Castellan (37 page)

‘Another glorious campaign to water the soil with Russian blood,’ said Gleb bitterly. ‘How many of the men behind us will not be returning to their homes, to their families?’

Normally Domash would have silenced his impish
Skomorokh
, one of the ancient strolling performers who were followers of the old religion and who entertained, charmed and seduced the common folk with their songs and tales about the world before the coming of the Orthodox religion. The
Skomorokhs
, despite being condemned by the church as the ‘devil’s servants’, still had great influence, even among the boyars and merchants, and Gleb, whose name meant ‘heir of god,’ was among the most influential. It was no coincidence that Domash kept him by his side for it smoothed his rule over the Pskovians, though Gleb’s tongue could be cutting. Today Domash was glad that it was so.

‘How short is the memory of Prince Mstislav,’ continued Gleb. ‘It was not so long ago that half his army was cut to pieces by the Estonians on the frozen surface of Lake Peipus. And then hundreds more were lost trying to take Odenpah, which had been reinforced by the accursed Sword Brothers. One wonders why Novgorod tolerates such a demented leader.’

The commanders of the
Druzhina
, the élite horsemen of the boyars who were lavishly armed and armoured, looked at Domash but the mayor said nothing. There was a slight breeze that ruffled the great banner of Pskov showing a golden snow leopard on a blue background.

‘I am certain the prince knows what he is doing,’ said Yaroslav Nevsky, now restored to Mstislav’s favour. He had sent his wife and child ahead to Novgorod but elected to stay with Domash out of loyalty, the mayor having offered his family a house in Pskov when they had been exiled.

‘Does he?’ scoffed Gleb. ‘I would have thought that you of all people would have cause to welcome the removal of the oaf who sits in Novgorod’s kremlin. By the way, what happened to the oaf’s banner that got you exiled?’

Yaroslav blushed and the
Druzhina
commanders tut-tutted but Gleb did not care.

‘Thank you, Gleb,’ said Domash, ‘perhaps you would afford us the courtesy of riding in peace so we can enjoy the verdant countryside.’

‘Verdant countryside?’ mocked Gleb, ‘have you swallowed a book?’

‘I will say this and then we will proceed in silence,’ said Domash firmly. ‘When we get to the rendezvous point watch your mouth. Prince Mstislav has no love for the
Skomorokhs
and will have your head on the slightest pretext.’

‘I didn’t know you cared,’ smiled Gleb, his stringed instrument, a
gusli
, slung over his shoulder.

‘I don’t,’ replied Domash, ‘but the prince may have my head as well and I care very much about that.’

‘Do not worry,’ Gleb whispered to Yaroslav, ‘when the Nevsky family rules in Novgorod things will be much better.’

‘Silence!’ commanded Domash.

The army marched first along Lake Pskov and then Lake Peipus, the great inland waterways that delineated the border between Novgorod and Estonia. The freshwater, blue and warm, was bordered by great stretches of sandy beaches and dunes. Inland the terrain became hillier and covered with pine forests. Dotted along the eastern shore of the lake were fishing villages, mostly a collection of no more than a dozen ramshackle huts with flat-bottomed boats in front of them on the sand. But the people, though poor and threadbare, looked healthy enough for the lake had an abundance of perch, bream and roach to fill their bellies. When the army passed by their settlements young and old alike came to wave and smile at Gleb in his distinctive bright blue tunic.

Domash had been able to muster two hundred
Druzhina
from among Pskov’s boyars, along with five hundred of the city’s militia. The latter were all foot soldiers equipped with spears and axes and wearing
kuyak
armour – leather shirts with rectangular metal plates attached. The largest contingent and the most poorly armed and equipped was the
Voi
, the soldiers raised from the villages around the city. They numbered a thousand but none wore armour on their bodies, though the city armouries had at least furnished them with helmets to give them a semblance of military bearing. Most carried only a spear and an axe tucked into their belts. All of them held wooden shields that had no leather facings. On their feet they wore shoes fashioned from birch bark. The
Voi
marched alongside the dozens of wagons that carried the army’s supplies. A small mounted rearguard followed.

The
Voi
invariably suffered terribly on campaign, being viewed as expendable by army commanders. And yet the men who staffed it were happy enough to answer the call to arms. For one thing the city authorities of Pskov and Novgorod fed them on campaign, though the supply system was known to collapse from time to time. More importantly, the city authorities distributed food to the villages where the men had come from to compensate them for the loss of manpower while they were serving in the
Voi
. In this way the men knew that their families would not starve, which was a great incentive, especially during a winter campaign.

But it was now the height of summer and when the Pskov contingent reached the rendezvous point it was greeted by a great stench produced by a camp holding thousands of men and horses. Mstislav himself had mustered five thousand of the
Voi
, three thousand of Novgorod’s militia, all equipped and supplied by the city’s
veche
, in addition to eight hundred
Druzhina
, the sons and retainers of the
veche
’s wealthiest families. Mstislav also brought his mounted bodyguard – two hundred lance-armed horsemen in helmets and lamellar armour.

But it was the troops of Grand Prince George of Suzdal that made the greatest impression. The soldiers of Mstislav wore a mixture of green and brown hues for leggings and tunics, but the men of Suzdal sported a dazzlingly array of bright green, red and purple clothing.

The grand prince’s élite troops were his two thousand
Druzhina
, all mounted on magnificent horses whose bridles were decorated with silver discs. Each man wore a pointed iron helmet called a
shishak
that had an immoveable brass nasal guard. Officers were identified by metal half masks attached to their helmets –
zabralom
– which protected the eyes and nose. Each rider also wore a
barmitsa
: chainmail that was attached to the bottom edge of the helmet to hang down the shoulders and back. It was wrapped under the chin to closely protect the neck and throat.

Beneath their lamellar armour they wore a
kal’chuga
, a mail hauberk with short sleeves that ended just above the elbow. Like the horsemen of Novgorod and Pskov they carried almond-shaped shields some four feet in length. Carried point down, they protected a horsemen from the chin to the knees. They were light, being made of wood, covered with hide and bound with iron on the edges as a defence against blows. To reinforce them metal strips were fixed to the shield, crosswise, with a semi-circular metal cover plate fastened over the centre of the shield at the intersection. Every shield was coloured red.

Like all
Druzhina
their primary weapon was a lance, though many of those from Suzdal also carried javelins called
sulitsa
. These had light, thin shafts some five feet in length and were carried in a small quiver called a
dzhid
that was attached to the belt on the left side. Also attached to the belt was a short, double-bladed knife known as a
poyasnie
, and a sword in an iron scabbard bound with leather and decorated with silver inlay. It was hung on the belt by two rings at the mouth of the scabbard.

The grand prince had also brought with him eight thousand horse archers, missile troops equipped with recurve bows made from sinew, horn and wood similar to the weapons employed by the heathen Tartars. The horse archers were used to mount raids and conduct reconnaissance and had the army been carrying out a mobile campaign into enemy territory they would have been most effective. As it was, of the over twenty thousand men that gathered on the northern shore of Lake Peipus, only nine and half thousand were foot soldiers more suited to assaulting strongholds.

But Mstislav was in a buoyant mood, embracing Yaroslav warmly when he and Domash visited him in the prince’s huge pavilion pitched in a fenced-off area half a mile from the stench and dung of the main camp. He invited both of them to a sumptuous feast to be held that evening to cement the fraternal bonds between Novgorod and Suzdal.

The small city of tents, wagons, ponies and horses was swathed in a permanent cloud of smoke as hundreds of campfires were lit. Large swathes of a nearby forest were felled for firewood and to construct rudimentary shelters for those members of the
Voi
that had no tents. Quartermasters visited villages near the lake to purchase fish and boyars and their retainers went into the forests in search of game. And on the western perimeter of the camp sentries halted a small party of horsemen intent on seeing Prince Mstislav.

In camp black-robed monks engaged brightly attired
Skomorokhs
in fierce arguments, while in the prince’s pavilion great quantities of beer and
stavlenniy myod
were consumed as the leaders of Novgorod and Suzdal toasted their coming victory. Mstislav promised that every Dane captured at Reval would be given to Grand Prince George as a gift to take back to his city. George thanked the prince but stated that he would also empty northern Estonia of the fair-skinned, blue-eyed women and children that were highly prized as slaves in the Asiatic lands to the south. Mstislav readily agreed – a land devoid of pagans would make his rule in Reval much easier.

Mstislav stripped a chicken thigh with his teeth and tossed the bones onto the floor in front of the table. He started to gulp down a large cup of beer while his eyes watched a guard enter the pavilion and make his way around the walls towards the top table. He stopped drinking, belched and listened as the guard stooped and whispered into his ear. He gave a raucous laugh.

‘Show him in.’

The loud chatter began to ebb as two figures were escorted into the pavilion, the lords of Suzdal looking quizzically as the men, both tall and wearing mail armour, walked between the spear-armed guards. One was young with long fair hair, the other older, clean-shaven whose hair was as black as night.

‘Well, Vetseke,’ said Mstislav to the dark-haired individual, ‘I did not think to see you again.’

Vetseke bowed to the prince. ‘I bring aid, highness.’

Mstislav wiped his mouth on his sleeve and peered at the angry looking young man beside him.

‘Who’s this?’

‘This is Lord Kristjan, highness, son of the late Kalju,’ said Vetseke in Russian, ‘and appointed Lord of all Estonia.’

‘Appointed by whom?’ asked the prince.

‘By the gods, apparently, highness.’

Those within hearing distance laughed at Kristjan who gave them a murderous stare.

‘Why do they laugh?’ he said to Vetseke.

The Liv shrugged. ‘I do not know, Kristjan, these Russians have a curious sense of humour.’

Kristjan pointed at Mstislav. ‘He is the leader here?’

Vetseke looked at the large, bearded man next to Mstislav who was dressed in a rich red shirt and wore gold rings on his fingers.

‘He asks if you are commander here, highness,’ Vetseke said to Mstislav.

The prince smiled at Grand Prince George. ‘We are joint commanders of this great campaign. But so this pagan simpleton may understand, tell him to speak to me.’

George roared with laughter, as did his commanders, which did nothing to appease the rising temper of Kristjan.

‘Tell him I am beloved of Taara and bring three thousand men to assist him take Reval,’ he snapped to Vetseke.

The latter nodded. ‘Kristjan offers the three thousand men he leads to your service, highness.’

Mstislav was impressed. ‘Three thousand? How can a boy muster such a number?’

‘The mystics and priests who govern the minds of the Estonians believe he is chosen by the gods to be the liberator of their lands from foreigners,’ replied Vetseke.

‘Does he know that we go to take Reval and then northern Estonia, to make it Russian?’ asked Mstislav.

Vetseke shook his head. ‘No, highness, he believes that you have come to assist him free Estonia from the Danes.’

Mstislav pointed at two of his men sitting at a table at right angles to the top table.

‘Get up and let our two guests take the weight off their feet and enjoy our hospitality.’

He smiled at Kristjan. ‘He will prove a useful idiot.’

‘What did he say?’ demanded Kristjan.

‘He is honoured to have a man chosen by the gods to free his people as an ally,’ Vetseke told him.

*****

The strong jaw of Rolf, Count of Roskilde and Governor of Reval, looked like it had been set in stone as he gripped the timber ramparts of Toompea Castle and looked down on the army that ringed the town. He had been given prior warning of the approach of the Russians, who had conducted a leisurely march through Wierland, no doubt looting along the way. He was slightly surprised to see a sizeable Estonian contingent as part of the Russian army and did not know why this should be. He shrugged. In the great scheme of things it did not matter. The enemy had appeared mid-morning and began a slow and methodical encirclement of Reval: to the west the Estonians mustered into their tribal groups. He recognised the boar standard of Wierland, the golden eagle of Ungannia, the lynx of Harrien and the bear of Jerwen. They took up position on the western side of the town’s defences, between Toompea Hill and the coast – a relatively short section of the perimeter wall.