by Peter Darman
‘At least the heathens did not break into the city, Manfred. I shudder to think what carnage they would have caused if they had done so.’
‘They caused enough carnage as it was, sir,’ said Nordheim.
‘Well, we must be thankful that they killed only pagans and the baser sort, Manfred. God is kind in sparing His city, I think.’
‘Sir?’
Stefan pointed at some of the garrison flanking the gates.
‘I would have some of your men to escort me back to the palace, Manfred.’
‘You will not accompany your uncle to the docks, sir?’
A look of shock appeared on the archdeacon’s face.
‘Lord no. It is well known that the docks are pestilential. Who knows what I might catch?’
Bishop Albert stood on the end of a jetty, staring across the Dvina towards the opposite bank. A few riverboats and larger vessels were on the water, coming from Polotsk carrying the goods of Novgorod. To the west the single sails of three cogs could be seen, slowly making their way to Riga, their crews unaware of the horror that had just been visited on the city.
Grand Master Volquin halted beside Albert and sighed.
‘The docks have been secured, lord bishop, and all the fires have been extinguished.’
‘I thought Lembit and Vetseke were dangerous foes,’ said Albert at last, ‘but they pale beside Duke Arturus. We have underestimated him, grand master.’
Volquin nodded. ‘At least he did not attack when the papal legate was in the city.’
‘We must be thankful for that, at least.’
Albert looked down and noticed that he still held a sword in his hand. He sighed and replaced it in its scabbard.
‘I want the head of Duke Arturus placed on a spike above the gates that he dared to try to walk through, grand master. Next year the Kurs will feel the wrath of the holy fire. This I promise.’
Three days later the papal legate landed at Riga.
*****
Conrad smiled as the priest ducked the teenage boy’s head under the water, held it there for a couple of seconds then dragged the youth up by his shoulders.
‘May God go with you,’ said the priest, making the sign of the cross with his hand before waving the boy back to the bank. ‘Next.’
Hillar, Andres and Riki had each sent a handful of male teenage orphans to Odenpah further to Conrad’s request. They were boys who, like Jaan, had attached themselves to the Army of the Wolf and who, when questioned, had stated their desire to fight for Susi as a brother knight of the Sword Brothers. The Estonian warlords had been canny and had sent boys whose families had been killed either by the Danes or Oeselians, not the Sword Brothers. In this way they would be willing recruits but would bear no grudges against the order. After each boy had been baptised in the warm waters of the lake immediately north of the fort, Werner barked at him to stop lounging around and make his way to a stool where he would have his hair cut. The sergeant was in his element as he berated, cajoled and encouraged his new charges.
Bishop Hermann had come from Dorpat in the company of Walter and Lukas to witness the ceremony, so important did he consider it to be. It was his personal priest who was conducting the baptism of Conrad’s novices.
‘Has the office of the grand master assigned you a priest for your garrison, Conrad?’ asked Hermann.
‘No, lord bishop.’
‘Grand Master Volquin has had other things to trouble him, I fear,’ said Walter solemnly. ‘By all accounts the attack of the Kurs was a most frightful occurrence.’
‘So much for the garrison of Riga?’ sneered Conrad. ‘Bishop Albert should disband them and give over the security of the city to the Sword Brothers.’
Lukas and Walter laughed and even Hermann smiled before shaking his head.
‘The garrison of Riga is under the command of my nephew, the governor. That being the case my brother would never sanction its disbandment because to do so would undermine Stefan and make him look foolish, which in turn would reflect badly on my brother’s position. Besides, my brother’s last missive informed me that he intends to crusade against the Kurs again next year, which will solve the problem.’
Werner walked up and saluted the standing Sword Brothers and bishop.
‘The ceremony is over, sirs. I will take the boys back to the fort and get them their uniforms.’
‘What do you make of them, Werner?’ asked Lukas.
‘Well apart from them being a bit rough and ready, being pagans, I think I can whip them into shape.’
Lukas smiled. ‘I’m sure you can, Werner.’
‘They are no longer pagans, sergeant,’ Hermann corrected him. ‘They have now been baptised into the Holy Church.’
Werner smiled politely, saluted and walked back to the wet, shorn novices, barking orders as he did so.
‘Good man, Werner,’ said Conrad.
‘That’s why I recommended him,’ said Lukas.
‘Being in his company takes me back to when I was a novice,’ reflected Hans.
‘I remember when you first came to Wenden,’ said Lukas, ‘all skin and bones. I didn’t think you would survive the first winter but you have not turned out too badly, Deputy Master Hans.’
He looked at Anton. ‘And you, Deputy Master Anton.’
‘God smiles on you all,’ announced Bishop Hermann, ‘for how else can you explain a baker’s son and a beggar being elevated to such high positions?’
‘Years of sound training, lord bishop,’ replied Lukas mischievously.
But Walter was in a nostalgic mood. ‘I remember coming to Livonia all those years ago, on a ship that was attacked by the Oeselians, though at that time I did not know the name of the sea heathens. Even then God showed us that Conrad, Hans and Anton were special when they took part in an heroic battle against the godless pagans. Their courage was there for all to see.’
Conrad remembered it differently. ‘I must confess that I was terrified, Walter, and my actions were purely born of a survival instinct.’
‘Mine too,’ agreed Hans.
‘And mine,’ added Anton.
But Walter was having none of it. ‘Your coming to these lands was pre-ordained, of that I have no doubt. For if God did not love and protect you how could you have done all this?’
There was no answer to Walter’s revelation and so they stood in silence and watched Werner marching the new novices towards the fort. Conrad felt the warm glow of pride sweep through him. He was the commander of the Army of the Wolf but until he had been created Master of Odenpah he had been a penniless, landless brother knight of the Sword Brothers. He still had no wealth or land because he had taken a vow of poverty when he became a brother knight, but those boys were part of his garrison and would, God willing, become brother knights and perhaps go on to achieve more than he. Conrad was responsible for their training and equipping, which made him like a father to them. He felt emotion welling up inside him and had to shake his head to prevent the sentiment overwhelming him.
The sergeants from Dorpat, lances in hand, seemed bored as Bishop Hermann nodded in contentment as he looked at the blue waters of the lake, now undisturbed in the summer afternoon heat. A pair of cranes on the other side of the water took to the air, their wings flapping gracefully as they ascended into the sky. The guards stirred into activity as the sound of a horse’s hooves pounding the dry ground diverted everyone’s attention away from the water.
The sergeants relaxed when they saw it was one of their own, a rider in the white surcoat of the order wearing a kettle helmet. He rode up to the bishop and bowed his head.
‘Lord bishop, an urgent message from Riga.’
He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a rolled parchment. It was small, denoting a message sent by courier pigeon. Hermann took the note, read it and looked at Walter and Conrad.
‘My presence is demanded at Riga. The papal legate has arrived in the city. Your presence is also required.’
Conrad was confused.
‘What is a papal legate?’
Hermann rolled his eyes. ‘Sometimes I forget that the Sword Brothers are first and foremost soldiers and not students of the Holy Church. A papal legate is the personal representative of the Pope himself.’
Walter looked concerned. ‘What business does he have in Livonia, lord bishop?’
‘You know as much as I do, Walter,’ replied Hermann, ‘but the Holy Father does not send his legate to merely convey his compliments, of that you can be sure.’
Conrad returned to Dorpat in the company of the bishop, Walter and Lukas, leaving Hans and Anton in charge at Odenpah. He was confused as to why he had been summoned to Riga, supposing that it was a formality because he was the Marshal of Estonia. They set off for Riga the next day, Bishop Hermann leaving Lukas in charge at Dorpat with half the complement of the castle. The other brother knights, sergeants and mercenaries rode south as an escort. They were sent back when Sir Richard sent a rider with news that he too had been summoned to Riga and would meet up with the bishop’s party on the southern shore of Lake Vortsjarv. As he was accompanied by a score of his knights there was no need to have two escorts. Conrad was happy to be in the company of the Duke of Saccalia again, a man whom he had come to respect and like immensely, even if he did bring his rebellious squire with him. Paul must have been in his late forties by now and would never become a knight. He was more a servant and confidante to the duke, though this idea was dismissed.
‘Confidante?’ spat Sir Richard. ‘More like a fool that I have taken pity on.’
‘A fool to have followed you to this wet and miserable land, certainly,’ Paul shot back.
It was common knowledge that the ex-hangman and the oldest squire in Livonia and the bald-headed English lord derided and poured scorn on each other like two old washerwomen, but everyone knew that they also shared a strong bond of affinity and respect. For his part Bishop Hermann was delighted that he could call upon the support of such men, in addition to the warlords of Conrad’s army.
‘So, your highness,’ said Paul, turning his attention to the bishop, ‘what does a papal legate do, other than ordering all and sundry to attend him? Is he a king?’
‘He is not a king, master squire,’ replied Bishop Hermann, ‘but he is invested with powers that are greater than many kings in Christendom. A papal legate is the administrative, legal and institutional embodiment of papal justice, diplomacy, government and law.’
Paul was impressed. ‘Quite important, then?’
‘Second only to the Holy Father himself,’ replied Hermann. ‘He speaks with the full authority of the Pope.’
‘Which begs the question,’ said Sir Richard, ‘why is he in Livonia?’
He turned around to frown at Paul. ‘And the correct way to address a bishop is “your excellency” or “lord bishop”, so watch your tongue.’
‘And what should I call this papal legate when I meet him?’
‘You have no need to concern yourself with that,’ said Sir Richard.
‘Why’s that?’
‘Because you will not be meeting him, unless the papal legate has a particular interest in preparing meals, polishing armour or grooming horses.’
It was a good summer, the forests filled with birds and game and the land green and fertile, watered by numerous rivers and streams, the floodplain meadows that bordered them filled with rabbits and hares. But far more satisfying to Conrad was that it was a land at peace. There was no war in Saccalia or Ungannia, the dozens of villages no longer abandoned but occupied and surrounded by cleared ground where rye and barley were cultivated. On the way to Wenden the bishop’s party partook of the hospitality of several of these villages, their inhabitants poor but hale and cheerful. This was Sir Richard’s domain and each village headman insisted on showing off his village’s animal stock and storehouses filled with cured meat and fish, others containing grain and clothing. And in every village was a hut that had been converted into a rudimentary church where a priest, invariably a member of the Cistercian Order, baptised locals and spread the word of the Holy Church.
‘You must be immensely proud of your land, your grace,’ remarked Bishop Hermann to Sir Richard after they had left a village to undertake the last leg of their journey to Wenden.
‘I am, lord bishop,’ replied Sir Richard, ‘but I did not lay the foundations for the land and its people that now prosper. That honour goes to Conrad and the Army of the Wolf.’
‘That is true,’ added Walter. ‘The prosperity and peace that bless Estonia are testaments to the courage of Master Conrad.’
Conrad felt himself blush as he rode in silence but the bishop was equally as effusive.
‘My brother has always recognised that Conrad’s efforts have been responsible for bringing peace to Estonia, and the Buxhoeveden family will always be grateful that he saved the life of the Bishop of Riga. For myself I am glad that he and his army defend the Bishopric of Dorpat. In time it and the rest of Estonia will become a land that will rival Riga for its wealth and position.’
Not without Reval, it won’t, thought Conrad though he did not say so. But the Sword Brothers had shown their strength by reducing all the outposts around Reval during the previous winter, and next year he would exact revenge on the Danes for violating a parley and nearly killing his friend. As the sun warmed his face and those riding with him showered him with compliments Conrad began to feel very happy with himself.
His spirits rose further when the party arrived at Wenden and was entertained by Master Rudolf. The castle looked as grand and imposing as ever. The settlement at the foot of the northern escarpment on which it sat had expanded greatly towards the river and had the aspect of a small town. It was a far cry from the tiny hamlet where he, Hans and Anton had battled a Cuman raiding party. And the forest that still surrounded the castle had been cut back dramatically to make way for new homes, barns and fields for cultivation.
The standard of the Sword Brothers flew from the towers and a huge banner hung from the gatehouse. There was also a banner flying from the gates that gave access to the castle’s outer perimeter where the families of those who worked in the castle and the mercenaries lived. Conrad halted his horse on the track leading up to the castle and watched a batch of novices being put through their paces, the instructor, a burly sergeant, shouting at them as they wielded their wasters.
‘Reminiscing, Conrad?’ asked Walter, halting his horse beside his own.
‘It would be impossible to count the number of hours I spent on that training field, Walter. It seems so long ago in some respects but at the same time like yesterday.’
‘The world turns, Conrad, as we must turn with it.’
Conrad tugged the reins of his horse to recommence his journey to the castle. When he reached it he smiled when he saw the spotless courtyard, the squat armoury in the southeast corner and the great dormitory that ran along the western wall, which it shared with the great stable block. The blast of trumpets startled his horse as Master Rudolf nudged his mount forward from its spot in front of the master’s hall and saluted Bishop Hermann. He was bare headed but the brother knights of the garrison, fully armoured on their warhorses, wore full-face helms. They and a dozen mounted sergeants dipped their lances to salute the bishop as Hermann dismounted and stretched his back.
‘Welcome to Wenden, Bishop Hermann,’ said Rudolf sternly.
Hermann acknowledged the salute and bid Rudolf dismount from his horse. He did so and the bishop embraced him, Conrad and the others likewise dismounting. Rudolf dismissed the colour party, its members dismounting to lead their horses back to the stables. One full-face helmet turned to look at Conrad, a broad-shouldered brother knight. Henke, he supposed. He wondered if he was still as cold and inhuman as ever. What was he thinking? Of course he was. Some things never changed and that reassured him.
Inside the master’s hall the mood was relaxed and informal as novices served wine to the guests who removed their sword belts and stretched out their legs in cha
irs stuffed with cushions.
‘So, we travel to Riga to be berated by the pope’s envoy,’ smiled Rudolf.
‘We do not know he comes to Livonia to scold, Rudolf,’ said Hermann.
Rudolf gave the bishop a knowing look. ‘The Pope would not send a legate to Livonia to pass on his best wishes, lord bishop. He comes either to exact money from Livonia or to settle a grievance.’
‘Grievance, Rudolf?’ queried Sir Richard. ‘Against whom?’
Hermann raised a finger to Rudolf. ‘This is mere speculation, Rudolf. Let us hear what the legate has to say before jumping to conclusions.’
Rudolf shrugged. ‘If we can understand him.’
Conrad was confused. ‘Why would we not understand him?’
‘He might speak in Italian, or Latin.’
‘In which case he will provide a translator,’ stated Hermann. ‘You have a suspicious mind, Rudolf.’
‘Apologies, lord bishop,’ said Rudolf. ‘Years of being a mercenary in Germany will do that to a man.’
After the meeting Conrad paid a visit to the graves of his wife and child, Bruno and Johann. The cemetery was as well tended as ever, the low stone wall that surrounded it free from moss and every stone well dressed. The grass between the graves was short and there were gravel paths fronting the graves themselves. And as ever there were fresh flowers on Daina’s and Dietmar’s grave. Gardeners moved silently among the headstones and tipped their heads to him when he caught their eye. Afterwards he went to find Ilona.
He found her in her hut dispensing a potion to a young woman cradling a baby.
‘If you rub it on his gums it will relieve his teething and give you some peace. Best to do it before you put him down for the night.’
The woman smiled at her as her baby cried with gusto. ‘God bless you, Ilona.’
The eyes of Wenden’s healer lit up when she saw Conrad and she flung her arms around him.
‘So the conquering hero returns home,’ she beamed.
Her hut was sparse, just a bed, a table and two stools plus jars of herbs and potions on shelves that filled one wall. She pointed to one of the stools and Conrad sat down on it.