Army of the Wolf (67 page)

His outburst was disrespectful and the punishment for such rudeness was usually a bored tongue. But Sir Richard knew his squire spoke the truth and his stomach twisted in agony as he watched Conrad walk towards the Danish army. His knights knew it too and they sat on their destriers in silence, some glancing at their lord, hoping he would give the command to charge.

Similar sentiments possessed Otto who walked up and down in front of the brother knights of Wenden, holding up the cross he wore around his neck.

‘Take a good look, sinners. Take a long look at one of your brothers who goes like Daniel into the lion’s den while you sit idle like the idolaters of Sodom and Gomorrah. Christ himself damns you for your faintheartedness. Are you Sword Brothers, oath sworn to defend the helpless and fight for the Lamb of God? Are you not ashamed of your womanly demeanour in the face of the enemy?’

Rudolf sat, his face like a stone mask, listening to Otto’s tirade and said nothing for he knew the words to be true. For ten years Conrad had been a member of Wenden’s garrison and had won great renown with his sword. He was a brave and honourable brother knight and Rudolf felt ashamed and belittled. Next to him tears were running down Walter’s cheeks and even Henke, the merciless and cold hearted Henke, wore a pained expression.

Leather face, standing some thirty paces ahead of the first rank of brother knights, also saw Conrad and came running over to Master Rudolf.

‘That’s Brother Conrad, isn’t it?’

Rudolf looked at him with wary eyes and was about to answer but was interrupted by Otto’s thundering voice.

‘Brother Conrad, like Christ our Lord, takes the sins of these underserving brothers upon his shoulders and seeks to wash them away with his own blood.’

Otto’s arm shot out like a lightning bolt at Rudolf. ‘He is allowing our brother to sacrifice himself.’

Leather face looked at Rudolf. ‘Can’t you stop the young fool?’

Rudolf looked at the ground. ‘It has been decided. It is for the good of Livonia.’

Conrad did not hear these discourses as he strolled to towards the Danish archers arrayed in front of the axe men, and behind them the great banners that indicated the presence of King Valdemar. He saw two knights leave the king’s entourage and gallop forward. His personal escort, no doubt. They thundered forward to skirt the axe men and then abruptly pulled up their mounts, prior to pointing towards the Sword Brothers. Then Conrad heard what he thought were shouts coming from the right. He was now in the middle of no-man’s land and looked right when the shouts became louder. He stopped when he saw a great tide of men appearing from around the sandstone outcrop that rose up on the Sword Brothers’ right flank. He saw round shields and spear points and heard the thunder of noise grow louder as the warriors swept forward before turning left towards the Danish left flank. In the centre of the black mass of warriors he saw a great banner that rippled in the summer breeze that suddenly picked up. As it billowed Conrad saw the symbol of a golden eagle and knew that Kalju had come.

The Ungannian chief halted his warriors so they could shuffle into formation, ending almost at right angles to the spearmen on the Danes’ left flank. Conrad had halted, Kalju’s men had halted but leather face ran back to stand with his men. He glanced left at the Ungannians, right at the lonely figure of Conrad in no-man’s land and smiled.

He sniggered to himself. ‘I’ve never started a battle before.’

‘Time to earn your money, boys,’ he shouted before loading his weapon. ‘Move forward. Rapid shooting.’

A hundred and forty men ran forward as fast as they could before halting two hundred paces from the packed ranks of the Danish foot knights, men fully armed and armoured but with no missile support.

‘I hope you have the good sense to turn and run, Conrad,’ leather face said to himself.

‘Shoot!’ he screamed.

Rudolf smiled and then Wenden’s castellan lifted up his lance looked behind him at the sergeants in their kettle helmets and shouted.

‘God with us!’

They and the brother knights of Wenden, Segewold and Kremon answered as one.

There was a succession of thwacks as crossbowmen pulled their triggers and over a hundred bolts hissed through the air, followed by another volley fifteen seconds later. Before a minute had passed another two volleys had been shot at the Danes: over five hundred iron-tipped crossbow bolts hitting shields, arms, faces and shoulders. In their haste the crossbowmen would not have heard the shrieks and screams of men being pierced by quarrels.

Kalju turned and raised his sword and shield in the air and ordered his men to follow him. The Ungannians rushed forward to smash into the spearmen on the extreme left of the Danish line.

Kalju had ridden hard to get to Reval, his men travelling on ponies before dismounting a short distance from the great lake to the southeast of the settlement. He then led them north through the pines that populated this part of northern Estonia, using a local guide who followed an ancient track that hugged the eastern side of the outcrop that the Sword Brothers had used to anchor their flank. Exiting the trees Kalju had bellowed ‘boar’s snout’, his men forming behind him in a giant wedge formation with him at the tip.

The three hundred Danish spearmen locked shields and levelled their weapons, wheeling left to meet the pagan warriors. Kalju shouted his war cry and raced forward, his men following, their momentum buckling the Danish line before they began hacking and thrusting with their spears and axes. The Danish sergeants deployed behind the foot knights should have reinforced the hard-pressed spearmen, but moments after the Ungannians had locked horns with the Danes the Sword Brothers and Sir Richard’s horsemen struck the foot knights.

Leather face’s crossbowmen managed to shoot six volleys before the Sword Brothers and Sir Richard’s knights thundered through them. The horsemen did not break into a gallop because they could see that there was a ragged line of dead and wounded men among the front ranks of the enemy. Their great warhorses churned up the soft ground with their iron-shod hooves as they neared the Danes, then there was a great clattering sound as couched lances were thrust at enemy shields.

The foot knights had no spears and so the horsemen could take their time choosing their targets. And it was fortunate that the quarter markings on the enemy shields provided excellent aiming points. Lance points went through the shields, pierced mail armour and padded gambesons and lodged themselves in flesh and bone. Then the horsemen ground their way into the enemy foot knights with their axes, swords and maces.

‘Stop them,’ Bishop Albert ordered Grand Master Volquin as he watched in horror as the Sword Brothers and Sir Richard’s knights rode forward.

‘It is too late, Albert,’ answered Bishop Bernhard for Volquin, ‘far too late.’

Albert dug his spurs into his horse. ‘Then I will stop them.’

But Volquin grabbed the reins of the bishop’s horse. ‘No, lord bishop. You will not be able stop what is unfolding and I cannot allow you to ride to your death.’

The bishop glared at Volquin and Nordheim rode forward, drawing his sword to menace the grand master.

Volquin released the reins and drew his own sword. ‘If you think you can, commander, then feel free.’

Nordheim’s horsemen also advanced as Volquin prepared to sell his life dearly, his order’s spearmen moving to defend the grand master.

‘Enough. Enough I say,’ shouted Bishop Albert. ‘All of you put away your weapons or be condemned for your damnable acts.’

Volquin bowed his head to Albert, sniffed contemptuously at Nordheim and slid his sword back in its scabbard. But the commander was not looking at the grand master; his attention was diverted by a mighty roar that erupted from the ranks of the Army of the Wolf as nearly a thousand Estonians raced forward.

Conrad, mesmerised by Kalju’s appearance and then the charge of the Sword Brothers and Sir Richard’s men, had forgotten that he stood halfway between two thousand Livs and Estonians on one side and over two thousand Danish foot soldiers on the other. He was brought back to reality when his Estonians charged. They were led by Hans and Anton: two white-robed figures leading over nine hundred warriors in a mad rush to cover the open ground that separated them from the enemy and save their friend. Conrad thought about running but changed his mind when he saw several of the Danish archers lowering their bows to shoot at him. He threw himself on the ground as they released their bowstrings and arrows flew above his head.

The Danish archers soon forgot about him as the green and brown tide surged towards them. They raised their bows and loosed a single volley, the arrows felling at least fifty Estonians, before rapidly retreating through the ranks of the axe men. As did the Count of Schwerin’s crossbowmen that had been engaged in a brief but deadly duel with their counterparts in the Duke of Saxony’s contingent.

The blizzard of bolts that had flown between the two sets of missile troops had resulted in over a hundred deaths before the Liv horde swept through the Duke of Saxony’s crossbowmen and brought their shooting to a halt. The Count of Schwerin’s men could have stood and shot at the Livs as they advanced but they had more important matters to attend to. Their officers ordered them to join the count’s spearmen who would provide cover for the count’s horsemen on the right wing, who were about to retire.

Gunzelin had one hundred and twenty horsemen under his command, veteran soldiers from the wars in Germany, and he had no intention of sacrificing them to the vanity of King Valdemar. He also had no intention of fighting the hundreds of horsemen opposite that served the Duke of Saxony. The flurry of trumpets blasts from the latter’s ranks merely increased his haste as he ordered his men to retire back to the town. His brother’s spearmen and crossbowmen would cover his retreat. He heard a great tumult and turned to see the Bishop of Riga’s foot soldiers smash into Valdemar’s axe men.

Conrad jumped to his feet as Hans and Anton reached him, dozens of men sweeping past them to cover the final two hundred paces of ground to get to grips with the Danes.

‘I need a sword,’ Conrad said to his friends.

‘No time for that,’ replied Hans, his voice muffled by his helmet, ‘get yourself back out of harm’s way.’

‘Pity you gave away your sword,’ said Anton. He raised his own weapon and raced forward, as did Hans. Warriors flooded past, grinning at him and shouting his name. He should have felt relieved but instead he growled in frustration.

‘
Susi
, take this.’

He turned to see a pair of blue eyes beneath an oversized helmet and a slender arm holding out his sword belt and scabbard.

‘What are you doing here?’

Kaja grinned. ‘Fighting my enemies.’

She carried a spear, her lower leggings were wrapped in gaiters and a padded gambeson covered her torso. Her round shield bearing a leering wolf looked very large against her body.

‘Get back. This no place for you.’

She said nothing as she spun on her heels and raced towards the Danes.

‘Kaja,’ he called after her. He shook his head. ‘Give me strength.’

He ran forward, bare headed and shieldless. A warrior slumped to the ground in front of him, an arrow in his neck. He knelt down and turned the man over. Glazed eyes looked up at him as blood spurted from the arrow wound. He took the man’s helmet, put it on his head and also relieved the corpse of its shield. He drew his sword and raced forward, catching sight of blond hair from beneath a helmet cascading over a white gambeson.

He heard the frantic thuds of metal on wood and knew that the mêlée had begun. It was not a clash of two shield walls and tightly packed, ordered ranks. Rather, it was a free-for-all where individuals battled each other oblivious to what was happening outside the confines of their personal duels. There was no leadership, no overall command, just a feral bloodlust that had to be sated.

The Danes looked larger close up: broad-shouldered, hard-bitten men recruited from the wild regions of Valdemar’s kingdom that had wielded axes since they had been boys. Their blonde beards and blue eyes indicated their race but there was no pity in the latter as they went about their work with their hatchets.

Kaja was a few paces ahead, lunging forward with her spear before leaping back when her burly opponent swung his axe at her. Both held their shields in front of them, clutching the hand guards behind the iron bosses. Kaja was very agile, changing the weight between her right and left feet as she frustrated the Dane’s attempt to split her skull. He swung and missed; she jabbed her spear forward and drove the point into his right forearm.

‘Ha!’ she shouted in triumph.

But the Dane ignored the wound and hacked down with his axe, not at her head or body as she expected, moving her shield to deflect the blow, but at her exposed spear. With a deft strike he lopped off the iron head and left her with a stick to fight him. Conrad raced forward and drove the point of his sword over the top of the Dane’s shield and into his lower neck. He pulled the blade back and stood beside Kaja as the Dane dropped his axe and shield, tried to stem the fountain of blood with his hand and then collapsed on the ground.

‘Get behind me,’ he shouted at her as another Dane jumped over his dead comrade and made a diagonal swing with his axe at Conrad’s torso.