by Peter Darman
Olaf grunted. He was tired, hungry and his arm hurt, a gift from an enemy spearman. But beneath his gruff countenance he was happy enough.
He would be the first to admit that he had poured scorn on his son’s strategy, especially when Kalf and Stark had berated him that to allow an enemy to set foot on Oesel’s sacred soil would offend the gods. But they had been sent away with Bothvar and Swein, who commanded the longships that were blockading Matsalu Bay and Reval respectively. Sigurd had kept his nerve and now had his reward: the Danes were penned in and being ground down and soon the head of their king would be decorating the roof of Olaf’s hall in Kuressaare.
On the fifth day the Danes attempted another sortie, flooding over their pitiful western wall to try to reach the paterells that were sited beyond that side of the camp. But it had rained steadily during the night and the ground around the camp had turned to mud. The Oeselians, tired, wet and cold, formed up in a shield wall four ranks deep and trudged through the mud to meet the Danish spearmen and axe men. The rainfall steadily increased until it became a downpour as the two sides closed and began hacking, thrusting and slashing with their weapons. The rain muffled the screams, shrieks and cries of men having their bellies ripped open, their jaws cleaved in two and their faces reduced to bloody pulps. More died when they lost their footing in the mud and fell face-first into the dirt, to be trampled underfoot and die horribly as water and mud were forced into their mouths and noses.
After no more than ten minutes of a frantic close-quarter mêlée in which upwards of five hundred men hacked at each other in a downpour, both sides, mutually exhausted, withdraw a few paces, stared in silence with vacant, listless expressions, and then trudged back to their respective camps. The Danes left a hundred and twenty dead in the mud and helped a further sixty wounded back to their sodden, demoralised camp. The Oeselians lost fewer than fifty men and the same amount wounded. Sigurd was delighted.
‘With every venture they make the Danes weaken themselves further, father,’ he said to a soaked Olaf who had waited with a reserve, axe in hand, in case the Danes broke the shield wall.
Olaf looked at the wounded warriors being helped on to two-wheeled carts for the journey back to Kuressaare where they would at least have their wounds attended to in a dry longhouse. Other carts were loaded with dead for cremation outside the town.
‘We are also weakened,’ said Olaf. ‘We do not have an inexhaustible supply of warriors, Sigurd.’
‘Neither do the Danes, father. Neither do the Danes.’
The rain stopped, the sun came out to dry the earth and the paterells continued their desultory shooting. More than half were now out of action, either because their skeins were frayed and had lost their tension or their throwing arms had splintered. But twenty-five were still operable and every stone they shot frayed the nerves of the Danes still further. Inside the camp the Bishop of Roskilde and his priests prayed for a miracle, for unless relief came they were surely doomed.
*****
It took nearly a day for Master Rudolf’s army to cross the swift-flowing Parnu, now in spate and around five hundred paces wide. A local guide led it five miles upstream to where there was an island in midstream that narrowed the channels on either side of it to less than fifty yards. It took all morning to cut down trees to make rafts to span these channels. One raft was secured to the southern riverbank with posts and ropes and then a second raft was launched into the water and floated to the end of the first raft. This process was repeated until there was a line of rafts from the riverbank to the island.
Rudolf was the first to step on to the island, and promptly sank up his ankles in mud. Remembering the time when the garrison of Wenden had had to make a spring march to the Dvina when the land was soaked, he ordered a corduroy road of logs to be laid across the breadth of the island. It took all afternoon to assemble and position the rafts that bridged the span from the island to the northern riverbank, the army moving across the river as the sun began to dip on the western horizon.
The next day the army struck northwest towards Lääne County and the coast, a two-day journey through forests of pine, birch and fir skirting large peat bogs and bog fields. After the dawn broke, mist formed giving the land an eerie, ghost-like appearance. But as they neared the coast the wind picked up to make the banners of the Sword Brothers and Sir Richard’s knights flap. Sir Richard himself wore no coat of arms on his shield or surcoat. His were plain white, as was the facing on his shield.
‘I have seen the curious beasts and strange markings on the shields of his knights,’ said Kaja as she proudly held the Sword Brother banner that Master Rudolf had instructed her to carry, ‘but he does not paint his shield. Why?’
She rode with the three Sword Brothers, Riki, Tonis and Andres in the vanguard of the Army of the Wolf strung out in a long column behind them. Ahead of them was Hillar and a party of Rotalian scouts. Behind Conrad’s army came Rudolf with the Sword Brothers with Sir Richard providing the rearguard.
‘He believes that his actions before he came to Livonia shamed his family’s coat of arms,’ Conrad told her. ‘So as a form of penance he does not wear them.’
‘What were those actions?’ queried Kaja.
‘It is not for us to gossip about Sir Richard,’ Conrad rebuked her. ‘You must ask him yourself, Kaja, and if he has a mind to he will tell you.’
Conrad and the others knew, of course. Sir Richard had fallen in love with his friend’s wife to be, who had taken her own life rather than be torn between two men. In grief his friend had also taken his own life and Sir Richard had been tortured with remorse. He had taken the cross in Livonia and had proved himself a brave and loyal friend of the Sword Brothers. Conrad often wondered if, like himself, he secretly sought death in battle so he could be with his loved ones again.
‘I like Sir Richard,’ Kaja declared, ‘and think it is foolish that he does not wear his emblem. He is a good man.’
Conrad looked behind at the round shield dangling from Kaja’s saddle, which bore a leering red wolf symbol.
‘No such reticence for you, Kaja.’
‘It is to honour you, Susi,’ she replied, ‘as leader of the army.’
‘He’s no longer the Marshal of Estonia,’ Anton said, ‘just plain Brother Conrad.’
‘He was stripped of his office on the orders of King Valdemar of Denmark,’ added Hans.
‘The man we are riding to save?’ said Kaja incredulously.
‘That is correct,’ replied Conrad.
‘It makes no sense,’ she scoffed.
Conrad laughed. ‘You should go and tell Master Rudolf that.’
But Rudolf was fixed on saving the Danish king and was delighted when the army reached the shoreline of Lääne County to find dozens of boats waiting along the long, white sandy beach that fronted the calm, blue waters of the Gulf of Riga. The spring sun was warming the land and a gentle breeze was blowing in off the sea as the army pitched its tents a short distance from the sand. Gulls drifted on the breeze overhead, the sea shimmered in the sunlight and war seemed a long way off.
As the tents were being pitched and ponies and horses unsaddled Hillar rode to a nearby village and returned with a white-haired man whom he introduced to Conrad. The man was old and slightly stooped, the brother knight estimating his age to be at least seventy. But his blue eyes were clear and alert and his mind keen. He was dressed in a simple woollen tunic, leggings and leather boots. His leather belt was decorated with bronze, to which was fastened a sword in a leather scabbard, indicating that he was a man of some importance.
‘Susi,’ said Hillar, ‘this is Koit, the county elder.’
Conrad extended his hand to the old man and was surprised by his iron-hard grip.
‘A pleasure to meet you, sir.’
Koit retained his grip on Conrad’s hand as he examined him with his piercing eyes.
‘So you are the one they call Susi and whom I have heard so much about. Hillar has told me much about you.’<
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He released Conrad’s hand. ‘You do not appear to be tainted by corruption.’
‘I hope not, sir,’ replied Conrad, thinking it was a strange thing to say. ‘I must thank you for assembling the boats to transport the army to Oesel.’
Koit gave him a sly smile. ‘It was easy enough, son of the forest wolf, to persuade the parish elders to convince their villagers to lend you their boats.’
Conrad was about to question him further when a mounted sergeant rode up and saluted.
‘Brother Conrad, Master Rudolf requests your immediate presence at his tent.’
Conrad acknowledged him and said he would attend the master immediately.
‘Perhaps you would like to accompany me to meet the commander of the army, Koit,’ said Conrad.
Out of courtesy he asked Hillar to accompany them, the old man saying nothing as they walked from the Estonian camp to where the Sword Brothers and their mercenaries were erecting their shelters. But his eyes missed nothing as they threaded their way through the round tents, outside of which sat brother knights cleaning their mail and swords, their full-face helms on the ground beside them. Many recognised Conrad and raised their hands in acknowledgement or shouted a greeting. On the tops of the tents pennants bearing the insignia of the order fluttered in the breeze. Sergeants were examining the hooves of horses and banging tent pegs into the soft earth.
‘Some men wear helmets that have wide brims while others wear helmets that cover their faces,’ said Koit. ‘Why is this?’
‘The helmets with wide brims are worn by sergeants of my order,’ Conrad told him, ‘whereas the helmets that cover the face are worn by brother knights.’
‘And what is the difference between these two groups?’ enquired Koit.
‘In my order only those who are lords can become brother knights, sir,’ said Conrad, ‘though there are exceptions. Sergeants are recruited from those who are not lords and they can go no higher than sergeant.’
‘You were a lord before you joined the men of iron?’ asked Koit.
Conrad shook his head. ‘I was the son of a baker, sir.’
‘Uku must have smiled on you, son of the forest wolf.’
Hillar looked uncomfortable as Koit spoke the name of the chief Estonian god in the camp of the Sword Brothers but Conrad merely smiled at the old man. Catholicism was a new religion in this land and Conrad knew that it would take years before the natives accepted the Holy Church and renounced their old gods. At the moment the two religions battled for supremacy in men’s hearts and souls, though Conrad believed that the Church of Rome would eventually triumph, though through persuasion, not force of arms.
At Rudolf’s tent Koit received a hearty welcome, the deputy commander of the order embracing him and escorting him to a chair where he poured him a cup of the wine from the flask he had been saving for an auspicious occasion.
‘Welcome,’ said Rudolf, pulling out the chair for Koit to sit in.
‘This is Koit, master,’ said Conrad, ‘the elder of Lääne County who has assembled the boats to take the army to Oesel.’
Rudolf nodded at Hillar and then introduced masters Bertram and Mathias and Sir Richard to Koit, who regarded the bald headed, clean-shaven Sir Richard with curiosity. He then took a sip of the wine as Rudolf ordered Conrad and Hillar to sit at the table.
Rudolf smiled at Koit. ‘On behalf of the Bishop of Riga and my order I would like to thank you for your efforts in amassing the boats to enable us to get to Oesel.’
Koit studied the hard faces of the three masters. ‘There are many among my people who have fought the Sword Brothers. I myself was at Wolf’s Rock by the side of Nigul when Lembit forged an alliance of the Estonian tribes.’
He sipped at his wine again, all eyes on him. ‘After our defeat at Wolf’s Rock many of my people believed that the gods had deserted them. The Sword Brothers swallowed Saccalia and forged an alliance with Kalju, which was interpreted as a sign that if Rotalia wished to remain free then it too should seek a treaty with the Sword Brothers. But then the Danes and Oeselians came and laid waste our land with fire and sword.’
He looked at Hillar ‘Many of our men, those who had lost their families, abandoned the charred remains of their villages and sought sanctuary in the forests, there to wage war against the invaders.’
He drank again from his cup. ‘And then word reached me that among the Sword Brothers there was one who was talked of as being the spirit of the forest wolf in human form, a warrior who had united the tribes and who had vanquished a great army at Fellin with nothing but a collection of old men and women. They called him Susi and flocked to his banner. Hillar told me that the Danish king, the same king that you go to rescue, desired the death of Susi and that the wolf spirit had volunteered to give himself up. But such was the love the Sword Brothers and Estonians had for Susi that they destroyed the Danes in front of their fortress rather than let him be taken.’
‘It is as you say, sir,’ said Rudolf solemnly.
Conrad knew that what Koit was saying could be interpreted as blasphemy in the eyes of the Holy Church, which was punishable by death. But Rudolf and the other two masters merely nodded as Koit spoke. They knew that there was more to winning wars than butchering an enemy on the battlefield.
‘I have done as Hillar requested of me,’ continued Koit, ‘because my people believe that Susi has been sent to deliver them. But I have to tell you that they are no friends of the Sword Brothers who have killed many Rotalians.’
‘You no doubt killed our men at Wolf’s Rock also, sir,’ replied Rudolf. ‘But here we are talking to each other instead of trying to slice open each other’s bellies. The Sword Brothers, do not forget those who have aided them.’
‘My people desire peace,’ said Koit. ‘For too long their land has been used as a plaything by barbarians.’
Rudolf seized his chance. ‘In recognition of your assistance to the Sword Brothers, sir, I pledge that Rotalia shall have a treaty of friendship with our order.’
Koit finished his wine. ‘I cannot speak for the whole of Rotalia.’
Rudolf pressed the matter. ‘You said yourself, sir, that Rotalia has been laid waste. Who better to rebuild it than a man who has shed blood for his people, a man who fought by the side of Nigul at Wolf Rock?’
Koit was taken aback. ‘I was your enemy that day.’
Rudolf stood and offered his hand to Koit. ‘Then let us now be friends, sir. Will you also have the friendship and support of the Sword Brothers, who pledge to stand by your side against the Oeselians and Danes?’
Koit turned to Conrad.
‘What would you advise, son of the forest wolf?’
‘Master Rudolf is a man of honour,’ answered Conrad, ‘whose fearlessness in battle is matched by his honesty off it.’
Koit smiled to himself and stood before clasping Rudolf’s forearm.
‘So be it.’
Thus did Rotalia fall to the Sword Brothers, though the conquest was not to be at the point of a sword but by persuasion and goodwill.
Afterwards Rudolf asked Conrad to remain as the others went back to their tents. Wenden’s master was in an ebullient mood. He poured Conrad a cup of wine and held his own cup up to toast him.
‘You have done damn well, Conrad, and if it was in my power to lavish you with lands and titles I would do so, but alas our vow of poverty forbids it.’
‘I have done nothing, master,’ replied Conrad, somewhat perplexed.
Rudolf pointed at him. ‘On the contrary, the Estonians have taken you to their hearts. Your name and reputation achieves what it would take crusader armies years to achieve.’
Conrad looked into his cup.
‘Something bothers you?’ asked Rudolf. He saw the troubled look on Conrad’s face. ‘Speak freely.’
‘Rotalia follows the pagan religion, master. If we try to impose the teachings of the Holy Church on its people there will be great resentment.’
‘There will be no impositio
n, Conrad,’ Rudolf assured him. ‘We will follow the example of Sir Richard in Saccalia and use time and the hand of friendship to achieve our aims. And now, if you will excuse me, I have to consult with Brother Lukas. We take ship tomorrow. And Conrad.’
‘Yes, master?’
‘We will be leaving some of your men behind to guard the horses. But make sure you bring that Estonian girl along with you.’
‘Her name is Kaja, master.’
‘Good, it is very important she accompanies us.’
Kaja was delighted when Conrad informed her that she would be among those going to Oesel and after the evening meal spent a long time cleaning her sword, scabbard and helmet. Conrad would have preferred she stay with Sir Richard’s Saccalian levies and members of the Army of the Wolf who would remain to guard the horses and ponies. The number of men crossing the sea to Oesel was to be a thousand, plus one woman.
The next morning they assembled on the white sand as the crews of the boats hauled their vessels into the calm Baltic and waited for their passengers to board. There were over a hundred single-masted boats in the water, all clinker-built vessels with planks hand split from green logs and fastened together with leather. The hulls were coated with tar to keep them watertight and the sails were hand woven from hides.
Conrad, Hans and Anton travelled in the company of Kaja, Hillar and Koit, who was most anxious to see how the Sword Brothers would fight without their famed warhorses. As the crew pushed the boat out to sea to begin the journey to Oesel, Hans and Anton began peering to port and starboard.
‘If we get caught on the open sea by a fleet of longships we’ll be in trouble,’ said a worried Hans.
‘The Oeselian warships are blockading Matsalu Bay and Reval,’ Koit reassured him, staring at the blonde-haired woman sitting on a chest clutching the Sword Brothers’ flag. ‘We will be on Oesel before they can be alerted. Let us hope we have enough space on the boats to evacuate all the Danes.’
Anton laughed. ‘Hopefully all the Danes will be dead by the time we reach them.’
Koit was surprised by the venom in his voice.