by Peter Darman
‘I must protest, lord bishop. The city should have a strong garrison to guard against internal insurrection and outside threats. Novgorod will not take the loss of Pskov lightly.’
He stood in what had been Domash’s throne room, now devoid of his great banner behind the high-backed wooden chair on the rostrum. Two more chairs had been added to accommodate the two Danish princes sitting either side of the bishop.
Hermann was in an ebullient mood and so were the two princes, while Rudolf’s masters and brother knights were disappointed at being denied the chance to plunder and burn the city. Conrad stood with Rameke and his dukes and wondered how long it would take for Novgorod to strike back.
‘In the first place, Rudolf,’ replied Hermann, ‘I gave my word that the city would be garrisoned lightly and a prince-bishop of the Holy Church does not break a promise. But to appease your concern I shall issue an edict that every Russian must surrender his weapons to the castle.’
‘Kremlin, lord bishop,’ smiled Canute.
‘What?’
‘Russian strongholds are named kremlins.’
‘In any case,’ continued the bishop, ‘we cannot leave a large force here if we are to subdue Novgorod before the autumn.’
‘Our losses thus far have been light,’ Canute reminded everyone, ‘the morale of the army is high and the enemy is on the run.’
He smiled at Rudolf. ‘And thanks to the foresight of Master Rudolf we have siege engines to batter down the walls of Novgorod. Who now can stop us?’
‘What do you think?’ Rameke asked Conrad.
‘For once I agree with the Danes. Novgorod will know by now that the second city in its kingdom has been lost. It is not yet summer and we can be before its walls in three weeks.’
‘If all the Russians have is men of the calibre of those we cut to pieces at Izborsk,’ said an eavesdropping Hillar, ‘then this war will be over before the harvest.’
‘You have something to say, your grace?’ asked Hermann, hearing Hillar’s voice.
‘I am just eager to kill more Russians,’ replied Hillar.
‘You will have your wish,’ smiled the bishop.
But events across the sea would result in the abandonment of the march to Novgorod and a radical change in Bishop Hermann’s fortunes.
Chapter 11
There was fear in their eyes as they were forced to strip naked and kneel on the soft ground. They had been angry and alarmed when they had been relieved of their weapons and armour but now their faces registered abject terror. They knew something was terribly wrong but there was nothing they could do about it as the warriors who spoke in a strange tongue shouted and shoved them, jabbing them with their spears and knives. There were only a hundred Danes as opposed to over a thousand Karelians and the latter were in no mood to debate.
Karelia, land of thousands of lakes and rivers, huge fir and pine forests in the north and great areas of deciduous trees in the south. A harsh, unforgiving land breeding hardy natives ekeing out a living among the trees and waterways. It was also a rich land, rich in animals whose pelts were worth a king’s ransom to those who could harvest them. Trappers had visited Karelia for many years to trap and skin beavers, sable, marten, wolves and foxes. But it was the grey squirrel pelts that were most sought after and which the fine lords and ladies of Germany and beyond had an insatiable desire for.
Kristjan was one such trapper but he was different. He was a pagan unlike the condescending boyars from Novgorod who treated the Karelians like animals. He had taken a native wife, Hella, and treated her people with respect. He also strove hard to put an end to the slave trade involving Russians raiding Karelia to capture children for shipment south to the slave markets of Constantinople where white-skinned boys and girls fetched a high price. He even cracked down hard on the ‘crows’, the bandits who infested the forests of Karelia and preyed on anyone unlucky enough to cross their path. Though he learned it was easier to enlist them in his service for pay rather than try to kill them all. He did slay a few on a regular basis to remind them that he was their lord and master. These things earned him the respect if not quite the undying love of many Karelians. Kristjan became like a king among the northern people and now he had brought an army of them south into the Principality of Novgorod.
The Danes were forced on to their knees after being relieved of their clothing, each looking left and right as the powerfully built man with shoulder-length hair and a scarred face stood in front of them.
‘What now, lord?’ queried Boar beside him.
Kristjan licked his lips and smiled, smelling the fear coming from the Danes.
‘Hold!’
He turned to see Alexander Nevsky pulling up his horse, behind him his bodyguard. The Russian jumped from his steed and paced over to Lord Murk.
‘What is this, Kristjan? I promised the garrison their lives if they surrendered Koporye.’
Having answered Alexander’s appeal to return to Novgorod in the spring Kristjan had brought fifteen hundred warriors with him, rendezvousing with the prince of the Russian city at the Danish stronghold. Their combined forces had made a demonstration of strength convincing the garrison to surrender rather than be slaughtered when assaulted by three thousand men.
Kristjan placed an arm around the shoulders of the younger man.
‘You know what will happen when they reach Narva? They will be issued with fresh weapons ready to march back here when they receive reinforcements. You want to save them to fight them at a later date?’
‘I gave my word,’ said Alexander.
Kristjan nodded to the Boar who bellowed a command to the Karelians standing behind the kneeling Danes. A hundred knives were pulled from sheaths and in an instant ninety-nine throats were slit. The Danes crumpled as blood sheeted from their necks, a few thrashing around on the grass as their lifeblood gushed into the earth.
‘Don’t worry,’ smiled Kristjan, ‘I gave no such assurance so your honour is intact.’
He strolled over to the last Dane alive, the man behind him having grabbed a handful of his hair and placed a knife at his neck. Kristjan screwed up his face in disapproval as his nostrils detected the stench and he saw the man had emptied his bowels.
‘Put him on a horse with enough food to get back to Narva. Does anyone speak Danish?’
The Karelians, wiping their bloody blades on the grass, looked at each other in bewilderment. Eventually a member of Alexander’s bodyguard raised his hand. The prince, still shocked, beckoned him over. Kristjan pointed at the Dane who was being given fresh clothes, he was shaking uncontrollably.
‘Throw him in a river first,’ ordered Kristjan, ‘he reeks.’
Lord Murk looked at the Russian.
‘After he has been cleaned up tell him that this is Novgorod’s territory and death awaits any who trespass on it.’
Alexander stared at the row of corpses and shuddered. He had been elated when Kristjan had finally answered his pleas and even more delighted when the Ungannian had sent a message saying that he was bringing an army with him. But Lord Murk appeared to have grown more bitter since Novgorod had treated him unfairly.
Kristjan called over one of the Karelians, a filthy individual with a dirty face and clothes that stank.
‘Give the Dane half a day’s head start and then follow with your men. Don’t try to take any strongpoints but burn any villages you come across, kill their inhabitants too.’
The man grinned, revealing a row of brown teeth. ‘Yes, lord.’
He scuttled away to speak to a group of equally repellent individuals. Boar sneered and spat on the ground.
‘We’ll never see them again.’
‘It matters not,’ said Kristjan, ‘it is enough that they are unleashed.’
‘Who are they?’ asked Alexander.
‘Crows,’ Boar told him. ‘Killers and thieves usually hiding away deep in the forests of Karelia.’
‘I thought I would bring a few south with me,’ smiled Kristjan, ‘t
hey are useful when it comes to striking fear into the hearts of the enemy.’
*****
It was not fear but disbelief the crusaders experienced when news finally reached Pskov from Dorpat. Utter disbelief. At first Bishop Hermann, thinking his eyesight had suddenly deteriorated, had his archivist read the letter, shaking his head with incredulity as the waspish man recited in a high-pitched tone. Hermann immediately summoned the two Danish princes, Rudolf and Conrad to his pavilion. He had found the icon-infested city not to his liking and though he had given his word that the many churches in Pskov were not to be molested, the black-robed priests and their strange tongue and habits, together with the incense burners that seemed to accompany them everywhere, offended his faith.
Conrad stood with Rudolf while the archivist conveyed the awful news, the brows of Canute and Abel creasing more with each sentence. After he had finished Hermann’s head hung low and no one spoke. They were too shocked, too dumbfounded to even attempt to utter any words of comfort. The bishop, his eyes moist, waved them away. They shuffled from the pavilion back to the men to retell the distressing tale.
Conrad assembled his warlords outside his own tent and sent a courier to the Liv camp to request the presence of Rameke. It took a while for them to arrive. Sir Richard and his former squire were hunting boar, Hillar was taking part in a wrestling match cheered on by Tonis, and Andres and Ulric were fishing in a nearby lake. They placed a basket of fish on the ground when they arrived at Conrad’s tent.
‘Good fishing in these parts, Conrad,’ grinned Andres. ‘You look like you’ve lost a horse and found a rat.’
Sir Richard and Sir Paul arrived on horseback, ordering their squires to take their mounts back to where their men were quartered. The last to arrive was Hillar, complete with ripped shirt and a bloody nose, with Riki and Anu, who had been taking part in archery practice. Conrad had ordered stools to be arranged round the campfire. Novices from Odenpah served water to his commanders.
‘We have had word from Dorpat,’ Conrad told them when they were settled. ‘A great Christian army has been destroyed by the Mongols in Poland, near a city called Liegnitz. Our losses numbered thousands, including five hundred soldiers of the Templars and Teutonic Order.’
Sir Richard was shocked. ‘Totally destroyed?’
‘There is nothing to stop the Mongols ravaging all Christendom,’ Conrad told him.
‘What is that to us?’ asked Hillar bluntly.
‘If the Mongols continue their advance,’ answered Conrad, ‘then they will ravage all Germany and perhaps even Italy and Rome itself.’
He looked at their faces. Sir Richard knew what it meant for the civilised world but the rest, including Paul, seemed unconcerned. Why should they be? All they knew was Estonia and Livonia; the other places were mere names of foreign locations they would never visit.
But news of the Battle of Liegnitz was not the only dire report reaching the crusader camp. Bishop Hermann’s spirits were further reduced when Prince Canute informed him that he had received word from Reval that Koporye had been retaken. This news affected everyone, even Conrad’s warlords for they had taken part in the winter campaign whose only achievement was establishing the stronghold. Three days later the Danes left camp.
Rudolf stood with Conrad and watched them go, foot soldiers marching beside carts and wagons while the knights and squires rode at the head of the column.
‘King Valdemar is dead,’ said Rudolf. ‘A courier arrived this morning with the news. Canute and Abel have been recalled to Denmark for the coronation of the new king.’
‘Who will that be?’
‘No idea,’ said Rudolf, ‘but as Valdemar has died so will this campaign. We do not have the numbers now to threaten Novgorod.’
‘Perhaps it is just as well.’
‘Meaning?’
‘The only thing that stands between the Mongols and Estonia and Livonia is Novgorod, as you yourself said,’ remarked Conrad. ‘At least this way we are safe from the Mongols.’
‘Indeed. You should tell the bishop, it might free him from his apathy.’
But the bishop had other things to worry about. Rudolf received orders from no less than Gerhard von Malberg, Grand Master of the Teutonic Knights, that he and his masters and brother knights were to return to Livonia forthwith to prepare to sail to Germany to meet the Mongol threat. Latin Christendom was rallying to the defence of the Holy Church and the whole civilised world. Rudolf left the day after the order came, Bishop Hermann, his militia and the Army of the Wolf the day after. In the rush and general confusion no one had thought to increase the size of the garrison left at Pskov.
*****
Kristjan burned all the lands along the coast of the Gulf of the Finns. It was summer and the ground was dry, the crops ripe in the fields. Prince Alexander laid siege to Narva; not a close investment, just enough to keep the garrison penned in while the Karelians plundered the surrounding land. Kristjan hoped the garrison of Reval might venture out and offer him battle but when his scouts reached the port they found the gates closed and nearby villages deserted.
‘Did you burn them?’ he asked Tracker when the party had returned.
‘Yes, lord,’ beamed the grubby scout. ‘The huts are like tinder this time of year.’
‘Excellent,’ nodded Kristjan. ‘You and your men get some something to eat and fresh horses and ride west again.’
Tracker flashed a smile. ‘Just about everywhere is deserted, lord.’
‘The Wierlanders and Harrien will have taken themselves off to forest sanctuaries, either that or nearby hill forts.’
Kristjan looked at Boar. ‘We will advance further into Wierland to see if we can tease a response from the enemy. Give the order to move out.’
The Karelians already infested Wierland and now Kristjan was intent on pushing on into Harrien. But before Boar could issue his master’s orders a message arrived from Prince Alexander requesting Kristjan’s presence at his tent.
The days were long and warm and the aroma of campfires, horses and their dung hung in the air. Narva was surrounded but there was no activity in the siege lines. Occasionally the Russian archers would shoot a few arrows at sentries standing in the towers along Narva’s perimeter timber wall, and the odd crossbow bolt was shot from the walls. But both sides had settled into apathy, which would be broken either when the garrison ran out of food or the Russians broke off their investment.
‘I have received word from Novgorod that the Catholics are weak following a great Mongol victory in Poland,’ Alexander informed him.
‘Where’s Poland?’ asked Kristjan.
‘Far away from here. Also the Danish king has died so many of the knights that accompanied Bishop Hermann have sailed away from Reval.’
‘The news gets better and better,’ said Kristjan.
‘The veche has requested that we retake Pskov.’
‘We?’ queried Kristjan. ‘I left Karelia as a personal favour to your father, my friend, and to you, Alexander. Is the veche as ungrateful as ever?’
Alexander squirmed with embarrassment. ‘The Council of Lords, in recognition of your service, has authorised me to inform you that they wish you to be a member of their body. It is a great honour, Kristjan.’
‘On what condition? Do they wish me to abandon my faith?’
‘They do not,’ said Alexander. ‘They ask only that your children are baptised into the Orthodox faith.’
‘Is that all!’ exclaimed Kristjan. ‘I would rather eat my own dung.’
Alexander gripped his arm. ‘Do not be hasty, my friend, at least consider the council’s proposal. In any case there is another reason why you might wish to take your men south.’
‘Which is what?’
Alexander let go of his arm and paced over to the tent’s entrance, looking at the ramparts of Narva beyond the camp.
‘Our intelligence has discovered that the Marshal of Estonia was among Bishop Hermann’s entourage in the spring.’
Kristjan’s ears pricked up. ‘I heard he was dead.’
‘He’s very much alive, Kristjan. The Mayor of Pskov saw him with his own eyes. When I march south there is every likelihood he will be among those I face on the battlefield.’
Kristjan left Alexander’s tent without committing himself but tellingly he countermanded his earlier order to Boar. The prospect of meeting the hated Master Conrad was worth more than killing a few miserable villagers and looting their hovels in Wierland and Harrien.
*****
Northern Estonia may have been burning but to the south Livonia was not only basking in sunshine it was also enjoying great prosperity. The rebellion on Oesel had been crushed, Hastein having been captured and sent to Riga in chains. The Mongols had not ventured west after their crushing victory at Liegnitz but instead had turned tail and returned east. Proof if ever it was needed that God had struck terror into their hearts. As a result Rudolf and his castellans never sailed for Germany. But most of all the great and the good of Riga were quietly celebrating the departure of Archdeacon Stefan.
His descent into gluttony and over-indulgence of the grape had resulted in him becoming corpulent but he had not allowed his mind to fester. His ambition was born out of resentment and grievance, resentment that he had been sent to Riga in the first place, though he had been given the posts of archdeacon and city governor by his uncle Bishop Albert, and grievance that his ‘talents’ had been overlooked by his own family and the Papacy. As a result, he had worked tirelessly to redress these two gross injustices.
In addition to the considerable amount of land he owned Stefan was also the governor of Riga, which meant he had control over docking fees in the port and the issue of licences for market traders. He was careful not to make either too prohibitive and therefore affect trade, but nevertheless skimming off a portion of the revenues from each. And he also had his own court, which was supposed to refer the most serious infractions of canon law that it discovered to the higher bishop’s court for judgement, though Stefan ensured it seldom did so. The Archdeacon’s Court had the right to prosecute a whole host of offences and, more importantly, the archdeacon himself was allowed under canon law to keep the revenues from the fines imposed in his court. This made Stefan extremely unpopular. It also made him very rich.