by Peter Darman
‘I smell a rat, Conrad.’
‘I agree, the Danes must be here to advance their own interests.’
Rudolf picked up a small meat pie topped with herbs and took a nibble.
‘Everyone warned me that Valdemar would return to Estonia at the head of an army to exact revenge for my treatment of him on Oesel. But when he was captured and his army subsequently destroyed by my father and his allies, I have to admit that I completely forgot about him. He is after something, though. Perhaps me.’
Conrad was alarmed. ‘You?’
‘A king ridiculed is an angry beast, Conrad. Though to have not done so would have brought about the ruin of Livonia and I have not spent twenty years helping to build this kingdom just to see it wrecked by the avarice of a Danish king.’
Conrad shrugged. ‘Danish power has been broken by your father, Count Henry. Valdemar is a prisoner and his army has been destroyed. It will take him years to rebuild it and even longer to mount a crusade to Estonia.’
‘You are a good general but a bad politician, Conrad. Kings and princes do not wage war just with a sword.’
Rudolf appeared relaxed about the matter so Conrad was not unduly worried. But later, as he stared up at the ceiling of the dormitory, the loud snores of the other masters filling the chamber, he mulled over the unexpected presence of the Danes at Riga. He despised King Valdemar and his soldiers, cowards who had pillaged Estonia and killed countless innocents. Every moment that they occupied Reval was an insult to those people and his own position. But his animosity also had a personal aspect because Valdemar himself had desired his death, a fate only averted by the timely arrival outside Reval of Kalju and his Ungannian warriors. And now Kalju was dead and he was master of Kalju’s stronghold.
The next morning, with the last vestiges of night still lingering and the air cool despite it being August, he and the others dressed in silence. The joviality and drunkenness of the previous evening had given way to a sober professionalism. The grand master had arranged for novices to hang pristine surcoats by the side of every cot, together with new shields issued from the armoury. No effort had been spared to show the masters of the order in the best possible light. Conrad shivered in his cotton breeches and vest as he pulled on his quilted, cotton-covered aketon. Next came the cotton hose on his legs, kept up by leather laces. He had hung his long-sleeved mail hauberk with integral mail mittens on the specially designed wooden frame by the cot, which also held the mail chausses that protected his legs, and leather shoes with thick soles. He put on the mail armour and then the linen-covered, quilted sleeveless gambeson over the top. Because he was not riding to battle he and the others left behind their linen coifs, their mail coifs off their heads and arranged at the back of their necks. Next came the spotless white surcoat bearing the emblem of the Sword Brothers on the chest. He strapped on his sword belt so that the main weapon hung by his left side and the dagger on his right. Then he took the shield and used the leather strap fitted to its inner side to sling it on his back. He and the others left the dormitory to attend Prime Mass in the chapel, after which they sat down for breakfast, eating in silence, as was the rule in the order. Not all fare was taken in silence, of course, dispensations being given for meals attended by those who were not members of the order.
The sergeants and mercenaries attached to the grand master’s office provided an escort to cover the short distance between the castle and bishop’s palace. News of the papal legate’s arrival had prompted excitement among the populace so the route was lined with curious onlookers who peered at the white-uniformed masters and soldiers as they walked to the palace. The city’s inhabitants were used to seeing soldiers of the garrison and the half-hearted members of the city militia who drilled outside the walls once a week, prior to them going to alehouses and getting drunk. But they rarely saw large gatherings of the Sword Brothers, and had never seen the assembled masters of the order. The Sword Brothers fought pagans outside Livonia – in Estonia and Lithuania – for which the good citizens of Riga and the surrounding settlements were glad of. It was well known their masters were former mercenaries who had perfected their murderous ways in Germany. Women stood in silence, clutching their children close, staring as the broad-shouldered, bearded masters went by. Men kept their eyes lowered, keen to avoid catching the eye of any of Bishop Albert’s merciless killers.
‘I feel like I am on the way to my execution,’ said Conrad, noticing the subdued atmosphere.
‘Civilians,’ sneered Rudolf, ‘they are always the same. Ungrateful.’
At the gates of the bishop’s palace Manfred Nordheim with a score of the garrison’s spearmen were waiting. On the walls above the gates stood crossbowmen with more lining the ramparts on either side. Volquin said nothing to the commander of the garrison as he led his men through the gates. Conrad gave Nordheim a sneer as he passed him, holding his gaze and daring him to say anything. But the commander held his stony stare and ignored the taunt.
If Volquin’s mood had been dark when he entered the palace it became more so when he entered the audience hall. Benches had been arranged on either side of the oak-panelled chamber and there was a raised wooden dais at the far end, on which were positioned three high-backed chairs. Another chair had been placed beside the dais, over which hung a banner showing the cross keys symbol of Riga. Red-uniformed guards stood near the dais and at the entrance to the chamber. Volquin ignored them as he focused his attention on the occupants of the benches opposite to those where his masters now took their seats. Where the Danes were seated.
Conrad nearly tripped over his feet when he saw the figure of Dietrich von Kivel looking daggers at him. The squat, stocky German looked relaxed and arrogant as he sat among his knights, all of them sporting yellow surcoats bearing a black eagle with red talons. Seated next to Kivel was a man Conrad did not recognise, a younger, taller individual with fair hair whose coat of arms was a black bird over water surrounded by a wall. His knights were similarly attired, and like Kivel’s men they gave the Sword Brothers cool stares.
Conrad was pleased to see Sir Richard appear from the door near the dais. The Duke of Saccalia nodded to him and made his way over to the Marshal of Estonia, sitting beside him. He had, at the request of Bishop Albert, been accommodated in the palace the previous night.
‘This legate is no fool, Conrad, have a care what you say.’ He nodded at the Danes opposite. ‘Don’t let them rile you.’
Four trumpeters walked into the chamber and raised the instruments to their lips. A steward in red livery accompanied them and banged his staff on the stone floor tiles.
‘Stand for his eminence Cardinal William of Modena.’
The trumpets sounded and everyone rose. Seconds later the cardinal appeared, a man of medium height with olive skin who was lavishly attired. On his head he wore a mitre of layered white silk, his Cappa Magna, his ‘great cloak’, coloured scarlet. His cassock was black silk with scarlet piping and from his neck hung a gold pectoral cross. The cord from which it dangled was scarlet and gold and on his hand William wore a gold ring set with a sapphire. Behind him walked Bishops Albert and Hermann, their capes coloured purple, and after them waddled Archdeacon Stefan. He went to stand by the lone chair at the side while the legate positioned himself in front of the centre chair on the dais, the bishops flanking him. Novices fussed around the three prelates to remove their long capes as a standard bearer stood on the other side of the dais to the archdeacon. He carried a large banner fixed to a traverse bar at right angles to the pole he held. The silk flag bore a rose carried by lions, the emblem of the Savelli family of Rome.
‘Let us pray,’ said the cardinal in German.
Everyone bowed their heads as the legate asked God to bless Livonia and Bishop Albert’s ongoing crusade against the pagans. After he had finished he took his seat and asked everyone else to do the same. For a few moments William was in discussion with the two bishops, all three speaking in whispers as clerks at sloping desks prepared to t
ake notes on parchment made from goatskin. The quills they held came from goose feathers that had been buried in hot sand to make them stronger and less brittle.
‘You see the power of the Pope, Conrad?’ whispered Sir Richard.
‘You mean the cardinal’s rich attire, your grace?’
Sir Richard shook his head. ‘No, the banner that accompanies his legate. The size of banners denotes rank in a proportional manner. I would say that banner is six foot square, which denotes the flag of an emperor. Five feet square denotes a king, four feet square a prince or duke, and three feet square a count or baron. Knights are allowed a banner that is no larger than two feet square.’
‘I had no idea,’ said Conrad.
‘Such things are the lifeblood of Christian nobility, Conrad. The point is that the banner symbolises the absolute power of the Papacy in Christendom.’
The cardinal, having finished his discussion with the bishops, signalled to the marshal who banged his staff on the floor once more. All eyes focused on William of Modena.
‘The Holy Father in Rome has sent me to Livonia because he is unhappy that a Christian prince and a Christian kingdom are in dispute, especially when the apostate Russians are still strong in the east and there is a new crusade being waged south of the River Dvina. In these circumstances the Holy Father deems it necessary for the Sword Brothers to desist their aggression against King Valdemar’s lands.’
As the legate continued to speak Conrad felt anger rising within him, which was compounded by the smug expression of von Kivel opposite. King Valdemar may have been a prisoner but he had access to writing materials and had wasted no effort in corresponding with the Pope to present a seemingly unending list of grievances against Conrad’s order. They included insulting the king on Oesel, humiliating him by having a pagan girl present while Master Rudolf dictated terms to Valdemar, treating his royal person with disrespect and failing to evacuate the Danish army’s warhorses from the island.
‘In addition to these serious charges,’ said the cardinal in conclusion, ‘I am informed that the Sword Brothers have been waging a war against the garrison of Reval. I ask Rolf, Count of Roskilde and Governor of Reval, to stand and present his evidence.’
The tall governor of Reval stood and bowed his head to the cardinal.
‘Your eminence, during the winter just past the Sword Brothers, in conjunction with their pagan allies, captured numerous outposts of my command, putting their garrisons to the sword. It is my conclusion that the Sword Brothers, in defiance of the Holy Father, desire nothing less than taking Reval itself and erasing the Danish presence in Estonia.’
His knights and von Kivel’s men murmured their agreement to this, prompting the steward to rap his staff on the floor and call for silence.
The legate sighed. ‘Thank you, Count Rolf. You may be seated. Grand Master Volquin, I ask you for your words regarding the serious charges made against your order.’
Volquin rose, bowed his head to the cardinal and pointed at the Danes opposite.
‘First of all, your eminence, I ask if this is a trial. Because if it is not then I am confused as to why the Holy Father has taken the word of King Valdemar and his lords over that of the Sword Brothers, who have for more than twenty years waged a war against paganism in these lands, during which God has given us the strength to conquer in the face of great odds.’
The masters growled their approval as Volquin glared defiantly at Count Rolf. Conrad for his part looked contemptuously at von Kivel.
‘The Sword Brothers are not on trial, grand master,’ declared Legate William, ‘but I would remind you that the Holy Father granted Estonia to King Valdemar and yet I believe that the majority of this land is in the hands of your order.’
‘That’s because he was incapable of holding it,’ came a voice from the Sword Brothers.
As one the Danes leapt to their feet and began pointing angrily at the masters, who in turn began to rise. Stefan’s eyes bulged wide as the threat of violence infused the air.
The steward banged his staff on the stone tiles. ‘Silence!’
Volquin turned and ordered his men to take their seats, Count Rolf opposite doing the same. Bishops Albert and Hermann were glaring at the Sword Brothers.
William, long used to dealing with volatile lords, remained calm as he leaned forward to question Volquin.
‘There is one among your order that his Excellency Bishop Albert of Riga created Marshal of Estonia, I believe. I would speak with him.’
Volquin turned, nodded to Conrad and retook his seat. Odenpah’s master rose to his feet and bowed to the cardinal.
‘I am Master Conrad, your eminence, Marshal of Estonia.’
William studied him for a few seconds. ‘The Holy Father has heard much about you, Master Conrad, and has praised your name in the Curia itself. You control much of Estonia?’
‘All except the area around Reval, your eminence, yes.’
Count Rolf stood. ‘It is in the hands of pagans, your eminence, heathens under the command of this so-called marshal with no respect for the Holy Church.’
The cardinal held a hand up to Rolf.
‘Is this true, Master Conrad?’
‘It is true, your eminence,’ replied Conrad, ‘that the warlords who rule the separate tribal lands within Estonia are pagans. But they are all loyal to the Holy Church and Bishop Albert.’
‘These men would be the commanders of the Army of the Wolf?’ probed the cardinal.
Conrad found his knowledge slightly disconcerting.
‘That is true, your eminence. They and those they lead have fought beside the Sword Brothers and the crusaders that have travelled from Germany to take the cross in Livonia. They also helped to rescue King Valdemar from certain death on Oesel.’
‘That is debateable,’ murmured Count Rolf.
Conrad turned to look at the governor of Reval. ‘I was there, my lord, whereas I believe you were not. When we arrived at what could loosely be called the Danish camp the Oeselians were on the verge of overrunning it.’
He held out his hand to Rudolf. ‘Had it not have been for the foresight and courage of Master Rudolf, King Valdemar would certainly have perished on Oesel.’
Rolf rolled his eyes and shook his head and his men were having none of it but the cardinal was intrigued by Conrad and questioned him further.
‘Are you acquainted with this pagan girl who allegedly insulted King Valdemar, Master Conrad?’
‘She is not a pagan but a Christian, your eminence. She is now married to Prince Rameke, the commander of King Fricis’ army. Her name is Kaja and she once saved my life in battle.’
Bishop Hermann smiled as the cardinal looked surprised.
‘In battle?’
‘Yes, your eminence, before she married she was a member of the Army of the Wolf. She saved my life during the relief of the fortress of Lehola some years ago.’
William stroked his chin. ‘Extraordinary. However, it does concern me that Estonia is controlled by pagans, albeit loyal ones as you say, Master Conrad.’
Von Kivel suddenly jumped up and pointed at Conrad.
‘He collaborated with the apostate Russians to capture Narva, your eminence. I was created Duke of Narva by King Valdemar himself but now that place and my lands are under Sword Brother occupation.’
William froze Kivel with a glare as the cardinal turned back to Conrad.
‘Is this true, Master Conrad?’
‘It is, your eminence. The Danes have plundered Estonia, killing countless numbers of its residents, women and children included. They built Reval using slave labour and did the same at Narva. I secured an agreement with Novgorod that in return for its banner, its soldiers would assist me in the capture of Narva. I make no apologies for freeing the Wierlanders from oppression and securing peace with the Kingdom of Novgorod.’
There were hoots of derision from the Danes as William smiled at Conrad and gestured for him to retake his seat. The steward once more used his st
aff to call for quiet.
‘I will give this matter careful consideration,’ said William calmly, ‘and give my judgement tomorrow.’
He stood, occasioning everyone to do the same. A stony faced Bishop Albert followed the cardinal from the audience chamber, after which von Kivel strolled over to Conrad, who drew himself up to his full height and looked down contemptuously at the Duke of Narva.
‘I had not realised how short you were until this moment.’
‘I can soon cut you down to size,’ Kivel shot back.
‘I accept your challenge gladly,’ smiled Conrad.
‘Stand down, Conrad,’ shouted Volquin, causing the other masters to stop and stare at the pair squaring up to each other.
The grand master barged his way between the two and fixed von Kivel with an iron-hard stare.
‘Have a care, duke, else we shall take Reval as well as Narva and put its garrison to the sword.’
Kivel smiled. ‘Oh, when will that be, grand master? When the kingdom of heaven has arrived on earth and all men treat each other as brothers?’
‘I am not your brother,’ sneered Conrad.
Count Rolf had walked over to pull von Kivel away.
‘Do not trouble yourself, Dietrich, the legate will rule in our favour and the Sword Brothers will be put in their place. It has been a long time coming.’
Rudolf and Conrad laughed, though Conrad stopped when the grand master gave him a rebuking stare. Rudolf took Conrad’s arm and led him away.
‘Not a very good idea: picking a fight in the bishop’s palace.’
‘That dwarf violated a parley,’ said Conrad as Count Rolf led the Danes and von Kivel’s Germans away.
The other masters and Sir Richard, however, slapped Conrad on the arm and gave him reassuring nods as Rudolf walked him from the chamber. The grand master and the rest followed. Volquin looked most unhappy.
‘I apologise, grand master,’ said Conrad, ‘and await your judgement.’