*****

  It rained frequently as the Army of the Wolf made its way north, mostly an annoying drizzle that sometimes turned into something heavier. It was also cool and Conrad worried about the people who had been forced to leave their homes.

  ‘Lehola and Fellin are big enough to accommodate the inhabitants of those villages in the path of the legate’s army,’ said Sir Richard, ‘the rest will leave their homes for the sanctuary of the forests should the enemy send foraging parties far and wide, after which they will return home.’

  He had left Tonis and some of his wolf shields behind in Saccalia to keep an eye out for the approach of the legate’s army and to shadow its march once it had been detected.

  ‘At least the people managed to get most of the harvest in,’ said Hans, pulling his cloak around him.

  September was not only the wettest month in Estonia it was also cool, with thick, damp mists forming most mornings to chill bodies. The pines and spruce did not change colour but the deciduous birch, maples and rowans were covered with red and gold leaves. The forests were still thick with blueberries, cranberries and mushrooms and filled with elk, roe deer, wild boar, lynx, bears and wolves. But the days were getting shorter and autumn was tightening its grip.

  ‘What if the legate decides to lay siege to Fellin, Lehola and Odenpah?’ said Conrad.

  ‘In the name of Christ will you stop worrying,’ said Leatherface, hood drawn over his head. ‘He hasn’t got any siege engines and besides there is nothing in those places that interests him.’

  ‘That’s true, Conrad,’ confirmed Sir Richard. ‘His purpose is to arrest you and the other masters of your order.’

  Grand Master Volquin had kept his castellans fully abreast of the legate’s intentions while he was at Riga, including the size and composition of his army, which was a large one. Falcone had explained to Conrad how it would fight on the battlefield but for the benefit of Sir Richard, Hillar, Andres and Riki he explained the enemy’s tactics as they trotted north.

  ‘The legate has brought three thousand horsemen, men recruited from the towns and cities within the Papal States. In Italy serving as a mounted knight is not the preserve of nobility but is demanded from all those who can afford it. In the rich merchant cities this means that large numbers of non-nobles are required to serve as knights.’

  ‘Three thousand knights is a formidable number,’ said Sir Richard glumly.

  ‘They are not all knights, your grace, many men provide substitutes to serve in their place and it will be so in the legate’s army. Italian nobles and rich merchants and their sons have little interest in fighting far from home so they send men who can ride in their place. These men do not have the training or skills to match the brother knights and sergeants of the Sword Brothers, or indeed your own men.’

  ‘They just outnumber them ten to one,’ quipped Leatherface, ‘and those are long odds.’

  ‘What about this legate’s foot soldiers?’ asked Hillar.

  ‘The most professional will be the crossbowmen, called balestieri,’ answered Falcone.

  ‘Makes sense,’ said Leatherface.

  ‘They are mercenaries but each man is paid as part of a two-man team,’ continued the Italian. ‘The crossbowman is protected by a spearman called a pavesare whose task is to protect the crossbowman while he reloads. To enable him to do this he is armed with a long spear to fend off enemy horsemen, up to thirteen feet in length, and equipped with a rectangular shield that is nearly seven feet tall.’

  ‘A man carrying such a device will not be able to fight in a shield wall,’ said Andres.

  ‘Indeed, lord,’ agreed Falcone, ‘but that is not his intention. A formation of balestieri and pavesari is like a moving fortress that kills enemy foot soldiers with its crossbow bolts while keeping hostile horsemen at bay.’

  ‘Grand Master Volquin reported that the legate’s army contained fifteen hundred crossbowmen,’ said Sir Richard, ‘so the rest of the foot soldiers must be spearmen.’

  ‘And not all pavesari, your grace,’ said Falcone. ‘The rest will be men recruited from towns and cities, perhaps from the militias, though city authorities are loathe to see their best citizens depart for foreign lands. So I suspect many will have been drawn from the lower elements.’

  The army moved north along the eastern shore of Lake Vortsjarv, the great waterway wreathed in mist most days. There was still no word from Tonis so the mood among the men was relaxed and in any case the Army of the Wolf had never been defeated. No one, aside from its commander, believed this campaign would be any different.

  Conrad stood beside the water staring out across the grey lake as the early evening light began to fade. It had been another damp day and men were glad to make camp and light fires to dry their clothes and cook food to warm their insides.

  ‘You should eat something, Conrad.’

  He turned to see Hans behind him.

  ‘I was just thinking of the time when we fought on the southern shore of this lake, Hans, against the Cumans and Russians.’

  ‘I remember.’

  Conrad looked at him. ‘And here we are again, as if we are trapped in an endless cycle of battles and campaigns. It grieves me that we are fighting fellow Christians.’

  ‘A common occurrence in Germany, Conrad. When Bishop Albert was alive this land was free of division but now he has gone it seems his vision has also died.’

  ‘Master Thaddeus once told me that the crusader kingdoms in the Holy Land were once places of conscience but became corrupt and rotten long before they fell to the Saracens. I pray that Livonia and Estonia do not go the same way.

  ‘What is for evening meal?’

  ‘Pottage,’ replied Hans.

  ‘Good ballast for the body,’ smiled Conrad.

  *****

  Baldwin of Alna may have been an abstemious man but his army was well provisioned for its campaign. As it finally made its way north from Riga, its thousands of foot soldiers and knights were accompanied by a host of priests, carpenters, surgeons, farriers, wagon drivers, engineers, cooks, armourers, servants, tanners and squires. Like a huge serpent the army moved slowly through the lush greenery of Livonia, dozens of two-wheeled carts and four-wheeled wagons pulled by oxen hauling thousands of tents, spare clothing, weapons, fodder, horseshoes and armour. Almost as many wagons carried the army’s food, the legate ensuring that the good citizens of Riga and their leaders furnish a lavish supply of sustenance for the campaign. Baldwin was eager that there should be no pillaging because Livonia was, as he never tired of telling everyone, God’s kingdom. Thus the wagons were piled high with sacks of corn, barrels of millet, salted pigs, cheeses, boxes of biscuits, ground flour stored in large amphorae, barley, wheat, vinegar, mutton, salted eels, salted carp, beans and almonds. There were even wagons carrying Greek wine, Italian wine and German wine.

  An escort supplied by Rameke, now king of his people following a unanimous decision by the kingdom’s Liv elders, showed Baldwin’s army the way north. The king himself, under pressure from his elders, remained aloof from the quarrel between the Sword Brothers and the legate, despite the protestations of his queen. He was aware that many of his people traded with the merchants in Riga and he had no wish to do anything that might impoverish them or his people.

  ‘He is Master Conrad’s brother-in-law,’ Kivel reminded Baldwin.

  The land was wreathed in a grey mist soaking all and sundry and showed no signs of lifting.

  ‘I am aware of that, Dietrich,’ snapped Baldwin whose habit was drenched, causing him to shiver.

  ‘Can I fetch you a cloak, your eminence?’ queried Manfred Nordheim, who was wrapped in a thick cloak and hood.

  The fifty horsemen of Riga’s garrison were part of the army, though Nordheim’s foot soldiers had stayed behind, Archdeacon Stefan pleading with Baldwin that they should stay in the city and that he instead should take two hundred of the Livonian Militia. Tired of the archdeacon’s pleas and woman-like demeanour he had relented.

  ‘Our lord endured worse in the wilderness, commander,’ said Baldwin, ‘I’m sure I can put up with a little drizzle.’

  He looked at the lords wrapped in their cloaks.

  ‘Sacrifice and hardship are ways to salvation, my lords. As for King Rameke, why would he risk the Papacy’s wrath? He has a responsibility to his people who live in peace and prosper. I think we can discount the possibility of King Rameke assisting the Sword Brothers. They are alone and will soon see the error of their ways when they behold the great army confronting them.’

  Neither von Kivel nor Nordheim said anything to contradict him but both knew that the size of their opposition would not intimidate the Sword Brothers. In the wet the army’s pace slowed to a crawl, wagons carrying heavy loads sinking into the mud as the constant drizzle and light rain soaked the ground. The rate of advance averaged ten miles a day at most and when it rained heavily it dropped to less than half that. After a week the army left the course of the River Gauja and struck north to enter Estonia, the domain of Conrad Wolff. The number of reconnaissance parties was doubled and the Liv scouts returned home.

  The legate relied on the topographical knowledge of Dietrich von Kivel to steer the army in the right direction. But what was the right direction? In his desire to get to grips with the Sword Brothers the legate had given no thought to the destination of his army. That question was answered when they were but ten miles south of Lake Vortsjarv. A patrol returned to the army with news that a party of horsemen was approaching from the north and it included Sword Brothers.

  The day was bright and sunny, though a brisk northerly wind chilled the air and ruffled the banners of the legate’s army as von Kivel issued orders for the horse and foot to deploy into battle array, a command instantly countermanded by Baldwin.

  ‘How many riders approach?’

  ‘Two score, your eminence,’ replied the commander of the patrol.

  ‘You see, Dietrich,’ said Baldwin, ‘there is no need to interrupt our march.’

  But Baldwin did halt the army when he saw the banner of Bishop Hermann billowing behind the churchman as he and the rest of his party rode towards him.

  Bishop Hermann was now in his seventieth year but if the legate thought that he could treat him as a mellow old man he was soon disabused of the notion. Hermann wore a deep scowl as he brought his charger to a halt before the monk. His horse was covered in a caparison the same colour red as the surcoat he wore over his mail armour. Behind him were ten knights wearing full-face helms, part of the garrison of Dorpat, and a standard bearer holding his banner. There were also six Sword Brothers, one of whom was next to the bishop and like him wore no helmet over his mail coif.

  ‘Your excellency,’ smiled Baldwin.

  ‘You approach the border of the Bishopric of Dorpat,’ said Hermann tersely, ‘I request that you march your army to the west of Lake Vortsjarv.’

  ‘My army is on God’s business, your excellency, and the Lord recognises no borders.’

  ‘Let me put it another way. If you invade my bishopric then you declare war not only on me but also the entire Buxhoeveden family and its allies,’ threatened the bishop.

  ‘You dare oppose the will of God?’ asked Baldwin.

  ‘Whether you serve God is a riddle only the Lord himself can solve, legate,’ said Hermann, ‘but I will not allow you to despoil my bishopric.’

  ‘You shelter heretics,’ Baldwin accused him.

  ‘I do no such thing.’

  ‘The Marshal of Estonia’s stronghold is Odenpah,’ said Kivel.

  Hermann glared at him. ‘If you knew anything, your grace, which you do not, then you would know that Master Conrad has departed Odenpah.’

  ‘To go where?’ demanded Baldwin.

  ‘How would I know?’ replied Hermann. ‘He is not my responsibility.’

  Baldwin, nostrils flared, settled his gaze on the man next to the bishop.

  ‘You are a Sword Brother. I demand to know where Master Conrad is.’

  ‘I am Master Walter,’ the Sword Brother replied calmly, ‘and I believe…’

  ‘You are under no obligation to answer, Walter,’ said Hermann.

  But the bishop was all too aware that Walter ‘the penitent’ would not refuse a papal legate, not even if it meant betraying one of his dearest friends.

  ‘He is at Reval, I believe.’

  Baldwin showed no emotion as he turned to Kivel. ‘Arrest him.’

  Kivel had no time to open his mouth as the bishop’s guards and Sword Brothers lowered their lances and Hermann himself drew his sword.

  ‘Touch Walter and you will be the first to die, your eminence,’ said Hermann fiercely.

  The Italian army had been halted and foot soldiers and horsemen stood chatting to each other as the two sets of leaders conversed. As a result the thousands of men in Baldwin’s force had no idea that their commander was being threatened.

  ‘Your Eminence, we should make haste for Reval,’ implored von Kivel.

  Baldwin held Hermann’s steely gaze for a few seconds but then gave way.

  ‘We will march immediately to Reval. The Holy Father will hear of your lack of cooperation, lord bishop.’

  ‘Stay out of my bishopric or face the consequences,’ Hermann warned him.

  Hermann and his men watched the legate and his commanders recommence their march north, the clouds overhead beginning to thicken as they were blown in from the north. Hermann looked up at the sky.

  ‘I think it will be raining soon, Walter.’

  ‘I would have gladly surrendered myself, lord bishop.’

  Hermann relaxed as the legate’s army trundled past them.

  ‘Who is this man who seeks to undo all the good works of my late brother? A papal legate is not infallible, Walter, only the Pope has that quality. Come, let us return to Dorpat before the heavens open.’

  Chapter 13

  Conrad shivered as he knelt on the damp moss at the edge of the forest of pine. The green cloak wrapped around his body was damp with the mist hanging around the trees, also filling the meadow in front of him. Not that he could see much of it. It was cool every day now, the days alternating between wind and rain and still and misty. Today the latter conditions prevailed. Half of Estonia was covered in forests and the other half was a mixture of hundreds of lakes, dozens of rivers, streams and bogs. A man would never die of thirst in Estonia but his limbs might rot from the unending cold and damp that came with autumn. Leatherface coughed beside him.

  ‘Shush.’

  ‘How much longer are we going crouch here? My knees have seized.’

  The mercenary had his cloak over his crossbow to prevent the bowstring becoming damp in the mist.

  Conrad heard a faint jangling noise and smiled at him.

  ‘Just make sure your aim is true,’ he whispered.

  He gripped his sword and the strap on the inside of his shield. He wore a kettle helmet instead of a full-face helm, which inhibited hearing. The riders were moving slowly, visibility in the thick mist less than twenty paces, listening for anything awry. He heard voices, Italian he assumed because he could not understand any of the words being spoken. He heard the men’s chatter and even the grunting of their horses but could not see them. Leatherface moved his cloak aside as a horse and rider suddenly appeared out of the mist, a cloak draped around his body.

  Crack.

  The bolt struck the target but lodged in the horseman’s shield. Two more bolts shot through the air to strike riders as more horsemen emerged from the light grey gloom. Conrad launched himself forward as the surprised rider tugged violently on his reins to turn his mount towards the trees. It wore no caparison so Conrad forgot the man on its back and plunged his sword into the beast’s chest. He yanked the blade from its body before it collapsed as Hans, Jaan and Arri rushed from the trees to attack the other horsemen, Leatherface and two crossbowmen of ‘the bastards’ ceasing shooting as they did so. The rider was pinioned beneath the wounded horse, unable to free himself. As Conrad stood over him he held up his hands and began babbling, fear in his eyes. Conrad killed him by gripping his sword with both hands and plunging it through his mail armour into his heart.

  The short battle was over, the five riders were dead, two killed by crossbow bolts.

  ‘Well,’ said Leatherface, ‘that leaves two thousand, nine hundred and ninety-five enemy horsemen.’

  Ever since the legate’s army had crossed into Estonia it had been assaulted daily by small parties of the Army of the Wolf. These pinprick attacks raised the morale of the Estonians and took a steady toll of enemy dead, but the legate’s army continued to crawl north. The attacks were designed to slow its advance to allow the people to take refuge in hill forts, or, as a last resort, flee to forest sanctuaries. In its path was the great hill fort of Varbola, which was stocked with food and filled with the inhabitants of all the surrounding villages in preparation for a siege, though Conrad was sceptical that one would be mounted. Varbola was too large and too strong and would require several thousand soldiers to maintain a close investment.

  They left the dead, put the wounded horse out of its misery and walked back to where their own horses were tethered to trees. Soon the bulk of the legate’s army would be passing nearby and would discover the dead patrol. At first the raids against Baldwin’s men had yielded good results but as they continued the enemy pulled in their patrols so they remained close to the main bulk of the army. They did not need to forage because they had brought ample food with them.

  ‘These pinprick attacks are useless, Master Conrad,’ complained Leatherface as the party rode back to Varbola, ‘as well as torture for my poor old limbs.’

  ‘But they give us time,’ replied Conrad, ‘and the more we slow the legate’s army the greater our chances of success.’

  ‘Why, is an army of reinforcements landing at Reval any time soon?’

  ‘No, but the legate’s army is large and it will eat up its food supplies sooner rather than later.’

  ‘Not if it takes Reval it won’t.’