Castellan (38 page)
The Russians, who comprised the overwhelming majority of the enemy army, were drawn up in front of the southern wall and the eastern ramparts. Two things struck Rolf as odd: there was a disproportionate number of horsemen among the enemy and there were no siege engines.
‘How many do you think they have?’ he asked the young Count Albert who stood beside him.
Albert’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the enemy from left to right.
‘At least fifteen thousand, probably more, not counting the Estonians.’
Rolf raised an eyebrow. ‘Not counting the Estonians?’
‘Ill-armed pagans do not count,’ Albert replied loudly enough for others on the battlements to hear him. They laughed at his disparaging of the pagans. Rolf also smiled. His deputy was hot-headed and could be reckless, but he was just the type of commander to hold the hill against this Russian horde. He turned to face the younger man.
‘Hold the castle as long as you can. If the enemy breach the defences then fall back with your men. Do not sacrifice yourself needlessly.’
He offered the Count of Orlamunde and Holstein his hand. Albert took it.
‘I will not fail you.’
Rolf turned and walked to the wooden steps that led down to the ground. He would direct the defence of the town itself while Valdemar’s nephew and his knights, squires and lesser knights – fifty-four men and youths – would hold the castle. It was a paltry number but Rolf had given him fifty crossbowmen to stiffen the garrison. And before the enemy could scale the hill to assault the castle they would have to breach the ramparts around the foot of the hill. To man those defences and the perimeter wall that defended Reval he had seven hundred men. A hundred sergeants, two hundred spearmen and a hundred of his own foot knights would give a good account of themselves if the enemy broke through his defences. But the fate of Reval would rest on the three hundred crossbowmen that occupied the twelve towers along the wall and the parapets between them.
One of the last acts of King Valdemar before he had been basely betrayed had been to despatch an additional two hundred mercenary crossbowmen to Reval to stiffen the defences. Rolf had vowed in the wooden church that had been built in the middle of the town that he would not let the port fall. Valdemar had also sent him a small number of engineers, men who had travelled throughout Europe designing and building castle defences. They were mostly Italian, though one olive-skinned individual said that he had been the personal adviser of the ruler of Constantinople. Aside from constantly complaining about northern Estonia’s climate he had been instrumental in laying out the defences beyond the walls.
‘Invite the enemy into killing grounds, lord,’ he had said to Rolf.
‘Invite them into ground where they can be killed? What sort of enemy would do that?’
The man had tapped his nose and smiled, his teeth flawlessly white against his tanned skin.
‘The type that has no choice, lord.’
He had the town’s smiths produce thousands of caltrops that were laid around the rampart at the base of Toompea Hill in a thick belt that would cripple any horse that ventured too near them. In front of the ditch before the rampart there was a row of trenches five feet deep, in the bottom of which were rows of sharpened stakes with fire-hardened points. Beyond the trenches were three rows of round pits, each one three feet deep and tapering towards the bottom. In each pit was a sharpened stake that was fixed in a clay base so it could not be easily pulled out. Beyond the trenches and pits were rows of round holes some two feet in depth. They were designed to break the leg of a man or horse that fell in them.
The track leading to the town’s gates had been altered so that now it approached the entrance in a zigzag fashion. This was designed to not only slow the approach of an attacking force but also expose its flanks to missiles shot from the walls and towers. The rows of round holes dug each side of the track would deter attackers from straying from the road. And if an attacker had any time between negotiating the holes, pits, trenches and caltrops he would also notice the white-painted stones arranged in front of the walls denoting ranges of one hundred yards, two hundred yards and three hundred yards from where crossbowmen would shoot from the parapets. When they were finished the extensive defences that ringed Reval were nicknamed the ‘Devil’s garden’ by the garrison.
It took the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon before the Russian army and Kristjan’s forces were ready to mount their assault. Not because it took an excessive amount of time for the troops to be marshalled into position but because of the positioning of the viewing platform. So sure were Mstislav and Grand Prince George that the town would fall easily they had decided to watch the spectacle from a specially constructed platform. They decided that the best position was directly opposite the town gates, so a small army of men were detached from Novgorod’s
Voi
to fell trees so a platform could be erected. During the hours it took to fashion a structure raised off the ground three times the height of a man Russians and Estonians stood and sweated in the summer heat. From the brooding walls came no hint of life: no movement, no sun glinting off whetted spear points or burnished helmets. Nothing. The banners above the gates and on the battlements of Toompea Castle hung limply in the still air. It was as if Reval had been deserted.
The attackers were disabused of that fantasy when the attack finally got under way, a hundred trumpets blaring, accompanied by hundreds more drums being banged to signal the great assault. Six thousand
Voi
approached the southern and eastern walls of Reval, while in the west Kristjan’s warriors swarmed forward to traverse the ‘Devil’s garden’, cross the ditch and get to grips with the town’s timber walls. As the attackers had no siege engines the front ranks carried bundles of branches tied together to fill the ditch to create makeshift bridges. Behind them were warriors hauling ropes and grappling hooks, which would be used to pull down parts of the wall, Suzdal’s horse archers riding forward so the ropes could be attached to the saddles of their mounts to make the task easier. On the track that led to the town’s gates, meanwhile, a battering ram fashioned from the trunk of an oak tree and mounted on two four-wheeled wagons was pushed forward.
Suzdal’s horse archers had unleashed a hail of arrows against the walls, loosing volley after volley which did little save give the foot soldiers some heart as they rushed ahead and then slowed almost to a halt as they encountered the belt of holes. Some of the horse archers got too close to the walls, their mounts stepping into the holes and breaking their legs. Men also stepped into them, twisting ankles and also breaking limbs.
The pits filled with single stakes were easier to spot and avoid but it slowed the advance down to a crawl. And then the crossbowmen began shooting. Among the pits it was impossible for the
Voi
and Estonians to lock their shields to their front or above their heads as a defence against the iron-tipped bolts that hissed through the air. The crossbowmen took their time, shooting no more than two bolts a minute, but after five minutes they had loosed three thousand missiles. The
Voi
never reached the ditch in front of the ramparts, losing heart as hundreds of their comrades were killed or wounded. They fell back more quickly than they had advanced.
To the west Kristjan sent a thousand Wierlanders to assault the walls. Bolts killed three hundred before the rest limped back out of range. Murk was not amused.
‘You see how easily their courage fails,’ he said to Vetseke as both watched the Wierlanders recoil from the walls. Behind them the prince’s Russians and Livs sat on their horses, a mounted body of Ungannians acting as Kristjan’s bodyguard.
‘Men thrown against well-planned defences will always suffer high casualties,’ replied Vetseke.
‘Not if they truly believed in the gods,’ Kristjan corrected him, touching his silver torc. ‘Yet another example of why only Ungannia among the Estonian kingdoms remains free. The other tribes have forsaken the gods and so the gods have forsaken them.’
Vetseke saw injured warriors, crossbow bolts lodged in their shoulders or limbs, hobbling back to their camp, or being assisted by their comrades if their wounds were serious. At that moment he also became aware of Kristjan’s total indifference to the suffering around him.
‘There is one thing that needs addressing,’ the prince said as the crossbowmen on the walls ceased their shooting, the low moans of injured men lying among the ‘Devil’s garden’ drifting into his ears.
‘Mm?’
‘Fellin, Kristjan. It should be reinforced.’
‘Fellin is adequately garrisoned,’ Kristjan told him. ‘After Reval has fallen I intend to march south and resume my conquest of Livonia.’
‘The Sword Brothers will attempt to recapture it this summer,’ said Vetseke.
Kristjan waved a hand at him as a Wierlander, bleeding profusely from his neck that had a crossbow bolt embedded in it, pitched forward to hit the earth face first.
‘After the losses they suffered at the Sedde, Prince Vetseke, I doubt the Sword Brothers will venture from their castles for the foreseeable future.’
Vetseke stared at him in disbelief. He may have recovered physically from the hornet stings but the poison had obviously affected his senses. Perhaps it was time to think about shifting for himself.
Conrad stared in disbelief at the cluster of crosses and the rotting corpses and skeletons fixed to them. The copse of death was sited on the eastern side of the lake just south of the hill fort of Fellin, which was being closely invested.
‘How many do you think there are?’ queried Rudolf.
‘Forty, maybe more,’ replied Henke, swatting away a fly, one of the hundreds buzzing around the grisly scene. ‘Someone has been busy.’
Grand Master Volquin wore a look that was as black as his beard.
‘I want an example made of the garrison. In all my time in Livonia I have never seen such an outrage.’
‘What about in Germany, grand master?’ smiled Henke.
‘That was different,’ reflected Volquin, tilting his head as he remembered the many atrocities he had seen in northern Europe and perhaps had himself committed.
Walter’s face registered horror and distress in equal measure.
‘We should cut them down, give the bodies a Christian burial and then dismantle this modern Golgotha.’
With that he jumped down from his horse and went down on his knees in prayer.
‘Your words encapsulate what we all think, Brother Walter,’ said Volquin solemnly. ‘It shall be done immediately.’
‘Is that a good idea, grand master?’ said Henke.
They all looked at him in puzzlement. Henke swatted a fly on his arm.
‘If you want to make an example of the garrison then you could always nail a few to these crosses after they have surrendered.’
He looked very pleased with himself but Volquin sighed and wheeled his horse away.
‘Take the bodies down and burn the crosses,’ he ordered.
‘He’s going soft,’ muttered Henke, turning on Conrad.
‘I thought you were supposed to be Marshal of Estonia and ruler of all those that live in it. Looks like Bishop Albert made a mistake in appointing you, baker’s boy.’
‘One day, Henke,’ growled Conrad, ‘that tongue of yours will talk your head off its shoulders. Perhaps today.’
Henke smiled. ‘If that is a challenge, Lord Marshal, I accept.’
‘Enough!’ snapped Rudolf. ‘Henke, you will arrange for these bodies to be taken down and organise burial parties. After which you will burn the crosses. Get on with it.’
That afternoon Sir Richard arrived from Lehola with a party of horsemen. The Duke of Saccalia stood with Conrad and Rudolf as his friend and deputy Peeter, Count of Fellin, together with the others who had met cruel deaths, was given a decent burial. Afterwards he said little as he retreated to his pavilion that had been erected during the funeral service. Grand Master Volquin ordered that the garrison would not be given the option of surrendering.
The core of the army that set up camp to the south of the fort comprised the brother knights, sergeants, spearmen and crossbowmen drawn from the garrisons of Wenden, Segewold, Kremon, Holm, Uexkull, Lennewarden, Kokenhusen and Gerzika. Those castles had not been denuded of their garrisons, as the reduction of Fellin was not considered a task worthy of mustering all of the order’s soldiers. Nevertheless, ninety-six brother knights, a hundred and fifty sergeants, two hundred crossbowmen and the same number of spearmen had marched north behind the grand master’s banner.
The largest contingent was the crusaders enlisted in Germany by Bishop Albert and now under the command of Bishop Bernhard. They numbered two thousand and were all foot soldiers, almost all recruited from towns and the city of Lübeck and mostly spearmen wearing either mail armour or gambesons or no armour at all. The best among them were the two hundred mercenary crossbowmen that had been hired in Saxony.
Sir Richard had brought with him from Lehola forty knights, the same number of squires, fifty lesser knights and two hundred loyal Saccalians. The defence of the fort was left in the hands of Tonis and over a hundred wolf shields.
Nearly three thousand fighting men surrounded Fellin with dozens more non-combatants and support personnel. These included priests, monks, the order’s novices, surgeons, farriers, blacksmiths, wagon drivers, engineers, stable hands, cooks, armourers, servants and shoe makers. For ease of administration they were all placed under the command of Master Thaddeus, now reprising his position as quartermaster general of all Livonia.
He was now in his seventies and his thin build and deathly pale skin gave him the appearance of a man that could be snapped in two like a twig. But his mental capacity still towered over those around him, his voice calm and assured as he did not so much inform those gathered in Sir Richard’s pavilion what should be their strategy as instruct them. The Duke of Saccalia sat at a bench covered with a white cloth to make it into a table, brooding over the loss of his friend Peeter, whose body now lay in the newly established cemetery south of the fort. Conrad kept glancing at him as Thaddeus stood and gave his opinion to the assembled grand master, masters, Sir Richard and Bishop Bernhard. Outside three thousand men and more than that number of horses, mules, oxen and ponies churned up the earth to create a giant ring of mud that encircled Fellin.
‘I assume that,’ said Thaddeus, smiling at Sir Richard, ‘your grace does not wish the fort reduced to ashes?’
Sir Richard raised his eyes and gave a slight nod.
‘I thought as much,’ continued Thaddeus, ‘that is why I did not bring the mangonels or trebuchets.’
‘You took a bit of a risk there, Thaddeus,’ joked Master Mathias.
Thaddeus raised an eyebrow. ‘Risk, Master Mathias? I am not in the habit of taking risks. My calculations are based on probability and mathematics. I remember a period during the siege of Acre…’
‘Thank you, Master Thaddeus,’ interrupted Volquin, ‘perhaps you could enlighten us on how we are to take Fellin without knocking down its walls.’
‘A siege tower,’ replied Thaddeus, ‘the dimensions of which I took the liberty of working out before I left Wenden.’
He held out a bony hand to one of his engineers who held a rolled piece of vellum. He handed it to Thaddeus who placed it on the table and unrolled it. He placed small lead weights on each corner to hold it in place. Everyone stood to examine his handiwork.
‘It is six storeys high to take into account not only the height of the timber walls but also the mound the fort is sited on,’ said Thaddeus with satisfaction.
‘Very thorough,’ admitted Volquin. ‘How long will it take to build?’
‘A week,’ stated Thaddeus.
‘That long?’ said Master Friedhelm.
‘I take it you do not want it to collapse while you and your men are inside it?’ asked Thaddeus irritably. ‘It is a feat of engineering, Master Friedhelm, not something dreamed up after a night in an alehouse.’
‘You can use the soldiers that arrived from Germany,’ Bernhard told him. ‘I want them to be occupied in the days ahead rather than indulging in drinking, gambling and robbing.’
‘You should hang a few for good measure, bishop,’ Rudolf suggested, ‘just to keep the rest in line.’
‘It may come to that, Rudolf,’ sighed Bernhard, ‘they are a rough bunch.’
‘I will also require them to fashion scaling ladders and cats,’ said Thaddeus.
‘Cats?’ asked Conrad.
‘Wooden sheds mounted on wheels that have sloped sides covered in hides so that missiles will bounce off them,’ explained Thaddeus, ‘and they will be fireproof. The men inside them can work filling the moat to allow the tower to be moved against the walls. The mound will also have to be dug away as well.’
‘I congratulate you, Master Thaddeus,’ said Volquin. ‘Your calculations and preparations are as thorough as ever.’
The grand master looked at the unhappy Sir Richard.
‘We will soon have your stronghold back, Sir Richard, and after that Ungannia will pay for its treachery. That I swear.’
The others mumbled their agreement. Volquin turned to Conrad.
‘Lord Marshal, what can you inform us of events in the north?’
They had all sat back in their chairs so Conrad immediately stood and cleared his throat.
‘Sit down Conrad,’ Rudolf told him, ‘you are Marshal of Estonia not some errant novice.’
Sir Richard managed a smile at this and nodded at Conrad who had sent Riki north with his Harrien to liaise with Hillar and send back news of the location of Kristjan and the moves of the Oeselians. A party of Rotalians had returned to him two days ago with the information he desired.
‘The Oeselians have occupied the hill fort of Varbola, grand master, but aside from that my men inform me that all is quiet in southern Harrien and along the coast of Rotalia. Kristjan has joined the Russian army under Prince Mstislav that is besieging Reval. Rumours have reached the Harrien and Jerwen among my men that the besiegers have lost many men in attacks on the walls.’
‘That suits us,’ said Rudolf. ‘If the Russians and Kristjan are amusing themselves banging their heads against Reval’s walls then we have a free hand here.’
‘Have any more of your men deserted your army, Conrad?’ asked Sir Richard bluntly.
‘No, your grace,’ answered Conrad, ‘though a few have deserted Murk.’
Master Arnold of Lennewarden was confused. ‘Who?’
‘The name that Kristjan has taken for himself,’ said Conrad. ‘Apparently it is the name that Taara, the Estonian God of War, has bestowed on him. In this way Kristjan portrays himself as the one the gods have chosen to liberate Estonia from foreign rule.’
‘Another Lembit,’ said Master Jacob.
Conrad nodded. ‘It would seem so.’
‘And what do your Estonians think of this, Conrad,’ queried Master Griswold.
‘They are loyal to me, master,’ stated Conrad.
‘Besides,’ said Rudolf, ‘after getting a bloody nose at the Sedde, Kristjan’s credibility will have taken a blow. And it will be reduced further when we take Fellin.’
‘To which end, gentlemen,’ said Volquin, rising from his chair, ‘I suggest we all become servants of Master Thaddeus’ engineers.’
Those men who had agreed to take the cross in Livonia may have fancied themselves as heroes battling armies of pagans. Even the basest and most impoverished among them – and there were many – would have at least hoped that they would have spent their days defeating pagans and their nights feasting in celebration of their victories. What they did not bargain on were days filled with back-breaking work swinging picks, digging earth or felling trees. But in the July heat that is what they did, they and the soldiers of the order as Thaddeus’ siege tower took shape in front of the fort’s southern wall.
The forests were filled with the sounds of branches being chopped and trunks being felled, along with men’s curses and shouts as trees crashed to the ground. The warriors of the garrison had filled the walls and towers of the fort when the crusader army had first appeared. Archers had loosed a few arrows that had fallen harmlessly short, whereupon they had desisted their shooting. Thereafter the walls were largely deserted, the only warriors being posted in the towers as a ring of siege works was established around Fellin. Mantlets were first constructed and placed in front of the walls, from which crossbowmen could take shots at those in the towers. After a few of the garrison were killed with bolts in eye sockets the rest learned to keep their heads down. Archers shot a few arrows at the crossbowmen sheltering behind the mantlets in reply, to no effect. However, they did manage to kill a dozen careless crusaders that wandered too close to the walls. But most days there was a distinct lack of activity in and around the fort.
Sir Richard sent his Saccalians north and east to give prior warning of the approach of any relief force. They sent back daily reports noting no enemy activity. Conrad, Hans and Anton spent most days hunting deer, not only for their meat but also to provide hides to cover the surface of the siege tower and the cats. Most of the order’s brother knights did the same, both to relieve the boredom and escape the smell of the camp, which began to resemble a slaughterhouse as the horsemen returned with dead animals to be skinned and gutted.
Fifteen days after the crusader army had arrived before Fellin the moat had been filled in and the siege tower finished. The latter had elicited much interest among the garrison when the base and first two storeys had been built. Grand Master Volquin had been worried that the Ungannians might sally forth from the gates in the fort’s eastern wall in an effort to destroy it. He therefore ordered the crusaders and order’s crossbowmen to deploy in front of the gates, reinforced by a thousand spearmen. But no sally came and so the men were stood down, though their tents were moved to be near the fort’s entrance so they could muster at a moment’s notice.
As the tower took shape Conrad wondered why the garrison had been content to sit and watch the obvious preparations for an assault.
‘Most strange,’ he said as he and his two friends walked their horses back to Wenden’s stabling area.
‘They must believe that Kristjan will attempt to relieve them,’ suggested Anton.
‘Or perhaps they believe that they can defeat all attempts to storm the fort,’ said Hans.
‘More likely they believe that we will offer terms if they surrender,’ mused Conrad.
Anton stopped and looked at the fort, smoke arching into the sky from campfires inside the compound. In the summer sun it looked peaceful, even serene, its garrison unaware of the horror that was about to engulf it. They led their horses past smiths hammering horseshoes on anvils and armourers mending swords and armour. The pleasing smell of field kitchens aroused Hans’ interest and the not-so-pleasing aroma of field stables filled their nostrils as they arrived at their destination. Each castle of the order had its own stable block made up of rows of stables with wooden cross bars dividing the individual stalls and fitted with mangers for feed. The roofing above the stables comprised thick canvas. They led the horses into the stalls, unsaddled them and then proceeded to rub them down, the beasts having cooled down by being walked through the camp. The pampered destriers were being checked over by farriers and novices were mucking out the stalls and shovelling dung into wheelbarrows.