Army of the Wolf (10 page)

‘You two, get outside!’ bellowed Rudolf.

Henke curled his lip once more and went back to his horse as Conrad grabbed the reins and ordered his own horse to follow him, which amazingly it did.

Walter was already in the saddle when he walked into the courtyard to face a fuming Rudolf. His eyes darted between Henke and Conrad.

‘You keep your helmets on and your mouths shut, otherwise I will hand you over to the Cumans, and that is no idle threat.’

Henke looked unconcerned as he hoisted himself into the saddle and placed his helmet on his head, Conrad fitting his helm before he too gained his saddle. They followed the helmetless Rudolf and Walter across the drawbridge and down the track to the outer gates. He wondered if the mayor of Pskov, Domash Tverdislavich. was waiting for them outside the walls. He looked at the back of Rudolf’s head. The master was wearing a coif that hid the burn scars to his neck that he had suffered many years ago at Holm during a raid led by Pskov’s mayor. Rudolf was already in a bad mood. Conrad wondered if the sight of the man who had caused the disfigurement of his body would sour the parley.

The great oak beam that sat horizontally in the iron brackets in the rear of the gates was removed and the four horsemen trotted from Wenden’s perimeter over the bridge that spanned the ditch. Conrad looked left and right and saw hundreds, thousands, of horsemen drawn up on the great expanse of grass to the south of the castle. He recognised the horsemen from Pskov in their neatly ordered ranks, lamellar armour and the banner of the city fluttering in the breeze. But around them were groups of wild horsemen in brightly coloured topcoats wearing a variety of armour and carrying spears, javelins, bows and even lassos.

‘Remember to keep your mouths shut,’ hissed Rudolf as they continued to walk their horses forward, towards the banner of Pskov.

Suddenly a group of riders broke ranks and trotted towards them: two Russians and two others in bright tops and trousers. The thousands of other horsemen on their lean mounts remained stationary. Conrad heard the gates being shut behind him as Rudolf held up a hand to signal a halt as the enemy horsemen slowed and stopped around twenty paces from them. The two Cumans were bare headed and Conrad was surprised to see that one was a women. He scanned the Cuman ranks behind them, wondering how many of the riders were female.

‘I am Yaroslav Nevsky,’ said one of the Russians, who removed his decorated helmet with a nasal guard to reveal a man with a thin face and long nose. ‘Representative of Prince Mstislav, lord of Novgorod and Pskov.’

‘I am Rudolf Kassel,’ said the master, ‘master of Wenden Castle and knight of the Order of Sword Brothers.’

He held out a hand to Walter. ‘And this is Brother Walter, my deputy commander.’

Walter bowed his head ever so slightly, a gesture reciprocated by Yaroslav. The latter turned to the Cuman man in the saddle beside him.

‘Master Rudolf, this is Lord Gerceslav of the Cuman people and brother-in-law to Prince Mstislav. And beside him his wife, the Lady Afanasy.’

Conrad heard Henke snigger inside his helmet but Rudolf and Walter said nothing, though the latter did bow his head to the Cuman woman. He was always the observer of etiquette. The formalities over with, Rudolf got straight to the crux of the matter.

‘Why does Novgorod make war upon Livonia and in doing so break the treaty agreed between your prince and the Bishop of Estonia that is barely a year old?’

‘The prince is angry that his standard was stolen by the Sword Brothers,’ replied Yaroslav. Conrad noticed that the Cuman male was glaring at Rudolf in an attempt to intimidate him.

‘A letter or courier would have been preferable to open negotiations on the matter rather than sending an army,’ replied Rudolf.

‘Then you do not deny that you possess the prince’s standard,’ said Yaroslav.

‘I do not,’ replied Rudolf.

Yaroslav spoke some words in a strange language to Gerceslav who smiled triumphantly.

‘Then you will not object to surrendering it to my safekeeping,’ said Yaroslav.

‘That will not be possible,’ replied Rudolf flatly, tilting his head at Gerceslav. ‘You have brought Russian soldiers into Livonia, along with these barbarians from the east, and have proceeded to pillage and burn your way here. This I cannot tolerate.’

Yaroslav leaned forward. ‘Master Rudolf, have you not seen the size of the army that surrounds your castle?’

‘Army?’ sneered Rudolf. ‘It looks more like a band of thieves to me.’

Henke’s laugh from inside his helmet was clearly audible. The Cuman male, clearly frustrated by his inability to understand what was being spoken, shot some words to Yaroslav who calmly explained what the castellan had said. He looked at Rudolf, spat on the ground and pointed at him.

‘You die.’

He then wheeled his horse around and rode back to his people, followed by his striking looking wife.

‘I assume this meeting is over,’ remarked an unconcerned Rudolf.

‘I regret any bloodshed that will ensue,’ said Yaroslav.

Rudolf tugged on his horse’s reins to wheel the beast around. ‘You should have thought of that before you invaded this land.’

They returned to the gates as Yaroslav and Gerceslav galloped back to their horsemen. As the Sword Brothers trotted through the gates there was a great cheer and the blast of trumpets and horns and the earth shook as thousands of riders charged.

‘Get those gates closed,’ shouted Rudolf as the enemy tried to sweep into the perimeter.

Guards heaved at the heavy oak barriers to deny the Cuman vanguard entrance as others slammed braces against the gates and the oak beam was placed back in its brackets. Conrad heard a succession of dull thuds as the crossbowmen in the towers and on the walls shot a volley of quarrels against the attackers.

‘Back to the stables,’ ordered Rudolf, digging his spurs into his charger.

Walter, Henke and Conrad followed as the first Cuman arrows came over the wall to strike the turf behind the ramparts. They trotted up the track, across the drawbridge and rode into the courtyard where Lukas stood with his group of novices, all wearing gambesons but carrying no weapons. Conrad smiled. He remembered his time as a novice when he had been frustrated at not being allowed to carry a weapon until Lukas deemed him competent to use one. He slid off his horse as the novices came forward to take the destriers back to the stables, removing his helmet as one took his reins and led the great beast away. Beyond the confines of the courtyard came the muted cheers and shouts of the attackers as they assailed the walls.

‘Hopefully they will amuse themselves battering their heads against our defences to allow the grand master to organise a force to destroy them,’ said Rudolf, cocking his head towards the tumult. ‘Lukas, go to the perimeter and instruct the crossbowmen to save their ammunition. The enemy has no siege engines so I see no point in shooting all our crossbow bolts.’

Lukas saluted, told the novices to stay in the castle confines and walked briskly towards the drawbridge.

Rudolf pointed at Henke and Conrad. ‘Back to your positions on the wall. And don’t waste ammunition.’

Rudolf asked Walter to accompany him to the master’s hall as the Cumans and Russians continued to assail the defences. But after an hour of this fruitless activity Gerceslav pulled back his horsemen to the north of the castle, burning the settler’s village as he did so. Lukas gave strict instructions that there was to be no shooting at an enemy who clearly had no appetite to assault a stake-filled ditch, steep earth rampart and thick timber walls. And so Conrad and Hans watched as the Cumans made a lot of noise and shot the occasional arrow against the walls and then disappeared altogether. As far as Conrad could tell as he peered through a loophole none of the Russians had approached the walls, and he could not see the banner of Pskov anywhere among the enemy horsemen.

So Yaroslav and Gerceslav left Wenden after burning its village and slaughtering all the livestock they could find. Rudolf hoped the raiders were returning back to Mstislav’s land but they had not yet finished with Livonia.

*****

Aras rubbed his neatly trimmed beard and smiled contentedly. The wooden huts in the village were all burning and terrified women and children were running in all directions. His men had killed most of the menfolk who had attempted to resist their attack but he had been more interested in wreaking destruction than slaughter or capturing slaves.

‘Recall your men,’ he ordered his subordinate standing next to him.

The officer turned to a signaller behind them who raised the horn to his lips and gave two short blasts that pierced the air filled with the screams and wails of women and children. Within half a minute groups of warriors wearing conical helmets with nasal guards, dark grey leggings, black tunics and leather boots appeared among the burning buildings and made their way towards Aras. They were armed with single-hand axes, spears and swords, all of them carrying round shields bearing the symbol of a black axe.

‘Make sure you leave a few of those shields behind,’ shouted Aras, who rubbed his hands with satisfaction.

It was the third village they had burned in a week. All of them in the domain of the Russian kingdom of Galicia-Volhynia under the rule of the weak leader Coloman. His realm bordered the Lithuanian kingdom of Aukstaitija ruled by Duke Kitenis whose symbol was a black axe. Coloman would soon know that the duke’s warriors were raiding his lands and would launch retaliatory raids.

‘We left shields at the other villages that were raided, lord,’ said his deputy.

Aras smiled. ‘Better to leave too many than not enough so Coloman will get the message.’

The warriors filed past Aras and clustered behind him, keeping watch for any enemy warriors that might appear. Huts and barns were collapsing now as the flames consumed them, the villagers either fleeing to the nearby woods or down the dirt track that led to the next settlement.

It was still early, the sun low in the eastern sky. They had attacked just before dawn, making much noise on their approach so the villagers would be fully aware that they were under attack. The intention was to burn the settlement and spread terror, killing only when forced to do so. The more that lived the quicker news would spread that Duke Kitenis had declared war upon Galicia-Volhynia.

Aras stayed with the rearguard as his men made their way back to where they had concealed their boats under trees lining the riverbank. He looked at the burning village and then at the great plumes of white smoke that were lancing into the sky.

‘Pick your feet up,’ he barked to the men.

The nearest Russian garrison would soon be sending soldiers to investigate the source of the smoke and he wanted to be well away when they arrived. Out of the corner of his eye he saw one of his warriors pinioning a woman on the ground. The man had discarded his shield and spear and was busy pulling up the woman’s robes so he could rape her. She was resisting violently but her resistance was markedly reduced when he punched her hard in the face.

‘Idiot,’ hissed Aras.

‘Do you want me to deal with him, lord?’ enquired his deputy.

Aras shook his head. ‘I will take care of it. Get the men back to the boats quickly. This smoke will be seen for miles.’

Aras marched over to where the warrior had an iron grip around the woman’s neck as he exposed her naked thighs with his other hand. He was chuckling maliciously as Aras struck him hard with the back of his hand, causing him to tumble off the woman onto the ground. He glared at Aras before the latter’s sword was plunged into his chest. His expression changed from hate to confusion, and then to despair as life left him and he collapsed, gurgling sounds coming from his mouth before he expired. Aras sheathed his weapon and grabbed the woman’s arm, roughly hoisting her to her feet.

‘Go, tell your people that the soldiers of Duke Kitenis did this to your village.’

She stared wide-eyed in terror, trembling as her eyes darted from Aras to the dead warrior at his feet. She probably spoke no Lithuanian so his words were wasted.

He released her arm. ‘Kitenis,’ he said again before pointing to the track that led from the village.

‘Go!’ he bellowed, drawing his sword again.

She screamed and then fled, tripping over the dead warrior to tumble to the ground. She sprang up and ran as though a demon was snapping at her heels.

Aras smiled. ‘Excellent.’

They retraced their steps back to the boats, running through the pine trees covering three-quarters of the border between Aukstaitija and Galicia-Volhynia. They heard the tapping of woodpeckers and caught sight of black storks, ospreys and lesser-spotted eagles - but no Russian soldiers. The latter would be searching for horse tracks but Aras and his men had arrived by riverboat. The domain of Duke Kitenis may have been hilly and covered with pine, spruce, oak, lime and beech trees but it was also dotted with rivers and lakes. Aras had paid a handsome price to a guide who knew the waterways of Aukstaitija and the lakes that were connected by rivers and streams.

They reached the boats without incident and pushed off into midstream, each vessel having half a dozen oarsmen and loaded with spare weapons and supplies. They would row for an hour until they arrived at the large lake, in the middle of which was a tree covered island they had used for their base. The men had grumbled when Aras had given the order that they were to light no cooking fires but he could not risk them being discovered. They were far from home and were here to burn villages. And not only did they have to avoid Russian patrols they also had to stay hidden from the Aukstaitijans. So his men chewed on cured meat and ate berries and ignored the lake full of bream, roach, perch and tench.