Army of the Wolf

by Peter Darman

  Conrad looked at the now bleeding Prince Sigurd and tossed his axe to the ground. He shouted at the Oeselians again.

  ‘You may take your prince back to Oesel. You are all oath-bound to journey back to Oesel without further troubling this land or its people. Now be gone.’

  An expression of utter relief appeared on the old warrior’s face as he gestured to the prince’s assistants to attend to their lord.

  ‘He’ll live,’ said Conrad, looking at Sigurd.

  ‘You are a man of courage and honour,’ said the old man as Conrad walked back to Anton and a grinning Hans.

  ‘You should have killed him,’ said Anton.

  ‘The idea of killing a man while he sleeps is of no appeal to me,’ replied Conrad. ‘I am, after all, not Henke.’

  He embraced his friends. ‘Besides, I have what I wanted. The Estonian captives are free and the Oeselians are going home. All that remains is to persuade the Danes that they have no claim on Estonia and we will all be back at Wenden before the harvest is gathered in.’

  Chapter 13

  Valdemar sat in his newly made high-backed throne and toyed with his beard while the interpreter translated the words of the foul-smelling wretch standing before him. The king had been possessed of an ill humour since an Oeselian fleet had appeared in the waters of the bay off Reval that had effectively trapped the large number of Danish boats that filled the harbour. Valdemar had arrived in the spring with reinforcements to complete the conquest of Estonia prior to marching to the gates of Riga itself, in retaliation for the insolence of the Sword Brothers at the Pala the previous summer. But the appearance of the Oeselian longships had interrupted his plans.

  The ships did not undertake a close blockade of the port, being content to close the entrance to the bay and therefore deny seaborne access to Reval. Their presence and inactivity had enraged Valdemar but when he had despatched his own ships to disperse them the vessels had been speedily boarded and their crews slaughtered. Afterwards there were no more sallies against the Oeselians. When it became clear that the Oeselians had no intention of attacking Reval Valdemar’s mood had darkened further, for he believed that the pagan sea raiders were mocking him. And as he could not take out his anger and frustration on the Oeselians, he decided to increase the misery of the Estonians.

  The Harrien and Wierlanders had been treated as inferior peoples since the day the Danes had landed, Valdemar encouraging his men to use their spear shafts and whips to ‘encourage’ the natives to show due respect for their Christian superiors. He had ordered that the inhabitants of the villages that surrounded Reval be rounded up to provide a workforce to build new buildings in the port, specifically storehouses and barracks so that his army could survive the winter months. Concurrently a timber wall was erected around the port, the palisade also encompassing the stronghold on Toompea Hill that acted as the royal residence when Valdemar was not in Denmark. Reval was now a formidable fortress but the price had been high, not least in Estonian lives and the general hostility in Harrien and Wierland towards the invaders. And then, suddenly, on a bright summer’s morning, the Oeselian fleet was gone.

  The bells of the newly constructed wooden churches rang in celebration of God answering the Danes’ prayers and the Archbishop of Lund led a service of thanksgiving, at which Valdemar promised to build a stone cathedral on the site as a lasting testament to the triumph of the Lord. He changed his mind when news reached him of events to the south of Reval.

  The Danes had established a few outlying garrisons in Harrien, but they were small and designed to warn the town of the approach of enemy forces, specifically the Russians. Away from Reval and very aware that they were small, isolated outposts surrounded by potential enemies, the garrison commanders had initially made efforts to maintain amicable relations with the natives. Count Henry of Schwerin, appointed Governor of Reval by Valdemar, encouraged this policy. Count Henry had disagreed with the king’s general hostility towards the Estonians and had been vindicated when gossip was relayed to him of an Oeselian invasion of Jerwen and the arrival in the same kingdom of a strange army.

  ‘The Army of the Wolf,’ said the interpreter as Valdemar rolled his eyes.

  The main chamber of Toompea hill fort had been transformed from a pagan hall into a room fit for a Christian king, with Valdemar’s banner hanging on the wall behind his throne and the banners of his lords along the walls on either side. Small shafts of light came through windows cut high in the walls, with torches on wall brackets providing additional illumination. A wooden dais had been erected for the king’s throne, with additional high-backed chairs placed on either side to seat the clerics who always accompanied Valdemar together with the lords of Denmark’s new domain. To the right of the king sat Andrew, Archbishop of Lund; Nicholas, Bishop of Schleswig; and the king’s chancellor, Peter, Bishop of Roskilde. On the king’s left sat Count Henry and his brother Gunzelin.

  The king leaned forward and pointed to the scrawny, elderly man standing next to the interpreter.

  ‘This man is a village elder, you say?’

  ‘A parish elder, majesty,’ replied the interpreter.

  Valdemar looked at Henry in confusion.

  ‘Estonian villages are usually group into parishes for matters of defence, majesty.’

  The king looked back at the elder dressed in a coarse woollen tunic, light brown linen trousers and simple leather shoes.

  ‘So this man is of some importance among the pagans?’

  ‘Yes, majesty,’ replied Count Henry.

  ‘He looks like a beggar to me,’ scoffed Valdemar.

  The prelates sniggered sycophantically.

  Valdemar was clearly getting bored. ‘Is there any point to this, count?’

  ‘Hear him out, majesty,’ said the count firmly.

  The king nodded to the interpreter who talked again to the elder.

  ‘It would appear, majesty,’ said the interpreter after he had finished conversing with the elder, ‘that the Army of the Wolf caught up with the Oeselians at the village of Kareda and forced it to free the Rotalians and Jerwen it had taken.’

  ‘You mean the Oeselians were destroyed,’ said the king.

  ‘No, majesty,’ the interpreter corrected him. ‘Susi fought a duel with the leader of the Oeselians and defeated him.’

  ‘Who is this Susi?’ asked the king in exasperation.

  ‘A Sword Brother, majesty, who has been possessed by the ancient wolf spirit of the forest and who comes to liberate his people.’

  The prelates giggled but Valdemar’s interest and concern had now been aroused. ‘A Sword Brother?’

  The interpreter nodded.

  ‘Does this idiot know his name?’

  The interpreter talked with the elder once more.

  ‘He says his name is Conrad Wolff, majesty.’

  Gunzelin looked in concern at his brother who brought his hands together and rested his chin on them.

  ‘That is the same man who faced us at the Pala last year, majesty,’ said Count Henry. ‘He holds a commission from the Bishop of Riga confirming him as Marshal of Estonia.’

  Valdemar threw up his arms. ‘I can scarcely believe my ears. Once more the Sword Brothers are interfering with my intentions and incite the Estonians, my subjects, to rebel against their king.’

  He jumped out of his throne and pointed at the elder. ‘Get this idiot out of my sight.’

  Guards came forward to escort the two Estonians from the hall as Valdemar began pacing in front of his dais.

  ‘These pagans think that because we have been delayed here at Reval due to the presence of the heathen Oeselians, we will allow them to indulge their heretical beliefs.’

  He stopped and looked at Count Henry.

  ‘You will take your men and destroy this Army of the Wolf and bring its leader to me in chains.’

  The Archbishop of Lund, his robes decorated with lace and silk, rose from his chair.

  ‘Majesty, the Sword Brothers are servan
ts of the Holy Church. To take up the sword against them may risk the ire of the Holy Father in Rome.’

  ‘The Sword Brothers are apostates!’ screamed Valdemar, causing everyone to jump. ‘They fight against me, a king appointed by God himself to rule his subjects. Who are the Sword Brothers but German mercenaries masquerading as Christ’s warriors? And this Conrad Wolff, this so-called Marshal of Estonia, who is he but a thief who covets my land? I wonder what the Holy Father, who gave me Estonia, would say of this man who leads an army of pagans against me?’

  ‘He would urge you to take up arms against him, majesty,’ said the king’s chancellor, ‘secure in the knowledge that God Himself is smiling on you.’

  Valdemar’s rage subsided slightly. ‘Exactly, bishop. But I am a generous king and always give those who have failed me an opportunity to make recompense for their errors.’

  He pointed at Count Henry. ‘That is why you will march against this Conrad Wolff, destroy his army and bring the heretic to me. He will be judged before a court of the Holy Church for his crimes. You will leave immediately.’

  He turned and marched from the chamber, Henry, Gunzelin and the prelates rising to bow their heads as Valdemar disappeared through the twin doors of the chamber, escorted by Danish guards. The archbishop and bishops followed him, leaving Henry and his brother in the chamber.

  ‘Arrogant little bastard,’ spat Gunzelin. ‘The sooner we leave this place the better.’

  The count looked at the stony faced guards around the walls.

  ‘Have a care, brother. You are not among the soldiers of Schwerin here. Remember the oath we took.’

  ‘The great Valdemar never lets us forget it,’ Gunzelin muttered.

  Henry slapped him on the arm. ‘Well, at least this time the Marshal of Estonia will not have a river and rows of stakes to hide behind.’

  *****

  Conrad stared down at the mounted knights and foot soldiers making their way across the large meadow that was bordered on all sides by forest. After the affair at Kareda the Army of the Wolf, the Sword Brothers and Sir Richard’s knights had continued their northerly advance, expecting to encounter the Danes but never doing so. When they neared the borders of Harrien and Wierland their scouts returned with stories of outrages committed against the local population by the Danes. The scouts in turn spread the news that Susi, the leader who had rescued hundreds of Jerwen and Rotalians from the clutches of the Oeselians, had come to save them.

  ‘They are not Danes,’ remarked Andres, staring down at the soldiers on the meadow. ‘My scouts report seeing a yellow monster on a blue background on the shields of the horsemen.’

  Conrad felt a tingle of excitement ripple through him. He looked at Hans and Anton.

  ‘The bastard who killed Johann,’ said Hans.

  ‘Time to repay our debt,’ remarked Anton grimly.

  ‘They will skirt this hill by taking the track that leads from that meadow,’ said Conrad. ‘We will ambush them as they do so.’

  He looked at his friends. ‘Remember, Duke Henry is mine.’

  He smiled at Tonis, Andres and Hillar as the sky grew dark and it began to rain. ‘It is fortunate that July and August are the warmest and wettest months in Estonia for a downpour will slow the enemy’s wagons and give you time to deploy your men.’

  ‘What of Master Rudolf and Sir Richard?’ asked Tonis.

  Their camp was located to the south of the hill, one of the highest in this part of northern Estonia, in a small meadow by the side of a freshwater spring.

  ‘You should convene a council of war,’ said Hans.

  Conrad smirked. ‘I should but I won’t. This is personal.’

  He looked at his Estonian commanders. ‘Muster your men immediately and get them into position.’

  He looked at Andres. ‘Inform Master Rudolf and Sir Richard that I am conducting a reconnaissance in force.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ said Anton.

  ‘Hopefully it will mean that they will also be wondering what it means and will be delayed long enough for us to deal with Count Henry.’

  It began raining heavily as Conrad continued to peer at the slow-moving column on the meadow below.

  ‘Excellent vantage point this hill. Our friend the count made a mistake not sending scouts ahead to seize it.’

  ‘It is called White Horse Hill, Susi,’ said Andres. ‘It is the grave of the horse ridden by the giant hero called Kalevipoeg. He was ploughing his horse near here and afterwards lay down to take a nap, leaving his white horse to graze.’

  Andres pointed to the north. ‘A pack of wolves came from the north and killed his horse. When he woke up Kalevipoeg buried his horse and made this hill. That is the legend that has been told among my people for generations.’

  ‘Kalevipoeg was a giant who walked the earth hundreds of summers ago,’ said Hillar. ‘He carried a mighty sword, battled demons and saved captive maidens.’

  ‘Many of the women you saved at Kareda believe that you are Kalevipoeg returned from the afterlife, Susi,’ said Andres.

  ‘Then let us go and slay another demon,’ replied Conrad.

  Count Henry’s army, encumbered as it was with carts and wagons, made its way tortuously across the meadow as wheels sank into the soft ground. The drivers and servants cursed and thrashed the horses and mules pulling the wagons as the quartermasters demanded more haste. The count himself was spared from having to listen to this as he and his senior lords were at the head of the army with the majority of the knights and their squires. Ahead of them was a small vanguard of ten knights and behind marched the majority of his spearmen. The crossbowmen marched either side of the wagons and carts with the spearmen, the lesser knights following behind the carts and wagon and in the very rear of the column a small rearguard formed of a dozen knights.

  Except that no one was marching anywhere as the carts and wagon got stuck in mud. The duke’s quartermasters were unaware that this part of Estonian was essentially a boggy plain and the frequent rainfall only added to the softness of the ground. In Germany the tracks and trails would be bone dry during the summer months, but in Estonia an army still had to tread carefully when it marched. Local guides could have informed the count of the difficulties in traversing this area and the tracks that he should have used. But Valdemar’s tyranny had alienated the vast majority of Harrien and Wierlanders and so the locals did not inform his officers of the tracks they should have taken.

  Conrad crouched in the undergrowth just a few yards from the edge of the forest and observed the enemy’s horsemen sitting idle and men on foot walking up and down the column of wheeled vehicles. The rain had stopped, the clouds had parted and the sun was shining, displaying the brightly coloured German caparisons, shields and surcoats to maximum effect. There was barely any wind, not enough to disturb the count’s banner held behind him by a squire as he observed the chaos among his baggage wagons. Spearmen were detailed to assist the movement of the wagons while the crossbowmen kept watch and the horsemen sat and stared at each other.

  ‘Your men are in position?’ Conrad asked Andres.

  ‘Yes, Susi.’

  Conrad turned to Hillar. ‘And yours?’

  The Rotalian nodded.

  ‘Good,’ said Conrad. ‘Make sure you keep beyond the range of their crossbowmen. And wait until you hear the signal. God be with you both. Now go.’

  They both nodded and slunk away, leaving Conrad with Tonis. The Sword Brother tapped the Saccalian on the arm and they too left their observation position. The Army of the Wolf had left camp to march through the forest that surrounded White Horse Hill, the Rotalians skirting its western side to take them across the forest track that the count’s soldiers would use when they had managed to free their wagons from the mud. They moved further west through the forest until they were near the treeline bordering the meadow, to the west of the count’s army. The Jerwen marched through the forest on the eastern side of White Horse Hill and then swung west to take them to the tre
eline that bordered the eastern side of the meadow.

  Conrad and Tonis moved through the forest undergrowth of hazel, fly honeysuckle and mountain currant, the noise coming from the count’s army penetrating the trees. Tonis’ Saccalians were already in position either side of the dirt track around a hundred and fifty paces from the edge of the trees. Dressed in hues of green, brown and grey, they blended into the sun-dappled forest interior well enough, crouching beside spruce alder and aspen. Deployed some twenty paces back from either side of the track, they were armed with war axes, having left their spears in camp.

  Conrad crouched beside Hans and Anton as he wished Tonis good luck, the Saccalian moving forward to sprint across the track and take command of the wolf shields on the other side.

  ‘You had better take this,’ said Hans softly, throwing him a green cape.

  He and Anton were already wrapped in brown capes to hide their white surcoats that might give their position away. They also concealed their shields beneath their capes.

  ‘Now all we have to do is wait until the count frees his wagons,’ said Conrad with satisfaction.

  Half an hour later he heard shouts and a blast of trumpets and knew that Count Henry’s army was on the move. He looked at the Saccalian signaller with them, a young man with a wispy beard and a thin frame. He was clutching the horn that he would blow when Conrad gave the command.

  ‘You know what to do?’

  ‘Yes, Susi,’ he replied nervously.

  Conrad looked at his round shield bearing the leering wolf design.

  ‘It is a strange fate that sees me fighting in the company of those whose emblem reminds me of those who took the lives of my wife and child but who now I esteem comrades.’

  The wolf shield looked at him in confusion. ‘Susi?’

  Conrad smiled at him. ‘It does not matter.’

  ‘Look sharp,’ hissed Anton.

  Conrad turned to peer in the direction of the track ahead and saw the flickering images of horsemen between the trees. He slowly put on his helm, Hans and Anton doing the same, as the enemy vanguard passed their hiding place. The horses were covered in brightly coloured caparisons that matched the designs on their riders’ surcoats and shields. Ten knights armed with lances, their heads covered in full-face helms, walked their warhorses forward along the track. The sun caught the ends of their lances and Conrad heard the snorts of the horses for there was no wind in the forest. He prayed that the Saccalians would not betray their presence to the count’s vanguard as it ambled past, and breathed a sigh of relief as the horses disappeared to his left.