Schism, page 9
part #5 of Crusader Chronicles Series
‘Were that not the case you would still be my favourite,’ he replied.
He beckoned over his son as he placed an arm around his daughter’s shoulders. When he came close he did the same to Rostislav.
‘While I am away I want you to take care of your brother, Ola, he will have the great weight of responsibility to carry.’
Ola glanced at Rostislav. ‘I promise I will do everything I can to make him happy, father.’
*****
Narva had fallen without a fight in the aftermath of Reval’s capture; its garrison under the rogue Dietrich von Kivel having melted away like its commander. No one knew where the German mercenary was. Some said he had been killed at Reval; others swore that they had seen him briefly in Narva in the days after the Sword Brothers and Oeselians had captured Reval. But no one could say for sure. Grand Master Volquin had sent a mounted column east in the days following the capture of Reval, which had included Conrad, Hans and Anton. But it and they had found Narva to be empty aside from a miserable collection of civilians who begged them for food. So Narva fell to the Sword Brothers for a second time and Wierland was at peace at last.
But in the months afterwards Master Franz, Narva’s castellan, sent reports to Grand Master Volquin detailing attacks against settlements by bandits based in the forests of Alutaguse. An area sparse in human habitation, the Alutaguse comprised dense pine forests, marshes and bogs and almost no meadows. Located north of Lake Peipus it was nicknamed the ‘bears’ den’ for its high population of the animals. But it was also home to a large number of wolves, flying squirrels, elk, wild boar, mink and foxes.
After he had returned from raiding Kurland Conrad, as Marshal of Estonia, liaised with Franz concerning wiping out the bandits in the Alutaguse. Those they had terrified reported that they masqueraded as followers of King Kalev. Kalev was a figure of Estonian mythology, a giant who had rid the land of foreign invaders. Conrad had suspected and hoped that this ‘king’ was von Kivel but whoever he was he had to be dealt with before the whole of eastern Wierland was emptied of people. The plan was for the garrison of Narva to attack the bandits from the north while Conrad and his men launched an offensive from the east. Caught between two groups they would be easily wiped out. Unfortunately no one had reckoned with the Alutaguse.
Conrad had spent many years campaigning in the forests of Livonia, Estonia and Lithuania. But very little fighting was done in the forests themselves. Forests were advantageous for small groups of soldiers to hide in, to conceal themselves behind a curtain of green. But forests inhibited the free movement of large bodies of troops, to say nothing of armies. Conrad remembered the words of Lukas, now Master of Reval, the brother knight who had trained him at Wenden, concerning fighting among trees.
‘Dense forests should be avoided like the plague because you will be like a blind man fighting against a man with his eyesight.’
Conrad shook his head as he tripped on a dead branch and nearly stumbled. The field of view through the vision slits of his helm was restricted anyway but the dense foliage reduced it further. He glanced left and right to see if Hans and Anton were still there. He was comforted when he saw their white surcoats highlighted against the greens of the forest. His leg caught on a clump of wildflowers. He cursed. This was like wading through waist-deep mud. The branches of the evergreens were hanging almost to the ground. He walked around one, being careful not to snare his surcoat or scabbard on it. This forest must be as old as time itself.
The air was warm and heavy with the scent of pine and he was sweating in his gambeson, aketon and the chain mail covering his head, body and limbs. He gripped his sword and clutched his shield close to his body. As the three of them inched forward he felt a thousand eyes on him. The twigs they stepped on and snapped made noises that echoed through the trees. They might as well have taken off their helmets and shouted to the enemy that the Sword Brothers were coming to kill them. But the enemy, lying unseen and silent among the foliage, already knew that. The tension was unbearable as he continued to walk very slowly, his eyes straining to detect any signs of movement ahead. There were none.
They were close; he could taste it. Apart from his thumping heart and the crunch that came when he stepped on bone-dry pine needles or twigs there was an ominous quiet, like the world drawing its breath before it unleashed a maelstrom.
Thud.
He heard the sound, felt the impact on his left arm and stared in morbid fascination at the axe head protruding from his splintered shield. Then he heard the war cries. They shouted the name of Taara, the Estonian God of War, as they charged at the three Sword Brothers. It was not a mad rush because there were too many low branches so they walked forward with grim determination. Most were bareheaded, their hair hanging to their shoulders, their beards long and unruly. They wore green and brown leggings and tunics. Almost none had armour save for a helmet and only half had shields, the majority bearing a boar insignia – the symbol of Wierland. But suddenly the forest seemed full of them as they advanced to slay the three Sword Brothers. To make themselves more intimidating they had smeared their faces with charcoal to blacken their skin so it matched the colour of their wild beards. Most were armed with hand axes, a few with short spears.
Conrad held his shield before him as an enemy warrior swung an axe at it, the Sword Brother snapping it back at the last second so his opponent sliced only air. Before the warrior could react Conrad thrust his sword forward in a lightning-fast movement to drive the point into the man’s exposed right side. The metal entered his body just below the armpit, causing him to drop his axe. But Conrad had no time to finish him off as a brute gripping a spear with both hands attacked him on his right side. Conrad turned sharply and sidestepped to avoid the spear blade, making a vertical cut with his sword that sliced open the warrior’s neck as he stumbled past.
Conrad’s shield, still carrying the embedded axe, was split in two by another Wierlander who brought his own axe down from an overhead position to strike Conrad’s shoulder. He saw the blur of the metal at the last moment and instinctively brought up the shield to halt the blow. The move was successful but his shield was useless. He threw it aside and pulled out the axe tucked into his belt. Four more of the enemy were surrounding him, grinning and leering as they launched their attacks simultaneously.
Crack, crack, crack.
The air was suddenly filled with crossbow bolts and Conrad remained dead still. It ran counter to his training that had taught him the basic tenet of swordsmanship is that a man is always in motion and never at rest, but to suddenly dart left and right would be to invite certain death as the deadly missiles flew through the air to hit Wierlanders. The four surrounding Conrad collapsed to the ground in seconds as those fighting Hans and Anton were similarly laid low. A tall, stocky man a few paces from Conrad tucked his shield into his body and crouched low to make himself a small target. He bellowed in triumph as a crossbow bolt slammed into the shield, lodging in the wood. He advanced towards Conrad but crumbled to the ground when another bolt went into his eye socket.
The Wierlanders had had enough. Those still alive – who numbered less than half a dozen – turned tail and fled. None escaped. All were shot and felled by two bolts or more, falling flat on their painted faces. Conrad pulled off his helmet as a familiar face appeared beside him.
‘You took your time.’
Leatherface was indignant. ‘Tramping through all this undergrowth is taxing. Besides, we were ordered not to get too close otherwise the enemy might not take the bait. Who said that, let me think? Oh, yes, it was you.’
Conrad held up a hand. ‘All right, all right.’
Around them a score of crossbowmen and the same number of spearmen, all members of the ‘bishop’s bastards’, had established a cordon and were checking the bodies. Hans and Anton, sweat running down their faces, came over to their friend. Conrad embraced them.
‘All is well?’ he asked.
Hans nodded.
‘Just in the nick of time,’ Anton said to Leatherface. ‘Another minute and we would have been carrion for crows.’
Leatherface grinned. ‘You were never in danger, Master Anton, me and my boys had you all covered.’
A spearmen walked up and saluted Conrad. ‘One is still alive, lord.’
The ‘bastards’ were all Germans, originally ragtag crusaders but now well-trained and equipped soldiers of the Army of the Wolf. But nearly all of them had taken Estonian wives and had adopted local customs, including wearing their hair long. Many also now had children that were, aside from their Christianity, more Estonian than German. Conrad and the others followed the soldier to where a Wierlander, a crossbow bolt lodged in his back, lay on his side, blood oozing from his mouth. Another spearman was knelt beside him holding a water bottle to his lips. The man coughed.
‘Where is your leader?’ demanded Conrad. ‘Was he with you when you attacked? Where is your camp?’
The warrior looked up at Conrad and smiled. ‘King Kalev will send you to the underworld, Sword Brother. You think I would betray my king?’
He suddenly groaned and grimaced as pain racked his body, flopping on to his back and dying before their eyes.
‘Do you want to continue into the forest, Conrad?’ asked Hans.
Conrad shook his head. ‘No, we return to camp and recommence in the morning.’
‘You three going to be bait tomorrow as well?’ queried Leatherface.
Conrad nodded. ‘The more we kill the more chance we have of stamping out this rebellion.’
But over the following seven days they encountered few Wierlanders as they advanced deeper into the Alutaguse, several of the ‘bastards’ spraining ankles in the dark, damp forest and a couple suffering broken bones.
‘We are chasing shadows,’ said Conrad on the evening of the seventh day as he and the others sat round a campfire. ‘We will withdraw in the morning. I see no reason to waste our time here.’
‘What about the bandits, Conrad?’ asked Hans.
‘As soon as we leave they will begin attacking the villages again,’ added Anton.
‘What is needed is a detachment of horsemen that can react to bandit incursions,’ said Conrad. ‘The so-called King Kalev and his followers will be reluctant to leave the safety of this forest if they know that they stand a good chance of being intercepted by mailed knights.’
‘Where are you going to get them from?’ asked Leatherface. ‘Your garrison numbers only three brother knights, you included, and I doubt if Grand Master Volquin will be in a position to spare you any men.’
‘He’s right there, Conrad,’ said Anton.
‘Grand Master Volquin will be accommodating,’ insisted Conrad, ‘now that Reval has fallen and our order has a port through which it can benefit from trade.’
‘Good luck with that,’ sniffed Leatherface.
Frustrated that they could not find the bandit’s base and having suffered casualties they withdrew to Kassinurme where they received a warm welcome from Andres, Duke of Jerwen, and now a family man. His wide-hipped, rosy cheeked young wife cradled her male twins and grinned sheepishly at Conrad as the toddlers clutched at her ample bosom. He walked forward and kissed her on the cheek, causing her to blush.
‘You are most welcome, Susi,’ said Andres, walking forward and embracing his lord and friend. Warriors in the towers of his stronghold cheered and banged the base of their spear shafts on the wooden timbers as Andres embraced Hans and Anton and then ushered them into his hall. Young boys, bare footed and long haired, took the party’s horses to the stables as a steward invited the ‘bastards’ to follow their leaders into the hall. The day was warm and dry, though the mornings were cool now that autumn was approaching.
Inside the hall Leatherface laughed and joked with Andres’ wife and teased her children as her husband ordered servants to bring food and drink to the feasting hall. He had also noticed a number of the ‘bastards’ being assisted from their horses and hobbling to the benches in the hall.
‘And bring a healer to look at the soldiers’ injuries.’
Andres had always been a stout individual but Conrad thought he was now erring towards being overweight. Life as Duke of Jerwen was obviously agreeing with him. The lord of Kassinurme flopped down into a huge wooden chair at the top table in his hall. Behind him, hanging on the wall, was a great banner showing a bear – the symbol of Jerwen and the flag that had seen many battles as part of the Army of the Wolf.
The hall had the pleasing aroma of leather, rushes and pine.
‘You look well, my friend,’ said Conrad.
Servants began piling food on the table: bloodless white sausages on a wooden platter, bread, cheese, hot soup, rye bread and small pies filled with a mixture of meat. Others brought great earthenware jugs filled with beer and honey mead. Hans rubbed his hands with glee and picked up a sausage.
‘Hold, Hans,’ said Conrad, ‘what day is it?’
His friend looked confused. ‘Day?’
‘Friday, I think,’ offered Anton.
Conrad nodded. ‘That’s what I thought. We don’t eat meat on Fridays according to the rules of our order. You remember them, Hans?’
His lean friend looked at the sausage and then Conrad before examining the fare on offer.
‘But there is no fish.’
‘Fetch Brother Hans some fish,’ ordered Andres.
Leatherface grinned, leaned over and took the sausage from Hans’ hand.
‘Too much religion is bad for a man, I’ve always said.’
Hans grumbled under his breath and began devouring a loaf of bread and a large chunk of cheese, washed down with liberal quantities of beer as the chatter and the food and drink loosened tongues. Conrad told Andres about the bandits and King Kalev.
‘There is no such person, Susi,’ the ruler of the Jerwen assured him. ‘Kalev is part of our myths. No one would call himself Kalev for to do so would be to invite the wrath of the gods.’
Andres suddenly remembered that he was a Christian, not a pagan.
‘Or so many believe, Susi.’
Conrad smiled. ‘A thousand years of beliefs cannot be eradicated overnight, my friend, nor should they be. But whoever this Kalev is he presents a threat to all of us.’
He took a sip of beer and caught the eye of Leatherface opposite him.
‘I have been giving your words some thought.’
The mercenary belched. ‘That’ll be a first.’
‘The forest these bandits hide in is too large and dense for small forces to find them. But, if left alone, they will continue to terrorise those villagers nearby. And after they have emptied the nearest villages they will venture further afield, perhaps into Jerwen and Harrien.’
‘Let them come,’ said Andres, ‘they will find a Jerwen reception not to their liking.’
‘I was thinking more of keeping them away from your borders, Andres, and from Riki’s for that matter.’
‘You will muster your army for a campaign in the Alutaguse, Susi?’
‘No, my friend.’
Andres frowned. ‘Then what?’
Conrad tore off a piece of the loaf in front of him and dipped it in his bowl of vegetable broth before pushing it into his mouth. It was good to taste real food again after the threadbare rations he had been living off in the forest. He finished eating before answering.
‘I will make no call upon your war band, Andres. All I ask is thirty Jerwen, all men in their late teens or early twenties, unmarried, who can ride a horse. Not just sit in a saddle, mind, but who can wield a sword, axe or spear when on horseback. And who have a liking for fighting.’
Andres grinned. ‘All Jerwen men like to fight.’
‘I will ask the same of Riki and Hillar and the combined force will be based in Wierland near the Alutaguse to guard against bandit incursions.’
‘Very sensible,’ nodded Leatherface, ‘we’ll make a general out of you yet, Master Conrad.’
Conrad ignored him. ‘They will be trained to fight like mailed knights to track down and slaughter every bandit that shows his miserable face outside that cursed forest.’
‘The forest is not cursed, wolf spirit.’
They all turned to see a fat old man standing near the table dressed in a threadbare brown tunic and a cloak of the same colour hanging from his shoulders. A man with piggy eyes and a nose like a pig’s snout – Rustic – the old mystic who lived in the sacred grove near Andres’ stronghold. He had seemingly appeared out of thin air. Andres immediately jumped up and offered him a seat.
‘I am not stopping, lord, I merely came to visit your children.’
He walked over to where Andres’s wife was holding her bawling offspring. They suddenly ceased their wailing, staring with innocent blue eyes at the foul old man standing over them. He gently brushed their cheeks.
‘You did not find the bears’ den to your liking, wolf spirit.’
‘No, sir,’ replied Conrad.
‘That’s because you have no business there. It is not a place for men.’
‘King Kalev would disagree with you,’ said Anton.
Rustic fished something out of his robe and handed it to Andres’ wife.
‘This will help them with their teething, daughter. The gods go with you.’
A servant placed a platter of cooked fish in front of Hans, who beamed with delight. Rustic turned and gestured with a hand that Andres should retake his seat. He walked to stand beside Hans and picked up a handful of fish, shoving it into his mouth.
‘And what would you know of the legends of this land, man of iron?’ Rustic said to Anton. ‘Did you see Kalev in the Alutaguse?’
Anton shook his head. Rustic picked up more of Hans’ fish.
‘This is quite excellent,’ smiled the old man at Hans.
‘I wouldn’t know,’ complained Hans.
‘Kalev is not of this world so men with swords are wasting their time trying to hunt him. He sees you but you do not see him. How foolish are you to think that you could enter his realm and be victorious.’
‘His bandits are real enough, sir,’ said Conrad.
Rustic finished off the fish on the platter. ‘Your scheme to deal with them is a good one, wolf spirit, the people will thank you for it and because you protect them the gods will smile on you.’
