Army of the Wolf (26 page)

The Danish knights all wore segmented iron helmets with fixed face guards, their bodies protected by mail hauberks with mail mittens and mail chausses on their legs. Beneath the hauberk they wore thickly padded gambesons and over both they donned brightly coloured surcoats with very broad three-quarter length sleeves. Like their German counterparts they had swords as their principal weapons and large, almond-shaped shields. The Danish sergeants also copied their German counterparts with their kettle helmets, though many carried large war axes in addition to their swords.

The vast majority of the Danish Army comprised either spearmen equipped with simple hauberks, long wooden shields, helmets and broad, slashing swords, or axe men drawn from the poorer regions of Valdemar’s dominions. The latter wore simple conical helmets with nasal guards, hauberks and carried large round wooden shields. Their only weapons were large-bladed war axes and daggers.

The king and queen had left Dronningholm Castle to attend the service held in Roskilde’s cathedral, a great stone building constructed some fifty years before on the site of a wooden church built by the first Christian king of Denmark: Harald Bluetooth. The cathedral was packed with priests and monks, knights and chiefs and on the walls hung banners sporting Valdemar’s three blue lions surrounded by small red hearts on a yellow background.

As the angelic voices of the choir filled the cavernous cathedral the bishops of Roskilde, Schleswig and Estonia made their way towards the altar, the last of the three being the only one whose bishopric existed in name only. They were led by Andrew, Archbishop of Lund, the sixty-year-old papal legate who was a member of the influential and powerful Hvide family. As part of the agreement brokered between Bishop Albert of Riga and Valdemar, the latter had agreed to wage a crusade against the Estonians in return for the Bishopric of Estonia being under the authority of the archbishopric of Lund. Thus ensuring that Denmark would rule Estonia both physically and spiritually, for what Bishop Albert did not realise was that Archbishop Andrew had personally petitioned the pope who had given Estonia to the King of Denmark.

Valdemar had been delighted with the arrangement but his wife had been far from happy, believing that the archbishop had far too much influence over her husband, influence that she believed only she should wield. Berengaria looked truly beautiful that day, attired in a pure white dress adorned with gold buttons that contrasted sharply with her flawless olive skin, raven hair and brown eyes. Those eyes now settled on the archbishop as the choir stood singing and the prelate turned and ordered everyone to bow their heads in prayer. Her luscious lips curled into a sneer as she and the rest of the congregation did so. Why should she bow her head to a prince of the church? She was a queen after all. The archbishop called upon God to bless Valdemar and his brave warriors who were about to sail across the sea to battle the heathen Estonians. He asked the Lord for a calm sea and a brisk wind to carry the crusaders east to their objective. When he finished everyone said ‘Amen’ and looked up. Berengaria was bored to distraction. She frowned at the ten-year-old Prince Valdemar who fidgeted next to her. The little prince had been the son of the king’s first wife Dagmar, who had died in childbirth seven years before. It irked the queen enormously that ‘Valdemar the Younger’ was more popular than her own children she had born the king: the infants Eric, Sophie and Abel. And she was now pregnant with a fourth child though was not yet showing.

When the service concluded the king and queen walked down the aisle flanked by the standing congregation to the cathedral’s entrance. The queen smiled icily as the assembly bowed their heads to the royal couple as they passed.

‘Remember,’ she whispered to Valdemar, ‘what you take you keep.’

‘I will take Estonia,’ he replied.

‘You should include Livonia in your conquests,’ she said.

The king said no more until they were outside in the bright sunshine, the people of Roskilde cheering the royal couple as they exited the cathedral, or at least the king and his son. Yellow-uniformed spearmen held back the crowd as servants in the king’s livery opened the doors of the horse-drawn coach that stood a few yards away.

The king waved at the cheering crowds. ‘Livonia is ruled by the Bishop of Riga who has the blessing of His Holiness the Pope.’

‘His “holiness” cares only for the expansion of Christ’s kingdom on earth,’ she replied. ‘Why would he care if you controlled Livonia instead of the Bishop of Riga?’

‘A fine service, your majesty.’

Berengaria rolled her eyes when she heard the voice of the Count of Schwerin behind them. ‘Henry the Black’ bowed his head when the royal couple turned to face him.

‘Well, count,’ smiled the king, ‘are you and your men prepared to fight the pagans?’

Count Henry nodded. ‘My men are itching to get to grips with them, majesty.’

‘Are they itching because they are flea-ridden like most of the world’s soldiers?’ sneered the queen.

The count was taken aback. ‘Majesty?’

‘Your German knights are uncouth and unkempt, count,’ she said. ‘They spend too much time drinking when they should be in church praying.’

‘Soldiers drink and gamble, majesty,’ shrugged the count, ‘but they can fight well enough, I promise you.’

‘But not as well as my husband’s soldiers, I think,’ she retorted condescendingly.

The count stiffened as she reminded him that Valdemar had seized his domain five years earlier, forcing him to recognise the Danish king as his liege lord. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the olive-skinned beauty who was universally loathed throughout Valdemar’s kingdom. How exquisite she was with her shining black hair, enticing lips and sultry eyes, the epitome of feminine allure. How he would love to get his hands round that slender neck. Bitch!

He smiled at the young prince standing in a surcoat bearing the arms of his father. ‘It won’t be long before you are accompanying your father on crusade, young prince.’

‘Or perhaps accompanying him on crusade against the Germans,’ said Berengaria.

‘Well,’ interrupted the king, ‘I have to get the queen back to the castle. You will be delighted to learn, count, that my love is with child.’

Count Henry bowed his head. ‘I pray God that it is a boy.’

The king was delighted and took his wife’s hand and led her to the waiting coach.

‘I will see you at the docks tomorrow, count,’ he said, helping his wife into the carriage.

‘I will pray for a keen wind, your majesty,’ smiled the count. He would also be praying for the queen to die in childbirth.

The next day brought more sunshine and a brisk easterly wind, which made the count think that God had answered his prayers. He was in an ebullient mood as he organised the embarkation of his men and supplies onto the cogs that would take them to Estonia. Sailors with calloused hands and ugly faces bellowed at the dockers to work quicker with their winches and cranes to load the cargoes on the dozens of ships in the harbour.

Just under three thousand men were preparing to sail east to Estonia. The majority were Valdemar’s Danes: five hundred spearmen, fifteen hundred axe men and two hundred archers. The king had no crossbowmen, the bow still being preferred among his subjects. The Danes would travel aboard vessels that resembled the Viking longships of old, being over a hundred feet long, twelve feet at the beam and having a shallow draft that made them ideal for disembarking soldiers in shallow waters. They had ten pairs of oars, a single sail and despite lying low in the water were hardy seagoing vessels. Valdemar himself and his bodyguard of fifty knights would travel in a larger cog, as would their horses and warhorses. The other members of the king’s personal retinue included a hundred foot knights and the same number of sergeants.

A separate cog would transport the princes of the church who would accompany the crusaders on their expedition. Berengaria had been delighted when she learned that the Archbishop of Lund and bishops of Schleswig, Roskilde and Estonia were sailing with her husband as it removed them and their sanctimonious words from her presence.

The most powerful contingent of the crusader army was Count Henry’s Germans: fifty knights, fifty squires, a hundred lesser knights, two hundred crossbowmen and three hundred spearmen. It took five hours to load them and their horses onto cogs with the result that the fleet missed the afternoon tide. So men and animals had the prospect of spending nearly a day of inactivity as they waited for the next morning’s tide. The captains of the Danish vessels suggested that they should put to sea as their vessels could navigate the waters of the fjord at all times but the king forbade it.

So the fleet waited until three hours past midnight the next morning when king’s cog sailed from Roskilde on the high tide, leading a great fleet of oared boats and cogs to begin the crusade in Estonia.

*****

The Dvina was a sparkling blue the day the bishop’s army assembled at Holm for the expedition into Semgallia. It was now late spring and the days were long and warm. A slight breeze rippled the waters of the great river and the conditions were perfect for a river crossing. Boats of all sizes had been assembled at Holm Castle to expedite the crossing, which at this point involved traversing some six hundred and fifty yards of water. It had taken a month to assemble the army that would carry the cross into pagan Lithuanian, much to the annoyance of the Duke of Saxony and Rudolph of Stotel. But as Master Thaddeus had reminded them, organisation was a necessary evil. The elderly engineer had once again been created quartermaster general for the whole of Livonia and had ridden from Wenden in the company of Master Rudolf, his brother knights, sergeants and mercenaries.

Though all the garrison’s dozen brother knights rode south to the muster at Holm only thirty of the fifty sergeants, twenty of the fifty crossbowmen and twenty of the fifty spearmen accompanied Rudolf and the knights. The others stayed behind under the command of leather face to maintain the semblance of a garrison, supported by the dozen novices that were being tutored in the fighting arts by Lukas.

‘Let’s hope they don’t have their throats slit by Conrad’s heathens,’ remarked Henke as they journeyed south from Wenden.

‘They are quite loyal,’ said Conrad, ‘you need have no worries where they are concerned.’

Henke, however, was clearly bored and decided that trying to bait Conrad would alleviate his tedium.

‘Don’t you think it’s ironic, Rudolf,’ he said, ‘that when we return we might find Lembit’s wolf shields in command of the castle.’

Rudolf shook his head. ‘Lembit is dead, Henke, in case you have forgotten.’

‘Killed by Conrad, you may remember,’ added Walter.

‘Is that why the pagans follow you like little dogs, Conrad,’ asked Henke, ‘because you killed their leader?’

The brother knights were riding in one group along the track that ran parallel to the Gauja, the sergeants following and the mercenaries in the rear of the column, alongside the wagons that contained the tents, food, fodder, ammunition and spare weapons, clothing and armour. The brothers’ warhorses were also hitched to them, the great beasts flicking their tails to ward off the legions of midges that plagued the column.

‘They came to Wenden of their own free will,’ replied Conrad. ‘I did not force them.’

‘They are beggars and thieves,’ sneered Henke. ‘They should be sent back to Estonia.’

‘They have proved their worth in battle,’ said Conrad forcefully.

Henke laughed. ‘What, even the girls?’

‘Even them,’ replied Conrad.

Henke looked at Conrad. ‘That pretty young one who follows you around like a lost lamb.’

‘Kaja,’ said Hans, ‘that is her name.’

‘Did she warm your bed during those long winter nights at Lehola?’

Conrad looked straight ahead. ‘Perhaps you should mind your tongue,
brother
.’

‘Are you going to make me?’ said Henke casually.

‘Nothing would give me more pleasure,’ said Conrad.

‘That’s enough,’ snapped Rudolf. ‘Save your fight for the Lithuanians. Unless you both want a flogging.’

But the Lithuanians were not fighting, or at least the Semgallians were not. For on the morning when the crusaders’ army assembled on the sandy riverbanks of the River Dvina beneath the Castle of Holm, a boat pushed off from the opposite shore carrying a deputation from Duke Vincentas. The Bishop of Riga sat on his horse in the company of the Duke of Saxony, Rudolph of Stotel and Grand Master Volquin as the army prepared to board the boats that would carry it across the river. Manfred Nordheim sat behind the commanders, the fifty horsemen of Riga’s garrison providing a bodyguard for the bishop. The approaching Semgallians would have been impressed by the crusader army that lined the northern riverbank, the knights on their great warhorses clothed in brightly coloured caparisons and a host of banners among both the horsemen and foot soldiers. There was the great standard of the Sword Brothers – a red cross above a red sword on a white background – held behind Volquin, the black lion rampant on a yellow background of Saxony and the silver cross keys entwined with a horned helmet on a blue background that was the coat of arms of Stotel. The shields and surcoats of the crusaders knights were also adorned with griffins, eagles, unicorns, flowers, stars and bears, the different combinations of colours creating an impressive colourful display of German chivalry.