by Peter Darman
‘And yet you ask him to betray his own people,’ probed Bernhard.
Conrad walked back to his horse and placed his foot in a stirrup.
‘I asked him to save his people, lord bishop. To save them from raiders, foreign incursions and slavers.’
He hauled himself into the saddle as the others also walked to their mounts. He pointed at Andres.
‘And after Harrien has been brought under the protection of the Sword Brothers, Jerwen will likewise be freed from tyranny. That I swear.’
On the way back to the village Conrad explained his plan to Andres and Hillar, afterwards both of them leaving the party to rejoin their men camped among the oaks approximately a mile to the west of the village. A few minutes after they had departed Hans and Anton began glancing behind apprehensively after seeing plumes of black smoke ahead, coming from the village.
‘Everyone for miles around will be able to see that smoke,’ warned Hans.
‘That is the idea, my friend,’ Conrad told him. ‘So everyone in Varbola can see that Lumandu is occupied.’
‘What if there are other enemy garrisons in the area, Conrad?’ asked Anton.
‘Then they will see what happens when the Army of the Wolf bares its fangs,’ replied Conrad lightly.
Leatherface rolled his eyes. ‘You won’t be saying that if an army of heathens from hell pours out of that fort. No offence, bishop.’
Bernhard grinned like a mischievous child. ‘No offence taken, dog of war.’
Conrad had the feeling that the venerable bishop was having the time of his life. He glanced right at the trees where Hillar and Andres hid their men. Ahead was the village in the middle of an expanse of flat land, part meadow, part arable land; all now covered in deep snow. The single track, in reality a small indentation in the snow, pointed like a spear at the buildings that stood dark and stark against the white background. Like most Estonian villages the hall of the chief stood in the centre of the settlement with huts, barns and animal pens around it. In front of the chief’s hall was an open space where markets were held and where the villagers gathered when summoned by their lord.
Conrad and the others dismounted in front of the hall and led their horses into the building. In the open space Riki’s warriors and Tonis and his wolf shields stood in their ranks. Once the horses had been secured in the hall Conrad and the others walked outside to take up their positions. He called Leatherface over, pointing to two barns at right angles to the hall on the right side of the open space.
‘Get your men in those two barns, in the hay lofts.’
The veteran mercenary looked across to the huts opposite the barns, on the other side of the space.
‘Half my men will be in the barns. The rest will be among those huts so we can shoot at the enemy from two directions.’
‘Tell them they are not to shoot until we have rescued Riki,’ Conrad ordered.
Leatherface raised an eyebrow. ‘You are going to snatch Riki from under the noses of the enemy, Brother Conrad?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Then may God go with you, for sure as hell no one else will.’
He offered his hand to Conrad and called his men together to brief them before the enemy came. If the enemy came.
Two mounted sentries were posted just to the north of the village to watch the track for any movement. It was now approaching midday and Conrad was worried that the garrison had not taken the bait. The two fires that had produced the smoke were continually fed to ensure unbroken smoke pillars. But as the time passed and men walked up and down to stop their limbs from going numb, Conrad began to feel a knot tighten in his stomach. He imagined Riki’s body hanging from the ramparts or, worse, him being tortured for the amusement of the fort’s commander. Leatherface and his men loitered in the haylofts, checking their weapons and quivers. The fifty Harrien, now leaderless, stood to the right of Tonis’ wolf shields – a hundred and fifty men in mail armour, helmets and felt boots ready to form a shield wall to keep the enemy amused until the Jerwen and Rotalians launched their surprise attack. It was deathly quiet and the tension was unbearable. Then there was a great cheer as one of the sentries rode into the space. He jumped from his pony and headed for Conrad. Immediately everyone broke ranks to gather round to hear what he had to say.
The bearded Harrien took off his helmet and tucked it under his arm.
‘Enemy approaching, Susi.’
‘How many?’
‘Hundreds.’
A ripple of excitement coursed through the warriors, tinged with trepidation.
‘To your positions,’ shouted Conrad. He pointed at the sentry. ‘Go and fetch your companion.’
He rushed back to the hall’s doors where Hans and Anton stood with Bishop Bernhard. Tonis began shoving his men into position as the Harrien closed the space between them and the wolf shields.
‘If I can ask you to remain here with Hans and Anton, lord bishop,’ requested Conrad. ‘I have work to do.’
Bernhard drew his sword. ‘Not likely. I came here to fight.’
Hans looked at Conrad in alarm.
‘I would advise against it, lord bishop.’
Bernhard looked around at the men in front of him closing ranks, the blue sky above and the snow underfoot. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
‘If God wills that this day is to be my last on earth then so be it, but He would not want me to stand meekly by while good men are fighting and dying, and neither can you. So attend to your duties, lord marshal, and allow me to attend to mine.’
They found him a helmet and a shield bearing a leering wolf’s head and placed him behind the rear rank of the wolf shields. One hundred and fifty men arrayed in three ranks was a thin shield wall, but their task was to hold the enemy until reinforcements came. Conrad held out his hand for Hans and Anton to perform their pre-battle ritual. Bernhard spotted it. Without asking he placed his hand on top of theirs.
‘Oh, Lord,’ he said loudly, ‘watch over Thy servants and give them victory over the heathens this day.’
‘As dust to the wind.’
‘As dust to the wind,’ they all replied.
Conrad left Hans and Anton with the churchman and he made his way over to the Harrien, walking around their right flank to the centre of the line. He pointed to the haylofts and the huts beside which crossbowmen were sheltering.
‘I want ten men to accompany me to rescue your lord when the enemy appears. The crossbowmen will cover our withdrawal.’
Everyone volunteered so he selected the ten nearest and then waited for the enemy to arrive. He did not wait long.
The Ungannians left their ponies outside the village, aside from their commander, standard-bearer and half a dozen of the latter’s guards, and Riki. He was riding next to the commander as his warriors flooded into the open space to form a shield wall around fifty paces in front of Conrad’s men. The shields of the Ungannians bore a golden eagle symbol and presumably so did the banner held by the standard bearer, though it hung limply in the windless air. Chiefs began shouting at their men to form a shield wall and Conrad saw that although the front ranks all wore helmets, many among those behind had either no head protection or were wearing leather caps. That was the good news; the bad being that more and more were entering the village. He put on his helmet, took his shield off his back and slipped his left arm through the inner straps. He saw Riki looking over at him as the enemy commander began pointing at the white-uniformed figure standing in front of the Harrien warriors. Then he witnessed Riki making a lightning-fast swing with his right arm to ram his dagger into the Ungannian’s neck, before spurring his horse forward towards one of the gaps in the enemy line. The horse shot forward as Conrad raised his sword and ran towards the enemy.
‘To me.’
The ten selected men kept pace with him as Riki came towards them, followed closely by the Ungannian horsemen determined to spear him. Two fell from their saddles, the rest pulling up sharply. Conrad gave tha
nks for the expertise of Leatherface and his men. He heard a great cheer, stopped to push up his helmet as Riki halted his horse and vaulted from the saddle.
‘Good to see you my friend,’ he shouted.
But Riki was staring past him at the sound of cheering that was getting closer. Conrad turned to see Tonis leading the wolf shields in a headlong charge. In his enthusiasm to rescue Riki he had forgotten to inform Tonis that he would lead a small group to snatch Riki from the enemy. When Tonis had seen him rush forward he had led the Saccalians into the charge. Not to be outdone, the rest of the Harrien were following. His plan to stand on the defensive was in tatters as the wolf shields and Harrien crashed into the enemy.
The Harrien warriors cheered and slapped Riki on the arm as they rushed past the pair to clatter into the enemy. The Ungannians, momentarily stunned by the loss of their leader and the sudden assault, gave ground. But their chiefs were screaming and shouting to rally their men. They put themselves in the front ranks and soon a furious mêlée began. And then numbers began to tell.
Riki, his face half hidden by his helmet’s wide nasal guard, drew his sword and grinned.
‘I brought the enemy so that you may slaughter them, Susi.’
He ran back to join his men, thrusting his sword into enemy bellies, disappearing among a forest of helmets. Conrad praying that Andres and Hillar were on their way, yanked down his helmet, pulled the axe from his belt and went to join the battle.
In a shield wall, as long as those in it are disciplined, well-armed and trained, once the two sides clash the press of bodies makes it hard to wield weapons to maximum effect. And if shields are kept tight to bodies then casualties can be remarkably light. But in a swirling, free-for-all mêlée weapon strikes come from every direction and loosed arrows and crossbow bolts add another element of danger. Confusion was everywhere and so were enemy weapons.
Conrad tripped over a dead body and stumbled forward, the back of his helmet taking a blow as he did so. He instinctively swung his axe backwards and turned to see a warrior similarly armed clutching a great two-handed axe with a wickedly curved blade. The warrior screamed and chopped down with his weapon to literally cleave Conrad in half. The Sword Brother made no attempt to parry the blow or stop it with his shield. To do so would split his shield, sever his arm and quarter his body. He leapt aside as the iron blade missed him by inches. He rammed his shield forward into the warrior and barged him to the ground. But all thoughts of finishing him off were abandoned as he heard a wild scream to his right and turned just in time to see a man, bare headed and unarmoured, running at him clutching a spear with both hands. Having no time to get out of the way he went down on one knee and tried to deflect the spear. But he was too late and the point went through the leather and wood to miss his arm by a whisker. He swung his axe and chopped it forward to embed it in the forehead of his assailant, who suddenly stopped screaming, grunted and collapsed to the ground.
Conrad wrenched free his weapon just in time to face a circle of enemy warriors. He appeared to be the only one of his army left alive as he threw his now useless shield to the ground transferred his axe to his left hand and drew his sword. The ground, formerly covered in snow and ice, was now slush mixed with blood and littered with dead and dying men. Four assailants faced him but his chief concern was his footing.
‘Keep moving; in battle if you stop moving you will be cut down as sure as night follows day.’
The words of Brother Lukas, the man who had taught him how to fight, had been seared into his mind. The sounds of battle, of weapons clashing and men shouting and screaming filled his helmet as the warrior in front of him swung his hand axe, a wild swing that did not have the reach to harm Conrad. Conrad lunged forward to drive his sword point into the man’s left thigh.
The warrior crumpled as an axe blade gashed Conrad’s right arm, slicing through the chainmail and aketon underneath to cut flesh. He winced as a stinging sensation shot through his arm but he instinctively slashed right with his blade, gashing the axe man’s neck, forcing him to stagger backwards. He spun and saw the spear-armed warrior behind him, whom he thought would have run him through while was he pre-occupied with his other assailants, standing as if frozen. The man then gently toppled forward on to the ground, a spear lodged in his back.
Other missiles hissed through the air, an arrow glancing off Conrad’s helmet, another hitting the enemy on his left. It struck him in the left leg and he staggered slightly. But he was a large man with a thick beard and his battle rage kept him on his feet. He came at Conrad with a succession of axe blows, the brother knight using his own axe to either deflect or block the blows. But the strikes were powerful and Conrad was forced back. He heard horns being sounded and a crescendo of war cries but had no idea who they belonged to. He stepped back and tripped over a dead body, falling on his back. The bearded brute hollered in triumph, spread his arms to signal his impending victory and let out of mournful groan as two crossbow bolts slammed into his chest, piercing his mail corselet. With his last ounce of strength he forced himself forward, dropped his shield, clutched his axe with both hands, raised it above his head and straddled Conrad. The Sword Brother propped himself up with his left hand and thrust his sword upwards into the man’s genitals. The warrior gave a high-pitched scream and fell silent as another crossbow bolt went into his neck just below the larynx. He toppled forward to land on Conrad’s arm, pinning him to the ground.
Conrad’s left arm felt as though it had been immersed in a fire and his right arm was also throbbing. He tried to move but any attempt to remove his arm from under the dead warrior resulted in a searing pain shooting through his shoulder. He shouted out in frustration and wished he had not as six helmeted figures suddenly loomed over him, all wearing leather armour breastplates and armed with blood-smeared axes and swords. He stared up at them through the vision slits of his helmet and prepared to die.
‘Are you hurt, Susi?’ shouted one above the din of battle.
Relief coursed through Conrad.
‘Shields, shields,’ the one who had spoken to him shouted.
More warriors grouped round as the man knelt beside him.
‘Get that stinking bastard off my arm,’ shouted Conrad.
The warrior gestured to his comrades who hauled the corpse away. Then one grabbed Conrad’s left hand and tried to pull him to his feet. The brother knight emitted a blood-curdling shriek of pain. The warrior let go and he fell back on the cold, wet ground.
‘Get this helmet off,’ Conrad said through gritted teeth.
His helm was yanked off.
‘My left arm is broken,’ he told them.
As a wall and roof of shields formed around them the warriors assisted him to his feet, his left arm dangling uselessly by his side, the axe strap still wrapped around his wrist. His right forearm was also bleeding.
‘The battle is won, Susi,’ grinned the warrior with the sword, who Conrad guessed was a chief judging by his expensive mail armour, age and sword. He then noticed the insignia on his and his men’s shields: a stag.
‘You are Lord Hillar’s men?’
He nodded. ‘Yes, Susi. We reached the village from the north and attacked the Ungannians from behind while the Jerwen entered the settlement from the other direction. The fighting will not take long now.’
Conrad, exhausted and in great pain, gave him a thin smile and then his feet gave way under him.
‘Get him some water,’ shouted someone and moments later a water bottle was held to his lips. He drank the cold liquid and managed to stabilise his footing. Then he noticed that there were no sounds of battle, just moans and cries coming from those who had been wounded. He looked up and saw that grey clouds had replaced the blue and he spotted small snowflakes in the air. They took him to the chief’s hall that was soon filled with other wounded men where a healer set his left arm between two splints and bandaged his right.
Darkness soon enveloped the village as parties counted the dead and loaded t
he bodies on carts for cremation outside the village. The Army of the Wolf brought its ponies into the village and packed them in the barns, those of the Ungannians too. Of the latter nearly three hundred had been killed, the majority falling when Hillar and Andres had led their men into Lumandu. Thankfully both Tonis and Riki still lived, though their men had suffered many dead and wounded following their reckless charge. He was also relieved to see Hans and Anton, both of whose surcoats and chainmail were ripped and had links missing. But they were both unhurt.
‘Where’s the bishop?’ Conrad asked.
‘Administering to the dying,’ replied Anton, ‘and saying mass over the dead before they are cremated.’
‘He is most unhappy that they won’t be buried,’ added Hans, ‘but he demurred when Hillar told him that if he felt so strongly about it then he could dig their graves himself.’
‘Make sure he doesn’t get a chill,’ said Conrad with concern, ‘at his age we can’t be too careful.’
‘He gets annoyed about the constant references to his age, Conrad,’ said Hans. ‘He has a fiery nature.’
Conrad was in great pain but he insisted on holding an impromptu council of war, at which he issued his orders after Riki informed him that there was but a handful of men left guarding Varbola. A fire had been started in the hall, around which the wounded were gathered, the horses having been taken to nearby barns. But there were gaps in the roof and walls and the wind had increased to make the interior cool. Conrad shivered in his cloak.
‘Riki, I must ask you to return to Varbola to demand its surrender. At least you will have Tonis, Andres and Hillar for company.’
He looked at his friends and Leatherface. ‘It is important that there are no Sword Brothers or mercenaries present. The fort’s fall should be to fellow Estonians.’
‘What if the commander rejects our demands?’ said Hillar.