Master of Mayhem

by Peter Darman

  ‘So,’ the monarch began, ‘here we are at last.’

  ‘It warms the hearts of your people that you are back in Denmark, majesty,’ said the archbishop.

  The others voiced their agreement. Valdemar nodded.

  ‘To business. What state are royal finances in?’

  Peter, Bishop of Roskilde and the king’s chancellor, cleared his throat. ‘Crops and trade have been good, majesty, notwithstanding the cessation of dues paid by Lübeck and other cities and towns in northern Germany. But the large payment of silver marks will, I regret to say, empty the treasury.’

  Valdemar took a large gulp of wine. ‘There will be no payment of silver to Count Henry and his rebels.’

  His nephew laughed and thumped the top of the table, causing the prelates to frown. Albert, Count of Orlamunde and Holstein, was still in his twenties but now commanded Denmark’s army. He had campaigned with his uncle in Estonia and on Oesel and had returned with him to Denmark in the aftermath of the king’s humiliation on the island. After Valdemar had been captured by Count Henry he had mustered an army and marched it south, intent on freeing the king by laying siege to Dannenberg Castle. Alas for the count that army had been shattered at Mölln and the king had remained a captive. All Denmark knew that the count was brave but rumours persisted that he was also reckless and arrogant, vices that had cost him victory at Mölln and many Danish lives.

  Valdemar smiled at his nephew. ‘The monies in the treasury will be used to rebuild the army. I intend to write to the Pope to free me from the damnable treaty I was forced to sign under great duress, nay the threat that my eldest son would pay with his life if I did not.’

  The archbishop looked confused; he had no recollection of such a threat.

  ‘In addition,’ continued the king, ‘I intend to reinforce the garrison of Reval. Is Count Rolf still in command there?’

  ‘He is majesty,’ confirmed his nephew, ‘though he managed to lose Narva to the Sword Brothers.’

  ‘Idiot,’ spat the king.

  Archbishop Andrew raised a finger. ‘If I may intercede, majesty.’

  Valdemar nodded.

  ‘Narva has been returned to Danish control under the terms of an agreement reached by the papal legate, who was sent to Livonia in response to your majesty’s request to the Pope.’

  Valdemar rubbed his hands together. ‘Excellent news.’

  He looked at his nephew. ‘Send word to Count Rolf that in the spring he will have reinforcements that he is to use to press the Sword Brothers and their pagan allies.’

  Archbishop Andrew shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  ‘What is it, archbishop?’ enquired the king.

  ‘Estonia has been placed under papal control, majesty. It is now the fiefdom of His Holiness the Pope.’

  Valdemar began rapping his fingers on the table, drinking more wine as he did so.

  ‘Is it indeed. How short the Pope’s memory is. He once gave it to me, I seem to remember.’

  ‘It would be unwise for your majesty to instigate hostilities in Estonia, which is now under papal control, while at the same time petitioning His Holiness to absolve you from the treaty you have just signed,’ said the other prelate at the table, Nicholas, Bishop of Schleswig.

  The king’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the churchmen. There was an uncomfortable silence as they stared at the table on which the king continued to rap his fingers.

  ‘I have an idea, majesty,’ said his nephew at last.

  ‘Let’s hear it,’ ordered the king.

  ‘The Duke of Narva may prove useful in this situation, majesty,’ said Count Albert.

  The king looked around the table. ‘Who?’

  ‘A German mercenary by the name of Dietrich von Kivel, majesty,’ stated his nephew. ‘A rogue whom you created Duke of Narva when he captured that place from the pagans.’

  The king was none the wiser. ‘How can this mercenary assist me?’

  ‘If the governor, Count Rolf, is reluctant to attack the Sword Brothers von Kivel will have no such reservations,’ stated his nephew. ‘And should there be any repercussions you can always denounce the actions of an out-of-control mercenary.’

  Valdemar stroked the cheek of his mistress. ‘Instruct the governor of Reval to use this Kivel as you have stated. Tell him the mercenary is to be given as much support as he needs.’

  Archbishop Andrew’s brow creased. ‘Majesty, I would never be so bold as to advise you what to do but…’

  ‘Then don’t,’ snapped Valdemar. ‘You seem to forget that Denmark is a great power and not some impoverished principality. I have been humiliated in the eyes of all Christendom and will not rest until my reputation and Denmark’s place in the world have been restored.’

  He held out his hand for Helena to take. The Swedish beauty rose, took his hand and the king led her towards the door. Everyone at the table rose and bowed their heads.

  ‘My son will attend to any further business, I have more pressing matters to attend to.’

  Valdemar the Young smiled with relish as a servant opened the door to let his father and his mistress depart, closing it after them. The following day the king’s nephew sent a letter via ship to Reval instructing the governor to act according to Valdemar’s wishes but to wait until reinforcements arrived in the spring.

  *****

  At Reval itself Legate William stayed in the port for only a few days, long enough to impress upon Count Rolf that both he and the Sword Brothers were now under the watchful eye of the Papacy. It was the end of November when he journeyed south towards Varbola, reaching Lehola as the first snows were falling. Sir Richard himself escorted the papal party south to Fellin and then to Wenden, making use of his scouts to hasten the cardinal’s journey back to Riga. When they reached Wenden the legate and his party immediately took riverboat down the Gauja to Riga, ice already floating on the river to herald its freezing over completely from the middle of December.

  By that date throughout Livonia and Estonia villagers would have slaughtered the aged cattle and pigs and cured their meat for the winter. In Germany it was customary to salt the meat but salt was largely unknown in the crusader kingdom, aside from the quantities found in rich men’s salt cellars. Firewood would have been collected from the forests and reeds and sedges cut and dried for thatching. And then the iron hand of winter would grip the land, turning the landscape white as rivers and lakes froze and snow blanketed everything.

  But for the first time in years both Estonia and Livonia were at peace. The Sword Brothers were not preparing a winter campaign against a pagan town or hill fort. No Cuman or Russian armies would be crossing the frozen surfaces of lakes Peipus and Pskov to raid Estonia or Livonia and the talons of the Danes had been clipped. However, despite the outbreak of peace the order was still preparing – for a crusade against the Kurs – while others were keeping their eyes on the north.

  Conrad stood and watched Werner putting the novices through their paces outside Odenpah. There was plenty of space in the fort itself but he liked to take them out on long marches, after which they practised with their wasters when tired and thus likely to make lazy mistakes. Today was such an occasion. Dressed in their bulky gambesons and wearing iron helmets the youths were sweating despite the cold.

  ‘What have I taught you?’ shouted Werner. ‘Hold your shield forward so you can move it in any direction. It is a weapon as well as a defence.’

  He tapped a novice on his extended left arm with his own waster.

  ‘Don’t let the shield impeded your sword arm. Again.’

  Conrad walked over to speak to the sergeant.

  ‘Pairs,’ ordered Werner. ‘No strikes to the face, neck or legs. Torsos only. Move.’

  The novices formed into pairs and proceeded to dodge and weave around each other.

  ‘Good, don’t forget to move.’

  ‘How are they getting along, Werner?’ asked Conrad.

  ‘Still a bit rough and ready, master, but they are
strong and eager learners so those two things should see them through the next few years.’

  Werner looked back at the fort. ‘But they are still just boys, master. If Odenpah is attacked we won’t be able to hold the walls.’

  ‘I doubt anyone is going to attack Odenpah, sergeant. But you are right regarding our inadequate garrison. Unfortunately there is little I can do to rectify it.’

  ‘You will be taking your army across the Dvina next year, master?’

  ‘Some of it, Werner, the rest will be remaining in Estonia to keep an eye on the Danes.’

  Werner nodded approvingly. ‘Even though they and us are under papal control?’

  ‘I know the scriptures teach us to be forgiving,’ said Conrad, ‘but I would be a fool to ignore the fact they have tried several times to kill me. I see no reason why they should not try again and I do not believe that they have given up their territorial ambitions in this land.

  ‘Next year Bishop Albert will be taking most of the order across the Dvina. Only the Army of the Wolf will be capable of keeping the Danes in check.’

  ‘And the Russians, master?’

  Conrad stared towards the east. ‘Thus far they have kept the peace to the mutual benefit of themselves and Riga. I see no reason why they should start a war for nothing.’

  Werner glanced at the novices sweating in their equipment.

  ‘They are barbarians, master, they don’t think like us. They will start a war, sooner or later.’

  ‘Then let us hope that it is later,’ said Conrad.

  *****

  But now that Prince Mstislav had been removed from his position of power at Novgorod and the principality had its sacred banner back the merchants and boyars of the city had no interest in conflict. Trade with Catholic Livonia was too profitable to wreck it by going to war and so the merchants of both cities grew rich and fat as commerce replaced conflict as the common currency between the two kingdoms. The onset of winter closed Riga as the Dvina froze over and so economic activity dried up when the waterways turned to highways of ice. But the Dvina was again navigable by the middle of March in the new year and so once more the river began to fill with riverboats of varying sizes, all of them bringing goods – metal, leather, jewellery and furs – from Novgorod to Riga. And when they had been traded in the port they were shipped to Lübeck in Magnus Glueck’s cogs.

  The Higher Burgomaster of Riga became wealthier as each year passed. He may have been pompous, condescending and a bully but beneath the fat, ugly exterior was an accomplished businessman. He had started out by gambling all his money hiring a cog to take a cargo of English and Flemish wool from Lübeck to Riga for sale in the city. As luck would have it, though Glueck insisted it was divine providence, when the ship arrived at Riga Livonia was at peace with Novgorod and Bishop Albert’s city was filled with Russian traders. The wool, highly prized among the Russians, was sold for a handsome price, enabling Glueck to invest in more cargoes. The profits from these enabled him to switch from hiring vessels to owning them outright, a much more lucrative business because now merchants came to him to hire space on his vessels. And he was able to fill his ships for both the journey to Livonia and the return trip from Riga. He turned a healthy profit but his wealth increased drastically when he decided to live in Riga. Like everyone else he had feared for his life when the Kurs raided the docks and Russian and Cuman armies threatened to put Livonia to the sword, to say nothing of the periodic pagan rebellions that afflicted the kingdom during the early years of its existence. Plagues and pestilence caused him less concern – they were a regular threat no matter where one lived. But wealth meant fine living, a splendid house in the city and above all influence. As his waistline increased so did his power and by the time that the spring of the year in which the bishop would crush the Kurs had arrived Glueck was the richest man in Livonia, Riga’s Higher Burgomaster and the Duke of Riga. He had also taken delivery of four new cogs that were the envy of every captain in the Baltic.

  Like most other cogs Glueck’s workhorses were constructed wholly of oak with a relatively flat bottom, high sides and single mast mounting a large square sail. They measured around seventy feet in length and sixteen feet at the beam, being steered by two side oars at the stern. Crewed by up to forty-five mariners they had large holds and high sides. But the four new additions to Glueck’s fleet were a marvel to behold. They were one hundred and forty feet in length, twenty-six feet at the beam and had a crew of sixty mariners. They had superstructures fore and aft that accommodated the captain and any important passengers on board, as well as acting as platforms from which crossbowmen could shoot down on enemies. But what set these cogs apart from their smaller brothers was the large rudder mounted at the stern – a truly wondrous technological development.

  It was unfortunate that it was the rudder of one of these cogs that jammed a hundred miles west of Riga, in the channel between the coast of Kurland and the southwestern tip of the island of Oesel. The channel was twenty miles wide and though all captains liked to keep land in sight during sea voyages, all ships usually kept well away from the Kur and Oeselian coasts. It was also common practice not to travel alone but to journey as part of a flotilla or fleet for mutual protection. But for some reason the new ‘great cog’ carrying over a hundred tons of Russian furs and hides was travelling alone, an oversight that would have major repercussions.

  As soon as the rudder got stuck the ship started to head for the Kur coastline, its sail bulging with wind, so the captain ordered it to be furled while the crew worked to fix the cog’s steering. There was little threat of running ashore, the southern coastline being ten miles away. The actual threat came from the four longships bearing down on the cog from the north.

  The Oeselians had long learned that it was unwise to attack the lumbering cogs, which always travelled in groups for mutual protection. Not only did their height make it difficult to board them, their crews usually always included crossbowmen who could shoot down on their attackers. But this cog was alone and drifting, there were four ships attacking it and Kalf and Stark commanded those ships. The younger brothers of King Sigurd each captained a skeid, a longship with sixty oars and seventy crewmembers, a vessel sailed only by an earl, prince or king. It was twice the size of the other two longships in the group: snekkes with twenty-six oars and a crew of thirty.

  Kalf, the youngest of the three brothers, stood at the prow of his vessel, arm wrapped around the carved dragon head as he bellowed at his crew.

  ‘Faster, I want the honour of boarding the enemy ship.’

  The longships divided into two groups as they neared the cog, whose crew ceased working on the broken rudder to arm themselves for the coming fight. Kalf looked over at the other skeid to smile at his brother who also stood at the prow of his ship. The ships had furled their sails, relying on oar power alone to snare their catch. And then Stark had disappeared behind the cog as each pair of longships rowed away from it before turning swiftly inwards to aim at the side of its hull.

  The rowers had their shields slung on their backs as they neared the Christian vessel, from which crossbow bolts suddenly spat. The only way for a longship to approach the high-side Christian vessel was head on in order to minimise casualties from missiles and avoid having to ship oars. Two warriors came forward to stand with Kalf as the stocky prince bellowed.

  ‘Hold water!’

  The rowers dipped their oars in the water and held them there to slow the momentum of the ship, which lost speed dramatically and gently bumped into the hull of the cog. The two warriors hurled their grappling irons, which were attached to ropes, as the crew left their stations to support their prince. The grappling irons latched on to the gunwale of the cog as the Oeselians began hurling javelins up at the crossbowmen shooting down at them. Kalf grinned and grabbed one of the ropes as the man next to him collapsed into the water, a bolt in his eye socket. The deluge of javelins had the desired effect, the crew sheltered behind the gunwale and the crossbows ceased the
ir murderous work that had already claimed seven of Kalf’s crew.

  But now he and they were scaling the sides of the cog as those behind halted their javelin storm, gripped their hand axes and prepared to follow their prince. The snekke that had accompanied Kalf was near the prow of the cog, its crew also having suffered casualties from the crossbowmen but were now ascending ropes to board the Christian ship.

  Kalf hauled himself up on to the gunwale as a crossbowman stood and stared, open mouthed, at the mailed and helmeted bearded brute standing before him. He fumbled with his weapon as Kalf swung his axe against the man’s head, knocking him to the deck. He jumped down and caught a fishhook on his shield, the sailor whipping it back with aplomb to make another strike but dying as another warrior hurled a spear, piercing his unarmoured chest. That warrior was knocked off the gunwale by a crossbow bolt but more and more Oeselians were now jumping on to the deck as four longships disgorged their crews to swamp the cog.

  The cog’s crew were not soldiers or crossbowmen, even though at least a dozen had been trained in the crossbow’s use. Their shooting had been accurate and had killed or wounded at least a score of Oeselians but there were now over a hundred heavily armed warriors on the cog and they were doing terrible execution with their axes, spears and swords.

  Kalf was swinging his weapon like a man possessed by a sea demon, his shield and axe working in perfect harmony as he hacked at unprotected limbs and torsos, parrying blows with his shield and using its edge to smash noses and wind opponents. The crew were literally fighting for their lives and displayed a courage born of desperation. But men who had no armour, helmets or shields could do little against the sea pirates and a few gave up the fight and threw themselves overboard into the sea. A few more threw down their knives, spears or fishhooks in an attempt to surrender but were hacked to pieces.

  Kalf caved in the skull of a hapless sailor who had tried to skewer him with a spear, the powerful prince swinging his axe against his victim’s head in a frenzied attack that obliterated the poor man’s facial features. He growled in triumph when the body was lying on the deck, spun and his feet gave way under him as he slipped on the greasy deck, now wet with blood. He fell on to his back and stared in horror as a figure stood over him.