by Peter Darman
Conrad saw the Livs advancing against perhaps a score of the enemy and his three comrades holding their own against the Estonians, who now broke off their combat to come to their leader’s side.
‘We must leave, lord,’ one said to him.
Conrad kept his battered shield and sword raised as trumpets sounded behind him and he heard horses’ hooves. Lembit screamed in frustration and pointed his sword at Conrad as a party of knights trotted up, lances couched.
‘Until we meet again, Conrad Wolff.’
The other Estonians were now beating a hasty retreat, Lembit following them as the knights rode into the trees to attempt a pursuit. But the branches were too low and the undergrowth too thick to risk the lives of expensive warhorses and so the Estonians made good their escape.
Rudolf arrived in the company of Henke and Lukas as the wounded Livs were helped to the surgeons. Conrad sat on the cart with the others as Rameke came to them and clasped each of their forearms.
‘Praise God you are all unhurt,’ he said, wincing when he saw the cut above Anton’s right eye and Conrad’s torn gambeson.
The brother knights dismounted and walked over to them.
‘Are you hurt?’ Rudolf said to Anton.
‘It is nothing,’ replied Anton, feeling the wound with his hand.
‘Get it seen to,’ ordered Rudolf.
Lukas saw the helmets and mail shirts draped over the cart’s driver’s seat.
‘That is why we issue you with helmets and mail armour. Looks like latrine duties for you all.’
‘But we were collecting firewood, Brother Lukas,’ protested Hans.
‘You think that the enemy should have allowed you the time to put on your armour and helmets, according to the code of chivalry?’ said Lukas in mocking tone.
Hans was going to say yes but thought better of it.
‘It was Lembit,’ said Conrad.
Rudolf spun round. ‘Are you certain?’
Conrad nodded and Henke laughed.
‘And you let him get away? Really, Conrad, you are making a habit of allowing your enemies to escape.’
Rudolf walked over to Conrad and inspected his torn gambeson. ‘A parting gift from Lembit?’
Conrad nodded and Henke laughed again.
‘Not so easy to kill him, then?’
‘He was very quick on his feet,’ said Conrad sullenly.
‘You don’t become leader of all the Estonian tribes without being able to use a sword,’ said Henke. ‘Strange that he should lead a raid, though.’
But Lembit had achieved his aim and the crusader army halted its march, sent out patrols in all directions and then made camp, the tents and wagons ringed by guards standing ready to repel another attack. None came but the march to Lehola had been delayed and the next day, as the bishop’s army packed away its tents and recommenced its march, hundreds of warriors arrived at Lehola and filed through its gates.
*****
Lembit had lost only a dozen men killed and four more wounded but he returned to his stronghold in a foul mood, almost beating a man unconscious when he failed to control his pony while leading it to the stables. Afterwards he sat in his great hall drinking copious quantities of beer as the new arrivals were shown to their sleeping quarters. Rusticus let him stew for a while and then went to see him.
Lembit pointed at the jug on the table. ‘Help yourself.’
Rusticus filled a cup with beer and leaned against the table, facing Lembit in his high-backed chair.
‘You remember that boy, Conrad Wolff?’
Rusticus shook his head. Lembit pointed at his scar.
‘Oh, that boy. What about him?’
‘He is with the crusader army. I came face to face with him.’
‘Did you kill him?’
Lembit shook his head.
‘You should have. Him still walking the earth is a bad omen, lord. No good will come of it. His fate is intertwined with yours.’
Lembit frowned. ‘Are you a fortune teller now?’
Rusticus drained his cup and belched. ‘No, lord, but I know a sign from the gods as well as the next man.’
‘Get out,’ snapped Lembit, knowing that his deputy was speaking the truth.
If the Estonian leader thought that he had outwitted the bishop he had reckoned without the talents of Master Thaddeus. The architect of the fall of Acre twenty-three years before had worked closely with Grand Master Volquin regarding the assault upon Lehola, Thaddeus having travelled to Riga in the weeks before the bishop’s arrival to thrash out the details of how Lembit’s stronghold would be taken. Volquin knew that the crusaders and the masters of his order would favour an immediate assault with siege towers but Thaddeus convinced him to adopt a different strategy.
Conrad, Anton, Hans and Johann had spent the hours after the Estonian raid digging latrine trenches as a punishment for discarding their mail and helmets, after which they had to feed and groom horses before finally erecting their tent at well past midnight. They awoke three hours later to attend prayers in the chapel tent before eating breakfast and beginning the ritual of daily chores again. The army arrived before Lehola three hours later and once more they were issued with axes and saws as the first part of Master Thaddeus’ plan was put into effect.
Lehola stood tall and imperious on its great mound, the ground having been cleared of trees and foliage three hundred paces from its base in all directions. The ramparts and towers were thronged with warriors when the crusaders arrived, wolf banners flying from every tower. Master Thaddeus, mounted on an old grey palfrey, trotted around the fort, occasionally stopping and looking up at the defences as dozens of pairs of eyes stared down at him from the timber walls. Grand Master Volquin, Master Berthold and Wenden’s brother knights escorted him to ensure he did not stray too near the walls and thus risk being shot by an archer, who nevertheless did loose the odd hopeful arrow in their direction.
While this reconnaissance of the enemy was being carried out, the knights donned their full armour and their squires saddled their warhorses and the Sword Brothers arrayed their banners in front of the fort. The coats of arms of the lords of northern Germany fluttered in the breeze and were displayed on dozens of shields as the crusader army showed itself to the enemy in all its pomp and glory, the great banner of Riga flying behind the bishop of the town as he sat on his horse beside Theodoric in front of Lehola’s main gates. Trumpets blew among his foot soldiers as they deployed in front of him with his mounted bodyguard behind. Sir Helmold arrayed his knights and their mounted retainers on the eastern side of the fort, Count Horton’s men on the western side and the Sword Brothers on the northern side. Sir Jordan’s depleted forces fell in beside the bishop.
It had been decided beforehand that the crusader camp should be located to the southwest of the fort. Volquin knew that the other Estonian chiefs would probably be summoned to Lembit’s aid and would probably join forces in the north before marching south. All except the Ungannians whose lands were to the southeast and would approach from that direction. The force besieging Fellin further south would hopefully act as a breakwater in the event that Kalju led his warriors west. If not then Caupo’s Livs would provide prior warning of their arrival and of the approach of any Estonians from the north. In any event the crusader camp, positioned to the southwest, would not be overrun.
The bishop’s pavilion that he shared with Theodoric also doubled as the army’s command tent, where Master Thaddeus explained his strategy to the lords assembled round a table. Thaddeus stood at the table and pointed to a rough sketch on parchment that showed Lehola and two lines drawn around it.
He pointed at the line that was nearest the forts’ walls. ‘Just as Caesar built lines of circumvallation and contravallation around Alesia so will we erect the same around Lehola, my lords.’
Count Horton, bored, stared out of the open tent flaps at the bustle of the camp outside. Sir Jordan looked perplexed.
‘When do we attack?’
Th
addeus smiled. ‘We do not, my lord.’
Count Horton turned back to the table. ‘What did you say?’
The bishops were staring intently at the sketch map and Grand Master Volquin was observing everyone knowingly. Sir Helmold, seated between Caupo and Thalibald, maintained a polite silence.
‘My engines will batter the fort into submission,’ said Thaddeus, who again pointed at his map, this time at the outer line that encompassed the fort. ‘Our lines of contravallation will prevent any relief of the fort, thus making its surrender inevitable.’
Count Horton was not happy. ‘We did not come all the way from Germany to sit on our arses in this godforsaken place.’
‘No place is forsaken of God, count,’ Bishop Albert reprimanded him.
‘Apologies, lord bishop,’ grunted Horton.
‘If we are not to assault the walls,’ remarked Sir Helmold, ‘then why do we have hundreds of men chopping down trees if not to make siege towers?’
Thaddeus nodded. ‘An excellent question, my lord, and in answer I will again allude to Caesar and his strategy at Alesia.’
Count Horton sighed and rolled his eyes but Albert and Theodoric nodded. They at least were acquainted with ancient history.
Thaddeus continued. ‘We dig a ditch to encompass our camp and siege works and, just as Caesar did at Alesia, we top it with a rampart. This will provide adequate defence against any Estonian relief force. Meanwhile, the siege engines and crossbowmen will require mantlets to protect them from any projectiles launched from the walls.’
‘And how long do you anticipate the siege lasting?’ said Sir Helmold.
‘Five days,’ replied Thaddeus.
Count Horton and Sir Jordan burst out laughing and even Sir Helmold found it hard not to smile. They were all veterans of wars and campaigns in Germany and had first-hand experience of siege warfare. They knew that it could take weeks to bring about the surrender of even a small citadel, and Lehola was a formidable prospect.
Bishop Albert brought his hands together. ‘You are confident in your estimation, Master Thaddeus?’
Thaddeus bowed his head. ‘Quite certain, lord bishop.’
‘Ha!’ scoffed Count Horton. ‘More like five weeks. Is your eyesight poor, Thaddeus?’ He pointed out of the tent. ‘That is a big stronghold.’
Thaddeus, clearly intimidated by the big gruff knight, started to stammer but was saved by Volquin.
‘I will strike a deal with you, count,’ said the grand master. ‘If, after five days, the fort has not fallen then you can lead your men against its walls.’
Count Horton thumped the table, making Thaddeus jump. ‘Agreed.’
As the afternoon wore on the forest around the fort was filled with the sound of axes, saws and falling trees. Squires, crossbowmen, spearmen and sergeants were organised into parties and ordered to collect wood for the defence lines. There was a westerly breeze blowing and so Master Thaddeus gave orders that any unwanted freshly cut branches were to be deposited facing the western side of the fort. They were arranged in a long line and were then set on fire. Soon white smoke from the burning greenery was drifting over the ramparts of Lehola. Thaddeus ordered that the fires were to be fed as he went to site his siege machines.
Conrad and the other novices, after two hours felling trees, were ordered to assist Master Thaddeus and his engineers set up their siege engines, specifically the trebuchets. Thaddeus had had one such machine at Fellin three years before but now he had three that were positioned to the south of the fort, beyond the range of the archers on the walls and in the tops of the towers. The garrison, having jeered, whistled and bared their buttocks at the crusader army, had fallen silent after the lords and knights had dispersed back to camp and had been replaced by small groups of Livs, spearmen and crossbowmen that ringed the fortress. After a while they grew bored and drifted away. Grand Master Volquin was concerned that Lembit might launch a sally from the fort and so deployed the brother knights in front of the gates, reinforced by a hundred of the order’s crossbowmen. But after two hours of inactivity he ordered the crossbowmen to assist the parties felling trees. The brother knights dismounted and sat on the ground in front of the trebuchets as the smoke from the fires drifted over Lehola to the accompaniment of hundreds of men hacking and sawing trees.
Carpenters sweated and cursed as they manoeuvred the various components of the trebuchets into place as Conrad stirred a cauldron of burning pitch being heated over a fire.
‘That’s right,’ said Thaddeus, who wore a floppy hat on his head and looked more like a mathematician than a chief engineer. ‘Don’t let it get too thick.’
It was now late afternoon and the smell of smoke was permeating the entire area as the wind began to lessen.
‘Will you heat it until morning, Master Thaddeus?’ Conrad enquired.
Thaddeus shook his head. ‘Not, we will wait until it gets dark and then we will commence our assault.’
‘At night?’
Thaddeus tapped the cauldron with his cane. ‘Keep stirring.’ He turned to look at Hans, Johann and Anton who were also attending to cauldrons of pitch. ‘You boys also keep stirring. Now, where was I? Oh yes, the assault.’
He turned to look at the fort. ‘Now, young Conrad, you will notice that the shape of the Estonian fortress is rectangular. This means that projectiles launched into it from this, the narrow side, stand more of a chance of hitting something. You understand?’
Conrad did not really but nodded and pretended he did.
Thaddeus smiled and pointed his cane at the row of fires on the western side of the fort that were being allowed to die down.
‘Now on the western side of the fort will be positioned five mangonels throwing stones, the machines on the other side also shooting stones over the eastern side of the fort. It would, of course, have been better if three trebuchets could have positioned to the north of the fort. In this way the enemy would have been assailed from four sides.’
He cast his head down. ‘Alas, I can only work with what I have.’
Thalibald sent out parties to the north and east to search for any signs of the enemy but they returned before nightfall to report that there were no signs of a relief force. The mangonels had still to be assembled when the trebuchets commenced their work. Night had fallen and a yellow glow came from within the fort made by a host of Estonian campfires.
Conrad stood with Hans and the others as the burning pitch was poured into a small barrel that was placed into the sling of the first trebuchet. A priest stepped forward and blessed the projectile and Master Thaddeus turned to look at Bishop Albert and Theodoric, who had both come to watch the spectacle. Count Horton, Sir Jordan, Sir Helmold and Grand Master Volquin were also in attendance. The bishop smiled, nodded and Thaddeus gave the order to release the throwing arm. The counterweight fell, the sling was drawn backwards, then whipped up and forward and the barrel left it. No one could see its flight but seconds later there was a muffled bang from within the fort.
‘Excellent work, Master Thaddeus,’ announced Bishop Albert, ‘please carry on.’
He and the others retired to their tents, leaving the priest behind to bless each barrel before it was flung at the enemy. The rate of shooting was slow – one barrel every twenty minutes – but Thaddeus kept them working all night, and in the morning the trebuchets desisted when the mangonels took over.
Though tired and hungry, Thaddeus supervised their positioning and range and once more the bishop sent two priests to bless the stones that were launched into the fort: one for the mangonels on the eastern side, one for the machines facing Lehola’s western walls.
And so began a day of hurling stones into the fort, each one blessed by a priest to improve its chances of smiting a heathen. Conrad spent the day felling trees and sawing their trunks and branches to fashion mantlets, logs for the top of the rampart and the fence around the camp, and sharpened stakes to go on the outward-facing side of the rampart and in front of the ditch. The latter was
not very deep and the rampart was not very high, but together and with the stakes they presented a formidable enough barrier to any attacker. The knights thought felling trees beneath them and so spent the day in their armour riding up and down in front of the fort, hurling threats at the defenders. The latter were nowhere to be seen, the crossbowmen behind their mantlets shooting at any that showed their heads.
The squires, lesser knights, spearmen, crossbowmen, Sword Brother sergeants and brother knights, plus those Livs who were not patrolling the countryside, all took turns with axes and saws. By the end of the day hundreds of trees had been felled and it looked as though a giant had been at work with his scythe at the edge of the forest. Master Thaddeus, who had been ordered by Bishop Albert to sleep in his tent in the afternoon, was most pleased with the result. He conducted a tour of his lines of contravallation with the two bishops, arriving at the sector beyond the northern ramparts of the fort – held by the Sword Brothers – in the early evening.
Conrad sat on the earth rampart and picked up one of the water bottles lying on the ground. He had walked from the trees to collect water for the other three who were still toiling in the forest. He picked up four and slung their straps over his shoulder, uncorked another and took a great gulp.
‘Don’t gulp it down,’ said Lukas. ‘On campaign always treat water with care. You don’t know where your next drink will come from.’
Conrad stopped drinking. ‘From the nearby river, Brother Lukas.’
They were soaked in sweat but all of them wore their gambesons, helmets and mail armour, though Lukas, Henke and Rudolf had swapped their full-face protection for kettle helmets.
Lukas pointed his hammer towards the forest. ‘If the Estonians attack and surround the army then you will not be able to get to the river and your only water will be in that bottle.’
‘Let us pray that does not happen, brother.’
Conrad looked up to see a yellow mitre on top of a tall individual with a chiselled face. He and the others jumped to their feet when they recognised Bishop Albert and Grand Master Volquin. He smiled when Master Thaddeus raised his cane to him.