Army of the Wolf by Peter Darman

kettle helmet for a full-face helm. The thickset armourer who had issued him with his weapons earlier stood with his arms folded on the other side of the counter.
    ‘You want a full-face helmet now?’
    ‘And a lance,’ said Conrad.
    ‘Where is your spear?’
    ‘My spear?’
    ‘You took a spear from the armoury earlier,’ gloated the armourer, ‘have you lost it, Brother Conrad?’
    Conrad remembered that he had left it at the perimeter wall. ‘I left it at the outer wall.’
    The armourer began to shake his head. ‘Weapons are expensive, Brother Conrad, and have to be accounted for.’
    ‘I will send a novice to get it,’ replied Conrad, ‘now kindly give me a lance. There are thousands of Cuman heathens in front of the walls and I don’t want to be late for my appointment with them.’
    The armourer disappeared into the dim interior of the building and returned with a lance that he passed to Conrad.
    ‘Try not to lose it.’
    Conrad went to the stables where young novices were saddling four warhorses for the meeting with Yaroslav.
    He told one to go to the outer perimeter to fetch his spear and return it to the armoury while he finished saddling the horse. It had already been fitted with its white padded caparison that covered its body, neck and head, the insignia of the Sword Brothers emblazoned on each side. He finished tightening the saddle straps and examined the horse’s hooves and shoes. There was no need, but that was as he had been taught and so he went through the pre-battle drill methodically. The horse turned its head and grunted.
    ‘You kick me and I’ll run you through,’ he threatened.
    Destriers they called them, the great warhorses that were purchased in Germany and shipped to Livonia so the brother knights could ride them in battle and smite the heathen. Each of the order’s garrisons had twelve of these magnificent, pampered creatures, all of them well-bred, highly trained stallions that weighed over a thousand pounds and stood up to sixty-nine inches tall. Only brother knights rode warhorses, the theory being that the front rank of a mounted charge should comprise large horses because their weight gave greater force to the impact of the rider’s lance. In addition, current wisdom held that only a physically capable, mentally stable mount that a rider could count on could face the challenges of combat that average horses might find overwhelming. Conrad agreed that the warhorses were big and intimidating but they required a small army of farriers, stable hands and veterinaries to keep them in fighting order, which meant they consumed a vast amount of resources. Conrad preferred the local ponies and in truth they and the less expensive horses were used for day-to-day duties, but the order’s commanders insisted that great stallions were priceless when it came to winning battles.
    Rudolf and Walter were leading their horses from the great stables into the courtyard when Conrad’s horse resisted as he tugged on its reins to get it out of its stall. Stallions were used for warhorses because of their natural aggression and hot-blooded tendencies, but they could also be stubborn.
    ‘Perhaps you should saddle a pony,’ quipped Henke, curling his lip at Conrad’s difficulties.
    ‘Perhaps you should hold your tongue.’
    Henke released his reins and stomped over to him. The latter likewise let go of his horse’s reins to confront the older knight.
    ‘Why don’t you make me,’ Henke challenged him.
    Conrad stepped back as alarmed novices and stable hands retreated in panic. His hand went to the hilt of his sword as Henke stood before him, wearing a stupid grin.
    ‘You two, get outside!’ bellowed Rudolf.
    Henke curled his lip once more and went back to his horse as Conrad grabbed the reins and ordered his own horse to follow him, which amazingly it did.
    Walter was already in the saddle when he walked into the courtyard to face a fuming Rudolf. His eyes darted between Henke and