‘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.
‘I do not know where Brother Hans puts all the food he eats,’ said Kaja, smiling at him.
‘It is not his fault,’ said Anton. ‘His life as a child beggar left him permanently hungry.’
Kaja was surprised. ‘I thought you a great lord, Brother Hans.’
Conrad laughed. ‘Great lord? Only Anton among us came from a wealthy family. Hans and I have more humble origins.’
‘You were not a great lord,
Susi
?’
Conrad shook his head. ‘I was the son of a baker.’
‘Then how did you come to command armies,’ she asked, ‘for only the sons of chiefs can replace their fathers to become warlords?’
‘A question many have asked,’ smiled Anton.
Kaja began filling a wooden bowl with stew. ‘Well, you are a great lord now,
Susi
.’ She handed the bowl to Hans who began greedily eating the contents. ‘What’s a camp follower?’
‘A harlot,’ answered Anton, eagerly awaiting his evening meal.
Kaja filled another bowl and handed it to Anton. ‘What’s a harlot?’
‘A woman who sells her body to men,’ said Conrad.
Kaja handed a bowl of stew to Conrad before filling one for herself. ‘How terrible. They are forced to do this?’
‘Some, not all,’ said Anton. ‘There is good money to be earned if a woman has a mind to.’
Kaja sat on a stool beside Conrad who looked disapprovingly at Anton. ‘The church does not approve of whores.’
Anton spat out some stew as he laughed. ‘You are wrong, my friend. The church approves of prostitution because it believes it prevents adultery and sodomy.’
‘What’s sodomy? Asked Kaja innocently.
Conrad frowned. ‘A question for you to answer, Anton.’
‘It is when two men lie together and commit unnatural acts,’ Anton told her.
Kaja’s eye opened wide. ‘And your elders allow this?’
‘Not at all,’ said Anton. ‘Sodomites are burned at the stake if caught, after first being castrated.’
‘That is horrible,’ said Kaja.
‘And an unsuitable topic for mealtimes,’ stated Conrad.
So they sat in silence and finished their stew, their clothes smelling of smoke produced by the dozens of campfires in the camp. Conrad had organised mounted patrols to be sent east and south to ensure that they were not surprised by Semgallians, but they returned each afternoon with reports that the land appeared to be empty. Morale was high among his men who had suffered few casualties in the battle, the score of dead being cremated immediately after the fight. Now they waited for orders from the bishop to strike camp and march with the army to Mesoten.
As he finished his stew he thought that the notification to march had arrived when he saw a lone warrior being escorted to his tent. He and the others stood as the stranger came towards them, and saw that it was Rameke. He grinned and tilted his head towards the guard.
‘I thought I would pay those guarding our left flank a visit. Only one escort this time. Your men must be warming to me.’
He embraced Conrad and then Anton and Hans.
‘I am glad to see that you are unharmed,’ said Conrad who dismissed the guard.
Rameke winced in pain as he pulled up the sleeve on his right arm. ‘Not entirely unharmed. An enemy spear gave me a memento.’
His thick forearm was wrapped in a dirty bandage that was stained with blood.
‘Damn thing won’t stop bleeding.’
‘I can stop the flow of blood,
Susi
,’ said Kaja.
Rameke pulled down his sleeve and eyed her warily. ‘The last time you wanted to slit my throat. Perhaps this time you will try to poison me.’
‘I did not know then that you were my lord’s brother,’ she replied.
‘Might be worth her taking a look,’ said Conrad, ‘she has been studying the healing arts under Ilona’s tuition.’
Rameke was cautious. ‘And who has been teaching her the skills of an assassin?’
‘Can it be that a great Liv warlord is frightened of an Estonian woman? Kaja mocked him.
‘Sit down and let her take a look at it,’ insisted Conrad.
‘We won’t let her harm you Rameke,’ said a grinning Hans.
‘Mind you,’ cautioned Anton, ‘Brother Lukas has been instructing her in the use of the sword so she might lop your head off.’
Rameke sauntered over to one of the stools as Kaja pulled up another to sit opposite him. She reached over and took his wounded arm, rolled up his tunic and began untying the bloody bandage.
‘Brother Hans,’ she said, ‘please go to my tent and fetch the small box that has a leather strap.’
Anton laughed and slapped Hans on the back.
‘Off you go.’
‘And Brother Anton,’ continued Kaja, ‘please put some more firewood on the fire so I can heat some water.’
Conrad gestured with his hands that Anton should stand and do as he was told as Hans walked over to Kaja’s conical tent next to the larger one of the brother knights. She unwrapped the bandage and twisted her mouth into a frown when she saw the deep wound.
‘You should have had this tended to immediately. Do not Liv armies have healers?’
Rameke stared at this strange, attractive woman who seemed to have a lot to say for herself.
‘They are busy trying to save the seriously wounded.’
‘Did you lose many men, Rameke?’ asked Conrad.
‘Less than fifty dead but many more wounded. It was a hard fight but not as hard as that fought by Duke Albert. The Semgallians launched their fiercest attacks against him and his men, including horsemen, but they failed. There were great heaps of Semgallian dead at the end of the battle. It took a lot of wood to burn the bodies and carcasses.’
‘Hold your arm,’ Kaja told him as she took the dirty bandage and threw it on the fire. ‘I will return shortly.’
‘When we will be marching?’ Conrad asked him.
Rameke sighed. ‘The supplies are still being ferried across the river. Two days, perhaps. Where is the family of Kaja?’
‘Dead,’ replied Conrad. ‘We are her family now.’
‘She is a strange one. But then you commanding an army of Estonians is also strange.’
‘We live in changing times, my brother,’ said Conrad.
Hans returned with Kaja’s box and Anton fed the fire and filled a pot with water that he heated over the flames, and after ten minutes she returned clutching a bunch of small flowers with lemon heads in her hand. Opening her box, she took out a clean cloth and soaked it in the hot water, then washed Rameke’s wound. He winced as the cloth was pressed on the deep gash.
She saw his pain. ‘Apologies, lord.’
She dabbed the wound softly. ‘I am not your lord,’ he told her. ‘My name is Rameke.’
She rummaged in her box and took out a small earthenware flask, removed the cork and sprinkled white powder into the wound. Rameke looked alarmed.
‘Have no fear, lord, er, Rameke,’ she said. ‘It is merely dried, crushed puffball, a mushroom that is found in my land. It will stop the bleeding.’
She replaced the flask in her box, picked up the flowers and crushed them in her hand. She placed them on Rameke’s wound, took a fresh bandage from her box and began wrapping it around his forearm to press the flowers into the wound.
‘They are mouse-ear hawkweed and will prevent the wound from festering. You must change the bandage after a day and discard the flowers and stems. Do not forget. And use a clean bandage and wash the wound before you bind it again. If the wound has not healed in five days come back to see me.’