Army of the Wolf

by Peter Darman

  ‘Valdemar comes like a ravenous wolf into our world,’ declared Bernhard.

  ‘The Army of the Wolf,’ muttered Volquin.

  The others looked at him with perplexed expressions.

  Volquin smiled to himself.

  ‘If you have some good news, grand master,’ said the bishop, ‘then please share it with us, for such tidings are in short supply in Riga at this present time.’

  ‘Master Rudolf at Wenden told me an intriguing tale before he left to return to Wenden,’ replied Volquin. ‘When the Russian heretics and their barbarian allies ravaged northern Livonia the garrisons of Lehola and Fellin were in great danger.’

  Stefan yawned with boredom while Nordheim looked into his empty silver flagon.

  The Duke of Saxony was confused. ‘Lehola, Fellin?’

  ‘Former strongholds of the pagan leader Lembit,’ explained the bishop, ‘currently garrisoned by a brave crusader from England named Sir Richard Bruffingham and a small number of hardy knights. Please continue, grand master.’

  Volquin smiled at the bishop. ‘Master Rudolf realised that Sir Richard would be in grave danger and so was intent on sending a relief force to Lehola and Fellin. But Wenden itself was imperilled and he could spare no troops from the garrison, while Treiden was also besieged, which also had to be relieved.’

  ‘But you informed me that Master Rudolf had relieved Sir Richard,’ interrupted the bishop.

  Volquin nodded. ‘Indeed, lord bishop, but it was not Master Rudolf who relieved Sir Richard but four of his brother knights.’

  ‘Four?’ said the duke with surprise.

  ‘That is correct, my lord,’ replied Volquin. ‘Or to be precise, Conrad Wolff and three others.’

  The bishop’s ears pricked up. ‘Conrad Wolff?’

  ‘The man who saved you outside Riga?’ said Bernhard.

  ‘And who rid the world of Lembit by his own hands at our victory on St Matthew’s Day,’ added the bishop.

  ‘It was Brother Conrad who led the relief of Lehola,’ said Volquin, ‘raising the siege and going on to harass the enemy as they fled east.’

  The duke chuckled. ‘I am aware, grand master, that the Sword Brothers had earned a deserved reputation for military prowess, but even you must concede that perhaps the tale of four of your brother knights raising a siege and inflicting a defeat on an army of thousands is a little far-fetched.’

  ‘They were not alone, lord,’ said Volquin. ‘Brother Conrad earned the trust of a disparate group of Saccalians, Jerwen and Rotalians, former enemies who accepted him as their commander. Because of his given name they believe, simple souls that they are, that Conrad Wolff is imbued with the spirit of the immortal wolf that safeguards the Estonian people.’

  Stefan laughed. ‘You surely do not condone such witchcraft, grand master?’

  ‘Of course not,’ snapped Volquin irritably. ‘But the point is that Brother Conrad was trusted by the Estonians and accepted as their leader. They called his force “the Army of the Wolf”, which went on to give valuable service against the enemy. I believe that it could be of use to us as a counterweight to Danish ambitions.’

  ‘Where is this “army” now, grand master?’ enquired the bishop.

  ‘Camped at Wenden,’ replied Volquin.

  ‘And your proposal?’ probed the bishop.

  Volquin’s eyes burned with enthusiasm. ‘Indulge it. Give Brother Conrad a formal position of command over it so he may attract more recruits to his standard. Reinforced by the garrison of Wenden and Sir Richard’s knights King Valdemar will think twice about seizing the whole of Estonia.’

  ‘A bold plan,’ said Bernhard admiringly.

  Stefan’s eyes narrowed as he perceived a chance to make the grand master look foolish.

  ‘Bold but misconceived. Grand master, are you really recommending raising an army of pagans from among a people that we have spent a considerable amount of time, money and lives subduing? One wonders what His Holiness would think of such a thing?’

  ‘He would approve of taking measures that preserves God’s kingdom,’ growled Volquin.

  Stefan looked surprised. ‘Really, grand master? If he has given Estonia to King Valdemar then surely we must do nothing to impede the implementation of the Holy Father’s wishes.’

  ‘I have no knowledge that the Holy Father has granted Estonia to King Valdemar,’ said Bishop Albert, ‘and in any case the King of Denmark crusades on behalf of the Holy Church and not to expand Danish territory. Any land he takes whilst on crusade belongs to the Holy Church, which by definition means he must transfer it to the control of Livonia, which is after all God’s kingdom on earth.’

  ‘We must have an army in the north to act as a counterweight to Danish ambitions,’ stated Volquin bluntly.

  ‘I am apt to agree,’ said the bishop, ‘especially as our attention for the foreseeable future will be on Semgallia.’

  ‘What about Sir Richard?’ asked the duke. ‘Will he not expect to be made commander of this pagan army?’

  ‘He has fought beside Brother Conrad on several occasions,’ replied Volquin, ‘and knows him to be a valiant and pious knight. Besides, Sir Richard has the command of Lehola and Fellin to occupy him and if the Danes march south he will have his hands full keeping them out of Saccalia.’

  ‘Are you really suggesting, grand master,’ said Stefan dismissively, ‘that the King of Denmark will fight another Christian lord?’

  The Duke of Saxony guffawed. ‘Why not? He has spent years doing that in Germany.’

  ‘The fact is that there is nothing to stop him marching all the way to the gates of this city if he so desires,’ remarked Bernhard.

  The bishop placed his hands together. ‘That is why we must have a counterweight, as the grand master has suggested.’

  *****

  But as summer gave way to autumn the Danes made no advance south from Lyndanise, being content to send parties of horsemen to steal food and livestock from the local population. Angry that the Bishop of Estonia had been killed during the pagan attack on their camp, the crusaders made no attempt to curtail their more base instincts, indulging in rape and murder as they ventured far and wide. Their autumn of rapine had two consequences: the population of Harrien and Wierland soon came to loathe the Danes, notwithstanding that the majority of atrocities was carried out by the lesser knights of Count Henry of Schwerin, and many of the villagers who lived near Lyndanise fled their homes to seek sanctuary in Jerwen or Saccalia. They avoided Rotalia altogether, which was under the tyranny of Sigurd and his Oeselians.

  At Wenden the Estonians who had accompanied Conrad back to the castle spent the summer being part of the workforce that rebuilt the settler village at the foot of the castle’s northern ramparts. That summer an increasing number of new settlers – families from Germany – arrived by riverboat with nothing aside from the clothes they wore and the promise of a new life in Livonia under the protection of the Sword Brothers. They were promised some land to farm, a cabin for a home and a few chickens, pigs and goats to supplement the food that they would grow in the fields they would work in. As with the indigenous Livs they had to give a proportion of their produce to the Sword Brothers, which not only fed the garrison of Wenden but was also sold to merchants in Riga if there was a surplus. The farmers could also supplement their food by learning to fish the local well-stocked lakes and River Gauja, or use a bow to hunt the game that inhabited the surrounding forests. Master Rudolf encouraged the latter, issuing bows and arrows free of charge from the castle armoury to male settlers and organising weekly training sessions in archery. In this way he hoped to raise a fledging militia for what was now a large village.

  The return of Master Thaddeus with the brother knights and sergeants following the reverse in Semgallia resulted in him designing a timber wall with a ditch in front of it that was erected around the village to prevent a repetition of what had happened to the original settlement. Wenden bustled with activity as carts filled with timber r
eturned from the forests to provide materials for cabins and palisades, other wagons brought stone from the quarry to the east for the castle’s towers and battlements, farmers toiled in the fields that had not existed only a few years before, and Andres, Hillar and Tonis drilled their respective contingents in between being labourers. The summer was warm, the rivers, lakes and forests provided plentiful amounts of food, life was good at Wenden and war seemed a thousand miles away.

  Conrad stood with Ilona before the grave of his child and wife in the castle’s cemetery. She had placed freshly cut flowers at the foot of the headstone. He was angry with himself that he had still not learned to read but he knew what the letters carved in the stone said well enough. He visited the final resting place of his wife and child as often as he could, though rebuked himself always that it was not enough. He looked at the gardener trimming the grass and plucking weeds from between the paving stones laid to give easy access to the growing number of graves that were filling the walled cemetery.

  ‘At least none of Wenden’s brother knights were killed,’ Conrad said at last.

  ‘And sergeants?’ asked Ilona, her long black locks tied behind her slender neck.

  ‘Five dead.’

  ‘I have often wondered why sergeants are not brought back for burial,’ she said.

  Conrad shrugged. ‘It is one of the rules of the order. Sergeants are reckoned to be inferior to brother knights, being recruited from towns or villages. No sergeant can rise beyond his rank to be a brother knight.’

  ‘And yet you did,’ she teased him.

  ‘Actually I was never a sergeant. But you’re right. I was trained to be one until fate took a hand and I saved the bishop’s life. He promised that I would be a brother knight, along with Hans and Johann.’ He looked at her. ‘Anton was always going to be a brother knight because of his noble family. But I and the other two were destined to be sergeants until fate dictated otherwise. But then I decided to leave the order and become a farmer until…’

  His voiced trailed away and he looked back at the grave. Until his wife and child had been killed and he had been sorely wounded, saved only by the healing skills of Ilona.

  She laid a hand on his arm. ‘The memory is still raw?’

  ‘When I am away I can put it to the back of my mind but when I am here it seems like only yesterday.’

  ‘God is merciful, Conrad, and time will heal your wounds.’

  ‘Thank you for placing flowers on the grave, Daina would have liked that.’

  She placed an arm around his shoulders. ‘You have no need to thank me.’

  ‘One day I will be buried here, and then I will be united with my wife and child.’

  ‘I hope not for a long time, Conrad.’

  They stood in silence for a few moments, the cemetery ordered and serene below the now completed mighty gatehouse of the castle. There was no wind and so the banners bearing the insignia of the Sword Brothers hung limply on the flagpoles of the towers flanking the entrance to the castle courtyard. Conrad became aware of footsteps behind him and turned to see Kaja a few paces away. She smiled at him but stopped when she was spotted. She held a bunch of flowers in both hands.

  ‘I came to place these on your family’s grave, Susi.’

  Ilona grinned at her. ‘Kaja has been most helpful since her arrival here, helping me collect herbs for my medicines.’

  ‘And practising with my spear,’ added Kaja.

  Ilona beckoned her forward to allow her to place her flowers on the grave.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Conrad. ‘Have you been well treated since your arrival here, Kaja?’

  She flashed him a smile. ‘Yes, Susi, there is good hunting in these forests.’

  ‘Kaja can use a bow as well as a spear,’ said Ilona.

  ‘A proper warrior woman,’ said Conrad.

  ‘Conrad, get your arse to the master’s hall. Master Rudolf requests your presence.’

  He sighed when he heard Henke’s voice, wearily raising a hand to acknowledge the brother knight’s message. Henke turned, paced from the cemetery and hoisted himself into the saddle of his horse. He then led a patrol of mounted sergeants down the track towards the perimeter gates.

  ‘I do not like him,’ sniffed Kaja.

  Conrad smiled. ‘A wise woman, too.’

  He left the cemetery and walked up the rise that led to the now functioning drawbridge, its huge two chains allowing the wide, thick wooden deck to be raised to be flush with the gate in the event of an enemy breaching the outer defences, which Conrad thought unlikely. Two sergeants on guard snapped to attention as he passed and walked through the gatehouse into the enormous courtyard. The great stone dormitory was along the western side along with the stabling block where the livestock were kept, including the warhorses. Conrad thought them a waste of resources and space: they had been taken across the Dvina into Semgallia only to be taken back across the river after having achieved nothing. But warhorses were a sign of rank and wealth and the order would rather give up its sergeants than its pampered stallions.

  A sergeant opened the door to the master’s hall and Conrad stepped into the corridor. He turned left and entered the hall with its vaulted ceiling where the weekly meetings of the brother knights were held. On the left were doors leading to offices in which clerks fussed over records that itemised every activity of the garrison. One of the doors opened and Master Thaddeus appeared, resplendent in his red surcoat given to him by the bishop when he had been created Quartermaster General of Livonia.

  ‘Ah, Conrad, I trust you are well.’

  ‘Well, thank you, Master Thaddeus, or should I say quartermaster general.’

  He waved a bony hand in the air. ‘In this world I have found that titles are good for one thing and one thing only, Brother Conrad, and that is as tools for getting things done.’

  ‘We should have taken your siege engines over the Dvina with us.’

  He chuckled. ‘The bishop thought he was going to embrace friends not to battle enemies. He will not make the same mistake again.

  ‘By the way, your band of Estonian followers have proved most useful in the rebuilding of the village after it was burnt to the ground. Most useful and very enthusiastic. They appear to believe that you are the reincarnation of some sort of mythical wolf.’

  Conrad looked uncomfortable. ‘Pagan beliefs, that is all.’

  ‘I would advise you to indulge these beliefs, Conrad,’ said Thaddeus. ‘You win their hearts and make the bishop’s task of subduing Estonia far easier, especially as his eyes are turned towards Semgallia.’

  ‘We will be going back, then?’

  Thaddeus nodded grimly. ‘Oh yes, only this time our weapons and machines will be embracing the enemy. Well, things to do!’

  With that he tilted his head at Conrad and walked briskly from the hall. Conrad walked over to the door at the end of the chamber and knocked on it, the voice of Rudolf instructing him to enter from within. Wenden’s commander was sitting at his desk piled high with papers. He looked up and pointed at the chair on the other side of his desk.

  ‘Please be seated.’

  He rifled through the papers and pulled one from near the top.

  ‘I sometimes preferred it when I was a mercenary in Germany. The duties of castellan will turn me into an archivist, I fear. He waved the paper he was holding in the air.

  ‘This arrived from Riga this morning, Conrad, from the palace of Bishop Albert himself. I assume you still cannot read.’

  Conrad shook his head. ‘No, master.’

  ‘Next year the bishop, the Sword Brothers and the crusader lords who came from Germany this year will return to Semgallia to take Mesoten. You have heard that the Danes landed in northern Estonia and defeated the pagans?’

  Conrad nodded.

  ‘Well, it would appear that Bishop Albert is concerned that their king might be tempted to march his army south to seize Jerwen, Saccalia, Rotalia and Ungannia, thus completing the Danish conquest of all the Esto
nian kingdoms.’

  Conrad was taken aback. ‘The bishop had agreed to this?’

  ‘He has not,’ said Rudolf, ‘which is why he is eager to have a military presence in Estonia, an army of sorts.’

  Conrad nodded. ‘Makes sense. Under Sir Richard’s command?’

  ‘Under your command, Conrad,’ replied Rudolf, shaking the paper he held in his hand. ‘This is your commission as Marshal of Estonia.’

  The title meant nothing to Conrad, prompting Rudolf to laugh.

  ‘There are men of import who would kill members of their own family for such a title; indeed, I’ll warrant that men who have held such a title have killed their own kin to achieve it.

  ‘It means that you are now the commander of all men capable of bearing arms in the whole of Estonia. A great honour, Conrad.’

  Conrad thought his ears were playing tricks on him. ‘But why?’ was all he could say.

  ‘Why?’ said Rudolf. ‘I will tell you. Grand Master Volquin informed the bishop of your success in Saccalia and your fame among the Estonians, specifically the so-called “army of the wolf”. The bishop is eager to recruit this army to his cause. That is why.’

  He rummaged through his papers once more, pulling another from the pile. ‘I have here a missive from Sir Richard at Lehola who reports that an increasing number of families from Harrien and Wierland have sought refuge in his stronghold. They tell tales of misdemeanours committed against them by the Danes.’

  He pointed at Conrad. ‘I want you to take the warriors you brought here back to Lehola and recruit as many men from those refugees as possible. You have Jerwen and Rotalians among your followers?’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  Rudolf scratched his nose. ‘Good. Send them back to their homelands tasked with spreading the tale of the “army of the wolf” and muster any they bring back with them at Lehola. You are then to march north into Jerwen. I do not want the Danes in Saccalia and neither does the bishop.’