting the Livonian Master assisted the bishop out of his chair and walked with him to the churchman’s quarters, brushing past Conrad without saying a word. Rudolf shook his head and patted his friend on the shoulder but Prince Canute cornered him as he walked from the room.

  ‘I would speak to you, Master Conrad.’

  ‘Your servant, prince.’

  ‘You think our expedition foolhardy?’

  ‘I think it is a step into the unknown, highness.’

  Canute stroked his beard. ‘My father believes so too, which is why he has furnished us with only fifteen hundred men. He thinks we will suffer the same fate as the Swedes.’

  Conrad was surprised by his candour.

  ‘Let us hope that we fare better than the Swedes at least.’

  He gave Conrad a concerned look.

  ‘I would have your honest opinion, Master Conrad. Can we win?’

  ‘If you mean can we seize Novgorod, then no. I fear that prize is out of our grasp. But we can perhaps force the Russians to agree to a settlement that is beneficial to both the bishop and your father.’

  ‘The bishop wishes to be archbishop of Novgorod.’

  Conrad nodded. ‘Alas for the bishop.’

  The princes’ personal bodyguard comprised fifty mailed knights riding fine warhorses and equipped with sword, lance and mace. They were accompanied by twice that number of sergeants wearing kettle helmets instead of the full-face helms, the hallmarks of their social and military superiors. They too were attired in mail hauberks and armed with swords and lances.