The party containing the duke, Bishop Albert, Bishop Bernhard, Albert of Saxony, Grand Master Volquin and Rudolph of Stotel slowed and then halted when they reached the foot of the slope that the hill fort was built on. The duke asked them to dismount so they could ascend the slope via the narrow track, in effect a footpath that led to the open gates of the fort. Nordheim translated Vincentas’ words and Bishop Albert smiled graciously, Volquin frowned at the warriors who lined the ramparts and towers above and the Lithuanian warriors on horseback looked bored as the two sides exchanged courtesies. Bishop Albert waved forward Father Segehard who had been riding on a cart behind the main party, the duke looking bemused at the tonsured priest but smiling graciously as the bishop introduced him. The Semgallian mercenaries filed past the party and made their way up the slope towards the fort, escorted by their instructors, as the dignitaries prepared to follow them and enjoy the hospitality of Duke Vincentas.
It was now a beautiful spring day with small white puffy clouds in the sky and a pleasant westerly breeze that provided a measure of relief for the knights in their mail armour and full-face helms. The atmosphere was relaxed and even friendly as the duke’s horsemen dismounted and began to lead their horses away to the stables in the town. The townspeople were talking among themselves and holding up their infants to show them the men of iron on their covered horses, the children giggling at the knights that filled the track for a great distance, not only the Sword Brothers but the followers of the Duke of Saxony and Rudolph of Stotel. It was a day of peace and friendship between two peoples and Bishop Albert was beside himself with joy that the Semgallians had welcomed him with open arms. Soon Segehard would be preaching the word of God in this very place and Bernhard would recruit priests to convert all who lived in Semgallia.
And then the peace was shattered.
There was the sound of distant horns to the west followed by the cheers of the warriors on Mesoten’s ramparts. For a moment nothing happened as every individual assessed the situation, then panic broke out among the civilians. They knew nothing about the crusader knights or their priests but they knew the sound of war horns well enough. They scooped up their infants and ran as fast as they could up the slope to the fort. The change in atmosphere was sudden as the crossbowmen that had been ambling up the footpath turned and began drawing back the bowstrings of their weapons.
The horns beyond the town grew louder, signalling that the unseen warriors to the west were getting nearer. The bare-headed Volquin drew his sword and grabbed Bishop Albert, roughly pulling him back to his horse.
‘Treachery?’ the grand master screamed. Bernhard shouted to Segehard as he retraced his steps back to his horse.
‘Withdraw, father.’
But Segehard was walking towards Duke Vincentas with open arms, smiling as he did so. Perhaps he thought he could embrace the Semgallian leader to bring this misunderstanding to an end. The duke’s bodyguard closed around him as the priest calmly walked towards them. They urged Vincentas to retreat back to the fort but he shouted at them angrily and drew his sword. He was the leader of the Semgallian people and would not run from his enemies, not in his own capital. He screamed and ran forward, ramming his sword into the belly of Father Segehard, casting aside the dead priest and calling on his men to follow him as he charged at the foreign heathens.
‘God with us!’ shouted Rudolf as his namesake, the lord of Stotel, ran forward to do battle with Duke Vincentas, only to be cut down by a dozen Semgallian crossbow bolts. His knights cantered forward to protect their lord but at least half a dozen were shot from their saddles as their lord was killed. Nordheim’s instructors had done their work all too well.
The Sword Brother knights levelled their lances and dug their spurs into their warhorses as the horsemen of Stotel began spearing and hacking at the Lithuanians protecting Duke Vincentas.
Conrad spurred his horse forward and the great beast thundered down the track towards the crusader knights. He wheeled right to flank the men from Stotel who were being shot at by a line of crossbowmen standing on the grassy slope beneath Mesoten’s ramparts. The Sword Brothers flanked the mêlée in the centre to ride up the slope to disperse the crossbowmen. But then a great flood of warriors came out of the fort’s gates and signallers blew their trumpets to recall the knights.
The raging torrent of men came down the slope as Conrad tugged on his reins to pull his mount around. They came screaming and yelling down the grass in a seething mass, dozens of men armed with spears, axes and swords as the Sword Brothers and the knights of Stotel retreated before them, galloping down the track along which the crusader army was hurriedly withdrawing. Vincentas gave a great cheer and raised his sword aloft as the men from the fort gathered behind him and the Semgallian crossbowmen stopped shooting. The warriors stepped over the dead bodies of the German instructors who had been shot by the men they had trained. Their paymaster, Manfred Nordheim, was hurrying towards the rear of the crusader army along with his fifty horsemen.
As Conrad and his companions fled before the Semgallians, the crossbowmen and spearmen of the order let them pass and then closed ranks behind them, forming a long, thin line to cover the retreat of the horsemen. Then the Lithuanians charged.
Vincentas gripped his sword and ran forward, his men following their lord. Viesthard had been right all along: the Christians could not be trusted and it was a mistake to invite them into Semgallia. Had the duke been more cautious he would have discovered that the sounds coming from the west of the town signalled the arrival of Viesthard and his warriors. The prince had been angry that the duke had asked Riga for aid and had told Vincentas that he would not be at Mesoten to welcome the barbarians. But then he had remembered the oath of loyalty he had taken to the old duke, Ykintas, father of Vincentas, and he had been ashamed. So he gathered his men and marched them east to be by the side of his lord.
The latter was leading a charge against a line of shields that he knew he could break with ease, the momentum of the assault of at least four hundred warriors would sweep them aside and then he would crush the crusader army. More warriors were leaving the fort as the whole garrison rushed to support Vincentas, and in the town the elders were gathering all the able-bodied men who could carry a weapon to attack the crusaders. Vincentas screamed his war cry as he raced forward and did not hear the series of sharp cracks as a hundred and fifty crossbowmen shot their weapons.
Standing behind the spearmen, the order’s crossbowmen loosed a volley at the oncoming warriors and within fifteen seconds had reloaded their weapons and shot another deluge of quarrels. Three hundred crossbow bolts struck the Semgallians in less than half a minute, felling at least a hundred of them and killing the momentum of their charge. The Lithuanians did what all soldiers do when they came under a barrage of missiles: they instinctively slowed down and huddled together for security, crouching low and bringing their shields tight to their bodies for protection. They paused and the orders’ foot soldiers retreated, the crossbowmen rushing back around fifty paces before turning and reloading to cover the withdrawal of the spearmen.
‘Form line, form line,’ shouted Volquin as he rode up and down in front of the brother knights with sword in hand, constantly glancing at the line of foot soldiers who were steadily falling back in the face of the Semgallian mass.
The crusader army was retreating rapidly, though Duke Albert had rallied his knights and squires and arrayed them behind the mounted sergeants and brother knights of the Sword Brothers. His sixteen hundred foot soldiers, meanwhile, were providing protection for the two bishops and the carts and waggons that carried the army’s supplies. The duke left his horsemen and rode forward to seek out the agitated commander of the Sword Brothers.
‘Lord Rudolph is dead,’ he said unceremoniously to Albert when he brought his great charger to a halt beside him.
Volquin pointed to the order’s foot soldiers beating a hasty retreat towards them.
‘They have bought us some time, my lord, but now it is our turn to ensure that the army can get a good head start.’
Duke Albert pushed up his helmet and stared at the now stationary Semgallians.
‘What are they waiting for?’
Volquin pointed to the town from where warriors were appearing from between buildings, hundreds of them. ‘For reinforcements.’
But he was wrong about the Semgallians for word had spread among their ranks that Duke Vincentas was dead, killed by a crossbow bolt that had gone into an eye socket and pierced his brain. His men picked up the body and carried it back to Mesoten, as they did so linking up with Viesthard and his warriors. The prince galloped to where six men were carrying the body of his lord on their shoulders and jumped from his saddle. He saw the dead body of Vincentas and forgot about the crusaders as he walked solemnly beside the duke’s corpse as it was taken back to his stronghold. His horsemen – six hundred men in helmets, lamellar armour, mail aventails with mail on their thighs and shoulders – deployed to face the great number of crusader knights also mounted. The two lines of horsemen faced each other as more Semgallian warriors came from the town to form a great block on the left wing of the Lithuanian horsemen. And as the body of their duke was carried to his citadel the bulk of the garrison of Mesoten formed ranks behind Viesthard’s horsemen.
‘Why aren’t they attacking?’ asked Duke Albert.
‘I have no idea,’ replied Volquin, ‘but I do not intend to waste the opportunity. We must retire.’
The duke was mortified. ‘We must retrieve the body of Lord Rudolph.’
‘To do so, my lord,’ replied Volquin, ‘would mean fighting here against three or four times our number. Worse, we will become separated from the army, which will undoubtedly mean its destruction. My first duty is to preserve the safety of the bishop.’
Volquin could see that the duke was thinking about leading his nine hundred horsemen against the Lithuanian riders opposite. He could also see yet more warriors exiting the town to extend the formation of foot soldiers on the Semgallian left wing.
‘I cannot tell you what to do, my lord,’ said Volquin. ‘If you attack you will do so with all the brother knights and sergeants of my order by your side. But the longer we remain here the greater the risk that the rest of the army will perish in the forests and meadows of Semgallia. And if that happens, my lord, then Livonia itself will most likely fall to the pagans.’
Duke Albert looked at the Lithuanians, then at Volquin before nodding curtly and wheeling his horse away to ride back to his men.
Volquin turned and pointed to a trumpeter he had brought from his office in Riga. ‘Sound withdrawal.’
Thus began the retreat to the Dvina.
As the Sword Brothers formed the rearguard Duke Albert rode to the front of the army with his knights to assume the role of vanguard. His appearance helped to stabilise the situation, which had threatened to turn into a rout as the drivers of the waggons attempted to put as much distance between them and the Lithuanians as possible. Bishop Bernhard, a veteran of many campaigns, also helped to soothe the situation by riding up and down the column of wagons and calling for calm. Manfred Nordheim finally remembered that he was paid by the Bishop of Riga and led his horsemen back to the prelate who was seated on his horse behind the foot soldiers of the Sword Brothers. The black mass of Lithuanian warriors was still standing stationary as the sergeants and brother knights withdrew in relays, the latter retreating through the former and then vice versa. Unlike the disorder bordering on chaos among the rest of the army the order’s retreat was smooth and orderly.
Five miles north of Mesoten there was a ford that the crusaders had used to cross the River Lielupe earlier that fateful day. Duke Albert and his knights waded through the ice-cool water first and then fanned out to protect the wagons, carts, servants and foot soldiers as they followed. It took the rest of the day to organise the army on the other side of the ford in a large area of grassland bounded by forests of pine. Though it was a floodplain meadow the river was fortunately not swollen and so the ground was dry. The horses grazed on the lush grass as the knights and their squires kept guard on their horses and the Sword Brothers maintained watch on the river.
The wagons were used to create a great square in which the army camped, though only the bishops, lords and some of the more important lords had their tents erected. Everyone else slept on the ground in between standing watch, and because an enemy attack was expect at any moment there were no campfires because there had been no opportunity to collect firewood.
‘So much for our Semgallian allies,’ said Hans, chewing on a piece of cured meat.
‘Do you think they enticed us across the river to try to slaughter us?’ asked Johann.
‘Why would they do that?’ answered Anton.
‘Why not?’ said Conrad. ‘We’ve fought Lithuanians before. Perhaps they wanted revenge for the death of their grand duke at Wenden.’
‘That was nearly six years ago,’ said Hans, finishing his meat.
Conrad shrugged. ‘We are in the land of the Semgallians and I heard Master Rudolf say that the old duke of this kingdom was killed at Wenden as well as the grand duke.’
‘Just think,’ said Johann,’ it could have been any one of us who put a crossbow bolt in him.’
‘And now his son, Duke Vincentas, wants revenge,’ said Conrad.
They were standing behind a four-wheeled cart that contained spare ammunition, quivers and gambesons for Wenden’s crossbowmen, the other brother knights and sergeants standing behind other carts and waggons holding the garrison’s supplies. They were around a hundred paces from the river and all through the afternoon and into the early evening armed parties had been despatched to the ford with buckets to collect water for the men and animals. The latter had been unhitched from the waggons and carts and the caparisons and saddles had been removed from the warhorses. Then all the beasts had been corralled in the centre of the makeshift camp. The sky was clear and the night cool and all the brother knights and sergeants had their cloaks wrapped round them.
‘Take them off,’ said Lukas, ‘your surcoats too.’
‘Why” asked Hans.
‘The enemy has crossbows and your white cloaks and surcoats stand out like beacons in the moonlight.’
He pointed across the black, slow-moving river. ‘See those trees on the other side of the river, just back from the bank? How far away are they?’
‘Three hundred paces,’ hazarded Johann.
‘Well within crossbow range,’ said Lukas.
‘Perhaps we could buy them back,’ suggested Hans who began chewing on another piece of cured meat.
They all laughed until Lukas told them to be quiet and remove their white clothing.
‘I’m glad some of you can see the humour of our situation,’ said Rudolf who appeared behind Lukas.
Conrad and the other three took off their cloaks and surcoats and placed them in the waggon.
‘Hans suggested that we purchase the crossbows back from the Semgallians,’ Lukas said to Rudolf.
‘I think that is most unlikely,’ replied Rudolf. ‘I have just come from a meeting in the bishop’s pavilion. To say that he is spitting blood is an understatement. He wanted to take the fort in the morning but Master Thaddeus reminded him that we have no siege engines and not enough soldiers to safeguard our line of supply back to the river. Lord Rudolph is dead.’
‘There will be a lot more joining him before this campaign is over,’ said Lukas glumly.
‘We will commence our march before dawn,’ Rudolf told them. ‘Let us hope that we get a head start on the Semgallians.’
But the Master of Wenden was wrong and as knights and squires fitted their horses with saddles and caparisons in the pre-dawn gloom a group of riders splashed across the ford to assault the crusader camp. They were armed with
spisas
– long lances that the Lithuanians hurled at the men standing behind the row of waggons. Two were shot by crossbowmen before they retreated back across the river.
‘That was fairly tame,’ remarked Anton but little did he know that it was just the beginning of the enemy’s activities.
After prayers in the chapel tent Conrad and Wenden’s other brother knights left their places at the wagon and walked to where the horses were tethered in groups according to the Sword Brother garrison they belonged to, the standards of each castle plunged into the ground at the end of each row of their horses. He checked the animal’s hooves and shoes and then picked up a bucket of water and gave it a drink. Farriers who worked in the castle’s stables had already groomed the warhorses and now one handed him a nosebag full of fodder. The stallion ate greedily and then defecated onto the ground.
After it had eaten Conrad fitted its saddle and caparison. The latter was made in two halves that met at the saddle and covered the head, neck and body of his warhorse. Thickly padded and quilted, it was designed to stop an enemy projectile.
He checked the saddle straps and bridle and hoisted himself into the saddle, a farrier handing him a lance stored in a nearby wagon. A sergeant passed him two pieces of cured meat and a full water bottle. He uncorked the latter and took a swig of the cool liquid before tying its strap around the pommel. The camp was a hive of activity as grooms, servants and squires rushed around to make their masters a makeshift breakfast and provide them with their weapons and armour. The pavilions of the bishop and great lords were dismantled and packed into wagons as horses were hitched to the transports and the march got under way.
Grand Master Volquin gathered the soldiers of the order a short distance from the forge. The spearmen and crossbowmen formed a defensive screen as he sat on his horse in front of over three hundred brother knights and sergeants, the latter distinguished by their sleeveless mail shirts and kettle helmets rather than full-face helms.
‘The order has been allotted the rearguard of the army,’ said Volquin, ‘a place of great importance. March discipline will be observed at all times, which means everyone remaining in their positions. The enemy will attempt to entice us from our posts but we must resist their endeavours. Only your masters may authorise leaving your positions. God be with you.’
It was actually two hours after dawn when the army finally began to move, a long line of wagons and carts in single file heading north back to the Dvina. The crusaders had lost their Semgallian scouts but the soft ground had been so churned up by the dozens of wheels and thousands of hooves and feet during the advance to Mesoten that the return route was easy to follow. A brisk shower drenched everyone as the march commenced but then the sun came out, warmed the earth and filled the air with the pleasing aroma of freshly cut grass.
All the army’s foot soldiers were assigned to protect the wagons and carts that contained the army’s supplies, being ordered not to leave their posts on pain of death. Duke Albert formed the vanguard with his four hundred knights and squires. His so-called lesser knights who were the equivalent of the order’s sergeants in social status, mostly men who had little money but enough to purchase a horse and weapons, formed a reserve to assist the vanguard. The horsemen that had followed the now deceased Rudolph of Stotel were grouped in the centre of army with the two bishops and Nordheim’s horsemen, ready to assist the vanguard or rearguard as required.
After an hour in the saddle Conrad and the other brother knights dismounted to give their horses a rest. It was now a warm spring day and all were sweating in their armour and helmets. The crossbowmen and spearmen walked behind and by the sides of the wagons as the brother knights led their warhorses by their reins. Wenden’s garrison was at the very rear of the army, a score of mounted sergeants making up the end of the crusader column.
Conrad took off his helmet and carried it in the crook of his arm. The others were similarly helmetless. The day was pleasant, the gentle clanging of the pots and buckets hanging from the nearest wagon sleep inducing as they walked along at a gentle pace. The prospect of violence seemed an eternity away as he put one foot in front of another, being careful to avoid the piles of horse dung deposited on and either side of the track. They had left the meadow and were travelling through a forest of pine, the ground thick with alder, rowan and hazel bushes. The air was heavily scented with fir and there was no wind among the trees. It was calm and quiet. Too quiet.
Conrad looked at Hans and drew his sword. His companion did likewise and so did Anton and Johann.
‘Have a care,’ said Henke behind them as he too pulled his sword from its scabbard.
Conrad put on his helmet and took the shield off his back, sliding his left arm through the straps on its inner side. The mounted sergeants behind turned and looked back down the track and left and right into the forest. Nothing. But their sixth sense told them something was awry. Ahead the wagons were trundling along the track that curved gently to the right and disappeared, the foot soldiers were walking alongside them, heads down as they tramped along. And then the silence was shattered by a thousand war cries.
They attacked from both sides, a great tide of warriors clutching axes, maces, spears and clubs crashing through the undergrowth.
‘God with us!’ shouted Rudolf as the first Semgallians ran screaming from the trees to attack the foot soldiers by the side of the wagons. The brother knights let go of their warhorses and ran at their attackers; instinctively obeying their training that had been drilled into them. When surprised always attack because that is the last thing an assailant expects.
Conrad leapt out of the way of a spear thrust at him by a man in a long tunic and baggy leggings, whom he tripped as he passed by him. He left him to tackle another man armed with an axe raised above his head, who brought it down in an attempt to split Conrad’s skull. The brother knight deflected the blow with his shield and plunged his sword in the man’s guts. He withdrew his blade and shoved the dying man into another warrior behind, a man armed only with a club who tried to raise it as Conrad jumped to the left and thrust the point of his sword into the man’s right side, making him drop the club. He then whipped back his blade, flicked his wrist and plunged one of the sword’s cross guards into the man’s eye socket. The Semgallian gave an ear-piercing scream as his eye disappeared and he fell to his knees.
The sergeants on horseback charged into the enemy warriors who were trying, without success, to kill the brother knights on foot. They speared unarmoured Semgallians with their lances and then went to work with maces and axes, hacking left and right to shatter wooden shields and split helmets.
Hans crouched low as a man clutching a spear with both hands ran screaming at him, the brother knight jumping aside and slashed the man’s right hamstring as he passed. The pagan yelped, hobbled a few feet and then died as Hans ran his sword through his back. The tide had crashed against the Sword Brother breakwater and was now receding rapidly. The brother knights were now pushing back the attackers, back towards the trees from where they had emerged. An individual with a long knife slashed it wildly in Conrad’s direction, his eyes full of fear as he did so. The brother knight jabbed his sword forward at the bareheaded man who was obviously not a warrior. He retreated as the Sword Brother advanced, still waving the knife in Conrad’s face. He stepped back against a pine, catching him by surprise. He glanced round and Conrad sprang forward, ramming his sword into his belly. The Semgallian made a strained groaning noise as blood gushed from his mouth. Conrad pulled on his sword but found that the point had gone through the man into the tree and refused to budge.
He spun round and pulled the axe from his belt as another assailant appeared from behind a tree, armed with a mace that he swung at Conrad. He stopped the blow with his shield but the latter’s upper edge was splintered by the flanged weapon as he swung his axe over his head to split his assailant’s skull. But the Semgallian anticipated the blow and raised his own shield, the razor-sharp axe blade slicing into the shield with ease but unfortunately becoming stuck. The warrior hooted in triumph as he raised his mace preparatory to bludgeoning Conrad’s helmet. But the brother knight let go of the axe, pulled his dagger from its sheath and in a lightning-fast movement plunged it deep into the warrior’s belly. The man looked bitterly disappointed as he let go of his mace and clutched his bleeding wound with his right hand. He looked at Conrad with pleading eyes but the Sword Brother slashed his knife across his neck to sever his windpipe. The Semgallian gurgled and then collapsed on the ground. Conrad heard the forest echo with the sounds of horns, the signal for those Semgallians still alive to beat a hasty retreat. They needed no second call as they withdrew as fast as they could, dragging their wounded back with them and leaving their dead behind.