As Dust to the Wind

by Peter Darman

  With that he marched away, his leather boots squelching in the mud and blood as he went to assist his priests providing solace to those who were about to pass to the afterlife.

  ‘Is Morta well?’ asked Ykintas casually as a wounded man a few paces away collapsed on all fours and began vomiting blood.

  ‘Well, thank you. And Elze?’

  ‘Pregnant,’ replied Ykintas.

  Mindaugas shook his hand. ‘The gods are with you.’

  Ykintas looked around at the tide of dead where his shield wall had fought the crusader horsemen and then their foot. On the slope of the eastern side of the hill where the Sword Brothers had been surrounded and slaughtered was a white circle surrounded by heaps of pagan slain.

  ‘The gods have a black sense of humour. Your arrival was fortuitous, most fortuitous.’

  ‘I received word from Princess Rasa that a crusader army was invading Samogitia. I came as quickly as I could.’

  He suddenly looked downcast. ‘Victory was bought at a high price.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Aras is dead.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’

  He was not the only one. The crossbowmen of the Sword Brothers had inflicted many losses on Mindaugas’ men before being overwhelmed. A tally of the Samogitians revealed that half were either dead or wounded. But still, it was a victory over the Christians that would be told throughout Lithuania for generations. Not even the Kurs had won such a triumph against the men of iron. Because the sun had shone throughout the battle the Lithuanians dedicated it to Saule, the Goddess of the Sun who provides warmth and fertility. Saule was also the Goddess of Misfortunes and Ykintas reckoned the dedication was fitting because many of his people’s families would weep when they learned that the man of the home would not be returning to them.

  He did not know it but after the Battle of Saule Lithuania would never see the Sword Brothers again.

  The dead were cremated on huge funeral pyres that burned day and night for three days, the sickly smell of roasting human flesh hanging over the land for miles around. The captured standards of the Sword Brothers and crusaders were also burnt on the orders of the Kriviu Krivaitis because they were infused with evil that might infect those who came into contact with them. Ykintas and Mindaugas would have liked to have taken them back to their strongholds but instead looked on as one by one they were hurled on the fire.

  The logs that were tossed on the fire at Medvegalis were more welcome when Ykintas, Mindaugas, the Kriviu Krivaitis and Duke Erdvilas gathered in the fort’s feasting hall to celebrate the great Lithuanian victory. It had taken Erdvilas and his men over a week to reach the Samogitian capital, the land already being lashed by sleet as autumn took hold. The benches in the hall were filled with raucous, drunk chiefs and princes toasting each other and their Aukstaitijan and Semgallian allies. The air tingled with the expectation of a new year and fresh victories. But in contrast to the revelry in the rest of the hall the mood at the top table was sombre and contemplative.

  Ykintas ate and drank sparingly as he engaged in polite conversation with Erdvilas, while Morta laughed and teased Mindaugas.

  ‘What now?’ asked Erdvilas.

  ‘The recent victory will invigorate the war against Riga,’ said Mindaugas. ‘First we will take Mesoten as a gift to you, Duke Erdvilas, and then we will cross the Dvina and reduce Riga to ashes.’

  ‘We tried to take Mesoten once,’ said Ykintas, ‘a most unhappy experience.’

  Mindaugas drank some mead. ‘It is different now. There are no Sword Brothers left to man its walls.’

  Ykintas looked at Erdvilas. ‘Is this true, lord duke?’

  ‘The banner of the Sword Brothers still flies from its ramparts,’ replied Erdvilas. ‘My scouts have also seen Kur patrols riding to and from the fort.’

  ‘The Kurs have abandoned the true religion,’ scoffed Mindaugas, ‘we have the gods on our side.’

  ‘We do not have the resources to fight the Kurs, the whole of Livonia and those crusaders who will sail to Riga when the bishop of that city issues a cry for help,’ said Ykintas.

  ‘Then we do nothing?’ complained Mindaugas.

  Ykintas grew angry. ‘Have you learned nothing, Mindaugas? Even if we recapture Mesoten, what then? Cross the Dvina and conquer the whole of Livonia? How many warriors will it take to storm the walls of Riga and every castle that the Christians have built in their kingdom? Does Aukstaitija have an inexhaustible supply of men with which to achieve this?’

  ‘What would be your advice, Duke Ykintas?’ enquired the high priest calmly.

  ‘Celebrate our victory, remember those we have lost and dismiss from our minds any idea that we can recreate the time of Grand Duke Daugerutis.’

  ‘My father often reminisced about those times,’ said Erdvilas wistfully, ‘about how twenty thousand Lithuanians marched across the Dvina with Daugerutis.’

  Ykintas brought him back to reality. ‘Twenty thousand men and he still failed. How many warriors can you rally to your banner, lord duke, half that number?’

  ‘Perhaps a third,’ said Erdvilas glumly.

  ‘Samogitia is in the same dire state,’ admitted Ykintas. ‘So that leaves you, Mindaugas. How many warriors of Aukstaitija will you march north next summer?’

  They all looked at the new duke but he said nothing, staring ahead, his face a mask of stony anger.

  ‘I thought not,’ said Ykintas.

  That was the beginning of the rift between Ykintas and Mindaugas. Mindaugas had fulfilled his vow to destroy the Sword Brothers but instead of relishing his triumph he grew bitter at what he perceived to be the caution and timidity of his fellow dukes. Ykintas for his part saw the Battle of Saule as a welcome respite from the constant assaults his people had been subjected to. He had grown weary of war and desired nothing more than to rule his people in peace.

  *****

  The priests and cardinals stood in a semi-circle in silence as they watched Pope Gregory praying at the altar in the centre of the transept of the Lateran Palace. It was an altar reserved for the pontiff only; incorporating as it did wood that had formed part of the original altar used by Saint Peter himself over a thousand years before. Additional prayers had been ordered throughout Italy in the wake of two great disasters that had befallen Christendom. First had been the dreadful news from the Baltic where the crusader army led by the Duke of Holstein had been destroyed by the pagans, together with half of the Order of Sword Brothers. Then came news that Holy Roman Emperor Frederick had defeated an army of German rebels and was intent on marching into northern Italy when the snow had cleared from the mountain passes in the spring. Once he had dealt with the Lombard League he would undoubtedly march on Rome itself as part of his personal war against Pope Gregory.

  The pontiff opened his eyes, unclasped his hands and began to rise to his feet. Young priests rushed to his side to assist him. The cardinals, eager to seek an audience with the Pope, were waved away by a tired, pale Gregory.

  ‘Cardinal William will stay,’ he commanded as the others dispersed.

  William of Modena walked to the Pope, the pontiff pointing at the white-haired Hermann von Salza who was loitering near one of the marble pillars.

  ‘Grand Master Salza, you will also attend me.’

  The three strolled towards the end of the transept, towards the palace’s northern façade that had a magnificent double gallery with a painted ceiling showing scenes from the testaments. The interior of the palace was calm and serene in stark contrast to the chaos threatening to envelop Christendom. The pope said nothing at first as he walked on the marble tiles, holding the gold pectoral cross hanging from a chain around his neck.

  ‘Is Riga in any danger?’ he said at last.

  ‘Bishop Nicholas has assured me that the city and Livonia can contain any pagan attack should it come,’ answered William, ‘though I also received a plea from the governor of the city for the Papacy to send troops immediately.’

  The pope stopped. ‘Th
e governor?’

  ‘Archdeacon Stefan, Holy Father, a member of the Buxhoeveden family and a man possessed of a knavish character. Apparently the commander of the city garrison was killed during the Duke of Holstein’s misfortune.’

  ‘We can ignore the archdeacon’s pleas,’ said the Pope curtly, ‘I have more pressing matters to address.’

  He looked at the commander of the Teutonic Knights.

  ‘For over thirty years the Sword Brothers have fought paganism in the Baltic, winning victory after victory against the heathens. But now most of them have been martyred and I fear that the survivors are too few to defend Livonia and Estonia from the pagan Lithuanians and the apostate Russians.’

  ‘I have heard that too, Holy Father,’ admitted Salza.

  ‘With Grand Master Volquin dead,’ continued Gregory, ‘the surviving Sword Brothers lack leadership. I am therefore of a mind to merge them with the Teutonic Knights.’

  Salza was surprised. ‘There has never been a merger of military brotherhoods, Holy Father.’

  ‘No, indeed, but these are trying times and with your order fighting the Prussians it makes sense that the Teutonic Order should assume responsibility for Livonia as well.’

  ‘And Estonia, Holy Father?’ enquired William.

  Gregory stroked his beard. ‘Estonia? Isn’t that the preserve of Bishop Hermann.’

  ‘Bishop Hermann runs the Bishopric of Dorpat,’ explained William, ‘but the rest of Estonia is administered by its marshal, Master Conrad of the Sword Brothers.’

  Gregory nodded. ‘Yes, I remember. He was the source of conflict between Riga and the Sword Brothers I seem to recall.’

  ‘Provoked by Archdeacon Stefan,’ said William, ‘and made worse by Baldwin of Alna.’

  ‘I remember.’

  William continued. ‘I regret to say that Master Conrad was also martyred in Lithuania.’

  Gregory threw up his arms. ‘So there you have it, Grand Master Salza. The best of the Sword Brothers have perished in the service of the Holy Church and it is the responsibility of the Teutonic Order to ensure the good work of Bishop Albert and the order he created is not undone.’

  ‘The Teutonic Order will be honoured to do so, Holy Father,’ answered Salza.

  ‘My experience of the Sword Brothers,’ said William, ‘is that their castellans are proud and independent and may not take kindly to being absorbed into another order without consultation.’

  ‘That will be your first task, Hermann,’ said the Pope. ‘Your experience of acting as a diplomat for the emperor will come in useful when dealing with the remaining senior officers of the Sword Brothers. William will provide details of the mission of Baldwin of Alna to Livonia. It is a case study of how not to conduct a diplomatic mission. You may leave us.’

  Salza bowed his head and retreated from their presence.

  ‘While the Teutonic Knights are grappling with the problem of absorbing Livonia,’ said Gregory, ‘I want you to go to Denmark to convey my compliments to King Valdemar. Inform him that the Papacy reaffirms his claim to northern Estonia. With Sword Brother power broken in the Baltic I want the Danish crown to be a bulwark against the Russians.’

  William nodded. ‘That would make sense, Holy Father, though Danish power is not what it was.’

  Gregory looked up at the painting on the ceiling depicting Satan being cast out of heaven.

  ‘A fitting epitaph for our age, William.’

  Chapter 6

  The approach of winter and the drop in temperature that would freeze the rivers and lakes and cover the land in snow prevented the high and the low of Livonia from panicking in the wake of the disaster at Saule. Master Rudolf, created temporary grand master of what was left of the Sword Brothers, sent knights and sergeants from the garrisons of Wenden, Kremon and Segewold to bolster the skeleton garrisons along the Dvina. But he and his remaining castellans knew that the order was stretched thin and worried that a determined effort by the Lithuanians across the Dvina might imperil Riga itself. But no army approached the river rapidly emptying of traffic as autumn gave way to winter and ice began to form on the edges of the riverbanks. The ice was thin and inconsequential at first but always thickening and expanding by the day to narrow the navigable part of the river.

  The river had not frozen completely when the horse-drawn carriage flanked by Commander Gunter and half a dozen spearmen on foot halted in Magnus Glueck’s courtyard. Servants wearing the duke’s livery opened the door to the carriage and placed a temporary step beneath so Archdeacon Stefan could alight. His corpulent frame was encased in a large fur-lined cloak and on his head was a thickly padded hat covering his now almost bald crown. But he still shivered as a biting wind swirled around the courtyard, the duke’s steward walking forward to kiss the churchman’s ring before the hand was snapped back beneath the cloak.

  The archdeacon was not an individual to move quickly on account of his bulk and also because he believed that only the lower orders scuttled around. To take measured steps was an outward sign of good breeding and nobility. But on this occasion he moved speedily to reach the steps to the duke’s hall. Glueck was waiting for him outside. He also had an aversion to anything that smacked of base living, which included standing around in the cold. But the greeting between the two was warm as the duke gave instructions for mulled wine and hot pastries to be brought to the hall. He knew how the archdeacon liked his delicacies.

  A fire was raging in the stone hearth as servants positioned two high-backed chairs near the flames and took the archdeacon’s cloak, beneath which he wore padded vestments to ward off the icy air.

  ‘I will never get used to the winters in these parts,’ he complained, ‘though I must confess that this year the cold seems particularly severe.’

  ‘In what way?’

  Stefan shook his head. ‘Manfred dead and the only thing between us and a pagan attack is the River Dvina, which has nearly frozen, which means that the heathens can walk across it to murder us in our beds when it does.’

  He shuddered. ‘It feels as though God has abandoned us.’

  A servant offered him a silver chalice filled with mulled wine.

  Glueck also took a warmed drinking vessel.

  ‘I would not worry unduly, Stefan. You may be comforted to hear that Ambassador Torolf has assured me King Lamekins has pledged to defend Riga and its good citizens.’

  ‘The Kur?’ sniffed Stefan. ‘A former pagan who used to serve Duke Arturus, a man who tried to burn Riga to the ground?’

  ‘Times change, Stefan,’ Glueck reassured him. ‘Arturus is dead, Lamekins is a Christian king and the Kurs are our allies. And speaking as one who saw them in anger I can assure you that having them as friends as opposed to enemies is most cheering.’

  Colour began to return to the archdeacon’s cheeks as the wine took effect.

  Glueck continued to reassure him. ‘You must be relieved that the Sword Brothers have finally been emasculated, surely?’

  Stefan curled a lip. ‘It provided a degree of comfort I grant you. But it was typical that the Sword Brothers should get themselves slaughtered and leave Riga naked. Most inconsiderate.’

  Glueck smiled. ‘But at the very least you must have been delighted the Marshal of Estonia is no more?’

  Stefan at last appeared happier. A servant refreshed his chalice as he nodded.

  ‘God’s justice always prevails in the end, Magnus. The baker’s son’s elevation to high command was an affront to all that was decent and proper.’

  He took the refilled chalice and sipped at the wine eagerly.

  ‘The bishop has informed me that what is left of the Sword Brothers is to become part of the Teutonic Order, which is currently battling the pagan Prussians.’

  Glueck raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you know of this order?’

  Now it was the archdeacon’s turn to provide reassurance.

  ‘I know that its knights are all of noble birth and it does not tolerate former pagans within its r
anks.’

  Glueck chuckled. ‘I like this Teutonic Order already.’

  The servants brought more pastries that the archdeacon tucked into with gusto, washing down the fancies with liberal quantities of wine. The fire crackled and spat filling the hall with smoke but at least the flames warmed the corpulent occupants of the chairs placed near it.

  ‘Where is your young wife?’ enquired Stefan, splashes of wine on his vestments.

  ‘Praying,’ said Glueck, ‘she does that a lot. Too much, I think.’

  ‘It must comfort you to have such a godly wife,’ slurred Stefan.

  ‘The commander of your guards,’ remarked Glueck, changing the subject, ‘why is he so glum?’

  Stefan rolled his eyes. ‘Gunter is not Manfred, Magnus, not at all. He is diligent in his duties, virtuous and honest, I will give him that. But he lacks Manfred’s pragmatic nature. But his honesty is like a great weight bearing down on him.’

  ‘No wonder he looks so morose.’

  Stefan shook his head. ‘I would dismiss him but he is popular among the garrison and with the bishop and in truth has done nothing to suggest that he will cause me trouble.’

  Glueck raised his chalice. ‘Long may that state of affairs continue.’

  They sat and drank into the evening until both were inebriated, servants assisting the archdeacon from the hall to his waiting carriage where a frowning Gunter helped the churchman into his seat. The archdeacon was only half-conscious as the commander of the garrison secured his master and sat opposite him to ensure he did not fall out of the carriage as it rumbled through the streets of Riga.

  Magnus Glueck was not as drunk as his friend as he made his way from the hall to his bedchamber where his wife would be waiting. Her maidservants made themselves scarce despite the tears that flowed down the cheeks of their mistress. They had learned long ago that to stand between her and the Duke of Riga was to risk a thrashing or much worse. So the duchess was alone when her husband staggered into the room. Rich tapestries from Italy covered the walls, carpets made from Flemish wool covered the floor and a large bed made from locally sourced wood was the centrepiece of the room. The noblewomen of Riga would love to sleep in such a room but for the Duchess of Riga it resembled a gilded prison cell.