Army of the Wolf (6 page)

The prince pointed at Yaroslav. ‘
You
were responsible for Gerceslav and his men so you will right the wrongs that have been committed against him and me. You will go to Pskov and there await the arrival of soldiers sent by my father-in-law.’

Arkady looked at Yuri. ‘Lord Khotyan?’

Mstislav reached over to place his hand on the arm of his young wife. ‘That is correct. The Ungannians and heretics of Rome managed to defeat two hundred Cumans. Let’s see how they deal with twenty thousand.’

‘Lord Khotyan will lead them himself, highness?’ asked Yuri.

‘My father-in-law has better things to do with his time than support Novgorod,’ replied the prince. ‘But he is not averse to sending aid to his son when requested to do so, is that not so, love of my life?’

Maria dazzled him with a smile. ‘It is so, lord.’

Mstislav rose from his throne and led his wife by the hand towards the private quarters of Novgorod’s kremlin. The boyars, commanders and priests bowed their heads.

‘Archbishop Mitrofan,’ said Mstislav, ‘you will issue your proclamation this very day. My congratulations, Yaroslav, you managed to keep your head. You will leave for Pskov straight away.’

Yaroslav breathed a sigh of relief after the royal couple had departed and the tension in the hall evaporated as soon as Mstislav and his wife disappeared. The former son-in-law of the prince went over to his father as the boyars began filing out of the hall.

‘The prince was remarkably restrained,’ remarked Yuri, ‘all things considered. But thousands of Cumans rampaging through the lands to the west will be ruinous to trade.’

‘Luckily the route to Constantinople will remain unaffected,’ said Yaroslav.

The Nevsky family supplied musk, marten, ermine and sable to the rich citizens of Constantinople. It was a lucrative business and one that fortunately avoided the Dvina and Gauja, the goods being transported south via Pskov to the River Dnieper and thence to the Black Sea to Constantinople.

‘The prince’s thirst for vengeance may have unforeseen consequences,’ said Yuri as he walked with his son from the hall. ‘The Bishop of Riga will not sit idly by while his kingdom is ravaged. The boyars of Novgorod do not desire a war with Livonia.’

‘Unfortunately, father, they already have one.’

Yuri sighed. ‘And all over a piece of cloth.’

Yaroslav smiled at him. ‘A religious icon, father.’

‘If it was so precious why did he give it to that barbarian Gerceslav to lose? It seems to me that Mstislav uses its loss as a pretext so he can have his war.’

‘To what end, father?’

‘To the end that all princes desire: glory and enduring fame. The prince has seen the Bishop of Riga defeat the Livs and Estonians and expand his kingdom and so Mstislav wishes to likewise expand Novgorod’s borders. He could write to the bishop requesting his banner back but great warlords do not write letters, they don their armour and march off to war to achieve their aims. It’s all very predictable and very depressing.’

He shook his head and looked at his son. ‘How is that new wife of yours?’

‘Young and beautiful,’ beamed Yaroslav.

‘Will you be taking her to Pskov?’

Yaroslav looked alarmed. ‘So she can be the object of desire of the mayor? I think not.’

Yuri sighed again. ‘Domash Tverdislavich has not changed, then?’

‘He is the reason that wretched banner was lost.’

‘Oh?’

‘Domash took a liking to Gerceslav’s wife and wanted him out of the city so he could pay her his undivided attention.’

Yuri stopped and laid a hand on his son’s arm. ‘Does the prince know this?’

Yaroslav shrugged. ‘If he found out he would have Domash executed, but if Gerceslav found out he would try to kill the mayor, which in turn might provoke a war between Novgorod and Khotyan. What would you rather have father, twenty thousand Cumans ravaging Estonia and Livonia or watering their horses in Novgorod’s rivers and lakes?’

His father rubbed his chin. ‘All so very depressing.’

Khotyan was more than happy to assist his son-in-law, not least because a great raid into Estonia and Livonia promised a rich haul of slaves. He promised twenty thousand men but in the event could only muster fifteen thousand, but they were more than enough. It took a month to gather his forces, Khotyan giving command of the force to Gerceslav and instructing him to lay waste the enemy’s lands. He did not bother to mention anything about a piece of Russian cloth. The promise of plunder and slaves was motivation enough.

Cuman warfare was very much a family affair, with families forming clans and clans forming hordes. It was a horde of thousands of men, women and horses that moved north in the autumn, each warrior leading up to twelve horses to allow him to cover up to a hundred miles a day if necessary. They fed their horses on the move, filling nosebags with fodder so the animals could eat while still moving. When one got tired the rider transferred to another mount. When they halted they pitched felt tents and sat down to eat cheeses, meat and milk. Yaroslav arrived at Pskov just before they arrived, and the day after his arrival stood with Domash, his senior officers and Gleb on Pskov’s southern ramparts as the ground to the south of the city heaved with thousands of tents, tens of thousands of steppe horses and a host of campfires. It was as if a sorcerer had created a great army out of thin air.

‘Make sure the gates are closed at all times,’ Domash said to one of his officers, ‘I don’t want them inside the city. I dread to think what pestilences they have brought with them.’

He looked at Yaroslav. ‘When will they be leaving?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘You go with them?’ said Domash.

Yaroslav nodded.

‘You have my sympathies.’

Yaroslav noticed that Domash did not look him directly in the eye, no doubt uncomfortable that he had taken the blame for something that was the mayor’s fault. For his part Yaroslav said nothing about the wife of Gerceslav who was now with her husband in the Cuman camp.

‘A wise precaution, keeping the gates closed,’ said Gleb mischievously to Domash, ‘especially if Gerceslav discovers that you have been mauling his wife.’

‘Hold your tongue,’ snapped Domash.

‘Have I touched a nerve?’ remarked Gleb innocently.

Domash spun round to face the
Skomorokh
. ‘Keep your nose out of things that do not concern you.’

Gleb stepped back and bowed in a ridiculous manner. ‘As you wish, oh great one, conqueror of the world’s women. I hope it was worth it.’

Domash was not amused. ‘What?’

‘The delights of the Lady Afanasy,’ replied Gleb as he nonchalantly walked away, ‘for the price that Novgorod will pay will be a high one.’

What do you mean?’ asked Domash. But Gleb merely waved an arm in the air as he left the battlements.

Domash shook his head and turned his attention back to the Cuman horde camped before his city, mumbling something under his breath.

‘The words of the
Skomorokhs
can be prophetic, I have heard,’ said Yaroslav.

‘I thought that the citizens of Novgorod do not believe in superstition,’ remarked Domash.

‘The church says that they are the devil’s servants but my father believes that they can see the future. Let us hope that Gleb did not speak the truth.’

Domash waved a hand at him. ‘He is an idiot, a fool whom I took pity on, that is all. I don’t know why I tolerate him.’

But Yaroslav knew very well why the Mayor of Pskov tolerated the
Skomorokh
for Gleb wielded great influence among the city’s lower orders and even greater power over the rural folk. The Orthodox Church thought that it controlled the lives of the people but many still clung to the old pagan ways and beliefs. And many believed that the
Skomorokhs
were descendants of the pagan priests of ancient Russia. Their touch was said to pass on the blessings of the old gods and they were believed to have the power of prophecy. Domash was corrupt and ambitious but he was no fool. He knew that with Gleb by his side his power both within and outside the city was virtually unassailable. That was why he tolerated the mystic’s insolent outbursts.

Domash decided to be generous. ‘Do you require any of Pskov’s soldiers?’

Yaroslav had ridden to Pskov with five hundred horsemen provided by Mstislav. He knew the Cumans numbered thousands but feared that they would be no match for the heavily armoured crusader horsemen of the Bishop of Livonia. His Novgorodians were all equipped with helmets, short-sleeved mail shirts and cuirasses of lamellar armour comprising overlapping iron scales. Like the crusaders they were armed with lances, swords, axes and maces and carried large shields.

‘Five hundred armoured horsemen, lord, would strengthen the army,’ said Yaroslav.

‘They will leave with you in the morning,’ said Domash. ‘Five hundred horsemen from my
Druzhina
.’

‘Most generous, lord,’ remarked Yaroslav.

It was indeed, for the
Druzhina
were the élite soldiers of a Russian army: rich boyars and their retainers and bodyguards who rode the finest horses and were equipped in the most expensive armour and carried rich swords. Usually they were under the sole command of Domash as ruler of the city. Yaroslav reflected that the mayor must be desperate for him and the Cumans to depart from Pskov as quickly as possible, though whether it was because he wanted Gerceslav well away from the city if he discovered his wife’s infidelity or had an urgent desire to get Mstislav’s banner back he did not know.

‘Gossip among the merchants is that the Sword Brothers took the banner back to Wenden,’ said Domash, screwing up his nose at the stink of the Cuman camp that was being brought to the city on a northerly breeze.

Yaroslav sighed. ‘I have heard that it is a great stone fortress.’

‘The stone castles of the Sword Brothers spring up all over Livonia,’ remarked Domash, ‘and soon they will appear in Estonia. How long will it be before they are on the borders of Novgorod?’

Before the Sword Brothers came to Livonia the pagan Livs and Estonians used wood to construct their hilltop forts. It was the same with the Russians whose towns and cities were surrounded by wooden ramparts. But the Sword Brothers built their castles from stone, which could not be set on fire or pulled down, a fact not lost on Yaroslav.

‘When we get to Wenden I will request that the crusaders surrender the prince’s banner,’ said Yaroslav. ‘I cannot batter down its walls but fifteen thousand Cumans and a thousand Russians will hopefully awe them into agreeing to my demand. It was the Sword Brothers who committed the outrage at Dorpat that led to the prince’s banner being stolen.’

Domash smiled and nodded. In his experience it would take far more than a motley collection of Cumans to intimidate the Sword Brothers, who always seemed to be greatly outnumbered but who nevertheless always seemed to emerge victorious from any fight.

‘I would advise caution in your dealings with the servants of the Bishop of Riga,’ said Domash, knowing that a war with the bishop might result in a crusader army knocking at Pskov’s gates.

Yaroslav shrugged. ‘The prince demands his banner back and the Sword Brothers have it. It is they who should be cautious lest they arouse Mstislav’s wrath.’

That afternoon Domash filled a great many wagons with food and fodder and sent them to the Cuman camp so that Gerceslav would have no excuse for tarrying at Pskov. The mayor mustered his
Druzhina
and the next morning they trotted from the kremlin to link up with Yaroslav’s horsemen that were camped to the west of the city. The mayor breathed a huge sigh of relief when they and the Cumans departed and hoped Afanasy would remain silent regarding her amorous trysts with him. Of course she would. If Gerceslav found out he would strangle her with his own hands. With any luck he would be killed before the walls of Wenden. Yaroslav would keep him on a tight leash.

Unfortunately for Yaroslav the clans of the Cuman horde were not interested in righting the wrongs committed against the Prince of Novgorod, the retrieval of his banner or taking orders from the haughty scion of the Nevsky family who rode among them. What they were interested in was seizing loot and slaves. To this end Gerceslav organised parties to ride far and wide in search of plunder, the groups moving at speed as they fanned out into Ungannia, Jerwen and Saccalia whilst heading in the general direction of Wenden like a plague of rats. The general rate of advance was slow but the plethora of hit-and-run raids was devastatingly effective. Like swarms of flies Cuman horsemen would suddenly emerge from the trees to attack a village, galloping among the wooden huts to shoot down men who offered resistance and jumping from their horses to storm dwellings to seize young women, girls and infants. Then they were gone, herding their frightened captives before them, in addition to any horses and ponies that happened to be in the settlement. In six days they had advanced fifty miles and burnt a hundred villages in Ungannia and Jerwen. Three days later they had entered Saccalia and then headed southwest, towards Wenden.

*****

Conrad looked out from the battlements and saw an ocean of green. The summer was waning but still the forests of northern Livonia were lush, the evergreens resplendent in the August sunshine and dotted among them oak, elm and maple. Even though Wenden was a great fortress it seemed small and insignificant among the great expanses of trees that covered the land for as far as the eye could see. Among the trees were wide meadows, dozens of lakes and many rivers and streams, it was true, but they were small dots and thin lines in the tapestry of green.