Master of Mayhem

by Peter Darman

  Conrad pointed at the trees. ‘I’ll warrant that the marsh does not begin immediately where the trees end, your grace. We might have a chance of saving this day yet.’

  Sir Richard’s spirits perked up. ‘What do have in mind?’

  ‘This army has seven hundred and fifty crossbowmen,’ replied Conrad, ‘and thus far few have shot a bolt. Thus have the Kurs negated one of our most effective arms, the other being our mounted knights, which they have also managed to blunt. A compact mass of men might be able to bring some of our missile troops to bear on the enemy and at least inflict some losses on them.’

  Sir Richard looked in the direction of the trees. ‘I like it. Where do want my horsemen?’

  ‘I must ask your grace’s men to be a reserve should my plan fall to pieces and we are also forced to flee for our lives.’

  Sir Richard nodded. ‘I think Grand Master Volquin should be alerted to your plan of action, Conrad.’

  He sent a party of his knights to report to the grand master and Bishop Albert as the Army of the Wolf formed into a compact wedge formation, the front rank equipped with spears, the second rank comprised of Leatherface’s crossbowmen plus those of Sir Richard – one hundred and fifty in total.

  Master Rudolf had spotted the group of riders galloping towards where the bishop’s banner flew and decided to leave his position at the head of the order’s horsemen and discover what, if anything, the grand master and bishop intended to do with the hundreds of horsemen, Livs and Estonians who were standing idle in their ranks on the army’s left flank. He arrived just as Sir Richard’s men had conveyed Conrad’s plan.

  An irritated Rudolf took off his helmet and bowed his head to Volquin and the bishop, ignoring the gaudily dressed Vsevolod.

  ‘Master Conrad believes he can unpick the riddle that confronts us, Master Rudolf,’ the bishop told him. ‘I have given my consent to his plan of attack.’

  ‘I have sent a message to Fricis asking him to support Conrad,’ added Volquin. ‘Your horsemen will form a reserve, Rudolf.’

  ‘It seems the whole army is forming a reserve,’ said a frustrated Rudolf. ‘Was that fat idiot killed in his rash assault?’

  Volquin smiled and shook his head. ‘He has retired to the rear to fetch his spare warhorse.’

  Bishop Albert was not amused. ‘That “fat idiot”, as you call him, Master Rudolf, is a man of great wealth and influence in Riga. Livonia needs individuals such as Magnus Glueck if it is to prosper in the coming years.’

  Rudolf was stopped from answering when the wind carried the sound of horns being blown on the left. The Army of the Wolf was advancing.

  Conrad had nearly six hundred men under his command, every tenth man being detached to guard the carts and ponies in the rear, together with an increasing number of teenage boys, such as Jaan, who were learning the trade of being a soldier. Just shy of six hundred men deployed in four ranks, with the crossbowmen in the second rank, and the whole formation in the shape of a wedge. And at the tip of the wedge, in the front rank, stood Conrad Wolff, Hans on one side and Anton on the other. To increase the defensive capabilities of the wedge all those who were left handed and carried their shields on their right sides were deployed on the right side of the wedge. In this way an attacker would be faced with a row of shields and the Estonians would be able to use their spears with their left hands.

  ‘Make sure you don’t shoot me in the brain when the fighting starts,’ Conrad told Leatherface behind him.

  ‘I would have to be the world’s best shot to hit such a small target,’ grinned the mercenary.

  Those within earshot laughed as Leatherface hooked the metal claw on the front of his belt over the centre of his bowstring, raised his right foot and placed it in the metal stirrup fitted to the fore-end of his crossbow. He then straightened his leg to force the weapon downwards, thus forcing the bowstring along the wooden stock until it slipped over the catch of the lock. He pulled a bolt from one of the quivers slung over his shoulder and placed it in the groove in the stock, next to the bowstring. He tugged at the quiver straps and the strap that held the shield in place on his back.

  ‘I feel like a packhorse with all these straps.’

  ‘You will glad of that shield if the enemy starts shooting arrows at us,’ said Conrad.

  Leatherface feigned surprise. ‘The enemy has archers? No one told me. I shall have to renegotiate my rates.’

  This elicited more laughter and even Conrad smiled. He had to admit that the mercenary had forged his crossbowmen into a lethal instrument, soldiers who could shoot up to four bolts a minute in the white heat of battle. And, more importantly, shoot with accuracy. His calmness in battle was also infectious and had a reassuring effect on those around him.

  Hans nudged Conrad and extended his arm, palm down. Conrad placed his mail mitten on top and Anton a mailed hand on them both.

  ‘As dust to the wind,’ said Hans.

  Conrad and Anton repeated the words as part of their customary pre-battle ritual. Leatherface placed a hand on Conrad’s shoulders.

  ‘Are you three going to hold hands all day or are we going to fight?’

  Conrad turned, looked at the signaller behind the mercenary and nodded. The man lifted the horn to his lips and blew it. Conrad picked up his helmet and began to walk forward, shield in his left hand, sword in his right. Behind him six hundred men followed.

  Volquin turned to smile at Prince Vsevolod, now joined by Aras who had returned from the abortive attack by Duke Fredhelm’s knights. The advance of a group of seemingly ill-armed and motley warriors on the left, meanwhile fascinated Mindaugas, while the bulk of the crusader army, including the famous Sword Brother horsemen, remained idle.

  ‘Your highness,’ said Volquin politely, ‘would you do us a great favour and mount a feint with your foot soldiers against the Kurs’ left flank?’

  Vsevolod was confused. ‘Grand master, if your armoured knights failed to break the Kurs I fear it is highly unlikely that my foot will fare any better.’

  ‘That’s true,’ stated Aras.

  ‘It is a diversion only,’ stated Volquin, ‘to keep the Kurs occupied while our left flank delivers the attack. I will assign your foot missile support if you are agreeable, highness.’

  Aras nodded approvingly and so Vsevolod agreed to give the order that his three thousand poorly equipped foot soldiers should mount a display on the crusader right.

  ‘If the Kurs attack they are to immediately withdraw,’ he instructed Aras in a low voice before his general rode away to lead the assault.

  Volquin called forward one of his sergeants.

  ‘Ride forward and convey my order to the Flemish crossbowmen that they will support our brave Lithuanian allies.’

  He smiled at Vsevolod. ‘Your men will find their support most beneficial, highness.’

  Mindaugas was pointing to where the Army of the Wolf was approaching the treeline.

  ‘These Christians are idiots. They send a rabble against the Kurs to be defeated just like those on the right were beaten.’

  Bishop Albert saw the young man’s mocking face.

  ‘Your son-in-law finds amusement in our actions, Prince Vsevolod?’

  The prince shook his head. ‘He merely wonders why you commit a small group of foot soldiers against the Kurs and not your knights, bishop.’

  ‘Those foot soldiers are called the Army of the Wolf and are led by a man in whom I have great faith. Appearances can be deceptive, prince.’

  Vsevolod informed Mindaugas who scoffed and studied the advance of Conrad’s men intently, praying silently to Perkunas that he would grant the Kurs victory over them.

  *****

  It was a sentiment shared by Arturus and his deputy, though they did not put their faith in any deity. They had seen the Christian knights fail on their left flank and part of the Bishop of Riga’s foot soldiers cut to pieces in the centre, and now they saw renewed attacks against their flanks.

  Lamekins pointed
at the wedge moving obliquely towards the treeline.

  ‘The Christians have discerned the weak link in our line, lord.’

  Arturus rubbed his chin. ‘And yet they send so few men to exploit it.’

  ‘That is because the gap between the marsh and trees is narrow, lord.’

  ‘Our axe men will disperse them easily enough.’

  Lamekins examined the soldiers in green and brown hues approaching the Kurs’ left flank, their ranks already ragged.

  ‘They look like Prince Vsevolod’s soldiers, lord.’

  Arturus flashed a cruel smile. ‘The scrapings of Selonia, no doubt.’

  Lamekins issued an order that the medium foot on the right should move forward to support the axe men that would face the wedge of warriors now nearly at the treeline. He heard the whooshing sound and saw the Kur archers loosing volleys at the Selonians and nodded to himself. Thus far the Christians had displayed a disappointing lack of imagination.

  *****

  The Army of the Wolf had reached the trees, the ground underfoot wet and muddy as it walked forward. Conrad steered away from the trees, inviting though the firmer ground was, because to do so would break up his men’s formation and impede the crossbowmen’s line of sight. So the boots that he wore over his mail chausses sank in the soft mud on the edge of the marsh. Behind men cursed under their breath as they too sank into the soft earth, some more so than others, clattering into their comrades.

  ‘Watch your step,’ Leatherface scolded the warriors behind him. ‘If my finger had been on the trigger I would have killed Master Conrad.’

  Conrad turned his head but Leatherface merely tapped his helmet.

  ‘Eyes front, please.’

  Conrad saw the stream and pushed up his helmet. ‘Have a care!’

  He had difficulty in keeping his footing as he slipped on the gently sloping bank, his boots filling with water as he entered the stream. Fortunately it was shallow and so he and his men were able to cross it with relative ease. But the ground was as soft on the other side so once again men squelched through mud. But they halted immediately when they saw three groups of black-clad enemy soldiers moving towards them. Two were around two hundred paces away – the Kurs that had been on the right flank – but the other group was much nearer and closing fast. These were the axe men who had been obscured by the trees but who now were very visible and very menacing. And they were moving fast.

  Conrad and the others in the front rank went down on one knee as the crossbowmen behind brought up their weapons.

  ‘Shoot!’ shouted Leatherface.

  There was a loud thwacking sound as a hundred and fifty bowstrings launched their bolts at the Kur axe men. They wore thick leather armour but they had advanced to within a hundred paces of Conrad’s men and at such a range the bolts pierced the hides with ease. Each bolt was fifteen inches long with an iron head some three and a half inches in length. The head was rhomboid shaped tapering to a narrow point and once it had penetrated the Kurs’ leather armour it had enough power to pierce the flesh beneath, shattering ribs to enter hearts and lungs.

  Most of the Kur front rank were hit and felled as the crossbowmen reloaded and shot a second volley fifteen seconds after the first. Again almost every bolt found a target, Kurs grunting and groaning as they were hit. Leatherface and his men worked feverishly to reload but the Kur signallers blew their horns and the axe men halted, about faced and crouched low so the shields on their backs were presented to Conrad’s soldiers and they became smaller targets. The crossbowmen instinctively shot a third volley that hissed over the heads of the Kurs.

  ‘Stop shooting!’ screamed Leatherface as he and the others reloaded.

  There was another blast of horns and the Kurs sprang to their feet and raced away from the Army of the Wolf, crouching as they did so. Satisfying though this was Conrad, now standing along with the rest of the front rank, caught a worrying sight through the vision slits of his helmet: the two groups of Kurs that had been on the enemy’s right flank were closing up and advancing towards his men. He shoved up his helmet.

  ‘Wheel left, wheel left.’

  Tonis standing next to Hans bellowed an order to his signallers and their horn calls conveyed Conrad’s desire. As one the Army of the Wolf realigned itself to face the oncoming Kur medium foot soldiers, who suddenly halted as they obeyed their own signallers.

  ‘Odd,’ muttered Leatherface.

  The shrill sound of trumpets being sounded prompted everyone to glance behind to where the sound was coming from, to see a column of spearmen in white and carrying white shields bearing the insignia of the Sword Brothers approaching. And at the head of the column was a helmetless Master Rudolf. As Conrad’s warriors began cheering and banging the hafts of their spears and axes against the insides of their shields, Wenden’s master made his way to Conrad’s side. His boots and cloak were splattered with mud.

  ‘I had no idea the ground was this wet,’ he complained.

  ‘You are a sight for sore eyes,’ said Conrad as the spearmen fell in to the right of the Army of the Wolf with the crossbowmen taking up position behind the cover of their shields. They flooded the area at the edge of and just in front of the end of the treeline – three hundred crossbowmen and the same number of spearmen.

  ‘Got tired of sitting on your horse doing nothing, Master Rudolf?’ grinned Leatherface.

  Rudolf ignored him and looked right to see the Kur axe men retreating to a safe distance, halt and reform in their ranks.

  ‘They look well trained and led.’

  Conrad pointed to the Kur foot in front that were also shuffling backwards.

  ‘So they do.’ He looked at the black seagull banner fluttering in breeze on the hill.

  ‘This Duke Arturus has good soldiers and a good eye for ground. We have underestimated him, I think.’

  Leatherface and the other crossbowmen among the Army of the Wolf had reloaded their weapons in anticipation of another Kur assault, and the order’s missiles soldiers were likewise now in position and waiting to shoot at the enemy. Four hundred and fifty crossbowmen waited for the next phase of the battle to begin, but unknown to them or their commanders the enemy had decided that there would be no next phase.

  *****

  Arturus, on the advice of Lamekins, had already dispatched riders to his commanders that they were to break off any contact with the enemy and withdraw up the hill. His horseman would act as a rearguard in case the Christians were tempted to pursue.

  ‘You do not think that we can inflict more misery on the Bishop of Riga’s men?’ teased Arturus.

  Lamekins wore a deadly serious look.

  ‘The Sword Brothers have compromised our right flank, my lord, and though I doubt not that our men would acquit themselves well they would also suffer grievously at the hands of the enemy’s crossbowmen.’

  Arturus looked to the left to where the Lithuanian foot were being shot at by his archers, over the heads of his medium foot. The Lithuanians had been instructed to make a demonstration only, which had resulted in them halting on the other side of the stream and being subjected to sustained, well-aimed volleys of missiles. Though they raised their shields in defence the Kurs still inflicted a rising toll of dead and wounded. To make matters worse the Flemish crossbowman, as soon as they had seen the first Kur volley arch into sky, had turned tail to run as fast as their legs could carry them. They had no shields and had no desire to be slaughtered as a diversion for what was happening on the opposite flank.

  ‘We could withdraw our archers from the left and redeploy them on the right,’ suggested the duke.

  Lamekins was unconvinced. ‘As soon as the enemy discerns that our missile troops have moved they will assault our left flank, my lord. Then we will have both our wings being assaulted, and if the enemy decides to press our centre once again we will be sorely pressed. Few battles are won on the defensive.’

  Arturus trusted his deputy implicitly. So he sat and watched the axe men, archers an
d medium foot withdraw up the hill and then pass the horsemen sitting like statues on their horses. On the left the Lithuanians made no attempt to cross the stream to pursue the Kur foot and on the right the Christians likewise made no movement.

  *****

  ‘Are we not going to pursue now we have them on the run?’ queried Leatherface.

  ‘No,’ stated Conrad. ‘It might be a trap. There might be thousands more enemy soldiers on the other side of that hill.

  ‘Besides, it will be for the bishop to make that decision,’ said Rudolf curtly.

  But Bishop Albert, seeing the enemy foot soldiers retreat up the hill and then disappear down the other side, believed that his army had won a great victory. For days he had heard nothing except tall stories of Kur victories but now his army, thanks to God, had forced them to withdraw. All that remained was to pursue them to the borders of Kurland itself. But first he ordered that the army should give thanks to the Almighty for its great victory. So the knights and soldiery dismounted and fell on their knees as their priests and monks thanked God on their behalf. While they were doing so hundreds of sullen Lithuanians trudged back from the stream where so many of their comrades had been killed or wounded.

  It took a whole day to bury the dead, the Bishop of Riga having received permission from Vsevolod that the Christian dead could be interred in the ground, on the hill where Duke Arturus had watched the battle but where the Lord’s soldiers could now look down on the site of their ‘victory’ for all eternity. As was their custom the Lithuanian dead were cremated on a vast funeral pyre that took a day to build and burnt for a whole night. It took a further day to patch up the wounded, send the surviving Lithuanian foot soldiers back to their villages and to organise a pursuit of the Kurs.

  Prince Vsevolod was delighted that Duke Arturus had been turned back, his capital of Panemunis being saved, but the mood among the crusaders was sullen, bordering on resentful. Fredhelm and his knights, having tasted a glorious victory at Dorpat the year before, had been outwitted and rudely handled by a rabble of godless pagans. But their unhappiness was as nothing compared to the festering rage that possessed Magnus Glueck who had become the laughing stock of the whole army. He had not only lost his sword, his horse and what little credibility as a military commander he might have had before he had crossed the Dvina, his rashness had resulted in the Livonian Militia losing nearly half its number. But to placate his anger Bishop Albert made great efforts to make him feel that he was essential to the campaign in Lithuania, requesting his company during the subsequent march through the Semgallian Plain to Mesoten.