Army of the Wolf

by Peter Darman

  He nodded at leather face. ‘Please deploy your men.’

  The mercenary cleared his throat and spat on the ground before walking away.

  ‘Don’t you worry, Brother Conrad, my boys will shoot them down before they get anywhere near your Estonians.’

  ‘They are sending forward scouts,’ said Andres, pointing to where half a dozen riders were trotting forward.

  ‘Do not shoot at them,’ Conrad shouted to leather face. ‘Let them think we have no missile soldiers.’

  Leather face waved a hand in the air. ‘I’m not a complete idiot.’

  ‘I do not know why you put up with him,’ said Rameke. ‘He is insolent.’

  ‘But very good at his job,’ said Conrad.

  ‘Their scouts are getting closer,’ remarked Tonis.

  ‘To your positions,’ ordered Conrad, offering his hand to Andres, Hillar and Tonis. They took it and then ran to stand in the front ranks of their men. On the left wing stood the Rotalians, on their right the Jerwen who formed the centre of the line and part of the right wing. The rest of the latter comprised Tonis and his wolf shields and Rameke’s fifty Livs.

  Rameke clasped Conrad’s forearm. ‘God keep you safe, my brother.’

  ‘And you.’

  Rameke walked away and then stopped and turned.

  ‘This is the first time that Estonians and Livs have stood together in a shield wall. I did not think that I would see such a day.’

  ‘We make a new Jerusalem in this land,’ said Conrad, not sure why he did so.

  Rameke smiled, drew his sword and walked to his Livs. Conrad held out his hand and Hans and Anton laid their palms on top of it.

  ‘As dust to the wind,’ said Conrad, both of them repeating the words.

  Conrad drew his sword and walked along the front rank of the Livs, smiling when they began banging their spear hafts against their shields. Ahead of him the enemy scouts halted around two hundred paces away, the riders gazing left and right at the shield wall, the thick woods on the left and the empty space between Rameke’s Livs and the river. Space enough for horsemen to ride through to get behind the shield wall.

  *****

  Aras sat beside an impatient Mindaugas as they waited for the scouts to return. Around them a thousand riders were deployed in twenty-five widely spaced groups, each one made up of forty men in two ranks. Horses swished their tails to swat away the plague of midges that always infested ground near to waterways and others tossed their manes impatiently.

  ‘We are wasting time, Aras,’ said Mindaugas.

  Aras took off his open-faced helmet with aventail attached and wiped his sweating brow on his sleeve. Like most of the horsemen he had driven the butt spike of his two spisas into the earth next to him.

  ‘We have plenty of time, prince, so be patient.’

  Mindaugas pointed to the gap between the enemy shield wall and the river. ‘They invite us to outflank them.’

  ‘An invitation we shall politely decline,’ said Aras, looking up at the sun.

  ‘I had forgotten that it gets so humid this time of year.’

  Mindaugas was sweating too but in his eagerness to get to grips with the enemy had forgotten his discomfort. He leaned forward in the saddle and peered at the opposing row of shields.

  ‘They do not look like crusaders.’

  ‘Let’s see what the scouts have to report,’ replied Aras, removing the cork from his water bottle and taking a swig.

  The scouts withdrew into the middle of no-man’s land to share information before galloping to report to Aras. Their leader bowed his head to both him and Mindaugas.

  ‘They carry symbols on their shields that we do not recognise, lord. There are Sword Brothers among them, at least three. They wear white tunics and carry the emblem of their order on their shields. There is also a white standard carrying that symbol.’

  ‘Sword Brothers!’ hissed Mindaugas. ‘The murderers of my father.’

  ‘What about the gap next to their right flank?’ enquired Aras.

  The scout shook his head. ‘Marsh or bog, lord, very soft ground.’

  ‘Numbers?’ queried Aras.

  ‘Around eight hundred, lord.’

  Aras waved him away and he rode to the rear with his companions.

  ‘Let us destroy them and continue on our way,’ sneered Mindaugas.

  Aras looked at him and then the enemy army. ‘Whoever is in charge of that army knows what he is doing. He has secured both his flanks and now invites us to attack him.’

  ‘The let us accept his invitation and stop delaying. I will lead the attack.’

  Aras glared at him. ‘You will stay here while I appraise what we are up against.’

  He turned and beckoned forward one of his officers.

  ‘Send forward four divisions to probe them.’

  The man saluted and wheeled his horse away. Moments later trumpets sounded the advance and the four groups of horsemen trotted forward, breaking into a canter around five hundred paces from the shield wall. Each man carried two spisas that were designed to be hurled at the enemy from a range of around twenty paces, after which the rider would wheel his horse to the right and withdraw as those in the second rank rode forward and threw their javelins.

  *****

  Conrad saw the riders approaching, the sun reflecting off their expensive lamellar armour and helmets.

  ‘Shoot the horses!’ he shouted before taking his place next to Tonis in the front rank of the wolf shields. How strange life was: a few years ago he would be doing his utmost to slay as many men who carried shields with the leering wolf face symbol as possible, but now he thought of them as brothers.

  Leather face rolled his eyes when he heard Conrad’s order. He was very fond of the young brother knight who had risen high in a short space of time, but he had been a mercenary for a long time and he knew his trade. And so did his men; after all, he had trained them. He rested his crossbow on the edge of the shield of the Saccalian in the front rank.

  ‘Don’t cough or make any sudden movements,’ he told him.

  The Lithuanian horses did not wear any armour and they were moving relatively slowly, making them easy targets. They got to within a hundred paces from the shield wall when the crossbowmen released their triggers. There was a series of sharp thwacks and then horses squealed and fell to the ground, one or two rearing up in agony as bolts slammed into their shoulders and chests. Second later another volley struck the horses, more of the beasts collapsing to the ground and throwing their riders. Fifty horses were killed or wounded in the space of thirty seconds, panicking those horsemen still in their saddles who now wheeled their horses away and galloped out of range. The Estonians and Livs, previously silent in their ranks, now gave a great cheer as the Lithuanians withdrew, those who had had their horses killed from under them running back to their own lines.

  *****

  Mindaugas drew his sword and raised it in the air. Behind him the forty horsemen did likewise.

  ‘Stand down!’ Aras shouted angrily at them.

  ‘We must attack,’ insisted Mindaugas.

  ‘Put your sword away.’

  Mindaugas glowered at Aras.

  ‘Now!’ shouted the latter.

  Mindaugas angrily slammed his sword back in its scabbard.

  ‘So now we run away like cowards? We yield the field to the enemy?’

  Aras rested a hand on his arm. ‘These are the finest horsemen in your father-in-law’s army. You think we should risk them when the rest of the army is perhaps a week’s march away? It has more than enough foot soldiers to defeat the enemy.’

  ‘They mock us,’ spat Mindaugas hearing the cheers and jeers of the enemy.

  ‘They have killed a few of our horses,’ said Aras. ‘Let them have their moment of triumph.’

  ‘I vowed to destroy the Sword Brothers,’ said Mindaugas in frustration.

  ‘There will be plenty of time for that. You must learn patience. What use would your death in this
unknown place serve?’

  *****

  As the wounded horses flapped and tried forlornly to rise Conrad waited for the enemy to charge his shield wall. His warriors stopped their cheering and silence returned to their ranks once more. They gripped their spear shafts and waited for the horsemen to come at them. This time there would not be a gentle approach but a full-bloodied charge, the ground being churned up by hundreds of iron-shod hooves and the earth shaking as hundreds of armoured horsemen thundered towards them. Only men with nerves of steel and an absolute faith in their comrades around them could stand firm in the face of such terrifying might. And so an ominous silence enveloped the Army of the Wolf as men said silent prayers to their gods and the Christians among them begged the Lord not to let their courage fail them.

  And then the enemy about-faced and withdrew.

  A palpable sense of relief coursed through them as the Lithuanian horsemen slowly rode away east, becoming small black shapes at the far end of the plain and then disappearing altogether. But they stood in their ranks, expecting the Lithuanians to reappear after they had been stood down. But they did not and as the sun began to dip in the west Conrad ordered three scouts to be sent forward to ascertain where the enemy was. They were given the horses of the Sword Brothers so if they came upon the enemy unexpectedly they could beat a hasty retreat. And some men on foot were sent into the woods on the army’s left flank to ensure that no enemy attack would come from that direction.

  It was sunset when Conrad gave the order to stand down and make camp, the scouts returning shortly after with news that they had followed the tracks of the Lithuanians for at least eight miles before heading back. It was a peaceful end to a most strange day.

  Chapter 10

  The Army of the Wolf stayed on the Semgallian Plain for a further week, every day patrols riding north, east and south to scout for any Lithuanians. But they returned with news that the land of rivers, streams, lakes and forests was seemingly devoid of all human life. Conrad also sent a mounted party back to Mesoten to report on the bloodless battle with the enemy and to request orders as to his next course of action. The few bowmen among the Estonians competed with leather face’s crossbowmen regarding how much game they could catch with the result that the army ate well during its period of idleness. A non-stop supply of elk, stags, deer, boar and fox meant the pleasant aroma of roasting meat hung permanently over the camp. Kaja cooked meals for Conrad and his two friends. Hans considered himself the luckiest man alive in having a constant supply of plentiful food and someone to cook it for him. However, though they were not in the main camp they still had to observe the rules of their order.

  ‘We are only allowed to eat meat three days in each week,’ he told Kaja as he watched her stirring the thick stew in the pot that hung over the fire.

  ‘Why?’ she asked.

  ‘Because our religion states that consuming flesh corrupts the body,’ said Conrad, seated next to his friend, ‘and Hans is corrupt enough without any outside assistance.’

  ‘The rules you live by are most strange,’ said Kaja as she stopped stirring and added more vegetables to the stew.

  ‘But effective,’ Conrad told her. ‘That is why the Sword Brothers are undefeated.

  She turned and looked at him.

  ‘When I was a girl I remember a time when the elder of our village gathered all the people together and told them that a great warlord called Lembit had defeated a party of men of iron and had killed them all.’

  ‘That was only a minor skirmish,’ said Conrad dismissively. ‘And in any case we defeated and killed Lembit.’

  ‘How’s the stew doing?’ asked Hans impatiently.

  ‘It will soon be ready,’ she told him, leaving the pot to simmer and sitting on the ground nearby.

  The days were getting warmer now and the ground was drying out after the spring floods. The level of the rivers was dropping and it was raining less frequently.

  To fill the time and keep their skills sharp Conrad and his commanders organised mock battles between the various tribal contingents, the warriors armed with sticks instead of axes and swords. The result was a great shoving match as two evenly matched sides in two shield walls came together and tried to push over the opposition. It was great fun and raised spirits even further after they had defeated the Lithuanians. There were also axe- and spear-throwing competitions and sword-fighting bouts.

  Kaja wanted to participate in everything but was forbidden to take part in the mock battles. She did, however, persist in her sword practice, both Conrad and Anton giving her instruction and acting as her opponents. She was an able and enthusiastic student if a little impatient. In camp, however, she was more famous for her cooking than her sword skills. This being the case leather face always made certain that he was near the Sword Brothers’ tent at mealtimes. Today was no different and his gristly face wore a wide grin as he ambled up to the pot and hung his nose over it.

  He rubbed his hands together. ‘Smells lovely.’

  ‘Don’t your men feed you?’ Anton asked him.

  The mercenary screwed up his face. ‘They either overcook meat so I end up chewing charcoal or undercook it so it rots my stomach. Food blessed by a woman’s touch is much more tasty.’

  Kaja sneered at him but held her tongue. Her expression changed instantly when she saw Rameke approaching. He too liked to visit at mealtimes, though not necessarily for the food. Conrad, Hans and Anton knew the real reason he came to see them but did not embarrass him by saying so. Rameke saw leather face making himself comfortable by the fire.

  ‘I hope I have not interrupted an important meeting.’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Conrad. ‘I’m sure that Kaja can find another bowl to fill.’

  She smiled warmly at the prince. ‘Of course.’

  ‘How long are we going to stay here, Conrad?’ enquired Rameke.

  ‘You are free to leave at any time, my brother,’ said Conrad. ‘But I will remain here until I receive word from Grand Master Volquin.’

  ‘Well,’ said Rameke, ‘I will stay here until then. I would not wish to weaken your army.’

  ‘Of course,’ smiled Anton, ‘and I am sure that certain members of this army would not wish you to go.’

  Rameke, knowing what he was alluding to, blushed.

  ‘You should stay here as long as you can,’ remarked leather face. ‘Good hunting, fine weather and no enemy to bother us.’

  ‘We came here to bother the enemy,’ Conrad rebuked him. ‘As a mercenary I would have thought you would wish to display your proficiency as a dog of war.’

  Leather face lay flat on his back and placed his hands behind his head, staring into the blue sky. ‘That’s the difference between you and me, Brother Conrad. You go looking for trouble whereas I keep my head down. That’s why I will live longer than you and retire to my alehouse with all my limbs intact.’

  Two days later the party that had been sent to Mesoten returned with orders to return to the main army. Nothing more had been seen of the Lithuanians and Gunter thought it unlikely that they would show their faces again until Conrad had withdrawn.

  ‘They weren’t Semgallians, that much I know. I didn’t recognise their standards and in any case any Semgallian warriors still alive will be in the west of the kingdom, under Viesthard.’

  ‘What is he like, this Viesthard?’ asked Conrad.

  The camp had been dismantled and his warriors were riding west, retracing their steps along the course of the Lielupe.

  ‘A wily veteran,’ said Gunter. ‘If he is still alive he will prove a formidable opponent. Hopefully he died at the Dvina.’

  The day was balmy and they were sweating in their mail armour on their trotting horses, the white caparisons of the Sword Brothers’ mounts at least reflecting some of the heat as the sun beat down on them. The approaching summer would be a hot one, thought Conrad. Though Gunter was slightly reserved today he seemed to be in a talkative mood. The thought that he would soon be back with hi
s comrades of the soldiers of Riga instead of a camp of pagans had probably improved his humour.

  Andres, Hillar and Tonis rode with their respective contingents while Rameke chose to travel in the company of Conrad, Anton and Hans. But he really wanted to ride beside Kaja and their easy conversation and bashful laughter filled the air as the column moved through a mixed forest of pine, oak, rowan and sweet briar. Though they were out of the sun the atmosphere in the trees was heavy and oppressive and they sweated even more. Conrad decided to query Gunter further on the Semgallians.

  ‘Why did Commander Nordheim give the Semgallians crossbows?’

  ‘He didn’t,’ replied Gunter. ‘It was Archdeacon Stefan who decided it would be prudent to equip the Semgallians with crossbows.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘To fight the Northern Kurs.’

  Conrad was confused. ‘Why should the governor be interested in the wars of the Semgallians?’

  Gunter tapped his nose. ‘Because if the Lithuanian tribes are fighting among themselves then they aren’t crossing the Dvina to attack Riga.’

  ‘I have seen Riga’s walls, they are tall and thick,’ said Conrad. ‘I doubt many armies could storm them, let alone one composed of pagans with no siege engines.’

  ‘That is because you are a soldier,’ replied Gunter, ‘but Archdeacon Stefan is a man of the cloth, a rather weak one at that. The thought of marauding pagans paying Riga a visit sends him running to the latrine in terror. The Northern Kurs attacked Riga a few years back and he has not forgotten the episode.’

  ‘It is hard to believe he is related to Bishop Albert,’ said Conrad.

  Gunter swatted away a midge. ‘There are few men in this world like Bishop Albert. He built Riga and Livonia almost single-handedly, created a whole kingdom out of nothing. History will remember him fondly, I think.’

  ‘And Archdeacon Stefan?’

  ‘He cares not what history thinks of him, only that he has enough fine wine and jewellery to make his life enjoyable and Riga has enough soldiers to keep the pagans away from the city.’