by Peter Darman
Conrad took his shield off his back and slipped his left forearm through the straps on its inside, gripping the last one. The boats were now cutting through the water at a steady rate as the rowers heaved at their oars. In the distance were the masts of the boats carrying the Sword Brothers. The total frontage of the first wave of crusader boats was at least one mile, Thaddeus calculating that such widely spaced vessels would cause the enemy to spread their forces and thus make the assault easier – unless the enemy had a great numerical advantage.
‘How do you remain so casual about the imminent prospect of death or serious injury?’
Leather face took a bolt from his quiver and placed it in the groove in the crossbow’s stock.
‘Simple. I keep my head down and let the younger fellows like you do all the fighting. You won’t see me charging at the enemy like a lunatic.’
Conrad laughed. ‘Just make sure you do not shoot me in the back when we reach the shore and I am, like you say, charging at the enemy like a lunatic.’
He winked and turned to rest his weapon on the gunwale, his companion doing likewise on the other side of the boat. Conrad could see the southern shore now, small figures running around as the Semgallians became aware of the approaching boats. He heard horns being sounded all along the riverbank and knew that the coming fight would be a hard one.
The boat was around five hundred paces from the shore that was lined with warriors presenting a wall of round shields towards the approaching boats. He saw what looked like small twigs arching into the sky.
‘Arrows!’ he shouted, placing his helmet on his head.
He crouched low under his shield as the warriors behind him did likewise, holding their large round shields in such a way that they protected both the holder and a rower so the latter could continue propelling the boat towards the shore. Leather face and his fellow crossbowman grabbed spare shields that had been stored in the prow and waited for the missiles to fall. The Lithuanians managed to loose two inaccurate volleys, the majority of the arrows plopping into the water but some striking shields and gunwales.
The line of boats continued to move through the water as the Lithuanians shook their axes and spears at their crews, hurling threats and abuse at the Estonians and banging their weapons on the insides of their shields to create a constant rattling noise. Then leather face and his crossbowmen began shooting at them, not dense volleys of bolts but rather well-aimed shots that struck shields and torsos. The mercenary’s face was a mask of determination as he loaded and shot one bolt after another: four a minute as the rowers dipped their oars into the water for the last time before the boat ran onto the riverbank with a gentle thud.
Conrad leapt from the prow, Hans and Anton doing likewise and the Estonians following. When he landed he sank a few inches in the soft earth but it did not impede his progress as he drew his sword, brought his shield close to his body and raced forward. The Lithuanians gave a great cheer and ran at the warriors pouring from the boats, led by their chiefs in mail armour and wielding swords. The rest of the Lithuanians wore no armour and had fur-trimmed leather caps on their heads instead of helmets, leather thongs wrapped round their ankles to secure their leggings.
A Lithuanian chief charged at Conrad, his sword raised above his head, but pitched forward onto the ground when a crossbow bolt slammed into his chest. Conrad stepped on his back and attacked the man following, sidestepping to avoid his spear thrust and then driving the point of his sword into the Lithuanian’s right side. The man dropped the spear and fell to his knees, to be killed by the Estonian axe of the warrior behind Conrad. The second wave of boats now ran ashore, more warriors of the Army of the Wolf flooding onto the riverbank to battle the Lithuanians.
Conrad ducked low and made a backswing with his sword, slicing deep into the hamstring of his Lithuanian opponent. The man yelped and collapsed on the ground. Conrad left him and charged at two warriors in front of him, both armed with axes. He caught the first on his shield held high above his head, drove his sword into the belly of his opponent who had exposed his torso and then barged into the wounded man, shoving him into his companion. The latter got hopelessly impeded by his dying comrade and stumbled, dropping his axe. He bent down to pick it up but never rose as Conrad severed his spinal cord from behind.
The great mêlée that was developing along the riverbank was resulting in heavy Lithuanian losses. Had the Semgallians maintained their shield wall they might have made it harder for the Estonians to break them, but by charging headlong at Conrad’s men they lost what little advantage they had. Man for man they were far inferior to the well-armed and trained Estonians, who began cutting down the poorly equipped farmers. And once the latter’s chiefs and headmen had been killed in the initial clash the Semgallians began to falter and lose heart. They attempted to withdraw from the riverbank but the Estonians were already among and behind them, hacking and thrusting at unarmoured bodies and splintering shields with their axes.
Those Semgallians still alive suddenly lost heart and thought only of flight as many discarded weapons and shields and ran south as fast as their legs could carry them. Six hundred Estonians had landed on the riverbank. Their commanders ordered horns to be sounded to recall any who might be tempted to give chase and who were now kept under a tight leash. It was relatively easy for Tonis, Andres and Hillar to form shield walls in front of the boats as the enemy melted away, the crossbowmen leaving the vessels to be marshalled in front of the locked shields by leather face.
Anton and Hans had joined Conrad as he stood a few paces from the crossbowmen, watching the Semgallian survivors disappearing into the trees in the distance. He removed his helmet and took a gulp of fresh air. Around him were a host of dead and wounded enemy warriors, many groaning or sobbing as they waited for death. Swords, axes and maces had inflicted fearful wounds on men wearing only tunics and leather caps. The dead were the lucky ones: the wounded had an agonising wait for death. There was a time when Conrad would have been appalled by the scene of carnage around him, but that had been in the days when he had been a fresh-faced novice. Those days had long gone.
Hans removed his helmet, his surcoat and sword smeared with blood.
‘Do we push inland?’
Conrad looked west to where the sounds of battle indicated that the Sword Brothers had encountered stiffer opposition than the Army of the Wolf.
‘No, we support our brethren.’
They left the boats and formed three columns of Jerwen, Saccalians and Rotalians and advanced to support the Sword Brothers. Conrad’s boats must have moved upstream during their crossing because the Estonians had to cross at least four hundred paces of empty ground before they joined the battle being fought by the order. Here, a great mass of Semgallian warriors on foot were gradually being forced back by the brother knights, sergeants and spearmen of the order. The enemy shield wall was perhaps five ranks deep, the rear ranks hurling spisas – eight-foot-long javelins – over the heads of their companions in front. These volleys were forcing the order’s soldiers to raise their shields to deflect them and were slowing their advance.
‘God with us!’
Conrad slammed his helmet on his head and ran forward, Hans and Anton following and behind them the Estonian columns. They ran past the crossbowmen who were providing left flank cover to try to catch up with the three Sword Brothers who momentarily disappeared into the right flank of the Semgallian shield wall. Moments later Tonis led his wolf shields to hit the enemy formation like a hammer striking a nail. But the greater mass of Estonian warriors – the Jerwen and Rotalians – swept around the enemy flank to smash into the rear of the Semgallians. The result was carnage.
The Semgallian right flank disintegrated, warriors being cut down and trampled underfoot as Conrad’s followers smashed into them. He and his two comrades, Tonis and his men close behind them, hacked and thrust with their swords and cut down half a dozen of the enemy in less than a minute. The Sword Brothers had seen the Estonians being led
by their three brethren and they now redoubled their efforts, a surge of determination shooting through their ranks as they used their close-quarter weapons to devastating effect. And as the spirits of the Sword Brothers rose so did the morale of the Semgallians plummet. But unlike their companions who had fought Conrad’s men, many had nowhere to flee to. Assaulted on three sides they had no alternative but to stand and fight. And die.
As the press of bodies closed around him Conrad sheathed his sword and whipped the axe from his belt, threading his hand through the leather strap attached to its base before gripping the handle. It weighed only two and a half pounds and was less than two feet long, making it easy to wield in confined spaces. But its blade was razor sharp and could go through a leather cap with ease. Conrad could smell the foul breath of the Semgallian in front of him, their shields pressed together, as he hacked at the man’s face, reducing it to an unrecognisable bloody pulp. Then he lunged to the left to sever the jawbone of an enemy with a single strike, the wolf shields pressing in behind him to force him forward. He almost stumbled as he stepped on a body, an enemy axe suddenly striking the side of his helmet. He heard ringing in his ears as Tonis thrust his sword into the assailant’s guts.
Then Conrad saw full-face helms and blood-splattered surcoats appear to his right and knew that the fight was over. And suddenly there were no more living Semgallians in front of him as the order’s knights and sergeants cut down the remaining enemy warriors. He heard a great cheer around him as the Estonians celebrated the victory and another from the Sword Brothers. Conrad looked down and saw that the ground had disappeared beneath a blanket of enemy dead.
He took off his helmet and examined the dented top.
‘That is the property of the Sword Brothers.’
He heard the voice of Henke and turned to see the brother knight with a smug look on his face.
‘Getting slow, Conrad? Letting your defences slip?’ He shook his head. ‘All this time you are spending with pagans is dulling your senses.’
Henke’s bloody mace looked small next to his powerful frame, and though his white surcoat was showered with blood and gore, his mail armour and helmet appeared to be undamaged, though the leather covering on his shield was shredded.
Conrad jerked a thumb behind him. ‘These pagans just saved your arse, brother.’
‘That is a matter for debate,’ sneered Henke.
Conrad smiled at the unharmed Hans and Anton as Rudolf and Walter removed their helmets. Crossbowmen of the order were stepping over the bodies of the slain to move forward to form a defensive screen in case the Semgallians mounted a counterattack.
Walter offered his hand to Conrad. ‘It is good to see you, Conrad. I like the cut of your Estonians.’
Rudolf slid his sword back into its scabbard. ‘Your arrival was most auspicious, Conrad. Was resistance light where you landed?’
Conrad looked at Henke. ‘There was resistance, master, but my warriors overcame it easily enough.’
‘Ill-equipped farmers, no doubt,’ spat Henke dismissively.
Conrad’s patience was wearing thin. ‘You should have more respect when addressing the Marshal of Estonia.’
‘Marshal of Estonia?’ laughed Henke. ‘Just because you have a piece of paper from the bishop doesn’t mean anything. Anyone can lead a band of thieving bandits.’
Conrad threw down his helmet and drew his sword, Henke doing likewise as they advanced on one another. The brother knights behind Rudolf and Walter stared in disbelief as two of their most renowned members squared up to each other. Immediately, though, Hans and Anton pulled Conrad back and Rudolf and Walter stepped in front of Henke.
‘Enough of this!’ shouted Rudolf. ‘You will both put away your swords or be flogged for your insolence.’
There were a few seconds of mutual staring before Conrad and Henke did as they were told, Rudolf ordering Walter to take Wenden’s soldiers forward to widen the bridgehead they had just won. There were no longer sounds of battle coming from the west where the Livs and Duke Albert’s soldiers had landed, messengers arriving from Fricis announcing that he too had enjoyed victory over the enemy. Conrad ordered Tonis and Hillar to take their men back to the boats and organise bringing over the men on the other side of the river, plus the tents, food and ponies. The latter would be transferred across on Thaddeus’ rafts. He sent Andres and his Jerwen to scout ahead on the left flank of the Sword Brothers. Hans and Anton went with him. Conrad left to make his way back to the boats but was called back by Rudolf.
‘You and Henke need to stop your bickering. It creates a poor image of our order and you have a senior position now and should not be seen accepting challenges to individual duels, at least not from fellow brother knights.’
‘Henke needs to watch his tongue,’ said Conrad. ‘Before someone cuts it out.’
Rudolf frowned at him. ‘You seem to have forgotten our conversation in the courtyard at Holm. You are the Marshal of Estonia, so try to act like it. If you cannot resist the urge to fight Henke then stay out of his way and I will order him to do the same with you. Then we all might have a little peace.’
‘Yes, master,’ said Conrad curtly before bowing his head, picking up his helmet and walking back to the boats. He stumbled over a dead Semgallian and cursed. He realised that he disliked Henke intensely. As he continued to mutter to himself he tripped again and suddenly realised the volume of enemy dead that lay all around. He looked back and saw the occasional white-robed corpse among the dead but for the most part it was Semgallian bodies that littered the ground.
In fact the crusader army had won a great victory on the Dvina’s riverbank, the fiercest fighting taking place where Duke Albert had landed with his knights and squires. It was here that Viesthard threw his best-armed and equipped men against the crusaders. And lost. He had mustered nearly four thousand men at the Dvina and by the time the fighting was over two and half thousand lay dead along the riverbank. The rest, including a badly wounded Viesthard, fled south to Mesoten where the Semgallian duke could receive treatment for his gashed left arm and head. As they fell back those local chiefs still living sent word to their villages that the inhabitants should leave their homes and seek refuge in either the nearest hill fort or Mesoten. The latter was soon swelled with frightened people wondering what would happen to them now that their duke had been soundly beaten.
The immediate answer was nothing as the crusader army established a bridgehead on the southern bank of the Dvina and began to ferry over the rest of its soldiers and their horses. Word was sent to Riga and a host of cargo boats were sailed upriver to facilitate the shipment of the army’s supplies across the river. These vessels weighed up to fifty tons and had rounded hulls, with a deck fore and aft where rowers sat to supplement its main motive power of a single square sail. Like the riverboats the cargo ships were constructed from either oak or pine using the clinker method whereby long, thin planks were fastened with nails to a single keel, with each plank overlapping the next. Cargo was loaded in the large space midship, each boat having a beam of twelve feet and a length of at least sixty-five feet. Steered by a side rudder, these vessels had excellent manoeuvrability but they were incapable of transporting wagons or horses.
The wagons and horses were carried across the Dvina on the rafts that had been employed the year before. These great square structures weighed several tons and each one was towed across the river by four riverboats. Those carrying horses, oxen and mules were covered in soil so as not to unduly alarm the animals. The oxen pulled the wheeled mangonels and the two trebuchets from Wenden that had been modified on the orders of Master Thaddeus. They were now equipped with four large solid wooden wheels because a wheeled trebuchet threw faster and more accurately than a fixed one. This was because as the counterweight swung down the whole machine rolled forward and then backwards. The forward motion added to the velocity of the projectile and also helped to smooth out the motion of the swinging arm, adding to the accuracy of the projectile. Thaddeus�
�� prize project, the great trebuchet, was too large to be fitted with wheels and so its constituent parts had to be loaded into four-wheeled wagons pulled by oxen.
It took three days to get the army across the river, squires making the trip back across the river to collect their lords’ warhorses and palfreys, in addition to their own mounts. The palfrey or ambling horse was so named because of its amble, which was a type of easy canter and was one of the least tiring gaits for a rider. The lesser knights, having no squires or servants, had to collect their own horses. Then there was the host of non-combatants that always accompanied an army: the servants of the great lords, cooks, wagon masters, smiths, farriers, armourers, minstrels, priests and surgeons. In Germany a host of whores, hawkers and the wives and children of mercenaries usually accompanied an army. But Bishop Albert had forbidden the presence of these camp followers south of the river, deeming it inappropriate for an army of God to be the abode of wickedness and sin. So the whores that had plied their trade when the army had been camped at Holm counted their money and waited for their clients to return.
‘You are privileged, Kaja,’ said Conrad, ‘for you are probably the only woman in the whole army. The bishop has forbidden any camp followers south of the Dvina.’
She stopped stirring the stew in the pot cooking over the fire and looked defiantly at him.
‘I am not a woman, I am a fighter.’
She then blushed as she realised the absurdity of what she had just said.
‘Well, I am a woman, but…’
Conrad smiled at her. ‘I know what you mean.’
‘Hurry up with that stew, Kaja,’ said Hans pitifully, ‘I can feel myself getting weaker by the minute.’
He and Hans were perched on stools outside their tent, the mouth-watering aroma of the hot stew filling the air. The Army of the Wolf had moved all its warriors, ponies and supplies across the river and now waited for its orders. Its members had wanted to advance inland immediately after the great victory at the river but had spent the previous two days stripping dead Semgallians of anything useful and then piling the corpses on great funeral pyres to cremate the bodies. The stench had been nauseating, though fortunately an easterly wind had picked up to blow away the smell of roasting human flesh.
