by Peter Darman
Aras gently dug his spurs into his horse to move the beast forward.
‘Watch your back,’ said Mindaugas, ‘these Christians are treacherous.’
Aras smiled to himself as his horse gingerly stepped on to the planking that had been nailed to the logs underneath and walked on to the bridge. He looked like a demon in his black leather boots, clothing and leather cuirass, though he wore nothing on his head as he directed his black stallion towards another figure on a horse coming from the northern end of the bridge. It was Manfred Nordheim, the calculating and cruel commander of Riga’s garrison who had acted as the intermediary between Bishop Albert, Archdeacon Stefan and Prince Vsevolod. The negotiations had gone smoothly, no surprise considering that Nordheim and Aras were kindred spirits.
‘Today is a black day for Lithuania,’ grumbled Mindaugas as Nordheim and Aras met at the mid-point of the bridge.
Vsevolod turned to look at him. ‘Let me ask you a question, Mindaugas. Was the defeat of the alliance of dukes at the Abava River any less disastrous for Lithuania? Perhaps you wish to invite Duke Arturus into Selonia and Nalsen instead of Bishop Albert? My apologies, that is two questions.’
Mindaugas said nothing as Aras wheeled his horse about and the animal trotted back to the southern riverbank. He hated the Christians and had sworn to destroy the Sword Brothers but he knew that his father-in-law was correct and so did the dozens of horsemen around them. He hated Vsevolod for his cold logic and calculating mind but also hated himself because he was powerless to do anything to stop the Christians or Arturus, who had shattered the alliance against him at the Abava River. Arturus had gone on to crush the Samogitians at the Battle of Venta. The harsh truth was that in the wake of these defeats the enemies of Arturus were gripped by uncertainty and foreboding.
‘The Christians will fight the Kurs and we will benefit,’ Vsevolod told him, but Mindaugas no longer believed his father-in-law.
Normally the white-robed priests, the Kriviai, would be going among the soldiery to give succour to them and call on the gods to give them victory. But the Kriviu Krivaitis had not sanctioned Vsevolod’s agreement with the heathen Christians and so as punishment, had forbidden his priests from associating with him or his followers. This had enraged the prince who had pointed out that if the Kurs conquered Lithuania then Arturus would put the high priest and all his subordinates to the sword. But only silence had come from the sacred grove situated near Panemunis where the Kriviu Krivaitis lived surrounded by a host of young female virgins.
Aras returned to his master’s side as a blast of trumpets at the northern end of the bridge announced the crossing of the bishop and his commanders.
‘Everything is in place, highness,’ said Aras. ‘The Bishop of Riga invites you to dine with him in his pavilion tonight.’
Vsevolod smiled with satisfaction. ‘Excellent. I shall be delighted to sit with my new allies.’
He looked at Mindaugas. ‘And so will you. It is time for you to learn the harsh realities of politics. It is, after all, your future that I am helping to secure.’
Mindaugas’ face was a mask of stone as he stared at the horsemen making their way across the bridge. First came a large party of the accursed Sword Brothers, their faces covered by helms and their horses protected by white caparisons bearing the emblem of the order. They carried lances and white shields showing the red cross and sword motif. Behind rode the red-uniformed horsemen of the bishop’s bodyguard numbering fifty, among them the bishop himself and the army commanders.
Out of courtesy those men were wearing no helmets so Vsevolod could put a name to a face when Commander Nordheim escorted the bishop and his leaders to where Vsevolod was sitting with his bodyguard. It was fortunate that the Russian spoke excellent German, merchants having traded with the Livs and what had been the Principality of Gerzika for nearly forty years. It was also convenient to converse in German because Mindaugas had no knowledge of the language and thus the chances of him insulting the crusaders were slight.
Aras began the exchange of pleasantries.
‘My Lords, I have the honour to introduce to you Prince Vsevolod, ruler of the Kingdoms of Selonia and Nalsen.’
Bishop Albert bowed his head at the Russian.
‘Prince Vsevolod, husband to Princess Rasa, I have long wanted to meet you and thank God that you have brought about this glorious day. I hope we can look forward to warm relations between Riga and Selonia and Nalsen in the years ahead.’
Vsevolod was pleasantly surprised by the bishop’s magnanimous words.
‘I too look forward to my kingdom and Riga maintaining good relations.’
Commander Nordheim then introduced the bearded, mailed men who flanked the bishop. Most of the names he already knew, such as Grand Master Volquin, Master Rudolf, King Fricis and Prince Rameke. But others he had no knowledge of: Duke Fredhelm, the bareheaded Sir Richard Bruffingham, the unattractive Magnus Glueck and the Marshal of Estonia. Vsevelod in turn introduced Prince Mindaugas, who nodded perfunctorily at them all but stared intently at Conrad, who stared back. Both realised that they had seen each other before. It was long ago during the Lithuanian invasion of Livonia when Conrad had spared the lives of a boy assisting a dying man across the River Dvina. That boy had been Mindaugas and the dying man had been his father Prince Stecse. Mindaugas bowed his head at the Marshal of Estonia and Conrad returned the gesture and for a few moments the atmosphere was relaxed.
Until it was broken by the arrival of a rider.
The horseman was sweating profusely as he pulled up his equally perspiring horse and saluted General Aras. The convivial conversation between Vsevolod and Bishop Albert was halted as a ripple of concern went through the Lithuanian ranks at the interruption. The veteran members of the bishop’s entourage were equally concerned and the hairs on the back of Conrad’s neck stood up as Rudolf looked at him.
‘Something is wrong. You see how their horsemen are concerned.’
Aras momentarily looked aghast before regaining his composure and reporting to his prince. They talked in Lithuanian but Vsevolod stared in disbelief when his general conveyed the news. Bishop Albert saw his incredulity.
‘Can I be of any assistance, highness?’
Hearing the kindly tone in the bishop’s voice and seeing the horsemen and foot soldiers crossing the bridge behind him made Vsevolod temporarily forget himself.
‘Duke Arturus and his army are but thirty miles from this very place.’
*****
The River Iecava had a length of some one hundred miles and was roughly parallel to the Dvina, lying south of the great waterway. In spring it was in spate and fast moving but in summer its current was slow and its depth shallow. Mostly bordered by trees, it pointed like a dagger at the Selonian heartland. And it was a Selonian – Ringaudas – who led the scouts east to reconnoitre the ground ahead of the Kur army. Ringaudas, abandoned to his fate by Prince Vsevelod, along with three hundred of his men were left to the mercy of Duke Arturus as they held the ruins of Mesoten hill fort.
‘Do you trust him, my lord?’ asked Lamekins as Kur horsemen flooded the eastern Semgallian plain before entering the homeland of the Selonians.
Arturus grinned. ‘Of course. Men who are betrayed bear a grudge that eats away at them. Ringaudas and his men will prove themselves loyal to our cause.’
Lamekins pointed to the great forests to the east. ‘That is their homeland where their families live. Perhaps they will change their minds when they see their homes again.’
To Lamekins war was about defeating the enemy on the field of battle, about commanding soldiers who were well trained and equipped. He had little time for politics or diplomacy. He was a simple soldier, albeit one blessed with genius.
‘When they see that we come not to burn their homes or enslave their families but to rid the world of Prince Vsevolod,’ said Arturus, ‘who is despised in Selonia and Nalsen, they will be more loyal to us, Lamekins.’
Arturus, convinced by Lamekins
that a first strike against the enemy was better than waiting to be attacked, had given strict orders that the villages they passed were not to be looted or burned and their crops and livestock were to be left alone. This ran counter to the usual Kur way of conducting war but the hanging of a few looters and their bodies left along the line of march ensured that the soldiery kept their base instincts in check. Not that Arturus’ army was ill disciplined. His enemies liked to portray the Kurs as the stuff of children’s nightmares, intent only on rape and plunder. But the reality was that Prince Lamekins had honed the army into a well-balanced fighting force, as Vsevolod and Bishop Albert were about to find out.
‘Beautiful country, don’t you think?’ mused Arturus.
‘My Lord?’
He moved his arm in a great sweeping movement. ‘This land. It is much more verdant than Kurland.’
Lamekins looked around at the endless stretches of pine, spruce and birch and the meadow they were riding through filled with snowdrops and buttercups.
‘I suppose it is, Lord.’
Arturus smiled, causing the long, twisted scar that ran down the right side of his face to resemble a leer.
‘You have no romance in you, Lamekins. All you think of is how many horsemen the army musters or how many spears and axes the foot soldiers possess.’
He reached over and placed a hand on the prince’s arm. ‘Not that I do not appreciate the efforts of Kurland’s bravest son.’
Surrounded by a host of horsemen attired in black tunics and leggings, their torsos protected by black leather breast and back plates with their horses also black, they were riding near to the Iecava between hillocks covered in alder, bird cherry, rowan and hazel. They had passed several villages and farmsteads, their inhabitants having long fled in fear before the Kurs. Where possible they had taken their cattle, goats, pigs and chickens, either into the forests or to the sacred groves where their ancestors had worshipped. There the white-robed Kriviai told them that their prayers to Dievas, the supreme god, would be answered and the Kurs would be struck down for their blasphemy.
Arturus and Lamekins had diverted their route to ride through a few of the villages, the duke halting his horse in front of a hut that had a sprig of rowan tied over the entrance. He looked around and saw similar sprigs of green leaves and red berries fastened to other huts. He dismounted, walked over to the hut and yanked off the rowan.
‘Villagers believe that rowan wards off evil,’ he said to Lamekins. From beneath his armour he pulled out the necklace from which hung an amber charm ‘Whereas we believe that amber is the only protection against evil.’
The duke looked around at the members of his bodyguard who were staring at him. He grinned maliciously, dropped the rowan and crushed it beneath his heel.
‘If the deluded inhabitants of this hovel truly believed in their charms then why have they fled and why have we been allowed to walk into their homeland?’
He returned to his horse and regained the saddle. He knew that they would encounter Prince Vsevolod’s army sooner rather than later and he also knew that Bishop Albert’s crusaders would reinforce it. Torolf’s spies kept him fully abreast of developments north of the Dvina. But he had placed a covering force to keep watch on Tervete hill fort to ensure Duke Viesthard was confined to his stronghold, and had also deployed troops to harry what was left of Duke Ykintas’ army, the new Duke of Samogitia. He had no intention of remaining in Selonia but he wanted to give the Bishop of Riga a taste of what a war with the Kurs involved
Chapter 3
Following the disturbing news that the Kurs were on the border of Selonia it was decided to march west with all haste to intercept Duke Arturus. The day after the crusader army had crossed the Dvina, Bishop Albert and Prince Vsevolod rode together at the head of their combined forces in a display of unity. In the wake of the army were dozens of wagons carrying the crusaders’ supplies, which were joined by Lithuanian carts as foot soldiers added to the force in response to Aras’ summons to local villages to muster all their men of fighting age to repel the Kurs.
Vsevolod’s horsemen – a thousand soldiers in mail armour, aventails and helmets and armed with spisas, swords, axes and maces – were a welcome addition to the army. But his foot soldiers left a lot to be desired. They eventually numbered three thousand but were for the most part poorly equipped. The best, the chiefs and veteran warriors, had mail armour, swords and helmets, but the majority had no armour, leather caps for headwear and carried weapons that ranged from axes, knives and spears to simple wooden clubs. A few carried the kistien, a ball-and-chain type of mace that could be as lethal to its owner as to its target.
The days were warm and long but the army did not want for water for the land of rivers and lakes was blessed with rain every day. This meant there were many watering holes but it also resulted in the ground being soft, which slowed the rate of advance as wagons and carts got stuck on tracks that quickly turned to rivers of mud. The army managed a maximum rate of advance of five miles a day. The initial alarm on discovering the Kurs were so close gave way to concern that Duke Arturus might escape so slow was the rate of advance. But on the fifth morning following the crossing of the Dvina, an hour after breaking camp, scouts brought news that the Kurs were two miles away.
Within minutes of this news being transmitted to Bishop Albert and Prince Vsevolod the air was filled with unending trumpet blasts and horn calls as knights, Sword Brothers, Selonian horsemen and foot soldiers mustered in their ranks. It took over an hour for destriers to be clothed in their caparisons and their riders to gather under the banners of their lords or masters. Once the contingents of the army were organised the signal to advance was given.
This part of Selonia consisted of gently rolling terrain with great elongated, grass-covered hills beside wide meadows between dark and dense forests of fir. The air was cool and fresh after the rain, the ground soft and easily churned up by the iron-shod hooves of the horsemen. The Army of the Wolf had dismounted and marched in a hollow square with its carts and ponies gathered in the centre. In front of it rode Sir Richard and his knights, their wagons also protected by Conrad’s warriors. They were in the middle of a meadow that was at least a mile wide, on the left flank of which was the River Iecava. In the distance was a low, long hill, directly ahead copses of birch and alder.
Leatherface looked into the sky. ‘No birds, which means that the enemy is close.’
‘Let us hope so,’ said Conrad beside him, ‘otherwise Duke Fredhelm’s knights will be sorely disappointed. Not to mention the commander of the Livonian Militia.’
‘Glueck and his men are the best dressed in the army,’ said Anton admiringly.
Hans looked at Leatherface. ‘Well dressed and well-armed. They are a credit to Livonia.’
The mercenary saw the brother knights staring at him.
‘They are pretty enough, I’ll give you that. But can they fight?’
Anton pointed at the hill in the distance where black dots could be seen among the green.
‘We will find out soon enough.’
Moments later one of Nordheim’s horsemen arrived with a request from the bishop for Conrad to attend a council of war. The Marshal of Estonia walked back to his horse led by Jaan, who looked most unhappy.
‘Why the glum face?’ Conrad asked.
Jaan nodded towards where Hans, Anton and Leatherface were walking.
‘I would like to stand in the shield wall, Susi.’
‘You have my permission.’
Jaan beamed with delight. ‘I do?’
Conrad took the reins of his horse. ‘When I and all my men are dead you have my permission to battle the Kurs on your own.’
He handed Jaan his helmet. ‘Keep hold of this until I return.’
The unhappy youth took the helm as Conrad hoisted himself into the saddle and spurred his horse to the right. The crossbowmen and warriors parted to allow him to exit the square as another rider wearing a blue surcoat bearing a white boar’s h
ead cantered up.
‘So, those are the fearsome Kurs that we have heard so much about,’ said Sir Richard. ‘We beat them here today and we will earn the unending gratitude of Prince Vsevolod, it seems to me.’
‘As well as making the capture of Mesoten easier,’ said Conrad. ‘And that is what we are here for.’
But when they arrived at the bishop’s position, a horseman behind him having difficulty keeping a huge banner depicting a silver cross on a red background steady in the wind, there was no talk of Mesoten, only of crushing the Kurs.
‘My scouts report two, perhaps three thousands of them,’ announced Duke Fredhelm. ‘We outnumber them three to one.’
‘This should be easy enough,’ boasted Magnus Glueck.
Volquin nodded to Sir Richard and Conrad who said nothing, having difficulty to not laugh at the appearance of the commander of the Livonian Militia. His red surcoat was emblazoned with a gold cross with gold around its edges. From the leather belt encompassing his considerable girth hung a beautiful sword in a red scabbard. The man dripped wealth.
‘I would advise caution, sir,’ interrupted Aras beside Vsevolod. ‘The Kurs are a resourceful enemy.’
Glueck chuckled, causing his double chin to wobble.
‘Just as we have put the pagans to the sword north of the Dvina, so shall we impose the same fate on those who live to the south of the river.’
Volquin’s eyes widened at his arrogance and the bishop looked most displeased at the insult directed at their hosts.
‘We are pleased to adhere to your advice, General Aras,’ said Albert. ‘And we are pleased to have your men fighting beside us. With your help we will free your land of these devils. Your men will join Duke Fredhelm’s knights on the right wing of our army.’
‘What is he saying?’ said Mindaugas sitting next to Vsevolod.
Vsevolod smiled at Bishop Albert before muttering to his son-in-law.
‘The bishop has requested that my horsemen join his crusaders on the right wing. This is seen as a great honour.’