Castellan (54 page)

Bishop Albert smiled at Conrad. ‘The Army of the Wolf, already camped to the north of the river, will cross the waterway and assault the town from the east.’

He looked at Sir Richard. ‘I would esteem it a great favour, my lord, if your men could support this assault.’

Sir Richard gave Conrad a grin. ‘It would be an honour.’

‘What about the fort, lord bishop?’ asked Rudolf, ‘it is a very strong position.’

‘And because it is so strong,’ answered Albert, ‘we will focus on the town first. Once it has fallen we can concentrate our resources against the fort.’

‘It is most important that the town falls into our hands relatively unscathed,’ Hermann told them. ‘Please impress upon your men that they are not to embark on wanton destruction.’

‘That might be difficult,’ said Bernhard, ‘once soldiers storm a town they tend to give full vent to their fury, especially if there are women to be had.’

‘Then inform them that rape is preferable to arson,’ said Hermann. ‘I want Dorpat to be a stronghold of the Sword Brothers and the Holy Church, not charred ruins that we have to rebuild from scratch.’

‘Are there any questions?’ asked Bishop Albert.

‘I request a delay to the assault, lord bishop,’ said Conrad.

Albert frowned. ‘Why?’

‘I have fourteen hundred men to get across the river,’ said Conrad. ‘The Ungannians have impounded all the boats and barges on the Emajogi at Dorpat. They are not stupid. So my men will have to build rafts to cross the river, which will take at least two days.’

‘And Sir Richard’s men will also have to be taken into account,’ added Thaddeus.

Volquin looked at Albert studying the map. ‘An assault against all four sides of the town stands more of a chance of overpowering the garrison, lord bishop.’

‘He’s right Albert,’ said Bernhard.

‘Very well,’ Albert agreed. ‘Conrad, you will inform us when you have constructed your rafts.’

‘Yes, lord bishop,’ said Conrad.

After the meeting Conrad spoke to Rameke.

‘Kaja complains that we hardly see you these days, Conrad.’

‘Affairs keep me in the north, my brother.’

Rameke looked towards the town and hill fort. ‘Many of the people inside the town will be dead in a few days. I thought the Ungannians were your friends.’

‘So did I,’ said Conrad.

He returned to the Army of the Wolf in the company of the Duke of Saccalia and his men and issued orders to create a hundred and fifty rafts to transport them and Sir Richard’s men across the river – a distance of around three hundred feet. After a brief meeting with his commanders it was decided that it would be better if the rafts were constructed near the camp and then once in the water towed south to face Dorpat by ponies rather than build them in full sight of the garrison. So the warriors put down their shields and spears and picked up axes, saws, chisels and ropes, parties being detailed to fell trees, others being responsible for hauling the logs to the riverbank where men waited to lash them together. Scouts were still posted to warn of any enemy approach but everyone else became woodsmen.

Conrad and his two friends, stripped to the waist, chopped down trees and then trimmed them of their branches. A sweating Jaan assisted, taking delight in shouting ‘have a care’ as a tree that had been notched and sawn on the opposite side crashed to the ground. Afterwards he and the Sword Brothers descended on the tree to hack at it with axes to cut it into manageable pieces.

Jaan pointed at a maple tree. ‘We should avoid that one, and any oaks too. They are harder to cut and move and don’t float as well as pine, fir and spruce.’

Anton walked past a dead tree towards a living spruce but Jaan pointed at it.

‘Standing dead trees should be used because they do not contain water and so are lighter.’

‘You seem to know a lot about making rafts,’ said Conrad.

‘My father taught me,
Susi
,’ the boy replied sadly.

‘He was obviously a talented man,’ said Conrad.

‘After we have finished the rafts we will cross the river and capture the town?’ said Jaan, his eyes afire with the thought of slaying enemies with his father’s sword.

‘
We
will,’ Conrad told him. ‘You will be staying on the northern riverbank to guard the carts and ponies.

Jaan snatched at an axe and began furiously chopping at the branches on the felled tree, mumbling under his breath.

The logs were towed to the Emajogi where the rafts were constructed. The current was at its slowest and the river at its lowest level at the height of summer. The logs were lined up side by side and lashed to connector logs placed on top at right angles to those underneath. Oars were also constructed to steer the rafts across the river when the time came. That time was two days later when they had been completed and towed to their positions facing the town. When his preparations were complete Conrad sent a swimmer downstream to cross the river and deliver a message to Bishop Albert that the Army of the Wolf and Sir Richard’s soldiers were ready to attack.

*****

The day of the assault dawned dry and warm. As the sun crept over the forest canopy in the east and turned the clouds in the sky from black to orange, Kristjan stared out at the crusader army that surrounded his town. For two days the accursed instruments of Bishop Albert had pelted the town’s defences with stones that had shattered the ancient timbers and shingle roofs of the towers. Some of his warriors had been decapitated by the missiles, after which Indrek had ordered that only a few lookouts should remain on the walls. It had been the same on Toome Hill, the large stones shot by the trebuchets arching into the air before smashing into the fort, shattering wooden walls, piercing thatched roofs and spreading alarm. And then Kristjan heard that a new army was gathering across the river, an army of fellow Estonians carrying the banners of Saccalia, Jerwen, Rotalia and Harrien. And had he had looked long enough he would have seen another banner among them, a white boar’s head with golden tusks on a blue background. It was the standard of Sir Richard Bruffingham, Duke of Saccalia and friend of Conrad Wolff.

Indrek looked a shadow of a man, crushed by the thought that Dorpat would soon be a blazing inferno, its people either dead or enslaved, its warriors slaughtered trying to defend their loved ones. But he remained to do his duty, to his people and his lord, the unhinged Kristjan.

‘At least the infernal machines have stopped their damnable work,’ observed Vetseke standing beside the pair, immaculate as ever in his mail cuirass, burnished helmet and green cloak.

‘That is because they are going to attack,’ said Indrek. ‘Not even the Christians are stupid enough to hit their own men.’

‘They are just stupid,’ sneered Kristjan. ‘Today Taara will grant me a great victory over the Sword Brothers. They will be destroyed as an offering to the God of War. Get the men to their positions, Indrek.’

He turned away from the army that was gathering around his capital and descended the log steps that led down to the fort’s compound.

‘Where are you going, lord?’ enquired Indrek.

‘The army that gathers across the river is the Army of the Wolf,’ replied Kristjan, ‘which is commanded by the man who betrayed my parents. After I have killed him I will return to direct the battle.’

He jumped into the saddle of his horse held by a guard and galloped through the open gates of the fort. Warriors came from the huts beneath the walls to scramble up the steps as their lord attended to a personal matter. And beyond the ramparts hundreds of men fell to their knees to receive the blessing of white-robed Cistercian priests.

Indrek looked at Vetseke but said nothing. What was there to say? They both knew that Dorpat was doomed, and so were they. But Indrek stayed because he had a duty to his mad chief and Vetseke because he was tired. Tired of running and tired of fighting an unending supply of crusaders and Sword Brothers. Once he had ruled the Kingdom of Kokenhusen but now his home was a Sword Brother garrison and his kingdom polluted with the Christian faith. He had given his trusty Livs, men who had been with him for years, the opportunity to save themselves but not one had left his side. They were too brave, too loyal and also too tired. And so they stayed, prayed to the old gods that they would have worthy deaths and waited for the crusader attack.

‘These Christians like to dress gaudily,’ said Vetseke as he rested his hands on the splintered timbers and stared at the bishop’s army. Around him warriors stood in preparation to repulse the attack against the fort.

Vetseke turned to stare to the south where the dull browns, green and greys of Fricis’ Livs were mustering in their ranks. He then looked to the north where the distinctive white surcoats and shields of the Sword Brothers were massed, and beside them more crusaders from Germany. An absolute silence had descended on the area as the Christian priests went among their flock to fortify their courage and ensure them that should they fall then a place in heaven awaited. The trebuchets and mangonel crews stood redundant, their machines having done their work.

Had Vetseke had knowledge of such things he would have been able to identify the various contingents within the bishop’s army by the standards that fluttered in the breeze that had begun to blow. The largest formation was from Rostock, the knights wearing surcoats emblazoned with a yellow phoenix on a blue background, the coat of arms of the city. There were also the soldiers gifted by the Bishop of Bremen, their banners showing a silver key at a forty-five degree angle on a red background. Standards from Hamburg showed a white castle on a red background and those of Prüm displaying a white horse on a red background standing on a field of green, beneath which was a red cross against a white and blue background. There were militiamen from Lübeck, their shields painted red and white – the colours of the city. The crossbowmen of Flanders wore gambesons dyed yellow, their banners showing a black lion rampant on a yellow background. And around the Bishop of Riga and his brother Hermann were his bodyguard commanded by Manfred Nordheim, every man wearing a red surcoat sporting two crossed gold keys, the red caparisons of their horses also sporting the same insignia.

Vetseke offered his hand to Indrek. He and his Russians and Livs had elected to battle Fricis’ warriors who were massed beyond the southern ramparts. They clasped forearms.

‘May the gods be with you,’ said the prince.

‘And you,’ replied Indrek whose former hostility towards the Liv had given way to a grudging respect.

Vetseke gave him a slight nod before walking to the steps and descending to the compound to collect his horse. There was a sudden cacophony of trumpet blasts beyond the walls followed by a great cheer and then the assault began.

*****

Conrad knelt and held his sword before him as Bishop Bernhard asked God to give the army victory over the heathens this day. The Sword Brother smiled, his army still contained many men who had not converted to the Catholic faith, preferring to worship the old gods rather than the new religion. Others, their friends and comrades, had converted and also knelt as monks who had followed the ‘bishop’s bastards’ from Germany went among them to bless their weapons.

After Bernhard had finished Conrad and his friends rose as the old man turned and looked across the smooth waters of the Emajogi towards the docks of Dorpat. It was crowded with barges and riverboats: vessels that had been gathered in before the army had arrived. Hillar, Riki, Andres and Tonis came to Conrad and his friends by the riverside, which was crowded with freshly made rafts. The water level was low and the riverbank sandy and dry, the air already warm. Rivulets of sweat ran off Sir Richard’s bald crown as he arrived in his armour, helm tucked under his arm.

‘God’s teeth it’s hot,’ he complained.

The wind carried the sound of a multitude of trumpet blasts and they all craned their heads towards the west.

Bernhard rubbed his hands with glee. ‘It’s started. God be with you all. I will see you on the other side.’

Sir Richard looked at Conrad in confusion but the Sword Brother merely shook his head. The bishop walked away to be with his men. The Duke of Saccalia watched him go.

‘He is very old to be taking part in an assault, even if we are expecting minimal resistance.’

‘Don’t tell him that,’ warned Hans, ‘otherwise he will have you excommunicated, like he did with Conrad.’

Sir Richard was surprised to say the least. ‘You have been excommunicated?’

‘Nearly,’ said Conrad. ‘The bishop seems determined to be in the thick of battle one last time.’

He turned to his commanders. ‘To your rafts, my friends.’

They nodded and departed, all around those who would cross the river taking their positions on the rafts. Short spruce oars had been furnished to propel the vessels across the water, distributed among men kneeling by the sides. Another man at the rear pushed off with a long pole.

As was customary before a battle Conrad and his two friends gathered in a circle and extended their arms to place their palms one on top of the other. It was Anton who spoke.

‘We remember our friends, Bruno and Johann, and seek to fight as bravely as they did. Let us be as true and keen as our sword blades that we may scatter our enemies. As dust to the wind.’