As Dust to the Wind

by Peter Darman

  Rasa’s princes and chiefs soon became loud as they consumed vast quantities of beer and mead, though Ortwin noticed that Lamekins drank only kisielius, a non-alcoholic drink made from cranberries. He also noticed that Duke Erdvilas at the far end of the table, a forlorn and lonely figure, got drunk very quickly and amused himself with shooting hateful stares at the two Teutonic Knights.

  ‘He does not like us,’ observed Andreas.

  ‘We occupy half his kingdom while he sits rotting in the Tervete Valley, which by accounts is the wettest place on earth. Still, at least he is not forced to pay tribute to the Kurs like Ykintas there.’

  ‘Why does Lamekins need tribute?’

  Ortwin chewed on some rye bread. ‘He doesn’t but it serves to remind Ykintas who is the true powerbroker in these parts.’

  ‘I thought that was the Teutonic Order and its army of brother knights.’

  ‘The Sword Brothers never defeated the Kurs,’ answered Ortwin, ‘and I would not like to wager on who would win in a battle between Lamekins and the Teutonic Knights.’

  The evening wore on and Lamekins continued to stare at Mindaugas, taking gentle sips of his drink as he held the grand duke with his eyes. In the end Mindaugas could stand no more, smashing the table with his fist and standing.

  ‘If you have something to say to me, Lamekins, then let’s hear it.’

  The hubbub died down instantly as everyone turned to observe the tall, thin Selonian who was quivering with rage. Guards gripped their sword hilts and inched forward but Rasa waved them back. The guests were unarmed and Mindaugas was drunk. The worst that would happen was one party would challenge the other to a duel, though she doubted that it would come to that. If it did the participants’ fate would be in the gods’ hands.

  ‘I heard tell of a man,’ began Lamekins, ‘a Sword Brother who did not die at Saule but was captured and taken to Samogitia, there to live as a slave until he passed from this life.’

  ‘What happens in Samogitia is not the concern of Kurland,’ said Ykintas with a trace of threat.

  Lamekins showed Ykintas his palms. ‘I would never consider interfering in Samogitia’s affairs, duke. If only Samogitia would reciprocate the same courtesy. But I digress. Where was I?’

  ‘The captured Sword Brother, majesty,’ said Torolf.

  ‘Of course. I am here to tell you, Mindaugas, that this Sword Brother no longer resides in Samogitia. He escaped and made his way to my palace where he was treated for his many and grievous wounds. From there he was taken back to Livonia to die. But imagine my surprise when I heard that he not only recovered but has regained his former strength and vigour.’

  ‘It’s a lie,’ snapped Ykintas. ‘He is dead.’

  Lamekins turned to Ortwin. ‘Master Ortwin, what have you heard of Master Conrad who was captured at Saule?’

  ‘He lives, majesty, and as you say has returned to full health.’

  Mindaugas turned on Ykintas. ‘I was told he had died and his body cremated.’

  Ykintas glared at his brother-in-law. ‘I told you to kill him when he was captured. He escaped, what is that to me? You are the one to blame for him still living.’

  Lamekins sat back and enjoyed the spectacle as the two bickered over the fate of Master Conrad. Torolf had told him of the coolness between Mindaugas and Ykintas and now he witnessed it with his own eyes. His visit had been worthwhile after all. Samogitia would continue to pay its tribute and would be unlikely to contribute soldiers to any campaign Mindaugas might plan against Kurland. Selonia and Nalsen would continue to prosper from peaceful relations with Riga and he could continue to make himself and Kurland rich.

  After he had returned to Talsi Lamekins instructed his silversmith to make a silver boar standing on a bed of amber. The piece took much time, silver and amber to fashion and when it was finished Lamekins rewarded the smith handsomely for the beauty of his work. He had the piece sent to Panemunis as a gift for Princess Rasa, who had made a lasting impression on him, together with an invite for her to visit Talsi at her earliest convenience. Torolf took the gift and invitation and returned with a letter of thanks from the princess and a pledge to visit Kurland before the snows came. Thus did Lamekins and Rasa begin to thaw the frosty relations that had existed between their two kingdoms.

  *****

  That summer was a bountiful one for Livonia and Estonia. The weather was clement, crops grew, harvests were good and the people prospered. Villages echoed to the sound of healthy children playing and singing, cows grazed on lush grass and fields were full of sun-ripened crops. There was an abundance of hay, wheat, rye, barley, oats, peas, beans and vetches. Even after they had paid the tithe, the contribution to the Teutonic Order and their local lord, villages still had sufficient food and fodder to ensure that no one would starve through the winter. Some of the larger settlements were even able to sell some of their surpluses to finance the purchase of oxen to assist with the ploughing. Peace and prosperity ruled the land but whereas in earlier years people gave thanks to God for their good fortune, this year they flocked to church and prayed for peace. Rumours had circulated for months that Bishop Hermann was planning a crusade against Novgorod, which had been weakened by its subjugation to the Mongols. But not so weak that its army could not destroy a Swedish force at the Neva. Russians and Estonians still traded with each other at Dorpat and Russian merchants still took their goods to Riga but it was common knowledge that Bishop Hermann was to be made Archbishop of Novgorod. Scurrilous rumours circulated that the agents of Archdeacon Stefan had fanned the flames of gossip.

  In Estonia a collective shiver went through the land when its dukes sent messages to each village and town that those that had served with the Army of the Wolf should report to their lord’s stronghold.

  The Army of the Wolf, the famed formation that had never been defeated in battle. The army forged and commanded by Susi, the reincarnation of the ancient wolf spirit of the forests who had united a nation and delivered it from darkness to light, from division to unity and from war to peace. He had been lost in Lithuania but after three years had returned, some said to lead his army in one last, apocalyptic battle.

  Each duke had his war band of professional soldiers but many of those who had fought with Susi had left the ranks to raise families and work the land. But now they took their swords and armour from chests and left tearful wives and children to answer the call to arms. The chiefs and headmen told them that their lords needed them to protect the land from invading Russians but they did not believe them. Susi was back and the Army of the Wolf would march once more.

  The lords themselves met at Lehola, the mighty stronghold of the Duke of Saccalia, the former Sir Richard Bruffingham who had been given his dukedom by Pope Honorius himself. They had met frequently since the terrible news that Susi had fallen in Lithuania, a band of brothers forged by war who were united not only by their membership of the Army of the Wolf but also by their sense of grievance over the treatment of one of their number at the hands of the Papacy. Riki had been forced to give up half his lands to the Danes, who had also taken the whole of Wierland under the terms of the Treaty of Stensby. They had vowed never to go on crusade again unless Riki was compensated for the injury to his honour and the insult he had been forced to endure.

  But the meetings were always joyous affairs where men who had shared hardships and dangers together could relax in each other’s company and swap tales of Susi and their many campaigns. Lehola’s feasting hall could accommodate up to five hundred warriors and on these occasions there were few empty places as Saccalians, Harrien, Rotalians and Jerwen ate and drank together. In addition, Anu and his Wierlander exiles, now living permanently in Jerwen, also attended, though the Wierlander commander always felt inadequate at such august gatherings. The other warlords were older and vastly more experienced but they always made him and his men welcome.

  The banners of the warlords hung from the walls as the noise in the hall threatened to lift off the mighty roof so l
oud was it, the temperature also rising as men sweated in a chamber filled with hundreds of raucous, half-drunk warriors shouting at each other in an effort to make themselves heard.

  The din suddenly stopped when the doors opened and a figure entered the hall. They had hoped it would be Susi but Master Conrad had been called away to Dorpat on urgent business. Instead a fat old man in rags, his brown tunic threadbare and the cloak of the same colour torn and dirty, walked purposefully towards the top table where the lords sat. His piggy eyes looked right and left, daring anyone to object to his presence. None did for this was Rustic, the famed mystic who lived in Kassinurme’s sacred grove near Andres’ stronghold. Some said he was a wizard, others that he had the ear of the gods but Christian and pagan alike respected and feared him. And avoided him if they could.

  When he reached the top table he stopped and turned to face the assembly of warriors.

  ‘The harvest has been collected, granaries are full and the people prosper. Estonia flourishes.’

  Loud cheers and a crescendo of tankards being banged on tables greeted his words. Rustic raised his arms to call for calm. A man belched and the others laughed.

  ‘The gods have smiled upon Estonia. They have filled your bellies with food and ale.’

  ‘And the bellies of our women with babies,’ came a voice from the back of the hall.

  More cheers and thumping of table tops.

  Rustic’s face twisted into the semblance of a smile, though it was difficult to tell because his nose resembling a pig’s snout dominated his visage. Eustace sitting next to Sir Richard scowled with disapproval but the duke allowed himself to smile. He had met Rustic on many occasions and found him good company even though he believed him to be insane.

  ‘And what do you do with your good fortune?’

  ‘Make more babies,’ came the reply, to loud guffaws.

  He spun to look at the lords.

  ‘And you, my lords, what will you do with your good fortune?’

  ‘What good fortune?’ asked Riki, his blue eyes full of fire.

  ‘Ah, Riki,’ sighed Rustic, ‘what were you before you were raised up to the position you now enjoy? A landless warrior without a sword who would have starved were it not for a stroke of good fortune. Let me think. Oh yes, you joined a ragged band near this very fort that was led by a young man with a fine sword.’

  ‘My land has been stolen,’ spat Riki, his warriors grumbled their agreement.

  ‘Stolen?’ said Rustic loudly. ‘I thought Harrien was given to you by Susi who decreed that you should become a Christian lord so you and your sons and their sons would rule Varbola until the end of time. You still rule Varbola, do you not?’

  Riki nodded.

  ‘And the harvest, it was adequate?’ probed Rustic.

  ‘Sufficient,’ replied Riki.

  ‘So sufficient, in fact, that your stewards have sold surplus grain to the garrison of Reval.’

  Riki looked most discomfited. ‘Why should I not take money from the Danes? They have stolen from me.’

  ‘Why indeed?’ said Rustic. He looked at Sir Richard. ‘War is coming, my lord, and the man to whom you owe your title, position and even your life will be marching to do battle. Will you let him go alone?’

  ‘Why should you care what happens to a Christian lord?’ asked Eustace.

  Rustic ignored him and rested his hands on the table, his face inches from Sir Richard’s.

  ‘You know why, don’t you, my lord. To stay here in this fine hall while he meets his destiny means you will forgo the chance to attain what you have searched for these past years.’

  ‘Which is what?’ asked Sir Richard.

  ‘Redemption.’

  Rustic walked along the table and stopped at Hillar.

  ‘Who gave you your greatest victory, my lord? Is your mind so dulled by ale and soft living that you do not remember the day when you slew the king of the Oeselians?’

  He pointed at Sir Paul. ‘A great Christian knight are you now. But there was a time when you were judged so low that no decent person would even look at you. Who do you have to thank for that?’

  He picked up a tankard and tasted the contents.

  ‘Fine ale.’

  He put the tankard down and regarded its owner.

  ‘Tonis, Count of Fellin, warlord and the Duke of Saccalia’s trusted deputy. Will the wolf shields abandon the wolf spirit in his coming time of trial?’

  ‘We do not abandon our friends,’ insisted Andres.

  Rustic turned and strode towards the hall’s entrance.

  ‘That remains to be seen.’

  *****

  After the autumn rains came the snows, drenching the land still further until the temperature plummeted and the rivers and lakes froze. It continued to snow, the land turning white and hard as rock as the iron grip of winter took hold. Birds migrated to warmer climes, the people shivered in their wooden huts and Estonia prepared for war.

  It had taken the Livonian Master longer than anticipated to conduct negotiations with King Valdemar of Denmark but eventually the crusty old monarch agreed to support Bishop Hermann’s crusade. His condition was that Denmark should be permitted to plunder Novgorod when it was taken to recompense the crown for the considerable cost of supplying men and supplies for the bishop’s quest.

  Hermann stood staring into the raging fire in his audience chamber. He was far from happy.

  ‘I do not wish to take control of a pile of ashes, Dietrich. I am well aware what plunder means.’

  ‘I travelled with the two Danish princes who will command Valdemar’s troops, excellency,’ said von Grüningen, ‘perhaps if you met them your fears will be lessened.’

  Conrad raised an eyebrow. If they were anything like their king or the nobles that surrounded him he doubted the bishop would be appeased. He laughed at the thought that they might try to arrest him for the insults he had dealt their father. Hermann saw his smile.

  ‘Levity, Conrad? I see no humour in this situation.’

  ‘No, lord bishop.’

  Hermann turned from the fire and walked back to the table the others were sitting round.

  ‘If you had commanded your warlords to muster their men we wouldn’t be in this parlous situation.’

  He sighed. ‘Very well, Dietrich, show the princes in.’

  Conrad was surprised when they entered the chamber. One tall, fair haired and blue eyed, was typical of his race but the other was shorter with a darker complexion and had brown eyes. They did not look like brothers at all. They both bowed to the bishop and kissed his ring when Hermann extended his hand to them.

  ‘May I introduce Prince Canute,’ said von Grüningen, extending an arm towards the taller man, ‘and his younger brother, Prince Abel.’

  ‘This should be interesting,’ said Rudolf softly to Conrad. ‘They might take exception to your presence.’

  ‘Why just mine?’ asked Conrad.

  ‘I’m a Teutonic Knight now,’ smiled his friend, ‘all my former sins have been washed away.’

  ‘How many soldiers will march with you?’ asked Hermann brusquely.

  Canute smarted a little. ‘Near fifteen hundred, excellency, including two hundred and fifty horsemen.’

  ‘Perhaps introductions are in order, excellency?’ said von Grüningen.

  Hermann frowned. ‘What? Very well.’

  He pointed at Rudolf. ‘This is Master Rudolf, deputy commander of the Teutonic Order in Estonia.’

  His finger shifted to Conrad, resplendent in his Sword Brother uniform.

  ‘And this is Master Conrad, Marshal of Estonia and commander of the Army of the Wolf, though at the moment it has seemingly vanished into the mists.’

  Canute and Abel tipped their heads at Rudolf but glanced at each other when Conrad’s name was mentioned.

  ‘That’s right,’ said Hermann mischievously, ‘the same Master Conrad who is the enemy of your father, though I would remind you both that Danish law has no remit here.’ />
  ‘Your reputation and that of your army precedes you, sir,’ said Canute diplomatically.

  ‘It will be interesting to fight together rather than against each other,’ replied Conrad.

  ‘If we do any fighting,’ said the bishop. ‘And you, Rudolf, what men will you bring?’

  ‘Just over three hundred,’ answered Wenden’s castellan.

  ‘I have brought a hundred knights of the order from Germany,’ added von Grüningen.

  ‘Plus the hundred foot that will be provided by Dorpat,’ said Hermann. ‘Two thousand soldiers in all with which to seize Novgorod.’

  ‘God is on our side,’ von Grüningen stated.

  ‘Just as well,’ said Hermann, ‘for we go as David facing Goliath.’

  He rounded on von Grüningen. ‘I need the garrisons along the Dvina if I am to take Novgorod.’

  ‘I cannot release them to you, excellency,’ replied the master. ‘To do would leave Livonia naked. Perhaps King Rameke could be persuaded to support our crusade.’

  ‘The king will not march until certain grievances pertaining to Estonia have been addressed,’ said Conrad, looking at the two Danish princes.

  ‘I do not want to get into that,’ snapped Hermann irritably. ‘I want more soldiers.’

  Grüningen was going to speak but Hermann cut him dead.

  ‘And do not bother mentioning the Livonian Militia. They would be more dangerous to us than the enemy.’

  ‘What of Dorpat?’ queried Rudolf.

  Hermann was nonplussed. ‘What of it?’

  ‘The garrison could march with us.’

  Hermann sighed loudly. ‘The garrison will be needed here, Rudolf. It may have escaped your notice but there is a considerable number of Russians in Dorpat who might decide upon revenge when they learn that we are marching against Novgorod. I can spare no more men from the garrison.’