Army of the Wolf

by Peter Darman

  With the withdrawal of the Danes into Reval the men in the Liv and Estonian shield walls relaxed and began embracing their friends and thanking their gods for their survival. Hans and Anton found Conrad and the three of them grinned and embraced each other like naughty children. Their celebrations were interrupted when the Estonians began cheering and banging weapons on the insides of their shields as Kalju approached. As he got closer they began to chant his name, causing him to raise an arm in acknowledgement.

  Conrad stepped from the ranks and bowed his head to the Ungannian leader.

  ‘It is good to see you, lord.’

  Kalju locked him in an iron embrace and then stepped back.

  ‘What’s all this nonsense about you giving yourself up?’ he asked.

  ‘It was the price to avert bloodshed.’

  Kalju looked around at the corpses scattered across the ground.

  ‘Looks like there was a change of plan.’

  Hans and Anton saluted Kalju with their swords.

  ‘But why are you here, lord?’ asked Conrad.

  ‘Why? Because Eha reminded me that you came when my family and I were in need and it was dishonourable to sit on my arse when a friend is in peril. So here I am.’

  Kaja took off her helmet and shook her blonde locks. Kalju noticed her bloody sword.

  ‘Not a good idea to teach a woman to use a sword, Conrad. Their tongues are sharp enough.’

  Kaja suddenly marched towards the bodies where the fighting had taken place.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said Conrad.

  ‘I need a scabbard and belt for my sword,’ she replied.

  ‘Get back here,’ he hollered.

  The Saccalians around him began laughing as she stuck out her tongue at him but meekly walked back. It was good timing as crossbow bolts began to slam into the ground a few feet away. Count Henry had ordered his crossbowmen to man the ramparts either side of the now closed gates, and they now commenced erratic shooting against the Livs and Estonians. The latter hastily withdraw out of range, as did the Duke of Saxony’s horsemen who trotted back in their still clean armour and surcoats.

  The bishop’s army withdrew back to its initial position as the crossbowmen on the walls stopped their shooting. The men who had been involved in the fighting were now gripped by a raging thirst and so groups were despatched to fill water bottles from the many springs in the area. An hour afterwards Bishop Albert ordered a general withdrawal back to camp, sending a herald to the town gates to suggest a parley so the dead could be given a Christian burial.

  *****

  ‘Parley?’

  Valdemar was pacing up and down in his throne room as his still living Danish officers, Count Henry, Gunzelin and the three prelates avoided his eyes. The king stopped and pointed towards the doors.

  ‘A third of my army lies dead outside the walls and the Bishop of Riga has the impertinence to ask for a parley.’

  ‘The dead should be buried majesty,’ said the archbishop.

  The king looked at Henry and Gunzelin and smiled slyly.

  ‘You are right, of course, archbishop.’

  He pointed at the two brothers. ‘Your men will dig their graves seeing as they did little during the battle. It would appear that German blood is too precious to spill whereas that of Danes can be shed freely.’

  ‘I must protest, majesty,’ said Gunzelin.

  ‘We could attack the bishop’s camp tomorrow, majesty,’ suggested the count, eager to prevent his brother from blurting out his opinion of the king.

  Valdemar stopped pacing. ‘No. The Bishop of Riga thinks he has bettered me but I will show him that it is I who has triumphed. I intend to throttle Livonia, to see it whither and die. And then the bishop will come crawling to me and beg my forgiveness. And when he does I shall insist that he surrender his kingdom to me. In the meantime, count, your men will bury our dead.’

  He pointed at the three churchmen. ‘And you will say prayers over their graves.’

  ‘And if the Bishop of Riga remains outside Reval, majesty?’ said the count.

  ‘Then I give you permission to attack his camp.’

  But after the dead had been interred Bishop Albert gave orders that his army was to withdraw back to the River Pala. The pagan dead of the Army of the Wolf, together with the Ungannian slain, were cremated on great pyres. Conrad’s men had suffered a hundred dead and three score wounded, the Livs having lost nearly a hundred and fifty killed. Fricis’ losses were buried alongside the few sergeants and brother knights killed, Wenden losing four of the former and two of the latter. When the bishop’s army began its march south two days later Valdemar ordered the bodies to be dug up and thrown in the sea.

  At the beginning of September he took ship for Denmark, along with Count Henry, his brother and most of their knights. He was determined to garrison Reval with Danish soldiers from now on. The behaviour of his German allies during the battle had sown the seeds of distrust in his mind towards them.

  *****

  Once the army was a safe distance from Reval Bishop Albert hosted a formal feast in his pavilion. Though he was eager to get back to Odenpah, the bishop had prevailed upon Kalju to stay a few more days, at least until he had hosted a meal in the Ungannian chief’s honour. Ever punctilious, the bishop hid his deep disappointment over how events had unfolded at Reval and extended a warm welcome to Kalju as he took his seat next to him. The bishop sat at the head of the table, which in truth was nothing more than boards placed on trestles and topped with a white cloth. At the other end of the table sat Bishop Bernhard, as usual dressed in a simple grey habit, his hands gnarled and his hair grey and receding.

  Next to Kalju sat Fricis and then Rameke, Sir Richard sitting alongside Conrad’s brother. The bald headed and clean-shaven English lord’s appearance contrasted sharply with the long hair and wild beards of the native lords. On Bishop Albert’s right side sat the Duke of Saxony, who though he had seen no personal combat in the battle was delighted that the Danes had taken a beating. He was in a jovial mood and joked with Grand Master Volquin next to him. Rudolf was on Volquin’s right and Conrad’s left, the Marshal of Estonia being dressed in a dark tunic like the other two Sword Brothers.

  After Albert had said prayers and servants had brought bowls of warm water and towels so the guests could wash their hands, novices served roasted boar, venison and white sausage. Fine wine was poured into exquisite silver chalices and quickly loosened the Duke of Saxony’s tongue. He suddenly rose from his chair, chalice in hand, and raised it to Kalju.

  ‘To you, my lord, whose arrival on the field of honour prevented a great injustice and gave that bastard Valdemar a poke in the eye.’

  Kalju looked blank as Fricis, Rameke and Sir Richard banged their fists on the table to show their support for his words. Though Kalju had only a rudimentary understanding of German Fricis explained what the duke had said, prompting the Ungannian to stand, raise his chalice to Saxony’s great lord and drain it. More banging of fists on the table.

  Bishop Albert looked at Bernhard opposite and shook his head, a gesture seen by the duke.

  ‘You do not approve of my words, lord bishop?’

  ‘Your grace,’ replied the bishop, ‘you have brought thousands of soldiers to Livonia to crusade for the Holy Church. I have only admiration for you, and a debt that I can never hope to repay.’

  The duke held out his chalice so it could be refilled.

  ‘You are a good man, bishop, a prelate who is respected throughout the empire for valour and devotion to the church. Most men of the cloth aren’t worth the clothes they stand up in but you are different. And because it is so I will give you some advice. Do not trust Valdemar or any other Dane. They are duplicitous, treacherous imps of Satan.’

  A servant filled his chalice and he took a large gulp. He looked at Bernhard.

  ‘Now our pious Bishop of Semgallia, formerly Lord of Lippe and a mean dog of war, knows all about Danish depredations. Is that not so, bishop?’


  Bernhard scratched his nose with a bony finger. ‘It is true that there is little affection for the Danes throughout Germany.’

  ‘That is putting it mildly,’ sniffed the duke.

  Bishop Albert picked up one of the golden salt cellars near him.

  ‘I do not have the luxury of being able to antagonise the Danes, your grace. Livonia relies on ships to bring crusaders and settlers to Riga, not to mention basic things such as the salt in this vessel, and to take goods to northern Germany. And those ships are either owned by King Valdemar or at least pay him dues so they can ply their trade. When you and your men return home in a few weeks, your grace, I fear that it may be some while before Livonia will be welcoming any more crusaders.’

  The duke was now quite drunk. ‘Valdemar over-extends himself. He seeks to rule Germany, Norway, Estonia and Livonia. Eventually his empire will crumble.’

  ‘I fear Livonia may crumble first,’ said the bishop.

  But the duke was not to be deflated. ‘Not with young lions like Conrad on your side, lord bishop. What do you say, Marshal of Estonia?’

  ‘I am glad to be in the current company, your grace,’ said Conrad, ‘as opposed to enjoying the hospitality of King Valdemar.’

  The duke clapped his hands together and the others banged their fists on the table.

  Conrad raised his chalice to Kalju. ‘Thanks to the Lord of Ungannia,’ he said in Estonian.

  ‘Lucky I came when I did,’ smiled Kalju, his beard spotted with wine.

  Fricis translated his words for the Duke of Saxony.

  ‘Do you not think it is curious, lord bishop,’ said the duke, ‘that at the moment when young Conrad was about to sacrifice himself Lord Kalju and his warriors arrived? One might think that it was a case of divine intervention.’

  ‘Let us hope so, your grace,’ said Bernhard, ‘for all our sakes, for if the Lord is smiling on us then we will not suffer unduly from a Danish blockade.’

  ‘One thing, though,’ remarked the duke to Volquin. ‘The Sword Brothers have probably made a mortal enemy in Valdemar.’

  ‘The Sword Brothers were born in adversity, your grace,’ said Volquin, ‘and have always had enemies on all sides. If we did not have opponents to battle then we would have no mission.’

  The duke emptied his chalice once more and ordered a servant to refill it. He then rose and invited the others to do likewise.

  ‘My lords I give you a toast. To eternal war so the Sword Brothers may never fall into idle dissolution.’

  Conrad stood with the others and raised his chalice. They spoke as one.

  ‘To eternal war.’

  War seemed a distant memory, however, as the army marched south back to Livonia. Kalju and his warriors struck east for Ungannia and Sir Richard took his knights back to Lehola. Conrad took Hillar and Andres and their men back to Wenden where they would spend the winter. But Tonis and his wolf shields returned with Sir Richard back to Saccalia. It was a surprisingly emotional farewell, both Hans and Anton embracing the leader of the wolf shields who had once been their enemy.

  ‘We have won some great victories,’ Conrad told Tonis, ‘and made Saccalia safe. Next year we will liberate Rotalia and Jerwen.’

  ‘And after that, Susi?’ asked Tonis. ‘We will capture Reval and burn it to the ground?’

  How Conrad would love to do that. ‘We will see,’ answered the Sword Brother. ‘In the meantime keep yourself safe.’

  He clasped the Saccalian’s forearm. ‘Until the spring.’

  Tonis gained the saddle of his pony as Sir Richard and squire Paul appeared, the lord’s men trotting past as they headed for Lehola. The sky was heaped with grey clouds and there was a chilly northern wind blowing. Sir Richard, a mail coif covering his head, screwed up his face.

  ‘Looks like autumn has arrived.’

  He leaned down and offered his arm to Conrad.

  ‘I regret my inactivity at Reval and thank God that Kalju arrived when he did. Livonia cannot afford to lose you, Conrad.’

  Conrad took his arm. ‘It was my decision, lord, no one else’s. I will see you in the spring.’

  ‘Are we leaving or not?’ complained Paul. ‘It looks like it is going to piss down with rain any moment and it’s a long way to Lehola.’

  ‘The next time King Valdemar requires a sacrificial lamb remind me to suggest my squire,’ said Sir Richard as he dug his spurs into his horse and rode away, raising his arm to the three brother knights.

  They were not entirely rid of Saccalians, however. Kaja remained with them, riding behind the three friends and now the proud owner of a Danish sword, complete with scabbard.

  ‘By the way,’ Conrad said to her, ‘where did you get your gambeson from?’

  ‘That lecherous old mercenary you are fond of gave it to me,’ she replied. ‘I think he hopes that in return I will lie with him.’

  ‘I’ve no doubt he does,’ said Hans.

  ‘His hopes will be cruelly dashed,’ she announced.

  Conrad loved her for her feisty spirit and her courage but she was still a young woman alone and he worried that she would fall victim to the many cruelties and injustices that infested the world. He still placed his hopes in his brother.

  ‘Would you like to visit Treiden, Kaja?’ he asked her casually. ‘Before the snows come?’

  ‘Rameke’s stronghold? Of course.’

  Conrad smiled to himself. ‘That’s settled, then.’

  In the following weeks, as the crops were gathered in, large numbers of people trekked south with their belongings from Jerwen and Rotalia into Saccalia. Sir Richard ordered that new huts be built around Fellin and Lehola to house them before winter came. Thus did Jerwen and Rotalia become empty kingdoms occupied only by the mad, bandits and religious fanatics who inhabited sacred groves in the dark recesses of ancient forests.

  *****

  ‘So, it is agreed.’

  Rasa moved some of her red locks through her fingers.

  ‘She has not seen him.’

  Vsevolod laughed. ‘The wishes of the future bride are rarely taken into account when arranging strategic marriages. But if it is any consolation General Aras has assured me that Prince Ykintas has all his limbs, eyes and appears to be in command of his faculties.’

  She studied him with her eyes.

  ‘You treat Elze’s future with levity.’

  He got up from the couch and walked over to his wife, cupping her face in his hands.

  ‘On the contrary, my sweet, I have given it a great deal of thought. I admit that the son of Duke Butantas was not my first choice but on reflection it makes perfect sense.’

  She grasped his wrists and moved his hands away.

  ‘Morta lives here, at Panemunis, with us but Elze will have to live in Samogitia.’

  Vsevolod sighed in exasperation and returned to his seat.

  ‘For months our daughter has been hectoring me about wanting to marry a great lord and now she has the opportunity of doing so. Marrying the son of Samogitia’s ruler, no less. I’m sure the daunting prospect of living in a foreign country will diminish when she considers the prestige, riches and power that comes from such a match.’

  Rasa was about to have the final say, as was her wont, when there was a knock at the door to their private suite to the rear of the main hall.

  ‘General Aras to see you, highness,’ called one of the guards.

  ‘Let him in,’ commanded Vsevolod.

  As usual the general’s appearance was immaculate when the door opened and he walked in, his black leather tunic matching the colour of his eyes. In his hands he held a large round leather case, which he proceeded to place on the floor in front of the prince. Aras bowed to Vsevolod and his wife.

  ‘This has just arrived, sir. A gift from Duke Arturus.’

  Vsevolod raised an eyebrow. He had heard nothing from the leader of the Northern Kurs since the imbecilic Kriviu Krivaitis had forced him to side with Butantas and Viesthard following the decla
ration of a holy crusade. The last he had heard Arturus was still embroiled in a war with the Southern Kurs. And long may it continue.

  ‘Well you had better open it, general,’ said Vsevolod.

  Aras knelt down and unbuckled the leather strap that secured the top of the case. Rasa was most intrigued as the general removed it and picked up a letter placed on top of what appeared to be tightly packed cloth. He passed the document to the prince who broke the seal.

  ‘From one ally to another.’

  He looked at Rasa. ‘That’s all it says. Most strange.’

  Aras suddenly jumped up and staggered back, his usual calm disposition replaced by shock and surprise.

  ‘Are you ill, general?’ asked Rasa.

  Aras took two deep breaths as he steadied himself.

  ‘A shock, highness, that is all.’

  He walked forward and stooped to pick up the case’s contents, pulling out the severed head of Duke Gedvilas as he straightened up.

  Rasa gasped and Vsevolod stared in horror at the gawping apparition held before him.

  ‘What does it mean?’ said Rasa.

  Rasa turned the head to look at bleached features. ‘A veiled threat, lady. Subtle but forceful at the same time.’

  ‘Take it away,’ snapped Vsevolod, ‘it’s disgusting.’

  Aras put the grisly trophy back in the case and replaced the lid. Vsevolod screwed up the letter and tossed it on the floor.

  ‘Arturus dares you to cast aside your alliance with him,’ said Aras. ‘I assume that he is now the leader of all the Kurs.’

  *****

  Though the city was blanketed in snow it was not yet bitterly cold. Only in December would the air be so cold that it stung the lungs when one breathed. Vetseke looked up at the dark grey clouds hanging low over Novgorod, ready to unload yet more snow on the city. The wood-paved streets at least saved citizens sinking up to their ankles in mud as the snow turned to slush. Two guards wrapped in fur cloaks stood outside the open gates of the kremlin, saluting half-heartedly as he passed them. They knew him well enough, this Liv exile that had arrived with a hundred of his men over three years before. He had offered his services to Prince Mstislav and the latter had gladly accepted his generous offer.