They moved on towards the centre of the camp as the tent caught fire and the air was filled with the sounds that Conrad had become all too familiar with: men yelping and screaming as sword and axe blades mutilated their bodies and snuffed out their lives. He also heard horns being blown as the alarm was raised. Tents were bursting into flames in every direction as the raiders went about their business. The four Sword Brothers stayed close as they ran on, cutting down unfortunates who had quickly gathered their weapons and were attempting to rally to the heads of their families.
But these men were riders, individuals used to fighting from the saddle with bows and javelins, accustomed to swarming around their enemies and decimating them with speed, surprise and storms of arrows. On foot and against men attired in mail and helmets and wielding close-quarter weapons they suffered terribly. Sir Richard’s men moved as one inside the camp, hacking with their maces, axes and swords through any Cuman groups that offered resistance. They torched any tents they passed until a plethora of fires were raging in the camp as they moved forward relentlessly.
The other groups of raiders – wolf shields, Ungannians, Jerwen and Rotalians – also fought in compact groups as they continued to advance south. The four brother knights moved faster, slashing right and left with their swords as they moved unseen between tents, catching disorientated Cumans with ease and cutting them down. Just as they had been instructed by Brother Lukas when they had first arrived in Livonia all those years ago, they kept moving even when faced by opponents. A Cuman burst from a tent with a spear in his hand and a small round shield tucked into his left side. He saw Conrad and lunged at the brother knight but his thrust struck only air as the Sword Brother leapt to his left. He then drove the point of his sword into the barbarian’s right shoulder, causing him to drop his spear. Conrad barged his shield into him, knocking him to the ground. Hans killed him with a single thrust of his sword to the back of his neck.
Anton and Johann came to their side and all four moved on, past injured, screaming horses maddened by their wounds and the fires that were raging in all directions. The roaring of the flames, the squeals of animals and the war cries of men combined with the scene of death, fire and battle to produce a nightmarish spectacle.
‘It’s like we have entered hell,’ Anton shouted from inside his helm.
They came to an open space in front of a large tent where a group of ten or more Cumans were being berated by a man with a long moustache wearing baggy leggings. His voice could barely be heard above the din of battle and destruction. His men saw the Sword Brothers immediately and closed ranks around him, while he shoved them aside and came at the brother knights, sword in hand. Conrad recognised him. It was Lord Gerceslav, the Cuman leader who had been so polite and friendly at Dorpat before Henke’s calamitous intervention. He was not so friendly now but he did not lack for courage for he wore no helmet or armour, his only protection a small round shield favoured by the Cumans.
‘He’s mine,’ shouted Conrad as he slung his shield on his back and pulled his axe from his belt with his left hand.
His friends flanked him as the other Cumans charged them, twelve against four, in expectation of an easy victory. Unlike Gerceslav they wore helmets and lamellar armour and some were armed with maces in addition to their curved swords. They screamed as they charged at the brother knights, enraged that their camp had been raided, their weapon strikes full of unbridled fury. But they were facing men who were used to holding their nerve in the white heat of combat, who had been trained to keep thinking when facing the enemy. The Cumans may have had a three-to-one numerical superiority but their blind rage made their attacks clumsy and predictable and Hans, Anton and Johann were able to parry them or avoid them altogether with some ease. They ducked, made feints and leapt out of the way of the Cuman blades, deftly swinging and thrusting their swords to slice calves and hamstrings as they did so. They made use of the open space in front of the tent to dart in and deliver attacks against their opponents, retreat backwards and sideward, all the time moving around their enemies. The Cumans became even angrier when the men in steel helms refused to stand still so they could be battered with maces or run through with swords, and as their tempers rose so their strikes became wilder and more predictable. All except Gerceslav.
While his three friends toyed with their adversaries, Conrad had to use all his skill to keep the Cuman leader at bay. He wielded his sword like it was a small stick, using his wrist to change the direction of his strokes in an effort to cut Conrad. His demeanour was calm, his eyes alert, as he moved around Conrad like a wolf circling its prey. His strikes were well aimed and fast but Conrad was quick on his feet and managed to avoid them as he delivered a series of counter-strikes that the Cuman also managed to avoid. This resulted in a duel in which neither opponent made contact with the shield or sword of the other, as though they had both rehearsed an intricate dance of death beforehand.
They exchanged a series of feints and thrusts and then circled each other once more as fighting continued around them. Conrad felt a thud on his back and turned to see a figure framed in the entrance of the tent, an individual armed with a bow now nocking another arrow in his bowstring. His first arrow had hit him in the back but had fortunately struck his shield, but now he had to contend with his opponent and an archer. He flicked his wrist to whip his sword blade against the Cuman’s unarmoured head but his opponent was too quick and leapt to the right, letting out a low groan as the arrow that had been aimed for Conrad struck him in the side. Gerceslav stumbled and almost collapsed to the ground as pain shot through his body and the archer cried out in anguish. Then Conrad was on him like a bear catching an elk calf, thrusting the point of his sword into his other side with all the strength he could muster. Blood frothed at the Cuman’s mouth, he gurgled and then went limp and crumbled to the ground as he died.
The archer ran at Conrad with a long knife in his hand but the brother knight let go of his sword that was still embedded in the dead Cuman, transferred the axe to his right hand and quickly pulled his shield off his back. He rammed his left arm through its straps as the archer screamed and hurled himself at Conrad, only to have his skull split open on the blade of his axe. The man collapsed dead on the ground, though when Conrad yanked the blood-covered blade free he saw that it was not a man but a young blonde-haired woman. Shocked, he removed his helmet and knelt beside the woman as Johann killed the last Cuman with his sword. He gave a shout of triumph and then saw a helmetless Conrad kneeling beside a dead body. He ran over as Hans and Anton also congregated around their friend. Johann saw Conrad’s sword in the body of the dead Cuman male and pulled it from the corpse.
‘Your sword, Conrad.’
He got to his feet with a heavy heart and took his sword, wiping the bloody blade on his surcoat before sliding it back into its scabbard.
‘A fair maiden,’ remarked Anton.
‘A pity about her pretty head split open,’ said Johann.
Conrad said nothing as he stared at the corpse, thoughts of Thalibald’s burning village and dead women and children on the dreadful night when his wife and child died filling his mind. Hans shook his arm.
‘Conrad, there is still work left to do.’
There was a great whooshing noise and a nearby tent went up in flames. Conrad picked up his helmet.
‘They must have been husband and wife.’
Johann shrugged. ‘And now they are together in the next life.’
‘Have a care!’ shouted Hans as soldiers suddenly filled the space next to the Cuman leader’s tent. But the brother knights relaxed when they recognised the tall figure of Sir Richard and the squat, broader squire Paul beside him. The noble rushed over to them and lifted his helmet.
‘Time to go. Tonis is holding off a force of Russians with difficulty.’
The Sword Brothers formed the rearguard as the raiders edged back to the river with mail-clad Russians at their heels. The latter could not mount a mass attack because of the amount of fires within the camp, allowing the raiders to reach the lake’s shore and then wade to the boats. The Russians halted at the shore and let them go, but as the raiders pushed the boats into deeper water they had to endure an arrow storm from Cuman archers standing at the water’s edge. The Sword Brothers had their shields slung on their backs but many of the Estonians had thrown theirs into boats and were struck.
‘Arrows, arrows,’ someone shouted as the missiles hissed through the air, plopped into the water, struck wooden hulls or found flesh. Conrad jumped into the boat and helped the others get aboard, along with a dozen or so wolf shields.
‘Use your shields to protect us,’ Conrad told them as he grabbed one of the oars and began rowing. The captain and his young assistant were both slumped over the side of the hull, the arrows that had killed them lodged in their backs. The dawn was breaking to bring another grey, cold cloudy day, the sun hidden as daylight slowly banished the darkness.
The crews rowed frantically until they were beyond the range of Cuman arrows, only stopping when they were at least a mile from the lake’s southern shore. Slivers of mist still hung above the water as those captains still alive barked orders to their passengers to start rowing again and then shouted to their fellow masters so they could group the vessels together.
Conrad felt tired and hungry as he dipped his oar in the water to continue rowing. The thoughts of the woman he had killed filled his mind as he thrust the oar into the lake. He saw her young, attractive face in the dark water. He should have been elated at the success of the raid but instead felt thoroughly ashamed.
*****
Yaroslav stared at the dead body of Gerceslav at his feet and sighed. He had little sympathy for the boorish Cuman whose company he had found irksome, though he did mourn the death of his wife. He grimaced as he looked at the once beautiful face that had been disfigured horribly. And he felt sadness at the dead baby in her lifeless womb.
‘What now?’
One among the disgruntled group of Cumans gathered behind him snapped him out of his musings.
‘First we will bury Lord Gerceslav and his wife,’ answered Yaroslav.
It was Cuman custom to bury their lords with their horses and so the unfortunate mounts of the host’s leaders were slaughtered while large, deep graves were dug to accommodate their bodies. It took two days to collect the horses that had stampeded during the raid from the surrounding countryside. The Cumans wanted to slaughter the slaves they had taken in Livonia and Estonia but Yaroslav convinced them to spare their lives. Not out of any consideration for their welfare but as prizes to present to Prince Mstislav when he returned to Novgorod. The prince and the Cuman leaders could argue among themselves when it came to dividing the spoils but he required some tangible proof that the expedition had been a success. As thousands of Cumans stood and sobbed to the accompaniment of wailing shamans, he was determined to reach Novgorod as quickly as possible. He would march via Odenpah and Dorpat to collect the soldiers left to besiege those places on the way. The thought that they might have fallen momentarily cheered him but he doubted it. He had seen the raiders and the mail-clad crusaders among them. If the Estonian tribes had allied themselves with the Bishop of Riga then the prince’s objective to conquer Ungannia would be made much harder, which would no doubt further blacken his mood.
There was a great wail among the assembly as the bodies of Gerceslav and Afanasy were lowered into their joint grave. The mayor of Pskov would never discover whether the child that had been in her belly was his or the Cuman’s. As usual Domash had emerged unblemished from his dalliances. Yaroslav thought that perhaps he should have a
Skomorokh
to protect himself from the ill fortune that seemed to have stalked him ever since he had entered Estonia.
*****
The party that had raided the Cuman and Russian camp had lost nearly forty men killed, ironically most of them slain when they were subject to volleys of Cuman arrows when they were making their escape. Nevertheless, the foray was reckoned a great success, many of the enemy had been killed, including the leader of the Cuman host, their camp had been severely damaged and their horses scattered far and wide. Everyone was in high spirits, everyone save Conrad.
As the wounded were attended to and more recruits came to his camp Conrad took long walks along the lake’s shore. It was now the end of October and the first frosts had appeared, painting the land white under a pale sun. The mists on and around the lake were thick and impenetrable, only clearing when a wind picked up.
Conrad stood and looked at the perfectly still water and drew his cloak around him. The day was grey and overcast, like his mood.
‘We won’t get to Odenpah while you wander up and down this shore.’
He turned to see leather face approaching, the mercenary wrapped in a thick fur-lined cloak with a fur-lined cap on his head.
‘We don’t want to be camping in the open when the snows come. I’m too old for rolling around in the snow.’
Conrad smiled, the first time he had done so since the raid. Then he remembered the raid and his smile disappeared.
‘I killed a woman,’ he said forlornly.
Leather face looked up and down the shore. ‘Where?’
‘What? No, when we attacked the enemy camp. I killed her with my axe, may God forgive me.’