The Sword Brothers (57 page)

Next to the crusader
horsemen stood the one hundred men of the bishop’s garrison of
Riga, men fully equipped in helmets, mail hauberks, shields and
armed with spears, swords and daggers. In front of them stood the
twenty-five crossbowmen of the Rigan militia, the spearmen of the
latter providing a reserve behind the bishop’s guards. Moving south
towards the River Dvina, and deployed on the right flank of the
Rigan forces, was grouped the crusader foot: eight hundred men in
four groups and including a screen of crossbowmen. Many of the
latter were lying on the ground resting until the fighting
began.

The last group of foot
soldiers in the crusader battle line comprised the Liv warriors –
three hundred men – and the Sword Brother mercenaries on the end of
the line: ninety battle-hardened soldiers. The right flank of the
crusader army was made up of the horsemen from the castles at
Uexkull and Holm: twenty-four brother knights with forty-five
sergeants mounted behind them. The crusader line was thin in order
to match the frontage of the four thousand Liv warriors opposite.
The latter stood silently in their ranks, as did the crusaders, an
eerie stillness hanging over the two armies.

*****

‘Send forward a
delegation requesting a parley,’ said Vetseke to the commander of
his Russians, a man wearing a mail hauberk, leggings, aventail and
gilded helmet with a brass nasal guard.

‘A parley, highness? I
do not understand.’

‘Anything to waste
time,’ replied the prince. He looked into the cloudless sky. ‘This
heat is insufferable. Ask the bishop if he would be so kind as to
surrender.’

The Russian’s eyes
widened with surprise but he did as he was ordered, walking forward
with two of his men and holding aloft a sprig of fir to show he
came in peace.

Vetseke smiled as he
saw a party of horsemen leave the crusader ranks and trot into
no-man’s land. There was then a short meeting out of earshot, the
outcome of which he already knew. His commander returned with
confirmation.

‘The bishop refused
your offer, highness. One of the crusader lords became very angry
and…’

‘And?’ said
Vetseke.

‘He insulted you,
highness, his words are not fit for your ears.’

Vetseke laughed. ‘Give
the order to begin. Your men have fully briefed the Livs?’

‘Yes, highness.’

Vetseke drew his
sword. ‘Then let us shake up these haughty crusaders.’

*****

Count Walram drank
from his water bottle, replaced the cork and tossed it to his
squire mounted behind him.

‘Arrogant bastards.
Time to ride them down.’

The bishop blanched at
his intemperate words as the count signalled his trumpeters to
sound the advance, just at the moment when a great cheer came from
the Liv army opposite and the green- and brown-clad warriors began
walking forward.

‘It would appear that
they too are eager to get to grips with you, count,’ said the
bishop.

‘God be with you,
bishop,’ said Walram before putting on his helmet.

‘And with you, my
son,’ replied Albert.

‘With your permission,
lord bishop,’ said Volquin, as he nodded and wheeled his horse away
to take command of the foot soldiers, his small bodyguard of two
brother knights and five sergeants cantering after him.

The Livs were banging
their spear shafts against the insides of their large round
shields, the thumping sound echoing across the battlefield. The
Christian crossbowmen rose to their feet and loaded their weapons,
while behind them a spearman collapsed from exhaustion every thirty
seconds. Dozens had already been transported to the rear and not a
few had died of their exertions, leaving the crusader line even
thinner. The Livs were hurling insults as they closed to within
four hundred paces of the bishop’s army, the crossbowmen loosing
bolts as they got closer. Livs were hit and disappeared among the
crops as trumpet blasts on the Christian right wing signalled the
advance of Count Walram and his crusader horsemen.

A succession of horn
blasts from within the Liv ranks brought their advance to a halt
and then they began to fall back. Count Walram saw the pagans
beginning to retreat from behind the vision slits in his helmet and
grinned. Slaughtering heathens would make him feel much better. He
raised his lance and dug his spurs into his warhorse, which broke
into a gallop and the ground shook as the hooves of six hundred
horses pounded the earth. Following the lead of the horsemen, Grand
Master Volquin gave the order for the spearmen to advance. They did
so through the screen of crossbowmen in front of them, the latter
reloading their weapons and following behind the spearmen. And on
the right flank the small number of mounted Sword Brothers likewise
trotted forward to follow the Liv rebels who were falling back.

Count Walram felt
alive for the first time in weeks, the dreadful effects of the
bloody flux finally being exorcised by the exhilaration of battle.
He lowered his lance and then his horse reared up and groaned in
pain before crashing to the ground and throwing him from the
saddle. Other riders were likewise thrown as their mounts stumbled
and collapsed on the ground, breaking legs and thrashing around in
pain to crush their riders underneath their great bulks. Where
moments before there had been an irresistible torrent of men of
iron on horseback there was now bloody chaos. For among the crops
had been spread a deadly crop.

They had originally
been called ‘star thistles’ but most people knew them as caltrops.
They were simple enough – two double-pointed strips of iron cold
hammered together to resemble a ground thistle – but when they were
scattered on the ground the four spikes were twisted in such a way
that one always pointed upwards. And when stepped on by a man or
horse they inflicted grave, sometimes, fatal wounds. Polotsk’s
smiths had spent many weeks producing hundreds of caltrops that the
retreating Livs had scattered on the ground as they fell back.

The charge of the
crusader horsemen was halted as the front ranks stepped on the
deadly iron spikes, those behind careering into them and adding to
the chaos. Horses reared up on their hind legs and threw their
riders, some bolted away from the confusion, many with empty
saddles. And then there was a great blast of horns and the Livs
stopped retreating. Just as they had been instructed and just as
they had practised on their march, they rushed forward a few paces
and hurled their javelins at the now stationary crusader horsemen.
Dozens of javelins were hurled at the Christians, volley after
volley as nearly a thousand men threw their missiles over the
carpet of caltrops at the mass of disorganised horsemen. After
bringing the men of iron to an ignominious stop the Livs raised
their shields in the air and cheered loudly. Never a thing had
happened before and they revelled in their triumph.

On the other wing it
was a similar story, though as soon as the first riders had fallen
Gerhard and Friedhelm had recalled their men and sent an urgent
summons to the Sword Brother mercenary foot deployed on their left
flank to assist them. Seeing the Sword Brother horsemen retreat,
the thousand Liv warriors on Vetseke’s left wing halted their
withdrawal and then advanced to hurl their javelins. But the Sword
Brothers had also retreated and the Livs could not pursue them over
the strip of caltrops they had sown. They therefore stood and began
to whistle and jeer at the crusaders, until the crossbowmen from
Holm and Uexkull began shooting at them. They numbered only thirty
but they each shot four quarrels a minute and after five minutes
had killed or wounded nearly three hundred Livs. The latter began
to edge back and the right flank of the bishop’s army had been
saved. But in the centre a catastrophe was unfolding.

As soon as his wings
had halted the crusader horsemen Vetseke gave the order for the two
blocks of warriors that had been withdrawing before the Christian
foot – each numbering a thousand men – to halt and then launch a
counterattack. It took several minutes for the signallers to relay
the command among the warriors. They may have been farmers but they
were they were young, eager and strong and now they gripped their
axes and spears and followed their prince as he charged at the head
of his Russians.

Vetseke had no
horsemen, no archers and only a hundred professional soldiers, but
he had two thousand Liv warriors at his back as he ran at the
crusader foot. He had studied the tactics and weapons of the
crusaders closely and knew that to achieve any success he had to
defeat their horsemen. He had done that and now he led a charge
against their weakened centre. He knew it was weakened because the
mail-clad men who formed it had been ravaged by a terrible
pestilence that had killed many of their comrades. They had been
standing in the sun for hours now and instead of an easy victory
they were about to be engulfed by a pagan tide.

He ran ahead of that
tide, shield grasped tightly to his body, his sword held high, and
launched himself at a spearman with his spear levelled. The spear
point glanced off his shield as he emitted a feral scream and
plunged his sword into the man’s neck, his death groan drowned out
by a loud scraping sound as the two lines collided. The Russians
behind the prince began to cut their way through the Christian foot
easily enough, forming a compact wedge with Vetseke at its apex,
thrusting their spears forward like a giant steel-hedgehog. The
first rank of Livs mostly died when they smashed into the Christian
line, their spear and axe thrusts being defeated by seasoned
professionals who used their shields to ward off blows and then
plunged their own spears into unarmoured torsos. But they then
faced a deluge of attackers as more and more Livs hurled themselves
at the crusader line, hacking with their axes and jabbing with
their spears. The crusader line momentarily held, buckled and then
gave way under the sheer weight of the attack.

Hundreds of Livs died
in that mêlée and hundreds more were wounded, but they killed
dozens of crusader spearmen and pushed the survivors back. And from
the wings came dozens more Livs who were eager to share in the
victory that was unfolding in the centre.

*****

Grand Master Volquin
watched as the mass of green- and brown-clad warriors in front of
him charged the lines of advancing Christian spearmen and then
forced them back. The foot had been spread thinly enough but now
they risked being literally swamped by the pagan mass. On the right
the Sword Brothers appeared to have stabilised the situation, while
on the left flank Count Walram’s riders resembled a herd of spooked
horses. There were frantic trumpet calls as some knights tried to
establish a semblance of order, but the crusader horsemen fought as
individuals not as a disciplined body under a single commander, so
Volquin doubted that the horsemen would be able to intervene in the
battle quickly. The crossbowmen that had been deployed in front of
the spearmen had been rendered useless when the latter had advanced
through them to pursue the Livs. Volquin also noticed that a battle
within a battle was taking place on the right flank of his centre
where the three hundred loyal Livs were engaged in a particularly
vicious fight with Vetseke’s men. It was apparent that the centre
was about to break and there was nothing he could do to prevent
it.

Bishop Albert had also
seen the confusion within Count Walram’s horsemen and the
misfortune that had beset his foot soldiers. The commander of his
guards had urged him to leave the field and retreat back to Riga.
He waved the man away. Now he sat on his horse in front of his
standard bearer as his guards left the crusader foot to their fate
and closed around him, the men of Riga’s militia also forming up
around their bishop. Noble as this might have been it robbed Grand
Master Volquin of what few reserves he could call on to reverse the
disaster that was unfolding in the centre. He rode over to the
bishop, bringing his attendant brother knights, sergeants and foot
soldiers with him.

‘I would advise
withdrawing back to Riga, my lord bishop,’ urged Volquin.

Bishop Albert had
removed his helmet with its steel mitre, his face streaked with
sweat. ‘I will not abandon the Lord’s work, grand master.’

Volquin pointed at the
bishop’s guards and militia grouped round him. ‘I need these men,
lord bishop, if the day is to be saved.’

The bishop nodded.
‘Then let us lead them together.’

There was an almighty
cheer and Volquin looked behind him to see the Christian centre
give way as dozens of spearmen abandoned their weapons and
attempted to flee back to Riga, a mile distant. The crossbowmen
behind them managed to loose a volley or two before they were
caught up in the rout and also ran for their lives. The centre of
the bishop’s army had ceased to exist.

The bishop dug his
spurs into the sides of his horse and moved forward, scattering
those of his guards standing to his right. Without any regard for
his personal danger he charged towards the Livs who were now
chasing after the retreating spearmen and crossbowmen. If they
continued unchecked they would not only run down the fleeing
Christian foot soldiers but would also reach the crusader camp, and
perhaps gain entry into Riga itself.

Volquin galloped after
the bishop, followed by the brother knights and sergeants of the
Sword Brothers, together with around fifty knights who had left
Count Walram’s disorganised wing and rallied to the bishop. The
foot soldiers followed the horsemen who were soon among the Livs,
trying to stem the pagan flood.

*****

‘God with us!’ shouted
Master Berthold, replacing his helmet on his head and then spurring
his horse forward.

‘God with us!’
answered the men of Segewold, Kremon and Wenden, who joined the
castellan of the latter as they lowered their lances and galloped
towards the rear of the Liv army.