Army of the Wolf

by Peter Darman

  They came from the north, hundreds and then thousands of horsemen dressed in yellow, white, brown, red, grey and blue calf-length topcoats and similarly brightly coloured baggy trousers. The head of the clans and their families and bodyguards wore mail or lamellar armour, though the poorer members of the horde were attired in sheepskin garments for armour protection. The commanders and richest among the clans sported gilded pointed helmets, mail aventails and moulded metal face masks, though the majority wore conical fur-edged felt hats on their heads.

  Soon the grassland to the south and east of the castle was filled with thousands of Cumans who rode their lithe horses to within fifty paces of the outer perimeter defences before loosing arrows at the timber walls with their recurve bows. They then whooped with joy and returned to the great swirling mass of a seemingly disorganised host to allow others among their ranks to dart forward and loose arrows at the walls, which either embedded themselves in the wood or bounced off the dry, seasoned timber to fall on the earth berm at the foot of the walls or into the stake-filled ditch. The Cumans did not bother to mass to the west or north of the escarpment where the slope was vertical.

  In the great swarm of ill-disciplined Cumans was a compact group of horsemen in mail and helmets armed with lances and arranged in ordered ranks. In the front rank was a standard bearer carrying a huge banner that fluttered in the easterly breeze that had picked up as the afternoon waned. It showed a golden snow leopard on a blue background – the emblem of Pskov.

  Conrad looked intently out of the shooting loophole in the timber wall and stared at the flag.

  ‘That’s the banner of Pskov, I recognise it from when we fought the Russians at Odenpah,’ he said to Hans.

  Both of them had collected crossbows and three quivers holding twenty quarrels each from the armoury and now stood with the rest of the garrison on the walls of the outer defences. Master Thaddeus had strengthened the latter and the high timber wall contained ‘cells’ on top of the rampart along the entire length of the perimeter. The cells had three sides and were open at the rear to allow members of the garrison to enter and exit. Finally, a shingle roof to give protection against the weather and enemy projectiles topped the rampart.

  ‘I thought we had a peace treaty with the Russians,’ said Hans, resting the metal stirrup on the front of his crossbow in one of shooting loops in the timber wall.

  ‘We did, until Henke decided to rip it up at Dorpat,’ replied Conrad.

  ‘I wonder if Kalju and his family are still alive?’ said Hans.

  Conrad thought of the Ungannian leader and his wife and prayed they were safe behind the thick walls of Odenpah.

  ‘I hope so,’ he replied, secretly cursing Henke.

  ‘Looks like the Russians want to talk,’ said Hans, peering through the loophole.

  Conrad did likewise and saw a rider approaching the closed perimeter gates. He carried a sprig of fir in his right hand and held it aloft to symbolise that he came in peace, notwithstanding the thousands of horsemen that ringed the castle. He walked his horse to the end of the bridge that led to the gates but halted his mount when Rudolf called to him.

  ‘That is close enough. State your business.’

  The rider looked baffled as he looked up at the two towers either side of the gates and the timber wall with loopholes above them. He knew he was being watched but he could see no faces.

  ‘Soldiers of Wenden,’ he called in a heavy Russian accent, ‘my commander, Lord Yaroslav, and the leader of the Cuman horde wish to speak to Master Rudolf of the Order of Sword Brothers.’

  ‘He is well informed,’ remarked Conrad.

  He and Hans were positioned near the gates and could hear what was being relayed by the Russian clearly enough.

  ‘Why should I talk to men who have violated the holy soil of Livonia?’ answered Rudolf.

  ‘Lord Yaroslav desires a parley so that all grievances can be settled,’ replied the rider, who was still holding the sprig aloft.

  ‘I will give my answer in one hour,’ shouted Rudolf.

  The Russian let his arm drop, wheeled his horse around and trotted back to his master. Minutes later Conrad heard Rudolf’s voice coming from behind the cell he was occupying with Hans.

  ‘Brother Conrad, get down here.’ The tone was sharp.

  Conrad placed his crossbow against the wall, ambled over to the walkway in the rear of the cell that linked all the other compartments along the perimeter wall and then descended the log steps that led to the top of the earth rampart. He saw Rudolf standing in the company of Walter and Henke at the base of the slope, a look of fury on the master’s face. Conrad went on down the log steps in the rampart and joined them.

  Rudolf turned on his heels and began striding towards the castle. ‘You are all with me,’ he snapped.

  He did not speak further until he reached the master’s hall, ordering everyone to assemble in his office while he disappeared into one of the other offices. Henke looked his usual nonchalant self while Walter wore a frown. Conrad shuffled uneasily on his feet. They were standing in a line in front of the master’s desk when Rudolf entered the room and tossed the flag that Henke had captured at Dorpat on the table.

  ‘This is what they have come for,’ said Rudolf, taking his seat on the opposite side of the desk.

  ‘You should burn it in front of them,’ said Henke.

  ‘That would lead to war,’ commented Walter.

  ‘We already have a war,’ sniffed Henke.

  ‘Yes, we do,’ said Rudolf, pointing to him and then Conrad. ‘Thanks to you two.’

  Henke shrugged. ‘They will never breach the outer perimeter.’

  Rudolf shook his head. ‘But they can plunder and burn at will, Henke, have you considered that? They have already burned their way west and there is nothing to stop them plundering all the way to Riga itself.’

  Henke was totally unconcerned. ‘If they do the garrison of Riga will have something to do, at last.’

  Rudolf stood up slowly. ‘It is all a great game to you, Henke, isn’t it? Well unfortunately your episode at Dorpat threatens the whole of Livonia.’

  He looked at the folded flag on the table. ‘I am mindful to give it back.’

  Walter looked most concerned. ‘I think that would be unwise, master.’

  Rudolf looked at his deputy. ‘Oh?’

  ‘A Christian kingdom cannot come to an accommodation with barbarian invaders who kill and burn God’s children.’

  Conrad could see that Rudolf was weighing up his options as he sat back down and began drumming his fingers on the table. On the one hand Walter was right but the realist in Rudolf realised that if he defied the invaders then it might drag Livonia into an unwanted war.

  ‘I will meet with this Yaroslav to see what he has to say for himself,’ announced Rudolf at length. ‘You three will attend me.’ He jabbed a finger at Henke and Conrad. ‘But you two will keep your helmets on your heads and your mouths shut. Now get out.’

  Conrad went to the armoury to exchange his kettle helmet for a full-face helm. The thickset armourer who had issued him with his weapons earlier stood with his arms folded on the other side of the counter.

  ‘You want a full-face helmet now?’

  ‘And a lance,’ said Conrad.

  ‘Where is your spear?’

  ‘My spear?’

  ‘You took a spear from the armoury earlier,’ gloated the armourer, ‘have you lost it, Brother Conrad?’

  Conrad remembered that he had left it at the perimeter wall. ‘I left it at the outer wall.’

  The armourer began to shake his head. ‘Weapons are expensive, Brother Conrad, and have to be accounted for.’

  ‘I will send a novice to get it,’ replied Conrad, ‘now kindly give me a lance. There are thousands of Cuman heathens in front of the walls and I don’t want to be late for my appointment with them.’

  The armourer disappeared into the dim interior of the building and returned with a lance that he passed to C
onrad.

  ‘Try not to lose it.’

  Conrad went to the stables where young novices were saddling four warhorses for the meeting with Yaroslav.

  He told one to go to the outer perimeter to fetch his spear and return it to the armoury while he finished saddling the horse. It had already been fitted with its white padded caparison that covered its body, neck and head, the insignia of the Sword Brothers emblazoned on each side. He finished tightening the saddle straps and examined the horse’s hooves and shoes. There was no need, but that was as he had been taught and so he went through the pre-battle drill methodically. The horse turned its head and grunted.

  ‘You kick me and I’ll run you through,’ he threatened.

  Destriers they called them, the great warhorses that were purchased in Germany and shipped to Livonia so the brother knights could ride them in battle and smite the heathen. Each of the order’s garrisons had twelve of these magnificent, pampered creatures, all of them well-bred, highly trained stallions that weighed over a thousand pounds and stood up to sixty-nine inches tall. Only brother knights rode warhorses, the theory being that the front rank of a mounted charge should comprise large horses because their weight gave greater force to the impact of the rider’s lance. In addition, current wisdom held that only a physically capable, mentally stable mount that a rider could count on could face the challenges of combat that average horses might find overwhelming. Conrad agreed that the warhorses were big and intimidating but they required a small army of farriers, stable hands and veterinaries to keep them in fighting order, which meant they consumed a vast amount of resources. Conrad preferred the local ponies and in truth they and the less expensive horses were used for day-to-day duties, but the order’s commanders insisted that great stallions were priceless when it came to winning battles.

  Rudolf and Walter were leading their horses from the great stables into the courtyard when Conrad’s horse resisted as he tugged on its reins to get it out of its stall. Stallions were used for warhorses because of their natural aggression and hot-blooded tendencies, but they could also be stubborn.

  ‘Perhaps you should saddle a pony,’ quipped Henke, curling his lip at Conrad’s difficulties.

  ‘Perhaps you should hold your tongue.’

  Henke released his reins and stomped over to him. The latter likewise let go of his horse’s reins to confront the older knight.

  ‘Why don’t you make me,’ Henke challenged him.

  Conrad stepped back as alarmed novices and stable hands retreated in panic. His hand went to the hilt of his sword as Henke stood before him, wearing a stupid grin.

  ‘You two, get outside!’ bellowed Rudolf.

  Henke curled his lip once more and went back to his horse as Conrad grabbed the reins and ordered his own horse to follow him, which amazingly it did.

  Walter was already in the saddle when he walked into the courtyard to face a fuming Rudolf. His eyes darted between Henke and Conrad.

  ‘You keep your helmets on and your mouths shut, otherwise I will hand you over to the Cumans, and that is no idle threat.’

  Henke looked unconcerned as he hoisted himself into the saddle and placed his helmet on his head, Conrad fitting his helm before he too gained his saddle. They followed the helmetless Rudolf and Walter across the drawbridge and down the track to the outer gates. He wondered if the mayor of Pskov, Domash Tverdislavich. was waiting for them outside the walls. He looked at the back of Rudolf’s head. The master was wearing a coif that hid the burn scars to his neck that he had suffered many years ago at Holm during a raid led by Pskov’s mayor. Rudolf was already in a bad mood. Conrad wondered if the sight of the man who had caused the disfigurement of his body would sour the parley.

  The great oak beam that sat horizontally in the iron brackets in the rear of the gates was removed and the four horsemen trotted from Wenden’s perimeter over the bridge that spanned the ditch. Conrad looked left and right and saw hundreds, thousands, of horsemen drawn up on the great expanse of grass to the south of the castle. He recognised the horsemen from Pskov in their neatly ordered ranks, lamellar armour and the banner of the city fluttering in the breeze. But around them were groups of wild horsemen in brightly coloured topcoats wearing a variety of armour and carrying spears, javelins, bows and even lassos.

  ‘Remember to keep your mouths shut,’ hissed Rudolf as they continued to walk their horses forward, towards the banner of Pskov.

  Suddenly a group of riders broke ranks and trotted towards them: two Russians and two others in bright tops and trousers. The thousands of other horsemen on their lean mounts remained stationary. Conrad heard the gates being shut behind him as Rudolf held up a hand to signal a halt as the enemy horsemen slowed and stopped around twenty paces from them. The two Cumans were bare headed and Conrad was surprised to see that one was a women. He scanned the Cuman ranks behind them, wondering how many of the riders were female.

  ‘I am Yaroslav Nevsky,’ said one of the Russians, who removed his decorated helmet with a nasal guard to reveal a man with a thin face and long nose. ‘Representative of Prince Mstislav, lord of Novgorod and Pskov.’

  ‘I am Rudolf Kassel,’ said the master, ‘master of Wenden Castle and knight of the Order of Sword Brothers.’

  He held out a hand to Walter. ‘And this is Brother Walter, my deputy commander.’

  Walter bowed his head ever so slightly, a gesture reciprocated by Yaroslav. The latter turned to the Cuman man in the saddle beside him.

  ‘Master Rudolf, this is Lord Gerceslav of the Cuman people and brother-in-law to Prince Mstislav. And beside him his wife, the Lady Afanasy.’

  Conrad heard Henke snigger inside his helmet but Rudolf and Walter said nothing, though the latter did bow his head to the Cuman woman. He was always the observer of etiquette. The formalities over with, Rudolf got straight to the crux of the matter.

  ‘Why does Novgorod make war upon Livonia and in doing so break the treaty agreed between your prince and the Bishop of Estonia that is barely a year old?’

  ‘The prince is angry that his standard was stolen by the Sword Brothers,’ replied Yaroslav. Conrad noticed that the Cuman male was glaring at Rudolf in an attempt to intimidate him.

  ‘A letter or courier would have been preferable to open negotiations on the matter rather than sending an army,’ replied Rudolf.

  ‘Then you do not deny that you possess the prince’s standard,’ said Yaroslav.

  ‘I do not,’ replied Rudolf.

  Yaroslav spoke some words in a strange language to Gerceslav who smiled triumphantly.

  ‘Then you will not object to surrendering it to my safekeeping,’ said Yaroslav.

  ‘That will not be possible,’ replied Rudolf flatly, tilting his head at Gerceslav. ‘You have brought Russian soldiers into Livonia, along with these barbarians from the east, and have proceeded to pillage and burn your way here. This I cannot tolerate.’

  Yaroslav leaned forward. ‘Master Rudolf, have you not seen the size of the army that surrounds your castle?’

  ‘Army?’ sneered Rudolf. ‘It looks more like a band of thieves to me.’

  Henke’s laugh from inside his helmet was clearly audible. The Cuman male, clearly frustrated by his inability to understand what was being spoken, shot some words to Yaroslav who calmly explained what the castellan had said. He looked at Rudolf, spat on the ground and pointed at him.

  ‘You die.’

  He then wheeled his horse around and rode back to his people, followed by his striking looking wife.

  ‘I assume this meeting is over,’ remarked an unconcerned Rudolf.

  ‘I regret any bloodshed that will ensue,’ said Yaroslav.

  Rudolf tugged on his horse’s reins to wheel the beast around. ‘You should have thought of that before you invaded this land.’

  They returned to the gates as Yaroslav and Gerceslav galloped back to their horsemen. As the Sword Brothers trotted through the gates there was a great cheer and the blast of trumpets and horns
and the earth shook as thousands of riders charged.

  ‘Get those gates closed,’ shouted Rudolf as the enemy tried to sweep into the perimeter.

  Guards heaved at the heavy oak barriers to deny the Cuman vanguard entrance as others slammed braces against the gates and the oak beam was placed back in its brackets. Conrad heard a succession of dull thuds as the crossbowmen in the towers and on the walls shot a volley of quarrels against the attackers.

  ‘Back to the stables,’ ordered Rudolf, digging his spurs into his charger.

  Walter, Henke and Conrad followed as the first Cuman arrows came over the wall to strike the turf behind the ramparts. They trotted up the track, across the drawbridge and rode into the courtyard where Lukas stood with his group of novices, all wearing gambesons but carrying no weapons. Conrad smiled. He remembered his time as a novice when he had been frustrated at not being allowed to carry a weapon until Lukas deemed him competent to use one. He slid off his horse as the novices came forward to take the destriers back to the stables, removing his helmet as one took his reins and led the great beast away. Beyond the confines of the courtyard came the muted cheers and shouts of the attackers as they assailed the walls.

  ‘Hopefully they will amuse themselves battering their heads against our defences to allow the grand master to organise a force to destroy them,’ said Rudolf, cocking his head towards the tumult. ‘Lukas, go to the perimeter and instruct the crossbowmen to save their ammunition. The enemy has no siege engines so I see no point in shooting all our crossbow bolts.’

  Lukas saluted, told the novices to stay in the castle confines and walked briskly towards the drawbridge.

  Rudolf pointed at Henke and Conrad. ‘Back to your positions on the wall. And don’t waste ammunition.’