by Peter Darman
Hillar had kept them fully abreast of developments in the aftermath of the fall of Fellin and the evacuation of Varbola by the Oeselians. It was general knowledge that the Russians had abandoned the siege of Reval after suffering substantial losses. Traders in Riga had subsequently revealed that Novgorod had overthrown Mstislav, who had travelled to Suzdal with a small retinue in the company of Grand Duke George. News from Ungannia told of Kristjan being back in Dorpat with Prince Vetseke, the former having left a garrison in Varbola.
‘To what end?’ asked Rudolf.
‘To take Varbola, master.’
‘To conduct a siege in mid-winter, without engines, will undoubtedly end in failure,’ Rudolf told him.
‘I do not intend to conduct a siege, master,’ Conrad replied.
‘Even the Army of the Wolf will struggle assaulting such a mighty stronghold,’ cautioned Rudolf.
‘I do not intend to assault or lay siege to Varbola, master,’ replied Conrad. ‘It will be surrounded and isolated and those inside, abandoned by Kristjan, will give themselves up to the rightful leader of the Harrien.’
‘You?’ suggested Rudolf.
Conrad shook his head. ‘Riki, master. I intend to make him the leader of all the Harrien people.’
Conrad once more requested that Hans and Anton be allowed to leave with him, along with a small number of crossbowmen from the garrison. Rudolf assigned him Leatherface and a score of his men. They joined Riki and his fifty men in Wenden’s courtyard on a numbingly cold January day, the sky blue and cloudless and the sun fiercely bright. Leatherface was wrapped in a thick wolf skin cloak, his head encased in a fur-lined cap with large earflaps. He was not happy.
‘A man of my age should be sitting inside by a roaring fire, not tramping through snow to God knows where.’
‘To Rotalia,’ Conrad told him. ‘And I heard that Master Rudolf has promised you and your men large bonuses for conducting a winter campaign.’
‘You don’t think I do this for free, do you?’ he grumbled. ‘You won’t find a mercenary taking an oath of poverty.’
‘Or chastity,’ smiled Hans mounted on the horse next to Conrad’s.
‘Or obedience,’ added Anton on the other side of the Marshal of Estonia.
Leatherface flicked a mitten-covered hand at them.
‘Are we going or not? My feet are already numb.’
The three brother knights were all riding palfreys but everyone else was mounted on hardy local ponies. Conrad gave the signal for the column to leave the courtyard, Hans and Anton leading the riders as Conrad walked his horse over to the master’s hall where Rudolf and Walter stood outside the doors. Conrad saluted them both.
‘You travel to Fellin?’ asked Rudolf.
‘Yes, master. I will collect Tonis and his wolf shields and then march west to Leal, which Hillar has made his headquarters after it was abandoned by the Oeselians.’
‘Don’t do anything stupid, Conrad,’ said Rudolf. ‘We will need you and your men in the summer when we campaign in Ungannia.’
‘God go with you, Conrad,’ said Walter.
‘And with you,’ replied Conrad, saluting and wheeling his horse away to trot from the courtyard.
The Sword Brothers were experts in fighting in the snow and ice of Livonia but they never let their expertise become arrogance. The white landscape was both beautiful and deadly, a winter terrain of breath-taking views with a multitude of pitfalls. Each man pulled two ponies loaded with food and supplies, for the exertions of moving through waist-deep snowdrifts and across open land buffeted by freezing winds and heavy snowfalls required frequent rest and food stops. The horses were equipped with caparisons and nose bags to protect them from wind chill, and when the snow fell and was blown around by an icy wind the column halted among the nearest trees and made camp. Boughs were cut from the lower branches for bedding and to make lean-tos that were supported at an angle of forty-five degrees by two long uprights. Green timber was cut and used as a base for fires inside the lean-tos to cook food – the first priority when establishing a camp.
Shelters were also created for the horses and ponies and sentries allocated to their temporary stables to inspect the animals at regular intervals. Even though the ponies were hardy beasts they too were draped in clean, dry blankets and fed warmed fodder at the end of every day.
Camp was always sited and set up before the light began to fade. In this way men and beasts were not exhausted and there was time to lay out the camp correctly. Parties to collect timber and water were organised and sentries posted. It meant that progress was slow but ensured that everyone arrived at Fellin in good health and without having been surprised by an enemy.
Conrad was delighted to discover that the scaffold that had been erected to hang the garrison that had been left by Kristjan had been dismantled, the bodies that had hung from it presumably having been buried. Sir Richard had left a small garrison of Saccalians in the fort because the stronghold also housed some of the crusaders that had voyaged from Germany in the company of Bishop Bernhard. The commander of the fort, a chubby individual with a jovial nature, informed the brother knights that five hundred had returned to Riga, having elected to return to Germany before the Dvina froze over, so demoralised were they.
‘The majority of the rest are at Lehola, Susi,’ he told Conrad. ‘We have a hundred here, though whether they will all make it through the winter is doubtful. I’ve never seen men so weak of limb and spirit. God knows where the bishop got them from.’
‘The streets of Lübeck and other towns and cities,’ Conrad told him. ‘What do you hear of Kristjan?’
The man tore off a chunk of the roasted boar on the table in front of him.
‘Just rumours, of how he has become a god, or at least the son of a god.’
‘What god, I forget?’ asked Hans, stuffing a chunk of cheese into his mouth.
‘Taara, our god of war,’ replied the commander.
‘Do the people believe this?’ asked Conrad, who knew that a number of Jerwen had deserted Andres to side with Kristjan.
‘Not in Saccalia they don’t, Susi,’ answered the commander. ‘But they remember Kristjan’s soldiers and his Russian allies burning and plundering their villages. The men who returned to those villages before the snows fell wish to repay the Ungannians for their deprivations.’
After the feast the three brother knights bedded down in the warm hall that smelt of roast meat and leather, the warriors and crossbowmen snoring, belching and breaking wind as they slept. Hans, having filled his belly, was sleeping with a smile on his face and Anton beside him was snoring loudly. Conrad got up and tiptoed through the maze of bodies, arms and legs that covered the floor. He left the hall, one of the guards outside eyeing him suspiciously for a second before recognising him and nodding. He walked outside into the night air. Guards were pacing up and down in the fort’s towers to stay warm and keep themselves awake, but in the compound itself there was no movement. He looked at one of the carvings of a wolf’s head that decorated the eves of the hall. The inside was also adorned with carvings of the same animal, and from beyond the walls of the fort he heard the howl of real wolves. Then he heard a pattering sound and turned to see Leatherface taking a piss against the hall’s wall. After he had finished he turned and saw Conrad.
‘Brother Conrad. Don’t tell me your bladder leaks and doesn’t hold very much as well.’
‘Just taking the night air, it is more agreeable than the odour in the hall.’
Leatherface grinned. ‘Nice and warm in there, though. Much better than shivering in a tent, I think. So, tomorrow we travel to Lehola and then on to Varbola.’
‘We go to Leal first to link up with Hillar,’ said Conrad.
‘Mm. Tell me, how are you going to take Varbola without any siege engines or storming the place?’
Conrad raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Master Rudolf has kept you well informed, I see.’
‘Me and Rudolf go back many years,’ said the mercena
ry. ‘He sleeps better at night knowing that I’m keeping an eye on you. He’s very fond of you, you know.’
‘I have a plan regarding Varbola,’ replied Conrad, ‘which will be revealed when it is appropriate.’
Leatherface nodded approvingly. ‘I remember a young brother knight sent to raise a rabble of Saccalians so he could relieve Lehola. You remember?’
‘I remember,’ said Conrad.
‘You’ve come a long way since then, Brother Conrad, and your ambition has grown.’
‘My ambition?’
Leatherface wagged a finger at him. ‘Nothing wrong with ambition, keeps a man on his toes. I reckon that you’re already thinking beyond Varbola and looking further north.’
‘You think too much.’
It took a forced march the day after to reach Lehola, the column pushing its way through deep snowdrifts and the men dismounting to lead their animals across frozen streams and lakes. The last part of the march was particularly arduous, snow falling and a wind kicking up to assault soldiers and animals with an icy blast laced with large flakes. The light began to fade as they trod north in the whiteout, Conrad fearing that exhausted men and beasts would have to spend a night in the adverse conditions. But as the last vestiges of day left the land the mighty southern ramparts of Lehola came into view. They extended for a length of two hundred yards and in the centre were the great oak gates that were firmly shut.
A barely audible voice shouted down from one of the towers that flanked the gates.
‘Who comes to Lehola?’
‘Brother Conrad of the Sword Brothers, the Marshal of Estonia, who asks for entry for himself and the men with him.’
‘Stay there,’ came the reply.
Hans, Anton and Leatherface behind looked like statues being buffeted by snowflakes as the wind picked up and darkness came. It would be an inhospitable night. Conrad could only see the first few files of the column of riders behind his friends; the rest had been obliterated by the whiteout. For what seemed like an eternity they remained immobile, feeling slowly leaving their fingers. But then one of the gates creaked open and a group came out of the fort, led by Sir Richard who offered a hand to Conrad.
‘Good to see you, marshal, get your men inside the fort and out of this snowstorm.’
The other gate opened and Conrad led his horse forward. He was surprised to see the elderly Bishop Bernhard in his white tunic bare headed.
‘You should take care, lord bishop, not to catch a chill.’
‘Don’t you worry about me, young Conrad,’ he replied, ‘I’m not the one wandering around a frozen Saccalia in the dark.’
Two hours later, after the men had been billeted in some of the huts inside Lehola’s outer compound and the horses and mules had been unsaddled, rubbed down, fed and stabled, Conrad’s men were feasted in the hall. The great chamber could seat five hundred people but it was half empty, the crusaders that had taken part in the assault on Fellin sitting along benches in one corner. Tonis’ wolf shields sat on the opposite side while Sir Richard’s knights, or at least some of them, the rest being in the villages they now headed, occupied the benches at tables in front of the top table where their lord sat with his guests. His white boar’s head banner hung on the wall behind him.
‘So, you go to Leal and then to make war in Harrien,’ Sir Richard said to him as he chewed on a boar’s rib.
‘Yes, your grace,’ said Conrad. He looked at Riki sitting at the end of the top table talking to Tonis. ‘Harrien has for too long been the plaything of foreign powers.’
‘This Varbola,’ said Bishop Bernhard, ‘it is strongly fortified?’
‘The strongest in all Estonia, lord bishop,’ answered Conrad.
Bernhard looked in confusion at Sir Richard, who shrugged. The prelate pointed at the fifty Harrien and crossbowmen stuffing their faces.
‘And these are all the men you brought with you?’
Conrad nodded. ‘Hillar has many more men under his command in Rotalia, lord bishop.’
‘And he has siege engines?’
‘No, lord bishop.’
Bernhard looked even more perturbed. ‘And yet you still believe that Varbola will fall to you?’
Conrad took a swig of his medalus. ‘Oh, yes.’
‘Then I’m coming with you, Conrad,’ announced the bishop. ‘Your venture intrigues me.’
Conrad looked alarmed, as did Hans sitting next to him.
‘You, lord bishop? Surely you are needed here.’
‘Nonsense,’ said Bernhard loudly, ‘the duke has more than enough men to secure his border with Ungannia and all I and my men do is eat up his stores.’
‘I am glad to have you here, lord bishop,’ said Sir Richard.
Conrad looked at the men in shabby clothing eating at the tables. They had not made a great impression on him at Fellin and that had been in summer. To take them on a five-day journey across a frozen landscape to Leal might be beyond the endurance of many of them. Then there was the matter of the bishop’s great age. He did not want the Bishop of Semgallia’s death on his conscience.
‘You will wish to bring your crusaders with you, lord bishop?’ said Conrad.
‘What’s left of them,’ replied Bernhard. ‘Many went back to Germany, two hundred were killed at Fellin and another one hundred and fifty succumbed to their wounds in the aftermath. With further deaths, desertions and those men who are staffing Sir Richard’s hill forts I can muster two hundred men to accompany you, Conrad.’
‘It is very cold in Livonia and Estonia during the winter, lord bishop,’ began Conrad.
‘Especially for one so old,’ interrupted Hans, who had obviously drunk too much medalus.
Bernhard leaned forward and glared at him. ‘Old, Brother Hans? I hope you are not casting aspersions on my ability to take part in a winter march.’
Bernhard was a veteran of many campaigns, a hard-bitten soldier who as the Lord of Lippe had fought in many wars. But it had been twenty-three years since he had entered the monastery of Marienfeld as a simple monk, and at the age of sixty.
‘May I be blunt, lord bishop?’ asked Conrad.
‘Why not,’ said Bernhard. ‘Tact and subtlety have never been the hallmarks of the Sword Brothers.’
Conrad took a large gulp of his drink. ‘Your men will suffer greatly on the march to Leal, and when we get there I wonder if they will become a hindrance rather than a help. I fear the former. I also worry about you, lord bishop. Notwithstanding your achievements in war this land can be unforgiving and makes no allowances for reputation or age.’
‘He has a point, lord bishop,’ said Sir Richard as a servant laid a large wooden bowl filled with cooked meat on the table, another placing freshly baked bread either side of it. Hans’ arm shot out faster than a crossbow bolt to grab a piece of bread.
‘It touches me greatly that the Duke of Saccalia and the Marshal of Estonia are so concerned about my welfare and that of my men. God will decide when and where I die, so until that time I intend to remain as active as possible. You two can fret about my age; I will concentrate on more martial matters. As for my men, they volunteered to take the cross and so their lives, like yours, are in the hands of God. I think the Almighty is more than capable of looking after their welfare without your help. Besides, one overriding consideration dictates my actions.’
‘Which is, lord bishop?’ queried Sir Richard.
‘That a prince of the Holy Church out-ranks a duke and a marshal.’
So two hundred men of Bishop Bernhard’s contingent set out for the winter campaign against Varbola. Conrad was far from happy and Hans and Anton thought half would be dead before they reached Leal. But Sir Richard furnished them with thick felt capes and winter clothing, in addition to leather boots and warm headgear. Bernhard himself, invigorated by the prospect of returning to his campaigning days, went among them to fortify their spirits. Conrad stood with his two friends, Riki and Tonis in Lehola’s outer compound as the bishop rallied his men.
‘We go to do God’s work, my brothers. After your great victory at Fellin no enemy will be able to withstand your courage and fortitude. The Marshal of Estonia, a man blessed by the Lord who is undefeated in battle, leads us against the heathens. He is Livonia’s King David who smote the Hittites with his courage.’
The men, all wrapped in cloaks, gave a mighty cheer and raised their spears in acclamation.
‘Who is this King David, Susi?’ asked Riki.
‘The man who united the Israelites,’ answered Anton for his friend, ‘just as Conrad will unite the Estonian tribes.’
‘There is a hard march ahead first,’ said Conrad. He looked at his two friends. ‘I want you two to keep an eye on the bishop to ensure he does not freeze to death on the way.’
Though the bishop’s soldiers were all on foot Sir Richard had supplied them with a number of sleds pulled by ponies to transport their supplies. As Riki and Tonis led their men from Lehola, Leatherface’s crossbowmen following, Conrad gathered the commanders of the crusaders to him. Only two wore mail armour, the other four being attired in knee-length gambesons. Split at the front from the crotch down, the garments were put on over the head and fastened by two buttons at the neck. The padding that covered the body comprised cotton and wool between two outer layers of linen, all quilted vertically; the padding on the arms being two layers only. Gambesons offered some protection against sword, axe and spear strikes, though decreasing the penetration of weapons, not preventing them altogether. But at least they were comfortable and warm and offered good protection against the cold and bitter winds the men would experience on the march.
Most of the six were older than Conrad, but his position, reputation and membership of the Sword Brothers earned him their respect, albeit grudging.
‘Keep an eye on your men,’ he told them. ‘It may be sunny but marching through snow is strength sapping. They will be tempted to stop and get their breath; don’t let them, especially if there is any wind.
‘Our pace will be slow to conserve our stamina and there will be frequent rest stops. When we do stop get your men out of the wind.’