Castellan

by Peter Darman

  ‘Rest?’ scoffed Kristjan. ‘They can rest when they are dead.’

  He turned in the saddle and shouted at the long, winding column behind.

  ‘On, on. Taara points the way to victory!’

  Vetseke decided to broach a topic he had thus far avoided.

  ‘Where are we headed, Kristjan?’

  The Ungannian smiled. ‘To Livonia, prince. To butcher Livs and burn their villages, to entice the Sword Brothers out of their stone castles so we can destroy them.’

  Vetseke, who had personal experience of fighting and losing to the men of iron, was taken aback.

  ‘They are tenacious foes, Kristjan.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘You do?’

  Kristjan smiled once more. ‘Of course. My father taught me that it is a gross error to underestimate an enemy. But if I cut a swathe of destruction through Livonia then I will show how weak the Bishop of Riga is. As a result Novgorod and Polotsk will not be able to resist invading Livonia. This is the message that Taara sent me when my body was filled with poison.’

  Vetseke did not reply but pondered over whether being stung by hornets could make the victim insane.

  Two scouts who knew the area well were leading the column through a largely uninhabited strip of land between what had been the realm of the Livs and Estonia. The two races had raided each other for generations in search of slaves, livestock or just the pleasure of burning and killing. Vetseke did not trust them but Kristjan seemed content to be flattered by the pair. The scouts rode out of the trees into a meadow of long grass and white and yellow flowers, and pulled up their ponies. On the far side of the meadow, around two hundred paces away, sat three men on ponies. They wore helmets and carried spears and shields.

  ‘Don’t like the look of them, lord,’ said one of the scouts to Kristjan.

  Vetseke turned to his deputy. ‘Ride them down.’

  Moments later half a dozen Russians were galloping across the meadow, spears levelled as they rode towards the unidentified warriors. But the latter immediately scattered as they turned their horses and disappeared into a forest of birch. Kristjan and Vetseke continued forward, the two scouts urging their mangy beasts on as the army flooded into the meadow.

  ‘Who were they?’ asked Kristjan as the Russian horsemen followed the mysterious riders into the dark green forest.

  ‘Livs, most likely, lord,’ replied the second scout, ‘it’s too far south to be our people.’

  ‘You mean Estonians,’ said Vetseke.

  The other scout spat. ‘The Livs used to be lambs ripe for raping and killing before the men of iron arrived. See how they ran without their friends the Sword Brothers to back them up.’

  Behind Vetseke his deputy, like him a Liv, bristled at the insult directed at his people.

  ‘You have killed many Livs?’ asked Vetseke casually.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ replied the other scout. ‘We used to call this land the happy hunting ground.’

  ‘There was a tidy profit to be made from capturing slaves as well,’ said the other scout, ‘before the men of iron came.’

  ‘Do not worry about them,’ interrupted Kristjan, ‘they will be only a temporary presence in this land.’

  Vetseke stared ahead and said nothing. Behind him hundreds of Estonian warriors continued their journey south to Livonia. He too had once led an army against the Sword Brothers that had reached the gates of Riga before being destroyed. He had been captured but Bishop Albert had freed him on condition that he never set foot in Livonia again. But here he was, part of an army led by a boy who was beloved of the gods.

  *****

  The force from Wenden covered ten miles on the first day and fifteen on the second, a splendid achievement given that it rained every day and the tracks quickly turned to mud. But men got off their horses and ponies and helped the progress of the carts and wagons and everyone was hopeful that they would reach Lehola in a week. At the end of each day Rudolf, as commander of the expedition, would ride up and down the column and issue the order that was given at the end of a day’s march on all Sword Brother campaigns: ‘Make camp, lord brothers, on God’s behalf.’

  Pitching the tents was a straightforward and speedy affair, each garrison of the order having practised it so many times that the men could do it in their sleep. The chapel tent was set up first, then those of the masters and the tents of the brother knights and sergeants that circled them. The vehicles were placed in a wagon park and the order’s horses, ponies and mules were housed in a temporary stabling area. By the time this had been done and the beasts had been watered, fed, groomed and examined for injuries the sun was dipping in the west.

  The Livs had their own camping arrangements that were simpler, their two-man felt tents being pitched around their chiefs’ and their ponies tethered either to low-lying branches or carts after being allowed to graze on the lush meadow grass.

  After Vespers in the chapel tent evening meals were cooked. Rudolf had insisted on tight camp security so there were no hunting parties, which meant that meals comprised cured meat and porridge. It was customary on campaign to duplicate the eating arrangements that were observed at Wenden. Thus there was a tent where meals were taken and where the brother knights ate first followed by the sergeants. However, because he was Marshal of Estonia Conrad was allowed to take his meals separately, as were Hans and Anton who were his allotted deputies. So, as on many other occasions, they sat outside their tent watching their food being prepared.

  ‘I miss Kaja,’ said Hans as he watched a novice stirring the pot of porridge hanging over the fire.

  ‘Rameke was most insistent that she no longer accompany us on campaign,’ replied Conrad.

  ‘It is the end of an era,’ opined Anton as the novice began serving the porridge into wooden bowls.

  He handed one to Conrad, then Hans and Anton and went back to his stirring. Conrad estimated his age at around fifteen. He was gangly and had yet to grow into his frame. His name was Manfred.

  Hans gulped down his porridge and then called to him.

  ‘Fill it up, Manfred.’

  The novice scurried over and took Hans’ bowl to refill it. He handed it back to the brother knight. Moments later a familiar figure made an appearance.

  ‘Now then, boys, any chance of a spare morsel for a penniless dog of war?’

  Leatherface smiled mischievously at Manfred before sitting on the ground beside Conrad. Manfred picked up a spare bowl and began filling it with porridge.

  ‘Have you eaten, Manfred?’ asked Conrad.

  ‘Not yet, Brother Conrad.’

  ‘Then sit down and eat that bowl of porridge.’

  Leatherface looked aghast. ‘Nothing for me? I preferred it when young Kaja was the cook. She had a soft spot for me.’

  Hans finished his bowl and held it out. ‘Manfred.’

  ‘You have had enough, Hans,’ Conrad told him. ‘Manfred has cooked your meal so let the boy eat.’

  ‘There is some left, Brother Hans,’ said Manfred in between shovelling the porridge into his mouth at speed.

  ‘You finish it off, Manfred,’ Conrad told him.

  ‘None for me?’ said Leatherface in a miserable tone.

  Conrad finished his porridge and placed his bowl on the ground.

  ‘As the commander of crossbowmen I’m sure you have had more than your fill among your own men, to say nothing of the food you have scrounged on the way here.’

  ‘I’m not into poverty and piety like you are, Brother Conrad,’ he protested. ‘I thought generosity is supposed to be one of the virtues of the Sword Brothers.’

  ‘Towards those who are desperate and helpless,’ said Anton, ‘which doesn’t apply to you.’

  Manfred refilled his own bowl as ordered and emptied the cooking pot, but then scooped some porridge into a fresh bowl and took it over to Leatherface.

  ‘Thank you, boy,’ he beamed. ‘Now that’s what I call Christian charity.’

  ‘So,’ he contin
ued, porridge spilling from his mouth, ‘what do you reckon about this Kristjan and his army?’

  Conrad shrugged. ‘I’m more concerned that there are Russians among his men. If he has the support of Novgorod then his threat is greater than if he had been operating alone.’

  ‘He’s caused all Estonia to rise up, I’ve heard,’ said Leatherface.

  ‘That is the rumour,’ said Hans.

  ‘And rumours can turn out to be false,’ added Anton.

  ‘That’s what I like about you boys,’ grinned the old mercenary, ‘you always look on the bright side.’

  He scooped out the bowl with his fingers, shoved the last morsels into his mouth and stood up. He tossed the empty bowl to Manfred.

  ‘What about you, young pup, what do you think?’

  ‘The Sword Brothers will prevail, lord,’ came the answer.

  Leatherface looked at Conrad and back at Manfred. ‘So you think that King Conrad here will defeat King Kristjan.’

  Manfred looked confused and unsure how to reply.

  ‘Be off with you,’ Conrad told the mercenary, ‘and allow us time to pray for your soul.’

  Leatherface turned and walked off. ‘Don’t you bother yourself with my soul, Brother Conrad, I sold it years ago.’

  ‘That I can believe,’ said Hans.

  Later, when night had come and there was a chill in the air, Conrad and his friends sat on stools close to the fire and cleaned their weapons. Manfred threw more wood on the fire and sat expectantly on a stool.

  ‘Would you like me to clean your sword, Brother Conrad?’

  ‘A brother knight should always clean his own sword, Manfred, but thank you for the offer.’

  He could see that the novice was entranced by the weapon, its blade now bathed in the red glow of the fire. Conrad ran a cloth over the black leather grip and then over the cross-guard, each of its arms being ‘waisted’ and flared back to their original width at the ends.

  ‘It is a fine weapon, Brother Conrad.’

  Conrad looked at the broad and evenly tempered blade, the outer third of which curved gradually to a point. He saw the disc-shaped pommel with its chamfered edges and unicorns carved into both sides.

  ‘It is,’ he agreed.

  ‘It was given to Conrad,’ said Hans, ‘as a present.’

  ‘It was bequeathed to me by Sir Frederick of Tangermünde, a Saxon knight,’ said Conrad, ‘after he had been mortally wounded at Fellin.’

  ‘I have seen his grave in the cemetery,’ said Manfred.

  ‘That was twelve years ago,’ reflected Anton. ‘How the years pass.’

  ‘And how history repeats itself,’ mused Hans. ‘For we shall have to assault Fellin again soon.’

  ‘First we have to find Kristjan,’ stated Conrad.

  That mystery was solved the next day, an hour after dawn when the camp was being disassembled, when Riki and his Harrien arrived. Their leader reported immediately to Conrad who, alarmed, went with the blonde-haired Estonian to find Master Rudolf. The latter was assisting four novices throw his tent into the back of a wagon when he spotted Conrad.

  ‘You look like you have seen a ghost.’

  He then saw Riki’s concerned look. ‘I take it this is not a social visit?’

  Conrad nodded at Riki.

  ‘Kristjan is ten miles away, maybe less, lord, and will be at the River Sedde before midday.’

  Rudolf’s eyes filled with concern. ‘The Sedde? Are you sure, that is less than five miles away?’

  ‘Some of my men ran into his army yesterday, lord, and reported back to me after giving the slip to some Russians. Kristjan pushes his army hard.’

  He turned to the novices. ‘Take that tent out of the wagon and put it up again.’

  Ten minutes later he had convened a council of war beside the wagon as the brother knights and sergeants re-erected their tents around them. Rudolf sent a novice to find Rameke, the boy returning with the Liv a few minutes later.

  ‘Kristjan approaches the Sedde,’ Rudolf stated bluntly.

  ‘That is forty miles south of Fellin,’ said a surprised Rameke.

  ‘And around five miles from this spot,’ added Riki, his pale cheeks still flushed with colour from the urgent ride through the pre-dawn dark.

  ‘If we can get to the Sedde first,’ said Rudolf, ‘then we can hold the river line and Kristjan will have to attack us. We have enough crossbowmen to inflict heavy losses on his army. The foot will provide cover for the crossbowmen. After they have softened up the enemy the horsemen will charge and scatter them.’

  He looked at those present. ‘Any objections?’

  Mathias and Bertram shook their heads and Conrad was nodding.

  ‘It is a good plan,’ agreed Rameke, ‘and plays to our strengths.’

  ‘Then let us make haste,’ said Rudolf.

  The Sedde flowed west into Lake Burtnieks and, like many other waterways in Livonia and Estonia, broke its banks at the beginning of spring when filled with melt water. But now it was shallow and slow moving, being no more than three or four feet deep and shallower in some places. It was also narrow – around thirty feet – making it passable along almost all its length. It thus presented no great barrier but would stiffen a defence made up of a shield wall supported by crossbowmen.

  It took less than half an hour for the brother knights and sergeants to don their armour and fit their horses with caparisons, the thickly padded and quilted garments that were made in two halves that met at the saddle and also covered each horse’s neck and head.

  Conrad ordered Riki to stay with the sixty novices who were to guard the camp. He told the Harrien leader that he and his men needed rest after their exertions, but the real reason was that he did not want his Estonians fighting other Estonians. If Kristjan could be defeated, even better killed, then his insurrection would be at an end. Riki was unhappy but Conrad told him that should the army be defeated then he would be responsible for getting the novices back to Wenden.

  The forests were filled with the sound of chaffinches, blackbirds and cuckoos as the thirty-six brother knights and one hundred and ten sergeants, all in mail armour and carrying lances, trotted from camp followed by Rameke’s warriors and Leatherface’s one hundred and twenty crossbowmen, all riding ponies and all weighed down with full quivers. The day was overcast and there was a gentle breeze but at least the rain had so far held off. The banners of Wenden, Segewold and Kremon fluttered in the breeze, the white caparisons of the Sword Brothers in stark contrast to the lush green scenery they rode through.

  They had travelled for less than half an hour, threading their way between expanses of tall birch, when they encountered a group of warriors on ponies and horsemen carrying almond-shaped shields and lances – Russians. The meadow the two sides occupied was suddenly filled with the sound of horns and trumpets as the Sword Brothers deployed into line and the enemy about turned and withdrew.

  ‘Kristjan is over the Sedde, then,’ said Hans to Conrad.

  ‘Conrad,’ shouted Rudolf a short distance away, ‘get over here.’

  The brother knight rode over to where Rudolf sat on his horse next to Walter holding Wenden’s banner. Mathias, Bertram and Rameke galloped to the impromptu gathering. Ahead the enemy soldiers were becoming smaller as they fell back. Leatherface trotted up on his unkempt pony.

  ‘Glad you could grace us with your presence,’ Rudolf berated him.

  ‘Never rush to a battle, Master Rudolf,’ he replied, ‘otherwise you might find yourself fleeing from it twice as fast.’

  ‘The plan still holds,’ Rudolf told them, helmet shoved back on top of his head. ‘As soon as we sight the main enemy force Rameke’s men will dismount while we cover them. The crossbowmen will also dismount and advance under cover of the shield wall.’

  He looked at Leatherface.

  ‘Think you can manage that?’

  ‘Don’t you worry about me, Master Rudolf, you just make sure you don’t fall off your horse.’

&
nbsp; Mathias and Bertram thought the exchange of words hilarious though Rameke was not amused. Conrad just shook his head and smiled.

  ‘Well, then,’ said Rudolf, ‘let’s put this Kristjan to the sword. God be with you all.’

  The brother knights formed into a line, men riding knee to knee, the sergeants in kettle helmets behind them in two ranks, then spurred their horses forward in pursuit of the enemy. Behind them the Livs and crossbowmen followed. Conrad’s body tingled with excitement at the prospect of impending violence. His instincts and reflexes were suddenly invigorated, his senses heightened.

  The meadow narrowed to around two hundred paces as the horsemen rode from it into a wide area of grassland that bordered the river. And there, standing perhaps fifty paces from the Sedde itself, was Kristjan’s army.

  Rudolf signalled a halt and then rode forward to scout the enemy shield wall. Conrad pushed up his helmet and thrust the end of his lance into the earth. He reached over and offered his hand to Hans.

  ‘As dust to the wind.’

  Hans shook his hand and smiled.

  ‘As dust to the wind.’

  He repeated the ritual with Anton and then waited as Rameke and his Livs dismounted, every tenth man leading the ponies to the rear, as the crossbowmen loaded their weapons. Then they took up position within the Liv shield wall, directly behind the front rank, and waited. Conrad looked left to see Walter with his eyes closed, deep in prayer. Henke toyed with his mace and Lukas was scanning the enemy army.

  The Estonians were deployed in a long line, round shields locked together and the spears of the front rank levelled to form a row of whetted points. Every man had a helmet though Conrad wondered how many had any armour. It was customary to place the best-armed and armoured men in the front ranks of a shield wall, those behind often having no armour apart from a helmet. On the opposite side of the river a forest of birch began a short distance from the Sedde. Just in front of the trees stood a group of horsemen, some armed with lances. There was also a large banner that carried a golden eagle design.

  ‘Kristjan,’ muttered Conrad.

  It was impossible to determine the size of the enemy shield wall but if the Estonians were in four or five ranks then there were at least five hundred men facing the Sword Brothers.