Army of the Wolf

by Peter Darman

  ‘Ah, marshal,’ said the bishop, ‘your appearance was most fortuitous and resulted in the enemy withdrawing. My congratulations.’

  ‘We came as quickly as we could, lord bishop.’

  Hans and Anton slid off their horses and also bowed to Albert, then to Volquin and Rudolf.

  ‘So there’s no enemy approaching from the east?’ Rudolf said to Conrad.

  ‘We encountered a few hundred enemy horsemen but they withdrew after a show of force, master’ answered Conrad. ‘We stayed for a week in case they returned but we did not see them again.’

  ‘We must reinforce Lord Fricis and Duke Albert, lord bishop,’ said Volquin. Brother Conrad, as your men are already mounted please take them to reinforce those two noble souls.’

  Conrad bowed and went to his horse, but at that moment another rider appeared, a servant in the livery of the Duke of Saxony. He jumped from the saddle and went down on one knee before Bishop Albert.

  ‘His Highness, the Highborn Duke Albert sends you greetings, lord bishop,’ announced the servant, ‘and is pleased to report that the enemy has withdrawn from the field, basely fleeing to the south. He awaits your orders.’

  Volquin was all for pursuing the two enemy forces with columns of horsemen but the bishop declared that there should be a service of thanksgiving for their salvation from two great pagan hordes. And so nearly eight thousand men and hundreds of servants and non-combatants gathered just north of the camp, the few Semgallian dead having been removed, and fell to their knees as the bishop raised his hands to heaven and thanked the Lord for his divine intercession. That night the Army of the Wolf camped on the eastern side of the river and its commander was invited to a celebratory feast in the bishop’s pavilion.

  As the bodies of slain pagans were collected and consigned to great pyres and the poor wretches who had left the fort were corralled on the slopes where it had once stood, boys in red and gold livery served the bishop and his guests freshly baked bread, roasted venison and poured fine wine into silver cups engraved with Riga’s arms. The Duke of Saxony had brought his minstrels who now played a soothing tune that banished all thoughts of war and death. Fricis’ head was heavily bandaged to staunch the bleeding of his gashed brow but the other guests were all unharmed and attired in fresh clothes.

  ‘What do you intend to do with the women and children from the fort, lord bishop?’ asked Volquin.

  Albert dabbed his lips with a cloth. ‘What would you suggest, grand master?’

  Volquin stroked his beard. ‘The last time we retreated from this place we had the enemy snapping at our heels. If we used the pagans as a shield around our rearguard then doubtless our journey will be more trouble-free this time.’

  Duke Albert and Rudolf nodded in agreement and Nordheim laughed but Conrad was appalled, pursing his lips in disapproval. Bishop Bernhard caught sight of his gesture.

  ‘You oppose the grand master’s suggestion, marshal?’

  Conrad glanced at Volquin, the head of his order and the man whom he respected greatly for being the individual who more than anything else held Livonia together.

  ‘Forgive me, grand master, I did not mean to cause offence.’

  Volquin sniffed. ‘You haven’t said anything so how can you have offended anyone? If you have something to say spit it out. I like my Sword Brothers to speak their minds.’

  ‘I do not agree with killing woman and children,’ said Conrad. ‘If they are used as shields then they will be caught between our own men and the enemy if our army is attacked retreating to the Dvina.’

  ‘If that happens,’ said Duke Albert, ‘then surely the fault will lie with the pagans for attacking us rather than with us for using their civilians to our advantage.’

  Conrad looked at the imposing duke with a pointed nose and high forehead.

  ‘If I wished to lessen my sense of guilt then I would use such an argument, my lord.’

  Bishop Albert’s eyes widened at Conrad’s words that could be construed as an insult.

  ‘Your words are incendiary, marshal.’

  The duke chuckled. ‘You asked him to speak his mind, grand master, and he did. So, warlord of Estonia, what would you do with the women and children?’

  ‘Let them go,’ replied Conrad.

  The duke said nothing as he weighed up Conrad’s opinion but Nordheim was very vocal in his opposition to the idea.

  ‘You let them go and every one of those male children will grow up to become a pagan warrior dedicated to making war against Livonia. They should be taken back with us as slaves.’

  Conrad was astounded. ‘Slaves? There are no slaves in Livonia.’

  Nordheim smiled slyly. ‘Of course not. But they could be sold to those who do use slaves. The Russians, for example.’ He looked contemptuously at Volquin and Rudolf.

  ‘Or the slave markets of Constantinople, perhaps. I have heard that the Sword Brothers are not averse to trading in slaves when it suits them.’

  Volquin was fuming and Rudolf shifted uncomfortably in his chair for he knew that several years before the garrison of Wenden had raided Estonia to captures slaves to sell to the Russians. Bishop Albert had speedily put an end to the practice but he had obviously discussed it with his poisonous nephew.

  ‘Hard times forced hard decisions,’ said Conrad. ‘But these are not hard times and so we can allow ourselves to be merciful.’

  ‘Mercy is an overrated virtue,’ scoffed Nordheim.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Bishop Albert, ‘but I am apt to agree with the marshal. We shall not be enslaving the pagans and nor will we be using them as shields. I came here to destroy Mesoten, which has been achieved. Now I intend to march back to the Dvina and address matters in Estonia.’

  Conrad smiled triumphantly at Nordheim who glared back at him. After the meal Rudolf stood with Conrad outside the pavilion while he waited for his horse to be brought to him. Nordheim brushed past them in silence, turning and casting a hateful glance at Conrad.

  ‘It would appear that you have made an enemy of the commander of Riga’s garrison,’ observed Rudolf.

  ‘I will not lose any sleep over it, master.’

  ‘You should be more careful in your choice of enemies, Conrad. Nordheim has the ear of Archdeacon Stefan, one of the most powerful men in Livonia.’

  Conrad remembered Gunter’s words concerning the archdeacon. ‘The archdeacon plays politics, master, but we play at war and that makes the Sword Brothers more powerful than intrigues at the bishop’s palace.’

  A servant arrived with his horse and he saluted Rudolf before gaining his saddle. It was four hours before midnight and the light was fading fast, the sun a great yellow ball in a blood-red sky.

  ‘And now we march to fight the Danes, master?’

  ‘We march to settle the boundary between Livonia and Danish Estonia, Conrad,’ Rudolf corrected him.

  Conrad smiled and gently pressed his spurs into the horse’s sides. The only affair that Conrad was interested in settling was the debt he was determined to collect from the Count of Schwerin.

  *****

  ‘Tiresome man.’

  Gleb disliked having to accompany the mayor of Pskov when he did his rounds among the bland, characterless scribblers who occupied the offices of the city’s Dovmont Town, the location of the mayor’s residence and Pskov’s administrative centre. He and Domash had just met the merchant who owned thousands of acres of fields that grew flax in the fertile lands that surrounded the city. Fat, pompous and short, the merchant also stank.

  ‘You would have thought that being one of the richest merchants in the city he would be able to afford to bathe once in a while.’

  Domash stared up at the sun. ‘It’s very difficult to stop sweating in this heat.’

  ‘Especially if one is fat,’ remarked Gleb.

  But Domash was not listening. The merchant had just informed him that this year the flax crop would be excellent. The area around Pskov was ideal for the cultivation of long-stemmed flax, es
pecially during the long humid days of the first two months of summer, which was fast approaching. The common people used flax to produce clothing, bedding, fishing nets, rope and wicks for candles. But of far more importance was the plant’s export value. Every year thousands of bales of flax were exported to Riga where they were sent on to Lübeck. To the Principality of Novgorod, the flax trade was second in importance only to the fur trade. Pskov’s merchants grew rich off the proceeds of the flax trade, and as their wealth increased so did the amount of taxes they paid to the city treasury, which meant that the mayor’s coffers were also filled. It was a most satisfactory state of affairs.

  ‘Are you listening to me?’ said Gleb in irritation.

  ‘Not really,’ replied Domash.

  The narrow streets of Dovmont were filled with traders and clerks going about their business, long-robed priests, hawkers, minstrels, guards keeping order and common folk. The mayor’s guards shoved aside anyone in their lord’s way as the hubbub that always accompanied crowds temporally subsided when they saw Domash and his blue-shirted companion. As usual the ordinary folk bowed respectively at Gleb and mothers offered him their infants to touch, for they knew that this Skomorokh was beloved of Perun, the chief of the gods, himself. Gleb meant ‘heir of god’ and everyone knew that he spoke daily to Perun who ruled the living world from his citadel atop the World Tree. Domash smiled politely and waved to the crowds, whispering to the officer of his guards to ensure his men kept the reeking multitude a safe distance from him. But Gleb loved the common people, loved them for their simple honesty, bravery and respect for the old ways. And they loved him and the mayor knew this. And as long as he had Gleb by his side he had the loyalty and affection of the people, or at least he flattered himself that he did.

  They continued to walk through the crowds back to the kremlin, the centre and safest part of the city that was surrounded by stout timber walls. And dominating the kremlin was the white-walled Holy Trinity Cathedral, one of many Orthodox churches inside the city. Gleb stopped as they passed the site of a new building, white stones stacked on pallets and workmen standing with heads bowed as a red-robed priest with a long black beard stood with his arms open reciting prayers.

  ‘Not another church,’ said Gleb loud enough for the priest to hear. ‘Don’t you Christians already have enough places of worship to abase yourselves before your god? Must you pollute the entire city with your practices?’

  The priest stopped, glowered at Gleb and began to walk towards him, but then saw the mayor’s guards and Domash himself. He also saw the throng that surrounded the wretched heretic. For a moment there was a standoff as Gleb folded his arms and stared defiantly at the priest. Domash smiled and walked forward to speak to the priest, in a low tone ordering Gleb to remain silent.

  ‘The work is about to begin on our new church, father?’ said the mayor.

  ‘Yes, Posadnik,’ replied the priest gruffly.

  ‘Praise be,’ smiled Domash.

  ‘Yes, indeed. Praise God who smiles down on his holy city of Pskov,’ shouted the priest, causing the mayor to jump.

  ‘Well,’ said Domash, ‘do not let me interrupt your service any longer.’

  The priest dipped his head at the mayor, glared at Gleb and went back to his blessing of the site. Domash and Gleb continued their journey back to the kremlin.

  ‘Crows,’ spat Gleb.

  ‘You should have more care in your choice of words, Gleb,’ Domash warned him. ‘You may have my protection but the church is very powerful here and sends frequent reports to Archbishop Mitrofan at Novgorod. Prince Mstislav already looks unfavourably upon Pskov. You should not give him another reason to increase his displeasure or his wrath. He is not averse to ordering someone’s execution on a whim and regretting it later.’

  The guards stopped anyone still following them as Domash and Gleb walked through the huge open gates that gave access to the kremlin. Spearmen standing sentry inside and outside the gates snapped to attention as they passed.

  ‘You must be very worried, then,’ smirked Gleb.

  ‘Worried, why?’

  ‘Well, it was you who lost the prince’s banner and got his brother-in-law killed,’ said Gleb. ‘And that pretty young wife of his. What was her name?’

  Domash bristled at being reminded of things he preferred to forget. He stopped and jabbed a finger at his pesky pet. ‘I was not responsible for their deaths.’

  ‘A debatable point. Still, it was generous of you to give Yaroslav one of your houses so he and his wife had a home after their banishment. Very charitable.’

  Domash smiled and spread his hands. ‘I am a generous person. After all, have I not just authorised the construction of twelve new fortresses along the Velikaya River so that our merchants and their caravans are unmolested during their business activities?’

  The river gave Pskov access to the sea via Lake Peipus and the Narva River and as such was strategically important.

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ agreed Gleb, ‘most generous. Some say that you treat Yaroslav and his wife the Princess Theodosia with greater respect than Mstislav himself.’

  Domash’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who says?’

  ‘Just gossip,’ replied Gleb. ‘Still, the fact that you attended some strange ceremony in that place,’ he nodded towards the Holy Trinity Cathedral, ‘with them both only serves to fuel the gossip.’

  ‘It was a baptism, that is all,’ stated Domash.

  ‘What’s that?’

  The mayor shook his head. ‘Your ignorance of our religion sometimes astounds me, Gleb. A baptism is where a person is admitted into the Holy Church. It is a most important ritual of the Orthodox religion. I was attending in my role of godparent to Yaroslav’s new son.’

  Alexander Nevsky, born to Yaroslav’s third wife Theodosia, had arrived in the spring and Domash had wasted no time in proposing himself as the infant’s godparent. Thus did he ally himself to the powerful Nevsky family, though giving scant regard to the child itself.

  ‘A wise choice,’ said Gleb, ‘I received a sign from Rozhanisty that the child will rise to be a great warlord.’

  ‘Who is Rozhanisty?’ asked Domash.

  ‘The Goddess of Birth.’

  The mayor rolled his eyes. ‘Spare me your pagan nonsense.’

  Gleb curled his top lip. ‘Nonsense? Was it nonsense when I told you that there would arise a new power in the north and thus did not the Danes appear? The gods speak to me and they say that Alexander Nevsky will defeat the white knights from the west that wear black crosses. On a battlefield of ice.’

  Domash sighed. ‘The Nevsky family are servants of the Orthodox Church not agents of heresy.’

  ‘I thought the Sword Brothers are heretics.’

  Domash scratched his head. ‘They are. The Danes too.’

  Gleb sneered at the cathedral. ‘But they are Christians like you, are they not? They wear crosses on their shields and banners and pray to the same god as you do.’

  The mayor’s nostrils flared. ‘They are not like us. They follow the pope, a man who masquerades as one appointed by the Lord Himself, the agent of Christ on earth. As such they believe his opinions on matters of morals and doctrine to be infallible.’

  ‘How useful,’ said Gleb admiringly.

  ‘Useful? It is blasphemy.’ He looked at the Skomorokh. ‘Though no more than the heresy you spread.’

  Gleb bowed to him. ‘You flatter me, lord. But rather than concern yourself with the activities of a poor Skomorokh you should look to the west to where the Danes and Sword Brothers, being of the same faith, gather their forces. How long will it be before they look east towards Pskov and Novgorod?’

  ‘Though I am loathe to admit it you are right,’ said Domash. ‘The Danes and Sword Brothers are allies in their quest to darken the world with their heresy.’

  Chapter 11

  The ruins of Mesoten were still smoking when Viesthard and his men returned to the former hill fort after trailing the Bishop of Riga’s army ba
ck to the Dvina. The Sword Brothers and the soldiers of the Duke of Saxony formed the formidable rearguard, thus ensuring that the vastly outnumbered Semgallians did not unduly bother the crusaders and their wagons as they fell back to the river. Once there the boats and rafts were brought across the waterway to transport the men, animals, siege engines, carts and wagons back to Livonia. Everyone in the bishop’s army agreed that the expedition had been a great success and so Albert declared a two-week rest for his men and ordered great quantities of beer be brought from Riga for distribution among the common soldiery.

  When he rode back to Mesoten Viesthard found five hundred miserable women, children and elderly men and woman huddled at the northern foot of the hill, most of them dazed and confused by their recent traumatic experience. He ordered his men to distribute food prior to escorting them back to Tervete where they could be resettled. He would have liked to rebuild the villages that had been razed by the crusaders but he did not have the men to defended western Semgallia from the Kurs, the east of the kingdom from the forces of Prince Vsevolod, in addition to basing soldiers along the Dvina to warn of a fresh crossing by the crusaders. His soldiers started fires that added to the all-encompassing odour of wood smoke that hung in the air for miles, Duke Butantas’ army adding to the smoke haze that covered the area.

  The Samogitians pitched their tents two miles south of what had been the large town of Mesoten while the duke and an escort rode to find Viesthard. They found him standing in the middle of the pontoon bridge the crusaders had built across the Lielupe River, staring at the water.

  Butantas dismounted and left his horse with Semgallian guards, he and another, younger man striding across the logs. Viesthard heard the boots and glanced at his visitors.