Master of Mayhem

by Peter Darman

  The count stood and tilted his head at the archdeacon in thanks.

  ‘The Oeselians have not been anywhere near Riga in years,’ growled Volquin.

  ‘Enough,’ said the bishop sternly. ‘The decision is made. We will assault Oesel at the beginning of the new year and remove the Oeselian threat once and for all.’

  *****

  ‘At least they are all safe,’ reflected Vsevolod.

  The snow had started to fall to announce the coming of winter and to all extents and purposes the end of the military campaigning season. Ice floes now littered the Dvina and soon the river would freeze over entirely to bring traffic along the waterway to the end until the following March. Riverboats would be hauled out of the water so they would not be trapped in the ice and to allow their hulls to be scraped clean and fresh tar applied to their undersides.

  Princess Rasa wore a look of utter relief. ‘Where are they now?’

  General Aras, all in black and as neat and tidy as ever, took another look at the letter that had arrived that morning.

  ‘At Ykintas’ stronghold at Medvegalis, highness. Apparently they launched an invasion of southern Kurland and then withdrew when Prince Lamekins and his army appeared. All quite safe and sound.’

  ‘For the moment,’ said Vsevolod. ‘It will only be a matter of time before Duke Arturus turns his wrath against Ykintas and his fortress. Young fools.’

  General Aras had been severely rebuked by Vsevolod for allowing Mindaugas and Morta to leave Panemunis in the company of the Kriviu Krivaitis. Rasa had been distraught but after his anger had subsided Vsevolod apologised to his general. He had realised that Mindaugas was very much his father’s son and whereas he had worked to make the son of Stecse a future grand duke of all the Lithuanian peoples, all Mindaugas was interested in was riding to the aid of his brother-in-law. Now Vsevolod’s schemes were in tatters.

  ‘We should send an army to aid Mindaugas and Ykintas,’ said Rasa.

  ‘Perhaps we should send you, my sweet,’ her husband teased her. ‘But the fact is that if we send an army to Samogitia then we will leave Selonia and Nalsen naked. And I do not want to risk that with the Sword Brothers now established in Semgallia.’

  ‘Perhaps next year the Kurs will eject them from Semgallia after giving them a bloody nose this year,’ suggested Aras.

  Vsevolod pulled the great fur cloak tighter around his body.

  ‘Put more wood on the fire,’ he ordered the slaves, ‘winter has only begun and the cold already gnaws at my bones.

  ‘In Prince Lamekins the Kurs have a rare talent,’ Vsevolod told Aras, ‘but while the prince may be able to get the better of the Sword Brothers on the battlefield he will find their castles tougher nuts to crack. I fear Bishop Albert’s soldiers are here to stay on this side of the Dvina.’

  ‘Heathens,’ spat Rasa.

  ‘Heathens, indeed,’ agreed her husband.

  And yet the fact that the Sword Brothers occupied northern Semgallia was not all bad news for Vsevolod’s kingdom to the east. For one thing the bishop’s soldiers acted as a shield against the Kurs, which meant that the Selonians and Nalsen had been allowed to gather their crops and live their lives in peace. Furthermore their husbands and sons had not been mustered to fight the Kurs as in previous years, when many had fallen in battle. This had led to great mourning among the common folk when news reached them of the defeat of the army, their grief compounded by the fact that they did not possess the bodies of their fallen loved ones for burial. Every village had women wearing sombre colours as mourning wear, shunning any hues of red, which was associated with life and joy. Outside their huts had stood pots of chrysanthemums, the traditional funeral flower.

  Perhaps the most depressing aspect of a land in mourning was the woeful sound of kankles, the ancient stringed instrument that was associated with death. The people believed that in order for it to make a deep and full sound a kankle had to be made from wood cut from a mature forest on the day that a loved one died. And it was further believed that as a household mourned the wood acquired depth and soul. Every village had been filled with men playing kankles to honour their dead relatives.

  The people had been distressed when the Kriviu Krivaitis had left his sacred grove in the company of his priests and virgins to go to Samogitia with Mindaugas. Everyone believed that his going would incur the wrath of the gods and in their despair they cursed Prince Vsevolod and burnt images of him on huge bonfires. But thereafter the sun still shone and rain still fell to water crops. Those crops were not blighted but grew to produce healthy harvests. Selonia and Nalsen were at peace and prosperous. After the summer harvest had been collected every village sent huge bouquets made of marigold, myrtle, nasturtium, yarrow, cornflower, daises and rye to Panemunis in celebration of their abundance. The people had not quite forgotten their animosity towards the prince because the endless procession of scruffy, loud village chiefs that made their way to Panemunis presented their bouquets to Princess Rasa.

  ‘I will write to Mindaugas,’ declared Vsevolod, ‘imploring him to bring himself and his wife back to Panemunis.’

  Rasa dismissed the notion. ‘That will have no effect.’

  Vsevolod smiled at her. ‘I know you wish me to send General Aras to Samogitia with an army to aid our valiant sons-in-law in their war against the Kurs. But to do so, my sweet, will only lead to their defeat and the death of poor Aras here. To say nothing of the thousands of your own people that will be lost to the Kurs. I will not do it.’

  ‘Perhaps Ykintas and Mindaugas will triumph,’ said Aras.

  ‘Only if the cold of winter claims Duke Arturus,’ remarked Vsevolod, ‘which it will undoubtedly do to me unless that wretched fire is stoked.’

  The slaves had heaped more wood on the fire in the great hall and were now frantically using bellows in a forlorn attempt to heat the large, draughty chamber.

  *****

  It snowed every day. Not much at first, mainly in the afternoons when a cruel wind blew in grey clouds from the north whipping up snowstorms and, on some days, blizzards. But then the sun disappeared altogether and the short days of December became overcast. The grey clouds brought snow that fell every day and in great quantities. Soon snowdrifts cut off isolated villages and hamlets, blocking many tracks and roads. An unhappy Conrad had hardly noticed the fall in temperatures as he had made his way back to Odenpah, saying farewell to an equally despondent Sir Richard and Master Rudolf at Wenden. Riki and Hillar travelled north with Sir Richard back to their strongholds while Conrad and Andres journeyed back to Odenpah. The Jerwen would then continue on to Kassinurme.

  The snow was not deep by the time Conrad and the Jerwen warriors reached Odenpah but the ground was now totally white and the branches of the evergreens were already showing signs of being weighed down by snow. Within the fort the workers and garrison were having difficulty keeping all the ramparts and compounds free of snow. Icicles began to hang from roofs and towers and the ice in horse troughs had to be broken each morning.

  Conrad had dismissed the words of Rustic but native Livs and Estonians had heeded the signs and had worked feverishly to ensure they were prepared for the harsh winter that was beginning. They repaired their huts and barns, gathered as much firewood as possible and brought their livestock in from the fields. Old animals were slaughtered and their meat smoked. Cheese and butter were also stored over the winter months when cows stopped producing fresh milk. Few bulls were kept, being bred and then slaughtered after servicing the cows to impregnate them, before winter because they consumed large quantities of fodder. Sheep and goats were hardier than cows and could live outdoors in winter, but were still brought in at night.

  The key to the survival of farm animals was hay, which was collected in the autumn. Harvested with scythes it was stored under cover in barns but also outdoors, in stacks that were protected from the weather by turf piled around and over them. But despite all these preparations farmers and villagers alike worried that there woul
d not be enough to see them through the white hell that was to come.

  Hans, whose thin frame always erred towards gauntness, always ensured that there was food in his belly and, whenever possible, winter fires were always well fed. He had personally taken charge of firewood-collection parties in the autumn with the result that Odenpah was well stocked. He, Anton and Conrad sat by the crackling, spitting fire in its hall as their friend informed them of Bishop Albert’s decision.

  ‘It is madness,’ complained Conrad, ‘madness. But the Duke of Riga and his faithful dog have contrived to dazzle the bishop into thinking that conquering Oesel in winter will be an easy affair.’

  Hans was confused. ‘Faithful dog?’

  ‘Archdeacon Stefan,’ sneered Conrad. ‘I firmly believe that he and Glueck are brothers so alike are they in appearance, manners and nature.’

  ‘Ten thousand soldiers must have cost him a tidy amount,’ said Anton.

  ‘And they are to be shipped directly from Riga to Leal in Glueck’s boats,’ added Conrad. ‘We are observing the future, my friends, a future in which rich men play at being warlords.’

  ‘It was ever thus, Conrad,’ mused Anton.

  ‘Where does that leave the Sword Brothers?’ asked Hans.

  Conrad looked into the flames. ‘Where indeed?’

  All three sat in silence, staring at the fire, until Hans looked up and spotted the veiled figure of Lady Maarja approaching. He jumped up and offered her his seat.

  ‘I hope I am not disturbing you,’ she said.

  She tilted her head to Hans as she sat in the seat he offered her. She noticed his downcast friends.

  ‘Why so glum, sirs?’

  It was in invitation for Conrad to vent his anger and frustration at the bishop, Magnus Glueck, Archdeacon Stefan and most of all the Danes who had not been at Riga but might as well have been because they had been given a great gift.

  ‘Gift?’ queried Maarja.

  ‘They have been reprieved from certain defeat,’ growled Conrad.

  He slumped his chair, brooding and deeply unhappy.

  ‘Why do you dislike the Danes so, Conrad?’ asked Maarja.

  He looked at her. ‘Because they are liars, thieves and murderers, lady. They were responsible for the death of our friend Johann, their king tried to kill me and one of his servants tried to kill Hans. I despise them.’

  ‘But they follow the same god as you, do they not?’

  Conrad gave a grim chuckle. ‘They profess to, lady, but if that were true they would not have made enemies of the Sword Brothers, the warriors of Christ who saved their king from certain death. And what thanks did we get? None.’

  He spat the last word and made Maarja jump.

  ‘But are you not happy to be fighting the Oeselians, Conrad, as they are the enemies of your god?’ she probed.

  ‘It is a question of priorities, lady,’ he answered, ‘and at this moment in time the Oeselians are not high among my list of priorities.’

  ‘But you will fight them anyway?’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘I took an oath of obedience to God and my order. I will not break it.’

  A mouse scuttled from the corner of the hall towards the closed doors.

  ‘We are besieged by mice,’ said Maarja, ‘they are seeking shelter and warmth because they know it will be a harsh winter. When do you march against Oesel?’

  ‘After celebrating the birth of Christ,’ Hans told her, ‘at the dawn of the new year according to our calendar.’

  ‘Very soon,’ Conrad enlightened her.

  ‘Then you must all take care to ensure you do not freeze to death in the snow.’

  ‘Have no fear, lady,’ Anton reassured her, ‘we have fought winter campaigns before.’

  ‘This winter will be different,’ she said.

  She was right. When the birth of Christ had been celebrated Conrad and his small party set out from Odenpah. They resembled not a band of soldiers but a group of ruffians, wrapped in thick felt capes, fur-lined leather caps with ear covers and mittens. Socks and mittens were locally produced using the traditional naalbinding method using short lengths of yarn and a bone needle. The result was a fabric that was both thick and warm. In winter footwear is even more important than in warmer weather. Many years campaigning in Livonia had taught the Sword Brothers to copy many of the habits of the locals. So Conrad and his party wore felt boots, with leather over covers as the felt was not waterproof. The leather was greased daily to keep it supple and waterproof.

  Everyone resembled a bigger version of himself because all the layers of clothes were slightly too large. So boots were roomy enough to permit moving the toes and clothes were loose fitting because tight apparel constricted movement and could lead to frostbite. Everyone wore woollen underwear and woollen leg wraps beneath his leggings.

  Thick caparisons covering their bodies protected the horses’ necks and heads and Conrad also ordered blankets to be carried for the ponies. The supplies were hauled on panje sleds that were easier to pull across the frozen terrain than wheeled carts. Each sled could carry up to six hundred pounds in cargo and was pulled by two ponies in tandem.

  The first day was sunny and clear, though bitterly cold. The pace was deliberately slow to save both men and animals. After an hour the three brother knights, Arri, Jaan and Leatherface dismounted and trudged along leading their horses. To ease their movement they wore snowshoes made from wood interwoven with cord.

  Conrad kept looking around, listening for any suspect noises.

  ‘Expecting trouble, Master Conrad?’ enquired Leatherface, his crossbow slung over his shoulder.

  ‘Old habits die hard,’ Conrad told him.

  ‘There is no one nearby, master,’ Arri ahead of them declared.

  ‘How do you know that?’ asked Conrad, already knowing the answer.

  ‘Sounds carry to great distances on windless, sunny days in winter, master, it is well known.’

  Leatherface pointed a mitten-covered hand at the boy.

  ‘Clever having heathens in your army, Master Conrad. They know the terrain and have been brought up to survive in this wilderness.’

  Conrad deliberately kept the pace slow because it was bitterly cold, though fortunately there was no wind. That changed the next day when a blizzard battered the land. They had made camp in a pine forest to give them some shelter from the biting wind but any movement was impossible. The snow blew horizontally, reducing visibility to less than twenty feet in the swirling white maelstrom beyond the edge of the forest. Everyone sat huddled inside lean-tos trying to keep warm by the fires that had to be continually fed. The horses and ponies, alarmed by the groaning noises the wind produced, had to be reassured, fed, watered and covered with fresh blankets that were strapped to their bodies. Snow and ice also had to be picked out from the horses’ winter shoes to prevent bruising.

  The blizzard blew itself out that night and the march recommenced in the morning. Once again the pace was slow with regular short stops and periods spent on foot leading the animals to conserve the beasts’ strength. The sleds carried ample amounts of fodder, spare clothes, weapons, crossbow bolts and food so no one’s senses became dulled. Bodies stayed dry and bellies were filled on a regular basis.

  After the blizzard the temperature continued to plummet, breath misting as faces became pinched and even the hardy Estonian ponies walked with their heads down. But the hard ice that formed underfoot made travel less arduous then having to wade through chest-deep snow and so for seven days they were able to make ten miles each day. But then it began to snow again and the wind picked up, creating another blizzard that lasted for two days. So once again they were forced to seek refuge among the trees and wait for it to blow out.

  It took twelve days to reach Hillar’s stronghold at Leal, looking like a mighty dark brown ship floating on a white ocean. As the small group of riders and sleds got nearer to the fort they saw a sea of tents around the fort – the Army of the Wolf had arrived.

 
; In the stronghold itself Hillar was playing host to Riki, Andres and Ulric, whose face as usual give the impression that he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. After the initial greetings Conrad took him aside.

  ‘You are well, Ulric?’

  ‘Yes, lord.’

  ‘And your men, are they in good health?’

  ‘Very good health, lord, all well armed and equipped. They will not let you down.’

  Conrad smiled. ‘Of course not, you and they are valuable members of the Army of the Wolf.’

  ‘Is that all, lord?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  As he walked away Conrad rebuked himself for judging a man solely on his demeanour. He had to accept that Ulric might look the most miserable man in the world but that was just a mask, a rather unfortunate mask. The other commanders of the army were easier to read, especially Hillar who was built like a bear and often sounded like an angry one. He and the others assembled in a small room off the great hall where a fire burnt in a stone hearth to make it remarkably cosy. The old oak table they sat around was small to match the room.

  ‘By all accounts the army that will assemble here will be large, Susi,’ said Hillar.

  ‘It will,’ agreed Conrad.

  ‘And yet the Army of the Wolf will be small whereas it should be great as befitting the reputation of its leader and warriors,’ complained Hillar.

  The others voiced their support of his opinion.

  Conrad looked at his warlords. ‘Varbola is well garrisoned, Riki?’

  Riki nodded.

  ‘And you, Andres, have sufficient warriors to guard your lands?

  ‘More than enough, Susi,’ said Andres.

  ‘And Rotalia has sufficient warriors to protect it while you are away, Hillar.’

  ‘Too many who would rather be fighting on Oesel,’ grumbled Hillar.

  ‘A thousand men is perfectly adequate,’ stated Conrad. ‘Besides, let the other parts of the bishop’s army bleed rather than my warriors.’