by Peter Darman
Along the way he had linked up with the brother knights, sergeants and mercenaries of the garrisons of Segewold and Kremon, who had been furnished with sleighs and ponies provided by Caupo. Combined with the men from Wenden’s garrison these totalled thirty-six brother knights, fifty sergeants, thirty crossbowmen and the same number of spearmen. Master Berthold was still concerned that there were too many mouths to feed but was persuaded by Rudolf that there were enough supplies to feed such a host, especially as most of the horses brought by Sir Frederick and his crusaders would soon expire from the freezing conditions.
Two days after their arrival the army left Wenden, the crusaders mocking the Sword Brothers riding on their little ponies. Thalibald and Rudolf rode ahead with a small party of scouts to map the trail the long column of sleighs, men on foot and horsemen were to follow to Lembit’s stronghold of Fellin.
*****
‘I’ve always hated the snow,’ remarked Vetseke as he sipped at his drink. He had been morose since his arrival at Gerzika in the autumn, looking like a beggar in his tattered cloak, his face unshaven and his hair unkempt. His cloak had been repaired and he had been given fresh clothes but his mood had darkened as the days grew shorter and the temperature dropped. Vsevolod looked at his wife and rolled his eyes but said nothing.
‘Even with the fires burning,’ continued Vetseke, now taking great gulps of his beverage, ‘Kokenhusen was always cold during the winter.’
‘I trust your quarters here are warm enough,’ said Vsevolod.
Vetseke drained his finely engraved silver tankard and held it out for one of the slaves standing around the wall of the hall to fill it. One came forward, bowed his head and poured more stavlenniy myod into the vessel. This honey based drink, similar to the mead that the Catholics drank, was strong and was best imbibed in moderation, not consumed like water as Vetseke was doing.
The former ruler of Kokenhusen managed a half smile. ‘Warm, thank you.’
‘Perhaps a life in a warmer clime might be beneficial to you, prince,’ hissed Rasa, barely able to conceal her contempt. The daughter of Grand Duke Daugerutis had received her name after the first thing her father had seen after holding his new-born daughter. It meant ‘dew’ and her father thought it most appropriate as he thought the child was soft and gentle. But Rasa grew into a cunning and ruthless woman whose red hair, slim frame and piercing brown eyes gave her a savage beauty, a quality matched by her callous temperament. Vsevolod had a similar disposition, which had been the reason he had wanted to marry her, that and because she was the daughter of Lithuania’s most powerful duke. But sometimes she over-reached herself.
Her mood had darkened of late when news came from her father that her brother, the grand duke’s heir, had been killed in a hunting accident. He had fallen from his horse and broken his neck. Rasa and her brother had never been close but the news of his death had still been a shock.
Vetseke looked at the wife of his host, dressed as she was in a rich white robe called a rubakha with wide sleeves that allowed her to display the even richer blue rubakha underneath with gold-inlaid sleeve cuffs. Around her shoulders she was wearing a white cloak edged with fox fur that was fastened at the right shoulder by a golden brooch. Pampered bitch! ‘I will never desert Kokenhusen,’ slurred Vetseke. ‘To be a landless prince, a vagrant condemned to wander the earth, homeless?’ He slammed his tankard down on the table, causing several of the slaves to jump. ‘Never!’
Vsevolod looked at his wife disapprovingly but she waved away his censure.
‘Quite right, prince,’ said Vsevolod, ‘to which end I have had communications with Prince Vladimir of Polotsk who would welcome you at his court, so valuable an ally have you been to him.’
There was a time when the Principality of Polotsk had ruled all the lands from the city to the shores of the Baltic, but internal dynastic strife and wars with the more powerful Kingdom of Kiev to the south had weakened it considerably. Strongholds like Kokenhusen and Gerzika had originally been vassal kingdoms of Polotsk but now were actually self-governing domains, though still tied to it by trade, culture and treaties. But Polotsk could still muster large armies, which could be used against Bishop Albert if Prince Vladimir could be manipulated to do so.
Vetseke seemed pleased by this. ‘He is a great ruler who appreciates those who have been loyal to him.’
‘When the snow clears I will give you an escort so that you may arrive at his court as befitting yours status,’ said Vsevolod.
‘Not before?’ added Rasa, smiling icily at Vetseke.
Vsevolod glared at her. ‘I am certain that Vladimir will provide you with soldiers so that you may retake Kokenhusen.’
Vetseke’s spirits rose as he drank more alcohol and contemplated his visit to Polotsk. He was carried back to his quarters in a drunken, semi-conscious state, happy in the knowledge that he would soon be back in his own stronghold.
In their private quarters Rasa sat brushing her hair as Vsevolod flopped down in a chair on the other side of their large bed with its red ornamented canopy, rich hangings and fine linen sheets.
‘You should have him killed,’ said Rasa.
‘Who?’ asked Vsevolod, rubbing his tired eyes.
‘Vetseke, of course.’
Vsevolod was horrified. ‘He is our guest.’
Rasa stopped brushing her hair and turned to look at him. ‘He is a burden who will bring the unwelcome attention of that heathen bishop upon us. But more than that, he has no army, no land and no purpose.’
Her eyes burned with hatred for Vetseke.
Vsevolod rose and walked over to her, cupping her face in his hands.
‘The bishop, my dear, has expressed his gratitude to me for taking my army to the aid of Kokenhusen. And has further asked that I perform the role of intermediary between him and your father.’
Rasa’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why would you do such a thing? My father will never bow his knee to the devil of Riga. My father is still angry with you for your inactivity at Kokenhusen. Prince Stecse says that you deserted him.’
Vsevolod released his hold on Rasa’s face and began pacing up and down in front of her.
‘Prince? He is nothing more than a dotard who thinks that banging his head against a palisade makes him a great warlord. The bishop’s approach shows that he is weak at this moment and fears conflict with your father.’
‘So he should,’ said Rasa smugly.
Vsevolod stopped and held up a hand to her. ‘The point is that if Vladimir can be persuaded to support Vetseke, or better still march west himself, then we can combine with him and your father to strike a fatal blow against my dear friend Bishop Albert. That is why Vetseke must be kept alive.’
‘Vladimir will never agree to march beside my father. There is too much bad blood between them,’ she said disparagingly.
Vsevolod sighed. He loved his wife but her habit of seeing everything in black and white sometimes blinded her to the obvious.
‘Both your father and Vladimir are great warlords who know that there is strength in unity and who also know that our friend the bishop presents the greatest immediate danger.’
She placed her hairbrush on her table. ‘So where does Vetseke fit in with your grand scheme?’
Vsevolod smiled cunningly at her. ‘For one thing moving him to Polotsk will get him away from Gerzika, thus maintaining the illusion that I am an ally of the bishop. But, more importantly, Vetseke is a Liv not a Russian, and while he lives he can serve as a rallying figure for those of his race who live under the crusader heel and who wish to free themselves of the servants of the heretical Church of Rome.
‘Just think, how long will the bishop last with rebellion in his lands and Russian and Lithuanian armies marching against him?’
Rasa looked at him affectionately. ‘You have it all worked out, don’t you?’
He shrugged coyly. ‘One does what one can, my sweet.’
Chapter 7
The march to Fellin began in a snowsto
rm, a biting northerly wind making Conrad pull the hood of his cape up and bow his head as he walked with Hans and the others beside a sleigh loaded with tools. The heads of the ponies and horses were similarly down as the flecks of snow swirled around them, severely reducing visibility and making it almost impossible to convey commands. Not that the Sword Brothers needed to convey many commands during the march as they maintained strict discipline even when travelling through friendly territory. Much to the annoyance of Sir Frederick and his crusaders the Sword Brothers were placed in the rear and vanguard of the army, the most vulnerable and dangerous places when on the march. The banner of the order, a great white flag bearing a red sword and cross, was held by Henke at the very tip of the army, though as soon as it had begun to snow it had been wrapped in a waxed sleeve to preserve it from the wet.
Soon after leaving Sir Frederick had ridden to the vanguard to enquire why the rate of advance was so slow. He was informed by Master Berthold that marching in winter sapped the stamina of both horses and men and that he desired to arrive at Fellin with all the animals and men in fighting order, not half-dead or having expired along the route. The crusaders grumbled in their ranks but had little choice but to acquiesce in the master’s wishes, as they had no local knowledge. Their banners and heraldic shields provided a vivid splash of colour against the brilliant white terrain until the snowstorm engulfed the column. The rate of advance decreased further when the brother knights and sergeants dismounted and proceeded on foot. The crusaders had no choice but to do so likewise.
Conrad was relieved when the column entered a forest three miles north of Wenden and the blizzard lessened in severity, though the snow still fell thickly. They marched through the forest for what seemed an age but was probably around three hours, the brothers ordering short stops of between five and ten minutes but no longer, as standing around in freezing conditions could be fatal. The army covered barely six miles the first day before Master Berthold gave the order to make camp next to the southern side of a great forest of firs that extended east and west for miles. The tents were pitched two hundred paces from the trees to create an area of open ground across which any potential attackers could not cross without being spotted. The march had been relatively easy for Conrad and his companions, notwithstanding the snow, but their real work began when the camp was erected. Not only did they have to assist in putting up the tents, hammering angular steel pegs into the frozen ground, they were also given axes and saws and sent off into the forest along with a dozen other parties to cut wood, specifically the wood of dead fir trees.
‘How did you think we would make fires?’ asked Lukas as he hacked at the black branches of a dead tree?’
‘Surely there is enough firewood and peat at Wenden?’ replied Hans, throwing another branch onto the rapidly increasing pile of sticks.
‘Food and fuel are precious commodities,’ said Lukas, ‘especially in winter. Do you wish the garrison and the families who live there to freeze to death? To say nothing of the animals?’ He saw Bruno and Anton chatting. ‘Stop gossiping and start hacking unless you want to spend the night with no fire.’
The wind dropped as the light began to fade and the forest reverberated to the sounds of chopping and sawing as firewood was collected and ferried back to camp. The tents had all been pitched by now and sergeants and squires had begun to prepare evening meals. Cooking pots hung suspended over fires on metal frames as the first batches of wood were set alight. Lukas instructed Conrad and the others to stop collecting wood and return to camp as the light in the forest faded rapidly. Out of the gloom came Thalibald, Rameke and a dozen Liv warriors carrying shields and spears. Conrad felt inadequate when Rameke recognised him and strolled beside him as his father walked ahead with Lukas. He had an armful of dead wood while the son of the chief was helmeted, wore a mail shirt and carried a spear and sword. However, the chief’s son was friendly rather than patronising.
‘Conrad, how are you?’
‘Tired of cutting wood. You were scouting?’
Rameke nodded. ‘Not that there was anything to see apart from trees and snow.’
‘No Estonians?’
Rameke laughed. ‘They are all inside their homes out of the cold, like I wish I was.’
Conrad was surprised. ‘You do not like the cold?’
‘Of course not. I would rather be wrapped in furs beside a warm fire.’
‘Like Daina,’ said Conrad sheepishly.
‘Like all women. Their role is to marry, feed their husbands and bear future warriors. Not that I can imagine anyone wanting to marry my sister.’
‘She has no suitor?’ asked Conrad evasively.
‘Daina?’ Rameke laughed out loud, causing his father to turn and scold him for making too much noise.
‘We are in enemy territory, boy, not on a summer stroll.’
‘My father will have to pay a big dowry to get rid of my sister,’ whispered Rameke. ‘Who would want to marry her?’
Conrad said nothing but his heart soared and the bundle of firewood he was carrying seemed as light as a feather. He also forgot about Rudolf’s words concerning marriage and membership of the Sword Brothers.
The camp was a sprawling collection of round and oval tents arranged in three sections. One part comprised the great round tent of Master Berthold himself, next to which was the chapel tent, in which the services that were conducted at Wenden and all the other Sword Brother garrisons could be reciprocated while on campaign. The tent where the members of the order and their servants ate their meals was also pitched near the master’s, while the individual tents of the brother knights ringed them all. Then there were the tents of the sergeants, crossbowmen, spearmen, engineers and support personnel. The crusaders and their squires and footmen pitched their tents around the great portable residence of Sir Frederick, while Thalibald and his warriors grouped their felt dwellings around their sleighs and ponies, which like those of the Sword Brothers slept in the open with blankets on their backs, all grouped together and shielded by temporary stalls of wood and canvas. Even though the wind had dropped the night sky was cloudless and filled by a thousand stars, causing the temperature to plummet.
Lukas called Conrad and the other boys together and showed them how to make a fire, clearing a patch of ground and then taking some tinder from a box he had brought along and placing it on the ground in a loose pile. He then placed a small amount of twigs and sticks over it and lit the tinder using sparks created by striking steel against flint. Soon the tinder was alight and consuming the twigs and sticks. Lukas instructed Hans to place bigger sticks on the fire.
‘Not too big otherwise you’ll smother it.’
After a short while the fire took hold and logs could be placed on the flames from a nearby pile.
‘Just keep putting logs on at regular intervals and it gives out a constant heat all night,’ said Lukas.
‘Who will do that?’ asked Anton.
‘All of you,’ replied Lukas. ‘You will take it in turns to keep watch along with everyone else. Conrad will take the first watch.’
In fact Master Berthold liaised with Sir Frederick and Thalibald to ensure that there were sentries posted all around the camp throughout the night so there was no need for Conrad and the others to stand watch. But Lukas thought it excellent practice for when they finished their schooling in arms. That night, at evening prayers in the canvas chapel, Conrad asked God to care for Daina as well as Marie.
It took nine days to reach Fellin, nine days of walking along tracks heaped high with snow, crossing frozen rivers and streams and digging sleighs out of snow banks. And with each day that passed more and more of the crusaders’ horses died from the cold. Unused to the severe Latvian winter and already weakened by their march to Wenden, they collapsed and expired despite being beaten and whipped by their owners. They were not the only ones to suffer. Conrad and the other boys were well equipped with their felt caps and hoods, spare underwear, leg wraps, tunics, mittens and socks, in additi
on to being issued with two pairs of boots, but the squires of the crusaders suffered terribly from the cold. On the fourth night Rudolf discovered one dead from exposure, having spent the night standing guard.
The Sword Brothers and Thalibald’s warriors used their knowledge of the terrain to traverse the land with a minimum of difficulty, but the crusaders wished only to slaughter pagans and had no time for delays, pushing themselves and their horses to the limit to reach their destination. They believed that because their horses had been fitted with winter horseshoes they could ride across the frozen land with ease and could even cross frozen waterways without a thought.
‘The horseshoes have little spikes that give a horse grip on snow and ice,’ remarked Rameke as he and Conrad stood watching Sir Frederick and his knights canter across the frozen River Kopu, five miles southwest of Fellin, ‘but the thickness of river ice can vary and it is not advisable to ride a host of horses over it thus.’
The Sword Brothers led their mounts across on foot at widely spaced intervals, the rest of the army crossing in many widely spaced columns to prevent the ice cracking. Conrad walked across with Rameke and the other boys beside the sleighs that carried their tents, tools, food, weapons and spare clothing, each of them looking left and right at the shiny surface. The sleigh drivers dismounted and led their ponies across. Each sleigh carried around five hundred pounds of cargo and thus it was wise for the driver to alight to lessen the load. To their right, around fifty paces away, half a dozen shivering squires were leading a line of pack horses loaded with weapons and armour across the river.
‘Stop, there’s a crack!’ shouted Hans, pointing down at the ice.
The sleigh driver holding the reins of his pony next to him looked at the ice, then at Hans, shook his head and carried on leading his animal. Conrad and Rameke hurried to Hans’ side followed by the others as the sleighs continued on to the far bank. Hans stared wide-eyes in alarm at the large crack that ran from left to right. Rameke pointed at it.