Master of Mayhem

by Peter Darman

But Kristjan was thinking ahead. He knew no one in Novgorod and, more importantly, could not speak Russian. He could not get Hoidja’s name out of his mind. Surely it was too much of a coincidence that he bore the same name as the term for the gods’ protectors?

  But he was not certain. He thought back to his ordeal that had won him the torc of Taara, Rustic’s words and the bloodbath at Dorpat. He thought he knew the will of the gods but perhaps he had wrongly interpreted everything. And now he lived in a fishing village and had been befriended by a man whom he liked and thought he could trust.

  ‘My family called me Kristjan.’

  Hoidja extended his hand for him to shake.

  ‘Then I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Kristjan.’

  Kristjan shook his hand and watched other boats being pulled from the water by men who looked twice their age. Kristjan sensed that with the right offer Hoidja could be persuaded to leave this place.

  ‘I will be leaving for Novgorod soon,’ Kristjan announced suddenly.

  ‘I will miss you, you have been good company.’

  ‘Would you consider accompanying me, Hoidja? I could use someone who speaks the local language and has a knowledge of Russian ways.’

  ‘A generous offer but I must decline. Here at least I have a living. In Novgorod a man would need money to make more money and I have none.’

  Kristjan looked around to ensure that no one was nearby and then paced over to Hoidja until they were face to face. He took the pouch from his shoulder and held it open so the older man could see the riches inside it.

  ‘I have enough money to make us both fortunes.’

  Hoidja’s eyes opened wide in amazement. He had never seen such a treasure and for a few moments was speechless. Kristjan closed the pouch and slung it over his shoulder.

  ‘I had thought to use the gold I carry to enlist soldiers to my cause,’ said Kristjan. ‘But you have persuaded me that perhaps it can be put to better use.’

  Hoidja stroked his beard thoughtfully. ‘With such treasure you can become rich at Novgorod, Kristjan, rich enough to raise an army should you wish.’

  ‘If you assist me then you will share in that wealth, that I promise,’ said Kristjan.

  They left the next day, both riding on hardy panje ponies and pulling another pony loaded with food and a tent. On the journey Kristjan divulged his personal story, of how he had seen his parents, brother and sisters die of a pestilence sent by the Sword Brothers, of how the foreign devils had conquered his homeland and that he had vowed to destroy them. Hoidja listened, saying little as they rode through rolling hills and camped for the night by forests of pine. But he believed that the young man with a pouch filled with gold would forget about war and vengeance once they became rich lords of Novgorod.

  *****

  The great timber stronghold of Lehola was surrounded by dozens of tents being pitched and ponies and horses being unsaddled as the Army of the Wolf made camp outside the gates of the Duke of Saccalia’s fortress. From the towers fluttered the standard of the English lord who had made Estonia his home: a white boar’s head with golden tusks on a blue background. The motif also adorned the caparisons of the duke’s chargers and the shields and surcoats of his men. The duke himself wore a perplexed look as Conrad, Hans, Anton and Leatherface dismounted in front of his hall in the fort’s inner compound. After the formalities of introductions were out of the way Sir Richard escorted his guests inside while servants took their horses to the stables.

  ‘You rode ahead with the vanguard of the army, Conrad?’ queried Sir Richard.

  Conrad shook his head. ‘What you see outside your walls is the sum total of the army, your grace.’

  They walked through the reception hall and into Lehola’s expansive feasting chamber that could accommodate up to five hundred people, though today it was occupied only by a handful of guards.

  ‘So few?’ said Sir Richard.

  ‘Three hundred heathens,’ interrupted Leatherface, ‘plus two hundred god-fearing bastards, plus your lordship’s heathens.’

  Anton winced at the mercenary’s irreverence but Sir Richard was so used to the dog of war’s impertinence that he hardly noticed any more. The ‘bastards’ had originally numbered two thousand men. But disease, battle casualties, desertions and the return to Germany of many of their number had whittled their numbers down to just under four hundred men. Conrad had promised the bishop just before he died that he would make them part of the Army of the Wolf. Based at Varbola, a hundred of ‘the bastards’ were now crossbowmen under Leatherface’s leadership.

  ‘The Danes are showing signs of aggression,’ said Conrad, ignoring the mercenary. ‘That is why the bulk of the army remains in Estonia.’

  He stopped and looked at Sir Richard.

  ‘I trust you will leave Lehola and Fellin well garrisoned.’

  Sir Richard ran a hand over his bald crown. ‘I was thinking of taking a substantial number of foot south to the great muster at Riga.’

  ‘I would advise against it, your grace,’ said Conrad glumly. ‘The Danes are not to be trusted.’

  ‘They tried to put a few arrows in him,’ smiled Leatherface.

  ‘They did put an arrow in me,’ added Hans. He tapped his side. ‘No bones broken, though.’

  ‘They violated a parley,’ hissed Conrad.

  Sir Richard’s lavish hospitality failed to lift Conrad’s gloom as he sat with the English lord explaining why Bishop Albert’s crusade in Lithuania was a mistake.

  ‘I have been there before and that ended badly. I see no reason why this time should be any different.’

  Hans and Anton ignored their friend’s prophecy of doom as they devoured strips of sizzling boar, rye bread and bloodless sausage, a favourite of Hans. But Sir Richard was alarmed at the Marshal of Estonia’s dark mood.

  ‘Don’t you worry about him, your lordship,’ said Leatherface, belching and wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his grubby gambeson, ‘he’s just annoyed that the Danes broke the rules of the parley.’

  ‘They violated a covenant of trust,’ Conrad shot back, ‘and for that they will pay.’

  Leatherface laughed loudly. ‘Trust? The only reason people have parleys is to determine whether the other side is weaker. Why else would two enemies stop killing each other?’

  ‘He’s right there,’ said Squire Paul standing behind Sir Richard, who spun around.

  ‘And what would a lowly squire know of the affairs of men of rank and quality?’

  Paul screwed up his nose. ‘That when it comes down to it they are little different from those at the bottom of the dung heap.’

  ‘Correct,’ continued Leatherface, now thoroughly enjoying himself. ‘In Germany I lost count of the number of times a parley ended in bloodshed.’

  ‘We are not in Germany,’ Conrad told him.

  Leatherface pointed a chicken wing at Conrad. ‘But what you seem to forget is that most of those who come to Livonia have done their fighting in Germany, excepting your lordship of course.

  ‘I can assure you that the English are as prone to violating truces and parleys as anyone else,’ remarked Sir Richard. ‘But Conrad, do you think that the Danes are likely to launch attacks from Reval? I thought the Sword Brothers had captured all their outlying positions during the winter just past.’

  ‘Those positions have been abandoned due to the forthcoming campaign in Lithuania,’ replied Conrad. ‘I will not allow Estonia to be further raped by the Danes. I would earnestly advise your grace to leave Saccalia strongly defended.’

  And so he did. The next day Tonis, the new Count of Fellin, arrived at the head of a hundred wolf shields riding ponies, accompanying carts loaded with supplies. Seeing his old comrade and friend again briefly raised Conrad’s spirits, though Fellin’s commander was perplexed when Sir Richard informed him that the only foot soldiers going south would be Tonis’ men. The rest of Saccalia’s levies would be remaining to guard against Danish incursions and reinforce Hillar at Leal, Riki at
Varbola and Andres at Kassinurme should they require aid. Tonis was surprised to discover those warlords were not with the Army of the Wolf but was delighted when Conrad asked him to command the Harrien, Jerwen and Rotalian contingents as well as his own Saccalians. Like the rest of Conrad’s army they were mounted on hardy Estonian ponies, as were the fifty crossbowmen that were part of Lehola’s garrison and which Sir Richard loaned to the Marshal of Estonia to reinforce the missile troops of ‘the bastards’. This gave Leatherface an impressive one hundred and fifty crossbowmen to shoot opponents to pieces before the spearmen of Conrad’s army came to blows.

  Actually ‘spearmen’ was an incorrect term because the warriors of the Army of the Wolf preferred to use their axes in close-quarter combat, though every man was issued with a spear as a defence against horsemen. Now veterans with many years’ experience under their belts, each warrior was well armed and equipped.

  Conrad was now twenty-nine years of age and many of the men who rode behind him on their hardy ponies were of a similar age and experience. Long gone were the days when the Army of the Wolf had been little more than an ill-armed rabble. Its victories over the Oeselians, Russians, Cumans and Danes had reaped a rich reward in captured weapons and armour. Even enemy ironmongery that was battered and broken was retrieved, melted down and re-used in the smithies in Varbola, Leal and now Kassinurme. In this way Conrad’s men could be lavishly equipped and attired. Many were still pagans but the reality was that behind the Sword Brothers they were among the finest that the Bishop of Riga could call upon.

  Each warrior was now uniformly attired to ensure that there were no weaknesses in the shield wall. Traditionally a shield wall comprised the best armed and armoured in the front ranks and those deficient in weapons and protection occupying the rear ranks. But if the front ranks were killed or broken then the shield wall would invariably collapse. Not so in the Army of the Wolf. Uniformity of equipment ensured uniformity of performance in every rank. So each warrior wore an iron helmet that had a large nasal guard riveted to the brow band. A padded hide cap was worn underneath to spread out and absorb the force of a blow and to absorb sweat to prevent the helmet from rusting from the inside. A leather chinstrap prevented it falling off during combat.

  The mail armour suit worn by every man had short sleeves and reached down to the thigh. It gave excellent protection but from bitter experience Christian and pagan soldiers alike had learned that mail could be pierced by sword and spear thrusts. So beneath the mail each man wore a garment similar to a gambeson, consisting of two layers of leather stuffed with animal hair and then sewn together. It not only spread the force of a blow but was also capable of stopping sword and spear points.

  The primary defensive instrument, however, was the round wooden shield that had been used by the pagan Livs and Estonians for generations. Around three feet in diameter lime wood was the preferred material, though fir, birch and pine were also used. At its centre was a domed iron boss that protected the hand. To the untrained eye the shield was crude and ineffective but in trained hands it was an excellent tool. The boss, for example, had to be large enough to comfortably accommodate the hand so the shield could be moved freely by a warrior. The grip underneath the boss was wooden and ran the full diameter of the inside of the shield. Two iron reinforcing bars either side of it added strength to the shield and also held the planking together. The shield was rimmed with rawhide to prevent it from splitting when it was hit on the edge.

  The front of the shield was covered with leather to make it more resistant to weapon strikes. A leather-covered shield would not split even when struck by the fearsome broadaxe favoured by the Oeselians and Kurs. The addition of the iron bars and leather made a shield heavier and so each one had a leather sling to allow it to be carried over the shoulder, though when riding many warriors liked to dangle their shields from their saddles.

  Only the chiefs carried swords, which were expensive items and out of reach of most warriors. Instead the primary weapon was the one-handed battle axe that had a haft of two and a half feet. Usually carried tucked in the belt, it could be wielded in the close confines of the shield wall. The great advantage it had over straight-edged weapons was that its curved blade concentrated all the force of a blow into a small section of the edge. This gave it enough force to punch through a helmet or mail armour. And every warrior also carried a long knife in a sheath suspended horizontally from his belt. It was a one-handed, single-edged weapon with a blade some two feet in length and when used for short-range attacks with a shield it was just as effective as a sword.

  The settlement beneath Wenden’s northern wall had increased in size, Conrad thought, as he led the Army of the Wolf to the large meadow beyond the gates in the outer perimeter wall. Guards in the castle’s towers had noted the arrival of several hundred warriors on ponies and knights and squires riding horses. Squires held the reins of the highly prized destriers of Sir Richard and his men. Not all of his knights had warhorses, the beasts being prohibitively expensive to purchase and maintain. But they all had palfreys that Conrad thought just as good on the battlefield compared to the ill-tempered destriers.

  Children in the fields around the village squealed and shouted as they spotted the column of riders and ran to get a better view of the long-haired bearded Estonians and the more smartly attired knights under Sir Richard’s command. They recognised the white caparisons, surcoats and shields bearing the red cross and sword insignia of the three riders at the head of the column and waved their hands at them, mistaking them for members of the garrison. Hans and Anton waved back.

  ‘Give them a wave, Conrad,’ said Hans. ‘It is good for morale.’

  Conrad smiled weakly and raised his hand half-heartedly as bare-footed children ran up and began patting his horse’s caparison. The beast grunted in alarm as it was suddenly surrounded by a host of squealing imps.

  He patted its neck. ‘Easy boy.’

  ‘Clear off, you filthy pigs,’ shouted Squire Paul behind Sir Richard.

  ‘You should make more of an effort to win over civilians,’ Sir Richard rebuked him. ‘Their toil pays for your equipment and puts food in your belly.’

  Paul mumbled a reply that no one heard and sat in his saddle with a face like thunder as the children continued to run among the column. But after a few minutes their parents joined them and pulled them back from the riders, especially the Estonians whom they viewed with alarm. Hundreds of heavily armed pagans in their midst made many cross themselves and shy away from the column.

  Once they had reached the meadow the carts and wagons containing the tents and Sir Richard’s pavilion were unloaded and the shelters erected. Conrad and his two friends accompanied Sir Richard into the castle, an honour guard of sergeants greeting them when they rode into the courtyard. Master Rudolf and the brother knights of the garrison were drawn up in front of the master’s hall, trumpeters blowing their instruments when the Duke of Saccalia and the Marshal of Estonia halted their horses in front of Rudolf. Novices came forward to take the reins of the mounts as Hans and Anton dismounted and exchanged courtesies with Wenden’s castellan. Conrad smiled when he caught sight of Henke standing to attention behind Rudolf. He could not remember a time when the brutish Henke had ever saluted him. How times had changed.

  ‘I would speak to the marshal and the Duke of Saccalia alone,’ Rudolf said to Hans and Anton as the novices led the horses to the stables. The sergeants and brother knights were dismissed, Conrad’s friends joining their former colleagues as he and Sir Richard walked with Rudolf into the master’s hall. They passed through the main chamber with its high, vaulted ceiling and entered the master’s office, a smaller, more intimate room. A novice who had been waiting with a tray holding silver cups and a jug of wine followed and served them drinks after they had taken their seats. The boy placed a fourth cup on the master’s table and retreated to stand by the door which suddenly opened and Master Thaddeus entered.

  ‘Apologies, my lords, for the delay,�
� he said, ‘the affairs of the kingdom are never ending.’

  He nodded politely at Sir Richard and Conrad and took his seat beside them opposite Rudolf. He was now in his forties and though his build was still athletic, Conrad noted the tiredness in his eyes and a hint of white in his light brown hair. Thaddeus’ hair, in contrast, was completely white and his frame painfully thin. But his tongue was as sharp as ever.

  Rudolf raised his cup. ‘To the forthcoming campaign.’

  Conrad and Sir Richard reciprocated the gesture, Thaddeus merely curling the side of his mouth into a semblance of a smile.

  Rudolf sipped at his wine. ‘Master Thaddeus does not approve of our forthcoming venture south of the Dvina.’

  Thaddeus frowned. ‘Whether I approve or disapprove is beside the point, Rudolf. As quartermaster general of Livonia I am privy to the finances of the kingdom and the Sword Brothers in particular. The state of their monetary affairs are dire to say the least.’

  ‘Then a successful war in Lithuania will replenish our coffers,’ smiled Rudolf.

  ‘I think not,’ replied Thaddeus gravely, ‘unless there is a hoard of gold in Lithuania yet to be discovered. Bishop Albert means to rebuild Mesoten so it becomes a Sword Brother stronghold. His brother, meanwhile, intends to make Dorpat a city fit for a prince-bishop of the Holy Church, which means another stone castle in addition to a cathedral. No longer a church but a cathedral. Ruinous.’

  Rudolf dismissed his concern with the wave of a hand. ‘Bishop Albert will raise the funds from the lords of northern Germany.’

  Thaddeus waved a bony finger at him. ‘I think not, Rudolf. The lords of northern Germany are embroiled in a war with the Danes.’

  Rudolf sighed. ‘The Danes were defeated earlier in the year. The war is over.’

  ‘The Danes have suffered a defeat,’ Thaddeus corrected him, ‘but the war goes on. As I have said many times…’

  ‘Enough,’ said Rudolf sharply, ‘your incessant talking has given me a permanent headache.’

  He looked at Conrad. ‘How many men have you brought to Wenden?’