Castellan Page 11

  ‘They called my father “the rock” and that was what he was. They say that he was fearless in battle and a giant among men. But when he died he was a festering, diseased husk that barely resembled a person, let alone a man. And it was the same with my mother and sisters, whom I watched decay in front of my eyes.’

  He looked at Peeter.

  ‘But do you know the worse thing? It was being helpless, like you are now. Being unable to do anything even though your mind is screaming at you to act. Well, I am going to act.

  ‘I have been told that the greatest gift a Christian can have is to die in the manner that his god, this Christ, met his end. Out of respect for your rank and reputation I grant you this wish. It is the least I can do.’

  Kristjan strolled from the hall into the fort’s compound, passed the bodies of the women and children his men had butchered, to one of the watchtowers. Before he ascended the ladder to the top of the wall he ordered the gates to be opened. He walked to a tower with a shingle roof as the night was suddenly filled with bright dots that flooded from the forest to the east of the fort. He smiled to himself as the dots became larger and suddenly the area beyond the moat was filled with dozens of warriors carrying torches. His men in the towers began banging their shields against the ancient oak timbers as the warriors outside the fort ran up to the bridge and raised their shields and weapons when they saw their lord standing on the battlements. They then began shouting his name.

  ‘Kristjan, Kristjan,’ and he smiled to himself once more.

  In the morning he sent men to the surrounding villages to kill any Christian priests and to announce that Kristjan had come to liberate them from the wicked foreign religion and the Sword Brothers. Carpenters from the closest settlement were brought to Fellin and ordered to build two crosses made of oak that were planted by the side of the lake to the south of the fort, but not until Peeter and Father Dietmar were nailed and lashed to them. Kristjan stood at the foot of the cross that Peeter was fixed to and watched the old man pass from this life. Because of his knife wound he expired after an hour on the cross. It took Father Dietmar longer to die and Kristjan thought his screaming and thrashing around when he was first nailed to the wood was most undignified. But after a while his only sounds were low moans and pathetic cries and after two days he made no noise at all.

  The bodies were left to rot as a warning to those who might be tempted to practise black magic.

  *****

  The now depleted army that had saved Valdemar on Oesel and won Rotalia for the Sword Brothers was in high spirits as it continued its journey back to Wenden. It was traveling among the forests, lakes and meadows of Saccalia, a column of horses, ponies and mules slowly making its way home. The spring days were getting longer and though the sun showed itself, most days the constant breeze kept the temperature pleasant for men wearing mail and leather armour. Soon the army would reach the River Pala, not far from Lehola, where it would bid farewell to Sir Richard and his knights and levies.

  ‘I’m looking forward to seeing Lehola again,’ reflected the English lord. ‘It is a strange thing to have found peace in a land far from my own country.’

  ‘You will have to forgive the duke,’ said Squire Paul, ‘he has been at the wine and his tongue rambles.’

  ‘You are lucky you still have yours,’ remarked Sir Richard. ‘I should have cut it out years ago.’

  Their bickering was endless but Conrad thought that they had great admiration for each other, notwithstanding the difference in status between them.

  ‘England is very different from Livonia and Estonia, your grace?’ enquired Conrad.

  Once again he was riding in the company of the army’s commanders, Rudolf informing him it was only proper that as leader of the Army of the Wolf and now restored to his position as Marshal of Estonia he should ride with him, the other two masters and Sir Richard. Kaja, who had taken it upon herself to be a sort of personal standard bearer for Conrad, rode behind him carrying the banner that Rudolf had given him. Walter carried Wenden’s banner and the flags of Mathias and Bertram were carried behind the two masters, though Sir Richard still had no standard. They rode in the vanguard of the army, a score of Sir Richard’s lesser knights providing a thin outer screen and beyond them Saccalian scouts to guard against the army being attacked by an Oeselian war band or outlaws.

  ‘Different?’ said Squire Paul, answering for his lord. ‘It’s exactly the same. Always raining, winters that send the cold to burrow into your bones – and endless forests.’

  ‘For once my insolent squire speaks the truth,’ agreed Sir Richard. ‘But here life is less complicated.’

  ‘We make a new land here, your grace,’ said Walter solemnly, ‘a godlier place.’

  ‘Or god forsaken, depending on your point of view,’ mused Paul.

  ‘And you, Conrad,’ said Sir Richard, ‘what will you and your army do now that the Danes have ceded Estonia?’

  ‘That will be for the bishop to decide,’ answered Rudolf.

  ‘If he still lives,’ remarked Henke behind Walter.

  ‘The way you keep going on, Henke,’ said Rudolf, ‘anyone would think that you want the bishop to die.’

  ‘I’ve seen what the pox can do to a city, that’s all,’ Henke replied. ‘For all we know every citizen of Riga could be dead, which means that you are King of Livonia, Rudolf.’

  ‘Master Rudolf to you,’ Rudolf scolded him.

  ‘We should have killed that arrogant bastard Valdemar,’ stated Henke loudly.

  ‘He is a king anointed by God,’ said Walter, appalled that Henke should suggest murdering a sovereign.

  ‘We serve the King of kings,’ replied Henke, ‘or so Otto is always telling us. So I think that beats a measly king.’

  Rudolf laughed and the other two masters smiled.

  ‘I do not think it works like that, Brother Henke,’ said Master Bertram.

  ‘Have it your own way,’ said Henke. ‘But Valdemar won’t forget the insults the Sword Brothers have dealt him and he will be back next year with a large army to seek retribution.’

  ‘In that I think you may be right, Brother Henke,’ said Master Mathias.

  ‘I did not insult him,’ insisted Rudolf, ‘I rescued him.’

  Henke guffawed. ‘Forcing him to sign a document of surrender after telling him that your army was full of heathen girls was not insulting him, more like rubbing his nose in a pile of dung.’

  ‘Why would my presence insult such a great king?’ asked Kaja innocently.

  ‘Because he is a great, and you are a low-born heathen girl,’ answered Henke.

  ‘As opposed to a low-born mercenary,’ remarked Conrad casually.

  ‘Careful, marshal,’ said Henke threateningly, ‘you don’t risk getting yourself mortally wounded in front of your heathen bed warmer.’

  Conrad swung in his saddle. ‘Who is going to mortally wound me, brother?’

  ‘Why me, of course,’ answered Henke.

  Conrad laughed. ‘You have more chance of sprouting wings.’

  ‘Enough you two,’ ordered Rudolf. ‘Try to remember you are brother knights of the Sword Brothers.’

  ‘The woodpeckers have stopped tapping.’

  They all looked at Kaja after her observation. They were moving through a meadow between two expanses of spruce forest, the passage narrowing ahead as the meadow gave way to an ancient winding track that threaded through the spruce. They were around two miles north of the River Pala. In the spring woodpeckers usually began their drumming in late March and so common was the sound throughout Livonia and Estonia that it became just another daytime noise. Rudolf held up a hand to signal a halt as Conrad looked left and right and turned an ear to the forest.

  ‘She’s right,’ said Squire Paul. ‘No tapping.’

  Behind them the contingents of brother knights and sergeants came to a halt and drew their swords. The air tingled with the threat of impending violence even though there were no indications of an enemy p
resence. But the order’s soldiers and mercenaries had spent many years fighting among the forests and lakes of Livonia and Estonia and had developed a sixth sense when it came to pre-empting a hostile attack.

  Conrad drew his sword as the others pulled blades from scabbards. He pulled his shield off his back and slid his left forearm through the straps on its inner side.

  ‘Do you think your knights and scouts are dead, Sir Richard?’ queried Henke as he peered ahead at the gap between the two forests.

  But less than two minutes later Sir Richard’s riders cantered from the space between the trees, followed a few moments later by his scouts. They rode over to their lord who probed them about what lay ahead.

  ‘Did you see anything suspicious?’

  ‘No, my lord,’ answered a thickset man, an Englishman Conrad assumed, with a straggly beard. ‘It’s all clear to the river.’

  ‘There are men in the forests,’ said Kaja.

  The thickset man laughed. ‘There is nothing in the trees, girl, aside from the usual forest demons who torment little girls.’

  Sir Richard raised his palm. ‘Enough. She is Saccalian and has a nose for such things.’

  ‘We will advanced in close order and dismounted,’ announced Rudolf. He turned to Walter. ‘Inform the mercenaries.’

  Walter saluted, turned his horse and trotted away to speak to Leatherface.

  ‘With your permission,’ said Conrad.

  Rudolf nodded and he and Kaja rode to the rear of the column where the hundred and seventy men of the Army of the Wolf formed the rearguard.

  ‘Why have we stopped?’ asked Hans when they reached them.

  ‘Kaja thinks the trees hide an enemy,’ said Conrad as he jumped from his horse. ‘Master Rudolf has ordered everyone to dismount and form close order for the march through the forest ahead.’

  It took around fifteen minutes for the column to reorganise its dispositions, the Sword Brothers’ knights forming the vanguard, behind which were Sir Richard’s knights and Saccalians, with the Army of the Wolf deployed in the rear. The mules and ponies carrying the supplies were distributed among each formation. The sergeants and mercenaries, all equipped with crossbows, were deployed on the flanks. Every fifth man held the reins of his beast and those of another four horses or ponies; the other four walked with their weapons at the ready.

  ‘Roll up that flag and stash it on your horse,’ Conrad told Kaja as she walked along with the banner. ‘I don’t want you to be a target for an enemy archer.’

  She did as she was told and then returned to walk beside Conrad, Hans and Anton trailing after them. Leatherface appeared as the Estonian warriors behind clutched their axes and spears and scanned the treeline for any activity. Conrad sheathed his sword, drew his axe and turned it in his hands as Hans and Anton, their helmets shoved up on their heads like their friend, gripped their maces.

  ‘Master Rudolf got spooked, did he?’ grinned Leatherface.

  Conrad pointed his axe at Kaja. ‘Kaja believes that an unseen enemy is near.’

  The leering mercenary stared at the shape of her breasts beneath her mail armour.

  ‘And we have to walk to the river for that?’

  ‘It’s only a couple of miles,’ said Hans.

  They were in the very rear of the Army of the Wolf, Riki commanding the left flank and Tonis the right. They stood around for what seemed like an age until the column moved slowly ahead, towards the gap between the trees.

  ‘Keep your eyes peeled,’ shouted Conrad, ‘and your shields tight to your bodies.’

  The brother knights walked backwards as the army headed towards the Pala, wolf shields on either side of them and Kaja behind. Leatherface strolled nonchalantly along, crossbow armed and at the ready as the trees on either side got nearer. The only noise came from the column: the jangling of horse bits, the snorting of the animals and the shuffling sound of hundreds of men moving slowly. From the forest came only an ominous silence.

  ‘Susi,’ Kaja whispered as the tension continued to rise by the minute, ‘may I ask you a question?’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Why do you and brothers Hans and Anton not use your swords?’

  ‘Maces and axes are better for close-quarter fighting,’ he told her. ‘As you continue to attend Lukas’ lessons you will learn that. Swords are expensive. In a one-to-one fight they are the weapons of choice. But when it comes to hacking at many enemy soldiers close up I prefer my axe.’

  Kaja looked at the Danish sword she had found lying on the battlefield at Reval.

  ‘I prefer my sword.’

  Conrad looked at her. ‘Of course you do. It’s a nice sword.’

  ‘Probably belonged to a great lord,’ said Hans. ‘Perhaps the property of a close friend of King Valdemar himself. And you stole it.’

  ‘I did not steal it,’ she insisted. ‘I found it lying on the ground.’

  ‘Concentrate on the trees,’ hissed Conrad as the rear of the column entered the forest and walked along the winding track. The trees and fern-covered forest floor enclosed them on each side. Conrad saw the trunk of a spruce that had been gnawed by an elk and shafts of sunlight lancing through the forest canopy but saw no movement.

  They pressed on, seeing and hearing nothing but in their minds imagining an enemy warrior behind every tree. No one spoke now. There were no sarcastic comments or nervous laughter, only deathly quiet and frayed concentration. Sweat trickled down Conrad’s face as he searched for the enemy. He wished that an assailant would show himself just to break the tension but none did. And then, after an hour of mental torture, the column left the trees and entered the great expanse of meadow through which the Pala flowed. And there, ahead, was Master Thaddeus’ marvel.

  It had been built the previous summer: a wooden bridge that spanned the Pala when the snows melted and the river burst its banks in the spring to flood the meadow it ran through. It was positioned next to the track and the ford across the river that disappeared when the spring melt water arrived. Nine hundred feet in length, Master Thaddeus had based his design on the bridge constructed by Julius Caesar in antiquity when the Roman had taken his army across the River Rhine.

  The piers supporting the bridge were fashioned from thick logs that were tied together in pairs with a two-foot gap between them. They had been driven into the ground north and south of the river when melt waters had disappeared and the Pala was shallow and slow moving, and also into the riverbed itself. Once two rows of piers had been secured large logs were placed between them, the logs slotting into the spaces formed by the two-foot gaps. Then angled posts were lashed to the piers, which were forty feet apart, to provide additional support. Once the support structure was in place, logs were laid at right angles across the piers and then planking was nailed to them to form a roadway. When it was finished villagers for miles around came to see this engineering wonder, which masters Rudolf, Mathias and Bertram now stepped on to begin the last leg of the journey back to Wenden.

  And at that moment warriors flooded out of the trees to attack the rearguard, while the southern end of the bridge was suddenly filled with a seething mass of men with axes and spears.

  Kristjan had sprung his trap.

  The crusader army had been strung out over a distance of half a mile before Kaja’s comments about the woodpeckers had caused Master Rudolf to order it to dismount and close up. It now had a length of around five hundred yards, the Sword Brothers on the bridge in the vanguard, followed by Sir Richard’s men, half of whom were on the bridge, and the Army of the Wolf in the rear. As the enemy flooded from the trees Conrad knew his men could not outrun the enemy. For one thing there was already a press of men and animals forming around the bridge’s northern end. If he ordered a retreat there would be a mad crush and the enemy would be among them in moments.

  ‘Shield wall!’ he shouted.

  Horns sounded and his Harrien and wolf shields began to form into line, Riki and Tonis bellowing orders and shoving men into position.
Leatherface was also shouting at his crossbowmen to take up position behind the front rank of Estonians. Ponies, horses and mules became skittish and difficult to control as the horde of enemy warriors raced towards them, shouting their war cries at the tops of their voices. There was no time for the pre-battle ritual as Conrad nodded to Hans and Anton and then pulled down his helmet over his face. He manhandled Kaja back to where others were trying to calm the animals and then pushed his way into the shield wall. He caught sight of knights and Saccalians coming forward to reinforce his men but then heard a series of cracks as Leatherface and his colleagues began shooting.

  And then the enemy shattered his shield wall.

  A hundred and fifty men had formed a thin defence of three ranks in an effort to protect those escaping across the bridge. But they were assaulted by hundreds of enemy warriors, men dressed in brown, grey and green hues and carrying round wooden shields, many of which were painted with a golden eagle design – Ungannians! They wore helmets and those in the front ranks were protected by mail or leather armour and were armed with a mixture of axes, swords and spears. Their intention was to overpower the shield wall and then slaughter those on and about to get on to the bridge. The shield wall’s front rank disappeared as the Ungannians hurled themselves at it, thrusting with spears and hacking down with axes to bludgeon their way through the wall of human flesh. The fifty or so crossbowmen that had managed to get in line and loose at least two volleys were either trampled on or had their skulls split open as a pagan wave swept over them.

  Conrad was standing between Hans and Anton when the Ungannians struck. The wolf shield in front of Leatherface killed his first opponent before disappearing from view as three or four enemy warriors speared and hacked at him with axes. Leatherface shot one of his killers with his crossbow before a spear was thrust into his guts.

  ‘No!’ screamed Conrad, who launched himself forward, split the haft with the downward blow of his axe and then whipped it back viciously to slice into the spearman’s neck. He clutched his wound and staggered back, Conrad standing over the prostrate Leatherface and catching an axe blow on his shield. Before his attacker had a chance to recover he turned his axe in his hand and swung it forward to drive the spike on the opposite side of the axe head into the warrior’s mail armour. The man gasped before collapsing to the ground, dead.