by Peter Darman
‘You are respected throughout Livonia for your military record and abstemious nature, lord bishop.’ Conrad looked away to the settlement at the foot of the hill. ‘If only others that hold high positions in the Holy Church in Livonia displayed the same qualities.’
‘You speak of Archbishop Stefan,’ said Bernhard.
‘I do.’
‘I heard about the unfortunate incident at Wenden.’
Conrad looked back at the bishop. ‘Unfortunate, lord bishop? The garrison of Riga should be disbanded; it is nothing more than a plaything of the archdeacon. I have yet to see it fight on the battlefield.’
‘I fear you are right, Conrad,’ agreed Bernhard, ‘but the good people of Riga are very fond of the soldiers that watch over them while they sleep.’
‘When Bishop Albert returns from Germany I hope he will address his nephew’s outrageous behaviour.’
Bernhard took Conrad’s elbow. ‘Walk with me a little further.’
They ambled down the track, the hoots of owls in the nearby forest the only sound in the darkness.
‘The bishop will not be returning to Livonia this year, Conrad. I told the grand master and Rudolf earlier and you might as well hear it as you are Marshal of Estonia.’
‘The bishop is not ill, is he?’ enquired Conrad with concern.
‘No, nothing like that,’ Bernhard reassured him, ‘but King Valdemar has been taken hostage by one of his former vassals, Henry Count of Schwerin.’
‘Master Rudolf’s father,’ said Conrad.
‘Indeed. Anyway the king and his eldest son currently reside in one of the Duke of Saxony’s castles and Danish power has been gravely wounded, some say fatally.’
‘The Count of Schwerin was eager enough to do King Valdemar’s bidding when he was in Livonia,’ said Conrad bitterly, remembering the death of Johann at the Pala.
‘I do not know the reason for the schism between the two,’ remarked Bernhard, ‘but Count Henry has gathered many north German lords to his side and they are determined to resist any attempts by the Danes to subjugate them again.’
‘What does this mean for Livonia, lord bishop?’
‘That Bishop Albert’s task of recruiting crusaders for Livonia has been made harder, as the north German lords are reluctant to leave their lands if there is a chance the Danes might try to rescue their king by force. However, he has managed to recruit two thousand men for service here this year, mostly from Lübeck and the surrounding towns. Commander Nordheim will be taking ship with them soon.’
‘Commander Nordheim will not be leading these soldiers?’ asked Conrad, appalled by the idea.
‘Have no fear, Conrad, I will be leading the troops from Germany.’
‘To where, lord bishop?’
‘Fellin,’ stated Bernhard, ‘we must retake the fort to show this Kristjan that his war against Livonia will lead only to his defeat. And after that Ungannia will be conquered.’
‘And what of the Danes in northern Estonia?’ queried Conrad.
‘Consider this, Conrad,’ answered the bishop, ‘the Danes cannot fight a campaign in northern Germany and another in Estonia. We, and specifically you, may benefit from Count Henry’s rebellion.’
‘Me, lord bishop?’
Bernhard chuckled. ‘The Marshal of Estonia should be based in the country’s most important stronghold, I think.’
‘Dorpat?’ proffered Conrad.
‘Reval, Conrad.’
*****
Vsevolod thought that the Battle of Abava was bad enough, and reckoned himself lucky to have escaped with his life. But as Aras and his senior commanders stood before him and Rasa in Panemunis’ main hall he believed that the terror he had experienced that day was nothing compared to the dread that enveloped the chamber as he listened to a report. Mindaugas, now fully recovered from the bout of flu that had possessed his body during the winter, stood with Morta, ashen faced, as the tale of woe was relayed to them by a short, stout Selonian prince with a deep voice. Even Aras, normally unflappable, bit his bottom lip as the man spoke. His boots and leggings were smeared with mud and his cheeks flushed with the exertion of riding for many miles to get to the stronghold. Normally he would have been compelled to tidy up his appearance before being granted an audience with the royal couple, but such was the gravity of the news he carried that protocol had to be cast aside.
‘I have ridden from Mesoten, highness,’ the prince stated.
Vsevolod looked at Rasa. ‘Mesoten? I thought that was a ruin following the crusader campaign against it.’
The man nodded. ‘It is, highness, but your army has taken refuge there following the clash with Duke Arturus.’
‘I have been there,’ said Mindaugas, ‘there is not room on the summit to accommodate two thousand men, let alone their horses and wagons.’
The man looked at Aras, unsure whether to proceed.
‘Continue,’ ordered Aras.
The man swallowed. ‘There are only three hundred men on Mesoten’s summit, highness.’
Vsevolod rose from his throne as Rasa and Morta gasped. ‘Three hundred! Where are the rest?’
‘Dead, highness,’ replied the prince, beads of sweat appearing on his forehead. ‘We had rendezvoused with Duke Viesthard’s warriors and a force of two thousand Samogitians under Prince Skiras, having heard of the approach of an army of Kurs. We took up a very strong position on a piece of rising ground five miles west of Viethard’s stronghold of Tervete, but…’
‘But?’ shouted Vsevolod.
The man was now sweating profusely. ‘But when the Kurs attacked and then fell back in precipitous retreat the Samogitians and Semgallians pursued, highness.’
‘Let me guess,’ said Aras, ‘it was feint to lure you away from the high ground.’
‘Yes, lord,’ replied the prince. ‘The Kurs fell back just far enough to split our army before they turned and attacked. They had hidden a mounted reserve behind a hill that cut our foot soldiers to pieces.’
Vsevolod, stunned, flopped down on his throne. ‘Only three hundred are left out of an army of, what, seven thousand?’
‘Yes, highness, but Duke Viesthard and his Semgallians, what is left of them, fled to Tervete. Most of the Samogitians are dead. Prince Skiras is…’
‘Is what?’ snapped Mindaugas.
‘Also dead, lord,’ answered the prince.
‘Get out,’ Vsevolod growled.
The prince bowed, about faced and rapidly departed from the chamber.
‘What does this mean?’ said a pale-faced Rasa.
‘That Arturus controls most of Semgallia and a large portion of Samogitia if he chooses to strike south.’
‘How can this be?’ said a distraught Mindaugas. He placed an arm around the shoulder of his wife. ‘It is time to show this Arturus the might of Nalsen and Selonia. We must muster every man and send this demon back to hell.’
Morta smiled with pride at her husband’s bravado but Vsevolod buried his head in his hands.
‘It would make more sense to deprive Arturus of the one thing that he seems to acquire with ease,’ suggested Aras.
Vsevolod looked up. ‘Which is?’
‘Victory, highness,’ replied Aras.
‘Explain yourself,’ demanded Vsevolod.
Aras, now more relaxed, began pacing the chamber.
‘Duke Arturus and his deputy Lamekins have proved adept battlefield commanders to put it mildly. It is time to see if they are as accomplished at siege warfare. Fortify the hill forts on the border and let the Kurs try to reduce them without siege engines.’
Vsevolod stroked his beard. ‘It would be better if Arturus spent his time reducing strongholds not in Selonia or Nalsen. Go and tell that idiot who brought news of our latest defeat that he is to return to Mesoten and hold it until we organise a relief force.’
‘I will lead the relief force,’ offered Mindaugas.
Vsevolod looked at Aras and smiled slyly. They were thinking the same.
�
�There will be no relief force,’ said the former. ‘If Arturus is amusing himself at Mesoten then we have more time to organise our defences.’
‘You would sacrifice three hundred of our men for nothing?’ said Mindaugas incredulously.
Vsevolod spun to look at his son-in-law. ‘I would sacrifice three thousand if it kept the Kurs out of our lands. The crops still have to be gathered in and if they are not then the people will starve in the winter. Better Semgallia is ravaged than Selonia or Nalsen. See to it, General Aras.’
Aras saluted and pointed at the other commanders in the chamber to follow him. After the doors to the hall had been closed Vsevolod rested his chin in his hands.
‘I have greatly underestimated Duke Arturus. I will not make the same mistake again.’
‘It is dishonourable to abandon Duke Viesthard,’ snapped Mindaugas.
‘If you are to become a great warlord, Mindaugas,’ said Vsevolod calmly, ‘you must realise not only that honour is an expensive commodity but also that allies readily desert each other in favour of their own interests. You think Duke Viesthard would not do the same if the roles were reversed?’
‘I would like to think not,’ said Mindaugas firmly.
‘Your faith in human nature is most touching,’ replied Vsevolod, ‘but until all men think like you we must keep our wits sharp.’
*****
The land around Pskov was bathed in glorious sunshine that summer, which ripened the crops in the fertile agricultural lands ringing the city. Set amid rolling hills and blessed by a moderate climate, Pskov may have been the so-called ‘younger brother’ of Novgorod but it was fast becoming its economic rival. The long humid days of early summer were ideal for growing the long-stemmed flax used to make clothing, bedding, fishing nets, ropes and candle wicks. So abundant was the crop that thousands of bales of flax were exported to Livonia every year, in the years that the crusader state and Novgorod were not at war, that is.
To the north of the city were great forests of fir, birch and pine and also stretches of ash, linden, maple, elm and oak. It was no coincidence that timber was also a major industry in Pskov. The forests were also filled with animals that provided the city’s furriers with an unending supply of bear, sable, marten, wolf, fox and squirrel hides. The villagers of the ancient hilltop settlements supplemented their income from farming with hunting and trapping, the city’s tax collectors gathering a rich tribute in crops and pelts for the city’s mayor, or posadnik, who was appointed by the prince of Novgorod. Domash Tverdislavich had held the post for many years and had used it to his personal advantage as well as that of Novgorod. He ruled Pskov like it was his own personal kingdom and was usually of a jovial disposition. But today his handsome face wore a scowl.
Ordered by Mstislav to muster an army and lead it to a rendezvous point on the northern shore of Lake Peipus, he knew that once more the prince was taking Pskov and Novgorod to war. There was a time when he led raiding parties far into the west, to the Dvina and even across the river to plunder Lithuanian villages. He had even burned the wooden fort of the Sword Brothers at Holm, before taking many of the Livs who lived in the nearby village as slaves. They were good days and the sight of his banner struck terror into the Livs and Estonians alike. The victories were easy and achieved with little cost. But then more and more Sword Brothers came and built castles of stone to guard their new crusader state. And after them came crusaders and the fighting became hard, costly and far from enjoyable. Of late Pskov had lost many sons to the Sword Brothers and Novgorod even more. The merchants and boyars of those two ancient cities wanted peace and prosperity, not war and destitution. He thought he must be getting old because he was of the same opinion.
‘Another glorious campaign to water the soil with Russian blood,’ said Gleb bitterly. ‘How many of the men behind us will not be returning to their homes, to their families?’
Normally Domash would have silenced his impish Skomorokh, one of the ancient strolling performers who were followers of the old religion and who entertained, charmed and seduced the common folk with their songs and tales about the world before the coming of the Orthodox religion. The Skomorokhs, despite being condemned by the church as the ‘devil’s servants’, still had great influence, even among the boyars and merchants, and Gleb, whose name meant ‘heir of god,’ was among the most influential. It was no coincidence that Domash kept him by his side for it smoothed his rule over the Pskovians, though Gleb’s tongue could be cutting. Today Domash was glad that it was so.
‘How short is the memory of Prince Mstislav,’ continued Gleb. ‘It was not so long ago that half his army was cut to pieces by the Estonians on the frozen surface of Lake Peipus. And then hundreds more were lost trying to take Odenpah, which had been reinforced by the accursed Sword Brothers. One wonders why Novgorod tolerates such a demented leader.’
The commanders of the Druzhina, the élite horsemen of the boyars who were lavishly armed and armoured, looked at Domash but the mayor said nothing. There was a slight breeze that ruffled the great banner of Pskov showing a golden snow leopard on a blue background.
‘I am certain the prince knows what he is doing,’ said Yaroslav Nevsky, now restored to Mstislav’s favour. He had sent his wife and child ahead to Novgorod but elected to stay with Domash out of loyalty, the mayor having offered his family a house in Pskov when they had been exiled.
‘Does he?’ scoffed Gleb. ‘I would have thought that you of all people would have cause to welcome the removal of the oaf who sits in Novgorod’s kremlin. By the way, what happened to the oaf’s banner that got you exiled?’
Yaroslav blushed and the Druzhina commanders tut-tutted but Gleb did not care.
‘Thank you, Gleb,’ said Domash, ‘perhaps you would afford us the courtesy of riding in peace so we can enjoy the verdant countryside.’
‘Verdant countryside?’ mocked Gleb, ‘have you swallowed a book?’
‘I will say this and then we will proceed in silence,’ said Domash firmly. ‘When we get to the rendezvous point watch your mouth. Prince Mstislav has no love for the Skomorokhs and will have your head on the slightest pretext.’
‘I didn’t know you cared,’ smiled Gleb, his stringed instrument, a gusli, slung over his shoulder.
‘I don’t,’ replied Domash, ‘but the prince may have my head as well and I care very much about that.’
‘Do not worry,’ Gleb whispered to Yaroslav, ‘when the Nevsky family rules in Novgorod things will be much better.’
‘Silence!’ commanded Domash.
The army marched first along Lake Pskov and then Lake Peipus, the great inland waterways that delineated the border between Novgorod and Estonia. The freshwater, blue and warm, was bordered by great stretches of sandy beaches and dunes. Inland the terrain became hillier and covered with pine forests. Dotted along the eastern shore of the lake were fishing villages, mostly a collection of no more than a dozen ramshackle huts with flat-bottomed boats in front of them on the sand. But the people, though poor and threadbare, looked healthy enough for the lake had an abundance of perch, bream and roach to fill their bellies. When the army passed by their settlements young and old alike came to wave and smile at Gleb in his distinctive bright blue tunic.
Domash had been able to muster two hundred Druzhina from among Pskov’s boyars, along with five hundred of the city’s militia. The latter were all foot soldiers equipped with spears and axes and wearing kuyak armour – leather shirts with rectangular metal plates attached. The largest contingent and the most poorly armed and equipped was the Voi, the soldiers raised from the villages around the city. They numbered a thousand but none wore armour on their bodies, though the city armouries had at least furnished them with helmets to give them a semblance of military bearing. Most carried only a spear and an axe tucked into their belts. All of them held wooden shields that had no leather facings. On their feet they wore shoes fashioned from birch bark. The Voi marched alongside the dozens of wagons that carried the army’s supplies
. A small mounted rearguard followed.
The Voi invariably suffered terribly on campaign, being viewed as expendable by army commanders. And yet the men who staffed it were happy enough to answer the call to arms. For one thing the city authorities of Pskov and Novgorod fed them on campaign, though the supply system was known to collapse from time to time. More importantly, the city authorities distributed food to the villages where the men had come from to compensate them for the loss of manpower while they were serving in the Voi. In this way the men knew that their families would not starve, which was a great incentive, especially during a winter campaign.
But it was now the height of summer and when the Pskov contingent reached the rendezvous point it was greeted by a great stench produced by a camp holding thousands of men and horses. Mstislav himself had mustered five thousand of the Voi, three thousand of Novgorod’s militia, all equipped and supplied by the city’s veche, in addition to eight hundred Druzhina, the sons and retainers of the veche’s wealthiest families. Mstislav also brought his mounted bodyguard – two hundred lance-armed horsemen in helmets and lamellar armour.
But it was the troops of Grand Prince George of Suzdal that made the greatest impression. The soldiers of Mstislav wore a mixture of green and brown hues for leggings and tunics, but the men of Suzdal sported a dazzlingly array of bright green, red and purple clothing.
The grand prince’s élite troops were his two thousand Druzhina, all mounted on magnificent horses whose bridles were decorated with silver discs. Each man wore a pointed iron helmet called a shishak that had an immoveable brass nasal guard. Officers were identified by metal half masks attached to their helmets – zabralom – which protected the eyes and nose. Each rider also wore a barmitsa: chainmail that was attached to the bottom edge of the helmet to hang down the shoulders and back. It was wrapped under the chin to closely protect the neck and throat.
Beneath their lamellar armour they wore a kal’chuga, a mail hauberk with short sleeves that ended just above the elbow. Like the horsemen of Novgorod and Pskov they carried almond-shaped shields some four feet in length. Carried point down, they protected a horsemen from the chin to the knees. They were light, being made of wood, covered with hide and bound with iron on the edges as a defence against blows. To reinforce them metal strips were fixed to the shield, crosswise, with a semi-circular metal cover plate fastened over the centre of the shield at the intersection. Every shield was coloured red.