by Peter Darman
‘Six hundred.’
Rudolf was surprised. ‘That few?’
Conrad shrugged. ‘I need soldiers to safeguard Estonia from the Danes, not to mention the Oeselians. I have also had to garrison Narva substantially to safeguard it.’
‘You see,’ said Thaddeus smugly, ‘the Sword Brothers are already spread thinly.’
Rudolf ignored him. ‘And you, your grace?’
‘A hundred horsemen and fifty crossbowmen that I have loaned to Conrad’s army. The majority of my soldiers remain in Saccalia lest the Danes come south. And I have had to send a hundred warriors to support Bishop Hermann at Dorpat.’
Rudolf nodded knowingly. ‘As I have had to send a dozen sergeants to Dorpat and the same number of mercenaries. Master Walter will need all the help he can get if he is to secure Ungannia.’
Dorpat had been taken in a great siege the previous summer, thus bringing to an end Kristjan’s rebellion. But Ungannian losses had been high and Bishop Albert was worried that a new insurrection could flare up at any time in his brother’s new bishopric.
‘If Bishop Hermann treats the Ungannians with respect he will encounter few problems,’ said Conrad. ‘But if he treats them like slaves then they will rise up.’
‘A blunt assessment from Odenpah’s new master,’ reflected Rudolf. ‘And what is the state of your garrison, Conrad?’
‘There is no garrison,’ replied Conrad flatly. ‘The Lady Maarja still resides in the fort until her new abode has been built.’
He laughed. ‘The gates are open, there is no garrison and yet Odenpah is the most secure stronghold in the whole of Estonia.’
Thaddeus was intrigued. ‘How so?’
‘She is a survivor of the pox, quartermaster general,’ replied Conrad, ‘and because her body is scarred people believe that the fort is cursed. No one will enter its gates.’
‘A terrible thing,’ reflected Sir Richard. ‘We pray for her at Lehola.’
‘You should garrison Odenpah,’ said Rudolf, ‘if only so you can reinforce Dorpat should the need arise.’
‘One more thing,’ said Conrad. ‘The Lady Maarja has informed me that Kristjan did not die at Dorpat, which means he may one day return to claim his kingdom. Estonia appears calm and peaceful but in many ways that is an illusion.’
‘Be that as it may, Conrad,’ said Rudolf, ‘Bishop Albert’s attention is fixed firmly on Mesoten and he will not be swayed from the matter.’
‘Then lets us hope that it is a quick and bloodless campaign,’ said Conrad.
Later he stood alone at the grave of his wife and child in Wenden’s cemetery. The graves and grass between them were well tended as always, the gardeners ensuring that the gravestones were cleaned and repaired after the ravages of winter. He looked at the head stone with a heavy heart. Daina had been so beautiful when she had been cruelly snatched from him and Dietmar had been but an infant. He remembered that terrible night in Thalibald’s village when they had died. When he should have died. Since then he had killed many men. How many were fathers, sons, brothers? Was he any better than Lembit’s warriors who had butchered his family just because he slaughtered men in the name of God? He had always been told that God was merciful and forgiving. If that was the case why did He never listen when Conrad prayed that he be allowed to join his wife and child in heaven? He had no answers, just a mound of well-tended grass adjacent to a beautifully carved headstone. And flowers, always flowers. Placed there by a kind heart.
‘Conrad.’
He turned slowly and saw the owner of that heart. He walked forward and embraced Ilona, holding the friend of his wife tightly for a few seconds.
‘Hans and Anton are worried about you.’
‘About me?’
She looked at him with eyes full of kindness.
‘They say that you are not happy.’
‘I have many responsibilities,’ he answered evasively. He looked back at the grave. ‘They keep me away too much. I should be the one who puts flowers on their grave.’
She placed a hand on his arm. ‘Daina would have been proud of what you have become, Conrad. She would understand.’
‘Master Rudolf has promised that when I die I will be buried with them,’ was all that he could think to say.
That night he sat with Ilona in Wenden’s dining hall as Rudolf feasted Sir Richard’s men and the chiefs of the Army of the Wolf. The next day they marched south with the garrison of the castle to partake in Bishop Albert’s great crusade in Semgallia.
The destination was not Riga but Kokenhusen, the former home of Prince Vetseke who had fallen at Dorpat, but was now the stone citadel of the Sword Brothers. Positioned on a high bluff where the River Perse flowed into the larger Dvina, Kokenhusen was wedge shaped to fit the hill it sat on. Interspersed along its thick perimeter wall were five towers, two of which were large and high. Those towers overlooking the Dvina mounted ballistae to shoot at enemy vessels on the water. The castle’s outer bailey spread down the slope on the landward side, beyond which was a large Liv settlement. Access to the outer bailey was reached via a drawbridge over a dry moat, with another drawbridge giving entry to the castle’s inner bailey. The castle itself housed barracks, stables, chapel, dining hall, forge, armoury, granary, mill and kitchens. Large and imposing, it was surrounded by a multitude of tents as the crusader army gathered in preparation for crossing the Dvina.
Riverboats had been sent downstream from Riga along with rafts that had been specially constructed by the city’s engineers to facilitate the transportation of horses, ponies and wagons across the river. It was around five hundred paces wide at this point but it was not the distance that concerned the council of war gathering in the castle but the reception the army would meet on the opposite side. Just over five thousand men would cross the Dvina, together with their mounts, supplies and civilian camp followers numbering an additional five hundred. As well as priests, monks and civilians employed by the crusaders, such as cart drivers and servants, they included less savoury elements: hawkers and whores.
As at Wenden, the master’s hall at Kokenhusen was a stone building with a vaulted ceiling with a central meeting chamber, around which were offices for the castle’s clerks. A large oak table stood in the centre of the chamber, around which the commanders sat, though not before the bishop had said prayers. He implored the Lord to smile on their venture south of the Dvina, the first time that a Christian army had crossed the waterway since the disaster six years before. After prayers had been concluded the men sat in high-backed chairs with elaborately carved arms. They also had plump cushions, which was a nice thought, Conrad decided, since these meetings could often be long and tedious. As novices came forward to fill cups with wine Bishop Albert scrutinised the warlords before him. He was now nearly sixty and the years of travelling back and forth between Germany and Livonia had taken their toll. His chiselled features appeared slightly sunken and gaunt and his hair was thinning and showing much grey. But the forthcoming campaign had animated his spirits and his eyes burned with eagerness.
‘Gentlemen, at long last we are able to take the cross south across the Dvina to spread the word of the Holy Church among the heathen Lithuanians.’
Those listening rapped their knuckles on the table top to show their support.
‘Some of you,’ he looked at Fricis, Rameke, Grand Master Volquin, Master Griswold, Master Rudolf and Conrad, ‘will remember the last time we went to Semgallia and were basely betrayed. This time there will be no reoccurrence of such treachery. It may reassure you to learn that we are crossing the river at Kokenhusen to link up with the army of Prince Vsevolod and his…’
He looked imploringly at Grand Master Volquin.
‘His army of Nalsen and Selonians, lord bishop,’ answered the head of the Sword Brothers.
‘Who are they?’ enquired Duke Fredhelm, the crusader lord who had helped to take Dorpat the previous summer and who now looked forward to slaughtering pagans in Lithuania.
‘T
wo of the Lithuanian tribes, my lord,’ answered Volquin, ‘whom Vsevolod rules by virtue of being married to a princess of those tribes.’
‘The same Vsevolod who is the sworn enemy of the Sword Brothers,’ said Rudolf, ‘who would like nothing better than to see our order and those who march with it destroyed.’
Albert held up a hand to Wenden’s master. ‘I am well aware of Vsevolod’s duplicity, Rudolf, that is why I insisted on him sending hostages to Riga to ensure his friendship. I have also made it clear that should he attempt any ruse against us I will ask His Holiness the Pope to declare a crusade against him personally. Not a crusade against Lithuania but a crusade against his person.’
‘My crews hear that the Lithuanians are cowered by fear of the Kurs,’ said a portly man in expensive mail armour loudly. ‘They are so scared of Arturus that they will sell their mothers to get any help, miserable wretches that they are.’
They all looked at the blustery individual with neatly cropped hair and beard that encompassed a face that erred towards ugliness. Bishop Albert smiled.
‘Gentlemen, it gives me great pleasure to introduce Magnus Glueck, Riga’s Higher Burgomaster who commands the Livonian Militia.’
The Sword Brothers all looked at each other with slight alarm. They had a low opinion of Riga’s garrison as it was but militias tended to be recruited from towns and cities and were made up of men who were very much civilians first and soldiers second.
‘We are blessed,’ continued Albert, ‘that from among the citizens of Riga and the surrounding settlements the city council has raised and equipped five hundred God-fearing men to battle the heathens.’
No one rapped their knuckles on the table this time. Conrad raised an eyebrow at the expensively dressed fat man sitting opposite. He remembered how the ‘Bishop’s Bastards’ had suffered both on and off the battlefield before they had been turned into good soldiers. He had no reason to suppose that the Livonian Militia would be any different.
But Glueck was wildly optimistic as well as very rich. He owned a number of cogs that sailed between Riga and Lübeck, transporting Russian furs, wax, timber, tar, potash, tallow and leather to northern Germany. But he also owned a number of riverboats that took cloth, salt, herrings, wine, beer and spices, brought by his cogs to Riga, up the Dvina to sell to the Russians. His business had made him not only rich but also the head of the city council. This was made up of twelve councillors, all rich men, four of whom were elected by the others to be burgomasters. The Higher Burgomaster ran the council and the council managed all aspects of the city, including commanding the militia. Riga was becoming a powerful city in the Baltic and had minted its own coins for fourteen years. And now its council was desirous to partake in a glorious military campaign to increase the standing of its most important citizens.
‘The militia has been equipped with the finest weapons that money can buy,’ boasted Glueck. ‘They are eager to use them against the godless. If this Vsevolod causes any problems, lord bishop, then my men will make mincemeat out of them.’
Rudolf rolled his eyes and Volquin grimaced as he prevented himself from laughing.
‘Have you brought the garrison of Riga with you, lord bishop?’ asked Conrad.
‘I have brought with me only Commander Nordheim and his horsemen, Conrad,’ answered the bishop. ‘My nephew is concerned that the Kurs might mount a surprise attack against the city and so the garrison remains in Riga to safeguard against such an occurrence.’
‘That must reassure the inhabitants greatly,’ said Volquin dryly.
‘But my friend Magnus is correct in stating that the Lithuanians have suffered greatly from the diabolical Duke Arturus,’ said Bishop Albert, ‘and they are desperate for his destruction.’
Volquin was not happy. ‘Lord bishop, forgive me but Prince Vsevolod is still the enemy of Riga. He has a poisonous nature and will endeavor to use us for his own gain.’
Albert nodded. ‘Indeed he will, grand master. But once we have secured Mesoten I intend to build a stone castle on the site. And once established the pagans will not be able to dislodge us. Gentlemen I want Mesoten and I intend to have it.’
After the meeting Conrad walked back to camp in the company of Rameke who seemed to have gained a few pounds.
‘Married life suits you, my brother. I trust Kaja is well.’
‘Well and soon to be homeless,’ replied Rameke, ‘as will I.’
Conrad stopped and looked at his brother with alarm. Rameke smiled.
‘Treiden is too small to accommodate the king, his family and us so we are moving to my father’s old village, which the Army of the Wolf kindly rebuilt.
‘Makes sense,’ said Conrad.
Thalibald’s village had for years been an overgrown site until it had housed Estonian refugees during Kristjan’s war. But the refugees had gone home and the village was once again empty.
‘I have promised Kaja that I will build her a fine manor house.’
‘Manor house?’ said Conrad. ‘Not a hill fort?’
‘You need a hill for a hill fort. Besides, I have been talking to architects in Riga and they have told me that fortified manor houses are most appealing. They have walls, moats and drawbridges but their rooms are spacious and well lit. My bodyguard and their families can live in the village.’
‘I look forward to seeing it,’ said Conrad.
‘And you?’ Rameke grinned. ‘How do you like your new castle?’
Conrad shook his head. ‘It was once a mighty stronghold but is now empty. I have three brother knights, myself included, no sergeants, no mercenaries and the locals believe that the fort is cursed. I am master of very little.’
They both walked to where the Army of the Wolf was camped north of the settlement of Kokenhusen, at the edge of a great forest of pine, to where Jaan was cooking the evening meal. The Harrien youth had become a diligent servant and Conrad had decided to make him Odenpah’s first Sword Brother novice. Hans was loitering near him as he stirred the stew in the cooking pot hanging over the fire.
‘You see, Rameke,’ said Conrad, ‘nothing changes. Hans still gives the impression that he is on the edge of starvation.’
But Hans temporarily forgot his hunger to embrace the Liv prince, as did Anton. Jaan stood and bowed his head to him.
‘I trust the Princess Kaja is well, lord,’ he said in his native tongue, which he assumed Rameke understood.
‘Well, yes,’ replied Rameke in perfect Estonian.
As well as his native tongue he could speak perfect German and could read Latin. He also had knowledge of the Russian tongue, his mind being as keen as the edge of his sword. He sat cross-legged on the ground with his brother and friends as Jaan returned to his duties. As they waited a few chiefs among Conrad’s army came over to pay their respects to the Liv warlord, veterans who had fought beside him in several campaigns.
‘How was the meeting?’ asked Anton.
Conrad sighed. ‘The bishop’s army now includes the Livonian Militia, which is commanded by a military genius.’
‘What’s the Livonian Militia?’ said Hans.
‘The personal plaything of Riga’s wealthiest citizens,’ answered Conrad. ‘Let’s hope its soldiers are not as fat and bombastic as its commander.’
‘I have seen them,’ said Rameke. ‘They look most impressive. No expense has been spared on their weapons and armour.’
As Jaan began serving the stew into wooden bowls Rameke spotted Leatherface sauntering up in his grubby gambeson. He slapped Conrad on the arm and pointed at the mercenary.
‘Not like your soldiers, Conrad.’
*****
It was a beautiful summer’s day when the crusader army began its crossing of the Dvina. There was no wind and the surface of the blue waterway was mirror smooth, overhead a blue sky was littered with white puffy clouds. Either side of the river great expanses of pine, spruce and birch trees provided a backdrop of unending green, in stark contrast to the garish colours of Bishop Albert�
��s army. Whereas boats and rafts had transported his army across the Dvina during his previous invasion of Semgallia, this time Master Thaddeus had designed rafts that could be lashed together to form a temporary bridge to span the waterway, which was narrower at Kokenhusen than it was near Riga.
The rafts, wide enough to accommodate a line of four fully armoured mounted knights, had been constructed during the spring on the banks on the Perse, before being floated in the water and towed by oared riverboats into the Dvina. A priest blessed each section after it had been floated into position, which meant that the whole morning passed before the temporary bridge spanned the river.
Prince Vsevolod, who had made camp a short distance inland from the southern shore, had assembled his soldiers just after dawn when a boat had arrived from Kokenhusen with a message from Bishop Albert that he was about to cross the river. But he had returned to his tent when it became clear that the process would be agonisingly slow. It was afternoon when he returned to the river after he had been informed that the last section of the pontoon bridge was in position and the crusaders were about to cross.
The prince was surrounded as usual by his Russian guards, who were resplendent in their burnished helmets, aventails, lamellar armour and blue tunics, with shields sporting the prince’s silver griffin emblem. Around them were Lithuanian riders likewise attired in lamellar and mail armour and armed with spisas, the long spears favoured by Lithuanian horsemen. Unlike the prince’s Russians they carried pavise-like shields. They sat in silence as Thaddeus’ engineers lashed the last section of the bridge in place and then leapt ashore to secure it to the riverbank with wooden stakes and ropes.
‘This is sacrilege,’ hissed Mindaugas next to Vsevolod.
‘You will hold your tongue,’ commanded his father-in-law. ‘I have spent a considerable amount of time and energy securing this agreement and I will not see it broken by your immature outbursts.’
‘General Aras,’ said the prince, ‘you will meet the bishop’s envoy at the mid-point of the bridge to ensure everything is as it should be.’