As Dust to the Wind

by Peter Darman

  A curious contingent of the Danish force were foot knights, men who could not afford a horse but who nevertheless were well equipped. Their headgear comprised a segmented iron helmet with a fixed face guard or visor, beneath which was a mail coif. Each knight wore a mail hauberk with mail mittens and a surcoat with very broad three-quarter-length sleeves. The thickly padded gambeson beneath the hauberk provided not only protection but also warmth against the bitter cold. Their legs were protected by mail chausses and thick leather boots insulated their feet but their lack of horses severely curtailed their mobility and hence effectiveness.

  The bulk of the Danish force left much to be desired, however. The five hundred spearmen wore simple conical helmets with nasal guards, simple mail hauberks and carried large, wooden almond-shaped shields. In addition to the seven-feet long spears they carried each man was also equipped with a broad slashing sword with a tapering blade. The five hundred axe men, recruited from the Danish lands in Sweden and Norway, were hardy enough and wore helmets, mail hauberks and carried large wooden shields. Their primary weapon was a large-bladed war axe. The main problem facing the spearmen and axe men was their footwear, which consisted of leather shoes and gaiters around their lower leggings. In snow and ice they quickly became soaked and cold.

  The day the army marched from Narva just about everyone was chilled to the bone as hundreds of men were forced to stand in the snow while Bishop Hermann, his priests and their Danish counterparts went among the soldiery to bless not only their standards but also their weapons. The campaign was a holy crusade and so it was important to make every soldier realise the importance of the quest they were about to embark upon.

  Conrad sat on his horse among his commanders as the white-robed priests with faces a paler shade of that colour shivered as they went about blessing all and sundry. He could see banners dipping when a priest neared them, the churchmen gripping the material to bless it.

  ‘Not bad for a man approaching eighty,’ said Sir Richard, pointing at Bishop Hermann blessing the standard of the Livonian Master.

  ‘What do you make of the two young Danish pups, Conrad?’ asked Paul next to Sir Richard.

  ‘I know nothing of Abel,’ Conrad told him, ‘but I have talked with Canute and think he has a sound mind.’

  ‘They call him “the bastard” in Denmark, Conrad,’ said Riki, ‘on account of him being the illegitimate son of the king’s mistress.’

  ‘Riki takes a keen interest in our Danish friends,’ interrupted Hillar.

  ‘What about the other one?’ asked Andres.

  ‘Abel is the third child of a queen called Berengaria,’ Riki told him, ‘now dead. He hates his older brother Eric who is the heir to the Danish throne. It is no accident they have been sent to Reval. It would be best for the king and his eldest son if they met glorious deaths in Russia.’

  ‘Cheerful thought,’ said Paul.

  ‘Perhaps, Riki,’ said Conrad, ‘you might put aside your antipathy towards them so we all stand a better chance of surviving this campaign.’

  Riki said nothing in reply but all knew that Susi’s words carried much weight and that the Duke of Harrien would respect his suggestion.

  ‘Don’t worry, Riki,’ said Paul, ‘if you are killed we’ll make sure you aren’t buried near any Danes.’

  Hillar roared with laughter, causing the others to join in.

  When the march finally commenced, a huge black column of riders, men on foot, sleds and wagons, there were only four hours of daylight left. A total of two miles were traversed before the army made camp for the night, still within sight of Narva.

  *****

  The veche was in an ugly mood. Not only had its august members paid a substantial tribute to the Mongols in the summer as part of Novgorod’s annual payment to the eastern devils, the merchants and boyars had received news that the Catholics were invading from the west, aided by the Danes. The whole city was in uproar, crowds gathering outside the Peterhof pelting the buildings with stones in an attempt to dislodge the German merchants within. Both noble and commoner alike were united in feeling the Bishop of Dorpat and the Danes had stabbed Novgorod in the back. Much trade went through Dorpat and Reval and those two places had benefited enormously from the resulting commerce. But instead of gratitude Novgorod had been rewarded with treachery and contempt. Only blood could wash away the insult.

  ‘The heretics must be made to pay for their treachery,’ cried Pavel Tverdislavich to thunderous applause. ‘Give me a thousand men and I will destroy the invaders.’

  More applause and stamping of feet. Blood lust had gripped the veche, its members calling for vengeance. Archbishop Spyridon raised his arms and called for quiet.

  ‘Most noble Lord Pavel,’ he began. ‘Though you have the heart of a bear, out of respect for your great age we cannot allow you to command the army.’

  The veche gave a collective groan.

  ‘I’m not yet in my prime,’ pleaded Pavel to loud laughter.

  ‘I think we should appoint Pavel as commander of the garrison while the army is away,’ announced the archbishop who appeared to be assuming control of proceedings.

  Akim Chudin, always a stickler for procedure, raised a hand. The chamber fell silent to listen to the studious member of the Council of Lords.

  ‘It is for the council, on the recommendation of the veche, to appoint military commanders, archbishop.’

  Spyridon called on the veche. ‘Who would you have as the commander of the city?’

  ‘Pavel Tverdislavich’ came the unanimous reply.

  ‘And who will lead the army against the heretics?’ asked the archbishop.

  There was only one logical choice. His father had still not recovered from his ailments, though he was on the path to recovery, but most people had forgotten about Yaroslav Nevsky. The name of his son was on everyone’s lips. The young prince who had smashed the Swedes at the Neva. The handsome scion of the Nevsky family and the man that every boyar in the city wanted to serve under – Alexander Nevsky.

  He could not refrain from smiling as he walked from the side of the hall to euphoric applause, making his way slowly through the crowd, shaking hands and accepting embraces as he walked to the front of the hall where Spyridon likewise embraced him.

  ‘Prince Alexander,’ said the archbishop, ‘will you accept the responsibility that this great assembly charges you with, to march against the heretics who have invaded our land?’

  Alexander felt excitement rush through every fibre of his body. He tried to maintain a solemn expression.

  ‘I do.’

  The hall erupted into cheers and applause. Pavel locked him in an iron embrace and Spyridon raised his arms to the heavens. Alexander accepted the acclaim and dreamt of more glory against the Catholics.

  *****

  It did not take long for Conrad and the Livonian Master to clash during the march southeast from Narva towards Novgorod, the army following the course of the frozen Luga River to approach the Russian city. The commander of the Army of the Wolf insisted on regular rest stops where the men could rest, check their clothing and replace any items that had become waterlogged. It also gave the ponies a rest, much to the chagrin of von Grüningen.

  ‘You dawdle, Master Conrad,’ he told him after Conrad had ordered the second halt of the day.

  ‘Men marching through snow need rest and regular warm food,’ Conrad told him.

  ‘Except that your men are not marching, they are riding.’

  Conrad was tired of this pompous oaf but remembered he was a soldier.

  ‘Men riding on pones still get wet and cold and ponies also need regular breaks.’

  Von Grüningen flicked a dismissive hand at him.

  ‘Estonian ponies are hardy creatures so I have been told. In any case I’m sure there are many ponies in Novgorod.’

  ‘Novgorod?’

  ‘Yes, Master Conrad. Once we have taken the city you can replace any ponies that die along the way with those we capture. No
w stop being so tardy and get your men moving. Anyone would think you do not wish to conquer the apostates.’

  Conrad ignored him. He had been campaigning in these parts long enough to know that exhaustion and hypothermia could creep up on a man unnoticed in winter. Horses and ponies were more difficult to estimate when it came to their reserves of stamina in the cold. When pushed they would carry on until they collapsed from exhaustion. Once they did it was almost impossible to get them back on their feet. Neither Conrad nor his commanders had any intention of allowing that to happen. So the army crawled forward, averaging five or six miles a day in the harsh landscape. A cutting easterly wind blew in their faces most days, forcing both men and beasts to bow their heads as they plodded on through the snow. Soon the Danish foot soldiers were showing signs of exhaustion. Their ranks became ragged and men bunched together as a defence against the wind. When the snow was deep after a heavy fall they used their spears as walking sticks to assist them through the drifts. The wagons and sleds required manhandling through the snow, which slowed the pace further. But Conrad still insisted on regular halts, for which the Danish foot soldiers were grateful as it allowed them to rest and fill their bellies.

  Because the army had been well provisioned soldiers did not go hungry and horses and ponies had enough fodder, but men marching through snow expend great quantities of energy and after a week the Danes were in a bad way. Many had become listless, putting one foot in front of the other unthinkingly as they plodded through the snow. A few collapsed and had to be placed on carts, only adding to the difficulty of moving the vehicles forward. The commanders of the army, the two Danish princes, their bodyguards and the Teutonic Order’s masters rode at its head in the company of Bishop Hermann. Behind them came von Grüningen’s German brother knights, and the brother knights, sergeants and novices of Wenden, Odenpah, Dorpat, Segewold and Kremon, all former Sword Brothers. Their mercenary foot soldiers protected the carts and sleds while the Danish foot soldiers formed the centre of the army. In a deliberate slight the Army of the Wolf brought up the rear of the column. But it gave Conrad an insight into the state of the foot soldiers in front of him. When the wind dropped and with leaden skies overhead he sent forward a rider with an urgent request for a council of war. He ordered his men to halt and make camp, de facto forcing the rest of the army to follow suit.

  As large snowflakes descended from the grey skies overhead the army established a camp on a wide bend of the Luga and in the shelter of a birch forest ending a hundred paces from the river. The trees formed a tall, wide windbreak from the merciless easterly blast, the army’s companion since it had left Narva. Servants with numb hands erected the bishop’s pavilion and others lit braziers filled with coals while the forest echoed with wood being sawed and chopped. Visibility was less than twenty paces in the falling snow when Conrad entered the bishop’s pavilion for the meeting.

  A servant handed him a cup of warm wine as another took his cloak and a third led his horse to the temporary stables behind the pavilion. Boards had been placed on the floor and carpets laid over them to prevent the bishop having to walk on a mud floor. The prelate himself was drumming his fingers on the table in the pavilion’s reception chamber when Conrad entered. The atmosphere was colder than that outside as von Grüningen glowered at him.

  ‘You hold up our advance, Conrad,’ said the bishop tersely.

  Conrad nodded. ‘I had no alternative, lord bishop, many of the Danish soldiers are fit to drop.’

  ‘It is true that I have received reports of frostbite,’ admitted Canute, ‘but have been assured that they are few.’

  ‘Alas, highness,’ said Conrad, ‘it is not frostbite but exhaustion and hypothermia that are greater problems. A few days’ halt and copious amounts of hot food will avert disaster.’

  ‘A few days?’ exclaimed von Grüningen with incredulity. ‘We could be in Novgorod in another week. The soldiers can rest there.’

  Canute and Abel looked at Conrad. Rudolf, who accompanied the Livonian Master, looked at his friend and shook his head. But Conrad felt no compulsion to hold his tongue.

  ‘If that is the case then a few more days will make no difference. But if we have to fight a battle between now and our glorious entry into Novgorod then my advice would be to rest the army so its foot soldiers in particular can recover from their exertions.’

  ‘What exertions?’ asked von Grüningen. ‘All they have done is march.’

  ‘Marching through snow is very taxing for a man on foot,’ replied Conrad, ‘though I would not expect you to understand that.’

  ‘You forget yourself, Conrad,’ the bishop warned him.

  ‘I would rather speak my mind and face the consequences than stay silent and see your excellency imperilled.’

  ‘Perhaps our halt may be advantageous in two ways,’ suggested Rudolf, eager to diffuse the situation.

  ‘How so?’ snapped the Livonian Master.

  ‘I have no doubt that even as we speak the Russians are approaching our position. Why not meet them on ground of our own choosing instead of forging on. In that way our men will have time to rest and restore their strength.’

  The Livonian Master said nothing but Canute, realising that his foot were perhaps in a more perilous state than he had thought, was glad to grasp the opportunity that Rudolf suggested.

  ‘We have advanced halfway to Novgorod. It would be naïve to believe that our march will be uncontested. The Swedes were defeated at the Neva because they were surprised. Let us not grant the enemy a similar advantage.’

  The bishop looked at the Livonian Master who shrugged his shoulders. Hermann was aware that the former Sword Brothers and Teutonic Knights formed but a small part of the army. He did not want to offend the Danish princes who seemed to look up to Master Conrad. He was finding Conrad increasingly irksome. Something terrible had obviously happened to him during his captivity warping his mind, despite his zestful appearance, that much was certain.

  ‘I am apt to agree with Prince Canute,’ he said. ‘Let us halt and rest so that we may gird our loins for the coming clash with the apostates. You are certain they will offer battle, Rudolf?’

  ‘You can depend on it, lord bishop.’

  Von Grüningen amused himself during the next few days hunting and leading patrols while the army rested. Huge fires were lit on bases of freshly cut thick birch logs so the flames would not defrost the ground and the fires would not sink into the earth. Cauldrons were heated night and day to fill cold bodies with warm food and gradually the foot soldiers recovered their strength, Conrad earning their gratitude and respect. It stopped snowing after two days, the skies cleared and the easterly wind returned, though because the camp had a huge windbreak in the form of the birch forest the men and animals did not suffer unduly. But on the fifth day, as the sun crept above the treeline, the wind carried a sound to men’s ears concentrating their minds. It was barely discernible at first, a faint thudding noise, but as the minutes passed it became clearer and more threatening – drums.

  The alarm was raised. Men rushed to don their armour and buckle their sword belts. Horns and trumpets sounded to rally men to their colours as a patrol cantered into camp. Its news spread like wildfire through the army – the enemy had been sighted.

  Conrad called his commanders together, the venue being Sir Richard’s pavilion located in the centre of the Army of the Wolf’s tents. There was no panic because all knew that in snow and ice sounds travelled far and fast and even quicker on a keen wind. Despite the apparent proximity of danger, the Russians were still some way off and their advance would be slowed by the snow.

  Brother knights and nobles readied their destriers for combat, their novices and squires dressing the warhorses in thickly padded caparisons and saddling them for their masters. Conrad would not fight with the brother knights, deciding to stay with his Estonian warlords, though both Sir Richard and Sir Paul would take their place among the mailed horsemen. They each led a hundred knights and squires and
had more battle experience than the two Danish princes and the Livonian Master combined.

  The ground their next battle would be fought on was advantageous to the bishop’s army. The great bend in the river pointed south beyond which was a narrow stretch of open ground between the frozen waterway and another forest of birch a few hundred paces further south. Thus could the bishop’s army anchor its left flank on the river and its right against the birch forest. The crusader camp was across the river nestling against the western edge of the forest filling the bend. The Russians would have no choice but to try a frontal assault on the crusader army in the hope of breaking its line, at least that was the logical conclusion Conrad came to. Von Grüningen had other ideas.

  ‘Once the enemy arrive our horsemen will attack and shatter their battle line, after which the foot will slaughter the survivors.’

  The Livonian Master and the other senior commanders were seated on their horses in the company of the bishop. Behind them were the banners of Denmark, the Teutonic Knights and the Bishop of Dorpat fluttering in the breeze. Already the brother knights, sergeants and Danish knights were riding across one of the log roads laid across the ice of the river in the days beforehand. The ice was thick but the logs spread the load. A mailed knight on a destrier was a heavy load and no one wanted to take a chance when it came to estimating the density of the ice.

  Conrad cleared his throat loudly.

  ‘You have something to say, Master Conrad?’

  ‘Surely, master, it would be better to let the Russians attack first so they can fall victim to our spears and crossbows, before unleashing the horse to complete their rout.’

  He looked aghast. ‘Are you mad? You expect nobles and brother knights to sit idly by while lowborn foot soldiers steal their glory?’

  ‘My knights will want first blood,’ agreed Prince Canute.

  ‘With respect, highness,’ said Conrad, ‘we should not underestimate the Russians. It would be wise…’

  ‘Respect, wise?’ interrupted the Livonian Master. ‘I sometimes wonder if you were a brother knight, Master Conrad. You seem to forget that we have God on our side whereas the apostate Russians are heretics. For that reason alone we should attack in order to not delay in sending these Russians to hell where they belong.’