by Peter Darman
‘Crows, the lot of them,’ sniffed Gunzelin. ‘Still, at least they allow us to kill pagans and rape their women.’
The count twisted his mouth in a frown. ‘We are here to convert the pagans, not kill them. Otherwise the bishops will not have anyone to bore rigid with their sermons and the king will have no subjects to tax.’
Gunzelin looked up at the ramparts. ‘We had better leave a few of our own men here to ensure we have a bolthole to run to in the event things go wrong with the expedition.’
The count grinned. ‘Surely you are not suggesting that the king’s advance will not be a straightforward victory parade?’
Gunzelin cleared his throat and spat on the ground. ‘People don’t take kindly to having homes burned to the ground and their women raped or enslaved. These pagans might not be so willing to accept having Valdemar as their lord after what we have done to them.’
‘After what you have done to them, you mean,’ the count corrected him. ‘Still, I agree with your idea concerning retaining some of our men in this fort. See to it.’
The count left a hundred of his spearmen to garrison the hill fort, Gunzelin impressing upon the commander that his immediate priority was to secure the stronghold. If Lyndanise was overrun and burned then so be it. He was to offer no assistance to the Danish garrison, the priests and their servants and the nearly two hundred other non-combatants who had arrived with the crusaders during the spring. During the battle with the pagans it had been the Danes who had suffered the heaviest losses, over three hundred being killed, the majority among the axe men. Nevertheless, Valdemar was able to leave a sizeable garrison behind to secure Lyndanise: ninety foot knights, eighty sergeants and two hundred axe men. It was more than enough to safeguard the archbishop and the two bishops, oversee the captured Estonians who were building the timber wall that would surround the settlement, as well as others who were working on a wooden church in the middle of Lyndanise. Also to provide security for the vessels that were anchored in the bay. Though the surrounding countryside was rich in game that could be hunted and fish that could be caught in the rivers and lakes, over half of the cogs had returned to Denmark to collect tools, weapons, armour, wagons, carts, clothing and more priests to bring to what would become Reval. Valdemar was determined to make the settlement a strong and powerful trading centre, while the churchmen wanted to create a shining beacon of the Holy Church in the barren, hostile northern fringes of Christendom.
It was an overcast day when the army at last set out from Reval following a lengthy service given by the Archbishop of Lund in which he insisted on going among the assembled soldiers drawn up outside the settlement to bless their standards. He was particularly enthused over the new standard of the king, the white cross emblazoned on a red background, that he and the two bishops insisted on all holding as they blessed it and the king. Then the dozens of carts and wagons began their journey south, harassed quartermasters shouting and pleading with their drivers to either be patient or hurry up as they organised them into a long line. The army’s foot soldiers marched either side of them to protect their valuable cargoes and also to take it in turns to drive them. Many contained sacks of wheat, barley and oats, others barrels of cured pork, mutton and fish. There were also carts carrying cheese and ale. As well as food supplies, cargoes included tents, tent poles, spare canvas, weapons, armour and tools. Normally each wagon would be pulled by two oxen but there had been no room for these beasts in the fleet that shipped the crusaders to Estonia and so local ponies had to be pressed into service as draught animals. The quartermasters had at first complained that they would expire from the effort but soon came to appreciate their hardy natures and great stamina.
Valdemar, being a monarch, had no time for logistical necessities and left the wagons behind as he rode at the head of his bodyguard in the van of the army. Count Henry and his brother accompanied him, their fifty knights and squires leading the warhorses of the count, the king and his men. The fifty German lesser knights rode behind the royal party, the other fifty of their number riding on the flanks and ahead of the army to act as scouts. Henry had ordered his brother to desist his campaign of rapine as soon as Valdemar had declared his intention of marching into the Estonian hinterland. The villages and hamlet around what would become Reval had been despoiled and their inhabitants either killed, enslaved or forced to flee, but the count wanted information concerning the nature of the terrain the army would be moving through, any enemy strongholds they would encounter and the size and location of any pagan war bands. This meant persuading locals to volunteer information, which meant acting in a friendly manner towards them.
‘So no raping, burning or torturing,’ he told Gunzelin as his brother prepared to lead a patrol.
Valdemar cast a disapproving look in the direction of the count’s brother, who spat on the ground, nodded to his brother and then galloped away with a score of riders.
‘I really do not see the point, count,’ said Valdemar. ‘As I have told you the pagans are beaten and will submit to me when they see the size of my army.’
Henry saw no reason to argue with the king, who seemed to have become intoxicated with the notion of being a holy warrior.
‘Of course, majesty. But one can never have enough information.’
‘You must instruct your brother not to indulge in rape and taking slaves, count,’ said the king as they continued to ride through a land of rolling hills and dense woods. ‘We are warriors of Christ not servants of the devil.’
‘Yes, majesty.’
Gunzelin might have had a predilection for rape, looting and arson but he was also a good soldier. When the army made camp that night after travelling a total distance of six miles he returned with his men after having ventured three times that distance to the south. The king’s grooms were serving him and his guests a meal of roasted venison served on silver plates and accompanied by the soft music of three minstrels, two playing gitterns, the other the harp. The king sat at the head of the table facing Count Henry, two of the king’s senior officers seated on one side of the table, two of the count’s lieutenants on the other. The grooms filled silver cups with fine wine as the king listened intently to one of his commanders.
The flap of the pavilion opened and one of the king’s bodyguards walked over to his lord and bowed his head, stooping to whisper in Valdemar’s ear.
‘Show them in,’ said the king. The knight bowed and left the table.
‘It appears your brother has returned to us, Count Henry. He brings a guest with him.’
All eyes turned to the entrance as the knight reappeared in the company of a blonde-haired man wearing green linen leggings, leather shoes and a brown woollen tunic. His neatly trimmed beard and leather belt decorated with bronze indicated that he was a person of substance. Gunzelin walked in to stand in front of the king, bowing his head and nodding at the Estonian to do likewise.
‘This man lives in a village to the south in a region named Jerwen, majesty,’ said Gunzelin.
Valdemar regarded the bearded Estonian with blue eyes for a few moments. He estimated his age at around forty.
‘How do you converse with this man?’ asked the king.
‘He speaks German, majesty, after a fashion,’ replied Gunzelin. ‘He says that many men and their families have fled south, to a place called Lehal…’ He looked at the man.
‘Lehola,’ said the Estonian.
‘It would appear that the pagans are gathering there, majesty,’ said Gunzelin.
‘Very strong,’ said the Estonian in a strange accent.
Valdemar smiled at him. ‘Very strong?’
The man nodded.
‘Well, then,’ said the king, pointing at the Estonian, ‘God has sent us this man to convey our orders. We will march to this place, this Lehola, and there do battle with the pagans.’
Count Henry was pleased with his brother. He wondered if Valdemar was losing his faculties but smiled and bowed his head to him nonetheless.
*****
Lehola hill fort was full to bursting with the knights and squires of Sir Richard, wolf shields and their families and the men who had been mustered from the surrounding villages. The stronghold was a huge structure, its outer timber wall being four hundred yards long and two hundred yards wide, with thirteen shingle-roofed towers at regular intervals along its length. The main gates were located in the southern wall and led to the outer compound that was filled with huts, stables, storerooms and forges. In the north of the compound was an inner fortress that had its own timber wall that contained more stables and storerooms. It was also the site of the great hall and a stout timber armoury where a multitude of axes, shields, spears, daggers, mail armour and helmets were stored.
The cleared area around the fort was filled with felt tents and shelters made from withies, the air permanently filled with the smoke of a hundred campfires. Conrad had arrived at the fort two weeks earlier, and five days later Andres came from the north in the company of five hundred Jerwen warriors on foot and around the same number of women, children and the elderly, many of them from Harrien. There were also a number of men who had fought under Alva and had fled south in the aftermath of the Battle of Lyndanise.
It was a week afterwards when Hillar arrived at Lehola leading three hundred Rotalian warriors, all eager to serve under the Marshal of Estonia whom they were convinced would rid their homeland of the accursed Oeselian devils.
‘That will have to wait,’ declared Conrad as he sat in Lehola’s feasting hall with the other commanders of his ragtag army. ‘First we have to convince the Danes not to advance any further south.’
He sat at the top table in the hall beneath the banner of the Sword Brothers that had been given to him by Master Rudolf. The hall had been cleared of the families that had arrived at the fort and had been housed in the hall and surrounding rooms by Sir Richard, who had taken pity on their miserable condition. His knights and squires were housed in the huts in the inner compound, their horses quartered in the adjacent stables. A group of children, urchins with bare feet and dirty faces, suddenly ran into the hall through the open doors, giggling and squealing as they chased each other.
‘Can a man get no peace in this world?’ bellowed Sir Richard, his deep voice filling the chamber and frightening the children who disappeared as quickly as they had arrived.
‘Shut those doors,’ he shouted to the guards standing outside the hall. They duly closed the entrance and the English lord smiled at Conrad. The fire that burned in the great stone hearth in the centre of the chamber crackled and spat as it consumed the thick logs piled on it.
‘Andres,’ said Conrad, ‘what did your scouts discover of events in the north?’
The thickset warlord from Jerwen rubbed his beard. ‘The crusaders spent many weeks at Lyndanise after their victory, strengthening their defences. But now they are on the move south. Many foot soldiers and men of iron on horses.’
The Estonians had come to despise the mailed crusader knights on their warhorses that they had nicknamed ‘men of iron’. The local warriors on their ponies could not withstand such heavily armed and armoured soldiers and even men in a shield wall had to have iron nerves to resist a charge of mounted knights.
‘How far are they away?’ asked Sir Richard.
‘Five days, perhaps less,’ answered Andres.
‘What of the Oeselians?’ said Peeter whose leg had now fully healed.
‘They make no moves but undoubtedly watch them like we do,’ answered Hillar.
‘What are you going to do, Conrad?’ asked Hans, who was busy eating a plate of cold sausages. Johann and Anton were tucking into rye bread and cheese, washed down by delicious honey mead.
‘Perhaps we could send a courier to the Danes,’ suggested Anton, ‘to request they turn around and go back to, what is that place?’
‘Lyndanise,’ said Andres.
‘That would make us look weak,’ said Peeter. ‘Strength should be matched with strength.’
Sir Richard nodded. ‘I am apt to agree with Peeter.’
‘Master Rudolf was quite specific concerning not provoking the Danes,’ insisted Conrad. ‘I do not wish to start a war.’
‘I have no intention of telling you what to do, Conrad,’ said Sir Richard sternly, ‘but you need to back up your words with force. We have gathered many men here and they should be used to enforce your will. The bishop intends that Saccalia should remain under his lordship, Jerwen too for that matter.’
‘And Rotalia,’ added Hillar.
‘So you see, Conrad,’ continued Sir Richard, ‘much depends on your actions in the next few days.’
‘Then what would you suggest, lord?’ asked Conrad, the burden of responsibility weighing heavily on his shoulders.
‘Draw a line in the sand,’ answered the English lord, ‘from which you will not retreat and they will not be permitted to cross.’
‘And where would that line be, Sir Richard?’ enquired Anton.
‘The Pala River,’ said Sir Richard.
Located four miles north of Lehola the Pala flowed from east to west, meandering through the pine forests that covered Saccalia. It always broke its banks in the spring when the snows melted, flooding the meadows that flanked the river. In the summer the level of the river dropped by half as the current slowed and the floodplain meadows were covered in lush grass, gently sloping sand banks being uncovered as the water retreated in the heat of July and August. Even though it was now autumn and the days were shortening and getting wetter, the river was still shallow and slow moving.
‘That is where they will attempt to cross,’ said Tonis, his shield slung on his back as he stood with Peeter, Sir Richard and Conrad pointing across the Pala at the meadow across the river. ‘Down the ancient track that cuts through Jerwen.’
Conrad could see the rutted track that ended at the sandbank on the northern shore and that began just behind them to bisect the floodplain meadow before snaking its way through the adjacent forest.
‘How deep is the water here?’ asked Conrad, a buzzard flying overhead catching his eye.
‘Three feet, maybe less,’ said Peeter.
‘And around a hundred feet across,’ added Tonis.
‘But it is really no deeper either side of this ford,’ said Peeter, ‘so a whole army could cross the length of this meadow with ease.’
Conrad looked left and right at the river that curved north and disappeared around a quarter of a mile to the west and coming into view in the east at around the same distance. He spotted a pair of black stork flying over the slow-moving, blue waters of the Pala. Five years ago he was part of a crusader army that had laid siege to Lehola, fighting off a pagan relief force in the process. And now he commanded an army of pagans that sought to halt the advance of Danish crusaders. It was most strange.
‘So this is our line in the sand,’ mused Conrad to no one in particular.
Sir Richard heard him. ‘Just in case the Danes decide to cross that line, I have stockpiled enough supplies in Lehola to withstand a three-month siege. Snow will be on the ground by then and hopefully the Danes will not have the means or inclination to remain in Saccalia.
‘I will order the evacuation of all the women and children to Fellin today.’
‘It would be best, though, if they could be evacuated from Saccalia altogether if the worst happens,’ continued Sir Richard.
‘To Wenden?’ said Conrad.
Sir Richard nodded. Conrad looked into the sky that was beginning to fill with light grey clouds. Soon it would be raining every day and getting progressively cooler. Not ideal conditions for a large number of women and children to undertake a long trek.
‘There will be no need for that,’ said Conrad, trying to convince himself. ‘The Danes will see reason.’
Sir Richard said nothing as he stared across the river, deep in thought. He and the others looked round when they heard hooves on the grass and saw a lone rider approach on a brown pony. Like Tonis he wo
re chainmail armour, a helmet and had his shield slung on his back. He brought his pony to a halt and raised his hand to Sir Richard.
‘They have arrived, lord.’
Sir Richard glanced at Peeter and smiled.
‘Time to return to Lehola,’ he said to Conrad. ‘You should welcome the new arrivals.’
‘What new arrivals?’ queried Conrad.
Sir Richard hauled himself into his saddle. ‘You will discover soon enough.’
They rode back to the fort with the messenger, the forest gloomy and cool as the sky continued to fill with dark clouds. By the time they reached Lehola a light drizzle filled the air and the guards in the towers were wrapped in their cloaks. The ground to the south and west of the fort was filled with tents and temporary shelters but now the area beyond the eastern ramparts was filled with long lines of ponies and warriors erecting tents. Conrad looked in surprise at Sir Richard who had a wry smile on his face. In the inner compound they dismounted and servants took their horses to the stables. They entered the main hall and Conrad heard happy voices and laughter coming from the feasting chamber. Walking through the open doors he saw Hans, Anton and Johann standing near the fire with Andres, Hillar and another long-haired individual who had his back to him.
‘Here they are,’ said Hans.
The stranger turned and clapped his hands together.
‘What’s all this I’ve been hearing about a warlord of Estonia?’
Conrad could not believe his eyes. ‘Lord Kalju!’
He locked Conrad in an iron embrace and slapped him hard on the back. ‘I heard stories of an Army of the Wolf and a man I knew being created lord of all Estonia so I thought I had better come and see for myself what all the fuss is about.’
He shook the hand of Sir Richard. ‘Good to see you again.’
‘And you, my friend’ replied the nobleman.
‘I trust Eha is well, lord,’ said Conrad.
‘She sends her affections,’ replied Kalju.
They sat and slaves brought hot broth from the kitchens. The Sword Brothers diplomatically avoided all reference to the last time they had seen the Ungannian chief as they talked about the Danish incursion to the north.