Master of Mayhem

by Peter Darman

  Conrad walked back into the sunshine. Whenever he had previously visited Odenpah it had always been filled with noise and people. Its empty towers, buildings and compounds unnerved him.

  ‘It is time that Odenpah became a mighty fortress once again,’ stated Conrad.

  He told Mikk to close the gates and went off to inform Hans and Anton that he was going to ride to Dorpat to speak to Walter about acquiring a garrison of brother knights and sergeants.

  Despite his friends’ concerns that the Marshal of Estonia should not travel alone Conrad reached Dorpat in less than two hours, the weather fair, his horse fast and the journey uneventful. The settlement was very different from the last time he had seen it, when the crusaders had stormed the walls to put Kristjan’s warriors to the sword. The walls had been repaired and fortunately the town had not been set alight so there was relatively little damage to the buildings within them. From the hill fort the banner of the Sword Brothers fluttered in the breeze. Conrad entered via the southern gates, the road filled with carts, ponies loaded with goods and individuals on foot. Above the gates white-uniformed spearmen of the order kept watch but the atmosphere appeared relaxed as he rode his horse through the town towards the fort on top of Toome Hill. As he did so he wondered how many of the women and girls who were going about their business had been raped by the soldiery when the town had fallen to Bishops Albert and Hermann. He shuddered at the thought as he stared at pretty young women with long fair hair and blue eyes.

  ‘Halt.’

  He snapped out of his daydreaming when a burly sergeant barred his way at the foot of Toome Hill, even though the track leading up to the hill fort was empty. Three spearmen and two crossbowmen were standing behind a temporary fence of sharpened stakes ringing the foot of the hill. The sergeant saw Conrad’s full-face helm hanging from his saddle, his mail armour and the white caparison with the order’s motif covering his horse.

  ‘I am Master Conrad of Odenpah here to see Master Walter.’

  ‘Beg pardon, sir,’ said the sergeant, standing to attention, ‘I did not recognise you.’

  He looked behind Conrad. ‘Where is your escort, sir?’

  ‘I rode alone from Odenpah. Is Master Walter here?’

  ‘He is, sir.’

  Conrad pointed at the ring of stakes. ‘Expecting trouble, sergeant?’

  ‘Not really, sir, but Master Thaddeus thought it a wise precaution just in case the locals get rebellious. But I reckon that they’ve had enough of war, especially now that the Russians are trading again.’

  He appeared well informed.

  ‘Let us hope so, sergeant.’

  He moved aside and saluted as Conrad spurred his horse forward to ascend the hill.

  Inside the hill fort, its great hall decorated with carvings of the pagan symbol of Ungannia, the golden eagle, Conrad encountered a scene of much activity. Spearmen patrolled the walls and kept watch in the towers and novices, sergeants and brother knights filled the compound. Horses were being re-shod in the blacksmith’s forge while white-robed priests were scolding monks holding documents to keep up as they made their way to the great hall. Conrad dismounted and took his horse to the stables, a grimy faced stable hand bowing his head and taking the reins.

  ‘He needs watering and feeding,’ Conrad told him.

  ‘Yes, sir, we’ll take good care of him, have no fear.’

  The stable hand waved forward two of his equally dirty assistants who began unstrapping the horse’s saddle.

  ‘Master Conrad, this is a pleasant surprise.’

  He turned to see the thin face of Master Thaddeus staring at him.

  ‘Take those to my office in the hall,’ the old man said to a harassed clerk who was struggling to hold a number of parchments in his arms. Thaddeus turned back to face Conrad.

  ‘What brings you to Dorpat?’

  ‘To beg for men, weapons, horses and armour.’

  Thaddeus stroked his thinning white beard. ‘Has your army lost its weapons? Most careless.’

  ‘My army has enough weapons but if Odenpah is to become a Sword Brother fortress then I need it to be equipped accordingly.’

  Thaddeus suddenly turned and began walking towards the hall. Conrad followed.

  ‘You are high in Bishop Hermann’s favour,’ said Thaddeus, ‘so your request might meet a favourable response.’

  ‘I am?’ Conrad was amazed.

  Thaddeus stopped and waved a thin arm in the air.

  ‘Since your agreement with the Russians over that flag of theirs there is much trade along the Emajogi. As a result Bishop Hermann has great plans to make Dorpat a second Riga. All this is to go and in its place there is to be a stone castle and a grand cathedral. The Bishopric of Dorpat is to be a wealthy province. My clerk was carrying designs for those buildings.’

  Conrad’s spirits rose. A wealthy province meant that there would be money to rebuild Odenpah so it could become a citadel of stone like Wenden. Thaddeus recommenced his walking but stopped again.

  ‘The bishop is also eager for me to design a leper house for that poor unfortunate girl who currently resides at your stronghold.’

  ‘The Lady Maarja,’ Conrad informed him.

  ‘Yes, Walter visits her often and finds her company agreeable. But then Walter has a godly spirit. He should have really become a priest and would have made a fine bishop. He doesn’t suffer from the vice that afflicts Bishop Hermann.’

  ‘Vice?’

  Thaddeus smiled faintly. ‘Envy, Master Conrad. He desires Dorpat to be a great city like Riga, rich and powerful to eclipse his brother’s residence. Totally unrealistic, of course.’

  And then he was off, flicking a hand dismissively at Conrad and chasing after his clerk. He looked around at the bustle in the great courtyard and wondered how long it would take to recreate the hill fort in stone. It would be an exacting task.

  Conrad walked to the doors of the great hall where two spearmen stood either side of the thick oak doors. They carried carvings of golden eagles but the pagan era was now at an end in Ungannia.

  ‘I seek Master Walter.’

  One of the spearmen tipped his weapon to a thatched hut on the other side of the courtyard.

  ‘That’s the master’s hall, sir.’

  At the converted storeroom Conrad knocked on the door and entered when ordered to do so. Inside he found Walter at a small table with Lukas beside him, both staring at a parchment. Walter immediately stood when he saw Conrad and stepped around the table to embrace him.

  ‘Praise God you are safe, Conrad.’

  Lukas offered him his hand. ‘Good to see you, lord marshal.’

  Walter went to the open the door and stepped outside to order wine to be brought for the three of them. Lukas flopped down in a chair and pushed over another with his foot for Conrad to sit in. Walter returned to his chair, sighing loudly. They made a contrasting pair: the tall, handsome Walter and the shorter, broad-shouldered Lukas who was nearly twenty years older than Dorpat’s new master. But Conrad thought Walter looked older than his years and troubled by a great burden.

  ‘So,’ said Lukas, ‘what brings you to Dorpat?’

  ‘I am embarked on a quest for men, weapons and armour,’ answered Conrad.

  Walter dropped his head. ‘I can spare nothing, Conrad, so parlous is our position here.’

  Conrad looked perplexed as he thought of the high level of activity in the courtyard. Lukas read his thoughts.

  ‘Dorpat has a full complement of brother knights only because the garrisons of Wenden, Segewold and Kremon volunteered to provide them, otherwise it would be just Walter and me.’

  ‘And the same goes for sergeants and novices,’ lamented Walter.

  ‘And the position regarding mercenaries is just as dire,’ added Lukas.

  ‘Master Thaddeus has just been informing me that trade with the Russians is good,’ said Conrad.

  Walter nodded as a novice knocked and entered with a tray holding silver cups and a jug of
wine. Lukas indicated that the boy should place it on the table. He did so, bowed his head and left.

  Walter poured wine into the vessels. ‘Trade with the Russians is good, it is true, but it will take many years to generate the kind of income to make real the bishop’s plans for Dorpat.’

  ‘Stone castles and cathedrals don’t come cheap,’ stated Lukas bluntly.

  Walter handed Conrad a cup. ‘In a matter of months the Sword Brothers have acquired four new strongholds: Mesoten, Odenpah, Narva and Dorpat. Unfortunately it does not have the soldiers, weapons or money to garrison those places adequately.’

  ‘The castles along the Dvina have been forced to send men across the river to garrison Bishop Albert’s new pet project of Mesoten,’ complained Lukas.

  Walter handed him a cup and then held his own aloft. The other two stood as he made the toast.

  ‘God with us.’

  He took a large gulp and sat down. ‘It’s chaos, Conrad, utter chaos.’

  He picked up the parchment on the table. ‘And now I am being pestered to provide pay for the Lübeck militia who garrison the town.’

  He threw the parchment down. ‘I have no treasury to pay my own mercenaries, let alone any others.’

  ‘Lübeck militia?’ asked Conrad.

  ‘A contingent of the city militias that took part in the capture of Dorpat a year ago.’

  Conrad nodded. ‘I remember. We had their comrades from Bremen and Hamburg with us south of the Dvina.’

  ‘How did they perform?’ enquired Lukas.

  ‘Lamentably,’ replied Conrad. ‘But they weren’t the only ones.’

  ‘Rudolf sent a long and detailed letter,’ said Lukas, ‘concerning the campaign in Semgallia. He is concerned that we find ourselves in what could be a long war.’

  Conrad finished his wine. ‘Of that you can be sure. It appears that I shall ride back to Odenpah empty handed.’

  ‘What do you have at Odenpah, Conrad?’ asked Walter.

  ‘Myself, two brother knights, a seditious mercenary and two novices,’ answered Conrad, ‘plus my Ungannian guests.’

  ‘The Lady Maarja has a keen mind and a gentle spirit,’ smiled Walter, ‘despite her terrible ordeal.’

  ‘Your visits cheer her greatly,’ Conrad told him.

  ‘In truth my sojourns to Odenpah are a welcome relief from the burden that is Dorpat,’ admitted Walter.

  ‘Can’t the bishop authorise the release of funds to alleviate your problems, Walter?’ suggested Conrad. ‘The Buxhoeveden family is by all accounts very wealthy.’

  Both Bishop Albert and his brother were members of a powerful Saxon family that had great influence not only in Germany but also at the Papal court.

  ‘Not even the Buxhoeveden family can build a second Jerusalem here in the Baltic,’ grumbled Walter.

  ‘Money is not the only problem,’ added Lukas, refilling his cup, ‘though it is a sizeable one. It takes seven years for a novice to become a brother knight and around the same amount of time to train a sergeant. The order simply does not have the recruits to meet the demands that are being placed upon it.’

  He refilled Walter and Conrad’s cups. ‘Fortunately for you, Conrad, you will have the opportunity to petition the bishop tonight at the banquet he is giving for the merchants of Novgorod and Pskov who are now trading with us.’

  The banquet was a lavish affair, the bishop having imported copious amounts of food and drink from Pskov to make the merchants feel at home. These included smetana – soured cream – and a delicious cheese made from milk that had soured naturally into curds. Called tvorog, it was spread thickly on slices of bread. Beer, wine and the Russian honey based drink called stavlenniy myod flowed in abundance and soon the fort’s feasting hall was filled with barrel-chested, bearded Russians laughing and singing. Bishop Hermann had been delighted to learn that Conrad was visiting Dorpat and insisted that he sit next to him at the top table in the hall.

  Two years younger than his brother Albert, he was slightly taller and stouter and decidedly more jovial. His white-robed priests ate sparingly but Hermann ate great chunks of beef, chicken and pork as the meats were brought from the kitchens.

  The bishop himself was attired in rich blue and white vestments, a thick gold pectoral cross hanging from a gold chain around his neck. He was dressed to impress his Russian guests, to display the power of the Holy Church and its prince-bishops. But Conrad doubted whether the Russians fully appreciated the gesture as they drank more and more as the evening progressed. Lukas was beaming as he arm wrestled and defeated a succession of ugly squat merchants with thick necks and broad shoulders, while Walter retained a dignified countenance as he engaged in more sober and polite discourses with more elderly and definitely more sober traders. He used an interpreter who unfortunately had had too much to drink, making their exchanges almost indecipherable.

  Conrad was also unwittingly drawn into these drinking bouts when Bishop Hermann rose from his chair and announced to his guests that next to him was Master Conrad, Marshal of Estonia, the man who had returned the holy banner of Novgorod back to the city. After he had made the announcement there was a sea of blank faces until an interpreter, this one sober, translated the bishop’s words. The hall was filled with wild cheering and a procession of Russians, some with tears in their eyes, insisting on shaking Conrad’s hand, embracing him or, which unnerved him greatly, kissing him on both cheeks. They also insisted that he share a drink with them. The result was that soon he was feeling decidedly drunk as the mouthfuls of stavlenniy myod added up.

  Hermann was delighted by it all, grinning like a man possessed as he blessed the apostate Russians before they staggered back to their benches in the hall now stinking of beer, cooked meat, sweat and vomit.

  ‘You have done damn well, Conrad,’ he said, ‘damn well.’

  ‘I need men, warhorses, weapons and armour,’ slurred Conrad.

  Hermann threw back his head and laughed. ‘What? You are not a beggar, lord marshal, you have your own army, a well armed and equipped one by all accounts.’

  ‘My army is composed largely of Estonians, lord bishop, many of them who have yet to convert to the Holy Church. You know as well as I do that only nobles and the sons of nobles may become brother knights of my order, though I have always believed that qualification to be a ridiculous impediment. And my army has no warhorses, though in truth I have always failed to see what use they fulfil other than costing a fortune to purchase and maintain.’

  Hermann clasped his hands together. ‘I do not think that I have heard the Marshal of Estonia speak in such a forthright manner in all the time that I have known him.’

  ‘Necessity forces my tongue, lord bishop.’

  Hermann chuckled. ‘I rather fancy that it is the copious amounts of the Russian beverage that has done that. Now is not the time to speak of the things you allude to. Meet with me tomorrow in town when we can discuss more fully your predicament.’

  He would hear no more of Odenpah and its threadbare garrison and so Conrad surrendered to the embrace of hairy foreign merchants. Unlike they he did not collapse and fall into a drunken slumber on the floor of the hall at the end of the evening, for Lukas carried him back to the bed made available to him in a storeroom next to the master’s hall.

  He awoke the next morning with a throbbing headache that was only partially cured when he immersed his head in a horse trough in the courtyard.

  ‘The lord marshal took the opportunity to sleep in?’

  He turned his head to see Lukas striding towards him, looking remarkably lively considering the festivities of the previous evening.

  ‘You will be glad to know that the bishop excused you Prime Mass and also Terce Mass as he wants to see you.’

  The two masses were part of the seven daily religious ceremonies that a brother knight of the order had to attend, though dispensations were given if more pressing matters needed attending to, such as fighting a battle.

  Lukas stopped at the tro
ugh. ‘Your popularity among our guests at the banquet last night endeared you even more to the bishop.’

  Conrad, his head still pounding, looked round the courtyard, his eyes fixing on the great hall.

  ‘He is inside?’

  Lukas laughed. ‘No, he rode into town earlier in the company of Master Thaddeus. You will find him there.’

  ‘Where is Walter?’

  Lukas looked serious. ‘In the chapel praying for you.’

  Conrad ducked his head in the water once more before answering.

  ‘For me?’

  ‘You missed early morning prayers so he felt he had to ask God for forgiveness on your behalf.’

  ‘If I don’t get the men and equipment for Odenpah then God will truly not forgive me,’ replied Conrad.

  ‘Speaking of which,’ said Lukas, who beckoned a figure forward from the stables behind Conrad. ‘Walter and I decided that your garrison would benefit from being staffed by one of the order’s finest instructors, though I would rather give you a dozen men than lose him.’

  Conrad estimated the man’s age to be late thirties, perhaps older. He had a wide forehead and cheekbones and narrow chin that gave him a determined look.

  ‘This is Sergeant Werner, late of Kremon and now the chief instructor of Odenpah Castle. Werner, this is Master Conrad.’

  Werner snapped to attention. Like Lukas he was shorter than Conrad and not as muscular, more lithe in body shape. One sergeant was a start, at least.

  ‘I am glad that you will be able to assist me, sergeant.’

  ‘Yes, master,’ answered Werner in a perfunctory fashion, giving Conrad’s dishevelled appearance a momentary disapproving glance.

  ‘I must track down the bishop,’ said Conrad. ‘I will be leaving for Odenpah later.’

  ‘I will be waiting, master,’ said Werner.

  Lukas brought his hands together. ‘Excellent. Well, if you will excuse me, Conrad, I have a batch of novices to train.’

  Werner saluted him and was dismissed as Conrad made himself presentable for the bishop. At least his horse looked fresh and well groomed when he went to the stables to collect him. Even though there was no need he checked the beast over before saddling it and leading it out into the courtyard. There a mounted party of six sergeants, including Werner, was waiting for him.