by Peter Darman
He may have been a brute with massive forearms and a barrel chest, a man accustomed to ripping, slicing and burning flesh, but he looked distinctly nervous as he jumped from the scaffold and rushed over to stand before the prince, whose eyes were bulging with rage.
‘I specifically decreed that the wretch was to have his limbs torn off by four stallions,’ he shouted, ‘as a special treat for my wife. You are making a fool of me and disappointing my wife.’
The man shook his head so hard Vetseke thought it would roll off his shoulders. He laughed; it might be cut off in a few moments.
‘No, no, no highness,’ the man stammered. ‘We are having problems strapping his right wrist. It’s not there, you see.’
Mstislav pointed at him. ‘Sort it out or I will have your head decorating that scaffold.’
The man gulped, bowed his head and raced back to the scaffold, screaming at his men to get the prisoner’s right wrist secured to the horse harness. They did this by strapping a number of belts around the poor wretch’s arm and securing them as tightly as possible. Then the prisoner’s ordeal entered a fresh phase. Princess Maria clapped her hands together with delight as the stallions were whipped and shouted at to pull as hard as they could. The prisoner screamed, the crowd cheered and hooted and Mstislav smiled as he looked for the first limb to be wrenched from its socket. But nothing happened.
The horses strained, the stable hands wielded their whips and the prisoner shrieked and cried for mercy but his limbs remained in place. The crowd quietened and then began whistling and jeering, more vegetables hurtling through the air to hit executioners and horses. The prince pointed at the chief executioner who, in an act of desperation, took a knife and began slicing at the prisoner’s right armpit. The man gave an animal-like yelp as his arm was torn from its socket and the crowd roared its approval. The executioner then went to slice at the prisoner’s left leg, using the knife to cut away the sinews at the top of his leg. Once more the limb was yanked from its socket. Mightily relieved, he used the blade to achieve the same for the victim’s left arm and right leg. Eventually, his apron covered in blood, he stood and gazed down at the limbless torso of the now dead prisoner.
There was an unseemly squabble when part of the crowd decided that the dead man’s left leg would be a good souvenir of the occasion and rushed forward to grab it. Half a dozen of Mstislav’s guards used both ends of their spears to crack heads and pierce bellies before order was restored. Princess Maria, delighted that her husband had recreated the execution method frequently employed by her people, but which she had not seen since she was a child of the steppe, kissed him on the cheek.
He smiled at her and then spoke to Vetseke.
‘Very well, prince, I will grant your request. You may go west with a hundred of my men and may God go with you.’
‘Thank you, highness,’ said Vetseke. He closed his eyes and thanked Laima, the Goddess of Fate, for delivering him from his life of miserable exile.
Across the square the boyars and merchants slowly drifted away, saying little to each other, their heads cast down. One of the boyars, of distinguished appearance with a sable-lined cloak around his shoulders, acknowledged his friend Gregori. Yuri Nevsky, patriarch of Novgorod’s wealthiest and most powerful boyar family, wore a resigned look.
‘It was most kind of the prince to invite us to the execution, do you not think, Gregori?’
His friend, a short, stout man, was agitated. ‘His hatred of us intensifies, Yuri. Your son is lucky to be out of this den of madness. I trust he is well.’
‘Yaroslav thrives, thank you,’ replied Yuri, ‘but he is most eager to return to Novgorod, if only to see his mother.’
Gregori laughed under his breath. ‘It would be better for your wife, his mother, to visit him in Pskov. Safer too.’
‘Do not forget where real power lies in this city, my friend,’ said Yuri. ‘The veche appoints and dismisses Novgorod’s princes.’
‘Has anyone told Mstislav that?’ asked Gregori, not a trace of irony in his voice.
*****
From the battlements of the fort atop Toompea Hill Rolf, Count of Roskilde and Governor of Reval, had a bird’s eye view of the town, the perimeter wall and the surrounding terrain. To the north were the blue waters of the Gulf of the Finns, to the south the unending forests of Estonia, though immediately south and ringing the town was an army of Oeselians, Harrien and Wierlanders. It had been a month since King Valdemar, gripped by a permanent black mood, had departed Reval with his bishops, bodyguard and the entourage of his court, or what was left of it following the debacle on Oesel. The loss of hundreds of men had not disturbed the king or his knights. What really troubled them was that they had been forced to kill their surviving warhorses. Two weeks after the king’s departure the Estonians had attacked the town. A week later the Oeselians had joined them outside the walls.
The king’s departing words to him were: ‘I leave Estonia in your safe hands, Rolf. I will return next year with an army to exact vengeance on the Oeselians and Sword Brothers’. As he watched the fleet of cogs sail out of Reval harbour, now no longer blockaded by Oeselian longships, he knew that the simmering resentment of the Estonians would flare up into open rebellion with the departure of the king. The Harrien would have seen the triumphant procession of Valdemar and his army through their land before the attack on Oesel. And they would have seen the pathetic remnants of the kings’ army limp back to Reval in the aftermath of the abortive campaign. The Danes had been in Estonia for three years and in that time they had treated the indigenous people harshly, not least in using them as forced labour to build Reval’s defences.
Rolf turned to Count Albert, who had pleaded with his uncle to be allowed to stay on in Estonia to defend Reval.
‘Here is a question for you, Albert. If we had not abused the pagans in order to construct the defences around Reval, do you think that they would have still attacked the town?’
Albert looked at the groups of pagan warriors being marshalled for another assault against the perimeter, in front of which lay many of their dead from previous assaults.
‘Pagans have no foresight or intelligence, just a cunning, animal instinct. This siege is a case in point. It makes no sense to hurl men against strong defences but they do it day after day.’
‘They probably assumed that with the departure of the king our numbers would be so diminished that we would be unable to hold the perimeter,’ replied Rolf.
But even with depleted numbers that perimeter was a strong one. Over the three years that the Danes had occupied Reval they had substantially increased and strengthened its defences. The perimeter now encompassed not only the town but also Toompea Hill, on which the fort that would one day be a mighty stone castle stood. The trees that had surrounded the original settlement had been cut down, not only to provide building material for the perimeter wall but also to create open ground in front of it. In this way an attacker would have no cover against missiles shot from the walls.
Hundreds of Harrien, Jerwen and Wierlanders were rounded up as forced labour to work on the defences. Many died from malnutrition and exhaustion as Rolf’s soldiers and engineers set a cruel pace to finish the works, because the governor knew that peace in Danish Estonia was fragile and likely to break down at any time. The labourers first dug a deep ditch, its walls sloping at an angle of forty-five degrees, the earth from which was used to raise a high rampart behind it. Sharpened stakes were placed in the bottom of the ditch. The engineers were careful to ensure that a narrow, horizontal strip of land a yard wide was left between the ditch and the rampart to prevent the latter sliding into the former.
The walls themselves were constructed in the Russian style, which made use of the abundant stocks of timber in Estonia rather than stone and brick that was used in Denmark and Germany. On top of the rampart stood a row of log cells along the perimeter. These cells comprised rows of horizontal logs on three sides, the rear being left open. The front formed the out
side face of the perimeter wall, which had a height of sixteen feet. Inside each cell was a fighting platform where crossbowmen could shoot bolts through loopholes in the parapet. In addition, the upper part of the wall projected slightly over the lower part to allow missiles to be shot at the space at the foot of the wall. A shingle roof covered the entire perimeter wall, including the walkway to the rear of the cells that linked them all. It provided protection from the weather and enemy missiles.
An innovation that Rolf had insisted on was a number of square timber towers at regular intervals along the perimeter wall. Forty-five feet in height their fighting platforms were also protected by shingle roofs.
Rolf had seven hundred men under arms to defend the walls, the most important members of which were a hundred and fifty German crossbowmen. He had thanked God when Valdemar had decided to leave them at Reval rather than take them to Oesel because their missiles had inflicted many casualties on the besiegers. Count Albert had returned from Oesel with just under fifty men, which were used to form the garrison of the fort atop Toompea. He had had to strip Varbola of its garrison but if Reval held out then he could always re-occupy it later.
The first pagan attack had been all along the line, the warriors carrying scaling ladders and bundles of branches tied together as they approached the ditch. Led by their village elders they hurled the bundles into the ditch to form makeshift bridges to allow them to cross the stake-filled moat and scale the rampart. Because the ditch was deep the pagans were forced to group at various spots in order to throw enough bundles into the ditch to cover the stakes sufficiently to allow men to cross it.
So the Estonians slid down the side of the ditch, crossed the bridges of bundles and scrambled up the other side. And then the crossbowmen began shooting. From behind their loopholes they poured volley after volley at the pagans in and around the ditch. Only one in ten Estonians wore mail armour, a higher percentage had helmets and all had shields. The latter, around three feet in diameter and made of fir, offered some protection but only when linked together. But the crossbowmen easily found targets as men exposed their bodies while negotiating the sides of the ditch and crossing the bundle bridges. They lost at least two hundred men in their first attack, another hundred the day after and today’s assault looked like being as costly.
The Oeselians showed a marked reluctance to approach the walls, their leaders having learned from painful experience at Odenpah how costly assaulting walls defended by crossbowmen could be. Nevertheless, their numbers added to the size of the besieging army that now surrounded the town and which outnumbered the garrison by at least three to one.
‘They are retreating, lord.’
Rolf turned away from viewing a large phalanx of Oeselian warriors grouped close to the perimeter wall protecting the base of Toompea Hill. A Danish knight was pointing to the east to where groups of Estonians were falling back from the wooden bridge across the moat giving access to the town via two gates. It was a tempting target and after their losses attempting to cross the ditch the Estonians had tried to rush the bridge. But Rolf had deliberately not burnt it to entice the enemy. The towers each side of the bridge were filled with crossbowmen who shot the enemy to pieces as they tried to smash down the gates with a crude battering ram fashioned from an oak trunk.
‘Now is the time to sally out and disperse them once and for all,’ stated Albert.
Rolf shook his head. ‘I think not. You have less than fifty horsemen, which will make little impression on the enemy.’
‘Then give me foot soldiers as well,’ pleaded Albert. ‘One attack will scatter them and end this miserable siege.’
Rolf was tempted. He knew that the Harrien, Jerwen and Wierlanders were poorly equipped farmers but the Oeselians were a different matter. He had no intention of suffering the same fate as his liege lord.
‘No, Albert. The pagans will lose heart and disperse of their own accord. The king entrusted the safekeeping of Reval to me and I will not disregard his command.’
Albert threw up his hands and stormed off as the Estonians withdrew to their camp, the Oeselians likewise retreating. Rolf smiled with satisfaction. The armouries contained plentiful supplies of crossbow bolts and the town’s stores were well stocked with food. He was confident that he could hold Reval with ease.
*****
‘Bring him in.’
Sir Richard pointed at one of the guards standing by the doors to the hall, the man saluting and exiting the chamber.
‘What he has to say may interest you, Conrad.’
The brother knight, his two friends, Rameke, Kaja and four hundred warriors had arrived that morning, riding out of the pre-dawn gloom to attack and scatter the Ungannians that had been sent to besiege Lehola. Besiege was perhaps too strong a word. Surround would be more accurate. They had set up camp and shot a few arrows at the ancient timber battlements. But mostly they had been content to sit and wait until Sir Richard surrendered. He had attempted a couple of sallies that had inflicted some casualties on the Ungannians and, more importantly, captured some goats, pigs and chickens that the enemy had plundered from nearby villages. But there were at least five hundred Ungannians encamped around the fort with more arriving each day to swell their numbers. They massed outside the main gates to ensure that Sir Richard could not deploy his whole garrison outside the walls.
It was therefore a great shock when hundreds of men on ponies charged out of the nearby woods and infiltrated the enemy camp, cutting down many a bleary-eyed, half-asleep Ungannian. They killed upwards of two hundred before the rest scattered, heading for the sanctuary of the surrounding forest. A few did not panic and managed to reach their own stabling area. But they mounted their beasts and galloped south back to Fellin rather than counterattacking the relief force.
The commanders of the relief army now sat with Sir Richard in Lehola’s great hall in the company of the Duke of Saccalia, Tonis and Squire Paul. The women and children that had been living there during the siege had been ejected. Hans looked most unhappy with the meagre portion of bread he had been served, along with a cup of water. Anton nudged Conrad and laughed at their friend’s discomfort.
‘You should be thankful, Hans,’ Conrad told him, ‘at least you weren’t trapped here on half-rations.’
‘Half-rations?’ said Sir Richard. ‘Another week and we would have been eating rats and dogs.’
The guard reappeared bringing in a prisoner with a thick beard, torn tunic and two black eyes. He was shoved down on the floor in front of the top table where Sir Richard and the others were sitting. His hands and feet were bound with rope.
‘We caught this one when I sent a party of horsemen after the Ungannians fleeing into the trees,’ said Sir Richard. ‘This one was taken alive, the others were killed.’
‘They should have killed him as well,’ hissed Squire Paul standing behind his lord.
The prisoner, undeterred by his perilous position, gave Sir Richard a contemptuous stare. When he saw the white surcoats and red insignia of Conrad and his friends his contempt turned into visceral hatred.
‘Murderers!’ he shouted at the Sword Brothers.
Conrad, taken aback, stood and walked around the table to stand in front of the prisoner. The man burned with venom as he stopped in front of him.
He spoke to the prisoner in Estonian. ‘Explain yourself.’
The man spat on Conrad’s boots.
‘I don’t think he likes you,’ said Hans who shoved aside the stale bread on his plate.
Conrad seized the man’s shoulders and hauled him to his feet.
‘If I am your enemy then I deserve to know why, seeing as once your lord and his wife regarded me as a friend.’
The man chuckled, blood between his teeth from when he had been beaten earlier. He eyed Conrad for a moment.
‘I remember you. You were one of those who came to Dorpat with Lord Kalju, may Uku protect his soul, when Villem was killed.’
Conrad was again surprised. ‘What do yo
u mean, Uku protect his soul?’
The prisoner curled up his lip. ‘Kalju is dead, as is his wife and two daughters. But you would know that, would you not Sword Brother, seeing as it was your sorcery that killed them?’
‘Kalju and Eha are dead?’ said a shocked Anton.
‘They always showed me kindness,’ lamented Kaja.
‘Dead? How?’ Conrad was confused.
‘Killed by the sorcery of the Sword Brothers,’ was all that the man would say.
‘Tell the Marshal of Estonia who leads the Ungannian people,’ ordered Sir Richard.
The man looked defiantly at Conrad. ‘The gods spared Kristjan so he could be their avenger in this world.’
‘Kristjan?’ scoffed Hans. ‘He is but a boy.’
‘A boy with fangs, Brother Hans,’ said Sir Richard. ‘He seized Fellin and killed Peeter in short order. And would have taken this place too had it not been for a stroke of luck.’
‘He will take this place and kill you all,’ spat the prisoner.
Sir Richard sighed and shook his head.
Paul leaned forward. ‘Now he has talked, my lord, it’s best if he is executed. You don’t want a sworn enemy still living.’
Conrad spun round as the Duke of Saccalia waved the guard forward.
‘I beg for his life, your grace.’
Paul frowned and Rameke looked surprised.
‘Sir Richard is right, Conrad, this man would slit your throat if there was a knife in his hands.’
‘Let me have him,’ said Paul, ‘I will have him dangling from the walls in no time.’
‘Castrate him,’ growled Kaja.
They all looked at her in surprise but she merely smiled at Conrad. ‘One of the stable hands at Wenden told me that castrating a wild stallion calms him down.’
‘If I were you I would be worried,’ Hans whispered to Rameke.
‘We don’t want to calm him down, girly,’ said Paul irritably, ‘we want an end to him.’
Sir Richard held up a hand to still the conversation. ‘Why do you want his life, Conrad?’