Army of the Wolf (68 page)

The Sword Brother dodged the blow, ducked low and whipped his sword blade against the man’s left calf. The resulting wound was not deep but it was enough to make the Dane wince and slow him down. He was retarded further when Conrad lunged at him, locking their shields together and then bringing his sword up and driving one end of the cross-guard into his eye. The Dane screamed in pain and staggered back, his screams stopping suddenly when Kaja ran forward and drove the blade of the sword she was holding into his belly.

‘Where did you get that from?’ he asked.

‘I found it lying on the ground,
Susi
.’

By now dozens of Danish and Estonian corpses were also lying on the ground, together with many more wounded either staggering away from the fighting, their limbs torn and their bones broken, or crawling on all fours with ghastly stomach wounds.

The clatter and thuds of blades striking shields and other weapons filled the air as the Livs and Estonians continued to battle the axe men. Behind the latter the Danish archers were loosing arrows high into the sky, to fall among the enemy warriors, or so they hoped. But in the swirling chaos of the huge mêlée that erupted in front of Reval’s gates many hit their own men.

Conrad dropped on one knee, held his shield above his head and thrust his sword upwards into a man’s groin, the hideous scream emitted by his victim signalling he had skewered the Dane’s genitals. He was about to stand as the man collapsed but he heard two sharp thuds and saw arrowheads protruding from the wood on the inside of his shield. He looked behind him in alarm to see Kaja unhurt.

‘Arrows,’ he called to her. ‘Crouch down under your shield.’

She looked at him quizzically then changed her stance as a Dane came charging at her. He was bigger and broader than her but she did not panic, holding out her shield towards him and drawing back her sword arm. She prepared to dodge his axe as he drew it back but then he tripped and fell, the axe falling from his hand. Quick as a flash she sprang forward and rammed the point of her sword into his back before he could rise. But he was already dead, an arrow embedded in the back of his neck.

Conrad ran over to her and held his shield above his own and her head as arrows began falling around them.

‘Sound withdrawal,’ he shouted in a forlorn hope that someone would hear him.

But someone did. A warrior with a horn hanging around his neck recognised
Susi
and began blowing his instrument. The warriors around them, all Saccalians, slowly disengaged from the enemy as more signallers took up the call. Slowly the two sides disentangled from each other as the rain of arrows continued, hitting Dane and Estonian alike.

Conrad hauled Kaja back as she held up her shield and hurled abuse at the enemy, laughing maniacally as she did so. He frowned at her. She seemed to be totally at ease among the gore of a battlefield.

‘Don’t waste your energy on hurling insults,’ he told her.

‘It is a common custom among my people.’

‘It is a waste of time and effort,’ he shot back as dozens of warriors closed around them and began to lock their shields together as a defence against the Danish arrows. ‘You will not see Sword Brothers adopting such tactics. Let your weapons do the talking.’

There was now a cacophony of horn blasts as the Livs also pulled back to form a shield wall around two hundred paces from the tattered ranks of the axe men. Valdemar’s soldiers had been mauled but they had stood firm; more, they had forced the pagans back, albeit with the aid of their archers.

*****

Valdemar pulled his sword from its scabbard.

‘Ready,’ he called to his bodyguard.

But Count Henry laid a hand on his saddle’s pommel.

‘No, majesty, you must retire inside the town. The day is lost.’

‘How dare you,’ seethed the king, who jabbed his sword in the direction of his right flank where Gunzelin was overseeing a superb withdrawal of his horsemen under the cover of the crossbowmen.

‘You brother shows his cowardice, count, withdrawing without even fighting the enemy.’

The count struggled hard to maintain his composure.

‘He faces the Duke of Saxony, majesty,’ he said through gritted teeth, ‘who musters hundreds of horsemen. If my brother engages him then your right flank will be destroyed, just as your left has been.’

When the Bishop of Riga and his men had appeared there had ben nine hundred soldiers deployed on the king’s left wing. Half were now dead or wounded after being assaulted in the flank by Kalju’s Ungannians, shot at by the Sword Brothers’ crossbowmen and charged by the order’s and Sir Richard’s horsemen. The foot knights still stood defiantly, their numbers being whittled down by lances, maces and axes. Kalju’s boar’s snout had cut the spearmen to pieces and was now grinding its way into what was left of the formation of Danish sergeants.

‘Majesty,’ implored the count, ‘you must get as many of your men inside the town as quickly as possible. If we die here then the Sword Brothers will take Reval.’

Those words seemed to disperse the hysteria that had gripped Valdemar and the king’s cool and calculating demeanour returned. He brushed away Henry’s arm from his pommel and turned to the knight behind him.

‘Ride forward and give the order to retire.’

The king and his bodyguard stayed until the end, his archers and the count’s crossbowmen providing cover for the retreat of the axe men and Gunzelin’s horsemen into the town. Count Henry dismounted and stood with his brother among his mercenary spearmen and crossbowmen with swords drawn as a great mass of horsemen rode by the foot of Toompea Hill and threatened to cut off the Danes’ retreat. But the Duke of Saxony was far too wily and experienced to allow his knights to be shot down in a futile attempt to break a formation of veteran spearmen and crossbowmen. So the only contingent of Duke Albert’s crusaders to have taken part in the battle were his crossbowmen, who now walked from behind the locked shields of Fricis’ warriors to once again deploy in front of the Livs.

*****

Rudolf called to leather face who was nonchalantly chatting to some of his men. The caparison of the horse of Wenden’s castellan was splattered with blood and the beast was panting hard after the exertion of battle. The brother knights and sergeants were similarly exhausted after what seemed like an eternity hacking at Danish foot soldiers with their close-quarter weapons. They and Sir Richard’s men had been finally forced to retire when a ring of Danish corpses that had become a wall of dead flesh rose up to create a barrier between them and the remnants of the enemy.

The mercenary strolled over as the brother knights and sergeants removed their helmets and took great gulps of air. Some drank greedily from their water bottles, only to be rebuked by Walter.

‘Take sips or you’ll get stomach cramps. Remember your training for the love of Christ.’

‘Take your men and destroy those remaining Danes,’ Rudolf instructed leather face.

The mercenary turned and looked at Kalju’s warriors grouped in a compact mass on the other side of the circle of enemy survivors.

‘What about the pagans, perhaps they would like the honour?’

‘Walter,’ said Rudolf, ‘I must ask you to ride to Kalju, present my compliments to him and ask what his intentions are.’

‘Judging by the piles of enemy dead I would have thought that was obvious,’ remarked leather face.

Rudolf waved him away. ‘Just go and earn your pay.’

‘You are not of a mind to see if they want to surrender themselves, then?’ enquired the mercenary, grinning.

Rudolf shook his head as Walter cantered away. ‘No.’

As Walter left Sir Richard arrived with his squire in tow. The English lord pointed towards where two shield walls faced bodies of mailed soldiers withdrawing towards the town gates.

‘The enemy retreats, Rudolf. The bishop has won a great victory.’

‘I doubt he will see it that way,’ said Rudolf bleakly.

Kalju gave a warm welcome to Walter and immediately asked where Conrad was. Wenden’s deputy commander pointed vaguely towards the Estonian shield wall and said he hoped he was there.

‘He is not among your horsemen?’

‘Alas, lord,’ replied Walter, ‘he was on the verge of surrendering himself to the Danish king when you arrived. Praise God.’

Kalju took off his helmet and stroked his beard. ‘I had better go and make sure he still lives, then.’

A succession of sharp thuds erupted behind Walter as leather face and his men began shooting at the fifty or so Danes huddled in a circle in the midst of their dead comrades. The crossbowmen had closed to less that fifty paces and commenced a murderous volley against the enemy. Walter crossed himself as the screams and groans of the Danes subsided after four volleys – five hundred and sixty crossbow bolts – had been shot at them. Kalju raised a hand to Walter and took half a dozen men with him as the rest leaned their shields against their legs, took off their helmets and wiped their sweaty brows.

With the withdrawal of the Danes into Reval the men in the Liv and Estonian shield walls relaxed and began embracing their friends and thanking their gods for their survival. Hans and Anton found Conrad and the three of them grinned and embraced each other like naughty children. Their celebrations were interrupted when the Estonians began cheering and banging weapons on the insides of their shields as Kalju approached. As he got closer they began to chant his name, causing him to raise an arm in acknowledgement.

Conrad stepped from the ranks and bowed his head to the Ungannian leader.

‘It is good to see you, lord.’

Kalju locked him in an iron embrace and then stepped back.

‘What’s all this nonsense about you giving yourself up?’ he asked.

‘It was the price to avert bloodshed.’

Kalju looked around at the corpses scattered across the ground.

‘Looks like there was a change of plan.’

Hans and Anton saluted Kalju with their swords.

‘But why are you here, lord?’ asked Conrad.

‘Why? Because Eha reminded me that you came when my family and I were in need and it was dishonourable to sit on my arse when a friend is in peril. So here I am.’

Kaja took off her helmet and shook her blonde locks. Kalju noticed her bloody sword.

‘Not a good idea to teach a woman to use a sword, Conrad. Their tongues are sharp enough.’

Kaja suddenly marched towards the bodies where the fighting had taken place.

‘What are you doing?’ said Conrad.

‘I need a scabbard and belt for my sword,’ she replied.

‘Get back here,’ he hollered.

The Saccalians around him began laughing as she stuck out her tongue at him but meekly walked back. It was good timing as crossbow bolts began to slam into the ground a few feet away. Count Henry had ordered his crossbowmen to man the ramparts either side of the now closed gates, and they now commenced erratic shooting against the Livs and Estonians. The latter hastily withdraw out of range, as did the Duke of Saxony’s horsemen who trotted back in their still clean armour and surcoats.

The bishop’s army withdrew back to its initial position as the crossbowmen on the walls stopped their shooting. The men who had been involved in the fighting were now gripped by a raging thirst and so groups were despatched to fill water bottles from the many springs in the area. An hour afterwards Bishop Albert ordered a general withdrawal back to camp, sending a herald to the town gates to suggest a parley so the dead could be given a Christian burial.

*****

‘Parley?’

Valdemar was pacing up and down in his throne room as his still living Danish officers, Count Henry, Gunzelin and the three prelates avoided his eyes. The king stopped and pointed towards the doors.

‘A third of my army lies dead outside the walls and the Bishop of Riga has the impertinence to ask for a parley.’

‘The dead should be buried majesty,’ said the archbishop.

The king looked at Henry and Gunzelin and smiled slyly.

‘You are right, of course, archbishop.’

He pointed at the two brothers. ‘Your men will dig their graves seeing as they did little during the battle. It would appear that German blood is too precious to spill whereas that of Danes can be shed freely.’

‘I must protest, majesty,’ said Gunzelin.

‘We could attack the bishop’s camp tomorrow, majesty,’ suggested the count, eager to prevent his brother from blurting out his opinion of the king.

Valdemar stopped pacing. ‘No. The Bishop of Riga thinks he has bettered me but I will show him that it is I who has triumphed. I intend to throttle Livonia, to see it whither and die. And then the bishop will come crawling to me and beg my forgiveness. And when he does I shall insist that he surrender his kingdom to me. In the meantime, count, your men will bury our dead.’

He pointed at the three churchmen. ‘And you will say prayers over their graves.’

‘And if the Bishop of Riga remains outside Reval, majesty?’ said the count.

‘Then I give you permission to attack his camp.’

But after the dead had been interred Bishop Albert gave orders that his army was to withdraw back to the River Pala. The pagan dead of the Army of the Wolf, together with the Ungannian slain, were cremated on great pyres. Conrad’s men had suffered a hundred dead and three score wounded, the Livs having lost nearly a hundred and fifty killed. Fricis’ losses were buried alongside the few sergeants and brother knights killed, Wenden losing four of the former and two of the latter. When the bishop’s army began its march south two days later Valdemar ordered the bodies to be dug up and thrown in the sea.