As Dust to the Wind

by Peter Darman

  He sighed. ‘That was long ago.’

  He placed a hand on the parchments, as though in doing so it would strengthen the connection with his sister. He withdrew his hand. What foolishness.

  ‘What was her name, Conrad?’

  ‘Marie, lady.’

  ‘I will pray for her.’

  ‘You will be going to Dorpat to celebrate the birth of Christ, lady?’

  Bishop Hermann had sent an invitation for Conrad and Maarja to join him for the Christmas celebrations at Dorpat. Conrad had decided to remain at Odenpah. He would send Jaan, Arri and a strong escort to convey Maarja the short distance to Dorpat.

  ‘I am looking forward to it. Are you?’

  ‘Alas, duty means I will have no time to go to Dorpat. But I will assign Jaan and Arri plus a number of sergeants to ensure that you reach the bishop safe and sound.’

  Maarja said nothing for a few seconds.

  ‘You hold the bishop responsible for the death of Walter, Conrad? Is that the reason you refuse his offer of hospitality?’

  ‘The bishop must examine his own conscience regarding the death of Walter, lady. But I cannot accept that he let a valiant and good man sacrifice his life so easily.’

  ‘The bishop is saddened that you have forsaken him, Conrad.’

  Conrad laughed. ‘I doubt a prince-bishop of the Holy Church even considers the opinions of a lowly brother knight, lady.’

  She stood and gently laid a mittened hand on his. ‘You are precisely wrong.’

  She left on a bitterly cold December morning, just after shards of orange and yellow had appeared in the east to herald the dawn. Icicles hung from the roofs of the fort’s towers as Horton blessed the column of horsemen, each one wrapped in a thick cloak, their horses covered in caparisons. Lady Maarja, all in black in stark contrast, was accompanied by two of her female servants. Conrad walked up to Jaan at the head of the column.

  ‘Try to get to Dorpat today. But if there is a snowstorm get the tents up and ensure Lady Maarja is kept warm and fed. I hold you responsible for her and the others.’

  A smile spread across Jaan’s handsome face. ‘Yes, master, have no fear.’

  ‘But don’t push too hard,’ Conrad emphasised, ‘remember you have women among your party.’

  Jaan looked bemused. ‘Of course.’

  Werner laid a hand on Conrad’s arm. ‘Jaan is a good knight, master, he will not let you down.’

  Conrad nodded. ‘Well then, off you go. Open the gates.’

  The large wooden gates were swung open and Jaan led the column of riders from the fort. Conrad stood on the bridge across the frozen moat and watched the two brother knights, twelve sergeants, three women and four packhorses loaded with tents and food amble on to the snow-covered meadow before turning north to head for Dorpat. He heard footsteps crunching in the snow.

  ‘Regretting not going?’ asked Leatherface.

  ‘No,’ said Conrad tersely.

  ‘Isn’t the bishop your superior? Disobeying his orders might get you into hot water.’

  Conrad looked at the grinning mercenary. ‘First of all Grand Master Volquin is my superior so I take orders from him. Secondly, the bishop did not order me to go to Dorpat, he invited me, which I politely declined.’

  ‘You can’t avoid him forever. After all Odenpah is in his bishopric.’

  Conrad turned and walked back to the fort. ‘Unfortunately.’

  With the approach of Christmas Conrad prepared to celebrate the birth of Christ. Falcone and Leatherface were dispatched into the forests to shoot as many boar, deer and elk as they could find. They returned with sledges piled with frozen carcasses which would be skinned and butchered by the cooks when the time came for the great feast. It was a tradition for the novices to serve the guests at the Christmas feast attended by the fort’s workers and their families, to thank them for their hard work and diligence.

  In the days before the feast the homes of the workers and the great hall itself were decorated with sprigs of evergreen to symbolise the promised return of life in the spring. In the villages where Christian priests preached the word of the Holy Church, headmen would sneak into the woods to kill a wild boar, cut off its head and offer it to Jüri, the god of agriculture, to ensure a good crop in the coming year, before attending the Christmas feast with their families.

  A boar’s head was also a centrepiece of Odenpah’s Christmas feast, along with venison, elk, pork, bread, cheese and ale. In a reversal of the normal order of things the wives and children of the workers ate meat while Conrad and his brother knights and sergeants tucked into pies made from the ‘umbles’ of a deer: the heart, liver, ears and brains and other offal. The ‘humble pie’ was meant to be a sign of self-denial and penance but Conrad found it palatable enough.

  Everyone loved the puddings, which were made from thick porridge, wheat, currants, eggs and spices such as cinnamon and nutmeg. The dogs that lived in the fort and which had become unofficial mascots looked with pleading eyes at the trestle tables where people ate, hoping for a morsel. But the pies were too delicious to give to mongrels.

  It was a good day and Conrad was happy that the workers and their families were happy and, beyond the fort’s walls, he knew that the people of Estonia were prospering. It was a curious thing but for a man whose life was dedicated to waging war on behalf of the Holy Church it was peace that brought him the most satisfaction.

  He picked up a bloodless sausage and immediately thought of Hans.

  ‘It was his favourite.’

  An inebriated Leatherface beside him spat out a piece of meat across the top table on to the floor, a dog immediately gulping it down. Horton was appalled.

  ‘What did you say?’ the mercenary asked Conrad.

  Conrad held up the sausage. ‘Hans, he loved these.’

  ‘He was a good man, Conrad, they all were. We lose people, it’s the nature of the work we do.’

  Horton on the other side of Conrad had been listening to their conversation.

  ‘Life is brief and often miserable but we all meet again in the next life. What is life but the prelude to the afterlife?’

  ‘I sincerely hope so,’ muttered Leatherface, ‘for the alternative is too terrible to contemplate.’

  Conrad threw the sausage to the dogs as the hall reverberated with the sound of children’s laughter and general revelry. The air was warm and filled with wood smoke and life was good at Odenpah.

  Chapter 4

  The winter passed without incident. Lady Maarja and her escort returned to Odenpah after spending two weeks at Dorpat. The novices continued with their training, the still unfinished leper house in which Maarja would eventually reside stood covered in snow. The land was at peace. Bishop Hermann sent gifts to Novgorod and the veche of that city sent him a thousand grey squirrel pelts by way of an apology for the incident of the previous year. The prelate was delighted and ordered the pelts to be sold in the spring to contribute towards his new cathedral, which would take decades to complete so grand was the design. It was to be brick built and the foundations had already been dug on Toome Hill.

  The spring brought floods as the snows melted and the meadows became submerged when rivers and streams broke their banks. The days and especially nights were still cool but daylight hours increased and the winds cleared the skies of clouds. The forests, silent and brooding during winter, were suddenly filled with birdsong and bogs reverberated with the chorus of hundreds of frogs.

  As the weeks passed the temperature rose and the ground dried out. The farmers ploughed their fields when the earth was still soft enough to turn easily. Then the spring crops were sowed: barley, oats, peas, beans and vetches. For those who lived near Odenpah a third of their yield would be sent to feed the garrison. A tenth of their harvest would be sent to Dorpat as part of the tithe, the tax the church levied on all the lands it controlled. Peace meant the farmers prospered but the opposite was true for the Sword Brothers.

  Riga was rich but Reval was its
poor relation and the Sword Brothers did not share in the wealth that was being generated by the city on the River Dvina. Bishop Nicholas was a pious man but he was no crusader and so no donations or armies came from Germany. Bishop Hermann was more interested in making Dorpat the jewel of the Baltic rather than leading a campaign against the heathen Lithuanians, and certainly had no interest in fighting the Russians. Once again the question of the order’s finances came to the fore. Grand Master Volquin was open to any schemes that might raise monies to pay for his garrisons.

  It was late spring when Conrad called Leatherface to his ‘hall’, the shutters of the hut open to let in the light.

  ‘Take a seat,’ said Conrad.

  The mercenary held up his hands. ‘Before you say anything, I didn’t do it.’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Whatever you’re going to accuse me of.’

  Conrad rolled his eyes. ‘Just sit down.’

  The mercenary did so, helping himself to the jug of beer on Conrad’s desk, filling a wooden cup.

  ‘Your health.’

  ‘I have received a letter from Grand Master Volquin at Riga. Apparently you made a lasting impression on King Lamekins, so much so that he wants to hire you to train his crossbowmen.’

  The mercenary’s haggard face lit up. ‘Me?’

  He drained his cup. ‘The Kurs don’t have any crossbowmen.’

  Conrad placed his elbows on the desk and brought his hands together.

  ‘The king is forming a corps of crossbowmen, has bought a quantity of crossbows and is intent on them becoming an integral part of his army. And he wants you to train them. He will pay you in silver.’

  Leatherface rubbed his hands together. ‘You mean I might actually get paid for once? Excellent! My arrears with the Sword Brothers stretch back into the dim and distant past.’

  ‘You will accept the king’s offer, then?’

  Leatherface’s bravado disappeared. ‘We’ve fought in many battles together, too many for me to recall. But unless Grand Master Volquin can match the Kur’s offer, and pay me in silver rather than give me a worthless scrap of parchment promising to pay me, I have no choice.’

  Conrad could not blame him. He had given years of fine service to the Sword Brothers but had little to show for it. Like all the order’s mercenaries he was charged for the food and lodgings he was provided with, which amounted to a sizeable amount over the course of a year. In addition, his rate of pay had remained the same for years, which meant he had little opportunity to save any money. Not that the order was able to pay its mercenaries in hard currency. It was a lamentable state of affairs and one that would only get worse.

  The whole garrison gathered to say farewell to the commander of the Army of the Wolf’s crossbowmen, an honour guard of Falcone’s men drawn up in the outer compound to bid him farewell. Every brother knight and sergeant shook his hand and he was visibly moved when Lady Maarja embraced him. Conrad walked beside the old dog as he led his horse and a mule loaded with a tent and food across the bridge over the moat. They said nothing to each other, Leatherface turning to look at the fort and then at his friend. They stared ay each other and silently recalled the years of fighting that bound them together. Conrad extended his arm. Leatherface took it before mounting his horse and riding away. Odenpah’s castellan watched him until he reached the forest on the other side of the great meadow to disappear from view. Conrad sighed; another link with the past had been severed.

  Spring turned into summer and the land became a rich green tapestry. Aside from visiting villages, everyday duties and avoiding Bishop Hermann there was little for the garrison of Odenpah to do. Oesel was occupied, the border with Novgorod returned to being busy with commerce and the Lithuanians were quiet. Crusader armies no longer came to Livonia and so no great campaigns could be launched against the pagans south of the Dvina. The baptism of King Lamekins, the conquest and occupation of most of Semgallia and the treaty of friendship between the Bishop of Riga and Prince Vsevolod meant that the waterway was secure from the Baltic to the Russian hinterland. The burgomasters and merchants of Riga had the wealth to raise an army to carry the cross south into Lithuania. But wars were costly affairs and they had little inclination to dip into their pouches to finance what could be a ruinous affair, not while they were making so much money trading with the Russians.

  *****

  In summer the temperatures in Rome could be unbearable. The tightly packed houses, thoroughfares choked with waste and a lack of air in the narrow streets produced a stench that was nauseous to the senses. But at least the sewers, which had originally been constructed by the Romans over a thousand years before, prevented the stench becoming too overpowering. And in the summer the city was heaving with pilgrims drawn from the four quarters of Christendom praying at altars holding holy relics. It was a lucrative business, not only for the owners of the hundreds of inns in the city but also for the coffers of the Holy Church.

  The wealth of the church was displayed in buildings such as the Lateran Palace, the official residence of the Pope, a place of marble columns and floors, painted ceilings and mosaic friezes. As well as the hordes of pilgrims who readily parted with their money to stare in wonder at the two silver reliquaries that held the heads of Saints Peter and Paul, the palace was host to the Papal court, a large collection of priests, scientists, scholars and physicians. At the head of the church was the Pope who was assisted by the Curia, the Papal council of cardinals. To assist that august body was the Chancery, which handled judicial and secretarial problems, the Camera that held the keys to the Papacy’s gold, and the Penitentiary, which addressed disciplinary matters. The vast administrative apparatus employed dozens and ruled the thousands of priests in spreading the word of God beyond Rome’s confines.

  Pope Gregory, old, grey, fanatical, had been Pope for nearly eight years, during which he had burnt more heretics than the previous three Popes put together. That was a happy achievement but his fractious relationship with Holy Roman Emperor Frederick had given him sleepless nights and pains in his stomach. Their rivalry had been played out across Europe but had resulted in the emperor humiliating the Papacy’s army and bringing Frederick’s forces to the gates of Rome itself. An uneasy truce had been agreed, which had amazingly lasted for four years. But now the peace was in danger and once more Gregory’s stomach was causing him discomfort.

  Gregory looked up with tired eyes at his friend and principal adviser.

  ‘He’s outside?’

  William of Modena nodded gravely. ‘Yes, Holy Father.’

  ‘Bring him in.’

  It was another hot day in Rome, the sky clear and blue, though fortunately the marble tiles and windows opening onto a small private garden kept the room temperature bearable. William pointed at a sweating guard by the door who disappeared and then reappeared with a tall, well-built man wearing a white surcoat emblazoned with a black cross edged with gold. His hair and beard were pure white, his eyes pale grey. He wore no armour and carried no weapons but his bearing was unmistakably military. He snapped to attention before going down on one knee to kiss the gold ring on Gregory’s hand he held out to him.

  ‘Welcome, Hermann,’ said Gregory. ‘I trust your journey was uneventful.’

  Hermann von Salza, Grand Master of the Teutonic Order, rose to his feet and returned to attention.

  ‘Yes, Holy Father.’

  The Brethren of the German Hospital of Saint Mary had been created by Papal decree thirty-seven years before, in recognition of the efforts of a small number of German men who had established a field hospital during the siege of Saracen Acre in the Holy Land. The Teutonic Knights as they were known had always had the support of the Holy Roman Emperor, on whose behalf they had served in the Holy Land. In recognition Frederick had given them lands in the Baltic in order to subdue the pagan Prussians. Hermann von Salza had accompanied the emperor to Jerusalem and Frederick regarded him as a useful go-between with the Papacy, a role that Hermann was not entirely co
mfortable with.

  ‘You have a message from the emperor?’ asked the Pope.

  Von Salza avoided the pontiff’s eyes as he answered stiffly.

  ‘The emperor humbly requests the Papacy’s support in his efforts to stamp out rebellion in northern Italy, Holy Father.’

  Gregory turned to Cardinal William, resplendent in his gold and purple vestments.

  ‘William, have you heard of any rebellion among the cities of the north?’

  ‘No, Holy Father.’

  ‘Having subdued Sicily and the whole of southern Italy,’ said Gregory, ‘the emperor now wishes to conquer northern Italy, I think.’

  Von Salza swallowed. ‘The emperor wishes to exert his authority over the Lombard cities, Holy Father, nothing more.’

  Gregory’s nostrils flared. ‘Nothing more? He seeks formal submission to his authority, which means that the cities of northern Italy will have to open their gates to him or risk being sacked.’

  ‘He is Holy Roman Emperor, Holy Father,’ said von Salza.

  ‘As he never tires of telling me,’ replied Gregory dryly. ‘You can inform the emperor that the Papacy has no knowledge of any rebelliousness among the cities of northern Italy, which are under Papal protection. Any aggression against those cities will be viewed as an abrogation of the truce currently existing between Rome and the emperor.’

  Von Salza bowed his head. ‘I will convey your words to the emperor myself, Holy Father.’

  Gregory waved a hand at him. ‘You may go.’

  The grand master bowed, turned smartly and walked briskly from the room.

  ‘The truce is over, then,’ lamented William.

  ‘It was only a matter of time. Frederick’s avarice would get the better of him sooner or later. But we will wait for him to make the first move. In that way he will be seen as the aggressor. That at least might win us some support.’

  ‘I doubt the league will be able to withstand the emperor’s army,’ said a concerned William.

  The so-called Lombard League was a loose alliance of northern Italian cities, including Milan, Piacenza, Cremona, Mantua, Bergamo, Brescia, Bologna, Padua, Treviso, Vicenza, Venice, Verona, Lodi and Parma. But they continually squabbled among themselves and rarely presented a united front.