by Peter Darman
‘Snatching an opportunity to rest, brother?’
Stark grinned and offered his younger sibling his arm to haul him to his feet. The nearest warriors had been concerned when they had spotted the prostrate Kalf but now grinned when they saw that he was unharmed. The young prince removed his helmet and held it aloft.
‘Victory!’
They cheered and raised their shields and weapons as Stark slowly took off his own helmet.
‘Search the hold,’ he ordered, ‘kill anyone you find.’
Forty Oeselians descended into the hull as the rest checked the dead sailors to ensure none was feigning death and to search their bodies for anything valuable. Stark looked around at the scene of carnage. Taller and leaner than his younger brother, he was as brave but had a more thoughtful aspect.
‘Sigurd will be unhappy when he learns of our losses.’
Kalf waved a hand at him. ‘The hold may be full of gold. Besides, it was a good victory. Sigurd spends too much time in his hall listening to old women. He has a big fleet, he should use it.’
‘Strange that this vessel was travelling alone,’ said Stark, ‘the Christians usually like to group their ships to make it more difficult for us.’
Kalf shrugged. He had no interest in the enemy’s strategy or tactics. All he desired was to lead his men in battle, be it on land or at sea. He had tucked his bloody axe in his belt and rubbed his hands with glee as one of his chiefs reported to him.
‘The ship is full of hides and furs, lord.’
Kalf kicked the bloody corpse at his feet in frustration.
‘Only the womanly Christians would fill such a ship with animal skins.’
‘The Christians place a high price on them, brother,’ said Stark, ‘like the Russians their men and women like to wrap their bodies in furs.’
‘Burn it,’ Kalf told his chief.
The Oeselians took their dead back to their island so they could be cremated, leaving the mariners to be incinerated by the flames that were soon engulfing the cog as the longships were rowed away. The princes had lost twenty-three dead, a high price to pay for a load of worthless hides. By the time the sails on the longships had been unfurled to catch the westerly wind that had picked up, the burning cog had produced a huge column of black smoke visible for miles.
The longships were rowing back to Oesel by the time half a dozen cogs travelling from Lübeck came across the burning wreck and its disappearing attackers. Their captains noted its size, made a record of its location and continued on their journey to Riga. When they reached the city they moored their vessels and made their reports to the port authorities.
*****
‘I want those pirates destroyed.’
The face of Magnus Glueck was a mask of anger, his eyebrows squeezed together and his flabby chin pushed forward. As soon as his officials had reported the destruction of one of his new ships he had hastened to the bishop’s palace to seek out the governor of Riga. Archdeacon Stefan was holding a meeting with a group of architects concerning a new tower for Riga’s cathedral but such was the importance of his visitor that he had dismissed them to welcome the Higher Burgomaster into one of the palace’s withdrawing chambers. The plush surroundings and fine wine that his servants served the pair had done nothing to cool Glueck’s temper.
‘It is an outrage, I agree,’ said Stefan. ‘These pirates are the scourges of the Baltic.’
‘When your uncle returns from Germany he must make the conquest of Oesel a priority,’ insisted Glueck.
‘Bishop Albert intends to crusade in Lithuania when he returns, Magnus,’ Stefan reminded him, ‘the Kurs must be dealt with speedily.’
To Stefan the Oeselians were a distant threat whereas the Kurs posed a very real danger to Riga and therefore, more importantly, to himself. That said he had no intention of alienating a man whom he considered a friend and a powerful political ally, an individual whose wealth and power would prove useful when Bishop Albert had ascended to heaven. Though he hoped God would let his uncle continue his good works for many years to come.
‘I’m sure my uncle would strongly consider a crusade against Oesel once the Kurs have been destroyed.’
Glueck slammed down his silver chalice on the arm of his chair.
‘No, Stefan, that will not do. These pirates attack one of my new ships, destroy its cargo and I am supposed to do nothing?’
Stefan waved over a servant holding a silver wine jug and ordered him to refill Glueck’s chalice.
‘I can assure you, Magnus, that I will fully support any action you decide to take against the Oeselians.’
Glueck’s locked facial muscles relaxed a little as the servant nervously filled his chalice.
‘What about the Sword Brothers, aren’t they supposed to be protecting us against pagans?’ said Glueck. ‘Didn’t they mount an expedition to Oesel to rescue King Valdemar from the pagans?’
Stefan threw up his hands. ‘Alas, my friend, the Sword Brothers are a law unto themselves.’
‘Aren’t they answerable to the Bishop of Riga?’
‘My uncle will be taking them across the Dvina with him when he returns, Magnus,’ answered Stefan.
Glueck took a large gulp of his wine. ‘Then I have to tell you, Stefan, that I intend to deal with these Oeselians with or without your uncle or the Sword Brothers.’
‘Oh?’
‘Your uncle is not the only one who can raise mercenaries, Stefan. If the Bishop of Riga and the Sword Brothers cannot protect the interests of the city council then that august body can implement its own measures.’
‘I’m sure the Kurs will be dealt with speedily, Magnus,’ Stefan reassured him, ‘after which the Oeselians can be punished for their piratical activities.’
Glueck emptied his chalice and held it out to be refilled. The servant with the wine jug duly obliged.
‘Perhaps we could rid the world of the Oeselians together, Stefan,’ suggested Glueck.
‘I do not understand.’
‘It is quite simple, Stefan, while your uncle is dealing with the Kurs we could raise an army together and march it to Oesel. I command the Livonian Militia while you are master of the city garrison and Riga’s militia. If we combined those forces and supplemented them with mercenaries that the city council will finance then our victory will be assured.’
For a moment the archdeacon did not fully understand what the Higher Burgomaster was saying but when the full realisation of what he was proposing dawned on him a feeling of nausea began to shoot through him. The idea of sitting on a horse for prolonged periods, living in a tent and being anywhere near a battle filled him with dread. Battles and campaigns were for the ill-educated brutes that filled the ranks of the Sword Brothers or the reckless young knights who came to Livonia each year to wash their swords in pagan blood. They were not for him, not at all.
‘That sounds a most intriguing idea, Magnus, but alas my uncle would never sanction the garrison leaving Riga, and the city militia would likewise be prohibited from leaving the city, especially while he and the Sword Brothers are away. They are tasked with keeping watch on the Livs.’
Glueck was confused. ‘The Livs?’
Stefan slowly brought his hands together.
‘The Livs have rebelled in the past, Magnus. My task is to prevent them from doing so again.’
Glueck raised an eyebrow. ‘Haven’t they all converted to the true faith? Their king crusades with your uncle, does he not? The dealings I have had with the Livs suggest that they are more interested in developing their trading interests than slaughtering us all in our beds.’
Stefan put down his chalice and stood. He placed his hands behind his back and began pacing the room as he imparted his wisdom to Glueck.
‘Scarce forty years ago, Magnus, Livonia did not exist and the wretches who lived in this land worshipped the trees, animals and whatever other foul creatures that inhabit the forests. They were pagans, little more than illiterate savages just as their predecessors ha
d been since the beginning of time. My uncle, godly man that he is, came here to plant the seed of the true faith in a pagan desert. And that seed has blossomed. But, just as a farmer roots out the weeds from his crops, so I believe that we must remove the unbelievers in our midst.’
‘But as I have said, the Livs have all been converted.’
Stefan stopped and looked at him. ‘Have they Magnus? Have they really? Can a crow turn into an eagle; can a pig turn into a stallion? I think not.’
Glueck was now confused as to the point of the conversation and had momentarily forgotten about his proposal for a joint campaign with the archdeacon against Oesel, which was precisely the aim of Stefan.
‘If I was to denude Riga of its garrison and militia “King” Fricis and his people would rise up,’ declared Stefan. ‘That I cannot allow Magnus, though I would like nothing more than to ride beside you and unsheathe the sword of retribution against the heathen Oeselians.’
Glueck stood and offered his hand to Stefan.
‘But I will have these Oeselians dealt with, Stefan, sooner rather than later.’
*****
It was early spring when Conrad took Hans, Anton and Leatherface to Varbola to hold a conference with his warlords, whom he had asked to assemble at the hill fort. He knew that when Bishop Albert returned to Riga he would once again summon him and the Army of the Wolf to Riga for the crusade against Duke Arturus. The snows may have gone but the land was still waterlogged, the rivers in full spate, the reed-filled marshlands waterlogged and many meadows flooded. But the breeze was pure and invigorating and the skies mostly clear, albeit with many cloudy afternoons. In the forests the lush undergrowth and the pines laced the air with a heavy scent. After the desolation of winter life had returned to Estonia, the skies filled with corncrakes, great snipes, black grouse, ospreys and white-tailed eagles. And the spring heralded another year of peace for the land, guarded as it was by the warlords of the Army of the Wolf. And Conrad intended it to stay that way.
Andres, Hillar and Riki were unhappy to say the least when he informed them that once more they would be staying in their respective dukedoms and not travelling with him to Lithuania. The great hall at Varbola was crowded with them and their chiefs as slaves hurried to and from the kitchens with beer for the bearded, mailed warriors who stood behind their lords. Conspicuous by his bald head and clean-shaven face was Sir Richard, whom Conrad had also requested at Varbola, though he held no command over the Duke of Saccalia. Conrad stood before them and raised his hands to stifle the mutterings of discontent that came from the assembly after he had revealed his plans. Riki, Andres and Hillar in particular looked very glum.
‘My friends,’ said Conrad, ‘if every man capable of bearing arms marches south with me then Estonia will be as vulnerable as a new-born lamb. I cannot allow years of our blood and effort to be undone.’
The deep voice of Hillar filled the hall.
‘The Oeselians have largely refrained from raiding Rotalia’s shores, Susi. Last year you asked me to stay at Leal and I obeyed but now you ask me to stay at home with the old women while there is good fighting to be had.’
The warriors stamped their feet on the rock-hard dirt floor to signal their approval of his words.
‘If you all come with me,’ Conrad told them, ‘then the Danes will attack Estonia, as will the Oeselians. What good will winning glory in Lithuania achieve if Estonia is laid waste?’
‘Then let us destroy the Danes and Oeselians before we march south,’ came a voice behind Riki, to loud applause and whistles.
Once more Conrad raised his arms. ‘We cannot do that because we and the Danes are pledged to peace. But we will retaliate when the Danes break that peace, that I promise.’
‘How do you know they will break the peace, Susi?’ asked Andres.
‘Because they are treacherous and mistake my good faith for weakness,’ replied Conrad. ‘The time of reckoning is coming, my friends, but in the meantime I have no intention of giving the Danes any easy victories. These are my commands.’
They were far from happy and left the hall mumbling to themselves and each other but Conrad knew they would obey him. Many of those chiefs had fought beside him for years, veterans of the Army of the Wolf. He cared about them too much to be reckless with their lives or their lands.
‘How many will you be taking south?’ asked Hans as Sir Richard and Leatherface remained and wandered over to the three Sword Brothers.
‘One hundred and fifty men to be supplied by Riki, Andres and Hillar each, in addition to Ulric’s “bastards” and whatever your grace brings to the field of honour,’ Conrad smiled at the bald knight.
‘I will supply a hundred and fifty Saccalian foot gladly, Conrad,’ Sir Richard told him, ‘but even with “the bastards” your army will be depleted.’
Conrad nodded. ‘I intend to take no more than eight hundred warriors across the Dvina. I assume your horsemen will be acting as our mounted arm, your grace?’
Sir Richard nodded and looked at Leatherface. ‘And I assume you will want my crossbowmen to supplement your own.’
The mercenary grinned slyly. ‘Your grace is most kind.’
‘I can understand the frustration of your chiefs, Conrad,’ said Sir Richard, ‘you could march with double the number of men and still leave Estonia well-guarded.’
‘Conrad is still seething about the Danes trying to kill him,’ grinned Leatherface, ‘if he was marching against Reval he would be mustering every man and boy capable of holding a spear. Ain’t that right, Conrad?’
‘I will not dignify that with an answer,’ said Conrad.
‘So that’s a yes, then,’ stated Leatherface.
Conrad’s reasoning for taking relatively few warriors to Lithuania was explained to Hans and Anton, and the irascible Leatherface, on their return journey.
‘First of all the warriors will be mounted on ponies, which would not be possible if I emptied the whole of Estonia of men.’
He looked at Leatherface. ‘Though perhaps the crossbowmen should be on foot as a punishment for their commander’s insolence.’
The mercenary was outraged. ‘You would make an old man march on his feet. What happened to your charity, Master Conrad?’
‘Mounted soldiers can retreat quickly if they need to,’ continued Conrad.
‘Why should we be retreating?’ queried Hans.
‘The Sword Brothers never lose,’ boasted Anton.
‘Of course not,’ said Conrad, ‘we are warriors of Christ.’
But what he did not tell his friends was that ever since he had returned from the campaign the previous year his mind had been filled with a nagging doubt, akin to a toothache that would not go away. He did not know why but the encounter at the Iecava against the Kurs had left him with a foreboding, of what he did not yet understand.
It was the end of spring when Bishop Albert returned from Germany, accompanied by a crusader army. As soon as he had arrived back at Riga he summoned the masters of the Sword Brothers and the Army of the Wolf to report to him at the city with all haste. He intended to cross the Dvina in June and campaign in Kurland in July. By August he expected to have conquered the region, killed Duke Arturus and forced the Kurs to accept baptism and a treaty of friendship with Livonia. Or at least that is what Bishop Albert informed Conrad by note. The day the letter arrived he despatched courier pigeons to his warlords to send their men south to Odenpah. The next day Conrad called Werner to him.
‘You will be in command while we are away,’ he told the sergeant. ‘If you get word of any danger evacuate the fort and get everyone to Dorpat. They will be safe there.’
Werner looked perplexed. ‘Danger, master? These old walls have seen off more than their fair share of threats, I’ll warrant.’
Conrad looked around at the ancient timbers, the shingle roofs on the towers and remembered a time when he and his friends had helped to repulse a combined Russian and Estonian assault on the fortress.
‘That
they have. But you have your orders. Above all ensure that the Lady Maarja is safe.’
‘Yes, master. Are you thinking of taking any of the novices with you, to give them a taste of the business of war?’
‘They are too green, I think,’ replied Conrad.
Werner sucked in his lips. ‘The sooner they get used to blood and guts, master, the better for them. It settles them down, you see. Because they are farmers’ sons they have seen their fair share of killed and skinned animals, but that’s nothing compared to a battlefield.’
‘No, indeed,’ agreed Conrad. ‘Are there any you would suggest?’
‘Jaan and Arri would be my choice,’ replied Werner. ‘They are both older than the rest and when they return the other boys will look up to them.’
‘Very well, I shall defer to your judgement, sergeant.’
The two boys were delighted but Conrad killed any idea they may have had that they would be fighting.
‘You will be mending armour, grooming horses and preparing meals for brothers Hans, Anton and myself. Oh, and digging latrine trenches.’
They both nodded as they stood before him but they were not really listening. They had the far-away look of boys who were dreaming of glory and slaughtering their enemies.
‘Can we take our swords, master?’ asked Arri.
‘No.’
‘We might need them to defend ourselves,’ opined Jaan.
‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Conrad, ‘if you need to defend yourselves it will mean that the crusader army had been destroyed, in which case you have my permission to use my sword.’
Jaan’s eyes lit up. ‘Your sword, master?’
‘Of course, for I and every other knight in the army will be dead so feel free to prise it from my fingers.’
His attempt at dark humour did not dampen their enthusiasm, which rose markedly when the different contingents arrived at Odenpah. The first were the Jerwen, the warriors riding hardy Estonian ponies, their tents and supplies loaded on two-wheeled carts also pulled by ponies. From their saddles hung shields displaying the bear symbol of their land, a huge flag carried by a standard bearer carrying the same motif. Sir Richard and his Saccalians arrived next, a hundred and fifty warriors on ponies commanded by Tonis, Count of Fellin, and fifty knights accompanied by fifty squires. The doughty Squire Paul accompanied his lord, who also brought sixty lesser knights – men who had no squires but had been equipped with mail armour and full-face helms – and sixty crossbowmen to supplement those of ‘the bastards’. They arrived two days after Sir Richard, together with their spearmen defenders and a hundred and fifty warriors sent by Riki. The men of Harrien bore the lynx on their shields and standard, while Hillar’s Rotalians, the last to arrive, carried a stag symbol on their shields.