by Peter Darman
During his disastrous campaign against Reval Prince Mstislav had ignored Narva believing, quite rightly, that if the former fell then it would be easy to seize the much smaller and weaker Narva. But now the Sword Brothers were waging a campaign against Reval’s outposts, capturing them one by one to isolate the Danish port. And Conrad was determined that the Army of the Wolf would seize Narva. For one thing it was the strongest outpost of the Danes in Wierland. If he took it then the Wierlanders would be free from Danish oppression and would most likely flock to his banner. And Wierland was the last Estonian kingdom that was not controlled by his warlords.
Those warlords now stood warming themselves around a campfire as Conrad explained to them and Sir Richard his intent to capture Narva. The air reeked of horseflesh, or more specifically ponies, a thousand of the beasts having carried the five hundred and fifty men to Wierland and another five hundred having transported their tents, spare clothing and weapons, fodder and food.
‘We know that Narva has not only a Danish garrison,’ said Conrad, ‘but also that the commander, a rogue by the name of Dietrich von Kivel, has a large number of German mercenaries in and around Narva.’
‘How many?’ asked Sir Richard, a fur cap covering his bald scalp.
‘At least as many as we have brought to this place, perhaps more, your grace.’
Leatherface spat into the fire. ‘If they get wind of us and retreat inside the palisade then with their numbers we’ll never be able storm the place.’
‘He is right, Susi,’ said Andres. ‘We have no siege engines and we will lose many men if we have to assault Narva.’
Conrad looked at their faces illuminated by the flames of the fire. He suddenly realised that if he ordered it they would fling themselves against Narva’s defences leading their men, such was their loyalty to him. In that moment he felt like a king who could save or waste men’s lives on a whim. Then he remembered that he was merely a simple brother knight, albeit one recently promoted to castellan.
‘My friends, I have no intention of attacking Narva,’ he assured them. ‘I intend to fight the enemy in the open.’
‘Why should they leave their fort, Susi?’ asked Riki.
‘I was wondering that,’ added Anton. ‘Only an idiot would leave a strong position to fight a battle in the snow.’
‘An idiot or a tyrant,’ replied Conrad. ‘I have taken a keen interest in our friend Commander Kivel. I asked Andres and Riki to send scouts into Wierland to not only reconnoitre the kingdom but also discover more about the Duke of Narva.’
‘Is that his title?’ said Hans, holding his hands to the flames.
‘He is, by all accounts,’ continued Conrad, ‘a favourite of King Valdemar who bestowed the title on him before his departure for Denmark and subsequent imprisonment. He has taken advantage of the king’s absence to aggrandise himself at the expense of the Wierlanders. But more importantly, he believes himself to be a great general, which we will use to our advantage.’
‘You are confident that if we manage to lure this Kivel out of Narva we can defeat him, Conrad?’ asked Sir Richard.
‘With your help, your grace, I am certain of it,’ smiled Conrad. He looked at the others. ‘It might fortify your confidence to know that we will not be alone in our fight, if everything works out the way I hope it does.’
He was met by a circle of confused and quizzical expressions.
‘Have you been at the ale?’ teased Leatherface.
‘Conrad has a secret that has been impossible to tease out of him,’ said Anton, ‘but his general air of smugness suggests that he is confident of victory.’
‘All I will say is this,’ said Conrad. ‘It is my intention to free Wierland from the Danes and I will offer battle to this Kivel in the full confidence that we can defeat him on our own. If not then we will withdraw and wait until the spring when we will return with a larger army.’
After the impromptu gathering the leaders returned to their men and Hans and Anton went in search of food. The camp had been established in a large pine forest just north of Lake Peipus and southwest of Narva. The trees afforded shelter from the harsh winds that often whipped up the lake and also provided firewood and materials for stables and lean-tos. Guards patrolled the perimeter and scouts were sent out every day to ensure the garrison of Narva did not venture from its warm stronghold until provoked. All the men who had marched to Wierland were volunteers, veterans of previous campaigns; men who were well armed and equipped and who could be relied upon in battle. Even Ulric’s one hundred soldiers were now warmly clad and appropriately armed, a far cry from the miserable wretches that had journeyed from Germany in the company of Bishop Bernhard.
Conrad walked among them after the meeting, sharing jokes and listening to them reminiscing about Varbola and Dorpat. Their mood was relaxed and confident, sentiments shared by the other contingents in camp. Even Ulric seemed less morose than usual. Conrad shared some soup with ‘the bastards’ and then continued on his tour of the camp, stopping when he sensed he was being followed. He spun round and saw Leatherface holding up his hands.
‘Don’t run me through, Master Conrad, I was only seeking a bit of company.’
‘You should take care,’ Conrad admonished him, ‘creeping around camp might get you shot by one of your own men.
The mercenary drew his cape around himself and quickened his pace to walk alongside Conrad.
‘My boys are too well trained to shoot their commander. So, you reckon you can beat this Danish lord.’
‘He’s German, but yes, we can beat him.’
Leatherface chuckled.
‘What’s so funny?’ asked Conrad.
‘I was just thinking about the first time you were given a command, when Sir Richard was besieged by the Cumans.’
‘I remember.’
‘So do I,’ smiled the mercenary. ‘You could not come up with a plan and did not think much of the Saccalian rabble that you were leading. But you managed to forge them into a force that defeated the Cumans and relieved Sir Richard.’
Now Conrad smiled. ‘I was lucky.’
‘No, you had the ability; it just had to be teased out of you. You’ve come a long way since then, Master Conrad, Marshal of Estonia.’
Conrad stopped and looked around at the tents, groups clustered around campfires and the rows of ponies under temporary shelters.
‘In the spring it will be fifteen years since I first stepped foot in this land. I sometimes wonder where those years went.’
‘Easy,’ said Leatherface. ‘Fighting wars and killing enemies.’
Conrad walked on. ‘And now we are close to bringing the war to an end. Estonia is almost ours and next year the bishop will look to the conquest of Oesel.’
Leatherface smiled ruefully. ‘This war might be coming to an end but there will be others to fight, mark my words. That’s the thing about crusades, Master Conrad, there is an endless supply of heathens to either convert or send to hell.’
‘All the more work for you, then.’
‘Me? I reckon that I’ve got a couple of years left in me at most. These winters wreak havoc on my tired old body.’
‘So your plan is still to buy that alehouse in Riga, then?’ said Conrad.
Leatherface gave him a wink. ‘That and acquire a young wife with child-bearing hips.’
Conrad shuddered. The thought of him mauling a young woman was truly appalling. Later, when Hans and Anton were asleep on the floor of their crowded conical tent, Jaan also deep in slumber, Conrad strapped on his sword and went to the tents in the centre of the camp where the supplies and spare weapons were stored. It was a numbingly cold night, still and silent, his breath misting in front of him. A sentry, a Jerwen, snapped to attention as he approached.
‘All is quiet?’
‘All is quiet, Susi.’
He walked to one of the tents, its flap tied shut, looked around and then untied the straps to give him access. Inside were spare cloaks, shields and surcoat
s bearing the emblem of the Sword Brothers, all stacked on a table constructed from pine branches to stop the damp seeping into the wood, leather and cloth. The capes and surcoats were wrapped in hides tied with leather cords. As a pale light entered the open flap his eyes got accustomed to the dim interior and focused on one bundle on top of the pile. He laid a hand on it, closed his eyes and said a silent prayer that they would come. But he could wait no longer. Eventually the whereabouts of the camp would be reported to Narva’s garrison and he wished to retain the element of surprise. He opened his eyes. The die was cast for good or ill.
The next morning the warriors mustered well before dawn in their contingents with ‘the bastards’ in their companies, the cold, damp air making men cough and wipe their runny noses. In January northern Estonia only had six hours of light each day so it was imperative that Sir Richard and his horsemen were goading the enemy garrison when dawn broke. Squires and knights shivered and then sweated as they checked the shoes of their horses. Winter horseshoes were wonderful things, being equipped with spikes that gave the animal traction on snow and ice, preventing a horse from slipping. But they also had to be checked several times a day to ensure that compressed snow had not built up under the hoof, which could lead to bruising. But he had to admit that even in the pre-dawn gloom, once covered with their blue caparisons sporting a white boar’s head with gold tusks they looked very impressive.
Sir Richard and his knights wore the same colours on their surcoats and shields, and even the lesser knights, those men who had originally come with him from England who had no squires, rode horses protected by padded caparisons. In truth Sir Richard’s two classes of knights were no different from each other and his squires were all over the age of eighteen and veterans of the wars in Livonia.
Sir Richard, his helm resting on his saddle, spoke to Conrad as his men filed out of camp. Squire Paul, ever the faithful if insubordinate servant, stayed beside him. They had gone over the plan and reconnoitred the ground and now all that remained was to put the scheme into action.
‘What if they refuse to accept my challenge?’ said Sir Richard.
Conrad shrugged his shoulders. ‘Then we will withdraw, your grace, and warm ourselves by our fires until the spring. But I am confident that they will be unable to resist the temptation. If all else fails let Paul insult them. That should be enough to draw them out.’
‘I will not lower myself to reply,’ sniffed Paul.
‘God be with you, Conrad,’ said Sir Richard.
‘And you, your grace.’
He wheeled his warhorse around and joined the rear of his column of men, Paul accompanying him. Conrad walked back to his tent where Anton and Hans waited, like him dressed in their mail armour and white surcoats, shields slung on their backs. They also wore thick woollen leggings on their legs instead of mail chausses and thick felt boots on their feet. Jaan stood beside them dressed in a gambeson that was too large for him, holding a short spear in his hand.
‘You will stay here with the camp guards,’ Conrad told him. ‘And don’t sneak away and try to catch up with us.’
‘I want to fight,’ he complained.
‘And I want wings so I can fly into Narva,’ replied Conrad. ‘But wanting and having are two different things so you will stay here and prepare our evening meal.’
Jaan looked around in frustration at crossbowmen checking their bowstrings and the full quivers hanging from shoulder straps, warriors tucking hand axes in their belts and ‘the bastards’ adjusting their helmets. The air tingled with the prospect of battle, he could almost taste it, and he wanted to be a part of the great adventure.
‘Your time will come, Jaan,’ Hans told him. ‘We were like you once.’
‘And we had to obey orders, just like you do,’ Conrad told him.
The three Sword Brothers walked to the head of the column of foot soldiers to lead the advance out of the forest. Their destination was Lake Kadastiku, only half a mile northeast of the forest. Like most inland lakes in Livonia and Estonia it froze in November and the ice did not melt until the following May. Now, in the depths of winter, it was an expanse of thick, iron-hard, snow-covered ice.
The pace was slow to conserve stamina, no one speaking as the dawn at last began to break to herald a cloudless, bitterly cold day. The sky turned pink, blue and orange as a pale sun peeked above the treeline. There was no conversation, just a crumping sound as boots trod in the snow and mail armour rustled as men tramped through the whiteness. The majority carried round shields covered with leather and rimmed with iron to withstand blows on their edges. In comparison ‘the bishop’s bastards’ were equipped with almond-shaped shields painted with red crosses and they now wore mail armour over their gambesons. Every man wore a helmet and was armed with either a spear or an axe. It was a testimony to their success in battle that every man was also armed with a sword, a collection of blades captured from the Oeselians, Russians, Danes and Ungannians.
Kadastiku Lake was surrounded by evergreen forest, a bell-shaped expanse of water that in spring and summer was surrounded by low, sandy shores but now was buried beneath snow and ice. There were a few islands in the lake: thin strips of land where trees and shrubs grew. Conrad’s men tramped across the ice towards the largest of these islands in the middle of the lake, now a row of pines some two hundred paces in length rising up from the white.
‘This will be our position,’ Conrad told his commanders. ‘We will form a line in front of the trees and wait for Sir Richard to return.’
‘Followed by the enemy,’ said Hans.
‘God willing,’ replied Conrad.
Anton looked around at the snowy wilderness. ‘If God bothers with this forlorn place.’
The tribal contingents of the Army of the Wolf were intimately acquainted with their drills and formations by now. They had marched and fought together for over four years and represented a veteran formation second only to the Sword Brothers themselves. Master Rudolf had lent Conrad fifty of the order’s crossbowmen, Sir Richard having brought the same number. Leatherface, appointed commander of all of them, now went among them to slap a few arms and shake more hands. He had no need to bellow orders or make threats. He knew his missile men knew their craft and so his task was to reassure them that they were the best at what they did.
It was the same with the Estonians. Tonis, having jumped at the opportunity to rejoin the Army of the Wolf, Hillar, Riki and Andres stood among their men sharing jokes, indulging in idle chatter and enquiring after their wellbeing. Conrad placed the Jerwen on the right of the line, with the Harrien, Rotalians and Saccalians standing beside them from right to left. Everyone knew that the place of honour in the battle line was on the right, though they knew not why, and so Andres and his men thought it very prestigious that they should be placed there. Conrad placed Ulric and his men on the extreme left of the line, next to Tonis’ men. Because they were on the flank they would be exposed to frontal and flank attacks but Conrad believed that they had earned the right to be given an important position in the battle line. The crossbowmen, who also had shields on their backs, were positioned all the along the line, just behind the front rank, ready to shoot volleys of bolts into an attacking enemy. The Army of the Wolf presented a compact mass of brown and green, bristling with spear points glinting in the sunlight and topped by a sea of gleaming helmets. Behind the row of pines thick snow covered the shrubs around them.
Leatherface came up to Conrad who was standing a few paces ahead of the front rank, peering at the line of trees that marked the edge of the frozen lake.
‘Three hours of daylight left,’ he said to the mercenary.
‘It only takes a few minutes to win a battle,’ came the reply.
‘If there is a battle,’ complained Conrad, scanning the area in front for any signs of movement. He turned and walked back towards the warriors drawn up five deep and standing in close formation, though not too close that they would not be able to use their weapons.
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��You should be careful what you wish for,’ said Leatherface, who suddenly sprinted back to the shield wall.
‘Load your weapons,’ he shouted before disappearing behind the line of shields.
Conrad stopped, turned and saw horsemen at the northern end of the lake, men in blue surcoats riding horses covered in caparisons of the same colour. Sir Richard’s men. The commanders of the Estonians and ‘bastards’ shouted orders and signallers blew horns to sound the alarm as Conrad walked back to his position beside Hans and Anton in the middle of the line, among Hillar’s Rotalians. Hillar himself stood in the front rank, alongside his biggest and most powerful warriors, his thick leather cuirass protecting his large chest and an axe in his hand. Conrad took his shield off his back and slipped his left forearm through the straps on its inner side as Sir Richard cantered towards the white-clade figures. The warriors began banging the hafts of their spears and axes on their shields in salute as he approached. He raised his lance in acknowledgement and brought his warhorse to a halt in front of Conrad. He removed his helm, his face framed by the mail coif underneath.
‘They took the bait, Conrad.’
He turned and pointed his lance at a break in the trees at the far end of the lake.
‘There appears to be more of them than we envisioned.’
Conrad peered across the dazzling white surface of the lake to see black shapes clustering in the gap. He could see no horsemen.
‘They have no riders, your grace?’
Sir Richard looked back at the increasing numbers of men on foot swarming on to the lake.
‘They did have when they were pursuing us.’