by Peter Darman
‘What?’ Volquin shook his head. ‘Don’t be a fool. You only said what we were all thinking. But I fear that King Valdemar’s quill has sown the seeds of doubt in the Pope’s mind regarding the Sword Brothers.’
But it was not the Pope who was the immediate concern for the order. That afternoon Volquin, Rudolf and Conrad received a summons from Bishop Albert to attend him in his palace. When they arrived in one of the sumptuous withdrawing chambers they found a very agitated prelate whose square face wore a severe countenance. A novice carrying a tray of silver chalices entered the chamber but was waved away by Albert.
‘We will not be needing that,’ he snapped at the boy. ‘Close the door behind you.’
He began pacing in front of the three men, hands behind his back, shooting angry looks at them.
‘I did not desire you to make war upon Reval but that is what you have done. I accepted the capture of Narva, reluctantly, because it brought about peace with Novgorod. But by disobeying my orders you have played into the hands of the Danes. You think that just because King Valdemar is in prison he can be ignored? You think that the Holy Father can ignore a man who is still north Germany’s most powerful prince? You are wrong.’
He stopped and faced Conrad. ‘You will surrender Narva to the Danes immediately. I will inform the cardinal tonight of this so that he is more favourable to us at tomorrow’s gathering.’
Conrad was dumfounded but too subdued to protest. ‘Yes, lord bishop.’
Albert next turned to Volquin. ‘You will immediately desist all offensive operations against Reval and its outlying positions.’
‘As you wish, lord bishop,’ said Volquin, ‘but if we back down the Danes will take advantage of our weakness.’
‘Their king is ungrateful,’ added Rudolf.
‘Ungrateful, Master Rudolf?’ spat Albert. ‘Had you been more considerate and humble during your mission to rescue Valdemar we might not be in this predicament. But you could not help yourself, could you? Well, now your actions have come back to haunt you, and all of us.’
‘Perhaps I should have left Valdemar to die on Oesel,’ snapped Rudolf.
‘Perhaps you should have,’ Albert shot back, ‘but you did not so we, or rather I, have to sort out the mess you have all created.
‘I need the cardinal to report favourably back to the Curia so that I can go back to Germany in the autumn to raise the banner of crusade so that Duke Arturus can be punished next year. The Sword Brothers must learn that they are, like me, mere servants of the Holy Church and not a private army. Is that understood?’
The three being berated bowed their heads to the bishop who, flicking a hand told them to get out of his sight.
It had been a chastening experience, especially for Conrad who up until that point had been in high favour with the bishop. Afterwards he stood alone on the battlements of Riga Castle, staring north towards the lush lands of Livonia. The abandonment of Narva left a bitter taste in his mouth. Surrendering it after the losses his army had suffered in the battle on the ice was bad enough, but to give it up to the gloating toad von Kivel was unbearable. It was not how things were supposed to be. He closed his eyes and sighed.
‘Praying for a miracle, Conrad?’
He opened his eyes to see Sir Richard approaching.
‘Your grace, this is a surprise.’
The Duke of Saccalia placed his hands on the stone crenulations.
‘Rudolf told me about your meeting with Bishop Albert.’
‘I felt like a novice again,’ complained Conrad.
‘The bishop is in a tight spot, Conrad. He knows that Valdemar has no love for him or Livonia but he also knows that the Pope cannot be seen to abandon a king who has taken the cross in Estonia.’
Conrad laughed mockingly. ‘He took the cross so that he could advance his own interests.’
Sir Richard shrugged. ‘That is what kings do. But he still crusaded against the pagans. Valdemar has made a very public complaint against the Sword Brothers. Legate William has to tread a precarious path between appeasing King Valdemar while not belittling Bishop Albert. Surrendering Narva will help, I think.’
‘It is a high price to pay, your grace.’
‘The Danes covet all of Estonia,’ said Sir Richard, ‘this is no secret. But you have the means to thwart their desires.’
Conrad shook his head. ‘The bishop has forbidden any aggression against Reval.’
‘It will not require any bloodshed but will require your warlords converting to the Holy Church.’
‘I have never asked anyone to accept baptism who does not desire it,’ said Conrad.
‘Then you must do so now,’ insisted Sir Richard. ‘If Hillar becomes Duke of Rotalia, Andres Duke of Jerwen and Riki Duke of Harrien then they will rule those lands just as I do Saccalia. The Danes will have no claim on them if they are ruled by Christian nobles appointed by the Pope himself.’
Conrad was impressed. ‘Ah, I see.’
‘Inform Legate William of this tomorrow.’
‘But I have not asked my warlords if they will accept baptism,’ said Conrad.
‘You can worry about that later.’
The next day was as uncomfortable as Conrad expected it to be. Cardinal William announced that the Sword Brothers had agreed to desist from attacking Danish positions in Estonia and, as an act of penitence, would abandon Narva to its rightful owners. The grand master and masters of the order sat in silence as the legate’s clerks recorded all this, including Count Rolf’s acceptance of the Sword Brothers’ contrition. Grand Master Volquin had to bite his lip as he rose and apologised to the gloating knights opposite. The legate, ever the diplomat, stated that Estonia would be placed under the temporary control of the Papacy, which prompted Volquin to smile contentedly at Count Rolf. This was a surprise as it meant that, notwithstanding the evacuation of Narva, Valdemar’s desire for Estonia to be handed over to him had been denied, albeit for the moment.
‘I have taken this decision,’ said Cardinal William, ‘because it appears to me that Estonia is the cause of friction between King Valdemar and the Sword Brothers.’
‘Among other things,’ whispered Rudolf.
‘That being the case,’ continued the legate, ‘it is logical that if it becomes the responsibility of a third party then the cause of said friction is removed. This happy development is doubly beneficial because it not only prevents conflict between the holy order of the Sword Brothers and the Holy Church’s servant King Valdemar, but it also means that Bishop Albert is free to return to Germany to concentrate on raising holy warriors for the great crusade in Lithuania.’
Bishop Albert smiled. He had his endorsement from the Papacy for his crusade against Duke Arturus.
‘It therefore only remains for me to conclude by saying,’ continued the cardinal, ‘that matters in Livonia have been settled to the satisfaction of the Holy Father, praise God.’
‘Now is your time, Conrad,’ said Sir Richard in a hushed tone.
Conrad stood and faced the cardinal.
‘Your eminence, I ask permission to address you.’
Bishops Albert and Hermann looked concerned and Stefan curled a fat lip in contempt but William, satisfied by the order’s generosity, smiled.
‘The chamber is yours, Master Conrad.’
Volquin and Rudolf leaned forward, intrigued, as Conrad spoke.
‘This assembly has heard that my senior warlords, who rule the realms of Rotalia, Harrien and Jerwen, are all pagans.’ He looked at the knights opposite. ‘But it is their wish and my pleasure to inform your eminence that they will all accept baptism so that they and their descendants will be servants of the Holy Church.’
The legate brought his hands together as his scribes recorded Conrad’s words.
‘This is most excellent news, Master Conrad, and will cheer the heart of the Holy Father.’
‘Can I report to my warlords, your eminence,’ asked Conrad, ‘that they will receive titles to confirm their pos
ition once they have been baptised, so that there will be no confusion as to whom they serve?’
William rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and stroked his chin. The scribes finished taking notes and waited for their master’s next words.
‘Sir Richard,’ said the legate, ‘I believe that you are Duke of Saccalia.’
Sir Richard stood and bowed to the cardinal.
‘That is correct, your eminence.’
‘How is it that you, a Christian knight, rule this land of Saccalia whereas the other Estonian lands are under the rule of pagans?’
‘Saccalia was the realm of Lembit, your eminence,’ replied Sir Richard, ‘who was slain at the Battle of Saint Matthew’s Day.’
Albert leaned forward and whispered into the cardinal’s ear.
‘Ah, I see,’ said the legate. ‘Thank you, Sir Richard. Well, if your warlords accept baptism, Master Conrad, then I see no reason why they should not be granted titles and responsibilities equivalent to those held by Sir Richard.’
Conrad bowed his head and smirked at von Kivel.
‘Thank you, your eminence.’
Rudolf leaned towards Conrad as he sat back down.
‘Clever, Conrad, very clever. You have just placed those lands that your warlords command beyond the reach of the Danes.’
Conrad tried hard not to look smug. With the aid of Sir Richard he had outwitted the Danes, though Reval and now Narva were still in their hands. Despite Legate William’s hopes he believed that the peace the cardinal had created would be a temporary truce only.
Chapter 6
Panemunis was quiet, as was all Selonia and Nalsen. The people of those two lands had believed that the gods had deserted them when they learned that the Kurs were coming to kill them. But the Kurs had been defeated at the Iecava River, or so the heralds that had been sent by Prince Vsevolod the length and breadth of his kingdom had told them. And so the people had returned to their homes to thank the gods and the prince for their deliverance. Most did not care that Vsevolod had made an agreement with the Bishop of Riga that allowed him and his crusaders to cross the Dvina into Lithuania. They did not care that the Sword Brothers had ridden through their villages on their way to fight the Kurs. And most did not care that there was a rumour that both Prince Vsevolod and Bishop Albert had found the arrangement mutually beneficial and were earnestly considering a permanent treaty of friendship. But Mindaugas was not one of them.
He checked the straps that held the tent and food in place on the packhorse. His own horse was saddled and waited patiently outside the stables. The stable hands avoided his eyes as he went to his wife’s horse and examined its straps. They had been sworn to secrecy on pain of death, which would hopefully save their lives when Vsevolod and Rasa discovered that they had left the fort. He turned to his wife, her red hair tied behind her head in a long plait.
‘Are you sure about this, your family is here?’
Morta smiled faintly. ‘My place is by your side. You are my family now.’
He held her in his arms. ‘You understand why I have to leave?’
She nodded.
‘I cannot stay here while Ykintas is fighting for his life and we are prostrating ourselves before the Bishop of Riga and the Sword Brothers.’
He did not tell her that he had come to despise Prince Vsevolod, her father, for inviting the barbarians into Lithuania. His own father had warned him about Vsevolod and he had been right. Morta’s father was not all bad: he had gifted him his daughter and had always insisted that his actions were designed to bring about Mindaugas becoming grand duke of all the Lithuanian peoples. But Vsevolod had a duplicitous nature and had a liking for intrigue and politics. In this he was the opposite of Mindaugas, a straight-talking soldier who saw things in black and white.
He embraced his wife. ‘Did you leave a note for your mother?’
Morta nodded. ‘She will understand, she is Selonian.’
‘It may be a long time before you see your parents again,’ he said.
‘I know,’ she said softly.
‘A strange hour to be going for a ride.’
They both spun round to see the figure of Aras standing in the courtyard. It was perhaps an hour after midnight and the fort was shrouded in darkness save for a few torches burning in watchtowers and beside the gates. A dim glow came from within the stables where a few candles burned. Aras, as ever dressed in black, was at first difficult to spot until he came closer to the pair.
‘We are leaving,’ announced Mindaugas curtly.
Aras looked at the loaded packhorse.
‘I can see that. May I enquire where?’
‘To join Ykintas in Samogitia,’ said Mindaugas. ‘I cannot remain here, pretending to be a friend of the Bishop of Riga, while my brother is fighting for his kingdom and his life.’
‘Nor I,’ added Morta defiantly.
Aras sighed. ‘Skulking around like thieves in the night is hardly the actions of a highborn prince. And you would take your wife on this wild goose chase? Have you thought about her?’
‘She can answer for herself,’ snapped Morta.
Aras bowed deeply to her. ‘Of that I have no doubt, princess, but I would be failing in my duty if I did not prevent you from embarking on this ridiculous venture.’
‘Your duty, general, is to obey orders,’ said Mindaugas sternly. ‘You cannot prevent us from leaving.’
Aras made to speak but was interrupted by a panting soldier who ran up and saluted.
‘Forgive the interruption, general, but there are people outside the gates seeking entry.’
Aras turned on the hapless sentry. ‘Then go and fetch an archer who can put a few arrows in them. That’s why we close the gates of the fort at night, to stop undesirables getting in. Idiot.’
‘It is the Kriviu Krivaitis, sir.’
‘What?’
It was one of the few times that Aras was lost for words. Morta’s mouth dropped open and Mindaugas was stunned as the soldier’s words sunk in. The spiritual leader of the whole Lithuanian people was at the gates of Panemunis. Not even Aras would deny entry to such a man.
‘Are you certain?’
The sentry nodded his head, eyes bulging.
‘Let him in.’
The soldier hurried off to the guards at the gates, ordering them to be opened to allow the high priest entry. The strong wooden beam that hung on brackets behind the gates was removed and the thick oak ports were pulled open to reveal a small crowd carrying torches. The guards instinctively bowed their heads as the courtyard was filled with a pale yellow glow and the Kriviu Krivaitis and his entourage entered Panemunis.
Like his predecessors he wore a white tunic and leggings, around his shoulders a thick grey wolfskin cloak. Behind him came four or five of his priests, all carrying torches. The Krivai were also clothed in white, as were the dozen or more attractive young women who shuffled along with them. All virgins, the women were called vaidilutes and were keepers of the sacred flame. Panemunis had never seen such a spectacle, and most of its residents would miss it because they were asleep. The few guards turned away from the outside world to peer in wonder as the high priest made his way towards Mindaugas.
Tall, thin, with black hair and beard that contrasted sharply with the white clothing he wore, he regarded Mindaugas for a few moments, ignoring Aras beside him. A priest held a torch near so his master could better see.
‘It is as it was foretold. You are about to begin your journey, Prince Mindaugas, but you will not be alone.’
Mindaugas bowed his head. ‘No, holy one, my wife will be coming with me.’
The Kriviu Krivaitis smiled, his piercing blue eyes darting to Morta. ‘Morta, daughter of Rasa, I say to you that the blood of Duke Daugerutis flows in your veins and will flow in those of your children.
‘But you will not be alone, young eagles, I will be coming with you.’
Mindaugas’ face lit up. ‘You, holy one?’
The high priest nodded. ‘
Near the sacred grove is a stream beloved of the gods where was found a stone, upon which was engraved the name “Mindaugas”, your name son of Stecse.’
‘I, I do not understand, holy one,’ blurted Mindaugas.
‘It was a sign from Praamzius, the ruler of time, the sky, air, water and all creatures that live within the world. All decisions made by Praamzius are inscribed in stone, symbolising their permanence and unavoidability. It was a sign that we should follow you, son of Stecse. You are the future of Lithuania.’
Mindaugas looked at the high priest and then at Morta, unsure what to do. Just a few minutes before his only thought was to leave Panemunis to join Ykintas. But now he was being told that he was part of a divine mission.
‘How did you know that I would be leaving tonight, holy one?’ he muttered.
The high priest looked up at the star-filled sky.
‘The time of your departure was foretold, young prince, just as your future has been.’
He looked around at the black shadows in the courtyard.
‘We must be away before the fort stirs.’
‘Alone, holy one, with no soldiers to guard you? It is a long way between here and Samogitia.’
The Kriviu Krivaitis turned at last to Aras. ‘General Aras, the sword of Prince Vsevolod. Perhaps you will protect us on our journey?’
‘My place is here,’ sniffed Aras, nodding at Mindaugas, ‘as is his.’
‘It was, general,’ replied the high priest, ‘but now the gods decree that he should leave this place. It is time, prince.’
‘Would you like my horse, holy one?’ asked Mindaugas.
‘You and your wife should ride, as befitting your position.’
The Kriviu Krivaitis suddenly turned and walked back towards the gates.
‘We must leave.’
Mindaugas walked towards his horse as Morta hauled herself into the saddle. He stopped, went back to Aras and extended his hand.
‘For all that you have done for me, I am grateful.’
Aras gave him a slight nod and took his hand. He knew the prince was headstrong and that he faced an uphill battle to persuade him to stay. He had resolved to have him and his wife arrested to stop them from leaving. But he knew that none of his men would defy the wishes of the Kriviu Krivaitis; indeed, they might well use their weapons on him if they thought his orders would lead to the violation of the high priest. And so he stood and watched as Mindaugas and Morta left Panemunis, in front of them the chief priest of the Lithuanian people and around them a motley collection of unarmed priests and female virgins. He hoped that the gods were indeed with them because otherwise the first gang of bandits they were unlucky to run into would slaughter them.