Schism, page 22
part #5 of Crusader Chronicles Series
The spearmen of ‘the bastards’ began jabbing their weapons upwards as more and more ladders were placed against the wall and men began climbing them. Those who climbed the first ladders were speared or shot when their faces appeared. It was easy killing but then the tops of more and more ladders appeared and within minutes ‘the bastards’ were being hard pressed.
Conrad shot a man about to launch himself from a ladder on to the wall walk but another sprang at him from the ladder next to it. The warrior was a man of some importance judging by his lamellar armour, mail aventail and sword in his hand. Conrad swung his crossbow to knock the sword aside, drew his own blade and plunged it forward into the man’s thigh. He growled in pain and lost his balance but Conrad could not finish him off as another warrior had jumped on to the wall walk. This man was unarmoured and armed with a hand axe that he hacked at Conrad who raised his crossbow to stop the blow. The blade lodged itself in the weapon’s stock and Conrad thrust his sword forward, the point cutting the man’s neck. He squealed and staggered back against the wall.
‘The wall’s fallen, fall back to the inner compound.’
Conrad was horrified when he heard Leatherface’s command, rushing to him to counter it. Hans and Anton, having despatched four Lithuanians who had jumped from ladders, the latter having been pushed away from the wall, covered him with their crossbows. Conrad’s had been rendered useless by the axe blow. Before he had a chance to speak Leatherface pointed behind him, to where enemy warriors were pouring over the wall.
‘We stay here we die.’
‘He’s right, Conrad,’ said Anton.
It was irrelevant what Conrad thought anyway because the crossbowmen of ‘the bastards’ were descending the wooden steps to the wall, covered by the spearmen. Falcone’s Italians were already on the ground, working as a unit and picking off enemy soldiers who were threatening those of Ulric’s men still on the ramparts. Ulric himself was battling like fury, killing Lithuanians with his sword while assisting his men down the steps.
‘Time to go,’ said Leatherface.
Conrad nodded and stood beside Hans and Anton as the three of them defended a flight of steps down to the outer compound. Two enemy warriors rushed them but were stopped in their tracks as Hans and Anton shot their crossbows. But there were more of the enemy behind them, men in mail armour carrying rectangular shields who inched forward with their shields locked. Helmetless, Conrad told Hans and Anton to get down the steps as he walked backwards, waiting for one of the enemy to attack him. He moved fast when one sprang forward, keeping his shield tight to his body and raising his sword high above his head to aim at Conrad’s mail-covered skull. Conrad had pulled his axe from his belt and raised his left arm to catch the blow but the Lithuanian never reached him, pitching forward on the planking with a crossbow bolt lodged in his side. He glanced left to see Leatherface reloading his crossbow.
‘Get your arse off that wall,’ he shouted.
Conrad bolted down the steps and joined the compact mass of ‘the bastards’ being marshalled by Ulric, the mail on his shoulder ripped with blood showing among the metal rings. Falcone and his men were also among them, the Genoese shooting at targets on the nearby steps, every bolt hitting a body. They were exceptional soldiers.
‘Back to the gates,’ ordered Conrad as the block of men inched towards the entrance to the fort’s inner perimeter. As they were in the western side of the inner perimeter wall the journey was mercifully short and when they reached the gates Conrad found that Sir Richard’s crossbowmen were in the towers either side of them. The air was thick with crossbow bolts as the outer wall’s ramparts were raked by quarrels.
From the inner compound came Tonis and the warriors of the Army of the Wolf who locked their shields to form a cordon of steel outside the gates to allow ‘the bastards’ and what was left of Ortwin’s and Rudolf’s men to get inside.
‘Arrows!’
The shout pierced the air as dozens of arrows fell from the sky, killing a number of crossbowmen on the inner wall and others among ‘the bastards’.
‘Close the gates,’ shouted a bare-headed Rudolf as he helped a limping Ortwin, an arrow embedded in his right leg, into the inner compound. Falcone and Leatherface organised their men to shoot controlled volleys keeping the Lithuanians at a safe distance as they withdrew into the fort. Then they ordered the missile troops to man the ramparts as Rudolf called all the commanders to him. The gates were shut and the wounded taken to the barracks buildings where they would at least be safe from the volleys of arrows being shot into the fort’s inner compound. The Lithuanians had taken Mesoten’s outer wall. The first phase of the battle was over.
*****
Mindaugas was ecstatic, urging his men to follow him as he descended the wooden steps on the inside of the Christians’ outer ramparts. Aras kept up with him, barking orders to his men to protect the prince with their shields as crossbow bolts hissed through the air.
‘On, on,’ screamed Mindaugas, oblivious to the iron-tipped missiles striking men down to his left and right.
‘We are too exposed here, highness, we must withdraw,’ pleaded Aras as the man in front of him collapsed with a bolt lodged in his thigh. He was hauled back by two of his comrades, one of whom was struck in the back by a bolt and fell to the ground.
‘Shields, shields,’ screamed Aras, pulling Mindaugas back as a dozen shields formed a makeshift roof over their heads.
Mindaugas shook himself free. ‘Get off me. How dare you touch me.’
More and more men were flooding over the captured ramparts and down into the fort’s outer compound.
‘This is my time, Aras,’ said Mindaugas, ‘and you will not stand in my way.’
‘Ladders,’ he shouted, ‘get the ladders against the wall.’
The initial attack had captured the ramparts. Now those who had been in the rear ranks, and had been carrying more ladders, came forward to haul their ladders up those placed against the outer wall and dump them in the fort’s outer compound. But it took time, the inner gates had been forced shut and the Christian crossbowmen were taking a fearful toll of the mass of Lithuanians momentarily confined between the inner and outer walls.
Kitenis’ bodyguard and sons had pleaded with him to remain outside the fort but he had dismissed their entreaties. He had led his warriors up the slope, his aged body finding the climb difficult. Out of respect his princes and chiefs had resisted the temptation to run forward over the final two hundred paces to the wall, determined not to overtake their duke. This meant Rudolf and his crossbowmen had more time to shoot their weapons than the defenders on the western and northern walls. They killed and wounded more than five hundred Aukstaitijans before the warriors with the symbol of the black axe painted on their shields stormed the wall.
Kitenis, panting and struggling to walk unaided after ascending the grassy slope, peered up at the inner wall of the fort.
‘That impious little brat Mindaugas has proved us all wrong, it would seem.’
‘You must retire, father,’ pleaded one of his sons, ‘we can complete the conquest of the fort.’
Kitenis glared at him. ‘And rob me of my share of the glory? I think not. Get the ladders against the wall.’
Hundreds of his men were in the outer compound, waiting for the ladders to be brought forward. The sounds of battle could be heard in other sectors but a surreal silence enveloped the Aukstaitijans and men began to believe that all the Christians had been killed, or at least had forgotten about them. All that remained was to scale the inner wall and Mesoten would be theirs. What they did not realise was that there had been a race against time between Master Rudolf and his men, who had to get through the inner gates and then man the inner compound’s southern wall, and the warriors of Duke Kitenis. It was a race that Rudolf won.
The deceptive calm had lured the Aukstaitijans into a false sense of security. Above them a sweating Master Rudolf was marshalling his men into position, reinforced by some of ‘the bastards’. Over a hundred crossbowmen took aim and released a volley. Their bolts slammed into lamellar and mail armour. Kitenis, his sons and the men of his bodyguard were protected by lamellar armour, the overlapping rectangular iron plates designed to withstand thrusting weapons, also arrows, and even the blows of bludgeoning weapons would be scattered over the plates to save its wearer injury. But the crossbow bolts shot at the leader of the Aukstaitijan people were released at a range of less than fifty feet and they punched through the plates with ease. Kitenis, his bannerman behind him, was the first to die, one bolt through his heart, another going straight through his throat. The standard bearer fell next, followed by the duke’s sons and half a dozen of his bodyguard. In a less than a minute four hundred bolts had been shot at the Lithuanians, prompting panic.
The death of their lord and his sons demoralised the Lithuanians who abandoned all thoughts of scaling another wall. As with the other contingents princes, chiefs and headmen had led the assault against the fort. Many had fallen to Christian crossbows and without their leadership the courage of many faltered. As Rudolf’s men continued to load and shoot their crossbows at a methodical rate panic turned into a blind desire to flee. Suddenly hundreds of men were scrambling back up the steps to the fort’s outer ramparts to escape the slaughter that was being dealt by the unseen crossbowmen. The Aukstaitijans were soon in headlong retreat, causing Rudolf’s men to cheer and congratulate themselves. It was no small victory.
But the battle for Mesoten was far from over.
Viesthard’s men had opened the gates in the outer perimeter to allow those Semgallians still outside the walls to swarm inside. Before he and his men had retreated to the inner compound Ortwin had ordered the two empty stable blocks either side of the gates to be set alight. Black smoke was soon billowing into the sky as the dry timbers and thatch roofs caught fire, forcing the Semgallians away from the flames and making it difficult for their chiefs to organise their men. The distraction bought Ortwin time to organise his own men who began to shoot volleys from crossbows at Viesthard’s men. But the old duke personally seized a ladder and rushed forward to place it against the inner wall. Ignoring the hail of crossbow bolts his men followed and within minutes hundreds of Semgallians were climbing the ladders. Hundreds more lay dead outside the fort and dozens had been killed in Mesoten’s outer compound, but the Semgallians were about to breach the Sword Brothers’ inner defences.
*****
Conrad looked down at the seething mass of Lithuanians, over the top of which scaling ladders were being passed. Either side of him came a rattling sound as crossbowmen shot their weapons, reloaded and shot them again at the warriors below. Archers were now on the outer walls’ wall walk and were loosing missiles into the fort’s inner compound. In response Tonis moved his men closer to the western wall so the arrows would overshoot them.
Volley after volley was shot at the Lithuanians; it was slaughter despite the enemy holding their shields aloft to cover them. The crossbowmen were able to find gaps among the raised shields to hit torsos and shoulders. But Lithuanians continued to pour over the outer wall and within minutes men were climbing ladders placed against the inner wall.
‘Have a care,’ shouted Conrad.
A warrior appeared on the top of the wall above him but a spearman of ‘the bastards’ thrust his weapon into his belly, the point piercing the mail armour. The man groaned and tumbled from the ladder. Conrad, sword in right hand and axe in left, nodded his thanks but then the spearman fell from the wall walk when another enemy warrior hurled himself at him from the top of another ladder. And then it seemed the air was filled with flying Lithuanians.
Hans and Anton dropped their crossbows and began hacking and chopping at the enemy with their swords and maces. Conrad killed two men in quick succession, one in mid-air as the Lithuanian fell on his sword and then tumbled from the wall walk. He thrust his sword into the face of a man clambering over the top of the wall, sliced open the neck of the next man to appear above him and drove the point of his sword into the shoulder of a third who jumped on to the wall walk and was hacked off it when Conrad swung his axe into the side of his helmet.
‘Off the wall, off the wall.’
Conrad heard Leatherface’s command and saw crossbowmen nimbly descending the steps leading down to the fort’s inner compound. The spearmen of ‘the bastards’ were doing murder but they could not kill every Lithuanian coming over the wall. To stay was to be overwhelmed and slaughtered. Hans and Anton, dead enemy warriors around their feet and more on the ground beneath the wall walk, nodded to Conrad and all three headed for the nearest steps. They had to fight every inch of the way, bearded brutes swinging axes trying to bar their path or jump on them as they passed beneath the Selonians at the tops of ladders. For brother knights trained to keep moving during personal combat the wall walk was the worst place to be.
The three brother knights were the last to leave the wall, covering the speedy withdrawal of what was left of ‘the bastards’. They ran through the open ranks of Tonis’ men, who locked shields, the first rank lowering their spears. Conrad, sweat pouring down his face and neck, ran over to where Tonis stood in the middle of the front rank. In front of them, beyond the two wooden barracks buildings standing back from the gates, Lithuanian warriors were being frantically marshalled by a tall, thin man with a black beard. His face seemed familiar though Conrad could not place it.
Conrad pointed his blood-covered sword at them. ‘We need to hit them hard now, Tonis.’
‘Ready!’ shouted the Saccalian.
Leatherface, bruised and bloody, pushed his way through the four ranks.
‘My crossbowmen will be behind you and will try to clear the walls before too many of the heathens come over them.’
‘Is Falcone still alive?’ asked Conrad.
‘He and his men seem to live charmed lives,’ replied Leatherface. ‘You had better make this attack count, Conrad, the boys are using up their ammunition fast.’
Tonis passed Conrad a helmet, a simple iron model with a thick nasal guard.
‘You had better wear this, Susi.’
Hans and Anton, who had also refused to wear their full-face helms, were also offered head protection.
Sir Richard appeared at the head of his knights and squires, behind them his fifty crossbowmen. Leatherface gave him a curt nod as he pushed his helm up on his bald crown.
‘I’ll assume command of your lordship’s crossbowmen,’ he announced and disappeared before the duke could reply.
‘We go to cut down those in front, your grace,’ said Conrad.
Sir Richard looked around to appraise the situation. There was little movement on the southern wall but furious fighting on the northern wall where Ortwin was battling Viesthard’s men.
‘I must reinforce Master Ortwin,’ declared Sir Richard, ‘God be with you, Conrad.’
They clasped forearms and then the Englishman was gone, along with his men. But Leatherface had commandeered his crossbowmen who joined those of ‘the bastards’ and Falcone’s Genoese to form a phalanx of over a hundred and fifty missile troops.
Conrad turned and raised his sword. ‘Army of the Wolf!’
As one two hundred men snapped their spear shafts against their shields. Conrad trotted forward, the men following. The Lithuanians in front of them locked shields and gripped their weapons, their rear ranks reinforced by more men descending ladders from the wall walk.
‘Kneel!’
The voice of Leatherface rose over the din of battle. Conrad and the other two hundred went down on their knees instantly, the Lithuanians less than thirty paces away. The Army of the Wolf bowed their heads and over them flew more than a hundred bolts, shot by the crossbowmen behind them. Time slowed as Conrad watched half the front rank of the enemy double up and collapse, their bodies struck by iron-tipped missiles.
‘God with us!’ he screamed and sprang forward.
There was a mighty cheer and his men followed. They covered the open ground in seconds, smashing into the Lithuanians like a hammer striking an earthenware pot. The front rank drove their spears forwards into guts, shields and thighs before releasing them and pulling battleaxes from their belts, with which they proceeded to hack at enemy skulls. The front two ranks of the Lithuanians disappeared in a frenzy of bloodlust as the Army of the Wolf gouged its way forward.
Conrad felt his feet slip on a limb of a fallen enemy but managed to parry with his own axe the axe blow of an enemy warrior with stinking breath a few feet from him. He caught the blow, stepped forward and drove his sword over the rim of the enemy shield, the point penetrating the man’s neck and spinal cord. He whipped the blade back and slashed it sideways to slice open the cheekbone of a warrior battling Tonis. The man screamed, faltered and died as Tonis bludgeoned the man’s helmet and skull beneath with his axe.
Behind the Estonian warriors Leatherface and Falcone were directing their men to shoot at the Lithuanians on the wall walk and ladders. So accurate and rapid was their shooting that a neutral observer would have thought that a giant invisible hand was brushing the Lithuanians aside. And now no more men were coming over the wall.
Ykintas and Aras dragged a raging Mindaugas up a flight of steps and almost had to throw him back over the wall. Many of their men were now fleeing, scrambling over the corpses of their fallen comrades as they did so. The wall walk, steps and outer compound of the fort were choked with Lithuanian dead and dying and slippery with blood. The majority of their leaders, the princes and chiefs, had been slain and the Samogitian foot soldiers in particular had no stomach for carrying on the fight. They ran, most discarding what weapons they had in the process.
The Kriviai Krivaitis stood on Mesoten’s slope with his priests and remained impassive as a stream and then a flood of warriors retreated from the fort. What were the petty squabbles of men to the gods? But he did allow a thin smile to break his stony stare when he saw the figure of Mindaugas being manhandled by Aras and Ykintas down the slope. The gods protected their chosen ones.
Conrad shot a man about to launch himself from a ladder on to the wall walk but another sprang at him from the ladder next to it. The warrior was a man of some importance judging by his lamellar armour, mail aventail and sword in his hand. Conrad swung his crossbow to knock the sword aside, drew his own blade and plunged it forward into the man’s thigh. He growled in pain and lost his balance but Conrad could not finish him off as another warrior had jumped on to the wall walk. This man was unarmoured and armed with a hand axe that he hacked at Conrad who raised his crossbow to stop the blow. The blade lodged itself in the weapon’s stock and Conrad thrust his sword forward, the point cutting the man’s neck. He squealed and staggered back against the wall.
‘The wall’s fallen, fall back to the inner compound.’
Conrad was horrified when he heard Leatherface’s command, rushing to him to counter it. Hans and Anton, having despatched four Lithuanians who had jumped from ladders, the latter having been pushed away from the wall, covered him with their crossbows. Conrad’s had been rendered useless by the axe blow. Before he had a chance to speak Leatherface pointed behind him, to where enemy warriors were pouring over the wall.
‘We stay here we die.’
‘He’s right, Conrad,’ said Anton.
It was irrelevant what Conrad thought anyway because the crossbowmen of ‘the bastards’ were descending the wooden steps to the wall, covered by the spearmen. Falcone’s Italians were already on the ground, working as a unit and picking off enemy soldiers who were threatening those of Ulric’s men still on the ramparts. Ulric himself was battling like fury, killing Lithuanians with his sword while assisting his men down the steps.
‘Time to go,’ said Leatherface.
Conrad nodded and stood beside Hans and Anton as the three of them defended a flight of steps down to the outer compound. Two enemy warriors rushed them but were stopped in their tracks as Hans and Anton shot their crossbows. But there were more of the enemy behind them, men in mail armour carrying rectangular shields who inched forward with their shields locked. Helmetless, Conrad told Hans and Anton to get down the steps as he walked backwards, waiting for one of the enemy to attack him. He moved fast when one sprang forward, keeping his shield tight to his body and raising his sword high above his head to aim at Conrad’s mail-covered skull. Conrad had pulled his axe from his belt and raised his left arm to catch the blow but the Lithuanian never reached him, pitching forward on the planking with a crossbow bolt lodged in his side. He glanced left to see Leatherface reloading his crossbow.
‘Get your arse off that wall,’ he shouted.
Conrad bolted down the steps and joined the compact mass of ‘the bastards’ being marshalled by Ulric, the mail on his shoulder ripped with blood showing among the metal rings. Falcone and his men were also among them, the Genoese shooting at targets on the nearby steps, every bolt hitting a body. They were exceptional soldiers.
‘Back to the gates,’ ordered Conrad as the block of men inched towards the entrance to the fort’s inner perimeter. As they were in the western side of the inner perimeter wall the journey was mercifully short and when they reached the gates Conrad found that Sir Richard’s crossbowmen were in the towers either side of them. The air was thick with crossbow bolts as the outer wall’s ramparts were raked by quarrels.
From the inner compound came Tonis and the warriors of the Army of the Wolf who locked their shields to form a cordon of steel outside the gates to allow ‘the bastards’ and what was left of Ortwin’s and Rudolf’s men to get inside.
‘Arrows!’
The shout pierced the air as dozens of arrows fell from the sky, killing a number of crossbowmen on the inner wall and others among ‘the bastards’.
‘Close the gates,’ shouted a bare-headed Rudolf as he helped a limping Ortwin, an arrow embedded in his right leg, into the inner compound. Falcone and Leatherface organised their men to shoot controlled volleys keeping the Lithuanians at a safe distance as they withdrew into the fort. Then they ordered the missile troops to man the ramparts as Rudolf called all the commanders to him. The gates were shut and the wounded taken to the barracks buildings where they would at least be safe from the volleys of arrows being shot into the fort’s inner compound. The Lithuanians had taken Mesoten’s outer wall. The first phase of the battle was over.
*****
Mindaugas was ecstatic, urging his men to follow him as he descended the wooden steps on the inside of the Christians’ outer ramparts. Aras kept up with him, barking orders to his men to protect the prince with their shields as crossbow bolts hissed through the air.
‘On, on,’ screamed Mindaugas, oblivious to the iron-tipped missiles striking men down to his left and right.
‘We are too exposed here, highness, we must withdraw,’ pleaded Aras as the man in front of him collapsed with a bolt lodged in his thigh. He was hauled back by two of his comrades, one of whom was struck in the back by a bolt and fell to the ground.
‘Shields, shields,’ screamed Aras, pulling Mindaugas back as a dozen shields formed a makeshift roof over their heads.
Mindaugas shook himself free. ‘Get off me. How dare you touch me.’
More and more men were flooding over the captured ramparts and down into the fort’s outer compound.
‘This is my time, Aras,’ said Mindaugas, ‘and you will not stand in my way.’
‘Ladders,’ he shouted, ‘get the ladders against the wall.’
The initial attack had captured the ramparts. Now those who had been in the rear ranks, and had been carrying more ladders, came forward to haul their ladders up those placed against the outer wall and dump them in the fort’s outer compound. But it took time, the inner gates had been forced shut and the Christian crossbowmen were taking a fearful toll of the mass of Lithuanians momentarily confined between the inner and outer walls.
Kitenis’ bodyguard and sons had pleaded with him to remain outside the fort but he had dismissed their entreaties. He had led his warriors up the slope, his aged body finding the climb difficult. Out of respect his princes and chiefs had resisted the temptation to run forward over the final two hundred paces to the wall, determined not to overtake their duke. This meant Rudolf and his crossbowmen had more time to shoot their weapons than the defenders on the western and northern walls. They killed and wounded more than five hundred Aukstaitijans before the warriors with the symbol of the black axe painted on their shields stormed the wall.
Kitenis, panting and struggling to walk unaided after ascending the grassy slope, peered up at the inner wall of the fort.
‘That impious little brat Mindaugas has proved us all wrong, it would seem.’
‘You must retire, father,’ pleaded one of his sons, ‘we can complete the conquest of the fort.’
Kitenis glared at him. ‘And rob me of my share of the glory? I think not. Get the ladders against the wall.’
Hundreds of his men were in the outer compound, waiting for the ladders to be brought forward. The sounds of battle could be heard in other sectors but a surreal silence enveloped the Aukstaitijans and men began to believe that all the Christians had been killed, or at least had forgotten about them. All that remained was to scale the inner wall and Mesoten would be theirs. What they did not realise was that there had been a race against time between Master Rudolf and his men, who had to get through the inner gates and then man the inner compound’s southern wall, and the warriors of Duke Kitenis. It was a race that Rudolf won.
The deceptive calm had lured the Aukstaitijans into a false sense of security. Above them a sweating Master Rudolf was marshalling his men into position, reinforced by some of ‘the bastards’. Over a hundred crossbowmen took aim and released a volley. Their bolts slammed into lamellar and mail armour. Kitenis, his sons and the men of his bodyguard were protected by lamellar armour, the overlapping rectangular iron plates designed to withstand thrusting weapons, also arrows, and even the blows of bludgeoning weapons would be scattered over the plates to save its wearer injury. But the crossbow bolts shot at the leader of the Aukstaitijan people were released at a range of less than fifty feet and they punched through the plates with ease. Kitenis, his bannerman behind him, was the first to die, one bolt through his heart, another going straight through his throat. The standard bearer fell next, followed by the duke’s sons and half a dozen of his bodyguard. In a less than a minute four hundred bolts had been shot at the Lithuanians, prompting panic.
The death of their lord and his sons demoralised the Lithuanians who abandoned all thoughts of scaling another wall. As with the other contingents princes, chiefs and headmen had led the assault against the fort. Many had fallen to Christian crossbows and without their leadership the courage of many faltered. As Rudolf’s men continued to load and shoot their crossbows at a methodical rate panic turned into a blind desire to flee. Suddenly hundreds of men were scrambling back up the steps to the fort’s outer ramparts to escape the slaughter that was being dealt by the unseen crossbowmen. The Aukstaitijans were soon in headlong retreat, causing Rudolf’s men to cheer and congratulate themselves. It was no small victory.
But the battle for Mesoten was far from over.
Viesthard’s men had opened the gates in the outer perimeter to allow those Semgallians still outside the walls to swarm inside. Before he and his men had retreated to the inner compound Ortwin had ordered the two empty stable blocks either side of the gates to be set alight. Black smoke was soon billowing into the sky as the dry timbers and thatch roofs caught fire, forcing the Semgallians away from the flames and making it difficult for their chiefs to organise their men. The distraction bought Ortwin time to organise his own men who began to shoot volleys from crossbows at Viesthard’s men. But the old duke personally seized a ladder and rushed forward to place it against the inner wall. Ignoring the hail of crossbow bolts his men followed and within minutes hundreds of Semgallians were climbing the ladders. Hundreds more lay dead outside the fort and dozens had been killed in Mesoten’s outer compound, but the Semgallians were about to breach the Sword Brothers’ inner defences.
*****
Conrad looked down at the seething mass of Lithuanians, over the top of which scaling ladders were being passed. Either side of him came a rattling sound as crossbowmen shot their weapons, reloaded and shot them again at the warriors below. Archers were now on the outer walls’ wall walk and were loosing missiles into the fort’s inner compound. In response Tonis moved his men closer to the western wall so the arrows would overshoot them.
Volley after volley was shot at the Lithuanians; it was slaughter despite the enemy holding their shields aloft to cover them. The crossbowmen were able to find gaps among the raised shields to hit torsos and shoulders. But Lithuanians continued to pour over the outer wall and within minutes men were climbing ladders placed against the inner wall.
‘Have a care,’ shouted Conrad.
A warrior appeared on the top of the wall above him but a spearman of ‘the bastards’ thrust his weapon into his belly, the point piercing the mail armour. The man groaned and tumbled from the ladder. Conrad, sword in right hand and axe in left, nodded his thanks but then the spearman fell from the wall walk when another enemy warrior hurled himself at him from the top of another ladder. And then it seemed the air was filled with flying Lithuanians.
Hans and Anton dropped their crossbows and began hacking and chopping at the enemy with their swords and maces. Conrad killed two men in quick succession, one in mid-air as the Lithuanian fell on his sword and then tumbled from the wall walk. He thrust his sword into the face of a man clambering over the top of the wall, sliced open the neck of the next man to appear above him and drove the point of his sword into the shoulder of a third who jumped on to the wall walk and was hacked off it when Conrad swung his axe into the side of his helmet.
‘Off the wall, off the wall.’
Conrad heard Leatherface’s command and saw crossbowmen nimbly descending the steps leading down to the fort’s inner compound. The spearmen of ‘the bastards’ were doing murder but they could not kill every Lithuanian coming over the wall. To stay was to be overwhelmed and slaughtered. Hans and Anton, dead enemy warriors around their feet and more on the ground beneath the wall walk, nodded to Conrad and all three headed for the nearest steps. They had to fight every inch of the way, bearded brutes swinging axes trying to bar their path or jump on them as they passed beneath the Selonians at the tops of ladders. For brother knights trained to keep moving during personal combat the wall walk was the worst place to be.
The three brother knights were the last to leave the wall, covering the speedy withdrawal of what was left of ‘the bastards’. They ran through the open ranks of Tonis’ men, who locked shields, the first rank lowering their spears. Conrad, sweat pouring down his face and neck, ran over to where Tonis stood in the middle of the front rank. In front of them, beyond the two wooden barracks buildings standing back from the gates, Lithuanian warriors were being frantically marshalled by a tall, thin man with a black beard. His face seemed familiar though Conrad could not place it.
Conrad pointed his blood-covered sword at them. ‘We need to hit them hard now, Tonis.’
‘Ready!’ shouted the Saccalian.
Leatherface, bruised and bloody, pushed his way through the four ranks.
‘My crossbowmen will be behind you and will try to clear the walls before too many of the heathens come over them.’
‘Is Falcone still alive?’ asked Conrad.
‘He and his men seem to live charmed lives,’ replied Leatherface. ‘You had better make this attack count, Conrad, the boys are using up their ammunition fast.’
Tonis passed Conrad a helmet, a simple iron model with a thick nasal guard.
‘You had better wear this, Susi.’
Hans and Anton, who had also refused to wear their full-face helms, were also offered head protection.
Sir Richard appeared at the head of his knights and squires, behind them his fifty crossbowmen. Leatherface gave him a curt nod as he pushed his helm up on his bald crown.
‘I’ll assume command of your lordship’s crossbowmen,’ he announced and disappeared before the duke could reply.
‘We go to cut down those in front, your grace,’ said Conrad.
Sir Richard looked around to appraise the situation. There was little movement on the southern wall but furious fighting on the northern wall where Ortwin was battling Viesthard’s men.
‘I must reinforce Master Ortwin,’ declared Sir Richard, ‘God be with you, Conrad.’
They clasped forearms and then the Englishman was gone, along with his men. But Leatherface had commandeered his crossbowmen who joined those of ‘the bastards’ and Falcone’s Genoese to form a phalanx of over a hundred and fifty missile troops.
Conrad turned and raised his sword. ‘Army of the Wolf!’
As one two hundred men snapped their spear shafts against their shields. Conrad trotted forward, the men following. The Lithuanians in front of them locked shields and gripped their weapons, their rear ranks reinforced by more men descending ladders from the wall walk.
‘Kneel!’
The voice of Leatherface rose over the din of battle. Conrad and the other two hundred went down on their knees instantly, the Lithuanians less than thirty paces away. The Army of the Wolf bowed their heads and over them flew more than a hundred bolts, shot by the crossbowmen behind them. Time slowed as Conrad watched half the front rank of the enemy double up and collapse, their bodies struck by iron-tipped missiles.
‘God with us!’ he screamed and sprang forward.
There was a mighty cheer and his men followed. They covered the open ground in seconds, smashing into the Lithuanians like a hammer striking an earthenware pot. The front rank drove their spears forwards into guts, shields and thighs before releasing them and pulling battleaxes from their belts, with which they proceeded to hack at enemy skulls. The front two ranks of the Lithuanians disappeared in a frenzy of bloodlust as the Army of the Wolf gouged its way forward.
Conrad felt his feet slip on a limb of a fallen enemy but managed to parry with his own axe the axe blow of an enemy warrior with stinking breath a few feet from him. He caught the blow, stepped forward and drove his sword over the rim of the enemy shield, the point penetrating the man’s neck and spinal cord. He whipped the blade back and slashed it sideways to slice open the cheekbone of a warrior battling Tonis. The man screamed, faltered and died as Tonis bludgeoned the man’s helmet and skull beneath with his axe.
Behind the Estonian warriors Leatherface and Falcone were directing their men to shoot at the Lithuanians on the wall walk and ladders. So accurate and rapid was their shooting that a neutral observer would have thought that a giant invisible hand was brushing the Lithuanians aside. And now no more men were coming over the wall.
Ykintas and Aras dragged a raging Mindaugas up a flight of steps and almost had to throw him back over the wall. Many of their men were now fleeing, scrambling over the corpses of their fallen comrades as they did so. The wall walk, steps and outer compound of the fort were choked with Lithuanian dead and dying and slippery with blood. The majority of their leaders, the princes and chiefs, had been slain and the Samogitian foot soldiers in particular had no stomach for carrying on the fight. They ran, most discarding what weapons they had in the process.
The Kriviai Krivaitis stood on Mesoten’s slope with his priests and remained impassive as a stream and then a flood of warriors retreated from the fort. What were the petty squabbles of men to the gods? But he did allow a thin smile to break his stony stare when he saw the figure of Mindaugas being manhandled by Aras and Ykintas down the slope. The gods protected their chosen ones.
