by Peter Darman
Wenden’s master accompanied the Army of the Wolf from Treiden back to his stronghold, riding in the company of Conrad and Sir Richard through a lush green landscape. The air was scented with birch, the most widespread tree in Livonia, though there was also an abundance of spruce, pine and bird cherry trees. Despite his scolding of Conrad south of the Dvina over the business with Glueck he had nothing but praise for his former novice and brother knight.
‘Now is the time to press the Danes, Conrad. They will be receiving few if any reinforcements now that Valdemar’s followers have been defeated in Germany. Reval is isolated.’
‘But strong,’ said Conrad. ‘An army of Russians and Estonians could not capture it and I will not sacrifice any of my men needlessly.’
Rudolf smiled. ‘The Russians did not have Master Thaddeus and his machines. It’s quite simple. We surround the place and let Thaddeus indulge himself by smashing its walls.’
‘Is it wise to keep our campaign against Reval a secret from Bishop Albert?’ asked Conrad with concern.
‘He will discover it sooner or later, Rudolf,’ said Sir Richard.
‘Grand Master Volquin and I will endure the repercussions when he does,’ answered Rudolf. ‘But if we have expelled the Danes from Estonia then we will have at least solved one problem, which will allow us to deal with a much bigger one.’
‘Which is?’ asked Sir Richard.
‘Lithuania. I fear that we have awakened a giant bear from its hibernation and it is very angry. You both saw how the Kurs toyed with us at the Iecava. A taste of things to come, I fear.’
‘No wonder Prince Vsevolod was keen to enlist the bishop’s aid,’ remarked Sir Richard.
Rudolf laughed. ‘He’s an old fox and no mistake. I have to admit that I have a sneaking admiration for our old Russian adversary. He has adeptly manoeuvred the bishop into a war in Lithuania against the Kurs, an enemy that was about to throttle him by all accounts. Clever.’
‘If we defeat the Kurs then Vsevolod will become a servant of Riga,’ said Conrad.
‘I think the crucial word is “if”, Conrad,’ remarked Sir Richard.
‘Then there are the other Lithuanian dukes,’ continued Rudolf, ‘who at the moment are quiet but may unite against us just as they did when Daugerutis was alive. You remember him, Conrad?’
Conrad nodded grimly. ‘I remember.’
‘Which is why affairs in Estonia should be settled. At the moment relations with Novgorod are amicable enough, but if the Russians already know that we are embroiled in a war in Lithuania and if they see that the Danes are giving us trouble in the north, then they might be tempted to chance their luck against us.’
‘Thank God we have the Livonian Militia to keep us safe,’ said Conrad to belly laughs from the other two.
It was a good time and Conrad was sad to see the back of Wenden after he and his friends had been feasted along with Sir Richard in the castle’s dining hall. Curious to say he was also glad to see Henke and Father Otto: Henke as blunt as ever and Otto as severe as he had always been. He cornered Conrad as he was visiting his wife’s and child’s grave in the cemetery, his battle-scarred bald head momentarily giving Conrad a shock when he turned and saw the priest towering over him.
‘It is good that you come here as often as you can, Master Conrad, so that you may be reminded that titles and high positions are fleeting and that death claims us all in the end.’
‘Even you, father?’ grinned Conrad.
Otto’s black eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t be flippant. She was a good woman, Daina, I liked her.’
‘I have often wondered why God took her and Dietmar and let me live.’
Otto walked over to the grave and, to Conrad’s great surprise, laid a wreath of flowers beneath the headstone. He saw Conrad’s astonishment.
‘What? You think that I would forget the young girl I married, whose smile brightened even the dreariest day?’
‘I thought that the flowers…’
‘Were always placed by Ilona,’ said Otto, retreating a few paces. ‘Well you are wrong, Conrad Wolff.’
‘So why did God spare me, father?’
‘That is easily answered, Conrad, or should I say Master Conrad. If you had died there would be no Army of the Wolf, no liberated Estonia or peace with Novgorod. God uses men like you for His purpose.’
Conrad stared at his family’s grave. ‘I would have preferred death, or better still my life for theirs.’
Otto raised an eyebrow, twisting the ugly, deep scar above his right eye.
‘It is not for you to dictate terms to God.’
They stood in silence for a few minutes, a slight breeze blowing through the well-tended graves in the cemetery.
‘You go to Odenpah?’ probed Otto.
Conrad nodded.
‘Your task there will be more daunting than any battle you have fought, I think.’
Conrad gave him a wry glance. ‘You are right there, father.’
A few days later, on the southern shore of Lake Vortsjarv, he and his friends said goodbye to Sir Richard, Tonis and the Army of the Wolf. Conrad had toyed with the idea of taking a small contingent to Odenpah to give the illusion of a garrison but decided against it. Ulric offered to stay with his ‘bastards’ but Conrad thought it unfair to deprive his men of a reunion with their families, most of whom lived in and around Varbola. And so on a balmy summer’s day he, Hans, Anton, Leatherface and Jaan watched the Army of the Wolf disappear into the northern forests. When the last men on ponies had become small black shapes on the horizon before disappearing into a vast expanse of birch, Leatherface cleared his throat and spat on the ground.
‘Well, then, we had best get a move on if we want to get to Odenpah before nightfall.’
‘There’s no rush,’ said Hans hurriedly, ‘we could make camp here tonight and Jaan can catch some fish from the lake to eat.’
‘For the last time, Hans,’ said Conrad, ‘there is nothing to fear from the Lady Maarja.’
‘Frightened of a young woman, Brother Hans?’ asked Leatherface.
‘I’m not frightened,’ insisted Hans.
‘Just perennially hungry,’ grinned Anton.
‘Tonight we will sleep in Odenpah,’ announced Conrad, ‘so let’s be away.’
He spurred his horse forward and the others followed, Jaan pulling the three ponies that carried the brother knights’ supplies and Leatherface’s tent and spare crossbow bolts. Hans mumbled all the way as they made good progress along bone-dry tracks and through warm forests. Conrad and his friends had traversed this area many times since their arrival in Livonia and were well acquainted with its many tracks, meadows and forests, particularly the terrain around Lake Vortsjarv, the location of one of Conrad’s great victories.
It was late afternoon when the party reached the great hill fort of Odenpah, which comprised an outer perimeter timber wall with towers and an inner stronghold sited higher up on the mound. In all its history it had never been taken by a foe but now it lay largely deserted, its outer gates open to the world. Any attacker would merely have to ride across the wooden bridge spanning the moat that had been built by Master Thaddeus to take possession of Ungannia’s mightiest fort. But no one came to Odenpah because everyone believed that it was cursed since a terrible pestilence had killed Kalju and his family. So Odenpah stood proud, defiant and alone. Except that today it was not alone.
Conrad was the first to spot the single tent as he and the others rode along the track that bisected the great meadow in front of Odenpah, a simple structure of felt stretched over a wooden frame that was common throughout Estonia. Indeed, it was the tent of choice among the Army of the Wolf’s warriors. Smoke was rising from a campfire as the horsemen trotted up and an individual who had been stooped over the fire stood up and faced them.
He was still a boy, his frame gangly, but he had perhaps reached full height at just over six foot. His long face was surrounded by thick, fair hair that fell to his shoulders. Like most Est
onians he wore linen leggings and shirt, a leather belt around his waist, and on his feet simple one-piece shoes tied with laces. Leatherface took the crossbow slung across his back and removed his right foot from the stirrup when he saw that the boy carried a sword in a scabbard, a very expensive sword judging by its appearance. The mercenary slipped his foot into the metal stirrup on the fore-end of the crossbow so as to load it.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Conrad told him, leaning forward to look at the boy. ‘Don’t you recognise him?’
‘Why should I?’ sniffed Leatherface.
‘He’s the boy Conrad gave the Russian sword to,’ said Hans.
‘I remember,’ added Anton. ‘From a village that we returned some cattle to.’
‘And oxen,’ said the boy, smiling nervously at Conrad.
‘So, Arri,’ replied Odenpah’s Master, ‘what are you doing here? I assume you are not laying siege to the hill fort?’
Arri looked around at the imposing timber structure behind him. ‘No, Susi.’
‘So you have heard of Conrad’s name?’ grinned Hans.
‘You wish to become a Sword Brother, Arri?’ asked Conrad.
The boy, still clutching the scabbard that held his sword, nodded.
‘Then from this day you will call me Master Conrad, not Susi. That is a pagan name and the Sword Brothers are soldiers of Christ.’
Arri looked searchingly at the faces of those with Conrad.
‘Who is Christ, Susi, that is Master Conrad?’
Leatherface smiled. ‘It will take much time and effort to turn this one into a brother knight.’
‘Effort well spent, I think,’ said Conrad, dismounting. He walked up to Arri and placed a hand on his shoulder.
‘I trust your grandfather is well.’
‘Well, Master Conrad. He was the one who advised me to search you out.’
‘And your village prospers?’
‘Thanks to you, Master Conrad,’ grinned Arri.
‘Good.’
Hans and Anton dismounted, followed by Leatherface. Jaan remained in the saddle, staring at the Ungannian, unsure what to do. He was roughly the same age as Arri, though his people were the Harrien. And like Arri he too wished to be a Sword Brother. Leatherface pointed to a man walking across the bridge that gave access to the fort, an elderly individual with thinning grey hair and a slight stoop. He was holding some blankets in his arms.
‘The garrison is make a sally.’
Conrad turned and smiled when he saw Odenpah’s steward. He rushed forward to take the blankets that the old man was carrying.
‘Thank you, Conrad. I’m afraid my legs are not as strong as they were. The Lady Maarja sent these blankest for the young man who has been camped outside the walls these past five days. She fears he may catch a chill.’
‘She is very kind.’
‘She invited him into the fort but he declined. He probably thinks the place is cursed.’
‘How is the Lady Maarja, Mikk?’
‘As well as can be expected, lord,’ he replied. ‘She will be greatly cheered to see you again. Master Walter from Dorpat has visited her a few times. His kind words help lift the gloom from her life.’
Walter ‘the Penitent’, the knight from a rich, powerful Saxon noble family, had given up his birthright after he had killed a friend in a duel. He had given up his title, riches and position to take a vow of poverty, chastity and obedience and join the Sword Brothers. He had travelled on the same ship that had taken Conrad to Livonia, had been a brother knight at Wenden, eventually becoming its deputy commander before being appointed Master of Dorpat. Conrad thought that there was not a more pious, honest and godly man in all Livonia than Master Walter and he was glad that he was his friend. Walter was everyone’s friend, except in battle when he gave full vent to his baser side and became an accomplished slayer of Christ’s enemies.
Conrad threw the blankets at Arri. ‘These are for you, though you do not deserve them as I have heard that you refused the Lady Maarja’s hospitality.’
Arri caught the blankets and blushed. ‘I heard that…’
‘That Odenpah is cursed,’ interrupted Conrad. ‘It is a tale to frighten old women and children and since you are neither I expect you to ignore such gossip. Jaan, come here.’
The Harrien slid off his mount and walked over to stand beside Arri. He was shorter than the Ungannian by perhaps three inches but stockier and more handsome. His blue eyes glanced at Arri and the sword that lay on the ground, released so he could catch the blankets.
‘My colleagues and I will be entering the fort now. If either of you fail to follow then you will be prohibited from becoming novices of our order. The choice is yours. If you do enter you will be respectful to the Lady Maarja and her servants at all times. You will show her and them courtesy and compassion. If I hear that either of you has mocked her or caused her hurt I will flog you myself.’
The boys shifted uncomfortably on their feet as Conrad walked back to his horse, grabbed the reins and walked towards the bridge. The others, including Jaan and Arri, followed. Thus did Conrad’s reign as Master of Odenpah commence.
That night Conrad sat beside Maarja, still veiled in black, her disfigured hands covered by mittens. She was delighted to have company for her evening meal. Hans, under strict orders from Conrad, sat on the other side of Kalju’s daughter and engaged in polite, if forced, conversation. He never looked at her at first, but as the evening wore on and servants brought copious quantities of food, not to mention honey mead, he forgot about his fear of catching the pox. Bean and barley soup was served in wooden bowls accompanied by large wooden platters heaped with rye bread. Small pies filled with meat and herbs, a favourite of Hans, loosened his tongue and he was soon conversing with Maarja as though she were an old friend. Conrad noted that she ate sparsely, a mitten taking a morsel of food and pushing it under her veil.
‘You have a healthy appetite, Brother Hans.’
Hans, a great chunk of cheese in his right hand, nodded gravely. ‘Food is one of God’s great gifts to the world, lady. Take it from me, who spent most of his childhood starving, there is no greater pleasure than a warm hall, pleasant company and copious amounts of food. Truly a miracle.’
He began shoving the cheese into his mouth, small pieces falling into his lap.
‘Didn’t your family have enough food for their table when you were young, Brother Hans?’
‘Never had a family, lady,’ Hans replied, washing down the cheese with a tankard of mead. ‘I was an orphan and beggar from an early age.’
She laid a hand on his arm but he instinctively pulled it away. He immediately recognised his error.
‘Forgive me, lady, my actions are unworthy of the uniform I wear. I am a weak man, I fear...’
She held up her hand. ‘I am well aware that my appearance prompts fear and disgust, Brother Hans. Do not reproach yourself for I do not criticise you.’
Hans for once had lost his appetite and hung his head in shame.
‘No, lady, I am unworthy to sit at your table. I have eaten your food and drunk your mead and my actions are unworthy of a guest. I ask for your forgiveness.’
Conrad and Anton had heard the exchange but pretended that they had not. Leatherface was oblivious, tucking into strips of roasted pork with gusto.
‘There is nothing to forgive,’ said Maarja, ‘but I would consider it an honour if I could have your friendship, Brother Hans.’
Conrad’s friend was touched by her humility and kindness. After all the trials she had been subjected to her soul had not been corrupted. Hans gently placed his hand on her arm.
‘You have my friendship and loyalty always, lady.’
Thus did the evening end well and Conrad even heard Maarja laugh several times before it ended. Mikk informed him that it was the first time she had done so in a long time. But the next morning Conrad had nothing to smile about as the steward conducted him on a tour of Odenpah. The fort had many huts and stables, in
addition to forges, animal pens, an armoury, storerooms raised off the ground on stone pillars so the food inside would be safe from rats and other vermin, and the huge main hall in the inner compound where Maarja and her servants lived.
Conrad stood inside the armoury, a large, long hut filled with shelves and racks, all empty.
‘Kristjan emptied it long ago, lord,’ said Mikk. ‘The only weapons at Odenpah are those carried by the half a dozen guards who elected to stay and protect Kalju’s daughter, plus the knives in the kitchens.’
‘What do you hear of Kristjan?’
‘Only what you know, lord. He came here after the fall of Dorpat and took his father’s gold. After that,’ Mikk spread his arms, ‘no one knows.’
Conrad hoped that he was dead but said nothing. The world would be a better place if the rage-filled son of Kalju was not in it, not least because he hated him and the Sword Brothers in general.
‘Aside from the guards and yourself,’ said Conrad, ‘who else resides here?’
‘Two cooks and four female servants, former slaves who decided to stay with my mistress when she offered them their freedom,’ Mikk answered.
The old man looked at Conrad. ‘And you are master here now.’
‘Rest assured that you and your mistress can remain here until her new home has been built,’ Conrad told him. ‘Odenpah will become a Sword Brother stronghold but as long as I am master I promise that the local villagers will only be asked to provide what Lord Kalju demanded of them.’
‘Unfortunately, lord, the local villagers have all fled. The menfolk followed Kristjan and did not return. The women, old and young fled when the pestilence visited this place. Odenpah stands in the middle of a deserted land.’
‘What about food?’ asked Conrad.
‘We have pigs, chickens and goats in the inner compound and a herd of cattle grazes outside the walls. We fish the lake every day so we don’t grow hungry. Also the forests are filled with boar, elk and deer that we hunt.’