Teutonic Knights (15 page)
Authors: William Urban
Tags: #History, #Non-Fiction, #Medieval, #Germany, #Baltic States
Victory, if the outcome had been reversed, would have given new life to the tensions in Livonia and Estonia. Those Teutonic Knights who had been former Swordbrothers and wholeheartedly supported the attack might have incurred new obligations that the Teutonic Knights as a whole would have to meet. Although the survivors of the former Swordbrother Order would continue to complain that they had not been properly supported (‘The bishop . . . had brought along too few people, and the brothers’ army was also too small’), they had no choice other than to submit to Master Dietrich. Only one of their knights appears later in Livonian records, and he only after the lapse of many years. At least one of their surviving leaders was sent to the Holy Land. Were other former Swordbrothers among those Teutonic Knights there who left the order in 1245 to join the Templars? We do not know. Even Andreas von Felben left the country temporarily, being stationed in his native Netherlands in 1243. Defeat seems to have provided Master Dietrich with the opportunity for a thorough housecleaning, a task he performed with such efficiency that in 1246 he was elected Prussian master, then eight years later German master.
The 1240s and 1250s were, on the whole, decades of crusader successes in the Baltic. Most importantly, the bearers of the cross had persuaded Mindaugas of Lithuania that the Christian god was militarily superior to the pagan deities. In 1252 he was crowned king of Lithuania by a German bishop in the presence of the Livonian master. Although Mindaugas changed his habits not in the least and does not seem to have permitted missionaries to preach the Gospel through the countryside, the Westerners did not press him on these matters. One can conclude equally well that the Teutonic Knights were callous representatives of
Realpolitik
, more eager to take their share of lands and peoples than to insist on baptisms and changes in behaviour; or that they were understanding of the need to move slowly in this circumstance, not allowing theological fanatics to upset the traditional rhythm of native life. In 1257 the crusaders from Livonia and Prussia even forced the Samogitians to grant a two-year truce, during which missionaries and merchants would be allowed into the country to ply their trades.
The Teutonic Order had achieved these successes in spite of the newest archbishop of Riga, Albert Suerbeer, who never missed an opportunity to harass his enemies. Suerbeer’s ambitions were no secret – he believed that the Church should direct the crusades, and that he was the proper local representative of the Church.
This era of peaceful conversion came to an end in 1259, when the Samogitian priests persuaded their people to pick up the sword again. Twice, in quick succession, pagan forces destroyed crusader armies from Prussia and Livonia. Revolts then broke out in Livonia and Prussia, and Samogitian armies invaded those lands to assist the rebels. The Samogitians then warned Mindaugas to join them or else. Mindaugas, always practical and shrewd, declared himself a believer in the pagan war gods, and led his forces into Livonia. Rus’ian forces then invaded Estonia as part of Mindaugas’ grand strategy. Unfortunately for him, communication difficulties made it impossible to co-ordinate the movements of two widely separated armies, and each withdrew quickly after failing to locate the other. The Teutonic Knights and the bishops thus survived the most dangerous threat in their short history.
Had Mindaugas lived, the crusaders still might have been hard pressed to maintain their position. However, he was murdered in 1263 in a personal dispute. When his son emerged from his monastery to claim the throne, Lithuania was plunged into civil war. One of the conspirators, Prince Daumantas (Dovmont), fled to Pskov, where he made himself duke and twice in 1266 – 7 attacked Polotsk, the Rus’ian city that sat across the trade routes from Novgorod to Lithuania and from Riga into the Rus’ian interior. Each time this prince came so close to success that the crusaders began to fear for Christianity’s survival in Lithuania (and soon afterward it did die out). In addition, Daumantas was raiding Estonia. To protect this endangered region, the Livonian Order had constructed a great castle at Weissenstein in Estonia, to anchor the defence of the province of Jerwen, and sent out calls for the crusaders who would be needed to strike a blow at Pskov that would perhaps eliminate the threat altogether. Consequently Master Otto was ready for the invasion which occurred in 1267, and although the enemy commanders quarrelled so heatedly that their forces wandered around almost aimlessly before attempting a brief and pointless siege of Wesenburg (Rakvere, the Danish stronghold built in 1252 to control strategic road junctions), it was clear that the Rus’ians would be back. What the Livonian master did not anticipate was that Albert Suerbeer, the archbishop of Riga, would plot to seize power while the Livonian master was preoccupied with the defence of the frontiers.
Among the crusaders who sailed to Livonia in 1267 was Count Gunzelin of Schwerin, a resourceful and dangerous man, though not a powerful lord. He had been active, but unsuccessful, in the numerous feuds in his region. For two decades he had quarrelled with his neighbours, and each time emerged weaker than before. However, his defeats were less likely due to lack of courage or ability than to a lack of financial and military resources. He had fought in the Danish wars in the 1250s, joined in a feud concerning the Mecklenburg inheritance, and served as a Welf partisan in the feuds of the early 1260s – all the while gaining but little for his efforts. Married to a member of the house of Mecklenburg, he stood to profit from the chaotic situation that followed the death of Duke Johann of Parchim, but he was eventually defeated by his opponent, young Duke Heinrich. It was at this time that he took the cross for Livonia, perhaps due to the lure of adventure and religion, perhaps in keeping with family tradition; or perhaps it was demanded by Heinrich, whose family traditions included crusading (one brother was Poppo, the former Prussian master) and who did not want to leave on crusade himself as long as his potential enemies remained home.
Or perhaps he even planned to resettle in the East. After all, Schwerin was not an old state – a little more than a century before, it had lain on the other side of the long-disputed frontier between Christendom and paganism – and, just as a mixed population of Germans and Slavs now lived there peacefully, Gunzelin’s family was now thoroughly intermingled with the Slavic dynasties which had once dominated the region. Consequently he was not likely to fear living among strange peoples or encountering new challenges. For many years Count Gunzelin had been gathering estates in Livonia by exchanging properties with the monastic orders – a medieval form of crop insurance – and he was undoubtedly well informed on conditions in the East. Moreover, at the moment his lands were occupied by the duke of Brandenburg and he had several children for whom he had to provide an inheritance. In short, he saw little future in Schwerin.
The crusaders must have landed in Livonia in the summer or autumn of 1267 in the expectation of waging a winter campaign near Novgorod. Master Otto, although occupied with Lithuanian attacks along the Daugava, had ordered thirty-four knights from Weissenstein, Leal, and Fellin to reinforce the bishop’s troops in Dorpat. Large numbers of native militia were available, too, and the Danish vassals were willing to fight here rather than attempt to defend their own lands later without help. Among the numerous crusaders was Count Heinrich of Mecklenburg with his German and Slavic troops. But Gunzelin apparently spent little time in Estonia.
Gunzelin’s ship would have brought him directly to Riga, where he met Albert Suerbeer, whom, it can be presumed, he had met previously during the archbishop’s long stay in northern Germany. But only now did the two men discover that they could be of service to one another. Albert resented the autonomy of the Teutonic Knights and the fact that they had confiscated his lands and stirred up trouble even among his canons. Gunzelin was poor, but ambitious and warlike; doubtless, he was well aware that his grandfather had dared to kidnap King Waldemar II, and bring the Danish empire crashing down. It is not clear who made the proposal to attack the Teutonic Knights and divide their territories, but, on 21 December 1267, Gunzelin and Albert signed a pact to work to this end. The archbishop appointed the count advocate of all his lands, with the duty of reorganising his holdings and protecting them against all enemies, and he gave him all authority, all incomes, and all responsibilities associated with his holdings. It was understood that the count would be rewarded with generous grants of land in the captured territories if he succeeded in taking any from the Teutonic Knights or pagan tribes, but if he failed, the archbishop would not even pay his ransom, implicitly denying all responsibility for his actions. It was a risky venture for the count, but counts of Schwerin were not intimidated by heavy odds.
Gunzelin hoped to become a great landowner in Semgallia, Selonia, and northern Nalsen in the Lithuanian borderlands. He may have thought these lands south of the Daugava would be an easy prize, since they were not heavily populated to begin with and currently had no experienced lord with a large retinue to defend them. As Gunzelin prepared the archiepiscopal territories for war, he presumably visited the vassals, inspected the castles, and estimated how many native troops he could summon to join his attack. Then, after ascertaining how many mercenaries he would need to accomplish his mission, he set out for Gotland to recruit them. Meanwhile, Archbishop Suerbeer made contact with all the order’s potential enemies. If he could find sufficient support abroad, his conspiracy might stand a good chance of overthrowing the Teutonic Knights in Livonia.
While all these plans were being set in motion, a large Rus’ian army, this time commanded by Duke Dmitri of Perejaslavl, the son of Alexander Nevsky, had invaded Estonia. The Rus’ians had not been sure what they would do at first – invade Lithuania through Polotsk, or cross the Narva into Wierland and then march on Reval, or go through the swamps toward Dorpat. The Western army, also very large (estimated by the chronicler at 30,000 men), gathered at Dorpat. The two forces collided in a pitched battle on 23 January 1268, near Maholm, then again on 28 February further east, on the banks of the Kegola River.
The Livonian Rhymed Chronicle
summarised:
When the people who were supposed to be with the brothers had arrived, orders were given to place the natives on the left flank. That was to be held by them in the battle. A larger army of royal vassals of German birth was brought there, and they held the right flank. Then they charged honourably. The brothers and their men struck together. Bishop Alexander was killed. Two formations of Russians advanced upon him, but they were forced into a rout. Up and down the field the Russian army had to retreat . . . The brothers revenged the injuries they had suffered from the Russians over a long period. The field was wide and deep, and the Russian defeat a great one . . . Each German had to fight sixty Russians . . . Prince Dmitri was a hero, and with five thousand chosen Russians he entered into battle. The other army had fled. Now hear what happened. The brothers’ flagbearers were opposed to him on a very bad stream. He saw the brothers’ army there, and the brothers had many men there, as I now tell you. There were one hundred and sixty there and that had to suffice. There were also foot soldiers, who, standing before the bridge, conducted themselves like heroes. They had done very well, and there were about eighty of them. They did their duty by the brothers and thrust back the Russians so that they were dismayed . . . Many Russian wives mourned over their husbands’ bodies when the battle was over. The Russians still hold that against the brothers, it is true. The feeling has lasted many years.
The account of the battle in the
Chronicle of Novgorod
is more coherent:
When they reached the Kegola river they found a force of [Germans] in position, and it was like a forest to look at; for the whole land of the [Germans] had come together. But the men of Novgorod without any delay crossed the river to them, and began to range their forces; and the men of [Pskov] took stand on the right hand, and Dmitri, and Svjatoslav took stand also on the right higher up; and on the left stood Mikhail, and the men of Novgorod stood facing the iron troops opposite to the great wedge; and so they went against each other. And as they came together there was a terrible battle such as neither fathers nor grandfathers had seen . . . Now that the great encounter [had] taken place, and the laying down of the heads of good men for Saint Sophia, the merciful Lord speedily sent his mercy, not wishing utter death to the sinner; punishing us and again pardoning. He, turning away his wrath from us, and regarding us with his merciful eye; by the power of the Honourable Cross and through the prayers of the Holy Mother of God our Sovereign Lady, the Immaculate Mary, and those of all the Saints, God helped [Prince] Dmitri and the men of Novgorod . . . They pursued them fighting, as far as the town, for seven verses along the three roads, so that not even a horse could make its way for the corpses. And so they turned back from the town, and perceived another large force in the shape of a great wedge which had struck into the Novgorod transport; and the men of Novgorod wished to strike them, but others said, ‘It is already too near night; how if we fall into confusion and get beaten ourselves.’ And so they stood together opposite each other awaiting daylight. And they, accursed transgressors of the Cross, fled, not waiting for the light.
It had been a confused combat between two huge armies. Apparently each had been victorious on different parts of the battlefield, and afterward the Germans withdrew to defend another river crossing. Each side was exhausted, and the Rus’ians soon withdrew to their own country.
The ultimate victors were the Mongols, who understood well how to divide their enemies and thereby increase their own power. In 1275 they collected a second hearth tax from all the Russian lands – this time without resistance. It was this Mongol Empire, stretching from Russia to Baghdad, to Peking and Hanoi, that Marco Polo described in his long visit which began in 1268.
Conflict between Roman Catholics and Orthodox hardly mattered for many years to come. Both sides understood that all the advantages stood with the defensive forces. Not only were there strong fortresses with garrisons committed to defending them to the last, but logistical difficulties made prolonged sieges impossible. The Germans who served in the Teutonic Order and who made up the clergy, secular knights, and burghers, were committed to fighting for their possessions. But equally opposed to the Rus’ian and Lithuanian invasions were the native peoples who had been the principal victims of raids in the past. Their motto seems to have been ‘better the devil you know’.
