Master of Mayhem

by Peter Darman

  The ‘bastards’ followed, spearmen raising their shields above their heads as protection against the crossbow bolts that hissed through the air, knocking men off their feet as they pierced flesh and shattered bone. Leatherface kept his head and formed his crossbowmen into a block, each man pairing up to maintain a continuous discharge of volleys against those in the top of the right-hand tower. The tactic worked in that the men in the tower were forced to keep their heads down.

  Conrad reached the tower’s door and nearly had his head split open when Anton swung one of the hammers wildly to strike the entrance. He moved out of the way as Hans likewise attacked the door with his hammer, the wood soon fracturing to allow them to force it open. Conrad led the assault into the tower, scaling the ladder that led to the first storey, which was mercifully empty. His men poured into the tower behind him, including Leatherface who pushed his way to the front to shadow Conrad as he scaled the second ladder to reach the second storey. Hans and Anton did not follow but instead took a score of men to the gates to remove the oak beam slotted into great iron brackets fixed to the back of the barriers, as well as the braces that had been placed against them.

  A crossbowman peered down the ladder to the top of the tower where he and his comrades were fighting. He saw a helmeted figure in mail armour looking up at him, a crossbow bolt went into his eye socket and he saw no more. Conrad scrambled up the ladder to emerge on the top of the tower and launched himself at a crossbowman who had seen his comrade collapse. Conrad thrust his sword forward, the point going through the gambeson the man was wearing, forcing him to drop his weapon. There were a dozen men on the fighting platform and the other ten now turned their attention to the invader. One screamed as he lost his footing and tipped over the battlements, a bolt lodged in his chest.

  Leatherface climbed on to the platform followed by a spearmen and then another and another. Conrad ducked low, swung his sword and sliced open the left calf of the nearest enemy soldier. More and more spearmen came on to the platform, three being shot by enemy crossbows. But Leatherface shot one in reply and two more were killed by spear thrusts. Two spearmen grabbed an enemy and hurled him from the tower while Conrad severed a man’s right arm as he attempted to reload his crossbow. There was a huge cheer from beyond the walls at the very moment the last enemy crossbowman was killed. Leatherface shot him in the face at point-blank range. Conrad glanced to see the white boar banner of Sir Richard leading hundreds of warriors along the track to Reval.

  The gates had been opened.

  Conrad walked up to Leatherface and took his arm.

  ‘Grateful for your assistance, my friend.’

  ‘All this climbing is no good for my heart,’ said the mercenary.

  Conrad clenched his fist when he saw Sir Richard nearing the gates, his knights behind his banner. Following were hundreds of Estonian warriors, shields held aloft as a defence against the crossbowmen on the walls, who were now abandoning their positions in an effort to reach the sanctuary of the castle on the hill.

  Reval had fallen.

  ‘Your new friend is trying to get your attention,’ remarked Leatherface, pointing at the tower opposite.

  Conrad turned away from the hundreds of warriors approaching the town and saw Sigurd wearing a broad smile.

  ‘I told you we had more warriors than they had missiles, Sword Brother.’

  ‘I am in your debt, majesty,’ Conrad shouted back.

  ‘And what price will they exact for this little adventure, I wonder?’ mused Leatherface.

  The fee was a high one: all the money, gold, silver, brass and jewellery that was in Reval. That had been one of Sigurd’s conditions for his participation in the attack on the port. Another was that his longships would be free to come and go as they pleased once it had fallen and would pay no docking fees for the privilege. They would also be free to raid non-Sword Brother territory. In return Sigurd had promised not to burn the town, not to kill too many of its civilian inhabitants and to take only a few as slaves. Conrad stipulated that no Estonians were to be taken as captives, only Danes.

  When the battle was over four thousand scarecrows, the straw figures dressed in tunics with branches fashioned to resemble spears fastened to them, littered the ground around Reval.

  The majority of the soldiers manning the walls and who had managed to reach the sanctuary of the castle gave themselves up to Grand Master Volquin when he demanded their surrender. They could have defied him. The castle was well stocked with food and the grand master had no siege engines. But eventually the food would run out, especially as the castle was also full of civilians, and there was no hope of relief. So they opened the gates to the Sword Brothers on the promise that their lives would be spared. In the town itself Conrad ordered the Army of the Wolf to occupy all twelve towers along the walls while the Oeselians began ferrying their booty back to their boats.

  Sigurd told his earls to keep their men under a tight leash and not to engage in wanton destruction. Theft was fine but he had given his word to the Marshal of Estonia that Reval would not be burnt to the ground, and neither would the Christian boats in the harbour be damaged. They and their men might have grumbled but they were more than happy when they began to empty the churches of their gold and silver ornaments and the dockside warehouses of their goods.

  Sigurd walked among the buildings of Reval, turning up his nose at the dilapidated state of many and the stink caused by refuse dumped in the dirt streets and alleyways.

  ‘Is this how the Christians live?’

  ‘They are a dirty people, majesty,’ said Bothvar, the earl keeping a tight grip on the bloody axe in his hand.

  The king’s bodyguard ringed the pair, checking buildings for hidden assassins and rooftops for any crossbowmen. But the town appeared deserted other than the bodies that littered the streets. Sigurd heard a grunt and turned to see a pig chewing on a corpse. He clicked his fingers holding out his right arm. A warrior rushed up and handed him a javelin. Sigurd threw it to skewer the pig. It squealed, thrashed around before collapsing, dead.

  ‘Disgusting.’

  The royal party continued its journey, entering a street where Stark and his men were gathered around the smoking, charred remains of a building. They stood when they saw the king.

  ‘Brother,’ smiled Stark, ‘it is good to see you safe.’

  Sigurd walked over to him, glancing at the smouldering ruins.

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘A Christian church. We are waiting for the heat to die down so we can remove the valuable metals.’

  Sigurd struck his brother violently across the cheek, sending him sprawling to the ground. Stark sprang to his feet, rage in his eyes with a hand on the hilt of his sword. The king’s bodyguard drew their swords and Bothvar placed himself between Stark and the king. Sigurd calmly walked past Bothvar to face his brother.

  ‘I gave specific orders that no buildings were to be burnt, did I not?’

  Stark said nothing as he fumed in silence.

  Sigurd spoke quietly so the others would not hear.

  ‘Disobey me again, brother, and I will cut off your right arm.’

  He brushed past his sibling, Bothvar giving Stark a rebuking glare as the king’s bodyguard followed Sigurd.

  ‘The ships are loaded?’ Stark asked his deputy.

  ‘Yes, lord.’

  ‘Give the order to move out, we are leaving this dung heap immediately.’

  Stark rubbed his cheek. He would not forget this insult.

  ‘We go back to Oesel, lord?’ queried his deputy.

  Stark had a cheering thought. ‘No, Gotland, I have an old friend who will be interested in what I have to offer.’

  *****

  Conrad stared at the longships being loaded with booty, lines of Oeselian warriors ferrying a wide variety of items ranging from cooking pots to goats and sheep.

  ‘You would have thought there are enough farm animals on Oesel to make that unnecessary,’ remarked Hans.

>   ‘That is not the point,’ said Anton. ‘The point of an Oeselian raid is to pillage everything. He looked back at the town. At least they didn’t burn Reval.’

  ‘That was part of the agreement,’ said Conrad, ‘which has thus far held.’

  He had asked Sir Richard to keep the Army of the Wolf at the city walls until the Oeselians had left. Two large groups of heavily armed warriors in close proximity with generations of bad blood between them would shatter any fledgling peace. A rider had arrived to announce the Sword Brothers had secured the castle so all that remained was for the Oeselians to satisfy their greed and be away. He saw three ships being rowed away from the harbour. He breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Look lively, here comes their king.’

  Leatherface had placed a party of his crossbowmen around the three Sword Brothers, the rest being sent to Sir Richard to secure the perimeter wall and towers. He grinned mischievously as Sigurd walked by him.

  The king stopped and looked at him. ‘Despite your age and rough appearance you have showed yourself to be a skilled warrior.’

  Leatherface smiled and the king carried on.

  ‘Cheeky bastard,’ he said under his breath.

  ‘I would speak to the marshal alone,’ Sigurd said to Hans and Anton.

  They took their leave as Bothvar struck up an unlikely conversation with Leatherface who began showing him how to use a crossbow.

  ‘So, Sword Brother, we have done what few thought we could achieve.’

  ‘Take Reval?’ offered Conrad.

  ‘Forged an alliance,’ replied Sigurd, nodding towards his ships. ‘The bounty we take back to Oesel will soothe the wrath of those who believed that I offended the gods by dealing with barbarians.’

  ‘There are many in Livonia who will think the same, majesty.’

  ‘And you,’ said Sigurd, ‘what will you do now with no war to fight?’

  Conrad smiled, thinking of the Kurs. ‘There is always a war to fight, majesty, but at least Estonia will be untroubled by conflict.’

  He looked at Sigurd. ‘And no invasion of Oesel will be launched from the mainland.’

  The king offered his hand to Conrad. They clasped forearms.

  ‘We will make camp on the island of Naissaar,’ said Sigurd, ‘and sail back to Oesel in the morning.’

  Naissaar was an island off the coast, five miles due north of Reval.

  ‘You would be welcome to attend the feast that will be held tonight in the castle to celebrate our victory, majesty,’ Conrad told him.

  ‘I thank you for that but it would be best if I removed my warriors from Reval while they are still sober. Their rowdiness will turn into violence now that your army of Estonians has entered the town.’

  He pointed at Conrad’s surcoat. ‘And many have little affection for the insignia you wear. Your bishop will be bringing another army from across the sea this year?’

  ‘My bishop is gravely ill,’ Conrad told him, ‘he is an invalid at Riga.’

  Sigurd said nothing though Conrad thought he detected the faintest of smiles on his handsome face. The king nodded at him and walked on to the jetty where his longship was berthed.

  ‘Bothvar,’ he said, ‘tell the earls that we leave for Naissaar immediately.’

  Conrad watched the king’s longship leave the harbour leading the others as the sun began to drop in the west. His limbs suddenly began to ache. It had been a long day. He averted his eyes when he heard horses’ hooves and turned to see Henke at the head of a group of lance-armed sergeants. He halted his horse a few feet from Conrad.

  ‘Some brother knights are spitting blood and cursing you to hell for allowing those heathens to plunder the town’s churches.’

  Conrad sighed. He found Henke so boorish.

  ‘Is that what you rode here to tell me, brother?’

  Henke leaned forward. ‘The grand master wants to see you at the castle.’

  He nodded towards the line of longships. ‘Weren’t tempted to go with your new friends, then?’

  ‘Master,’ said Conrad.

  ‘What?’

  ‘When you address me you should use my proper title,’ Conrad reminded him, ‘either that or lord marshal.’

  Henke’s face contorted with anger and he thought about jumping from his saddle and settling affairs with his sword. But then he remembered that he was a brother knight of the order and saw Hans and Anton casually resting their right hands on the pommels of their swords and Leatherface standing with a loaded crossbow nearby. Henke took a deep breath.

  ‘The grand master requests your presence immediately, master.’

  He turned his horse and dug his spurs into its flanks, causing it to shoot forward through the mounted sergeants.

  Conrad shook his head. ‘Oaf.’

  He and the others walked to the castle, the town now being patrolled by groups of Sword Brothers, mounted sergeants and brother knights using captured horses. Conrad and his friends found some warhorses a short distance from a group of butchered Danish knights. The scene was ghastly, flies buzzing around corpses showing horrific wounds. There were no Oeselian bodies – Sigurd’s warriors had removed all their dead for cremation that evening. They commandeered some of the horses and rode to the castle where Grand Master Volquin was waiting with Masters Rudolf, Bertram and Mathias, all mercifully unharmed. Spearmen and crossbowmen of the order manned the towers and gates, the civilians escorted by other spearmen back into the town, to their homes. The Danish prisoners had been locked in storerooms. Sir Richard and the warlords of the Army of the Wolf – Riki, Andres, Hillar and Ulric – also stood beside the grand master, who nodded to a line of signallers. They raised the trumpets to their lips and blew the instruments as Conrad and his companions dismounted and handed the reins of their horses to sergeants.

  The battlements and courtyard were crowded with Sword Brothers, Sir Richard’s men and Estonian warriors who banged the ends of their spears on the ground and ramparts as Conrad walked up to Volquin and saluted.

  ‘This victory is yours, Master Conrad,’ smiled Volquin, ‘so I thought you might appreciate what we are about to do. Follow me.’

  Conrad followed him to the flagpole positioned in front of the castle’s main hall. He had not noticed the banner flying from it as there was little wind so it hung limply, only occasionally stirring when a slight breeze caught it. Volquin untied the rope and lowered the flag, handing it to Conrad. It was a large and surprisingly heavy standard showing a white cross on a red background – the colours of Denmark. Two brother knights came forward with a white banner emblazoned with a red cross over a red sword, which they fastened to the rope to allow Volquin to raise the standard of the order over Reval. When it was done he embraced Conrad, turned and raised his arms.

  ‘God with us!’

  Wild cheering and whooping ensued as a wide grin crept over Conrad’s face. Reval had fallen and Danish control over Estonia had been shattered. The Sword Brothers now ruled from the Gulf of the Finns to the River Dvina.

  *****

  It was an age before he could move from the upturned boat he had been hiding under for hours. He had done well to escape the Oeselian ambush in which Count Rolf, his knights and most of his own horsemen had been killed, and even better to reach the harbour undetected to seek sanctuary beneath the upturned boat. No one had bothered with it because is timbers were old and rotting, with grass growing around it. It was clearly useless, contained nothing of value and was thus ignored by the Oeselians.

  When it was dark Dietrich von Kivel crept out from under the wreck and crawled down to the water’s edge, to a small fishing vessel abandoned by its owners when the Oeselians had appeared. The harbour was shrouded in darkness, a few torches flickering in the town and the castle on the hill. But the docks and jetties were deserted and silent. He moved slowly, being careful not to disturb anything with his feet. The boat, abandoned on the sand, was easy to push into the water. Kivel clambered aboard and crouched low. He kicked something wi
th his foot and was relieved to discover it was a small oar. Crouching near the stern he gently dipped it into the water to take him away from the shore. If his luck held he would be able to land on the eastern side of the bay, from where he would have to make his way back to Narva, some one hundred and twenty miles away. He still had his sword and a dagger and hoped to run across a farmstead where he could kill the owners and steal their food and a pony if they possessed one.

  Epilogue

  To His Holiness Pope Gregory IX from Stefan, Archdeacon and Governor of Riga.

  ‘Holy Father

  ‘It is with deep regret that I write to inform you that your devout servant Bishop Albert shows no sign of recovering from the paralysis that struck him following the return of his excellency from the winter crusade on Oesel. We pray for him daily in the certain hope that God will smile on His servant and restore his faculties.

  ‘Alas, Holy Father, I have to burden you with further ill news. The Sword Brothers, in flagrant violation of the peace brought about by the diplomacy of your legate Cardinal William, have basely attacked and sacked the port of Reval in Estonia. This they did with the assistance of the pagan Oeselians, a barbarous people known throughout the Baltic for their depravity. This unholy alliance was brought about by the machinations of Master Conrad who was appointed Marshal of Estonia by Bishop Albert himself but who has now betrayed the trust placed in him by the bishop, my uncle, and the Holy Church.

  ‘The good citizens of Riga and Livonia now quake with fear at the prospect of the Sword Brothers and the pagans uniting to do to them what they have done to the unfortunate inhabitants of Reval. It is with a sad heart that I and the leaders of Riga’s council do hereby implore Your Holiness to send us the means by which we can emasculate the Sword Brothers and arrest Master Conrad to impose holy justice upon both them and him. Only then can Livonia be rid of heresy, witchcraft and lawlessness.

  ‘Given this thirtieth day of June in the year of our Lord one thousand, two hundred and twenty-seven and the first year of your pontificate.’