As Dust to the Wind

by Peter Darman

  ‘Where are their horsemen?’ asked Conrad.

  The sergeant looked at him. ‘We did not see any horsemen, master.’

  Annoyance spread across von Grüningen’s face. He disliked Conrad, disliked him because of his seditious attitude, his lack of respect for the Teutonic Order and most of all because seemingly everyone in Estonia appeared to hold him in high regard, thus undermining his own authority.

  ‘That seems not quite right,’ opined Rudolf, Sir Richard nodding.

  ‘The horsemen who raided our lands cannot have returned home and left their foot soldiers behind,’ remarked the Duke of Saccalia.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Conrad.

  Von Grüningen dismissed the sergeant.

  ‘What difference does it make? The enemy stands but a short distance from here. We meet them, we defeat them and avenge the destruction and loss of life they have inflicted on the bishop’s lands.’

  Rudolf and Conrad made to speak but the bishop held up a hand.

  ‘I wholeheartedly agree with the Livonian Master. The enemy obviously wishes to give battle and we will oblige him. God is on our side and has engineered this situation so we may be rid of this Russian pestilence. Give the order to advance.’

  Sir Paul and the shabby looking man in old chain mail beside him finally arrived and walked up to Sir Richard.

  ‘You’re too late,’ said the duke, ‘the bishop has decided to give battle.’

  Sir Paul rolled his eyes. He had been in the rearguard with the Count of Reval and his Danes. The two had struck up an immediate friendship, the blunt-speaking Englishman finding a kindred spirit in the put-upon but down-to-earth count.

  ‘The enemy has been sighted, then?’ said Sir Paul.

  Sir Richard nodded. ‘Foot soldiers only.’

  ‘Most odd,’ said the count.

  ‘Odd? Bloody suspicious, more like,’ remarked Paul.

  ‘For once I am in agreement with you,’ said Sir Richard.

  The main camp of the bishop’s army was pitched on the western shore of Lake Peipus, just before the frozen reed beds spreading north and south towards Lake Pskov. The non-combatants, novices, sled drivers and a hundred of Dorpat’s militiamen had been left there to guard the tents, ponies and vehicles. All the order’s novices had been issued with crossbows and plentiful ammunition and the sleds had been used to ring the camp to form a perimeter wall in case Russian horsemen decided to raid it.

  The bishop’s army numbered only two and a half thousand men but its ranks were filled with some of the finest soldiers in Christendom. In the vanguard were the seventy brother knights and two hundred sergeants of the Teutonic order, all in chain mail from head to foot, the brother knights riding warhorses. They and the mounts of the sergeants were protected by caparisons. The horsemen of Sir Richard and Sir Paul were reckoned to be just as good as the men of the order, their knights also riding warhorses and fully equipped with mail armour and full-face helms. Their squires were also lavishly equipped, though their mounts were palfreys as opposed to the expensive destriers. Nevertheless, in battle they were as effective and deadly as their masters. Both lords had brought a hundred mounted fighting men to Lake Peipus.

  The core of the bishop’s force was the Army of the Wolf, numbering eleven hundred men. Its strength had been depleted by Riki and his Harrien having to guard their homes from the bandits infesting Wierland and northern Harrien in the summer. Stamping them out had been a time-consuming and tedious business. Conrad had ordered Riki to stay at Varbola and safeguard his northern border. Anu was still in Wierland with his men, which allowed Andres to march with four hundred men to Dorpat. The same number of wolf shields had accompanied Tonis from Saccalia and even though Conrad had instructed Hillar to remain in Rotalia to guard against any incursions into his lands, the big Rotalian had insisted on marching to Dorpat with a hundred of his best men.

  Riki may have stayed at Varbola but he sent Ulric and a hundred of the crossbowmen of ‘The Bastards’ and a similar number of spearmen.

  The men tasked with protecting Bishop Hermann and his entourage of priests, monks and stewards were three hundred of Dorpat’s militia. They wore red uniforms, helmets and mail shirts and carried spears and shields, these bearing the silver key crossed with a silver sword, the coat of arms of the Bishopric of Dorpat. Like their Novgorodian counterparts they looked and marched like soldiers, though were sadly lacking in battle experience.

  The Danish contingent presented a curious spectacle. The Count of Reval commanded twenty-five knights, the same number of squires and fifty sergeants, the knights well mounted and equipped, as were their squires. The sergeants, like those of the Teutonic Order, wore kettle helmets and chain mail and carried lances. But the three hundred men of Reval’s militia that had marched south with the count were a sorry sight. Their teardrop-shaped shields and helmets were battered, only one in five had a mail shirt, and their tunics and leggings were ragged and lice-ridden. The count had informed Sir Paul the only reason he had answered the bishop’s pleas for troops was to save Reval’s food supplies from being exhausted. The fact that he had not felt confident to tackle the enemy raiders roaming around his territory at will did not bode well for the coming battle.

  Far better were the two hundred mercenary crossbowmen and the same number of mercenary spearmen of the Teutonic Order. They would more than offset any Danish deficiencies.

  Not that von Grüningen was worried about the Danes. His tactics were simple and blunt, as he informed Conrad once they came within sight of the enemy. The Marshal of Estonia had been standing with his warlords ahead of the front rank of the Army of the Wolf in the centre of the bishop’s battle line when the Livonian master rode up in the company of Rudolf, von Felben and four sergeants, one of whom was carrying the huge flag of the order. Despite the snow and ice underneath, the horses retained firm footing courtesy of the curbed iron shoes with sharp nails they had been fitted with.

  Von Grüningen looked down at Conrad from his charger.

  ‘Our horsemen will ride down that rabble. Your men will mop up any survivors.’

  His tone was haughty, patronising. Being on a horse obviously made him more arrogant as he looked down on the one he regarded as a social inferior, but Conrad stayed calm.

  ‘What about their horsemen?’

  Von Grüningen turned and pointed at the black and brown mass around five hundred paces distant.

  ‘Do you see any horse? I do not. The enemy’s horsemen are no doubt off somewhere raiding. I am not concerned with what and ifs.’

  He promptly wheeled his horse right and rode off, an embarrassed von Felben raised his hand to Conrad and followed. Rudolf bent over and offered his hand.

  ‘God be with you, Conrad, and with all of you.’

  Andres, Hillar, Tonis and Ulric all shook his hand and wished him good luck and God speed, Conrad keeping hold of Rudolf’s arm.

  ‘Have a care, my friend, my instincts tell me something is amiss.’

  Rudolf nodded. ‘Me too. But the Livonian Master is determined to have his victory and we must obey him, or at least I must. You take care, Conrad.’

  He grinned, dug his spurs into his horse and cantered away.

  Conrad spoke to his commanders as a few snowflakes swirled around in the cold air.

  ‘I don’t like this. There is no reason for Russian foot soldiers to stand passively and wait to be killed, and yet there they are. Tell your men to keep their eyes peeled.’

  ‘For what, Susi?’ asked Andres.

  ‘A nasty surprise,’ said Conrad.

  A blast of trumpets from the horsemen ahead signalled the advance.

  ‘God be with you all,’ said Conrad.

  As they had done many times before they calmly walked back to their men, all drawn up four ranks deep. The front rank stood with spears levelled, those behind with the shafts vertical. In the centre of the Army of the Wolf stood ‘The Bastards’, the crossbowmen in the front rank, their spearmen protectors standing behin
d them. To their left stood Andres and his four hundred Jerwen, to the right Tonis and his four hundred Saccalians. On the far right of the line stood Hillar and his hundred Rotalians.

  The mercenary foot soldiers of the Teutonic Order, mostly men who had served the Sword Brothers and had fought beside Conrad’s men many times, were deployed on the left of the Army of the Wolf. To their left, on the flank, were the Danish militiamen and behind everyone the Dorpat militia protecting the bishop.

  Another trumpet blast was followed by horns being blown among the Estonians and drums among the Danes and the whole battle line moved forward, Danish red and white banners billowing in the breeze. Above the Jerwen the bear flew proudly, the mitre on the flag of ‘The Bastards’ flapping, the leering wolf of Saccalia taunting the enemy and Rotalia’s stag billowing majestically.

  The horsemen were deployed in a great wedge formation, at the tip two hundred brother knights and sergeants of the Teutonic Order, behind them from left to right the Danish knights and sergeants, Sir Paul’s Estonians and Sir Richard’s men. Pennants on the end of lances dipped as the riders approached the dense mass of the enemy to aim for the gap between the Karelians and Russians. The horsemen could not ride knee-to-knee because no one knew how thick the ice was in this part of Lake Peipus and so they were widely spaced. But still the surface of the lake shook under the strain of hundreds of men in mail riding heavy warhorses. Conrad in the front rank of the Rotalians felt excitement rush through him as he beheld the charge ahead, saw the dipping lances and waited for the drawn-out crunch that signalled impact. And which never came.

  *****

  It takes courage to stand and face a charge of mailed knights, a wall of iron and horseflesh that appears irresistible and ready to swat aside anyone foolish enough to stand in its way. But stand the Karelians did, along with the Russians beside them, hurling insults and challenges to the faceless knights bearing down on them. Who suddenly slowed around two hundred paces from them.

  Kristjan shouted in triumph and ran forward to brandish his sword and shield at the detested Christians. Any fool knew that the ice on Lake Peipus does not lie flat in winter but instead piles into shapes that resemble sharp points and planks lying on top of one another. Caused by prevailing winds when the water freezes, defrosts and then freezes again in late autumn, these features are especially prominent in certain sectors of the lake, none more so than around Raven’s Rock. The idiot Christians had not realised that their charge would be interrupted, nay broken up, by the uneven surface of the ice, nullifying their momentum.

  ‘You see how the gods defy you, Christians,’ screamed Kristjan. ‘Your god is a false god.’

  His comrades cheered as the knights tried to pick their way through the jagged ice and he laughed maniacally.

  ‘Idiots,’ he shouted and froze when behind him hundreds of men roared their war cries and surged forward.

  He turned to see the entire complement of Karelians racing forward. They had seen the knights slow, had watched their lord raise his sword and answered his summons.

  ‘Noooooo,’ wailed Kristjan as twelve hundred warriors surged past him on to the ice. Straight into the wedge of horsemen.

  There was nothing Kristjan could do but watch in horror as the Karelians, smelling blood, swarmed around the horsemen who stabbed with their lances and then hacked with their swords and maces at the black devils on the ice. Their warhorses, trained for such an eventuality, moved backwards, forwards and sideways to dodge Karelian spears and axes, kicking out with their back legs as they did so. The knights, discomfited by not being able to press their charge home, soon recovered and began cutting down the ill-armed and poorly equipped men around them. The ice was soon covered with lifeless black shapes.

  ‘Now, Tracker,’ shouted Kristjan, ‘now’s your time.’

  The scout, holding the reins of his frightened horse with great difficulty, jumped into the saddle and rode back to the trees. On the ice the Karelians were falling to the weapons of the knights, some of the riders also being pulled from their saddles and butchered by groups of northern heathens. Kristjan could have wept but then his tears turned from bitter to sweet as dozens of trumpets sounded and hundreds of horsemen appeared either side of Raven’s Rock, pouring from the trees according to the pre-arranged plan.

  *****

  Through the vision slits of his helmet Conrad saw with horror the Russian horsemen flooding from the trees, scores of them, all wearing lamellar or mail armour and carrying red shields and banners showing the two black bears of Novgorod. These men were the horsemen of Prince Alexander’s Druzhina – a thousand of Novgorod’s finest sons – forming the left pincer intended to surround and then annihilate the bishop’s army. Conrad could not see beyond the swirling mêlée to his front but had he been able to he would have spotted more horsemen flooding on to the ice to envelop the bishop’s army from the north. This was the right pincer of the Russian army – six hundred riders comprising two hundred men of the Pskov Druzhina, Kristjan’s two hundred riders and Andrey Nevsky’s two hundred Mongol horse archers.

  Like the mailed knights the Russian horsemen moved slowly as they traversed the jagged surface at the lake’s edge, halting beyond it to reform their ranks before the two pincers swung inwards to engulf the bishop’s horsemen. In the time it took for Prince Alexander to organise his men Sir Richard and Sir Paul had done the same, redeploying to face right while still battling the Karelians and charging at the Russian horsemen. It was heroic, magnificent and utterly doomed. Less than two hundred men against a thousand fresh soldiers.

  Conrad shoved up his helmet.

  ‘Face right, face right.’

  He heard a series of cracks and saw crossbowmen shooting down black-clad figures to the front but he cared nothing for them; his only desire was to rescues his friends.

  Signallers blew on their horns and like a huge tortoise the Army of the Wolf slowly wheeled right to follow Sir Richard and his former squire. Like the superb fighting formation it was the army actually formed two edges of a triangle. The shorter edge comprised Andres and his Jerwen facing front while ‘The Bastards,’ Saccalians and Rotalians formed the longer second edge almost at right angles to the shorter one. The whole edged crab-like towards the developing unequal fight between Alexander’s Druzhina and the knights of Sir Richard and Sir Paul.

  ‘Shoot at the horses,’ shouted Conrad, a knot tightening in his stomach when he saw the banners of his friends surrounded by enemy horsemen.

  The men moved slowly to keep their footing on the slippery surface, the crossbowmen shooting at Russian horses, their bolts hitting the unprotected creatures. A wild hairy brute appeared in front of Conrad, gripping a large axe with both hands above his head. In a swift movement Conrad ducked low and sliced the man’s left calf with his sword. The Karelian dropped the axe and collapsed on the ice, a crossbowmen shooting him dead at point-blank range.

  More and more Russian horsemen appeared in front of ‘The Bastards’ and although the crossbowmen shot many from their saddles and disabled more horses, Conrad could no longer see the boar banner of Sir Richard or the bull standard of Sir Paul. The Army of the Wolf pressed on but now the Novgorod militia had moved forward and Conrad saw a phalanx of spears looming out of the swirling snowflakes. He was distraught, certain that Sir Richard and Sir Paul were both dead.

  ‘We must halt, Susi.’

  He heard Ulric’s voice beside him. He saw the Russian spearmen edging closer towards them and knew the German was right.

  ‘Give the order.’

  Signallers blew their horns and the Army of the Wolf halted, redeploying to meet the threat to the front. Two thousand Russian foot soldiers, marching in perfect step over the ice, were about to hit them.

  ‘Move, move.’

  Ulric was standing in the front rank urging his crossbowmen to get in line. A hundred men placed the stocks of their weapons in their shoulders.

  ‘Loose!’

  A hundred crossbow bolts hisse
d through the air and struck the front rank of Russians. The crossbowmen worked furiously to reload and shoot a second volley fifteen seconds later. Another seventy or eighty Russians collapsed on the ice. A third and a fourth volley followed and the militiamen stopped. They had no crossbowmen and the archers in their rear had stopped shooting for fear of hitting their own men, though they had still inflicted casualties on the Army of the Wolf.

  ‘Keep shooting,’ shouted Ulric.

  He himself worked his crossbow liked a man possessed, loading and reloading as more and more Russians were hit. Not all of them died but all those struck collapsed or staggered to the rear, unnerving those behind and draining their courage. Now was the time to hit them and put them to flight.

  ‘Susi, enemy horsemen are behind us.’

  He removed his helmet to see Hillar, axe in hand, a small dent in his helmet.

  The Russian militiamen began shuffling back, leaving their dead behind. But they would not be pursued. Conrad saw Russian horsemen hacking with their swords and axes to the right and more in the rear where Andres was desperately trying to form the rear of a square.

  ‘Form square,’ commanded Conrad.

  Signallers sounded the command and half the Saccalians about-faced and joined the Jerwen to form a ragged square, Russian horsemen lapping round it looking for gaps. Conrad and Hillar went to where Tonis and his men were fending off the Druzhina with their spears.

  ‘We are surrounded, Susi,’ said Tonis. ‘I saw Sir Richard’s banner fall.’

  Hillar hurled a spear to hit a Russian in the chest, the point piercing his mail armour.

  ‘He was a great warrior and had a good death. That is all any of us can ask for.’

  Ulric allocated his men to each side of the square, the crossbowmen only shooting when they had a clear shot. Each man had been issued with three quivers of bolts but they were now running low and had to conserve their ammunition.

  Conrad looked over to the left where the mercenary foot soldiers of the Teutonic Order were fighting off Karelians, and behind where the Dorpat militia was battling a few dozen Russian horsemen. In the snow he could not see what was happening on the left wing where the Danes had been positioned. He prayed that the Count of Reval and his men still lived but unknown to him and the others, they had fled the battle.