As Dust to the Wind

by Peter Darman

  ‘A sign of my good faith,’ said the king.

  The mercenary caught the leather pouch and loosened the strings securing its contents. His face lit up when he saw it was full of small silver ingots. For a moment he was lost for words. He had never held such a sum.

  ‘Thank you, majesty,’ he said softly.

  ‘There will be more when you have completed your task,’ the king told him.

  Leatherface peered at the rearguard of the Samogitians becoming smaller in the distance and wondered if the Kurs would ever need to fight again now that the Oeselians had been subdued and Lamekins had Riga and the Sword Brothers as allies. He began whistling as he secured the pouch to his belt. That was not his concern.

  *****

  Conrad tossed the parchments into the fire, the flames consuming the skins in seconds. He had no need of them since he had told his sister of his life in Estonia. Now, during the long winter months when the land was covered with thick snow and the lakes and rivers were frozen solid, he had a new hobby: writing more letters to her that he would take to Reval in the spring for onward journey to Lübeck. Perhaps he would take them personally for there was no war in Estonia or Livonia. There were many Russians but they came not with armies but goods to sell in Dorpat and Riga. Every day he watched Werner teaching the novices how to wield a sword or couch a lance from the saddle but wondered if they would ever get the opportunity to use them in battle.

  It was late afternoon and the light had all but disappeared from the land. The temperature outside was rapidly falling although even in the sun it had never risen above freezing. The fires raging in the hall made the interior of the huge chamber comfortable, but around the walls and near the doors it was still cold. He saw Lady Maarja silently approach and stood to welcome her.

  ‘Warm yourself by the fire, lady.’

  He adjusted his chair so it was closer to the flames, pulling up another a few feet away for himself.

  ‘Thank you, Conrad.’

  She looked around the hall; the thick oak pillars supporting the heavy timber roof were still adorned with carved eagles. Horton had wanted the symbols of pagan idolatry removed but while Maarja was in residence Conrad had forbidden it. She had been a beautiful princess once, the daughter of a great Ungannian warlord, and he believed that the carvings provided her with a degree of comfort. They were a link to her past, a past that had been for her happy and carefree.

  She sighed. ‘The bishop has informed me that my leper house will be ready in the spring.’

  ‘It is not a leper house, lady,’ he said, ‘for you are not a leper. And should you wish to remain here then you are most welcome to do so. I am after all the master of this garrison.’

  He looked at her with apologetic eyes. ‘Though I am also aware that it was first your father’s house.’

  She chuckled. ‘I think the bishop would be most displeased if after spending so much money I did not reside in the home he has built for me.’

  ‘If I were a cynic I would say that he built your new home to demonstrate his wealth and piety, lady.’

  ‘And are you a cynic, Conrad?’

  ‘I try not to be.’

  She changed the subject. ‘I want to ask you something.’

  ‘Please do.’

  She leaned towards him. ‘If I wrote a letter to Kristjan do you think it would reach its destination?’

  He stopped himself from laughing. ‘I have no doubt that in the spring a letter could be sent to Novgorod. There are many Russians in Dorpat who travel regularly between that place and their homeland. But…’

  ‘But?’

  ‘He has shown little enthusiasm for contacting you in the past, lady, and came to Odenpah with an army at his back.’

  ‘He wanted me to go back with him to Novgorod.’

  ‘You regret your decision to stay here, lady?’

  She shook her head. ‘Ungannia, that is the Bishopric of Dorpat, is my home. But I would like to see my brother again.’

  Kristjan was the last person on earth Conrad wanted to see but he was mindful that Maarja had been the one who had lobbied Bishop Hermann to make enquires regarding his sister. For that reason alone he was reluctant to place any obstacles in her desire to see her brother.

  ‘Because of his actions,’ he said, ‘Kristjan will not be allowed back in the Bishopric of Dorpat. But there is no reason why you cannot see him at the border should he agree to meet you.’

  ‘Would the bishop guarantee not to harm him if such a meeting took place?’ He noted the alarm in her voice.

  ‘The bishop would not sanction an attempt on your brother’s life, lady, and neither would I. We are not the potential aggressors.’

  For a moment he wondered if she was going to ask him to be her escort for any such meeting but discounted the notion. Kristjan would never agree to such an idea. He hoped never to see the son of Kalju again.

  But Maarja was delighted by the prospect of renewing ties with a brother she had believed to be long dead and in the spring she rode to Dorpat with a bundle of letters for Kristjan. Conrad also sent a letter, to Bishop Hermann, requesting that he persuade Maarja not to travel to Novgorod if she toyed with the idea of delivering her letters in person. He himself rode to Reval as soon as the snows had melted, a stack of letters to Marie stuffed in his saddlebag.

  He was relieved to find Maarja at Odenpah when he returned and even more surprised when stonemasons working on her leper house informed him that the building would indeed by finished by the end of summer. He never witnessed the final day of their work because just prior to the momentous event a letter arrived from Rudolf at Wenden urgently requesting his presence there.

  It was truly a scribbling age.

  He took Jaan and Arri and half a dozen sergeants and novices with him, mainly because he knew the two brother knights liked visiting Wenden and the others because it was important to maintain appearances in the eyes of the novices. A master of the Sword Brother should have a proper escort on his travels after all.

  The days were long and warm, the air heavy with the scent of meadow grass. The villages they passed through were full of healthy adults and well-fed children, the fields filled with swaying, golden rye. Cattle grazed on lush grass while nets bulged with fish caught in lakes and rivers. What pleased Conrad the most was that at every settlement they passed adults waved at them and barefoot children ran up to the horses to stroke the beasts and shoot questions at their riders.

  ‘Always remember that these people put food in your bellies and provide fodder for the horses you ride,’ Conrad told his charges.

  ‘But not our weapons and armour,’ said Jaan.

  ‘That is true,’ agreed Conrad, ‘but even the best-equipped knight cannot function without food for him and his horse. It is a two-way relationship. The people depend on you for protection and you depend on them to supply you with food.’

  It took only two days to reach Wenden, their column unencumbered by carts, the tents and supplies carried on ponies led by the novices. Eyes opened in amazement when they saw the mighty stone fortress that was Wenden. Conrad halted the column and pointed at the small town around the base of the escarpment on which the castle stood. When he had been a novice the settlement had been a small village and the forest was only a short distance away from the huts. But now fields surrounded Wenden and the trees had been cut down to provide timber for building materials.

  Conrad pointed at the town and turned to the novices.

  ‘I once fought a battle there against the Cumans.’

  ‘What are Cumans, master?’ queried one of them.

  ‘Fierce raiders from the east,’ he answered. ‘They laid siege to the castle itself.’

  A farmer herding cattle crossed the track ahead of them, whistling as he used a stick to tap the flanks of the animals. Battles, sieges and Cumans were part of a distant past. But some things never changed. He found Henke knocking a fellow brother knight off his horse during a joust on the training field in the cast
le’s outer perimeter The powerfully built friend of Rudolf giving Conrad a half-smile, half-sneer when he raised a hand to him as he passed. Once in the courtyard he dismounted and ordered the others to take their horses and ponies to the stables then report to the duty sergeant who would attend to their accommodation needs. He himself went straight to the master’s hall, halting at the doors flanked by two guards before entering. The guards stood to attention, expecting him to step inside, but Conrad turned and looked at the courtyard, the stables, the huge dormitory and the stone towers. He sighed. Wenden was full of ghosts and for a split-second he thought he saw his friends standing on the far side of the cobblestones. He blinked and the image was gone.

  ‘You look like you are on guard duty.’

  He smiled when he saw Rudolf marching from the kitchens, the two embracing and making their way to the master’s office.

  ‘Bring us some ale,’ Rudolf commanded one of the guards.

  In the office Rudolf waited until refreshments arrived before speaking, pouring Conrad a large cup of ale as he did so.

  ‘Pope Gregory has issued a papal bull declaring a crusade against the Lithuanians. As we sit here a crusader army sails from Germany.’

  Conrad raised an eyebrow. ‘It is too late in the year to crusade south of the Dvina. Soon the rains will come to soak the ground. I assume the army comes to winter in Livonia before next spring.’

  Rudolf tipped his cup to him. ‘You assume wrongly. It comes to kill pagans this year, paying no heed to local conditions.’

  ‘It is folly,’ said Conrad.

  ‘A papal bull is a document of great solemnity and formality, Conrad, and as you know those who take the cross have their sins washed away by pagan blood.’

  Rudolf took a long sip from his cup. ‘Grand Master Volquin intends to empty his garrisons along the Dvina to march with the crusaders when they arrive.’

  Conrad nearly choked on his drink. ‘Why?’

  ‘Why, Conrad? Because the order is almost bankrupt and the Duke of Holstein is giving the Sword Brothers a generous donation for its assistance in the forthcoming campaign.’

  ‘He must be very wealthy.’

  Rudolf studied the Marshal of Estonia. ‘The richest man in all northern Germany I am told. Perhaps even richer than the Duke of Riga. He leads similarly wealthy nobles, all eager to slaughter Lithuanians.’

  He saw Conrad’s mildly interested expression.

  ‘We never truly escape our past, Conrad, that much I have learnt.’

  Conrad became alarmed. ‘The grand master requires the Army of the Wolf to accompany him?’

  Rudolf shook his head. ‘No, but you might want to.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘The Duke of Holstein hails from Lübeck, Conrad. His title is fairly recently bestowed. Before that he was known as Adolfus Braune.’

  Rudolf’s voice became distant and faint as Conrad held his cup tightly and remembered. Remembered a night many years before when he had gripped his sister’s hand as they ran through the deserted streets of Lübeck while being chased by Braune’s thugs. He also remembered staring at the body of his murdered mother and witnessing the horror of his father’s trial and execution. Lives cruelly snatched away due to the power and wealth of one man.

  ‘Conrad?’

  He came back to the present.

  ‘Did you hear me, Conrad?’

  ‘I heard you,’ he replied slowly.

  ‘I thought you should know.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Conrad.

  Rudolf walked over to the open wooden shutters on the window. In the courtyard mounted sergeants were walking their horses from the courtyard to undertake a patrol.

  ‘I have often thought about that night when Henke and I came across two scruffy urchins running as though the devil himself was chasing them.’

  ‘I remember too,’ growled Conrad.

  Rudolf turned away from the courtyard. ‘And now, after all these years, Adolfus Braune comes running to you. I will write to the grand master informing him that the Marshal of Estonia wishes to be a part of the campaign against the Lithuanians. Unless of course you wish to remain at Odenpah.’

  Conrad finished his ale. ‘You would have my eternal gratitude if you wrote such a letter.’

  They said nothing more about Braune, the crusade or the Lithuanians during Conrad’s stay at Wenden. He took Ari and Jaan to see Rameke and Kaja, the queen heavily pregnant with her third child, her two boys no longer infants. Kaja looked radiant in the summer sun, her blonde fair hair thick and luxuriant. He held her close as he said his goodbyes, kissing her tenderly on the cheek.

  ‘I will always remember the wild young girl who saved my life in battle and who grew to become a queen, and a great queen at that. God keep you safe, Kaja.’

  She grew alarmed. ‘Has something happened, Susi, are you in danger?’

  He smiled kindly at her. ‘No, not at all.’

  He stepped back and bowed to his brother and his wife.

  ‘A poor knight salutes you both and rejoices that you found each other.’

  He turned in the saddle when he had ridden some distance from the village where the royal couple lived. Both of them were standing on the drawbridge spanning the dry moat, behind them Rameke’s bodyguard and curious villagers who had come to stare at Susi, the legendary figure of folklore. He raised his hand to the king and queen and they did the same.

  They did not know it but he was saying goodbye.

  Back at Odenpah garrison life revolved around assisting nearby villages gather in the harvest before the autumn rains came. Like at Wenden brother knights, sergeants and novices were sent to settlements to assist in scything ripened wheat and rye. It was backbreaking work and reminded the soldiers that life for a peasant was hard whereas their lot was relatively easy. It was also a useful exercise to cement relations between the Sword Brothers and ordinary Estonians, a bond relatively new and therefore requiring reinforcing.

  Falcone and his crossbowmen had also volunteered to assist with the harvest, partly to alleviate their boredom and partly to try to seduce the abundance of fair-haired Estonian women and girls who seemed to populate every village. Their funding was soon to expire, which meant the Genoese would be taking ship back to Germany unless Cardinal William sent more silver to pay for them. Perhaps Grand Master Volquin could find an allocation from the donation he was going to receive from the Duke of Holstein. A happy thought, one of few that Conrad had since his return from Wenden.

  He went to the blacksmith, a burly brute of few words who could work miracles with iron, a furnace and an anvil. His workshop was like an inferno the day Conrad paid him a visit, two sweating apprentices extracting red-hot horseshoes from the coals to work them on anvils.

  The blacksmith stopped what he was doing. ‘Master Conrad. We don’t often see you here. I didn’t tell you to stop working,’ he barked at the apprentices.

  ‘I need you to make something for me.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘An iron bar with a hand grip at one end, around three feet in length.’

  The blacksmith scratched his beard. ‘Odd request.’

  ‘But one I hope you can speedily fulfil.’

  The blacksmith delivered it that afternoon, just before Conrad summoned Werner, Jaan and Arri to his office. It was a humid day and they all started to sweat profusely in the small confines of the hut.

  ‘I’ll make this brief,’ said Conrad. ‘I have been called away by Grand Master Volquin.’

  He pointed at Jaan. ‘You will be temporary master until I return and Arri will be your deputy.’

  Jaan puffed out his chest. ‘Yes, master.’

  ‘And you will both consult with Sergeant Werner on a daily basis to curb any rashness.’

  ‘Rashness, master?’ said Jaan.

  ‘There will be no provocation of the Russians,’ Conrad told them, ‘and that includes sending patrols into Russian territory.’

  ‘How long will you be gone, master?’ aske
d Werner.

  Conrad smiled. ‘That will be for Grand Master Volquin to decide. One more thing; I hold all three of you personally responsible for Lady Maarja’s safety while I am absent. See that she comes to no harm. Dismissed.’

  They saluted and left. He had no reason to issue the order concerning Maarja as the whole garrison was immensely fond of her, Arri and Jaan more than most. But it eased his conscience to know that he had not omitted her in his final orders. Later he went to speak to her and found her in the space behind the great hall where she kept her flowerbeds. Mikk sat on a bench chatting to her as she knelt on a cushion with a tiny spade in her hand, weeding one of the beds. When he saw Conrad he rose, his movements slow and painful. Conrad assisted him to his feet.

  ‘My knees are not what they were, Master Conrad,’ he grimaced.

  Conrad passed him his walking stick. ‘I would like to speak to Lady Maarja.’

  Mikk nodded. ‘Of course.’

  He hobbled away, Conrad saddened to see this once strapping man a stooping figure. He assisted Maarja to her feet.

  ‘You are leaving us once more, Conrad.’

  ‘I am, lady.’

  She looked at him and tilted her head. ‘Perhaps you will not be coming back to us.’

  He blushed and avoided her gaze. ‘I…’

  She placed a mitten-covered hand over his mouth.

  ‘Whatever the reason that is taking you away I will pray that you will come back to us. When do you leave?’

  ‘Tomorrow.’

  ‘I can see that a great burden is weighing heavily on you, Conrad. Your journey will ease the strain that is visible even to my veiled eyes.’

  He took her hands. ‘If I was pure of heart like you, lady, then I would not have to undertake this journey but I cannot let a great injustice go unpunished.’

  ‘Long ago I learned to forgive, Conrad. Hate and bitterness do not impinge upon your enemies, they harm only you.’