Master of Mayhem

by Peter Darman

  ‘My lord, we must attack the crusader camp to destroy their supplies and seal your victory. Let me direct the foot while you raid their camp.’

  Arturus took a deep breath and drew himself up.

  ‘Very well. I leave you to mop up Lamekins.’

  He bellowed at his bodyguard to follow him as he galloped away to collect more of his horsemen to lead them towards the enemy camp. Lamekins knew that the Kurs had won a great victory but not a decisive one. The crusader centre had been destroyed but the Christians’ mounted knights had managed to extricate themselves relatively unharmed. However if Arturus could destroy the crusaders’ supplies then they would be forced to retreat back to Mesoten.

  Conrad now had a very limited view of the battlefield, being restricted to observing groups of Kur horsemen lapping round the Livs as they probed Fricis’ warriors for any gaps in their defences. But then word came from the rear of the Army of the Wolf’s square that Kur horsemen had been spotted riding towards camp.

  ‘The battle is lost,’ he said to Sir Richard.

  ‘If that is so then those left behind in camp will be butchered by the enemy’s horsemen,’ replied the Duke of Saccalia. ‘I must ride with my men to offer them assistance.’

  ‘The Kurs are many and your horsemen are few, your grace,’ said Conrad with concern.

  Sir Richard smiled and offered him his hand. ‘I must do what I can, my friend.’

  Conrad took his hand and watched as the English lord walked back to where Squire Paul held the reins of his destrier. There followed trumpets blasts as Sir Richard ordered his men to follow him. The rear of the square parted to allow him and his knights to gallop away, closing as soon as the last rider had departed.

  ‘We will move sideways to bring us closer to the Livs,’ Conrad told Hans, ‘and then we too will head back to camp.’

  ‘If there is any camp left,’ said Hans glumly.

  The signallers were ordered to blow their horns and within minutes eight hundred men were shuffling towards the Livs. Conrad told Leatherface to select his best crossbowmen to pick off Kur riders as they did so.

  ‘Just tell them to be careful with their aim. I don’t want them killing any Livs.’

  ‘My boys always hit what they aim at, Master Conrad,’ grinned the mercenary.

  It was a frustratingly slow journey as the square of warriors moved towards the Livs, the crossbowmen taking aimed shots on the way and killing around two dozen Kurs. But in truth the ranks of the enemy’s horsemen were thinning as more and more were called away to support their duke’s attack on the crusader camp. When the Army of the Wolf finally linked up with the Livs upwards of two hundred of Fricis’ warriors were dead or wounded, the vast majority as a result of spisa strikes. Conrad hugged Rameke and said a silent prayer of thanks that his brother was unharmed, Hans and Anton also embracing the Liv prince.

  ‘Are we going to stay here all day and hold hands or are we getting back to camp?’ queried Leatherface.

  ‘That will be for the king to decide,’ snapped Conrad, bowing his head to Fricis.

  ‘A speedy withdrawal, I think, Conrad,’ Fricis told him.

  Shielded by Conrad’s one hundred and sixty crossbowmen the Army of the Wolf and the Livs withdrew from the field of battle where large numbers of Kur spearmen and axe men were standing around the corpses of the followers of Timothy the Cook and German mercenaries.

  *****

  Arturus had forgiven Lamekins for his temerity and his axe men for their lack of the same quality as he led his horsemen through the crusader camp. His deputy had forged the Kur army into a formidable instrument, infusing it with a degree of discipline that had been previously unknown among Kur warriors. But it was at moments like this, as his horsemen swept through the tents, campfires, carts and wagons, that the true Kur spirit manifested itself.

  A young boy, his face white and perfect, his hair immaculately groomed and his clothes smart and colourful, stood outside a large pavilion holding a small silver tray. He was not frightened more confused as riders all in black and riding black horses disturbed the quiet of the camp. He looked up as a horsemen thundered by, a great flag showing a black seagull flapping behind him. His face registered no emotion as Arturus whipped his sword down to sever his windpipe and almost separate his head from his shoulders.

  ‘Burn the tents,’ Arturus shouted in triumph as the boy’s corpse collapsed to the ground.

  The command was spread among the riders and soon plumes of black smoke were rising into the cloudless sky as tents were set alight. It was a slow process; riders having to dismount to collect burning wood from campfires before tossing them into shelters. The result was that less than half the camp was set alight before horns were sounded in alarm as crusader horsemen began to arrive from the battlefield.

  The Count of Lauenburg’s knights and the Sword Brothers had been delayed by their initial desire to safeguard Bishop Albert, which had mercifully been achieved, after which the relief of the camp had been launched. Many of the non-combatants had already been killed by the time the knights appeared at the camp’s western side. Enraged by the Kurs’ behaviour the knights charged through the camp to search out and kill the enemy raiders. But Arturus was too quick for them and led his horsemen out of the camp’s eastern side, disappearing into the forest to the north. Dozens of tents were burning and dozens more bodies were scattered throughout the camp, but ironically none of the army’s food, spare weapons and armour or ammunition had been touched. If Lamekins had been commanding the horsemen the outcome would have been different.

  When Arturus returned to the battlefield three hours later he found it empty of life, though the dead still littered the hill and valley where much of the fighting had taken place. The Kurs had retreated to their hilltop position where the camp they had established in the forest began on the summit and extended for miles westwards. The duke rode through the line of sentries that had been posted on the hill and into the trees, dismounting when he reached his tent. Hundreds of his men began to gather around him as he took off his helmet. They began to chant his name. He spotted the tall, lean figure of Lamekins approaching. The prince wore a broad grin as Arturus spread his arms. His deputy walked forward into his embrace and the duke held him tightly. The crowd of warriors that now numbered over a thousand gave a mighty cheer filling the forest as they began chanting the names of their duke and his deputy.

  *****

  Bishop Albert was inconsolably downcast, his face a mask of despair that looked at equally forlorn figures. The pale glow of the candles lighting the room in his pavilion only added to the oppressive gloom hanging over everyone.

  ‘Losses?’ muttered the bishop, avoiding the eyes of his commanders.

  Volquin sighed. ‘We have been able to compile only an estimate of our casualties, lord bishop. We hope those still alive will be able to find their way back to camp.’

  The bishop said nothing as he stared at the grand master, who after an uncomfortable silence reported the day’s cost.

  ‘Nearly five thousand dead or missing, lord bishop.’

  There were low gasps from those present. Over half the army was dead.

  ‘If they are missing then they are already dead,’ stated Rudolf bluntly, ‘the Kurs will hunt them down.’

  ‘And what of the Kurs?’ asked the Count of Lauenburg.

  ‘Thus far they have showed no sign of returning to finish their work,’ answered Volquin, ‘though no doubt in the morning they will answer any questions as to their whereabouts.’

  ‘We should break camp and retreat back to Mesoten before dawn breaks, lord bishop,’ suggested Conrad.

  ‘To flee before our enemies is dishonourable,’ announced Magnus Glueck, who like Manfred Nordheim appeared remarkably fresh and clean.

  Conrad ignored him. ‘We still have adequate numbers of horse and crossbowmen to keep the Kurs at bay during our withdrawal.’

  ‘Did you not hear what I said?’ snapped Glueck. ‘It is dishonou
rable to withdraw, though I would not expect a baker’s son to know anything about honour.’

  Conrad walked over to him. ‘You have something to say to me, duke?’

  Glueck’s eyes darted left and right in a desperate search for allies. He found none. Beads of sweat formed on his broad forehead.

  ‘If you wish to settle an affair of honour I will be waiting outside this pavilion after the meeting,’ pressed Conrad, his face now inches away from Glueck’s.

  ‘Be silent or be gone, Conrad,’ ordered Volquin. ‘Your bravado is tiresome at this late hour.’

  Conrad turned and bowed to Volquin. ‘Grand master.’

  ‘Conrad is right,’ said the Count of Lauenburg. ‘We have lost half our army and had the Kurs lost as many then I would lobby to give them battle again on the morrow. But I warrant that their losses are a trifle compared to our own and tomorrow they may receive reinforcements while we have none.’

  He spoke the last word with such finality that all heads dropped with the realisation that they had no alternative.

  ‘We will do as the brazen Marshal of Estonia and the more courteous and worldly Count of Lauenburg say,’ declared the bishop. ‘You may all go.’

  No one slept that night. The entire army, what was left of it, stood to arms ready to repulse a Kur attack. Before dawn broke the surviving tents had been dismantled, horses and ponies had been hitched to wagons and carts and the march back to Mesoten began. The vehicles were in the centre of what was a large oblong-shaped force inching its way southeast. Around them were foot soldiers and crossbowmen, the knights forming an outer screen with scouts to warn of any enemy assault.

  The oppressive quiet got on everyone’s nerves. After a few hours Kurs were being seen everywhere: among the trees, at the other side of meadows and on hills. These ‘sightings’ turned out to be false alarms but everyone knew that it was only a matter of time before Duke Arturus and his men arrived.

  *****

  Duke Arturus was in no rush to pursue the Christians. He knew they would not abandon their carts, which meant they would be able to cover no more than five or six miles a day. It would take them two weeks to get back to Mesoten. His horsemen could cover fifty miles a day with ease. There was no need to rush matters. His horsemen would harry and slow down the Christians to allow his foot soldiers to catch up with the enemy and destroy them.

  The duke was seated at the edge of the treeline observing parties of his men going among the Christian dead to relieve them of anything useful, such as weapons and armour. Behind him high-pitched screams were coming from the forest interior. His men had discovered that not all the Christians were dead on the battlefield. They had discovered a few dozen still alive and variously injured. They now amused themselves torturing those wounded men, engaging in an entertaining game to discover how long a man could be tortured before he died. Lamekins came to join his lord, the pair being served freshly cooked meat.

  ‘I hope this is not Christian flesh,’ Arturus joked to the warriors that brought the food. ‘I have a delicate stomach.’

  Lamekins chewed on the venison as fresh screams came from the trees. Arturus pointed at Ringaudas who with a group of his men was scouring what had been the battlefield the day before.

  ‘Here’s a question for you, Lamekins. Ringaudas, formerly our enemy, is now a valiant friend. Do you think that the Christians will ever be our friends?’

  ‘No, lord. The Christians believe that all those that do not follow their god are vermin to be destroyed. Ringaudas followed another duke but is of our blood. That is why it was possible for him to become our friend.’

  A Kur prince, one of Arturus’ bodyguards, ran up and bowed his head to the duke.

  ‘Forgive me, highness, a courier has just arrived from the south to report that southern Kurland is under attack.’

  Arturus stood and threw the meat to the ground.

  ‘Under attack by whom?’

  Lamekins also stood, concern etched on his face.

  ‘Duke Ykintas and Prince Mindaugas,’ replied the chief.

  ‘That cannot be,’ said Lamekins, ‘Ykintas has no army and Mindaugas is at Panemunis.’

  ‘The courier reports that the Kriviu Krivaitis is with the Samogitians and has brought many warriors from Selonia,’ stated the prince.

  ‘How many men have invaded our homeland?’ asked Lamekins.

  ‘There are no precise numbers, lord,’ stated the prince, ‘but Ykintas’ army is not small.’

  ‘We must face this threat, lord,’ Lamekins told Arturus.

  ‘And let the Christians escape?’ Arturus retorted.

  ‘There are many Christians, lord,’ answered Lamekins, ‘but we have only one homeland.’

  Arturus looked at his soldiers collecting spisas that had been thrown by his horsemen the day before. His foot soldiers had suffered minor casualties during the battle but his horsemen were virtually unscathed. He was tempted to throw his whole army at the crusaders and destroy them. But that would take time, especially if the crusaders refused battle and clung to their carts as they withdrew. He knew Lamekins was the voice of reason but he could not allow the Christians to leave unscathed.

  ‘I will stay with a thousand horse and the same number of foot. Lamekins, you will take the rest of the army and deal with Ykintas and Mindaugas. And if you get the chance kill that high priest.’

  The prisoners were killed, the camp was dismantled and within the hour Lamekins was leading the army back through the Kandava Hills. Arturus took his two thousand men and went hunting crusaders.

  *****

  For two days the Kurs had not appeared and the frayed nerves among the bishop’s army had begun to ease a little. But the pace of what remained of that army was agonisingly slow as it made its way back to Mesoten. It moved from lake to river when possible so the men, horses and ponies had fresh drinking water. Rainfall could also have been collected but it was now the height of summer and every day dawned clear and warm, the sun beating down from vivid blue skies. Armies of midges added to the overall misery of a beaten army.

  Despite its losses the army and its wagons and animals still covered a length of two miles. The wagons and carts were arranged in two lines, between which walked the horses and ponies that were not being used, together with those non-combatants that had survived the Kur raid and the bishop himself. He was constantly surrounded by Nordheim and his fifty horsemen, in addition to the knights sent by the Buxhoeveden family and the portly Magnus Glueck whose militia had once again proved useless in battle.

  The Army of the Wolf covered the right flank of the wagons, Fricis’ Livs the left side of the column. In the vanguard were the Sword Brothers, the brother knights and sergeants undertaking patrols ahead of the army to warn of any ambush. The rearguard, the position of honour in the retreat, was given to the Count of Lauenburg and his men. The army’s six hundred crossbowmen were spread evenly across all four parts of the army’s column.

  ‘Don’t shoot unless you are certain it is a Kur and he is within range,’ shouted Leatherface to his men as he walked up and down the line.

  It was the third day of the retreat and once again the Kurs had been conspicuous by their absence. But once again the slightest movement in the trees, be it a bird or a disturbed deer bolting away, was mistaken for the enemy.

  Leatherface returned to Conrad’s side.

  ‘We have plenty of ammunition but it is surprising how quickly it can be exhausted,’ said the mercenary.

  ‘Hopefully the Kurs have given up and gone home,’ suggested Conrad.

  Leatherface looked at him. ‘You’ve been in the sun too long. This army is like a wounded deer being pursued by a hungry wolf.’

  Conrad looked at Arri and Jaan who exchanged nervous glances. The pair had survived the Kur raid on the camp because those Estonians left behind to guard the ponies and carts had formed a temporary wagon fort in which the two novices had taken shelter.

  ‘Perhaps Duke Arturus’ losses preclude hi
m taking further action against us,’ opined Hans.

  ‘He is probably limping back to his homeland as we speak,’ added Anton hopefully.

  Leatherface rolled his eyes. ‘How many battles have you three fought in?’

  ‘A fair few,’ answered Conrad.

  ‘So you all know that you are talking rubbish,’ said Leatherface. ‘The Kurs are out there, mark my words.’

  ‘Then why don’t they attack?’ asked Jaan in frustration, who despite his bravado during the advance was showing that he, like Arri, was still just a boy.

  ‘Because they are waiting for the right time and place, boy,’ replied Leatherface.

  That time and moment came later that day when the army was forced to move through a forest of birch. The forest was so wide that it was thought impractical to try and skirt round it. The crusaders had moved through it during their advance and knew that it would take only a half a day to pass through, so the decision was taken to move through it as quickly as possible. The ancient track through the myriad of tall, slim trees was narrow, which meant the column became even longer and its defenders even more strung out.

  Mounted brother knights and sergeants fanned out to provide as much security as possible, supported by the horsemen of the Count of Lauenburg. But they could not be everywhere. The forest air was dry and sweet and the only sound was the rumbling of the wagons and the crump of leather boots on soft undergrowth. Leatherface became very agitated and Conrad took his shield off his back and slipped his left arm through the straps on its inner side.

  ‘Too quiet,’ said Hans softly.

  ‘I hate the sense of knowing something is out there but not knowing where it is,’ hissed Anton, also slipping his shield off his back.

  In front and behind them warriors were also tucking shields tight to their bodies and scanning the trees for movement. They were veterans of Conrad’s army and had a sixth sense that alerted them to danger. Conrad told Arri and Jaan to move to the other side of the cart they were walking beside.