by Peter Darman
Conrad yanked the spike free, stepped forward, crouched low with his shield held high and collided with a wild-eyed man with a sword raised above his head, heaving the man up and over him. The warrior hit the ground hard on his back and was killed as Hans reduced his face to a pulp with his mace.
Conrad saw something flash by his side and saw a warrior in front of him slump to the ground with a spear in his groin. It was an excellent throw. He turned and saw the figure of Kaja dragging Leatherface back from the fray. She must have thrown the spear and had also disobeyed his orders. He turned back just in time to avoid a scything sword blow that would have dented his helmet. But as it was he deftly stepped to one side, smashed his shield into the right shoulder of the Ungannian, thereby unbalancing him and sending him sprawling to the ground. Anton killed him by smashing his boot down hard on the back of the man’s neck, snapping his spine.
The battle had degenerated into dozens of single combats as the survivors of the Army of the Wolf, surrounded and outnumbered, fought to stay alive. The three brother knights, now having space to dodge and duck their opponents, reaped a grim harvest. Their moves, honed on the training ground over many years under the watchful eye of Lukas, were instinctive. But even as he killed men Conrad could still hear his tutor’s words in his mind.
‘Keep moving; always keep moving. Don’t stand around waiting to be hit. Avoid blows; make your enemy cut air. Your feet are as important as your sword arm. You’re not wrestlers but dancers so dodge, duck, feint, weave and deceive.’
Conrad started laughing as two men ran at him screaming blood-curdling war cries. But they were gripped by frenzy while he was calm and thinking ahead. He opened his arms to expose his torso to encourage them and they increased their speed. He suddenly leapt to the left to avoid them and tripped the warrior on the left, sending him clattering to the ground. His comrade tried to stop and turn but in the few seconds it took him to halt and change direction Conrad had reached him and split the side of his helmet with his axe. He grunted and collapsed to the ground. The other man had meanwhile risen to his feet and retrieved the spear that he had let go of when he hit the ground, only to have his right wrist smashed by Conrad’s axe. He screamed in agony, released the spear, dropped his shield and instinctively cradled his half-severed hand with his left arm. He gave Conrad a pitiful look before the brother knight ended his life with half a dozen axe strikes that staved in the top of his helmet.
Above the din of men swearing and screaming and animals whinnying he heard a sudden blast of trumpets behind him followed by a great roar. He prised his axe from the dead man’s twisted, gore-splattered helmet to see a great wedge of warriors and knights charging forward led by a lord in a white surcoat and full-face helmet – Sir Richard.
The Duke of Saccalia’s attack was like a battering ram that smashed into the Ungannians, at first stopping them and then driving them steadily back. Conrad removed his helmet and held it aloft.
‘Rally, rally Army of the Wolf.’
Horses and ponies were scattering in all directions, those tasked with holding their reins having abandoned them to fight the Ungannians. Some lay on their sides, dead and dying, while injured mules with terrible gashes in their flanks stood calling mournfully. Slowly exhausted wolf shields and Harrien began to gather round their leaders, the wounded Riki and the unharmed Tonis. Hans, his helmet battered and his surcoat and mail shirt ripped, embraced him. As did Anton whose shield had been reduced to splinters. He threw it on the ground as Sir Richard’s three hundred men continued to force the Ungannians back towards the trees.
‘Kalju is no longer our friend,’ said Conrad bitterly.
Hans was looking at his helmet. ‘The death of his son must have tipped him over the edge.’
‘We gain Rotalia and lose Ungannia as an ally. Master Rudolf will want revenge for this,’ said Anton.
As the Army of the Wolf again formed a ragged shield wall to protect the northern end of the bridge, the wounded hobbled to the structure. Sir Richard kept his men under a tight leash, and once the Ungannians had withdrawn he too pulled back his men to reinforce Conrad’s warriors. The brother knight had rushed over to where Kaja was kneeling beside Leatherface, holding a water bottle to his mouth. He feared the worst as he knelt by the mercenary’s side. Despite his rough nature and coarse manners Conrad had grown very fond of Leatherface over the years.
‘That spear thrust knocked the wind out of me,’ he complained. He saw the look of concern on Conrad’s face. ‘Just a glancing blow. Nothing that a well-made gambeson can’t deal with.’
Conrad placed a hand on his shoulder. ‘Praise God for that.’
Leatherface looked longingly at Kaja. ‘Would you grant a dying man a last wish, darling?’
She took the water bottle from his lips and replaced the top.
‘I would, if you were dying. But as you are not I suggest you get up and stop play acting.’
Conrad helped him to his feet.
‘You are a cruel one, lady,’ he complained. ‘And I’ve lost my crossbow.’
‘I’m sure we can find you another one,’ said Conrad.
But as Sir Richard’s men pulled back to join Conrad’s warriors to form a semi-circular shield wall around the northern end of the bridge, it became apparent that many supplies had been lost. Mules and ponies loaded with supplies had bolted, many into the trees to where the Ungannians had fled. The Sword Brothers still had all their supplies and Sir Richard had retained about half of his, but the Army of the Wolf was now woefully deficient.
Before darkness fell enemy shields were collected to build campfires as there was no opportunity to gather firewood with the forest beyond the northern end of the bridge occupied by the enemy, as was the ground to the south of the structure. The Army of the Wolf and Sir Richard’s soldiers stood guard at the northern end, the Sword Brothers at the southern end as the commanders held a council of war at its mid-point. It had rained at dusk but now the clouds had departed to allow the moon to bathe the land in a pale grey glow. And with the moon came a rapid drop in temperature. Rudolf’s breath misted as he spoke.
‘So, Conrad, the festering wound of his son’s loss has led Kalju to basely betray us.’
Conrad avoided the master’s eyes. ‘It would seem so, master.’
Rudolf looked at the enemy campfires beyond each end of the bridge.
‘Well, he’s no tactician that much is certain. He divides his forces, thus inviting us to defeat them separately. Tomorrow we will attack and teach Ungannia a lesson.’
‘We will push on through to Lehola?’ queried Sir Richard.
The duke’s stronghold was only a few miles away to the south. To push through the enemy at the southern end was both sensible and the best way to extricate themselves from the situation they found themselves in.
Rudolf shook his head. ‘Hearing your reports it is apparent that the main strength of the enemy lies beyond the northern end of the bridge. That is where we will attack, therefore. Besides, the Sword Brothers do not flee from an enemy.’
The order had had a relatively easy time of it defending the southern end of the bridge, the wild charge of the enemy killing two brother knights and fourteen sergeants before the Ungannians were stopped in their tracks by several volleys of crossbow bolts. After that the brother knights and sergeants formed a line of mail and iron that the enemy could not break.
‘Tomorrow the crossbowmen will advance on foot with our mounted knights and sergeants. After their missiles have thinned the enemy’s ranks the horsemen will attack and scatter them. The task of every man tomorrow is to kill Kalju.’
‘Just one problem with that, Master Rudolf,’ said Leatherface, who was still nursing a bruised rib.
‘What?’ snapped Rudolf.
‘The lads are down to their last few bolts. We used a lot on Oesel and a fair few today. If you give battle tomorrow then that will be the last of their ammunition.’
‘Strip the dead ones,’ said Rudolf harshly.
Leatherface wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘Already done that. We lost thirty crossbowmen today but their bolts won’t make much of a difference.’
‘The plan stands,’ stated Rudolf.
‘Let us hope that Fellin and Lehola are still loyal,’ said Sir Richard. ‘If the enemy is south of the Pala then those places might have fallen.’
‘The Ungannians have no siege engines, your grace,’ said Conrad, trying to sound optimistic.
‘One battle at a time,’ said Rudolf. ‘We will worry about your grace’s strongholds once we have dealt with the Ungannians.’
The meeting over, Conrad and Leatherface wandered back to the Army of the Wolf, which had suffered fifty dead preventing the enemy swarming on to the bridge. They stopped when they heard footsteps behind them and saw Rudolf approaching.
‘Conrad, convey my gratitude to Kaja. Her intuition meant we suffered less casualties today than we might otherwise have suffered.’
‘She’s a smart girl,’ smiled Leatherface, ‘good looking, too.’
Rudolf frowned at him. ‘I would think very ill of someone who made improper advances to her.’
‘So would I, Master Rudolf,’ said the mercenary, ‘she is like a daughter to me.’
‘I will convey your gratitude, master,’ promised Conrad. ‘She will be most pleased.’
Kaja was delighted with Master Rudolf’s thanks but less pleased when Conrad informed her that she would not be part of the mounted force that was to attack the Ungannians. The Army of the Wolf huddled round the meagre fires of burning enemy shields, Sir Richard’s men sharing their food that was cooked over them. The Sword Brothers on the bridge had no fires and ate their food cold. They also could not pitch their tents, though Rudolf insisted that the chapel tent be pitched among the shelters of the Army of the Wolf. Otto said mass at Matins early the next morning, after which Conrad and the other members of the order checked the horses, fed and watered them before saddling them. It was a cold morning, an easterly breeze adding to the bite in the air. Conrad wrapped his cloak around himself. Because they had brought no wagons damaged armour and helmets could not be replaced. Neither could surcoats. So he, Hans and Anton stood by their mounts with ripped surcoats splashed with blood. Hans wore a pagan helmet with a nasal guard.
‘Found it lying near a dead Ungannian.’
‘Let’s hope it brings you better luck than its former owner,’ remarked Anton.
A sudden blast of trumpets signalled the beginning of the day’s work. Conrad held out his arm, palm down. Hans laid his hand on top and Anton placed his hand on top of Hans’.
‘As dust to the wind,’ said Conrad.
‘As dust to the wind,’ came the reply.
They hoisted themselves into their saddles and joined the other two hundred and forty horsemen forming into line.
Sir Richard’s Saccalian levies were posted to guard the southern end of the bridge, the Army of the Wolf the other end of it. The one hundred remaining crossbowmen stood behind the horsemen as Rudolf rode up and down the line issuing his orders. The early morning was cool and bright, the swollen river and flooded meadows on either side making the air smell damp. Rudolf had no helmet, a mail coif his only head protection as he went up and down the line. He brought his horse to a halt in front of Walter who carried Wenden’s standard.
‘We advance, pretend to run away and then kill them when they run after us.’
‘What if they don’t chase after us?’ asked Henke, his helmet resting on the front of his saddle.’
‘They are pagans, Henke,’ replied Rudolf. ‘They have no discipline, or so you are always telling me. We will see if your theory is correct. And Henke?’
‘Yes, Rudolf?’
‘Try not to kill any of our crossbowmen during your precipitous flight.’
The other brother knights and sergeants burst into laughter as Henke slammed the helmet on his head and drew his sword. The others did likewise and soon all along the line men were pulling swords from their scabbards. The banners of Wenden, Segewold and Kremon hung limply in the wind as Rudolf trotted a few paces in front, raised his sword and shouted the motto of the order.
‘God with us!’
The order’s soldiers shouted in kind, signallers blew trumpets and the line moved forward. There was a gap of at least three paces between each horseman as they broke into a trot and then a canter, the iron-shod hooves kicking up great clumps of damp earth. The Ungannians were rapidly moving into formation: a lone line of shields locked together around four hundred paces away. The sun glinted off whetted spear and sword points and a few arrows arched into the crystal clear sky, shot from the rear ranks. They fell harmlessly into the earth seconds before the horsemen reached them. The Ungannians were making a racket that threatened to raise the dead, shouting and screaming at the tops of their voices, their rear ranks banging the handles of their axes against the insides of their shields.
The Sword Brothers and Sir Richard’s knights raised their swords as they neared the shield wall, but all slowed their horses. The signallers blew their trumpets and suddenly the mounted knights turned and fled, digging their spurs into the flanks of their horses to create the illusion of precipitous flight.
The Ungannians took the bait.
The front ranks of their shield wall raised a great cheer and suddenly swept forward in an attempt to catch the fleeing horsemen. There were frantic horn calls as their chiefs tried to restrain them, to no avail. Their men had given the Sword Brothers a bloody nose the day before and now the vaunted ‘men of iron’ were running. Running! So they ran after them, thinking only of wanting to catch the Christian knights so they could kill them.
The horsemen galloped towards the thin shield wall of the Army of the Wolf, passing through the line of crossbowmen who now began shooting at the oncoming Ungannians. They loosed two volleys as the Sword Brothers and Sir Richard’s knights halted, turned their horses around and charged again towards the pagan warriors.
The Ungannian charge was not halted or even slowed by the crossbow bolts that felled perhaps fifty or sixty men. It just made Kristjan’s men more determined to quicken their pace to get to the accursed Christians. But it was stopped dead in its tracks when dozens of horsemen were suddenly among them, hacking and slashing with their swords as they passed. The crossbowmen, now useless and exposed in the open, hurried back to the safety of the Army of the Wolf, Leatherface, his right arm in a sling, bellowing orders and curses for them to get a move on. And ahead the horsemen were cutting down Ungannians like a farmer scythes wheat.
Conrad, the reins positioned behind his saddle’s high pommel, let his horse guide itself through the onrushing figures ahead, the animal instinctively heading for any gaps between warriors. This left him free to use his shield to ward off any spear or sword thrusts aimed at his mount’s belly but, more importantly, allowed him to slash at passing warriors. Speed and precision were his weapons, using the edge of his sword to cut the backs of necks and shoulders as he rode passed.
He raised his sword to strike a warrior armed with a spear but the man spotted him and raised his shield to parry the blow, at the same time pointing the spear at Conrad. So he ignored the man and rode on as Hans on his right side leaned over and thrust the point of his sword into the warrior’s back. He was wearing mail armour but the sharpened point and weight behind the thrust was enough to force the blade through the iron links into his flesh. It did not kill him but wounded him sufficiently to remove him from the battle.
A few brother knights, most notably Henke, preferred to use their maces against the pagans, aiming to split their helmets with a mighty swing as they passed by. It was an effective tactic as the mace was a bludgeoning instrument, much like Henke himself.
The Ungannian chiefs in the shield wall had restored order and stood beyond the front ranks with swords in hand to prevent any more of their men running forward. But now the Ungannians cursed and wept in frustration as they stood and watched the horsemen cu
t their friends and kinsmen to pieces. As the last were surrounded and killed by mace blows and sword strikes, they fell silent.
Trumpets commanded the horsemen to withdraw as the Army of the Wolf and the crossbowman gave a mighty cheer and raised their weapons in salute as the Sword Brothers and knights walked their horses back to the bridge. Behind them they left a ground covered with Ungannian dead. It had been a short, sharp victory but it still left Rudolf in a dilemma.
He called a council of war after the brother knights, sergeants and Sir Richard’s men had been instructed to dismount and stand with the Army of the Wolf to repel an Ungannian attack. But it never came. After half an hour Kristjan’s men withdrew back into the forest and everyone was ordered to stand down. The horses were taken on to the bridge, a Saccalian warrior reporting to Sir Richard that there had been no sign of the enemy beyond its southern end.
‘We have satisfied honour,’ stated Rudolf, ‘now we must seek the counsel of reason or our pride will be punished.’
‘We should push on to Lehola,’ said Sir Richard. ‘Our supplies are running low.’
‘And my boys are now out of ammunition,’ added Leatherface.
‘What of the bridge, master?’ asked Conrad.
Rudolf shrugged. ‘What of it?’
‘The Ungannians may burn it.’
‘If they do they do,’ said Rudolf. ‘We will build a new one. Now my priority is to secure Sir Richard’s strongholds and return to Wenden to plan the campaign of retribution against Ungannia. Kalju will discover that he has started a fire that it is impossible to extinguish.’
Lehola was only a few miles away but it took most of the day to reach it. Rudolf insisted that the Christian dead be collected and loaded on to mules and ponies so they could be given a proper burial outside the walls of the fort. A number of horses and ponies had been lost the day before, which meant that many had to walk to Lehola. Conrad also insisted that the dead among the Army of the Wolf should be taken back to Lehola, to be cremated there. Otto and several of the priests objected and said they should receive a Christian burial but Conrad said no. Some of his men had been baptised but the majority of the dead had not renounced their pagan beliefs and so in death their wishes would be respected. They took their complaints to Master Rudolf but he told them that Conrad was Marshal of Estonia and as they were in Estonia they had to obey his orders. So an army of dead men made the journey back to Lehola. Once there the sorry tale of Fellin was relayed to Sir Richard.