Army of the Wolf (54 page)

‘I am Ykintas, son of Duke Butantas,’ said Ykintas, extending his right arm to Mindaugas, ‘and I will accompany you across the Dvina.’

Mindaugas clasped his forearm as the two young men looked determinably at each other.

‘To Riga,’ said Mindaugas.

‘To Riga,’ echoed Ykintas.

Viesthard clapped his hands together and laughed loudly. ‘I remember a time when I thought that the world was a simple place. When all I had to do was draw my sword as a way of solving problems.’

‘You are not going anywhere,’ Butantas growled to his son. ‘Put your sword away.’

Viesthard walked to stand between the young men and placed his arms around their shoulders as Ykintas slid his sword into its scabbard.

‘Much as I would like to take you up on your kind offer, I still have an army of Northern Kurs on my western border. If we all took ourselves across the Dvina I am sure Duke Arturus would use the opportunity to lay waste our lands.’

‘It is as Duke Viesthard says,’ said Butantas.

‘Lithuanians should not make war upon each other,’ said Mindaugas glumly.

Viesthard looked at Aras. ‘Indeed not.’

He looked back at Ykintas and Mindaugas. You two young stags could be brothers.’

‘We can stay as long as you require, lord duke,’ stated Aras, trying to appear helpful.

‘Does that include assisting me against Arturus, general?’ enquired Viesthard mischievously.

Aras’ brow furrowed. ‘Well, as Prince Mindaugas stated, lord duke, Lithuanians should not make war upon one another.’

‘You should tell that to Prince Vsevolod,’ replied the duke.

‘Let us put all our previous differences and disagreements behind us, lord,’ implored Mindaugas, ‘and pledge ourselves to the common fight against the heathen Bishop of Riga and his detestable Sword Brothers.’

He drew his sword and held it up to Duke Viesthard, gripping it just below the cross-guard.

‘The common fight.’

Seconds later Ykintas also drew his sword and held it aloft. ‘The common fight.’

Butantas and Viesthard looked at each other before the latter pulled his sword from its scabbard for a second time. Butantas did likewise and pledged his allegiance to battling the common enemy.

‘General,’ snapped Mindaugas.

Aras reluctantly drew his sword and likewise held it up to complete the circle of new allies. This would take some explaining to Vsevolod, he thought.

And so it was that on a bridge built by the Bishop of Riga an alliance was forged that would have great ramifications for the future of Lithuania, Livonia and the Sword Brothers.

*****

Swedish ships had always visited Oesel, Finland and Estonia, first as Viking raiders and settlers and then as traders and crusaders when Sweden’s kings became Christians. It had been over sixty years since King Eric had led a fleet of crusaders east to convert the Finns and since then Swedish ships and missionaries had criss-crossed the Baltic to transport goods and the word of God to the pagans. The Swedes had shown little interest in Estonia until Valdemar had won his victory at Lyndanise. The news of this great triumph had spread far and wide, including to the court of King John of Sweden. John had come to the throne at the age of fifteen and now, five years later, he led a fleet to stake his own claim in Estonia before it was divided up between the Danes and Sword Brothers.

His longships and merchant vessels carried over five hundred knights, crossbowmen and levy foot soldiers. They crossed the Baltic, hugged the northern coast of Oesel before heading south to sail into the shallow waters of Matsalu Bay on Rotalia’s coastline. The ships were beached amid the reed beds and then the king led his army inland a short distance. His guides had informed him that there was a small hill fort less than five miles south of the bay that would provide an ideal base for his glorious crusade in Estonia. He therefore marched his army to the fort located at a place named Leal and stormed it. Admittedly the garrison had numbered only twenty men but it was a victory nevertheless, and while his priests sprinkled the pagan timbers with holy water those defenders who had survived the attack were burnt at the stake for daring to defy a Christian king. Had John taken the time to interrogate the long-haired heathens before he had them incinerated he would have discovered that they were not Estonians, but Oeselians.

The king gave orders that the fort was to be strengthened and in the days afterwards amused himself with raiding and burning the numerous small fishing villages that hugged the nearby coastline. He also indulged his passion for hunting, finding the mostly flat inshore pastures and surrounding forests rich in deer, elk and wild boar. After two weeks a message arrived from Sweden notifying him that a rebellion had broken out in the country, a small group of disgruntled nobles taking advantage of his absence to raise the banner of insurrection. Alarmed and enraged in equal measure, the young king took ship and a hundred of his most trusted men back to Sweden, giving orders that the army was to remain in and around Leal until he returned to lead it.

‘They remain at Leal, content to hunt and fill their fat bellies with what they have killed.’

Sigurd retook his seat next to his father who had asked him to give the assembled earls and freemen gathered in the king’s hall a summary of recent events in Rotalia. Slaves served honey mead to the dozens of fair-haired warriors seated in the hall, which was filled with the aroma of sweat as the summer sun roasted the land.

The king’s hall was in the centre of Kuressaare, a huge wooden building with a steeply pitched roof that was supported by two interior rows of massive oak pillars. The unusually high ceiling allowed smoke to rise and escape through ports at each end of the roof. Not that there were any fires burning on the stones in the centre of the floor today. The tiered side benches on either side of the hall, where people sat and slept at assigned places, were crammed with Olaf’s most important subjects. And their combined body heat made the atmosphere most uncomfortable. Olaf, beads of sweat on his forehead, rose and stood in the centre of the hall.

‘Estonia is like a rotting carcass that is being picked over by scavengers. If the Danes, Swedes and Sword Brothers wish to fight over its bones then I see no reason to interrupt them. However, I cannot allow these Swedes to think that they can murder Oeselian warriors without consequences.’

The men seated began banging their feet in acclaim, as did Olaf’s two youngest sons, Stark and Kalf. Olaf raised his arms to still the noise.

‘We will destroy the Swedes at Leal and then I will evacuate our warriors from Rotalia.’

This announcement was greeted by murmurs of agreement. The Oeselians had occupied Rotalia in the aftermath of Lembit’s defeat and death at the hands of the Sword Brothers, when Estonian power had been broken. And only because Rotalia could be used as a launching point for an assault upon Oesel. But now Olaf saw no reason for his warriors to become embroiled in a conflict between the crusaders, a view shared by the majority of his people.

‘Last year,’ continued Olaf, ‘the Danes and Sword Brothers clashed at the Pala and we hear that the Bishop of Riga had finished his business south of the Dvina and will soon be marching north again. We will wait until the crusaders have weakened each other before taking advantage of their disunity.’

One of the earls, a brawny individual with a thick blonde beard and long moustache, rose from his bench. Though those present in the hall were of different ranks all were free men whose voices were equal in the presence of the king.

‘Are you certain that the crusaders will argue among themselves? What is to stop them uniting and attacking us here on Oesel?’

All looked at Olaf. Now over sixty and his beard and moustache pure white, his blue eyes still burned with determination and his mind was as keen as ever.

He pointed at the formidable earl. ‘A fair question, Bothvar. In answer I will say that though we may view the crusaders as one unified enemy, they are in fact riven by divisions and jealousies. As I have already mentioned the Danes and Sword Brothers came to blows last year. This year I expect them to renew their struggle for control of Estonia. My plan is to destroy the Swedes at Leal and then wait until the Danes and Bishop of Riga have fought themselves to a standstill. Then I will sail to Lyndanise and burn it to the ground.’

Bothvar, satisfied by the king’s answer, sat down as the others banged their feet in approval. Olaf held up his arms and called for silence.

‘In two weeks we will sail to Matsalu Bay and march to Leal. Sigurd will muster his men who garrison Rotalia and join us there. To victory!’

They rose and repeated his cry, the high rafters echoing with their voices as they chanted his name and that of Taarapita, the Oeselian God of War and Thunder whose spirit infused every axe, spear and sword carried by Olaf’s warriors.

Afterwards the men filed out of the hall to stretch their legs, take a piss or bed a slave girl they had brought with them before the great feast that would be held in the evening. In their absence slaves would set out tables before the benches in the hall and would open the doors to allow fresh air to enter. Because it was summer the earls and freemen slept in tents that ringed Kuressaare like a great besieging army. The freemen either came on their own or with any sons who were of fighting age, which usually meant of sixteen summers. The earls, though, possessed lands, treasure and followers and they usually arrived at Olaf’s capital in company of at least a score of their bodyguards: full-time warriors who lived for war and plunder and who staffed Olaf’s longships along with their lords. The slaves who could be found on the many farms and in the multitude of villages on Oesel were testament to the success of the raids conducted by the king over the years. There were fair-haired Estonians and Finns, swarthy Russians and Livs and even a few Germans whose vessels had been boarded by Oeselian longships. Even the poorest farmer had at least one slave to mistreat and assure himself that there was at least one person in the world who was worse off than him. The only people who did not own slaves were bondsmen, individuals who could not pay their debts and who had to work for another until the debt was paid.

Olaf filled his lungs with air and stretched out his arms.

‘I’m getting too old for this.’

‘You, father? Never,’ said Sigurd. ‘You will die with an axe in your hand, of that I am certain.’

‘One for chopping wood instead of a war axe,’ grunted Olaf. He looked at his clean-shaven eldest son. ‘Once we have wiped out Leal I want you to get your men back to Oesel as quickly as possible. The talk among the merchants is that the Bishop of Riga will soon be marching north with a great army.’

‘We have seen crusader armies before, father,’ said Sigurd dismissively.

‘This one is different,’ warned Olaf. ‘It is really three armies. One of crusaders, one of Livs and a third composed of Estonians.’

Sigurd was confused. ‘There are no Estonian armies, father. Perhaps a few renegades and bandits hiding in the forests but nothing else.’

‘You are wrong,’ said his father. ‘There is one led by a Sword Brother appointed as the marshal by the Bishop of Riga, whatever that means. The Estonians call this marshal
Susi
and have named his followers the Army of the Wolf.’

Sigurd was not convinced. ‘It sounds like a tale told by parents to their young children to frighten them. It seems a pity to abandon Rotalia.’

Olaf clasped the forearm of a passing earl even older then him, a bear of a man who dwarfed the king.

‘I hope I will see you at Leal, Swein,’ said Olaf, grinning. ‘I don’t want to have to send my guards to prise you out of your bed that you share with slave girls.’

‘I’ve brought a couple with me,’ beamed Swein. ‘Big-breasted Finnish girls. I’ll send you one to put some life back into your old bones.’

‘Dalla wouldn’t like that.’

‘So she hasn’t grown tired of you yet?’ said Swein. ‘I had better go and pay my compliments. Until the feast, my friend.’

‘Men like Swein give me faith that our way of life will survive,’ mused Olaf as he watched his over-sized friend stride away. He turned to his son. ‘But only if we tread the path between caution and audacity with the skill of a mountain goat. I do not want you suffering the same fate as Eric.’

Eric had been Olaf’s oldest son but had fallen at Treiden during an expedition against the Sword Brothers.

‘I am not Eric,’ Sigurd reassured him.

Eric had been headstrong, brave and foolish in equal measure, the embodiment of all that was good and bad in an Oeselian warrior. Sigurd was more thoughtful and intelligent but Olaf feared that he liked being the ruler of Rotalia too much. He had been given a taste of kingship and had found it agreeable. His son had said nothing regarding the evacuation of the Estonian kingdom but he feared that his reluctance to relinquish his overlordship of Rotalia might lead to him making rash decisions. He looked at his son. Perhaps he was being foolish. He placed an arm round Sigurd’s shoulders.

‘Come on, let’s make sure that Swein doesn’t drink all my mead.’

*****

The garrisons of Segewold, Kremon and Wenden did not stay with the crusader army as its members got drunk and celebrated their victory at Mesoten. Instead they journeyed north back to their castles, as did Conrad and the Army of the Wolf. Once more the latter camped on the plain to the south of the castle while its commander and his fellow brother knights gathered in the master’s hall to determine their next course of action. The days were long and hot as June gave way to July and crops ripened in the fields around the walled settler village, the population of which had increased again when a fresh batch of immigrants from Germany arrived the previous month.