by Peter Darman
They all looked at each other in surprise.
‘Surely you wish to win more glory on Oesel, Susi?’ said Andres.
‘On the contrary, my friend,’ replied Conrad, ‘I consider the coming campaign as the height of folly that Bishop Albert may live to regret, as indeed might we all. However, as we are all oath bound to participate we should prepare accordingly.
‘So, Hillar, have you assembled the boats that will transport the bishop’s army to Oesel?’
‘There is no need, Susi, because the sea has frozen. The bishop can walk to the island, as can we all.’
The next day Conrad went to observe the sea himself and found there was no coast, no flat sandy beaches and no sea, just a strange expanse of white as far as the eye could see. In fact it was so white in the sunshine that after a while he was forced to turn away or face snow blindness. But it did give rise to an important question: how would the ten thousand soldiers paid for by Glueck reach Leal if their boats were ice bound?
The answer was that they didn’t. Boats shipped them to the northern shores of the Gulf of Riga where they were disembarked and the ships were beached to save them from the ice that was covering more and more of the sea by the day. The ten thousand Russian soldiers – the wealth and power of Riga’s burgomasters made flesh – had been recruited from the poorer elements of the Principality of Polotsk, which was swollen with refugees fleeing from a terrible people called the Mongols. But they all had helmets, spears, long shields and wore the armour traditionally donned by poorer Russian soldiers. Call kuyak, it comprised a thick leather shirt with rectangular metal plates attached. In addition to his spear, his kop’yo – over six feet in length with a long, large blade – each man was armed with an axe and a short, double-bladed knife called a poyasnie. They were also well protected against the cold, having thick cloaks, mittens and leather boots with felt linings.
Riga had also supplied their tents and wagons that hauled their food, though the wheeled vehicles struggled far worse than the sleds that easily traversed the frozen landscape. In addition to the wagons and sleds, the Russians brought dozens of monks, dressed in black habits and capes, chanting heretical Orthodox prayers that the Sword Brothers found insulting but which fortified the Russian soldiers.
Grand Master Volquin brought a thousand soldiers of the order to Leal, the Count of Lauenburg mustering fifteen hundred crusaders. Fricis led two thousand Liv warriors to Leal, among them Rameke and two hundred archers, but the missile power of Bishop Albert’s army was provided by the five hundred and fifty crossbowmen it contained. However, the steel fist that would deliver the fatal blow to the Oeselian army was its mailed knights – over seventeen hundred horsemen, including squires – who would ride down the pagan hordes.
The bishop, as usual surrounded by Manfred Nordheim and fifty horsemen of the garrison of Riga, was resplendent in a red fur-lined cloak, mail armour and red surcoat bearing the cross keys insignia of the city he had founded. And God seemed to smile down on his crusade because on the day of his arrival at Leal the sky was clear, the sun shone and the wind had at last dropped. There was a pure stillness in the freezing cold as though the world was holding its breath before the conquest of Oesel began. And the bishop could barely contain his joy when Hillar informed him that his scouts had brought news that sea ice covered the stretch of water between the mainland and the island of Muhu, which was adjacent to Oesel itself.
The commanders had assembled in the fort’s main hall to welcome the bishop and receive his instructions.
‘So we can walk over the ice to Muhu and then Oesel?’ said the bishop.
Hillar nodded. ‘Yes, lord, to all intents and purposes there is no longer any sea or land, just a great expanse of ice.’
The bishop closed his eyes. ‘Praise God.’
‘And the ice will support horses and carts?’ asked the Count of Lauenburg.
‘Some of the ice will support them, yes,’ answered Hillar, ‘but caution must be exercised when we cross the ice.’
But the bishop was not listening to his words. He was dreaming of leading over fifteen thousand soldiers, together with their servants, priests, monks, civilian drivers and workers – another five thousand souls – across the ice to walk on to Oesel.
‘We will march tomorrow,’ he declared. He closed his eyes again and was no doubt thanking God for the miracle of the sea freezing.
‘What have you heard of the Oeselians, Hillar?’ asked Conrad.
The bishop’s eyes opened. ‘The Oeselians, Conrad, why so much concern for them? The sea was their defence and now the Lord has made that barrier vanish. It will be enough for us to march into their homeland for them to lay down their weapons and beg for mercy.’
‘The Danes believed that, lord bishop,’ said Master Rudolf, ‘and lived to regret it.’
Volquin raised an eyebrow at the forthright statement of his deputy but said nothing. Rudolf had been on Oesel; he had not.
The bishop looked at Conrad. ‘King Valdemar has by his despicable actions broken the papacy’s peace and placed himself beyond God’s love and affection. Conrad has alerted me to the depredations committed by the king’s soldiers in Estonia, which I have reported to His Holiness in Rome.’
He turned his attention to Rudolf. ‘But God is the creator of all things and sees into men’s hearts to discern their true intentions, even before they themselves know what they are. He knew that King Valdemar is a selfish monarch who only has his own interests at heart, not those of the Holy Church. That is why He abandoned him on Oesel. But the Lord knows that we go to Oesel to establish His teachings and that is why we must not concern ourselves with the heathen Oeselians.’
After the meeting Rameke walked with Conrad to where the Army of the Wolf shivered around its campfires. Even though Estonia and Livonia were covered in forests firewood was at a premium, freshly cut branches being wet and producing much smoke when they finally burnt. So the firewood that was stored on sleds was strictly rationed.
‘None of the elders can remember such a winter,’ said Rameke as they walked through sentries pacing up and down in their cloaks. They saluted Conrad and Rameke as they passed.
‘Despite the bishop’s optimism,’ complained Conrad, ‘I think we will have a hard struggle for Oesel.’
Rameke nodded. ‘I agree. They will not give up their homeland without a fight.’
He stopped and looked around at the tent city that surrounded Leal.
‘But this is the largest army that the bishop has assembled so perhaps he is right and we are wrong to doubt him.’
‘Perhaps,’ muttered Conrad.
When they reached Hans and Anton all thoughts of the Oeselians were forgotten as they greeted their old friend and pestered him with questions about Kaja and his new home.
‘She is irritable,’ Rameke told them, ‘the more so because she wanted to come with me. She misses the Army of the Wolf.’
‘And it misses her,’ said Hans.
‘She is safer not taking part in this campaign,’ remarked Conrad.
‘Don’t worry about Conrad,’ Anton told Rameke, ‘he is in an ill humour because the bishop is attacking the Oeselians instead of the Danes.’
‘The bishop will always favour subduing heathens rather than fighting fellow Christians,’ remarked Rameke. ‘Besides, after we have finished with King Sigurd he might decide to settle affairs with the Danes.’
Conrad looked at him. ‘King Sigurd?’
‘The eldest son of King Olaf who now rules the Oeselians,’ Rameke informed him. ‘By all accounts he is a wise and cunning ruler, at least that is what the rumours say.’
‘He destroyed the Danish fleet last year,’ said Hans.
‘Perhaps he and Conrad should form an alliance to fight the Danes,’ joked Anton.
‘Very amusing,’ said Conrad dryly.
But Conrad’s sense of foreboding was not shared by anyone in the bishop’s army as it began its march the next morning. Thousands of men on foo
t, hundreds of horsemen and dozens of wagons and sleds made their way west across the snow towards the coast, or what had been the coast. The Army of the Wolf marched on foot, taking only the ponies that pulled the sleds. The rest stayed at Leal. As usual Sir Richard’s crossbowmen supplemented those of the ‘Bishop’s Bastards’, Leatherface commanding all of them. There had been a commotion before the army had commenced its march when a rider, one of Nordheim’s horsemen, had arrived from the bishop to invite Hillar to accompany the prelate and the other lords of the army. Hillar had declined the invitation whereupon the haughty horsemen had informed the Duke of Rotalia that it was not a request but an order. Hillar had threatened to kill the man unless he rapidly retreated from his presence.
‘Upstart,’ grumbled Hillar. ‘Ordering me around in my home.’
‘You are a duke now,’ Conrad told him, ‘a man of great importance who should not be walking among the common soldiery.’
‘So why are you walking with us, Susi?’ asked Riki.
‘I sent a message to inform the bishop that we were leaving our ponies and horses at Leal,’ replied Conrad, ‘and that I should march with my army.’
He looked at Hillar. ‘It obviously had not reached him before he requested the lords to assemble around him. But I think he has enough nobles to keep him company.’
Those nobles included the Count of Lauenburg and his senior knights, King Fricis, Prince Rameke, Grand Master Volquin and Sir Richard. But they all dismounted and led their horses when the army reached the ice. From a distance the sea ice looked like a smooth carpet of white but closer inspection revealed it to be a chaotic pattern of elevations and depressions caused by the wind and currents as the sea froze. Because it had snowed over the previous days the sea ice had a deceptively smooth covering. But when the crossing to Muhu began men and beasts began tripping and slipping on uneven chunks of ice. Because there were only six hours of daylight in January the bishop gave the order to halt. The crossing would begin the next day.
That was unfortunate because the temperature plunged during the evening and so a numbed army set off again as vivid orange and yellow rays of the sun lanced the eastern horizon to herald another clear, freezing day. The distance it had to cover was five miles to reach Muhu. But it was five miles fraught with hazards. The army split into four great columns to reduce the risk of the ice giving way under the great weight. And everyone dismounted and led their horses, the drivers got off their carts and all peered at the surface of the ice. The safest sea ice to travel across was coloured white, which designated ice that was the thickest. Grey-coloured ice was ‘young’ ice and thus to be avoided; black ice was newly formed and was the most dangerous of all as it was the thinnest. The problem was that the covering of snow made everything white.
The Army of the Wolf formed the right-hand column of the army, its warriors deployed in a large square that inched its way across the ice. Sir Richard brought his knights into the square to bolster Conrad’s army, the horsemen dismounting and leading their beasts across the ice. Behind the Estonians came Fricis’ two thousand Livs. Leatherface went to each side of the square to order his crossbowmen to keep their eyes peeled for the enemy.
Walking in snow is tiring; walking in snow with uneven ice underneath is exhausting. The pace slowed to that of a snail as men became drained as they continually slipped and fell, the warriors being able to use their spears to haul themselves back to their feet. The ice creaked and groaned to fray nerves and occasionally there was a short cry as someone fell through thin ice. Their comrades pulled most from the freezing water but others were not so lucky. But the survivors shivered violently in their wet clothes that quickly froze stiff.
‘Another hour and we’ll be on the island,’ said Hans, pointing ahead.
He, Conrad and Anton were in the front rank of the Rotalians, which Hiller had insisted should lead the square to Muhu.
Conrad took off his helmet and looked towards the north. The wind had picked up and the sky was rapidly filling with grey clouds.
‘It’s going to snow.’
Anton caught sight of flashes on the horizon, tiny specs, fleeting and bright.
‘Enemy, have a care,’ he shouted.
The warning shot through the Army of the Wolf like a lightning bolt, men forgetting the cold as they prepared to repel an enemy attack. Signallers blew their horns to order ranks to be closed and also warn the other formations. Soon the wind was carrying the sound of horn and trumpet blasts as the clouds thickened overhead and the wind increased. And then the snow began to fall. A few flakes at first, swirling in the wind, but then ever-thicker flurries that reduced visibility drastically.
Conrad turned to the signaller behind him.
‘Sound halt.’
The warrior placed the horn to his lips but never blew it as a javelin slammed into his chest. Conrad rammed his helmet down as dark figures emerged from the whiteout.
They came in ones and twos not in a great mass, like him wearing cloaks and layers of clothing to protect them from the pitiless cold. They did not run because it was impossible to do so in the snow and ice. Snowshoes would have made footing easier but would have reduced their pace to a slow crawl and so they approached at a quick walk. Shields covered their left sides and in their right hands they held axes, spears and swords.
The wind was blowing hard now and wearing his helmet Conrad could not hear anything aside from the mocking howl of the gusts. He held his shield before him and gripped his axe as the Oeselian swung his own axe down to split his helmet. Normally he would have leapt left to avoid the blow but he was fighting on ice and could not risk losing his footing. He caught the blow on his shield, the iron head splitting the leather and wood and getting stuck in the timber. He hacked his own weapon forward and hit the shield of the Oeselian, the axe embedding itself in the wood. The Oeselian was desperately trying to yank his axe free but rather than try to do the same Conrad let go of his weapon, drew his sword and jabbed it forward into the face of the warrior.
Above the howl of the wind he thought he heard a high-pitched shriek but could not be sure. But the Oeselian had been wounded because he too released his axe and fell to the ground. Conrad slipped his sword back in its scabbard, stepped forward, wrenched his axe from the Oeselian’s shield and proceeded to bludgeon the warrior’s helmet until he was sure its wearer was dead. He stood up and felt a sharp blow on the back of his helmet. He turned to see a horrified crossbowman staring at him. He had shot his weapon but the cold had numbed his fingers and affected his aim. The bolt had glanced off his helmet.
He looked left and right to see Hans and Anton, maces in hand, ready to fight off other attackers. A dead Oeselian lay at Hans’ feet. They were being blasted by snow flurries that created a white hell all around them. Conrad squinted ahead but could see nothing but swirling snow flakes. The enemy axe was still lodged in his fractured shield as he stood ready to repel another attack. But no assault came.
The minutes passed and the excitement of combat ebbed away. In battle the senses were heightened, reflexes were instantaneous and strength and stamina multiplied. But now the cold once again began to grip Conrad as he searched in vain for the enemy. He pushed up his helmet.
‘Are you unhurt?’ he shouted to Hans for the wind was still blowing hard.
Hans brought up his mace to signal that he was. Conrad slapped Anton on his shield and hollered the same question. His friend’s helmet moved in a nodding motion.
It seemed like an eternity that he and the rest of his army were standing there, straining their eyes to identify human shapes in the flurries, and as the minutes passed his nerves became frayed. He heard a growl and thought he saw a lumbering figure coming at him. He readied his axe but the noise was just the wind and the shape dissolved as the flurry disappeared.
Then, as quickly as it had begun, the wind suddenly dropped and the flurries stopped. It was late afternoon, the sun dropping fast in the west, and as it did so the temperature also fell rapidly.
Conrad looked to the west to see the ice dotted with black shapes – Nordheim’s Russians that formed the central columns of the army. Sir Richard, his eyes red and his face deathly pale in the cold, came to him trailing his horse.
‘Their attacks were mere pinpricks, Conrad, just to test us.’
Hillar, Riki and Andres also appeared, all unhurt. They reported only a few dead and less wounded.
‘Frostbite is more of a danger at present than the Oeselians,’ said Riki.
Conrad, helmetless, pointed his axe ahead.
‘We will fill our bellies with warm food and have shelter against the cold when we reach Muhu, my friends.’
Nordheim sent riders to each flank of the army to announce that Bishop Albert was well and desirous that the march to Muhu should continue. The snow had blanketed the ice and covered the bodies of the slain, both Oeselian and crusader. There was no time to bury the dead, which would anyway receive a burial at sea once the ice melted. So priests and monks gave brief funeral orations as the army tramped towards the island, reaching it an hour later. Of the Oeselians there was no sign.
Morale, which had fallen due to the intense cold rather than the enemy assault, rose rapidly as a pair of deserted fishing villages were seized to provide accommodation for the bishop and the senior lords of his army. The Army of the Wolf pitched its tents to the north of the villages and Conrad sent parties into the nearby birch forest to collect firewood. Campfires were lit, food cooked and everyone looked forward to marching across the small island preparatory to the conquest of Oesel.
But for Bishop Albert and his army the nightmare was only beginning.
Chapter 11
They attacked in the early hours, creeping out of the forest that the Army of the Wolf had foraged for firewood only hours earlier and which spread south to almost surround the crusader army. They approached not with horns blasting and raising the dead with their war cries but like wraiths – silent and unseen. The bishop’s camp was spread out between and around the two empty villages that had been seized, its myriad of campfires twinkling like hundreds of stars in a clear night sky. To the north of the villages was the Army of the Wolf, its many sentries alert. Immediately south of Conrad’s warriors camped Fricis and his Livs, while in around the villages were the Sword Brothers and the crusaders of the Count of Lauenburg. South of the settlements was the sprawling mass that was the hired soldiers of Polotsk and their religious followers.