Army of the Wolf

by Peter Darman

  ‘Or perhaps accompanying him on crusade against the Germans,’ said Berengaria.

  ‘Well,’ interrupted the king, ‘I have to get the queen back to the castle. You will be delighted to learn, count, that my love is with child.’

  Count Henry bowed his head. ‘I pray God that it is a boy.’

  The king was delighted and took his wife’s hand and led her to the waiting coach.

  ‘I will see you at the docks tomorrow, count,’ he said, helping his wife into the carriage.

  ‘I will pray for a keen wind, your majesty,’ smiled the count. He would also be praying for the queen to die in childbirth.

  The next day brought more sunshine and a brisk easterly wind, which made the count think that God had answered his prayers. He was in an ebullient mood as he organised the embarkation of his men and supplies onto the cogs that would take them to Estonia. Sailors with calloused hands and ugly faces bellowed at the dockers to work quicker with their winches and cranes to load the cargoes on the dozens of ships in the harbour.

  Just under three thousand men were preparing to sail east to Estonia. The majority were Valdemar’s Danes: five hundred spearmen, fifteen hundred axe men and two hundred archers. The king had no crossbowmen, the bow still being preferred among his subjects. The Danes would travel aboard vessels that resembled the Viking longships of old, being over a hundred feet long, twelve feet at the beam and having a shallow draft that made them ideal for disembarking soldiers in shallow waters. They had ten pairs of oars, a single sail and despite lying low in the water were hardy seagoing vessels. Valdemar himself and his bodyguard of fifty knights would travel in a larger cog, as would their horses and warhorses. The other members of the king’s personal retinue included a hundred foot knights and the same number of sergeants.

  A separate cog would transport the princes of the church who would accompany the crusaders on their expedition. Berengaria had been delighted when she learned that the Archbishop of Lund and bishops of Schleswig, Roskilde and Estonia were sailing with her husband as it removed them and their sanctimonious words from her presence.

  The most powerful contingent of the crusader army was Count Henry’s Germans: fifty knights, fifty squires, a hundred lesser knights, two hundred crossbowmen and three hundred spearmen. It took five hours to load them and their horses onto cogs with the result that the fleet missed the afternoon tide. So men and animals had the prospect of spending nearly a day of inactivity as they waited for the next morning’s tide. The captains of the Danish vessels suggested that they should put to sea as their vessels could navigate the waters of the fjord at all times but the king forbade it.

  So the fleet waited until three hours past midnight the next morning when king’s cog sailed from Roskilde on the high tide, leading a great fleet of oared boats and cogs to begin the crusade in Estonia.

  *****

  The Dvina was a sparkling blue the day the bishop’s army assembled at Holm for the expedition into Semgallia. It was now late spring and the days were long and warm. A slight breeze rippled the waters of the great river and the conditions were perfect for a river crossing. Boats of all sizes had been assembled at Holm Castle to expedite the crossing, which at this point involved traversing some six hundred and fifty yards of water. It had taken a month to assemble the army that would carry the cross into pagan Lithuanian, much to the annoyance of the Duke of Saxony and Rudolph of Stotel. But as Master Thaddeus had reminded them, organisation was a necessary evil. The elderly engineer had once again been created quartermaster general for the whole of Livonia and had ridden from Wenden in the company of Master Rudolf, his brother knights, sergeants and mercenaries.

  Though all the garrison’s dozen brother knights rode south to the muster at Holm only thirty of the fifty sergeants, twenty of the fifty crossbowmen and twenty of the fifty spearmen accompanied Rudolf and the knights. The others stayed behind under the command of leather face to maintain the semblance of a garrison, supported by the dozen novices that were being tutored in the fighting arts by Lukas.

  ‘Let’s hope they don’t have their throats slit by Conrad’s heathens,’ remarked Henke as they journeyed south from Wenden.

  ‘They are quite loyal,’ said Conrad, ‘you need have no worries where they are concerned.’

  Henke, however, was clearly bored and decided that trying to bait Conrad would alleviate his tedium.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s ironic, Rudolf,’ he said, ‘that when we return we might find Lembit’s wolf shields in command of the castle.’

  Rudolf shook his head. ‘Lembit is dead, Henke, in case you have forgotten.’

  ‘Killed by Conrad, you may remember,’ added Walter.

  ‘Is that why the pagans follow you like little dogs, Conrad,’ asked Henke, ‘because you killed their leader?’

  The brother knights were riding in one group along the track that ran parallel to the Gauja, the sergeants following and the mercenaries in the rear of the column, alongside the wagons that contained the tents, food, fodder, ammunition and spare weapons, clothing and armour. The brothers’ warhorses were also hitched to them, the great beasts flicking their tails to ward off the legions of midges that plagued the column.

  ‘They came to Wenden of their own free will,’ replied Conrad. ‘I did not force them.’

  ‘They are beggars and thieves,’ sneered Henke. ‘They should be sent back to Estonia.’

  ‘They have proved their worth in battle,’ said Conrad forcefully.

  Henke laughed. ‘What, even the girls?’

  ‘Even them,’ replied Conrad.

  Henke looked at Conrad. ‘That pretty young one who follows you around like a lost lamb.’

  ‘Kaja,’ said Hans, ‘that is her name.’

  ‘Did she warm your bed during those long winter nights at Lehola?’

  Conrad looked straight ahead. ‘Perhaps you should mind your tongue, brother.’

  ‘Are you going to make me?’ said Henke casually.

  ‘Nothing would give me more pleasure,’ said Conrad.

  ‘That’s enough,’ snapped Rudolf. ‘Save your fight for the Lithuanians. Unless you both want a flogging.’

  But the Lithuanians were not fighting, or at least the Semgallians were not. For on the morning when the crusaders’ army assembled on the sandy riverbanks of the River Dvina beneath the Castle of Holm, a boat pushed off from the opposite shore carrying a deputation from Duke Vincentas. The Bishop of Riga sat on his horse in the company of the Duke of Saxony, Rudolph of Stotel and Grand Master Volquin as the army prepared to board the boats that would carry it across the river. Manfred Nordheim sat behind the commanders, the fifty horsemen of Riga’s garrison providing a bodyguard for the bishop. The approaching Semgallians would have been impressed by the crusader army that lined the northern riverbank, the knights on their great warhorses clothed in brightly coloured caparisons and a host of banners among both the horsemen and foot soldiers. There was the great standard of the Sword Brothers – a red cross above a red sword on a white background – held behind Volquin, the black lion rampant on a yellow background of Saxony and the silver cross keys entwined with a horned helmet on a blue background that was the coat of arms of Stotel. The shields and surcoats of the crusaders knights were also adorned with griffins, eagles, unicorns, flowers, stars and bears, the different combinations of colours creating an impressive colourful display of German chivalry.

  Nordheim nudged his horse forward when the Lithuanian boat was in midstream.

  ‘With your permission, lord bishop.’

  Albert smiled at Stefan’s deputy and waved him forward.

  ‘Your Lithuanian allies, Nordheim?’ said Volquin caustically.

  Nordheim smiled. ‘Our allies, grand master.’

  ‘That remains to be seen,’ muttered Volquin as Nordheim rode to the water’s edge and slid off his horse’s back to await the Semgallian delegation.

  ‘You do not trust our new allies, grand master?’ enquired Bishop Albert.<
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  ‘We shall see whether they are allies, lord bishop,’ replied Volquin.

  ‘Archdeacon Stefan trusts them, grand master,’ said the bishop.

  ‘But not enough to greet them in person, it would seem,’ replied Volquin.

  The bishop ignored the insult to his nephew but there was an uncomfortable silence while Nordheim conferred with the bearded Lithuanian warriors on the riverbank and then returned to the bishop.

  The commander of Riga’s garrison grinned at Albert. ‘Duke Vincentas awaits you on the opposite bank, lord bishop, and will ride with you to his stronghold at Mesoten.’

  ‘He did not think to present himself to the bishop in person?’ said Volquin.

  Nordheim’s grin disappeared. ‘He waits to greet the bishop as a guest into his kingdom, grand master.’

  Volquin examined the far riverbank that was empty of life; beyond it the endless expanse of forest that filled Semgallia.

  ‘I would advise you to wait here until the army has crossed, lord bishop.’

  Nordheim looked annoyed but the bishop laid a hand on the grand master’s arm.

  ‘I think I should demonstrate faith in the good intentions of Duke Vincentas, grand master. I will cross in the vanguard of the army. Please give the order to commence the crossing of the river.’

  Moments later trumpets and drums sounded among the ranks of the crusaders to signal the start of the great logistical exercise of crossing the Dvina. The first to cross were the foot soldiers of the Sword Brothers – the mercenary spearmen and crossbowmen – who boarded oar-powered riverboats that took them across the river. This first contingent numbered two hundred and eighty men.

  The second wave was made up of the order’s brother knights, who left their warhorses in the care of the sergeants. Each of the order’s castles had supplied a full contingent of twelve brother knights, to which was added the five knights of the grand master’s office in Riga and the grand master himself. Once on the opposite bank each garrison formed up and began to move into the trees that began less than a hundred paces from the water, only to be met by a host of Semgallians.

  ‘Ready!’ shouted Henke as fifty or more Lithuanians emerged from the trees, all wearing helmets and long tunics beneath their mail armour. The brother knights formed a long line and drew their swords as the enemy walked towards them.

  ‘They have crossbowmen,’ said Conrad as he gripped the straps of his shield.

  Behind him the crossbowmen loaded their weapons as the spearmen levelled their lances.

  ‘Do not shoot,’ shouted one of the Lithuanian crossbowmen in German. ‘We are Germans.’

  The brother knights looked at each other through their helmet’s vision slits in confusion. One of the Lithuanians came forward, holding his crossbow and other arm aloft.

  ‘I serve Manfred Nordheim, commander of the garrison of Riga.’

  He barked an order in Lithuanian at the other crossbowmen and they likewise raised their crossbows in an act of submission. Grand Master Volquin took the helmet off of his head.

  ‘Since when has the garrison of Riga been operating south of the Dvina?’

  The German-speaking man was wearing a thickly quilted gambeson and a helmet with a nasal guard. He grinned as he too took off his helmet with his left hand.

  ‘For months. I and a few others have been training the locals in the use of the crossbow. I reckon that now they are as good as any in this land.’

  Volquin wore a deep frown. ‘Stand down!’ he shouted to the brother knights.

  The ninety Sword Brothers sheathed their weapons and took off their helmets for the day was getting warm and it could get very hot inside a helmet, especially when also wearing a mail coif. Many of the brother knights also pulled down the latter as they stood staring at the Lithuanian crossbowmen.

  Volquin called his masters to him as the crossbowman rested the metal stirrup of his weapon on the ground. When his castellans had assembled he pointed at the German mercenary.

  ‘Behold, the schemes of Archdeacon Stefan made flesh.’

  The masters looked at each other in confusion.

  ‘How many crossbowmen have you trained?’ Volquin asked the mercenary.

  ‘Two hundred,’ came the reply.

  ‘So that’s where the consignment of crossbows went,’ remarked Rudolf.

  Volquin nodded. ‘Exactly. Where are you from?’

  ‘Thuringia,’ replied the mercenary. ‘We were recruited by Commander Nordheim.’

  ‘To do what?’ enquired Master Godfrey of Holm.

  ‘To train the Semgallians in the use of the crossbow,’ smiled the mercenary.

  ‘And so Duke Vincentas now has two hundred highly trained crossbowmen,’ remarked Master Arnold of Lennewarden dryly.

  The mercenary nodded. ‘None better.’

  ‘Marvellous,’ seethed Volquin.

  As the pagan and Christian soldiers mingled the grand master sent a message to those waiting on the other side of the river that it was safe to cross. Thus began a major logistical exercise to transport over three thousand men, hundreds of horses and dozens of carts and wagons across the waterway. Master Thaddeus stood at the water’s edge, issuing orders and overseeing the shipment of the army to the southern riverbank. His engineers and quartermasters oversaw the loading of the warhorses onto great wooden rafts that had been specially constructed for this day. Local Livs had been employed to fell trees to provide materials for the rafts, which were covered with soil so the warhorses, which could be tetchy and stubborn, could be enticed onto them more easily. Then the rafts were towed to the other side by teams of riverboats, their oars pulled by Liv rowers.

  Priests went up and down the riverbank, blessing each raft and vessel before it began its journey. This caused innumerable delays because although there were many priests accompanying the crusader army there were far more boats and rafts. And so the morning passed and still only half the army had crossed the river. Thaddeus grew more exasperated as priests stood in the water reciting prayers and blessing vessels as riverboats loaded with soldiers and rafts loaded with horses or waggons stood stationary. He became particularly annoyed with one priest wearing the undyed habit of the Cistercian Order who stood waist-deep in water in front of a boat filled with spearmen, the bemused Liv rowers looking over their shoulders at the tonsured individual who had his eyes closed as he recited a prayer. Thaddeus stood near the stern of the boat, shaking his head.

  ‘Father,’ he called to the priest, ‘this boat has to move to the other side of the river.’

  The priest finished his praying and opened his eyes. ‘I am about God’s work, sir.’

  ‘My congratulations,’ replied Thaddeus, ‘but God only placed so many hours in a day and we are using them up at an alarming rate. So I would appreciate it if you could get out of the water and let this boat cross.’

  The priest made the sign of the cross in front of the prow and then waded ashore. The captain of the vessel ordered his men to start rowing and the boat began to move into the river. The priest’s habit was soaked from the waist down as he waded ashore, his bare feet deathly white from the cold water.

  ‘It may be spring, father,’ said Thaddeus, ‘but the water is still cold. I would advise staying out of the water otherwise you might catch a nasty cold.’

  ‘I am Father Segehard, sir,’ said the priest as a horse on a nearby raft reared up and then sprang into the water.

  ‘Get in after it,’ shouted Thaddeus at two farriers on the raft as the horse thrashed around in the water. He shook his head. ‘Idiots.’

  ‘The work of the Lord is never easy,’ smiled Segehard.

  ‘I am Master Thaddeus, Father Segehard, and I have the unenviable position of quartermaster general in this rabble that masquerades as an army.’ He looked into the sky. ‘I doubt we will get everyone over before the day’s out.’

  He raised his eyes as he caught sight of another priest in the water blessing a stationary boat loaded with crossbowmen.
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  ‘I feel privileged to be a witness to this mighty venture,’ said Segehard with glee. ‘I have been promised a church among the pagans by the Bishop of Semgallia himself.’

  Thaddeus was perplexed. ‘The Bishop of Semgallia?’

  ‘Abbot Bernhard,’ replied Segehard. ‘On the advice of the Bishop of Riga His Holiness the Pope has created the Bishopric of Semgallia and Abbot Bernhard has been confirmed as its first bishop.’

  Thaddeus looked across the river at the tree-lined shore of Semgallia and the dozens of boats disgorging their contents on the bank before returning to ferry more crusaders across the Dvina.

  ‘Has anyone informed the Semgallians?’ remarked Thaddeus.

  Despite the quartermaster’s fears the whole of the army was transported across the river by the time the sun dipped below the western horizon four hours before midnight. The six hundred members of the Sword Brothers, having crossed the Dvina first, had moved two miles inland accompanied by Nordheim’s German mercenaries and their Lithuanian crossbowmen. At the river meanwhile, the two and a half thousand soldiers whom the Duke of Saxony had brought to Livonia and the five hundred followers of Rudolph of Stotel chopped down trees for firewood and churned up the ground as they established a vast camp that spread for at least a mile along the river and extended five hundred paces inland from the water’s edge.

  It took five days to reach Mesoten, Duke Vincentas’ German mercenaries guiding the crusaders through thick pine forests where the floor was covered with the needles and leaves that had dropped the previous autumn to produce a wet, damp carpet. It rained almost every day, which added to the dampness in the air, though because the army had been delayed a month before it crossed the Dvina at least the meadows were not filled with spring meltwater. Instead they were filled with snowdrops and buttercups. Though Lithuania contained no mountains there were many hillocks and ravines that had to be skirted and travelled through. But above all there was water: lakes, streams and rivers that had to be crossed. Most could be forded but invariably some of the wagons got stuck in the water and all were reduced to a snail’s pace when the rain that fell almost every day reduced the mud tracks to rivers of mud. The result was that the army never travelled more than five miles a day.