As Dust to the Wind

by Peter Darman

  ‘I never thought I would see the day when the world was rid of Oeselian longships. Some of my fishermen are even talking of sailing to Oesel to sell their catches in the markets there.’

  ‘I am pleased for you, Hillar, truly,’ said Conrad.

  ‘Except now you have no one to fight,’ remarked Leatherface behind Conrad.

  The commanders of the Army of the Wolf rode at the head of their men, every Estonian riding a pony to speed the journey south. Sir Richard and Sir Paul had also brought their knights and squires, though Anu had been left in Wierland to keep an eye on the Russians should they decide to return. Fifteen hundred men were threading their way through a landscape that was still green but becoming increasing wet.

  ‘There’s always someone left to fight,’ retorted Hillar. ‘Susi, we will fight beside King Lamekins once again?’

  ‘The king feels threatened by the Samogitians,’ Conrad told him, ‘which is why he has requested our presence.’

  Leatherface laughed. ‘That Kur king don’t seem the sort to feel fear to me. And he has an army at his command that puts the fear of God into me.’

  ‘He likes Conrad,’ remarked Sir Richard, a fur-lined hat covering his bald crown, ‘and values his allegiance.’

  ‘Are Kurs capable of human emotions?’ joked Leatherface.

  The column rode south through Saccalia and Livonia, halting so Conrad and his commanders could pay their respects to Master Rudolf at Wenden and Rameke and Kaja at their fortified mansion five miles to the south. For Conrad it was good to be back at the places where he had been a novice, a time when he was surrounded by friends and did not have the weight of great responsibility bearing down on him. But even at Wenden sadness and hurt stalked him because Master Thaddeus was ill.

  Conrad found him propped up in bed in his private quarters assigned to him in the master’s hall, a place of quiet and peacefulness where Ilona fussed over him. Conrad spoke to her as she walked from the kitchens with a cup of warm milk.

  ‘What’s the matter with him?’

  She smiled, her dark brown eyes filled with kindness.

  ‘He’s old and tired Conrad, so very tired.’

  ‘You can cure him?’

  Her skills as a healer were known far and wide.

  ‘There is no cure for old age, Conrad.’

  Thaddeus was dozing when they crept into his room, his breathing shallow but calm. Conrad stared at the man who had once organised great siege engines to batter down the strongholds of the enemies of the Sword Brothers, a man whose intellect towered over those around him. Ilona placed the milk on the table beside his bed. Thaddeus opened his eyes. She was right; he looked so very tired.

  ‘I have brought some milk, Thaddeus,’ she said, putting the cup to his lips.

  ‘So very kind,’ he said softly.

  He took a few sips but Conrad could see that he had no appetite. He was nearly bald now and his beard was a few wisps of white hair on his chin.

  ‘I have also brought a visitor,’ she said.

  Thaddeus’ eyes turned and settled on Conrad who smiled. Thaddeus smiled back.

  ‘Conrad, how are things with you?’

  He took the old man’s bony hand.

  ‘I am well, master. I’m sure you will be up and about soon.’

  Thaddeus gave a chuckle. ‘Alas, Conrad, I think you are wrong. I cannot complain. I have lived a long life free from disease and disfigurement, which is something of a small miracle. I have only one regret.

  ‘Did I ever tell you about Acre?’

  ‘Acre, master?’

  For a brief moment the irritable, superior Thaddeus showed himself.

  ‘In the Holy Land and where King Richard conducted a great siege against the Saracens. He was a passable king though one who underestimated his enemies and that was his downfall.’

  He looked confused and alarmed. ‘What was I saying?’

  ‘Acre, master.’

  Ilona offered him more milk but he shook his head.

  ‘Acre,’ he said softly, ‘a beautiful place. I thought I would return there one day. There is an orange grove near the city that overlooks the Mediterranean where I would have liked to have been buried. Such a splendid view.’

  He closed his eyes and dozed off.

  ‘I think we should let him sleep now, Conrad,’ said Ilona.

  Conrad bent over and kissed Thaddeus on the head. He left the bedchamber with a heavy heart, knowing that it was the last time he would see him. He spent only a day at Wenden, visiting Rameke and Kaja on his way to Holm Castle. He found his brother and his wife in good spirits, though Kaja was unhappy that she could not accompany the Army of the Wolf. Conrad thought it unlikely that she would ever march with it or him again. The world was changing so very quickly.

  The great rendezvous took place at Holm Castle, Conrad and his warlords refusing to enter Riga on account of the ill treatment the Marshal of Estonia had previously received at the hands of the city authorities. The weather was overcast and breezy but dry when the Army of the Wolf crossed over the Dvina on great rafts and camped on the southern riverbank. It was followed the next day by Grand Master Volquin and the soldiers of his order, the river crossing taking the whole day. Because Bishop Hermann was nervous about the Russians causing more trouble the grand master had not called on the garrisons of Wenden, Reval, Dorpat or Narva. Nevertheless he had ordered the masters of those castles along the Dvina – Holm, Uexkull, Lennewarden, Kokenhusen and Gerzika – to lead their men across the river. The masters of Kremon and Segewold also reported to Volquin.

  Some of the large square rafts had been covered with soil to make the crossing easier for the horses, which could get jittery when crossing wide expanses of water. Over two hundred warhorses were transported across the river, followed by several dozen wagons carrying tents, weapons, armour, crossbow ammunition, helmets, shields, food and fodder. Conrad stood on the riverbank and watched the small armada of rafts and riverboats carrying soldiers approach the shore.

  ‘Your men have brought their own food, Conrad?’ asked Volquin.

  ‘Yes, grand master.’

  ‘Good. Lamekins sent a note informing me that he would feed our men and horses but it’s best we subsist off our own supplies. The last time I crossed the river to speak to him his people were starving.’

  ‘Presumably they are in a better state now.’

  Volquin chuckled. ‘Certainly, especially after he looted Oesel. His men took many sheep, cattle, goats and chickens back to Kurland.’

  Conrad laughed. ‘Chickens?’

  ‘He left a substantial garrison on the island to safeguard his newly acquired territory. But he issued strict orders that there was to be no destruction of property or molestation of the Oeselians. He’s a strange one.’

  ‘The bishop will be joining us?’ remarked Conrad with surprise.

  From one riverboat flew a great red banner emblazoned with golden cross keys, the coat of arms of the Bishop of Riga.

  ‘He wanted to visit Lamekins in his own country. Said it was the least he could do seeing as the king had visited him in his realm when he had been baptised. Nicholas is not like Albert,’ observed Volquin, ‘but he has admirable qualities.’

  Accompanying the bishop was Gunter, the serious and conscientious deputy commander of the garrison of Riga. He helped Bishop Nicholas from the boat and walked with him over the sandy riverbank where the castellans of the Sword Brothers and the commanders of the Army of the Wolf were gathered. Each knelt and kissed the ring on his finger. Nicholas was not a warrior priest like Hermann and the late Albert and so he sported no armour or weapons. He wore a simple padded tunic over which he wore a red surcoat bearing his coat of arms, on his head a white mitre. As well as Gunter half a dozen white-robed priests and the same number of scribes who would record his historic visit to Kurland accompanied him.

  Nicholas had met the castellans of the Sword Brothers before but this was the first time he had encountered Conrad’s warlords, al
l of them Christian nobles with their own strongholds and veteran retinues that had seen many years’ service with the Marshal of Estonia. The huge Hillar dwarfed him and the stout Andres was almost twice as wide as the prelate but he charmed them both with his humility. He stared long at the blonde-haired, blue-eyed Riki.

  ‘Are you related to Queen Kaja by any chance?’

  Riki burst into laughter. ‘Not by blood, your excellency, but I like to think of Kaja as a sister.’

  ‘As we all do,’ added Hillar.

  ‘It is good to see you, Conrad,’ said Nicholas. ‘I am sorry for the loss of Walter. I know he was your friend.’

  ‘Thank you, lord bishop.’

  ‘Walk with me,’ said the bishop.

  Volquin, his castellans and the Army of the Wolf’s warlords followed the bishop and Conrad as they strolled towards the camp being erected for the army a short distance from the river. They were in northern Semgallia but the pagans were now a pale shadow of the force they once were and were largely confined to the Tervete Valley, around forty miles to the southwest. Settlers had begun to arrive in Semgallia to farm the land that had been conquered by the sword. They lived mostly near the Dvina so they could flee across the river if attacked by pagans but Master Ortwin had Erdvilas and his warriors bottled up around Tervete and few doubted they would venture this far north.

  ‘I wanted to thank you for bringing your warlords and their men south,’ said Nicholas.

  ‘They and I are honoured to be here, lord bishop.’

  ‘They are a credit to your dedication and courage, Conrad.’

  The bishop stopped and looked directly at him.

  ‘I want you to know that Riga and its bishop have every faith in you and your commanders, Conrad. I regret the misfortune that was visited upon you. It was unwarranted.’

  For a prince-bishop of the Holy Church to apologise was no small thing, especially as in doing so he undermined Archdeacon Stefan and the Duke of Riga, to say nothing of Baldwin of Alna.

  ‘I trust the papal legate returned to Rome unharmed, lord bishop,’ probed Conrad.

  Nicholas smiled knowingly. ‘You may be interested to know that Legate Baldwin is currently administering the word of God to the poor unfortunates of a leper colony on the island of Sicily.’

  ‘I will pray for him,’ said Conrad flatly.

  ‘What do you think of King Lamekins?’ asked Nicholas, changing the topic.

  ‘He is a great warlord, excellency, and I believe he will become an even greater king.’

  ‘That he has accepted baptism and now leads a Christian kingdom is a miracle, Conrad, one that I believe is largely down to you.’

  ‘Me, lord bishop?’

  ‘Your assault upon the Kur coast began a series of events that led to King Lamekins seeking the embrace of the Holy Church. And yet the king accords you, you who despoiled his land, great respect.’

  ‘We were at war then, excellency, and the king, magnanimous individual that he is, forgave me for my actions. For that he will have my eternal gratitude.’

  ‘As well as Riga’s eternal thanks,’ added the bishop.

  Conrad liked Nicholas, a plain-speaking, down-to-earth churchman who knew he was following a giant of the Holy Church. Volquin had told him that the bishop spent much time away from the Bishop’s Palace, preferring the company of his parish priests to Riga’s politics. Conrad was astounded that such a man could become Bishop of Riga in the first place.

  Over two thousand men, almost the same number of ponies and horses and dozens of carts and wagons moved west the next day. The breeze showed the army’s banners as it moved slowly through the Semgallian countryside: the white and red of the Sword Brothers, the red and gold of Riga, the white boar’s head of Sir Richard, Duke of Saccalia, and the animals that were the coat of arms of Conrad’s warlords: Riki’s lynx, Hillar’s stag, Andres’ bear and Tonis’ wolf. And among the fluttering banners was a new flag for Riga’s college of arms had finally granted Sir Paul his personal motif: a yellow bull’s head on a red background. All his knights and squires were Jerwen and Wierlanders, proof that pagan Estonia was slowly being absorbed by the Holy Church, a gentle, unassuming process far removed from the brutality and intolerance of men such as Baldwin of Alna.

  The land was lush and damp, especially the lowland river valleys where the army was forced to skirt bogs and lakes. Scouts were sent out every day but it was unnecessary, the villages and farmsteads of northern Semgallia lying abandoned or destroyed by the lesser knights and their men who had laid claim to this pagan domain. They still lived in their small forts but around them had grown a sprinkling of huts to house settlers from Germany.

  After four days the army reached the Kandava Hills, the gateway to northern Kurland and the site of a victory over the Sword Brothers at the hands of Duke Arturus. And on the morning when dew covered the meadows and mist hung over the rivers and lakes a Kur army once more occupied the high ground looking down upon the Bishop of Riga’s army. The line of black horsemen stood like stone statues as Grand Master Volquin called Conrad to him, behind them the army forming into position.

  ‘Remember this spot, Conrad?’

  ‘I remember, grand master, though not with any affection.’

  Volquin grinned. ‘They gave us a hiding that day, for sure.’

  The horsemen, Army of the Wolf and the foot soldiers of the Sword Brothers shuffled into position while on the hill a group of riders left the main body of Kurs and rode down the slope.

  ‘You are with me, Conrad,’ said Volquin, digging his spurs into the sides of his horse.

  The two trotted towards the approaching Kurs, Volquin’s great banner being carried behind them. Bishop Nicholas, Gunter, Sir Richard and Sir Paul remained seated on their horses, Gunter’s fifty horsemen providing a bodyguard for the bishop. The Kurs slowed their horses when they were within twenty paces of Volquin and Conrad, a beaming Torolf raising a hand in recognition of them both.

  ‘Greetings grand master and Master Conrad. I trust your journey was uneventful.’

  Volquin grimaced. ‘Aside from marching and camping in the autumn cold and wet, absolutely fine.’

  ‘You will find a warm welcome in Talsi, grand master.’

  The mist clung to the ground and trees obstinately while Torolf was presented to Bishop Nicholas and the army’s commanders. As usual he was all smiles and polite conversation, his German and manners impeccable.

  ‘Hard to believe he is a heathen,’ remarked Volquin observing him conversing with the bishop.

  ‘Perhaps he has converted to our faith,’ suggested Conrad.

  Volquin winced as he stretched out his left arm.

  ‘I doubt any religion means much to a man like Ambassador Torolf.’

  ‘Are you hurt, grand master?’ asked Conrad.

  Volquin shook his head. ‘Thirty years campaigning in Livonia, fighting in snow, cold and rain has done more damage to my limbs than any enemy weapons. Let’s hope King Lamekins has plenty of firewood. When autumn and winter come I find it increasingly harder to keep warm.’

  Volquin need not have worried. Talsi’s reception was very warm. The Kur town was located among nine hills, Lamekins’ hill fort being positioned on the highest one, which was named Tiguli Hill, once the site of an ancient oak grove. The grove had long gone and in its place was a large circular timber fort with a moat at the bottom of the hill. The bishop’s army was not the first to arrive at Talsi for the hills around the town were covered with tents, hundreds of horses being watered in the large lake to the north of the hill fort.

  Lamekins greeted the bishop and his nobles in the fort’s great hall, the wooden roof supported by thick oak pillars and rushes scattered over the hard dirt floor. Fires raged in stone hearths and filled the chamber with smoke despite the vents in the ceiling, though it was agreeably warm enough to cheer Grand Master Volquin. Conrad was surprised by Lamekins’ appearance. Gone was the thick black beard and shoulder-length hair that had framed his sq
uare jaw. Now the beard and hair were neatly trimmed as favoured by Christian nobles. His attire was also similar to the lords who had travelled to Livonia to crusade against the pagans: mail chausses and hauberk over which was worn a surcoat bearing a heraldic device. Lamekins sported a black surcoat emblazoned with a seagull, the animal being fashioned from what appeared to be silver thread.

  Bishop Nicholas and King Lamekins exchanged the kiss of peace and the bishop’s nobles bowed to the Kur king. The king greeted Conrad warmly, embracing him and telling the bishop that of all the prelate’s lords he esteemed the Marshal of Estonia the highest.

  ‘We go to confront the Samogitian beast, Conrad,’ said Lamekins.

  Conrad thought the ‘beast’ was ailing and sick when Duke Ykintas brought his warriors to the assigned meeting place five days later. The Kurs, by contrast, presented a magnificent spectacle. A thousand horsemen under Lord Valdas rode behind Lamekins’ seagull banner. Each rider wore a helmet and leather back and breast plates over their torsos with additional leather shoulder pieces and pteriges – leather strips – covering the thighs. The horsemen’s round wooden shields were faced with black leather and adorned with a seagull motif and each man wore black leggings, tunic and boots. Even their horses were black and covered with black saddlery. For weapons they carried two spisas, the long spears favoured by the Lithuanians, plus a sword, axe and dagger.

  The bear-like Gintaras led two thousand axe men. Like their commander they had been selected for their size and strength and also their ability to wield the two-handed broadaxe that was their main weapon. Their round shields were slung on their backs so they had complete freedom to manoeuvre their axes. Like the horsemen they wore a simple iron helmet with a thick nasal guard but their body armour comprised suits of thick, sleeveless knee-length hide. Each man also carried a sword and dagger should the haft of his axe get broken.

  The main Kur contingent consisted of five thousand medium foot soldiers commanded by the unassuming but fierce Lord Tadas. These were the men who made up the main Kur battle line, capable of withstanding horsemen with their spears and oblong wooden shields rimmed with iron, as well as taking the fight to the enemy with the javelin each man carried. They too wore simple iron helmets with thick nasal guards in addition to mail armour over their torsos.