The Sword Brothers (109 page)

‘They are Jaak’s
warriors. The symbol painted on their shields is a bear.’

‘What about the
warriors on the left flank of the Saccalians?’ asked Master
Bertram.

Kalju stared at the
wall of locked shields painted red, yellow, orange and blue and the
dragon standards within their ranks.

‘Oeselians?’

Mathias was surprised.
‘Oeselians, here?’

‘Our list of enemies
grows longer,’ remarked Bertram.

They walked to the
western ramparts where more Russians were deploying. Their ranks
presented a stark contrast between poorly equipped foot soldiers
armed with spears and axes but wearing no armour, and the superbly
equipped boyars of the
Druzhina
in their shining helmets,
aventails and mail hauberks. They carried large, brightly coloured
shields. Among their ranks were dotted red and blue banners
carrying images of Russian and Byzantine saints and the Virgin
Mary. The cloaks of the armoured horsemen were likewise brightly
coloured whereas those worn by the levy foot soldiers were mainly
hues of green and brown. Sir Richard noticed that very few of the
thousands of Russian foot soldiers wore helmets. The exception was
around a thousand men standing in well-dressed ranks wearing
helmets and mail armour, with a small number of attached horsemen
carrying banners showing a golden snow leopard on a blue background
– Pskov’s militia.

For an hour they
watched the enemy move into position to the accompaniment of a
great din produced by horn trumpets, metal trumpets and frame drums
scattered among the Estonian and Russian ranks. The Oeselians began
singing a stirring war song, their ranks swaying as they belted out
its words, the Ungannians responding with their own song of death
and glory.

‘Brotherly business,
killing each other,’ remarked Thaddeus dryly.

As the light faded and
dusk approached, the ranks in front of the fort thinned notably as
parties were detached to pitch tents and organise the various
camps. The singing and playing of instruments died away as
campfires were lit, meals prepared and beasts of burden were fed,
watered and quartered for the night. Kalju stood most of his men
down, leaving guards in the towers and others to patrol the outer
battlements. Inside the fort men were contemplative as they awaited
the new day, one that they knew would be violent and bloody.
Brother knights and sergeants went to the chapel tent to attend
prayers, the crusaders filing into Sir Richard’s tent to receive
the blessing of his personal priest who had accompanied him from
England.

Conrad slept little
that night, the air outside his tent filled with the hushed
conversations of men on the eve of battle. For some, the
mercenaries of the order, it was but one of many engagements they
had taken part in. As Hans and Anton snored around him he heard the
distinctive voice of leather face, winning at gambling and
seemingly unconcerned that the next night might see his head on an
enemy spear. He got up, wrapped his cloak around him and went
outside to warm himself at a brazier. His mail armour hung on a
wooden frame next to the suits of the others with his full-face
helmet perched on top. He buckled on his sword belt as he walked
over to the brazier and held out his hands to the warmth.

‘Can’t sleep,
Conrad?’

He turned to see
Rudolf with Henke, his faithful dog, by his side.

‘Guilty conscience?’
leered Henke. ‘Rudolf has a gift for you.’

‘The battle positions
have been agreed for tomorrow. The garrison of Wenden will defend
the western ramparts.’

‘Which means,’ said
Henke, still smiling dumbly, ‘that we will face the Saccalians. So
you might get your chance to kill Lembit.’

‘It means,’ said
Rudolf, ‘that we will defend the western wall whatever foe we
fight, that is all.’

Henke held out his
hand to the fire. ‘Just think, Conrad, Lembit is but a short
distance away, over that wall. You could slip out of the fort,
scamper across the snow, slit his throat and be back before
breakfast. All it takes is a bit of courage.’

Conrad looked at him.
‘Talk is easy, Henke. But I will gladly do as you advise if you
will accompany me. And afterwards we can see who is the better with
a sword.’

‘That’s enough,’
snapped Rudolf. ‘You two can focus on the task in hand. There will
be more than enough enemy soldiers to keep you both amused
tomorrow. Master Thaddeus has estimated that we are outnumbered ten
to one.’

‘That’s about right,
then,’ said Henke.

‘What is?’ asked
Rudolf.

Henke spat on the
brazier. ‘One Sword Brother is worth ten Russians.’

He watched as a group
of Ungannians walked by. ‘And the same number of Estonians.’

Conrad laughed and
even Rudolf smiled. Henke was a violent, uncivilised cutthroat but
in battle you wanted him to be fighting by your side. He slapped
Conrad hard on the arm as he and Rudolf walked away.

‘Try not to let the
wolf shields use your body for target practice. The last time that
happened it took Ilona weeks to patch you up.’

Conrad smiled. ‘Go
with God, Henke, for surely no one else will.’

He managed to grab a
couple of hours’ sleep before the trumpet call for prayers woke
him. Bleary eyed he and the others put on their fighting attire:
quilted cotton-covered aketon, over which was worn a hauberk with
integral mittens that had soft leather palms, and over the latter a
quilted, sleeveless gambeson. A quilted linen coif was worn beneath
the mail equivalent. A padded leather squab was worn on top of the
mail coif to make wearing a helmet more comfortable. Conrad pulled
on his mail chausses, beneath which was thick linen hose held up by
leather laces to prevent his skin chafing on the metal and for
warmth. The chausses also had thick leather soles. Then he put on
his white surcoat and wrapped his cloak around his shoulders.

He buckled his sword
belt that also held a sheath for his dagger and slung his shield on
his back, tucking his axe into his belt and cradling his helmet in
his right arm.

‘Ready?’ he said to
the others.

He walked out into the
freezing pre-dawn air, his breath misting in front of his face. He
nodded to other brother knights and sergeants as they all made
their way in silence to the chapel tent.

After prayers and a
frugal breakfast of bread, warm milk and salted meat Rudolf
gathered the garrison of Wenden around him for a final conference.
Despite the great disparity in numbers between the two sides the
mood within the fort was relaxed and confident, not least because
everyone had been thoroughly briefed on their mission. The
crusaders and Sword Brothers were greatly cheered by the fact that
the Ungannians would be fighting in the fort’s towers, and Kalju’s
warriors were delighted that they would be fighting by the side of
their friends and neighbours. And everyone was emboldened by the
thoroughness of Master Thaddeus’ plans.

‘You all know the plan
and your role in it,’ said Rudolf to the men standing in a
semi-circle before him. ‘For it to work we need to keep our nerve
and our discipline. Above all, we must hold the outer wall. If that
falls then Odenpah falls.’

He looked at the
determined, hardened faces before him.

‘God be with you
all.’

Chapter 23

As a grey half-light
slowly crept over the frozen landscape movement was detected among
the enemy camps, the Russians to the south and east, the Estonians
and Oeselians to the west. The latter had pitched their two-man
tents near the lake and the sentries in the fort’s northern towers
reported that warriors were walking onto its frozen surface to test
the thickness of the ice. This was merely a ruse, though, for
already thousands of men were stamping their feet and shuffling
into their battle positions to make their assault across the frozen
ground in front of the fort.

Once again the horn
trumpets sounded and the drums were beaten as chiefs and officers
bellowed at their men to dress their ranks. Kalju’s warriors
embraced their families and made their way to the fighting
platforms in the towers on the outer wall. The mercenaries, brother
knights, sergeants and crusaders, meanwhile, climbed the ladders to
the walkways behind the wall’s ramparts where they made their way
on all fours to their designated fighting positions. They moved
slowly and cautiously, not wanting to reveal their presence to an
eagle-eyed enemy commander who might be riding near to the fort. In
the towers, meanwhile, the Ungannians began shouting insults at the
enemy to attract the latter’s attention as below them the
battlements silently filled with soldiers.

At approximately an
hour after dawn, with a few snowflakes in the air and a mild
easterly breeze blowing, a sudden roar of noise erupted from the
Russian ranks and the entire
Voi
moved forward, the front
ranks carrying crude scaling ladders to allow them to conquer
Odenpah’s eastern wall. Pskov’s city militia, a row of archers
standing ahead of the front ranks, moved forward towards the
southern wall, while to the west Lembit gave the signal for the
assault against the west wall to commence. Sigurd also sent his men
forward, their large shields locked over their heads as a
precaution against enemy missiles. He had seen the empty
battlements but his Oeselian instincts had told him that something
was wrong.

The first to realise
that the fort was going to be a tougher nut to crack than they had
thought were the Russians, the undisciplined mass of
Voi
tramping through the snow towards the empty eastern wall. A few
arrows were shot in their direction from the handful of archers in
the towers but they killed only a tiny number before the Russians
reached the slope of the hill, and fell headlong into the
snow-filled moat. Instead of placing their ladders against the
timber wall hundreds of men found themselves in head-high snow as
hundreds more piled in on top and crushed them. There were frantic
shouts and orders as the commanders realised that their men had
encountered an unexpected obstacle, but they were too late to
prevent the
Voi
’s assault degenerating into chaos.

To the south of the
fort it was the same, Pskov’s militia advancing in a more orderly
fashion with its archers providing covering arrow support. But when
the front ranks reached the unseen moat they too were thrown into
disorder. Master Thaddeus had a bird’s-eye view of things from a
tower in the inner perimeter wall, and when he saw that the
Estonian attack to the west had also faltered he raised his
hand.

A young squire holding
a trumpet had been studying the old man intently and when he saw
his hand signal he raised the instrument to his lips and blew it.
The squires to his left and right likewise blew their trumpets.
Rudolf heard the sound, picked up his helmet and stood up.

‘God with us!’ he
shouted, placing his helmet on his head.

The battle cry was
answered by the dozens of men who had been sitting on the walkways
with their backs rested against the timber wall. They now stood up,
turned and began raining death down on the hapless Estonians and
Russians below.

Conrad placed his
shield on top of the timber logs as the brother knights, sergeants
and spearmen did the same. And then the crossbowmen loaded their
weapons and began shooting down at the enemy through the gaps
between the shields. They shot quarrels that were a foot long, made
of hardwood with four-sided iron bodkin points that could punch
through mail and leather armour with ease. Leather face and the
other mercenary crossbowmen had also smeared theirs with hellebore,
a fatal poison that would ensure a slow and lingering death for
those wounded by their bolts.

There were forty
crossbowmen on the west wall, the same number on the southern and
eastern ramparts, and though those that had come with crusaders
shot three or four bolts a minute, those in the pay of the Sword
Brothers maintained a steady rate of two quarrels a minute. Partly
to conserve ammunition, mostly to ensure every bolt struck a
target.

Leather face loaded
another quarrel, grinned at Conrad and pointed his weapon at the
press of Saccalians below. He released his trigger and another man
went down. Conrad held his shield in place as leather face
reloaded. He pointed his weapon down at the warriors scrambling
around in the snow, tripping over scaling ladders and dead
comrades. Chiefs desperately tried to restore order, bellowing
commands at their men to rally round them. Leather face saw one of
them, sword in hand and shield tucked into his left side, holding
his blade aloft as he tried to restore order. He released his
trigger and saw the bolt slam into his shoulder, smashing his
collarbone. The chief stood still for a few seconds before
collapsing. A subordinate went to his side and attempted to lift
him to his feet, slinging his shield on his back as he tried to
raise his lord up, as a bolt went through the top of his helmet
into his brain. Leather face looked at the crossbowman next to him
who had killed him.

‘Nice shot. You might
be as good as me one day.’

Frantic horn blasts
among the Estonian ranks restored some semblance of order as the
scaling ladders were abandoned and Lembit and Jaak hurriedly pulled
their men back. But the crossbowmen men had maintained their steady
rate of shooting: forty men loosing eighty bolts a minute. In the
ten minutes they had been shooting they had killed or wounded five
hundred of the enemy – the Estonians had lost a quarter of their
strength.

On the other side of
the fort the Russians had fared far worse. Not only had they been
subjected to a greater deluge of bolts from the crusader
crossbowmen, once their attack had been halted many of the
Voi
stood still, unsure what to do. Mostly villagers led by
their headmen, they instinctively clustered around their leaders
and friends. They stood shoulder to shoulder with shields locked.
But their enemy was not on the ground but above them, and shooting
at densely packed groups of stationary men mostly devoid of
helmets, the crossbowmen could not miss. Domash sent riders to the
Voi
to order them to fall back out of range, but not before
over a thousand had been killed. Even the more disciplined soldiers
of Pskov’s militia had been surprised by the expert shooting of
Kremon’s crossbowmen, managing to retire in good order but not
before three hundred of their number had been killed or
wounded.