Master of Mayhem

by Peter Darman

  ‘Your escort, master,’ announced Werner.

  ‘My escort?’

  ‘Master Walter thought it inappropriate that you should ride through the town without an escort.’

  So Conrad rode into town with his escort behind him, all attired in mail and carrying swords, maces, shields and wearing kettle helmets. He himself left his helm in the fort. It was summer and hot and so he rode bare headed, his mail coif pulled back though he still sweated in his aketon, gambeson and armour.

  Kristjan had reckoned Dorpat an impregnable fortress and it was true that the fort atop Toome Hill was a formidable stronghold, but the town itself was really a great trading centre rather than a military citadel. For over seven hundred years there had been a trading settlement beside the Emajogi, the ‘mother of waters’ that flowed from Lake Vortsjarv east to the larger Lake Peipus. The slow-moving, wide river was ideal for the great barges, each capable of carrying up to two hundred tons of cargo, carrying furs, wax, honey, flax, hemp, tar, hides, grain and wax for candles from the cities of Novgorod and Pskov. These shallow-draught vessels had a single sail and a crew of three. Like the river they moved slowly, even slower when there was no wind and the crew had to hire local farmers to tow them from the riverbank using long cotton ropes.

  Once they reached Dorpat their cargoes were unloaded and stored in warehouses before being sold. Indeed, Rigan merchants were already arriving in Dorpat and setting up offices to take advantage of the new business opportunities arisen since the establishment of the Bishopric of Dorpat. The locals, despite having suffered at the hands of a crusader army the year before, were also benefiting from the good relations that now existed between Novgorod and Livonia. The riverside docks were a hive of activity, the tar-making shops, carpenters’ workshops, rope makers, blacksmiths and barge yards working at full capacity to service and repair not only the barges but also the dozens of riverboats that were used to fish the river and transport goods beyond Dorpat. Conrad did not have to ride into the docks area, finding the bishop and Master Thaddeus in the centre of the town’s main square. It functioned as the main trading area of the town and was sited exactly at the mid-point between the riverside docks and the fort on Toome Hill. On market days it was full of animal pens and stalls, the single-storey wooden building on its northern side being the market hall where dues were collected and disputes settled. The bishop was surrounded by a party of red-uniformed guards – soldiers of the Lübeck Militia – who parted to allow Conrad to halt his horse a few paces from the prelate, who was pointing at the market hall. Conrad dismounted and handed his reins to Werner.

  Hermann turned to smile at Conrad. ‘Ah, Conrad, now tell me what you think of that building.’

  Conrad saw a stout, timber hall that had probably been there for hundreds of years.

  ‘A very sturdy building, lord bishop.’

  Hermann rolled his eyes. ‘A barn is hardly an appropriate venue for Dorpat’s town hall, Conrad. I shall knock it down and build a fine stone building in its place.’

  Thaddeus frowned. ‘Another stone building to add to the castle, cathedral and leper house that you intend to build?’

  The white-haired architect and engineer looked at Conrad. ‘It would have been easier if Conrad and his comrades had burnt the town to the ground last year, then you could rebuild all Dorpat.’

  Hermann was not amused. ‘My brother and I specifically prohibited wanton destruction. It would have been a gross sin to have deliberately deprived the people of their homes.’

  ‘But not their womenfolk of their chastity,’ Thaddeus shot back.

  Conrad laughed, earning him a glare from the bishop.

  ‘Is there something you wanted, Master Conrad?’ Hermann asked sternly.

  ‘What I touched upon last night, namely weapons and equipment for Odenpah, lord bishop.’

  But Hermann was thinking about the rebuilding of Dorpat and not equipping a Sword Brother garrison.

  ‘Priorities, Conrad,’ he said, ‘that is what it comes down to. At the moment Dorpat must take precedence over Odenpah. The symbols of paganism, the hill fort, this dreadful market hall and so forth must be replaced with Christian stone, which is more enduring and impressive. You understand?’

  Conrad did not at all. ‘Of course, lord bishop.’

  Hermann suddenly placed an arm around Conrad’s shoulders. ‘Once the construction projects are under way in Dorpat there will be money enough to furnish your garrison but until then I cannot spare you a single mark. But know that you are high in my affection and if there is anything else I can do for you then I will be disappointed if you do not ask.’

  ‘There is something, lord bishop,’ said Conrad. ‘I would have your signature.’

  Herman’s forehead creased. ‘My signature?’

  ‘So my novices may become brother knights, lord bishop.’

  ‘Ah, I see. That won’t be a problem. Send word when you need me to authorise their elevation.’

  And then he left Conrad as another idea sprang up in his mind.

  ‘Thaddeus, I have just realised that Dorpat is surrounded by a wooden wall.’

  Thaddeus gave Conrad a despairing look. ‘And a very stout wall it is, lord bishop.’

  ‘It won’t do, Thaddeus, not at all,’ said the bishop. ‘Dorpat is the capital of my bishopric and must be protected accordingly. We must have a stone wall, high and thick, with gatehouses and towers.’

  He turned and began marching towards the other end of the square, his guards forming a cordon around him.

  ‘We must also think about making the jetties more permanent. Wood and water do not mix, Thaddeus. I would have thought you would have known that.’

  Thaddeus stopped beside Conrad and smiled kindly at him.

  ‘I think, Conrad, that you can forget about Dorpat providing you with any financial assistance in the foreseeable future, say twenty years. Bishop Hermann envisages Dorpat to be a new Lübeck, I think.’

  ‘Walls and castles are no use if there are no soldiers to defend them,’ grumbled Conrad.

  ‘You are a resourceful man,’ said Thaddeus, ‘I’m sure you will think of a way to garrison your new castle.’

  ‘Thaddeus,’ called the bishop, ‘don’t loiter.’

  Thaddeus hurried after Hermann, raising an arm to Conrad as he did so.

  So with nothing other than a promise from Bishop Hermann that he would elevate Conrad’s novices to brother knights once they had finished their training, he returned to Odenpah. Actually he did have something: the services of Sergeant Werner, whom he was to discover was a most forthright and excellent addition to his garrison.

  ‘So no brother knights, warhorses or mercenaries?’ said an unhappy Anton.

  Conrad stretched out his legs and placed his hands behind his head.

  ‘Our order is spread thinly and Odenpah is at the bottom of the list of its priorities.’

  He and his friends were sitting at a bench near the thick doors of the great hall, the chamber empty except for their small group. Fresh rushes had been placed on the floor and because there had been no feasts in the chamber in an age the odour of sweat and leather was absent. Instead the aroma of wood smoke and fresh reeds hung in the air. It was not unpleasant.

  ‘Why don’t you order your warlords to send you some of their men,’ suggested Leatherface, ‘you could have this placed garrisoned in no time.’

  ‘I don’t want to do that,’ answered Conrad. ‘This is now a Sword Brother castle and accordingly should be staffed with brother knights, sergeants, spearmen and crossbowmen.’

  ‘You’ve got no chance,’ smiled Leatherface. ‘You are the Marshal of Estonia, Master Conrad, so use that position to build your garrison.’

  ‘May I say something, master?’ enquired Werner.

  Conrad had invited him to attend the meeting as it seemed ridiculous not to, seeing the paucity of Sword Brother members at Odenpah. Conrad nodded.

  ‘If we cannot get any trained brother knights or serg
eants then we will have to start from scratch. You have two novices already but I would suggest asking your warlords if they know of any boys that are willing to give up their lives as pagans to serve the Master of Odenpah. Orphans are preferred as they have no family and so the order can become their new family.’

  ‘That’s true,’ agreed Hans, who looked at Conrad and smiled weakly. They were both living examples of what Werner was suggesting.

  ‘I would not worry about warhorses,’ continued Werner, ‘if you are to receive no brother knights then you won’t be needing them for at least seven years when the novices’ training will be over. But we will need an armourer, blacksmith and farriers to work in the stables.’

  ‘I will contact Andres, Hillar and Riki,’ said Conrad. ‘I’m sure they will be able to send people who will be willing to work here.’

  ‘It would be better if the locals supplied us with men to work here,’ said Anton.

  ‘They believe that Odenpah is cursed,’ stated Conrad, ‘but perhaps after a time their fears will disappear when they learn that the stronghold is functioning again. Until then we will have to draw on what Jerwen, Rotalia and Harrien can send us.’

  ‘Perhaps we can repopulate the area with settlers, like those who go to Wenden,’ suggested Anton.

  ‘That is a good idea, master,’ agreed Werner.

  ‘I shall write to the office of the grandmaster at Riga advertising the fact that there is plenty of good arable land around Odenpah that needs farmers,’ said Conrad.

  And so in the days afterwards messages were despatched to Leal, Varbola, Kassinurme and Riga with a number of requests. Walter at Dorpat sent a wagon full of food because although the tiny pagan garrison grew its own food, supplementing it with fish caught in the lake and animals hunted in the surrounding forests, there was not enough to feed the additional seven males now in residence.

  Hans remembered that the Marshal of Estonia had the right to demand of his subjects a daily tribute of meat and grain and so he, Anton and four of Lady Maarja’s guards were sent on a tour of the nearest inhabited villages. They were to inform the people that there was a new Master of Odenpah and that just as they had given tribute to Kalju, so they would now have to provide for Master Conrad. He gave his friends strict orders not to threaten the villagers but at the same time not to come away empty handed. He hoped that the presence of Lady Maarja’s men, with their shields carrying the golden eagle of Ungannia, would make the villagers more amenable to the request.

  Two of those who remained behind at Odenpah– Arri and Jaan – had their hair cut by Werner to mark the commencement of their life as novices. They both looked at their shorn locks when Werner had finished, staring glumly at the hair lying on the ground.

  ‘That’s better,’ said the sergeant. ‘Now you look like novices. Did you bring your swords?’

  They were in the inner compound of the castle, the sun high in the sky and the temperature warm and pleasant. The Lady Maarja was sitting in the shade outside the main hall, two of her female servants fussing around her as the two boys hurried to the hut that had been assigned as their quarters. They returned clutching swords in scabbards, the one held by Jaan was his father’s while Arri’s weapon was the Russian sword that Conrad had given him. Conrad was standing a couple of paces from Lady Maarja and knew what was coming next.

  ‘Give me the swords,’ commanded Werner.

  Arri and Jaan handed him their weapons. Werner walked over to one of Maarja’s guards and gave him the swords. The Ungannian promptly about faced and marched off to the armoury.

  ‘They will be kept safely under lock and key until you know how to use them,’ declared Werner. ‘In the meantime.’ He walked over to a bench outside his own hut and picked up two pieces of wood. He handed one to Arri, the other to Jaan.

  ‘You will learn the art of swordsmanship with these.’

  Arri turned the wooden instrument in his hand. ‘A wooden sword?’

  Jaan laughed.

  ‘Silence!’ shouted Werner, making them both jump.

  ‘The instruments you hold in your hands are called wasters and for the foreseeable future they will be your best friends. If you had bothered to inspect them closely you would have discovered that they are weighted and balanced exactly to resemble a real sword.’

  Conrad smiled as Werner continued to berate them and then began their first lesson, a painful period of instruction in which he used the flat of his own waster to strike both youths when they failed to obey him.

  ‘They will have a lot of bruises in the morning,’ said Maarja from beneath her veil.

  ‘Better that than severe cuts, lady,’ said Conrad as Werner darted in and gave Jaan a thwack on the side of his left arm.

  ‘What use are wooden swords?’

  ‘Wooden swords are able to withstand use and abuse on the training field while saving the expensive steel weapons for real combat. They also have the added benefit that when they strike flesh the target will not be injured.’

  Arri yelped as Werner’s waster struck him.

  ‘Mostly,’ added Conrad. He looked at the black-clothed woman.

  ‘Does the spectacle upset you? I can ask them to remove themselves to the outer perimeter.’

  ‘I would not hear of it, Conrad. To listen to happy voices once again and see smiling faces filling Odenpah after the nightmare that was visited upon my family fills me with joy.’

  ‘Forget your pagan ways,’ shouted Werner. ‘You are no longer heathens trained to stand in a shield wall. You are to be swordsmen and as such you must learn to be quick on your feet, to sidestep, duck, dodge and feint to avoid an enemy’s blows.’

  Conrad remembered his own lessons as a novice under the watchful eye of Brother Lukas. Hours and hours spent on Wenden’s training field, in all weathers, learning to wield a sword until the weapon became an extension of his arm and to wield it became second nature. His order was not called the Sword Brothers for nothing. At the time he thought his life was hard and his instructors severe but in reality they were happy, carefree days. He turned the silver ring on his finger. Now gone forever.

  *****

  Archdeacon Stefan was shown into the office of Riga’s Higher Burgomaster by a servant who was almost as fat. The office was located on the upper floor of the city’s grand merchant hall, which was actually a series of buildings surrounding a rectangular courtyard. The ground-floor halls were used for the sale and storage of goods and produce. To provide traders, merchants and customers with convenient access to these halls there were many doors that opened out on to the city’s main market square. This resulted in a frenzied mass of traders, customers, stalls, goods and animals producing an unceasing din filling the square. It was as if the city’s pulsating heart was on show, or at least its commercial heart. The cathedral and churches that represented its spiritual heart were altogether quieter but no less powerful.

  Glueck was dressed in beautiful blue silk tunic that must have cost a fortune, not only because of the material but also the quantity required to cover the Higher Burgomaster’s great bulk. He saw Stefan and raised his hand before returning to examine a parchment on the solid pine table in front of him. He pointed a finger at the folding wooden stool on the other side of the desk.

  ‘Bring us wine,’ he barked to the servant, who retreated hurriedly from the room, closing the door behind him.

  The upper floor of the merchant hall comprised several large rooms that were covered by a shingle roof supported by huge wooden beams. These rooms were used for banquets, meetings and storing records. There was also a chapel and clerks’ offices but the most opulent was Glueck’s office, which had frescoes on the walls depicting his ships, glass in the windows and free-standing oak chests decorated with hand-painted ceramic tiling. It was an appropriate setting for Riga’s richest citizen.

  Stefan seated his own not inconsiderable bulk on the stool.

  ‘I trust you are well, Magnus.’

  Glueck looked up and shook hi
s head, causing his double chin to wobble.

  ‘In truth, Stefan, I have to say that I am in an ill-humour.’

  ‘Oh? I trust your business interests are in rude health?’

  ‘My business interests are fine,’ answered Glueck, ‘which is more than can be said about my standing in the city. Rumours have reached my ears that the Livonian Militia has become a laughing stock after its recent campaign.’

  Stefan raised a well-groomed eyebrow. ‘Rumours?’

  Stefan had been fully briefed by Nordheim as to the less than glorious campaign in Lithuania and the unfortunate humiliation of the Livonian Militia and its commander at the hands of the Kurs.

  Nevertheless, he and Glueck were kindred spirits and even if that had not been the case Bishop Albert had no intention of alienating the city’s most influential citizen. He had been aware that the Livonian Militia had not covered itself in glory but he also recognised that its commander was the future of Livonia and so he had sent his nephew to soothe Glueck’s ruffled feathers.

  ‘The city fathers raised and equipped a militia, at considerable expense I might add,’ continued Glueck, ‘and their only reward is to be laughed at when it returns.’

  The servant returned with silver chalices, into which he poured wine from an ornate silver jug. Stefan had stocked the bishop’s palace with the finest wines that were to be had in Europe, but as he sipped at the white wine he had to admit that Glueck’s wine cellar was much better stocked.

  ‘I can assure you, Magnus,’ declared Stefan solemnly, ‘that Bishop Albert holds you in high esteem, to which end he has written to Pope Honorius himself requesting that the Holy Father make you Duke of Riga as a reward for your services in Lithuania and as thanks for raising the Livonia Militia.’

  Glueck’s eyes lit up at this. He raised his chalice to Stefan.

  ‘Inform the bishop that I and the other burgomasters are foremost among his servants.’