As Dust to the Wind

As Dust to the Wind

Peter Darman

Copyright © 2016 Pete Darman

All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

Formatted by Jo Harrison

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Contents

List of principal characters

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

Historical notes

List of principal characters

Those marked with an asterisk * are known to history.

Commanders in the Army of the Wolf

Andres: Duke of Jerwen

Hillar: Duke of Rotalia

Riki: Duke of Harrien

Tonis: Count of Fellin

Englishmen

Sir Richard Bruffingham: Duke of Saccalia

Sir Paul: former squire to Sir Richard

Estonians

Kristjan: Ungannian, son of Kalju, an exile at Novgorod

Kaja: Saccalian, wife of King Rameke

Maarja: Ungannian, sister of Kristjan and resident of Odenpah

Mikk: Ungannian, steward of Odenpah Castle

Germans

Adolfus Braune: Duke of Holstein

*Andres von Felben: Teutonic Knight and Landmeister of Livonia

*Dietrich von Grüningen: Teutonic Knight and Master of Livonia

*Hermann: Bishop of Dorpat

Gunter: deputy commander of the garrison of Riga

Leatherface: commander of the Army of the Wolf’s crossbowmen

Magnus Glueck: Duke of Riga, Higher Burgomaster of Riga and commander of the Livonian Militia

Manfred Nordheim: commander of the garrison of Riga

*Nicholas: Bishop of Riga

Stefan: Archdeacon, Governor of Riga

Italians

Falcone: commander of Conrad’s Genoese crossbowmen

*Gregory IX: Pope 1227–41

*William of Modena: papal legate

Lithuanians

Aras: Selonian, general of Prince Vsevolod’s army

Erdvilas: Duke of Semgallia

Kitenis: Duke of Aukstaitija

Kriviu Krivaitis: high priest of the Lithuanian pagans

*Lamekins: King of the Kurs

*Mindaugas: son-in-law of Prince Vsevolod

Rasa: wife of Prince Vsevolod

Torolf: ambassador of King Lamekins

*Ykintas: Duke of Samogitia

Livs

*Rameke: king and brother-in-law of Conrad Wolff

Oeselians

Kalf: prince, brother of Sigurd

Sigurd: King of Oesel

Stark: prince, brother of Sigurd

Order of Sword Brothers

Arnold: Master of Lennewarden Castle

Arri: brother knight at Odenpah

Bertram: Master of Segewold Castle

Conrad Wolff: Master of Odenpah Castle, commander of the Army of the Wolf and Marshal of Estonia

Franz: Master of Narva Castle

Friedhelm: Master of Uexkull Castle

Godfrey: Master of Holm Castle

Griswold: Master of Kokenhusen Castle

Henke: brother knight at Wenden Castle

Jaan: brother knight at Odenpah

Jacob: Master of Gerzika Castle

Lukas: Master of Reval Castle and Governor of Reval

Mathias: Master of Kremon Castle

Ortwin: Master of Mesoten Castle

*Rudolf: Master of Wenden Castle and deputy commander of the Order of Sword Brothers

Thaddeus: chief engineer at Wenden Castle and Quartermaster General of Livonia

*Volquin: Grand Master of the Order of Sword Brothers

Walter: Master of Dorpat Castle

Russians

*Alexander Nevsky: son of Yaroslav and Prince of Novgorod

*Domash Tverdislavich: Mayor of Pskov

Dmitriy Hoidja: business partner of Kristjan

Gleb: Skomorokh and adviser to the Mayor of Pskov

*Spyridon: Archbishop of Novgorod

*Vsevolod: former ruler of Gerzika; ruler of Selonia and Nalsen, Lithuania

*Yaroslav Nevsky: Thousandman of Novgorod

Chapter 1

Oesel, 1234

The two battles at Reval, one outside the port, the other fought in the harbour, had been great victories for the Sword Brothers and the Army of the Wolf. Legate Baldwin’s army had been destroyed and the losses among its foot soldiers had been heavy. Among the horsemen who had surrendered to Grand Master Volquin and his knights, less so. Those professional Italian crossbowmen and spearmen that had survived Conrad’s rage after the death of Hans had been offered re-employment with the Sword Brothers to replace the great number of the order’s mercenaries killed fighting the Oeselians. Happily for Grand Master Volquin the capture of the legate’s camp had also yielded a large amount of money stored in chests, which paid for the hiring of the mercenaries.

Unhappily for the Oeselians they could not make good their losses. The peace brokered between Master Conrad and King Sigurd was a now a distant memory. Sigurd’s brother Stark had agitated for a renewal of hostilities against the Sword Brothers and had got his wish. In the ensuing conflict Sigurd had been killed, Stark had been made king to lead the disastrous attack on Reval. Hundreds of his warriors had been killed in the harbour, losses that would take years to make good. But the Oeselians did not have years before the Sword Brothers visited war upon them.

Conrad watched the rock being placed in the long sling attached to the end of the trebuchet’s throwing arm. Its crew, men of Master Thaddeus’ engineering office, worked slowly in the summer heat. They stepped back from the machine’s groove accommodating the sling as one of their number knocked out the release pin with a mallet. The huge counterweight dropped, the other end of the beam rose and the sling was dragged along the groove and then up to throw the rock towards the target – the great settlement of Kuressaare, the capital of Oesel. The rock left the sling and arched into the blue sky before falling into the town.

Leatherface, sitting on a barrel nearby, sighed loudly.

‘Two weeks we’ve been here and at this rate it’ll take two years to batter that heathen town into submission. Give the order to fire the place so we can all go home.’

Conrad nodded at the commander of the trebuchet and turned to the irascible crossbowman.

‘We, which includes you, are under strict orders not to burn the town. They won’t be able to hold out much longer.’

The mercenary scratched his beard. ‘If we were besieging a stone castle then I would agree with your strategy, but as that heathen hole is protected by a timber wall and contains dozens of timber buildings we should set it alight. Wood burns easily, Master Conrad, in case you didn’t know.’

‘Those who are financing this campaign do not wish for Oesel to become a burnt out husk,’ replied Conrad.

The defeat of the Oeselians had prompted Grand Master Volquin to settle the question of the sea pirates once and for all. He received enthusiastic support from Bishop Hermann, who wanted an end to the nest of pagans, the Duke of Riga, Riga’s city council and also Bishop Nicholas of Riga. Indeed such was the eagerness of the Duke of Riga Magnus Glueck, for the Oeselians to be conquered that he had offered to finance the campaign out of his own purse. It was a generous offer and one readily accepted by the grand master. Furthermore Magnus Glueck provided a fleet of ships to transport the Sword Brothers to the island with Master Lukas at Reval providing more boats to transport the Army of the Wolf to Oesel. Nearly seven thousand troops landed on the island’s east coast and marched overland towards Kuressaare. Stark attacked the invaders of course, but this was summer, not the depth of winter and the invaders brought with them six hundred crossbowmen and nearly the same number of horsemen to inflict heavy losses on the Oeselians. Stark retreated west, abandoned his capital, left a large garrison in Kuressaare and fled to the western half of his island to rally his earls and muster another army. Grand Master Volquin, all his horsemen and the order’s foot soldiers pursued him. The Army of the Wolf was left behind to besiege Kuressaare.

Conrad’s men spent most of their time chopping down trees to surround the town with a timber wall, and erecting another to protect the besieging army as a defence against Oeselian raiding parties that might land further up the coast and assault the besiegers’ camp. Oeselian longships in the town’s harbour had free reign to sail up and down the coast but did not do so. Those of their crews that were not manning Kuressaare’s defences were rallying to their king in the forlorn hope that they could throw the defenders back into the sea.

‘The Duke of Riga has designs on this island,’ Conrad told Leatherface. ‘When it has been subdued it will be divided between him, the Sword Brothers and the church.’

‘The new world order,’ scoffed Leatherface, ‘there will soon be no place in it for the Sword Brothers.’

‘Only if war itself has been abolished.’

Behind them there was a sliding noise and a thud as another rock was hurled into the town. The siege had become desultory and monotonous and the Army of the Wolf wanted to storm Kuressaare and put everyone in it to the sword to alleviate its boredom. But the Duke of Riga and the church wanted its inhabitants to live if possible, Magnus Glueck so they could become his chattels and the church so they could be converted. That was to be the fate of the Oeselians: to be owned physically and spiritually.

Leatherface hauled himself to his feet. ‘Reckon I’ll go and see if I can shoot any heathens.’

‘No,’ said Conrad, ‘you are not to go to the siege lines. That is an order.’

Between the town’s timber wall and the palisade of the besiegers was a space of around a hundred paces and to relieve their boredom, taking shots at any of the defenders had become a favourite pastime of the crossbowmen of ‘The Bastards’. But to do so was to risk being shot by an Oeselian archer. Ever since the death of Hans, Conrad had done his utmost to protect the commander of his crossbowmen, a man he had known for years and had no intention of losing.

‘Organise a hunting party instead,’ suggested Conrad, ‘but make sure you have a proper escort.’

‘Animals don’t shoot back, there’s no fun in that.’

‘We’re not here for fun.’

While Conrad kept the population of Kuressaare penned in like sheep Grand Master Volquin, Sir Richard and Sir Paul kept watch on Stark who was gathering his warriors in the northwest of the island. Kuressaare was the only sizeable settlement on Oesel but the island was littered with farmsteads and villages, testimony to the mild climate and rich soil that made growing crops and rearing cattle so easy. Not for nothing was it called the Blessed Isle. Normally the grand master and his brother knights would have despoiled and burnt any farms and villages they came across, but the grand master had given strict orders that they were not to be molested, though his knights did round up any cattle left behind by their Oeselian owners.

Two weeks after the Army of the Wolf had surrounded Kuressaare Rameke arrived at the head of twelve hundred warriors. A great throng gathered around the Liv king and his bodyguard when word spread that he had brought his queen with him. Kaja, all long blonde locks and fierce blue eyes, had borne Rameke two healthy sons to secure his line and in doing so had become a firm favourite with the Liv people. But she was a Saccalian by birth and had always been considered by the Army of the Wolf one of its own. It gathered round her now, the warriors raising their weapons and chanting ‘Kaja, Kaja’ as she slid off her horse and accepted their acclaim with a broad grin. Conrad had heard the tumult and made his way to the outskirts of the camp on receiving word of the arrival of King Rameke’s army.

Gone were the days when the bodyguard of the Liv king marched on foot and fought in a shield wall. The two hundred horsemen guarding Rameke and Kaja were armed and equipped in the same manner as crusader knights. They all wore full-face helms, chainmail and carried shields with flat tops and shortened teardrop shapes. A keen observer would have noticed certain anomalies indicative of their pagan heritage, such as the hand axes tucked in their belts in addition to the swords dangling at their left sides. The sign of the moon decorating their shields, was an image favoured by pagan Liv warriors long before any Christian set foot on their land.

Sticking to protocol Conrad bowed his head to the king and queen and then embraced them both, to huge cheers. Rameke, shorter than Conrad and stockier, was just shy of his fortieth year, though his long brown hair was still thick and free of any trace of grey. His standard bearer held the great banner showing a red cross that had accompanied Caupo and Fricis on their campaigns and now followed the man who had taken a Saccalian for a wife.

‘Welcome, my brother,’ Conrad beamed, ‘this is an unexpected pleasure.’

Kaja, attired in boots, leggings and leather jerkin over her blue tunic, laughed.

‘Unexpected, Susi? The Oeselians have always been enemies of the people who live on the mainland and we had no intention of remaining idle while others won all the glory.’

She drew her sword and held it aloft. ‘Death to the Oeselians!’

Wild cheering was followed by more chants of ‘Kaja, Kaja’.

‘I see motherhood has not blunted Kaja’s love of conflict,’ Conrad said softly to Rameke.

The queen insisted on inspecting the defence works and seeing for herself the enemy’s ramparts. Conrad worried that she might wander within range of enemy arrows, so her entourage included Leatherface, Hillar, Andres, Riki and Tonis, the warlords having nothing else to do, much to their chagrin. Bored crossbowmen, members of ‘The Bastards’, manning mantlets near the enemy wall, stood and grinned like mischievous boys when they spotted the group approaching, Conrad, Rameke and Kaja at its head. She stopped and talked to them, swapping battle stories, Conrad watching the sky for any enemy arrows that might suddenly appear.

‘We should not tarry,’ he said, urging Kaja and Rameke on.

Kaja frowned as she looked at the inactivity on the enemy wall.

‘The Oeselians are nowhere to be seen.’

But sure enough, a brace of arrows appeared in the sky, arching up and then down towards where they were standing.

‘Shields!’ shouted Conrad, pulling Kaja down to the ground and holding his shield over her.

In a split second the shields of her husband and the other warlords had formed a roof of wood and leather over her as the arrows fell short hitting the ground at least twenty paces away from them.

‘Watch for targets,’ shouted Leatherface to his crossbowmen behind mantlets nearby and those closer to the walls. Seconds later there was a rapid succession of cracks as the crossbowmen shot quarrels at the few guards on the walls, who rapidly dropped behind the safety of their timber rampart. Silence followed. It was a typical incident during the monotony of siege warfare.

‘We should go,’ said Conrad, standing as Rameke hauled his wife to her feet.

They made their way back to camp where the king’s servants were erecting his pavilion and his men were pitching their tents to add to the hundreds that already encircled Kuressaare. The Army of the Wolf had left most of its ponies on the mainland, bringing enough to haul its carts carrying supplies and tents.

‘Where are Sir Richard and Sir Paul?’ asked Rameke, noticing the absence of his friends.

‘Keeping an eye on Stark,’ Conrad told him, ‘we defeated him after we had first landed but did not destroy him. He fled to the north of the island where he rallies what is left of his army. He will have to march south to attempt to relieve his capital, which is when we will finally end the Oeselian threat.’

‘Good,’ said Hillar, ‘there is more sport to be had playing with my children than doing nothing here.’

‘The hardest battle is yet to come, my friend,’ Conrad told him, ‘of that I have no doubt.’

*****

Before the age of man, giants had inhabited the islands of Oesel, Muhu and Hilu, a sparsely populated, low-lying island to the north of the Blessed Isle. They lived in families, tilled the land and fished the sea, wading into the water to cast their nets instead of having to use boats like those who came after them. Giants could pull up trees from the earth with ease and move lakes with little effort. The Christians laughed at such tales but anyone with a brain knew them to be true. After all, the boulders littering the islands were proof that giants had once inhabited the homelands of the Oeselians because the strongest ones had used them for recreation, tossing them around to pass the time.

Stark watched the boats beaching on the soft sand below and wished that the giants would return to the world when the Blessed Isle was in danger, just as the ancient legends foretold. He had prayed to the gods to send him Leiger, the giant who had once lived on Hilu and could make the earth shake when he stamped his feet. But all they sent him were boats filled with young boys and old men. The best and the bravest were dead, cut down fighting the crusaders in Estonia, Livonia and now on Oesel itself. Year after year the crusaders had come from across the sea to pollute the land with their religion and year after year Oeselian warriors had fallen trying to defeat them. His brother Eric had been killed fighting in Livonia, his father was cut down in Estonia where his brother Sigurd had met the same fate. He himself had nearly been killed in Reval harbour fighting the Sword Brothers. And in every battle and campaign many warriors had fallen. The crusaders had also suffered losses but unlike the men of iron the Oeselians did not have an inexhaustible supply of young men to replace the fallen. And now half his earls were dead and he had only enough men to crew half his fleet of longships. His race was slowly being bled to death.

‘They are ready for your inspection, sire.’

Stark was roused from his morbid daydream by one of his earls, like him dressed in a knee-length mail corselet. And like his king he looked pale and drawn, the result of being harried from one end of Oesel to the other by marauding bands of Christian horsemen. Now the king’s army was camped in the north of the island and the men of iron had mercifully ceased their harrying, at least for the moment.

‘What are our scouts reporting?’ asked Stark.

‘That the men of iron have fallen back a few miles, sire.’

Stark had been standing on one of the limestone cliffs, a feature of Oesel’s northern coast along with long stretches of white sandy beaches where pine trees grew only a few paces from the water’s edge. The sea was a shimmering flat surface, a light breeze filling the sails of the fishing vessels bringing reinforcements from Hilu. He and the earl walked down the grassy slope towards the beach, in front of them a forest of tents stretched into the distance.

‘Are they armed?’

The miserable expression on the earl’s face gave him his answer.

‘Old men and boys?’ posed Stark.

The earl nodded. If the situation were not so serious it would be laughable. But desperate times called for daring measures and these were desperate times. Stark’s heart sank when he saw the latest batch of reinforcements.

‘Three hundred, sire,’ his earl informed him after one of his men had taken a tally.

The vast majority were boys around fourteen or younger, none wearing any armour or helmets and only a few clutching spears. They were wearing linen trousers, shirts and tunics, a few having woollen caps. All appeared to have a knife and some had hand axes tucked into their belts. A few were barefoot. The older ones, men in their fifties, sixties and even older, at least carried shields and wore helmets, though many showed signs of rust, having been stored away in sheds or under beds for many years. He stood before them as the earl called for quiet. He spoke the same words that he had told the others who had come from the islands.

‘The Blessed Isle has been invaded and violated by the enemies of our race. Many brave warriors have fallen trying to protect their families from the crusaders and their Estonian allies. I believe the gods have allowed this to happen to test our faith in them, to show the world that Oeselians will always destroy foreigners who set foot on the Blessed Isle.

‘While my brother holds Kuressaare I am assembling an army to destroy the Sword Brothers and their Estonian allies.’

He pointed beyond the beach. ‘That army is nearly ready to march and you will be marching with it. You will be taken to camp where you will be issued with weapons and shields. Always remember that the gods are with you and because of this you will not fail. You are fighting for the future survival of your families and your race. There can be no peace with the Sword Brothers or the Estonians, they are your mortal enemies who are pledged to enslave your womenfolk and conquer the Blessed Isle. Remember that.’

‘Dismissed,’ barked his earl.

They trudged off the beach, the youngsters looking nervously around at the strange surroundings. None would have left their island before, or indeed their village. But here they were, about to fight the men of iron in a battle that would decide the future of their people.

Oesel that summer was beautiful, as though the gods themselves wanted invaded and invader alike to see the island they had created in its best light. The sun made the surface of the dozens of lakes glimmer, the meadow grass was lush and the forests were bursting with life. The invaders, much to the surprise of Stark and his earls, did not burn any farms, villages or boats, which meant that although thousands of soldiers were marching across its verdant terrain there was no devastation. When Stark led his army from the north it numbered eight thousand men, over half of which comprised boys and old men. But by trawling every settlement and farmstead the length and breadth of the north he had managed to equip every warrior with at least one weapon, a shield and some form of head protection.

The king rode at the head of the army, behind him his great dragon banner barely ruffled by the gentle summer winds caressing Oesel. Ahead, on the flanks and behind the army’s long column were mounted scouts to warn of the approach of the accursed men of iron on their cloth-covered horses. But the Christians had disappeared.

‘Perhaps they have fled back to the mainland, sire,’ said his deputy.

‘They are deliberately making it easier for us to approach Kuressaare,’ replied Stark, ‘so they can meet us in battle.’

‘The boats we have sent to reconnoitre the town have reported that the enemy just sits outside the walls doing nothing. They have siege engines so why do they not burn it? They have not blocked the harbour so Prince Kalf can evacuate the town if need be.’

Stark was not interested in what occupied the minds of the enemy but amused his deputy anyway.

‘They know that as long as we live their hold on Oesel is precarious. They also know that I will not sit idly by and allow Kuressaare to be besieged. So they use it as bait to dangle before me.’

‘The scouts report it is the Marshal of Estonia’s army that besieges the town, highness.’

Stark grinned grimly. ‘There is a lesson for you, Hastein. My brother once had the same man at his mercy on Muhu, along with the rest of the crusader army. But the Marshal of Estonia, wizard that he is, tricked my brother into letting him and the crusader army go.’

Hastein, resplendent in a gilded helmet and knee-length chainmail suit split at the front and rear to aid riding on horseback, looked pensive.

‘You think he is a wizard, sire?’

‘How else could he have poisoned the mind of my brother?’

The size of the army and the absence of the enemy made the march south agreeable for those who had never experienced life on campaign before. The days were long and warm, supply of freshwater from the many lakes and streams plentiful, and the morale of those tramping through forests and across meadows high. The enemy was a distant thought; a mere irritant soon to vanish. Those who had stood in the shield wall, the warriors in their prime and those with grey hair and old limbs, who had not seen battle for many years, marched in silence, keeping their thoughts to themselves and scanning the terrain around for any signs of the elusive enemy. But if the Sword Brothers could disappear so could the Oeselians. Three days after starting out Stark’s army vanished.

*****

‘Gone where?’

Grand Master Volquin’s pavilion was not as splendid as that of Sir Richard and so space inside its simple square interior was more cramped, especially when filled with the army’s commanders. They sat on stools and accepted beer from fresh-faced novices of the order as Volquin stood and paced up and down.

‘Thousands of men can’t vanish into thin air,’ said the grand master.

‘They can if they melt into a forest and I’ll wager that is what they have done,’ opined Rudolf.

‘We should storm the town,’ urged Conrad. ‘The only reason Stark is marching is to relieve it. When he appears, as he surely will, we shall have to fight him with a hostile garrison at our backs.’

‘Susi is right,’ agreed Hillar.

‘We should burn the town today,’ said Andres.

Riki and Tonis shouted their support of their friends’ desire but Volquin would have none of it.

‘We are not here to burn but to conquer. Riga does not want Oesel reduced to a burning ruin and neither do I. With the arrival of King Rameke we number six thousand men.’

He smiled and tilted his head towards Rameke seated beside Conrad.

‘Stark has no mailed horsemen and no crossbowmen and I doubt there are many fighting men inside Kuressaare itself. Besides, the area around the town is open and filled with fields and pasture so Stark will have to reveal himself eventually.’

‘We should still storm the town,’ insisted Conrad, ‘even if we do not torch it.’

His warlords murmured their support, causing Volquin to clear his throat in annoyance. But he had to tread carefully. Riki, Andres and Hillar were no longer Conrad’s pagan chiefs; they were Christian dukes leading hundreds of their retainers. He could issue orders to Conrad but not to them. Then again they took orders from Conrad so in theory he could order him to keep them in line. However, it was a theory he did not wish to test. In any case if he upset them they might storm the town anyway, with all the attendant atrocities that would ensue. The last thing he wanted was hundreds of vengeful Estonians running wild inside Kuressaare settling age-old scores.

He smiled. ‘My friends, the campaign is reaching its conclusion and all I ask is for all of us to hold our nerve. Stark will show himself sooner rather than later and when he does we will defeat him.’

They were far from happy when they filed out of the pavilion, though at least the prospect of imminent battle was something to look forward to. When they had gone Volquin and Rudolf took stock of the situation.

‘Being the puppets of the Duke of Riga leaves a bad taste in the mouth,’ complained Rudolf.

Volquin shrugged. ‘He and the members of Riga’s council are paying for this campaign, Rudolf, and have promised our order a substantial donation when it is concluded. Frankly we need it because our finances are, as ever, stretched, which is putting it mildly. Lukas’ victory at Reval cost us many men.’

‘Surely the money captured from the legate’s army has helped?’

Volquin downed his cup of beer. ‘A little. But the order’s finances have been in a dire state for years, Rudolf.’

Sitting on a stool, he chuckled. ‘Ironically our success has also been our downfall. Every victory won us more land, which in turn meant a new castle to control that land, which required a garrison. This in turn required equipping brother knights and sergeants as well as hiring mercenaries. And then there is the question of maintaining these strongholds, which requires a small army of stonemasons, carpenters and on and on. A never-ending spiral of expenditure with the result that the threat of bankruptcy hangs over the Sword Brothers like the Sword of Damocles.’

‘We have had our financial problems at Wenden, for sure,’ said Rudolf, ‘but have always got by.’

Volquin gave him a rueful grin. ‘Fighting the enemies of the Holy Church is not a profitable business, though making money from the peace that we have established seems to be for others.’

Stark appeared three days later, to the east of Kuressaare and not to the north where the Sword Brothers were scouting. The first the invaders knew of his warriors was when a foraging party was attacked five miles from the siege lines. A council of war was hurriedly convened where it was agreed that Stark should be immediately engaged. It was well past midday before the various contingents of the army were ready to march, Volquin deciding that the siege lines should be temporarily abandoned and the non-combatants and supplies should accompany the army. The mangonels and two trebuchets would be left where they stood, much to the anguish of the engineers.

‘Makes sense,’ said Leatherface as he marched alongside Conrad and the commanders of the Army of the Wolf, ahead of them the horsemen of the Sword Brothers, Sir Richard and Sir Paul deploying into line to screen the foot soldiers following.

The mercenary was in a talkative mood. ‘The Oeselians will probably sally forth and burn them, of course, but what will that avail them if their king is killed and his army destroyed? Mind you, they had better be mindful of the wind.’

Conrad looked at him. ‘The wind?’

‘Absolutely. When you set fire to things you best make sure the wind is blowing in the right direction, otherwise things might burn that you don’t want to. Kuressaare is built of wood, after all, and a few cinders carried on the wind could flatten it.’

‘God willing,’ said Riki.

Leatherface grinned. ‘Or you and your men could do it instead, Riki.’

‘They would not be alone,’ growled Hillar.

‘No indeed,’ agreed Andres.

‘Let us concentrate on the matter in hand,’ said Conrad. ‘Besides, there is no wind.’

But there was a sizeable enemy coming into view only two miles from the besiegers’ camp, a long brown line flecked by what appeared to be flickering lights as the sun caught whetted spear blades. The fields around Kuressaare giving way to a great meadow flanked by a lake on the right and a large area of forest behind where the Oeselians were deploying. On the left was another stretch of woods filled with oaks, the trees more widely spaced than the pines and birch to the front. The Oeselians had anchored their left flank on the lake and their right against the oaks. It was a sensible deployment because it meant that they could not be outflanked.

It was difficult to discern the exact number of the Oeselians because the terrain was flat, but Stark certainly had enough men to fill the space between the lake and the stand of oaks. The meadow grass was long, which meant that there would be no sudden rushes or charges against the enemy, though this did not concern Conrad unduly. He stood with Volquin, Rameke and Leatherface a few paces in front of the Army of the Wolf, all peering at the stationary enemy. Rameke’s warriors had been allotted the right wing – the place of honour in recognition of his high status – the horsemen of the Sword Brothers, Sir Richard and Sir Paul on the left flank of the Army of the Wolf. Reconnaissance had revealed that the ground in front of the lake was waterlogged and filled with reed beds and thus unsuitable for large numbers of horsemen.

‘Looks like Stark has settled on a slugging match,’ said Volquin. ‘It will be a hard fight.’

‘If you give me your crossbowmen, grand master,’ smiled Leatherface, ‘then combined with those of The Bastards we can soften up the heathens so Conrad and Rameke can finish them off with their men.’

‘King Rameke to you,’ Conrad berated him then pointed ahead. ‘We should try to the break their line in the centre to allow our horsemen to get behind them. Once they do their shield wall will fragment and collapse.’

‘What is your opinion, majesty?’ Volquin asked Rameke.

‘Conrad’s plan makes sense,’ nodded Rameke.

‘Right then,’ announced Leatherface, ‘might as well get started.’

He began to walk back towards the chatting and seemingly relaxed warriors of the Army of the Wolf when there came multiple horn blasts from the enemy’s ranks. Instantaneously men gripped spears and locked shields in preparation for an Oeselian attack. But Stark’s men did not advance; they about-faced and promptly began withdrawing. Leatherface came trotting back to the perplexed commanders.

‘Looks like they are going back into the forest.’

‘It makes no sense,’ said Conrad.

Leatherface cleared his throat and spat on the ground. ‘That’s the pagans for you.’

Volquin called to the sergeant holding his horse to bring it to him.

‘The plan still stands. Follow them and break them, Conrad. We need to finish this here, today.’

He hauled himself into the saddle, bowed his head to Rameke and turned the beast to ride back to where his horsemen were standing on the left flank. Conrad embraced his brother.

‘God be with you, and keep Kaja safe.’

‘Always,’ replied Rameke.

Conrad walked back to the Army of the Wolf with Leatherface as the enemy continued its leisurely retreat. In front of the Harrien warriors, its largest contingent, stood his warlords waiting for orders. Behind them men took the opportunity to take a final gulp from their water bottles and wipe their sweaty brows with a piece of cloth. The sun was high in the sky now, there was still no wind and the temperature was rising.

‘We are still going to offer battle,’ he told them, ‘if they do not melt away beforehand, that is. We will form a wedge to break their line, after which the horsemen will attack to destroy the survivors. Riki, your men will lead the attack.’

Riki clenched his fist and smiled triumphantly at his friends. It was a great honour to spearhead the attack but in truth all of them would be close behind to support the Harrien. All accept the Wierlanders.

‘Anu,’ said Conrad, ‘your men will protect the non-combatants.’

The Wierlander commander was younger than the other warlords and was not yet part of the close-knit, almost incestuous circle of Conrad’s friends and leaders. He and his men had done well at Reval the year before but one victory did not grant him membership of the inner circle.

He took the decision in good heart. ‘Yes, Susi.’

‘They’ve halted.’

All turned towards the enemy where Leatherface was pointing and saw an enemy line that was no longer moving. Perhaps five hundred paces away or more, the Oeselians were now creating a racket banging the hafts of their axes and spears on the insides of their shields, along with hollering war cries and insults in an age-old pre-battle ritual. The din was odd sounding, though, being slightly high pitched rather than deep and guttural.

Riki drew his sword and pointed it at the Oeselians.

‘Soon they will be silent, that I promise.’

Andres and Tonis slapped him on the back and paced back to their men, barking commands to their signalmen when they reached them. The air was rent with horn blasts as the Army of the Wolf deployed into battle array, three hundred desperately disappointed Wierlanders trudging back to form a ring around the non-combatants. Among the Harrien, Jerwen, Saccalians and Rotalians white-robed priests went among the men to bless individuals and their weapons, like them natives who were now servants of the Holy Church. A few, like Hillar’s personal priest Eustace, were from Germany but the majority were Estonians, proof that the new religion was taking root in the eastern Baltic.

It was not so much a wedge as a blunt snout, the eight hundred of Riki’s men drawn up in a tightly packed rectangle made up of four ranks, each one of two hundred men. On their right flank stood Ulric and his six hundred ‘Bastards’, evenly divided between crossbowmen and their spearmen protectors. Falcone and his score of Genoese missile men also marched alongside Ulric. On Riki’s left flank were another three hundred crossbowmen and the same number of spearmen – mercenaries in the pay of the Sword Brothers and wearing the red cross and sword insignia of the order. Some among them had been part of Legate Baldwin’s army that had fought the warriors they now marched beside. Such is the nature of war and politics.

Behind the Harrien and their missile support marched another eighteen hundred men. From right to left Hillar’s Rotalians, Tonis’ Saccalians and Andres’ Jerwen, like those in front arrayed in four ranks, each one a hundred and fifty strong. None of the Harrien carried spears or javelins because the crossbowmen would shoot withering volleys at the centre of the enemy line before Riki’s men hurled themselves at what was left of the Oeselians. There would be a short hacking contest with axes and then the Harrien would break the enemy line. The Rotalians, Saccalians and Jerwen would add their weight to the attack to prise apart the two sections of the enemy army to allow Grand Master Volquin and his horsemen to get through and behind the Oeselians where they would cut down the now fleeing enemy. Rameke’s men on the right flank would lend their weight to the attack but it would be the Army of the Wolf that would be the decisive element.

Conrad’s army looked magnificent that day, every warrior equipped with helmet, mail shirt and shield. The Harrien gripped their axes but the three blocks behind them bristled with spears and javelins, the rear ranks so equipped to throw their weapons over the heads of the men in front should the attack falter. The yellow uniforms of ‘The Bastards’ contrasted with the more sober greens and browns worn by the Estonians, while the Sword Brother mercenaries wore grey gambesons and mail armour.

Conrad stood next to Riki, his banner man behind him carrying the white flag edged with gold upon which was stitched a red lynx with great claws. His men also carried the symbol of the lynx on their shields just as their forefathers had done when Harrien had been a pagan kingdom. Conrad looked left and saw through the vision slits of his helm the stand of oaks against which the enemy had originally anchored their right flank and where now trotted hundreds of mailed horsemen. He peered right and saw the mass of Livs keeping abreast of his own men, the horsemen of the king and queen’s bodyguard visible and where Kaja was riding. God keep her safe.

He saw Leatherface gesticulate and suddenly the crossbowmen of ‘The Bastards’ sprinted forward, halted, shot their bolts and reloaded. As they did so the Harrien maintained their pace, another volley of quarrels being shot at the space where they would hit the enemy line. From the left came volleys from the order’s mercenaries, iron-tipped missiles hitting the enemy’s shield wall with relentless fury. He did not know if they were inflicting casualties but he did notice that the Oeselians were no longer screaming war cries or hurling insults. Silence had descended upon the enemy.

But a great noise suddenly erupted from the ranks of horsemen, a barrage of trumpet blasts and the riders halted and wheeled about. The Harrien continued their march but Conrad was conscious that suddenly there were no horsemen on the left. But his attention switched back to the front where a sudden roar heralded the enemy marching towards him. The Oeselians were attacking!

More noises came from the left and he watched with horror the trees filling with warriors who had appeared from nowhere. Stark had chosen his position well. Oak trees on Oesel grew squat and widely