by Peter Darman
‘And if we lose?’ posed the king. ‘Have either of you thought of that possibility?’
The looks of their faces told him that they had not.
‘No Oeselian fleet has ever been defeated,’ said Stark forcefully.
‘Our men are sailors as well as warriors,’ said Kalf, ‘whereas the Danes are trained to fight on land only.’
‘And no one wants the enemy stepping foot on our blessed isle again,’ added Stark.
Two days later the king and his brothers were in the company of the island’s earls and freemen who had been summoned to Kuressaare by Sigurd. Many had ridden hard to be there and were dirty, tired and hot, snapping at and beating slaves who did not bring them refreshments quickly enough. The king’s hall, a huge oak building located in the centre of the town, was packed with burly, bearded warriors, their combined sweat filling the building with a potent aroma. The men sitting cramped on benches set on the tiered sides of the hall, all looked at Sigurd who stood in the centre of the structure, between the two rows of massive oak posts that supported the steeply pitched roof.
The king told them about the Danish fleet that was approaching Reval to reinforce the garrison there. He pointed at Stark and informed them that, based on the information the prince had collected, they had an opportunity to meet and destroy the Danish fleet at sea, before it could land the soldiers it was carrying.
‘It is many years since an Oeselian fleet assembled to battle a foe at sea. Such a thing is not without risks. But at the moment the Bishop of Riga and the Sword Brothers are south of the Dvina and the Danes at Reval do not have the strength to attack Oesel. Yet.’
The men on either listened to their king, respectfully staying silent as he listed the advantages and dangers of leaving Oesel defenceless if he decided to meet the Danes at sea.
‘But it seems to me that it is no coincidence that Prince Stark learned of the Danish fleet. I believe that Taarapita himself gifted us this opportunity and it would dishonour the gods if we were to ignore it. I therefore command you to gather your warriors. We will kill the Danes’ soldiers and sink their ships. This is my command.’
The hall erupted in wild cheering as the assembly rose to their feet as one and acclaimed their king.
*****
The general peace that had descended upon Estonia as a result of Cardinal William’s visit to the region and his decision that it should be placed under papal control had allowed Dietrich von Kivel to re-occupy Narva. But his garrison was sadly depleted, not least because during his brief reign as the town’s governor Conrad had encouraged all the native Wierlanders to desert the German mercenary.
‘As a result of that bastard Sword Brother the only natives I have left are fifty Wierlander archers,’ complained the Duke of Narva, ‘the rest have gone. Ungrateful wretches.’
Count Rolf grimaced at his vulgar words as he walked with Kivel along Toompea Castle’s ramparts. Behind them the sun was glinting off the blue waters of the Gulf of the Finns. Ships and boats of varying sizes were moored in Reval’s harbour. Before them was the lush green landscape of Harrien as far as the eye could see. The governor of the town had received a message from King Valdemar via a swift sailing ship that had docked a week before that an army was on its way to him. He had sent a rider to Narva to request Kivel’s presence at the port, the duke having arrived with fifty of his German mercenary horsemen that morning. Count Rolf removed the letter from his tunic and handed it to the broad-chested German.
‘Then this might interest you, Dietrich.’
The shorter German read the letter and his eyes lit up. He clenched his fist and smiled.
‘Now we will make the Sword Brothers and Marshal of Estonia pay for their insolence. When will the army arrive?’
‘Within days,’ answered Rolf, his face wearing a worried look.
Kivel noted the apprehension. ‘You fear the king will not send enough men for the task of conquering Estonia?’
Rolf turned away to stare at the forests and green rolling hills.
‘It is not that. The papal legate walked on these very walls not so long ago, emphasising to me that I was responsible for keeping the peace in Danish-controlled Estonia. And now I am expected to start a war that has been strictly forbidden by His Holiness himself. I have to tell you, Dietrich, that I am greatly troubled.’
Kivel swatted a fly away from his face. ‘It comes down to whom you obey: your king or the Pope.’
Rolf shook his head. ‘The king must know that he risks the ire of the papacy by his actions.’
‘He knows, but kings are appointed by God not the Pope and Valdemar means to have Estonia, which if I’m not mistaken was promised him by the Pope anyway.’
‘You know that we both risk being excommunicated if we begin a war here,’ said Rolf gravely.
Kivel laughed. ‘That doesn’t really bother me as I am already excommunicated.’
Rolf was horrified. ‘When did this terrible thing happen?’
Kivel shrugged. ‘A few years ago, in Germany. I forget the details.’
Rolf was astounded that he could be so apathetic about such a momentous thing.
‘So you see, Rolf,’ continued Kivel, ‘I owe everything to King Valdemar and nothing to a pope that has cast me out of his family, such as it is.
‘I suggest we strike before the army arrives.’
‘What do you mean?’
Kivel pointed at the lands to the south.
‘The followers of the Marshal of Estonia have enjoyed a period of peace, allowing them to grow their crops, get their women pregnant and feel secure in the embrace of the Bishop of Riga.’
He looked up at the sky. ‘They will be gathering in their harvest now, collecting the wheat and rye first followed by barley and oats. Next month they will gather in the peas, beans and vetches.’
He turned to look at Reval’s governor. ‘The enemy grows fat while we sit behind our walls. We should mount a raid on the enemy to take their food, which we will need to feed the army when it arrives.’
‘I have six hundred soldiers to defend Reval,’ said Rolf, ‘barely enough to hold this place and its outlying positions. I cannot leave it undefended.’
‘I brought fifty horsemen with me,’ stated Kivel. ‘Give me a hundred of your men, a score of carts and their drivers and I will fill your granaries.’
Reval managed to feed itself, herds of cattle and flocks of sheep being kept outside the town’s walls. This provided a supply of meat, supplemented by the chickens, pigs and goats that were kept in pens inside the town and which yielded meat, milk and eggs. Fish was in plentiful supply thanks to the many fishing boats kept in the harbour. But wheat, rye, barley and oats either had to be imported from Denmark or purchased from the Wierlanders. The Danes had at last learned that terrorising locals, burning their villages and enslaving them resulted in the land being abandoned. Reval was a garrison town and very few settlers came from Denmark, almost none venturing beyond its walls. Therefore Rolf ordered a cessation of the campaign of terror against the locals, though the Harrien continued to distrust the Danes.
Further east Kivel took a more pragmatic approach to the Wierlanders, hanging those who raised the flag of rebellion against him but also hanging those of his own men who interfered with those who showed him loyalty. The result was that the lands around Narva were still worked, though Kivel exacted a high tribute from each village in return for leaving them in peace. He thought himself a benevolent ruler; the Wierlanders believed him to be a harsh lord.
Kivel handed the letter back to the Count of Roskilde, the letter that bore the seal of Valdemar himself, Rolf’s liege lord. Kivel saw the look of anguish on the face of the governor, the strong jaw locked rigid. To obey a king and face excommunication or defy Valdemar and be executed by that king for treason. What a dilemma the governor was in. Kivel decided to alleviate his burden. What the Duke of Narva did not know was that Valdemar had sent a second letter, for Rolf’s eyes only, ordering him to ensure
that the blame for any violation of the papal peace should fall squarely on Kivel’s shoulders. The king thought this would keep Rolf happy but he had underestimated the chivalrous nature of the Governor of Reval, who was appalled at the idea of betraying the Duke of Narva.
‘I will take full responsibility for any action taken against the enemy, Rolf.’
The governor sighed softly. ‘No. I would be shirking in my duty to the king if I did not take measures to ensure that Reval is fully provisioned when his army arrives. You may have the soldiers and carts, Dietrich, and may God go with you.’
Kivel did not need God; he needed good weather. And when he left Reval the following day the sun was shining and there were no rain clouds in the sky. Count Rolf had given him his hundred sergeants, well-armed and trained men who could all ride, meaning his column could move at speed. The carts were those used by the locals: two-wheeled and smaller than the cumbersome four-wheeled vehicles favoured by the Germans and Danes. Pulled by a pair of Estonian ponies they would be able to travel up to twenty miles each day, as long as the weather held.
The column headed west, towards the coast, to stay well clear of the fortress of Varbola. As Duke of Narva, Kivel made it his business to discover what was happening beyond the borders of his dukedom. He knew that Livonia and Novgorod were at peace and that the Bishop of Riga had taken a crusader army across the Dvina, taking the detestable Army of the Wolf with him. But Conrad Wolff had left his warlords behind in Estonia and no doubt a sizeable number of their warriors. So he struck west to the sea and then headed south to visit the many villages along the coastline. Western Harrien and northern Rotalia would reap a rich reward.
And so it proved to be.
At the end of a week of pleasant, dry weather and gentle winds Kivel’s carts were full. At each village they herded the villagers together and demand their freshly harvested crops. As the men and boys loaded the carts Kivel informed the inhabitants that a great army of Danish warriors would soon land at Reval. This army would march south and destroy anything that stood in its way. The ground would tremble with the men of iron on their mighty warhorses. Village after village was raided, though Kivel was careful not to venture too far south and risk being attacked by men sent from either Varbola or Leal.
On the final day of his great raid he sat on his horse in the middle of a miserable village in northern Rotalia, a place of a dozen huts and two warehouses that his men were emptying. The sergeants, all armed with crossbows, stood with their loaded weapons pointed at a group of children and women as the menfolk struggled to load their harvest on the already heavily laden carts.
‘You have no right to steal our food.’
An elderly man with white hair and beard emerged from the crowd to confront Kivel. He pointed a bony finger at the German.
‘This is not your land. Give back the food you have stolen or face the consequences.’
Kivel’s men laughed as their lord looked at the old fool.
‘This is Susi’s land,’ announced the old man, ‘and he will punish you for your crimes.’
Kivel had been in a good mood. His raid had achieved much and he would return to Reval with his carts full of stolen food. But his conviviality disappeared with the mention of Susi. He jumped down from his horse and paced over to the old idiot.
‘What did you say?’
‘This land belongs to the Marshal of Estonia, known to those who follow him as Susi. You would do well to heed my warning. Return the food you have stolen from his people and pray to the god you worship that he will forgive you.’
Those loading the carts stopped what they were doing, Kivel’s mercenary horsemen grinned at each other and the sergeants kept a wary eye on the villagers.
‘You have a lot to say for yourself, old man,’ said Kivel. ‘What is your name?’
‘Koit,’ came the reply.
‘You are a man of some importance in this region, Koit? Perhaps you have met the famed Marshal of Estonia.’
‘I have had that honour and I have to tell you that he will avenge the crimes you have committed against his people.’
‘I quake with fear,’ said Kivel, his men laughing at his derision.
‘I speak with the authority of the Duke of Rotalia,’ said Koit gravely, ‘who was given his position by Cardinal William himself.’
Kivel turned to his men.
‘Can you believe this? A few years ago these people were little more than savages living like pigs in their hovels. And now they lecture me on dukes and papal legates and threaten me with punishment.’
His fellow mercenaries shook their heads with amazement.
Kivel threw up his arms. ‘The world has gone mad.’
He walked back to his horse as Koit folded his arms across his chest. The German hauled himself into the saddle, yanked his horse’s reins to walk the beast from the village.
‘Kill them all,’ he commanded.
Koit was struck by at least half a dozen crossbow bolts as the sergeants shot their weapons at him and the women and children. The male villagers tried to fight the invaders, throwing themselves at the Germany mercenaries. But they were few and Kivel’s men were many and soon the butchery was over.
‘And kill the animals as well,’ shouted Kivel who had halted at the edge of the village.
‘The animals, lord?’ queried the commanding sergeant.
But Kivel’s Germans were already going about their business as the carts were driven away from the village. It was common custom in Germany when a village was being punished to leave nothing alive. Cattle, sheep, goats, pigs, cats and dogs were routinely slaughtered as a visible warning to others. An ocean of blood was guaranteed to strike fear into those who happened upon it. And after all Kivel did have a reputation to maintain.
The village stank to high heaven and was infested by plagues of flies by the time a detachment of warriors arrived from Leal, word having reached the stronghold that a party of Danes was raiding Rotalia. They were led by Hillar, the great bear of a man gently holding Koit’s head as he wept for his lost mentor and friend.
*****
The Baltic was a relatively mild sea in which to sail, though it was prone to periods of strong winds and rough seas. Gales could occur in any month but were most frequent in the autumn and winter. Fog, however, was almost entirely absent over the open sea, being confined to coastal regions and inlets. Baltic currents were mild compared to those in other seas and oceans and rainfall was not high, summer and autumn being the wettest periods. All told the Baltic was an agreeable environment in which to sail a ship, as long as its crew were aware of the prevailing winds and had knowledge of navigation. The eastern Vikings, the ancestors of the Oeselians, had taken their longships to all corners of the Baltic, first to raid and then to trade. By the time Bishop Albert arrived in the land of the Livs to establish his crusader state the Oeselians had a thorough knowledge of the Baltic, its currents, winds, depths and weather.
King Valdemar waited until the Bishop of Riga had left Lübeck in the company of his great foe the Count of Lauenburg and their crusader army before despatching his own fleet to Reval. Faced with a renewal of the war against Count Henry of Schwerin and his treasonous allies, the king could not devote all his military resources to conquering Estonia. Nevertheless, he was able to gather three thousand soldiers to reinforce Count Rolf. He could not spare many mailed horsemen as he would need mounted knights in Germany but a trawl of his northern domains had yielded five hundred foot knights, two thousand spearmen, two hundred archers, a hundred sergeants, a hundred mounted knights and the same number of squires who would fight in the saddle beside their masters. Added to the garrisons of Reval and Narva and whatever miserable wretches Count Rolf could recruit from the local population, Valdemar reckoned that Danish control could be re-asserted over most of Estonia with ease.
The fleet carrying this army left Roskilde and sailed east and then northeast towards Gotland before continuing on in a northeasterly direction towards the no
rthern coast of Estonia. The dozens of ships were forced to head for open water to avoid the island of Oesel and bring them on a course along the northern coast of Estonia and thence to the port of Reval.
Among the Danish fleet were fifty cogs that were transporting the knights, squires and their horses. But the vast majority of the vessels were lower-draught boats carrying the foot soldiers and their supplies. They had a relatively round hull with fewer oars than warships, being placed fore and aft where there was a deck. Midship there was a space for cargo, which when filled meant that the single square sail was the main motive power because of the weight of the vessel. These cargo boats were very manoeuvrable and rugged, being steered by a side rudder at the stern. They were constructed from oak or pine using the clinker method: long, thin planks that were fastened with nails to a single keel, each plank overlapping the next. Capable of carrying up to fifty tons, they were some sixty-five feet in length and had a beam of twelve feet. Their large load-carrying capability made them ideal as the workhorses of the Danish fleet, even if the soldiers they carried hated them for their cramped conditions, lack of cover from the elements and the stench that filled each vessel – urine, sweat and vomit – after only a few days at sea.
But hundreds of men cheered and thanked the Almighty when, after several days of being at sea with no land in sight, they spotted the coastline of Estonia on their starboard side. Priests and monks led services of thanksgiving that were rudely interrupted when alarm bells rang throughout the fleet.
Sails had been spotted to the north.
They were just small, indiscernible shapes on the horizon at first. But Danish guts twisted in alarm as the number went from two or three to a score, three times that number and then a whole horizon filled with square sails. Oeselians! The mariners on the cogs loaded their crossbows and the knights and squires stood to arms as the enemy fleet approached, but the sailors and soldiers on the smaller boats had no missile weapons apart from the spears, axes and swords that they carried. And their vessels were far slower than the approaching longships, even though the wind began to pick up to fill their sails. The oarsmen quickly went to their stations and began rowing as though the devil himself was pursuing them, which he was in the shape of two hundred heathen-filled longships. The breeze picked up some more and the priests and monks cried out that it was a holy wind sent by God to deliver them from the pagans.