Castellan (55 page)

They embraced and walked to the nearest raft, Leatherface shaking his head.

‘Hurry up, you will miss all the fun.’

Each raft was loaded with ten men, six of whom were designated rowers. The plan was for the rafts to cross in two waves because otherwise the frontage would be too wide for all of them to land within the docks area. In the first wave each raft carried a crossbowman to provide missile support once the docks were reached and the men stormed ashore.

There was a slight breeze and current but neither were strong enough to alter the course of the seventy-five rafts that edged towards Dorpat, the grunts of the rowers as they dipped their oars in the blue water mingling with the muted sounds of battle coming from across the river.

Leatherface licked his lips. ‘This should be easy enough.’

Conrad peered ahead and thought he saw movement. Not people but one of the boats moored to one of the jetties. Then he saw individuals on the jetties, dozens of them. And then he heard the shout.

‘Enemy boats, enemy boats.’

Conrad did not know who called the warning but soon men were pointing towards the docks where three, four, a dozen and more riverboats were suddenly being rowed towards the rafts. Wide in the middle and with their single sails furled, they formed into a line and headed straight for the centre of the first-wave rafts. The latter were around mid-point in the river and had stopped dead, the second wave drifting into them as they did so.

‘Keep rowing, keep rowing,’ screamed Conrad left and right, gesticulating with his arms that the rafts should move.

Oars dipped in the water as arrows were shot from the riverboats, their pointed prows cutting through the water as men pulled on their oars. The dozen boats were closing fast on the rafts and arrows began arching into the sky as archers on board shot at the rafts. Leatherface placed his foot in the metal stirrup on the fore-end of his weapon and pushed it down to draw the bowstring, hooked on a metal claw attached to the front of his belt, along the crossbow’s stock until it slipped over the catch of the lock. He pulled a bolt from his quiver as an arrow hit the arm of a rower beside him. The man cried out in pain and dropped his oar in the water, collapsing on the logs.

‘Don’t miss,’ Conrad called to Leatherface, putting on his helmet and pulling the shield off his back. Hans and Anton did the same as those warriors on the raft that weren’t rowing, all of them wolf shields, held up their shields as a defence against the arrows.

The mercenary placed the stock of his weapon to his shoulder as one riverboat closed in on the raft, standing at the prow a young, powerfully built warrior with shoulder-length fair hair and wearing a mail corselet. Through the vision slits of his helmet Conrad could see that he also wore a silver torc around his neck. He held a sword in his hand and on his left side a large round shield bearing a golden eagle insignia. He recognised the warrior – Kristjan. The rowers suddenly plunged their oars in the water and held them in place to slow the riverboat, which came to a juddering halt and then bumped into the raft. As it did so Kristjan leapt on the logs and came at Conrad as Leatherface released his trigger and killed a warrior immediately behind him.

Chaos enveloped the line of rafts as the Ungannians smashed into them and boarded the log vessels. Designed to carry ten men they were suddenly platforms for desperate mêlées. The result was a series of splashes as men were wounded and fell overboard or lost their footing and slipped off the rafts.

Kristjan attacked Conrad with a series of side strikes with his sword, the other warriors that had been on the riverboat crowding behind him. He blocked the blows with his shield, the blade cutting the leather covering and chipping the wood underneath. Conrad brought his sword up to shoulder height and thrust it at Kristjan’s face; a tempting target as he wore no helmet. But the young Ungannian had very quick reflexes and ducked the point, ramming up his shield to force Conrad’s sword up while he jabbed his own blade forward to skewer the Sword Brother. But Conrad could also move fast and he feinted right, Kristjan’s sword slicing through his surcoat.

In the tight confines of the fighting area it was impossible to keep out of the way of weapons being wielded and an axe struck the side of Conrad’s helmet, temporarily disorientating him. Kristjan laughed in triumph and whipped his blade forward to deliver a diagonal cut that sliced through the chainmail on Conrad’s upper arm. He felt a sharp spasm of pain shoot through his arm and shoulder but instinctively leapt forward to smash his shield into Kristjan’s chest. Another spasm of pain went through his left side but Kristjan staggered back, tripping over a dead man on the raft. Conrad aimed a vertical cut to his adversary’s head, the blade missing the top of his skull but the point slicing deep into Kristjan’s cheek as it came down.

The Ungannian cried out in pain and frustration as Conrad again smashed his shield into him, forcing him back towards the riverboat. His ears still ringing, Conrad again raised his sword to thrust it into Kristjan’s face, which was now bleeding heavily. The Sword Brother sensed victory but the pair were suddenly forced apart when two grappling warriors barged into them, knocking Conrad backwards. He saw Kristjan scramble into the boat and then disappear as he collapsed on its deck. The two tussling warriors fell into the water, leaving the path clear for Conrad to board the boat. But he heard a muffled voice shouting ‘Hans, Hans’ and turned to see Anton face down on the raft trying to haul Hans out of the water.

He rammed his sword back in its scabbard and knelt down to grab Hans’ other arm. In full mail armour and helmet his friend was in danger of drowning despite the efforts of Anton. Conrad’s left side was on fire as he pulled with all his strength. Slowly, with supreme effort, he and Anton managed to haul Hans from the water and on to the raft. Conrad pulled off his helmet, gasping for air and rolled on to his back, exhausted. To see a leering, bearded monster with a two-handed axe standing over him. He was helpless, transfixed, as the wild-eyed warrior lifted his weapon above his head to cleave Conrad in two.

The brute grunted ‘huh’ as a crossbow bolt slammed into his right armpit, wavered on his feet, the axe still hoisted above his head, but did not fall. Conrad desperately tried to scramble to his feet but he lost his footing on the wet logs and fell to his knees. He heard a low groan and saw another crossbow bolt hit the warrior, this time in his chest. This time he dropped the axe, fell to his knees and then had his face reduced to a red pulp as Anton bludgeoned him with his mace. He kicked the now dead warrior away and grabbed Conrad’s arm to haul him to his feet.

There were three wolf shields left alive on the raft, plus Leatherface and the three Sword Brothers. The rest either lay dead on the logs, were floating in the river or had disappeared under the water. The Ungannians who had boarded the raft had suffered the same fate, though the boat they had rowed from Dorpat was nowhere to be seen. And neither was Kristjan.

Conrad raised a hand to the mercenary. ‘My thanks.’

Hans staggered to his feet and grinned at his friends. ‘I thought I was fish meal.’

There was still some fighting going on where riverboats had collided with rafts but the majority of the latter were still rowing towards Dorpat. Indeed, it appeared that some had already reached the docks. Conrad picked up an oar.

‘Come on, let’s try to reach the other side.’

The others likewise grabbed oars and began paddling, though their progress was slow.

‘That was Kristjan, wasn’t it?’ said Hans.

Conrad nodded.

‘Well, at least he’s dead and one less thing to worry about,’ shouted Anton.

Conrad looked around at the bodies floating in the water and the riverboats, now empty or filled with dead men, drifting away on the current. He certainly hoped he was.

When they reached the docks they found Sir Richard and Bishop Hermann organising their men. The tar-making shops, workshops, barge and rope-making yards and blacksmiths’ forges were all deserted. Hillar, Tonis, Riki and Andres had mustered the Army of the Wolf around two large warehouses that were both empty. Conrad’s left arm was throbbing with pain as he sought out the bishop and Sir Richard. Tonis gave him a shield with a wolf’s face as he had lost his own and also a new helmet with a nasal guard as his helm had been badly dented. Bernhard and Sir Richard were both unhurt.

‘That was a surprise,’ remarked the bishop regarding the assault of the riverboats, ‘but futile and now there appears to be no enemy to stop us marching into the town.’

‘We will leave some men here to guard our line of retreat should we need one,’ said Conrad. He looked at Bernhard and was going to suggest that the bishop should remain with those men, but changed his mind as a frosty gaze dared him to speak so.

‘Very well,’ said Sir Richard, ‘let us be away.’

Two hundred men were left to guard the docks, drawn from the four Estonian contingents in Conrad’s army. The rest formed up in four compact formations led by Riki, Tonis, Hillar and Andres respectively, shuffling forward between seemingly empty huts and buildings, the ‘bishop’s bastards’ on their left and Sir Richard’s men on their right. Ahead the sound of battle became louder as they inched forward into the town of Dorpat.

*****

Indrek was dead. From the ramparts of Toome Hill he had seen the crusaders attacking the northern and southern walls, their soldiers scrambling up the high earth bank clutching scaling ladders that they placed against the timber walls. Rocks and javelins were hurled down on the climbers, and at the foot of the wall on the town side the two hundred Ungannian archers loosed volley after volley at the attackers. But the Sword Brother crossbowmen and those from Flanders picked off the warriors on the walls to allow the crusaders to get a foothold on the ramparts. Such were their numbers that soon the Sword Brothers and crusaders were in possession of the entire northern wall.

No attackers scaled Toome Hill and Indrek realised with horror that the crusaders had no intention of attacking the hill fort. So he gathered together the majority of the garrison and led them down the hill to strike the crusaders and Sword Brothers flooding over the northern wall. His attack was unexpected and well delivered and after only a few minutes his warriors had cut the Hamburg and Bremen militias to pieces. And for a moment it appeared that the enemy might be defeated, that Dorpat might be saved and the Bishop of Riga’s army defeated. But more and more crusaders came over the walls – soldiers from Prüm and Lübeck – to reinforce the hard-pressed knights and squires of Duke Fredhelm and the brother knights and sergeants of the Sword Brothers. And from the walls the order’s crossbowmen joined with their mercenary counterparts from Flanders to shoot a deadly rain of iron-tipped death upon the Estonians. The fighting around the walls was furious but gradually the crossbowmen whittled down the Ungannians with deadly efficiency, and in this combat Indrek was shot through the left eye and killed instantly. News of his death spread and Estonian morale began to crumble.

At the southern wall Vetseke’s Russian archers reaped a rich harvest of Liv dead shooting from the walls. Fricis’ men had few archers and no crossbowmen but they did have a siege tower covered in thick hides that they pushed towards the walls. A thousand Liv warriors assaulted the southern wall and two hundred of them were killed or wounded by arrows before they reached the defences. But once they did they flooded over the wall. The siege tower was pushed forward until it was flush to the wall, the earth rampart having been dug away by miners during the preceding days. The siege tower’s drawbridge was lowered and Rameke led the assault against the defences. After a brief but fierce mêlée on the walls Ungannian resistance crumbled and Rameke led the advance into the town.

‘Indrek has fallen, lord.’

Vetseke stared past the Liv warrior who had delivered the message to see the distinctive white surcoats of the Sword Brothers moving up Toome Hill towards the fort. He turned to look at the miserable remains of his command: a score of Livs, perhaps thirty Russian soldiers armed with shields and swords and fifty or so Pskovian archers, the survivors of the three hundred that had started the battle.

‘We head for the river,’ he told them, ‘that is our only escape route out of this town. Move.’

The archers covered the retreat to the river, shooting at any of Fricis’ men who appeared behind them. Inside huts women and children trembled and cried as the sounds of battle reached their homes. Soon crusaders and Livs were pulling women from the huts and ripping their clothes off prior to raping them. Any who interfered were butchered. This suited Vetseke and his men who were able to slip away to the river unnoticed. To run straight into the Army of the Wolf and its allies.

*****

Conrad was alerted to the fact that resistance had been encountered by the terrible screams, bellowing and snorts of cattle held in pens by the side of the market square. He also heard the cries of men and knew that a battle was developing on the left.

‘To the bishop’s men,’ he called, breaking into a quick run, the Estonians behind him doing the same.

He saw the animal pens, cattle inside them and the ‘bishop’s bastards’ advancing to attack a small group of archers and foot soldiers who were running into the market square. The archers were shooting at the bishop’s men with alacrity, their missiles well aimed and finding their targets.

The archers, seeing a mass of warriors bearing down on them, directed their aim away from the bishop’s men and managed to unleash a volley. But then the Estonians engulfed them. Conrad, his left shoulder afire from pain, was in the forefront of the attack, sword in his right hand and axe in his left, though it would be difficult to wield the latter if pressed. His men screamed their feral war cries and raced at the archers and few soldiers defending them. There was a brief clatter of weapons and Conrad saw a man wearing a green cloak surrounded and fighting for his life, a red scabbard at his hip. He remembered a cheerful little girl called Hele sitting on his horse and seeing her dead body after a battle at a river and the pain in his shoulder disappeared.