Castellan (39 page)

Hans stopped brushing and looked at them.

‘That was us twelve years ago, do you remember?’

‘I remember the ground was covered with snow then,’ said Anton.

‘And Bruno and Johann were with us,’ added Conrad.

Hans was in a reflective mood. ‘Twelve years. Where does the time go?’

‘Fighting enemies,’ replied Anton.

‘Brother Conrad.’

He turned to see young Manfred holding the handles of a wheelbarrow piled high with horse dung.

‘Enjoying your first siege, Manfred?’

The novice put down the wheelbarrow, his eyes afire with enthusiasm.

‘Yes, Brother Conrad. The siege tower is almost ready. Some say that the novices will be allowed to take part in the assault.’

Conrad knew that they would not.

‘Your time will come, Manfred, have no fear.’

The boy’s face suddenly became a mask of disappointment.

‘What if I am still a novice when the war has ended, though?’

Hans laughed. ‘You don’t need to worry about that, Manfred. The Sword Brothers have a long list of enemies.’

Manfred’s eyes sparkled with relish. ‘Excellent. One day I hope to fight beside the three of you if I am worthy.’

Anton laughed. ‘We also had to shovel dung, Manfred, so don’t trouble yourself about being worthy.’

‘You had better attend to your duties, Manfred,’ Conrad told him, ‘else you will incur Brother Lukas’ wrath.’

‘Yes, brother,’ said Manfred, who gripped the wheelbarrow and pushed it away.

‘I’m glad he won’t be taking part in the attack on the fort,’ said Conrad. ‘It will be a messy business.’

Fellin was an ancient and solid stronghold built on a great earth mound. Massive tree trunks sunk in the ground provided vertical support for the framework of interlocking horizontal timbers that comprised the walls and towers. The latter, positioned at each corner of the fort and along the walls, had shingle roofs for protection against missiles and the weather. And from those towers flew banners sporting the golden eagle of Ungannia.

Master Thaddeus and his engineers had finished the siege tower on the eve of the feast of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary in mid-August. The heat had steadily risen and from inside the fort came a stench that overpowered the strong aroma produced by the crusader army. And as the heat of the days increased the wind dropped so the two stinks competed with each other over the fort and siege works.

The day of the attack dawned dry and bright, men sating their thirsts in preparation for the long day ahead. Prime Mass was held in the chapel tent as the eastern skyline changed from orange to yellow, the sergeants kneeling outside the tent as priests went among them. Afterwards Conrad and his friends took breakfast in the eating tent as the Army of the Wolf was not present, Hans taking the opportunity to eat as much bread, porridge, cheese and fruit as possible.

‘Fighting is hungry work,’ he told his friends.

‘You don’t want to go to heaven on an empty stomach,’ Anton told him.

‘Funny you should say that,’ said Conrad. ‘This is Assumption Day when the Virgin Mary was accepted into heaven by God after her death. I wonder how many others will be dying today.’

Anton shoved a piece of cheese into his mouth and stood. ‘Not us.’

Around them the brother knights were hastily finishing their meals to allow the sergeants to be fed in the second sitting. Conrad and Anton grabbed Hans by the arms and hauled him to his feet.

‘Come on,’ said Conrad, ‘leave some food for others.’

They assembled behind the siege tower that was around two hundred paces from the log-filled ditch and cut-away section of the mound beyond. The crusaders had done their job well thanks to the cats that Thaddeus had built for them. The brother knights and sergeants gathered in their respective garrisons, the mood being relaxed as men chatted to each other. Around them commanders barked orders at the crusader foot soldiers to get organised into their companies, scaling ladders resting on the ground beside them. Their assault would be made against three sides of the fort, a covering force being positioned opposite the gates in the eastern wall, which was heavily defended by additional towers either side of the gates.

Crusaders, attired in a wide variety of colours ranging from yellow and red to black and green, marched to their starting positions, priests and monks carrying wooden crosses shouting encouragement and damning the occupants of the fort. Sir Richard came from his pavilion in the company of his knights, squires and lesser knights, all wearing surcoats emblazoned with his newly acquired boar’s head symbol. Like the soldiers of the order they carried weapons ideally suited to close-quarter bludgeoning work: axes and maces.

‘Well, Conrad,’ said Sir Richard, ‘today I get my fort back.’

He nodded to Hans and Anton. ‘God be with you both today.’

‘And you, your grace,’ they replied.

‘As I have the honour of leading the assault,’ Sir Richard said to them, ‘I would like you three beside me. Men should fight beside those they like and trust.’

He turned to his men. ‘What do you say, boys, shall we have Conrad, Hans and Anton with us this day?’

They gave a hearty cheer and raised their weapons in the air.

‘That’s settled, then,’ barked Sir Richard.

He walked off to inform Rudolf, who smiled and offered his hand to the English knight and Livonian lord. Sir Richard, his followers and the three brother knights walked forward to stand immediately behind the siege tower looming above them. Beside it, looking very pleased with himself, stood Master Thaddeus.

Sir Richard stared up at the wooden structure, its sides and front covered with hides that had been immersed in water until they had been nailed to the boards the night before.

‘I hope it is not going to topple over.’

Thaddeus was not amused. ‘Topple over?’ This tower has been constructed according to mathematical principles, your grace. The chances of it toppling over, as you quaintly put it, are remote to non-existent.’

Sir Richard was about to reply when Father Otto’s thunderous voice rang out.

‘Kneel, soldiers of the Sword Brothers, so Bishop Bernhard may bless this holy enterprise.’

As one the brother knights, sergeants and followers of Sir Richard knelt and bowed their heads. Bishop Bernhard, ex-soldier and now a prince of the Holy Church and eighty-three years old, raised his arms. His voice was firm and deep.

‘Lord, give us the strength on this auspicious day, the Assumption of the Virgin Mary, to smite the heathens and avenge those Thy servants who were basely murdered by those inside the fort. Make our armour invincible and our weapons instruments of Your wrath. Grant us Victory, Lord, so we can honour the Blessed Virgin Mary on this holy day. Amen.’

The kneeling soldiers said ‘amen’ and then rose to their feet. Volquin drew his sword and raised it aloft.

‘God with us!’

The Sword Brothers shouted the war cry of the order and then the grand master signalled the trumpeters to sound their instruments. The oxen hitched to the ropes that would move the tower forward bellowed in annoyance as the high-pitched sound reverberated through the camp. Then the drummers began banging their instruments as the crusaders lifted their scaling ladders and walked forward. In response to the commotion the walls were now rapidly filling with warriors.

Conrad held out his right arm, palm down, and nodded to Hans and Anton. His friends placed their hands on top of his.

‘Give us strength, Lord, to scatter our enemies like dust to the wind.’

Anton and Hans answered ‘as dust to the wind’ and the three friends grinned at each other and gripped their weapons.

‘Make way, make way.’

They turned to see Leatherface and five of his men walking towards them, each man carrying three quivers of crossbow bolts.

‘I was getting concerned,’ said Thaddeus.

Sir Richard looked at Conrad, both of them confused.

Leatherface grinned. ‘Now because Master Thaddeus is like a father to you all he has kindly built a platform above the fighting level.’

He pointed up at the top of the tower. ‘Up there, right on top, see.’

‘Its correct name is a crenelated roof,’ said Thaddeus.

‘That’s right,’ smiled Leatherface, pushing his way past Conrad and Sir Richard, ‘so we can shoot at the heathens. So when the drawbridge drops you can just walk into the fort and capture it without using your weapons.’

‘If that happens then I will make you a lord of Saccalia,’ said Sir Richard.

Leatherface winked and grinned. ‘I will hold you to that, my lord.’

Ropes were attached to the front of the tower that ran forward to pulleys fastened to thick stumps sunk in the earth dug away so the tower could get close to the walls. The ropes went through the pulleys and away from the walls, being hitched to the four oxen that would be used to move the tower. Once the oxen began pulling they would be moving away from the walls and out of range of any arrows. These began to be shot from the fort as the foot soldiers with scaling ladders moved into position. Crossbowmen using the cover of mantlets also began shooting and soon the air was filled with deadly missiles criss-crossing each other.

The brother knights and sergeants huddled behind the siege tower as archers began targeting the huge structure. Conrad, helm on his head and shield slung on his back, began climbing the ladders inside that led up to the fighting platform. There were two sets of ladders between each level to facilitate the rapid movement of men within the tower. As he climbed Conrad heard the dull taps on the hides nailed to the outside of the tower – enemy arrows. He reached the cramped fighting platform that had a drawbridge in the front that would be lowered when the tower reached the walls. There were two vision slits cut in the drawbridge to allow those behind to pick the right moment to drop it by the simple expedient of cutting the two ropes that held it in place. Leatherface grumbled and cursed as he led the way up the single ladder that gave access to the crenelated roof section.

Sir Richard pulled off his helmet as the tower shuddered slightly and began to inch forward.

‘Just make sure you shoot accurately,’ he called to the crossbowmen above.

‘Don’t you alarm yourself,’ Leatherface called back, ‘we are the finest shots in all Livonia.’

Conrad took off his helmet as Rudolf and Walter came on to the platform behind Hans and Anton. The rest of the men from Wenden and Sir Richard’s soldiers waited on the ladders and the levels below. Those men who could not fit inside the tower walked directly behind it, being careful to stay out of the vision of enemy archers. The taps on the tower became more frequent as it moved forward, like the patter of raindrops. Deadly raindrops.

Conrad peered through a slit. Around a hundred and fifty paces to go to reach the fort. He saw a line of helmets on the wall and more in the towers that flanked it. The sun reflected off spear and sword points and axe blades.

‘Remember,’ said Rudolf, ‘Grand Master Volquin wants an example made of the garrison. Take no prisoners.’

The four massive solid wheels, fashioned from the trunk of an oak tree, trundled forward as the oxen pulled on the ropes. Conrad put on his helmet and removed the shield slung on his back, thrusting his left forearm through the inner straps. Sir Richard, armed with a mace, turned and ordered Squire Paul behind him to use his axe to cut the rope when he gave the command. He then nodded at Conrad to do the same when the time came.

Conrad controlled his breathing as the tower neared the wall. He was already sweating, his body encased in an aketon, gambeson and mail armour, the temperature rising in the crowded space at the top of the tower. The structure suddenly lurched to the right as one of the wheels sank into a slight depression in the ground, but such was the technical genius of Master Thaddeus that the tower, now filled with the cream of the Sword Brother’s soldiers, did not topple but continued its agonisingly slow advance to the wall.

Conrad peered again through the slit in the ramp cum drawbridge and saw the wall was only a few feet away. Sir Richard saw it too.

‘Ready,’ the duke shouted, an order that was relayed down the steps and lower levels.

Conrad’s heart was pounding in his chest as the tower suddenly stopped and Paul swung his axe to sever one of the ropes. Conrad did the same and the ramp slammed down on top of the timber ramparts. There was a sudden brightness as light flooded into the chamber. A bearded warrior armed with an axe clambered on to the ramp directly in front of Conrad. He toppled backwards when a crossbow bolt slammed into his chest, shot from the roof, as Conrad raced forward. He swung his axe at a warrior’s head but cut only air as another crossbow bolt pierced the man in the eye, sending him toppling over the walkway behind the wall.

Conrad jumped off the ramp, Hans and Anton following, and attacked a terrified youth armed with a spear who stood in his way. The boy tried to turn and flee but others behind him blocked his way and so it was easy for Conrad to crush the back of his neck with his axe. The body collapsed on the walkway, Conrad stepping over it to tackle a spearman holding a shield in front of him. Like most pagan shields it was round and had a central metal boss that protected the hand grip. The warrior jabbed both shield and spear forward, Conrad using his axe to sweep the latter away as he raced forward. Hans behind pushed into his friend’s back and then swung the mace over Conrad’s right shoulder and into the face of the spearman. The warrior screamed then fell silent as Conrad reduced his face to mush with two strikes of his axe.