Master of Mayhem

by Peter Darman

  *****

  Riga was a thriving city. Its docks were filled with vessels of all sizes and the Dvina was full of river traffic carrying goods to and from the city. The merchants of Novgorod and Pskov were becoming rich but their wealth paled beside the fortunes that were being made by the men such as Magnus Glueck, whose ships were always full when sailing the route between Riga and Lübeck. He had offices and warehouses in Lübeck and his rich merchant friends were pressing him to combine his considerable assets with their own to form a league of commerce that would not only safeguard those assets but also increase their wealth. He told them he would think about it. But when he had returned from the fiasco in Lithuania his immediate thoughts were about matters closer to home.

  Once again the Livonian Militia had proved lacking in courage, which had reflected badly on him. Fortunately such was the scale of the disaster that had engulfed Bishop Albert’s army that his loss of face had all but been forgotten. During the retreat from Mesoten to the Dvina he had lobbied the bishop for a campaign against the Oeselians, which had met with a lukewarm reception. Two things had strengthened his case, however. Firstly, he had promised to raise and pay for ten thousand soldiers for the campaign from his own funds. Secondly, once the crusading army had returned to Livonia and dispersed word reached Riga that a Danish fleet had been destroyed at sea by the Oeselians. It was just a rumour at first, but ships carrying goods from Lübeck and Gotland had confirmed that King Valdemar had sent a fleet carrying an army to Reval. Nothing further was heard but then rumours came from Estonia that a great battle had taken place off the northern coast of Harrien where Oeselian longships had destroyed the Danish king’s fleet. In the days after corpses of men and horses were washed up in the many bays that dotted the rocky coast. Many were clothed in the red and white uniforms of the Danes and the rocks were covered with smashed almond-shaped shields used by the Christians. This had caused great alarm among Riga’s merchants.

  Archdeacon Stefan smiled at the attractive male novice who placed a cloak around his shoulders. Now it was autumn there was a definite nip in the air, though the day itself was sunny and dry. The boy also placed a fur-lined cloak around the shoulders of Glueck, who sipped at his wine and said nothing to him. Manfred Nordheim walked to the edge of the balcony to look at the crowd gathering below. The archdeacon, knowing that his friend was not a happy man, had invited him along to the day’s proceedings in one of Riga’s squares a short distance from his court. Unlike most of the squares in the city it was cobblestone, the buildings that fronted it on all four sides being wooden and most two storeys in height. The balcony on which the archdeacon and Higher Burgomaster sat was a church-owned building that housed the offices of the church’s clerks and their records. The square was mostly a place for markets and trade but once a week it was given over to canon justice.

  ‘The people of Riga are glad to have their duke back among them,’ Stefan said to Glueck as the square filled with people.

  ‘You have heard the news, about the Danish fleet, I mean?’ replied Glueck.

  Stefan shook his head, causing his double chin to wobble.

  ‘Most terrible. An army of Christians murdered by heathens. Where will it end?’

  Glueck’s eyes left the growing throng below to look at the archdeacon.

  ‘With the conquest of Oesel, I hope. Did you speak to your uncle?’

  The crowd had started to gather around the two wooden platforms that were a permanent fixture in the square. On one was a pair of pillories – devices comprising a hinged wooden framework with holes for the head and hands on top of a wooden post – on the other a whipping post. There was a great cheer when the church floggers and their assistants appeared at one corner of the square and proceeded to the platform holding the whipping post. The four assistants carried between them to the platform two braziers filled with burning coals.

  ‘I did indeed, Magnus,’ replied Stefan, ‘and he is very interested in your proposal. If you furnish the men he will sanction the crusade against Oesel.’

  Glueck smiled as the floggers laid out pincers, tongues and knives on the table next to the whipping post. The assistants then disappeared down the steps to fetch several buckets filled with liquid.

  ‘Whenever I am feeling melancholy or possessed of an ill humour,’ Stefan said to Glueck, ‘I attend these events to cheer myself up. It invariably works and I feel sure that you will benefit as well, Magnus. I know a black mood has followed you from Lithuania and I hope today’s proceedings will help to banish it.’

  Glueck smiled weakly as the prisoners were escorted into the square by a detachment of Nordheim’s soldiers. The red-uniformed spearmen pushed spectators rudely aside to create a path to the first platform as the assistants plunged their various metal instruments into the braziers.

  ‘You are a good friend, Stefan,’ said Glueck as the prisoners were herded on to the platform, a group of terrified men and women dressed in plain tunics and skirts. They had shackles around their ankles to prevent them jumping off the platform and fleeing, though such was their abject distress that most could barely stand upright.

  Nordheim nodded to the floggers to begin proceedings as the novice topped up the silver drinking vessels of the two portly men. The punishment being administered was for minor infractions only; none of the prisoners had been condemned to death. But petty offences still had serious repercussions because the authorities could not let themselves appear lenient lest the criminal elements mistake it for weakness. The first miscreant, a young woman, was roughly manhandled to stand before the crowd. The commander of the guards gave her name to the onlookers, her crime – indecent behaviour – and her punishment: twenty-five lashes.

  The crowd cheered as she was bundled towards the whipping post where she was suspended by the wrists. To more cheers her dress was ripped open to reveal the flesh of her back. Her feet did not touch the boards as two floggers took up position on either side of her.

  ‘She is too short for the whipping post,’ observed Glueck, taking a sip of his wine.

  ‘It is intended so, your grace,’ said Nordheim as the floggers began whipping the woman’s back, causing her to scream out loud with every bite of the leather thongs. ‘By suspending the prisoner the skin is stretched tighter and centres the offender’s weight in the shoulders, thus increasing the pain.’

  The victim’s piercing screams were accompanied by wild cheering from the crowd, the square echoing with the shrieks of the victim and the rejoicing of the spectators. The floggers knew their craft, reducing the woman’s back to a mass of ripped skin and blood with their whips that consisted of ‘braided’ leather tails. After the full number of lashes had been administered she hung limply at the post, her whimpering heard only by those in the front row around the platform. But everyone heard her piercing shriek when a bucket of brine was thrown on her back before she was released.

  ‘It’s a kindness,’ smiled Nordheim, ‘brine helps the wounds to heal.’

  ‘You see, Magnus, how even when punishing offenders the church is merciful,’ said the archdeacon.

  He was pleased to see that the Higher Burgomaster’s spirits improved as the miscreants – petty thieves, drunkards, vagrants and blasphemers – were whipped, branded and had ears cut off. The platform holding the whipping post was soon awash with blood as bodies were lacerated and mutilated. The now pale-faced novice offered the governor and Duke of Riga a tray of gingerbreads made from bread, honey and ginger. The archdeacon took one of the biscuits and nibbled it as a vagrant screamed in agony as his forehead was branded with a red-hot iron.

  Glueck also took a biscuit. ‘If the reports of the Oeselians sinking the Danish fleet are true, and I see no reason to believe that they are not, then the subjugation of Oesel is imperative, Stefan. It pains me that we wasted time south of the Dvina when we could have been dealing with the Oeselians. And I would remind the bishop, your uncle, that the safeguarding of commerce ensures the survival and expansion of Livonia, not th
e brutes who wear the mantles of the Sword Brothers.’

  Stefan shifted uncomfortably in his well-upholstered chair.

  ‘Manfred told me that they were their usual boorish selves in Lithuania.’

  Glueck gripped his cup as a man’s back was being cut to ribbons in the square below.

  ‘They are arrogant, thuggish imbeciles and the bishop is a fool to trust them.’

  Stefan sighed. ‘Alas, my uncle is a godly man, a man who puts too much faith in searching for the good in everyone, believing that even in the blackest soul there is always light. This has led to the regrettable situation that now manifests itself whereby the Sword Brothers, who were given life by my uncle, have become an ungrateful mob.’

  Another man was led to the blood-splattered whipping post.

  ‘Ah, Magnus, I think you will find this particularly interesting.’

  ‘Oh?’

  The prisoner, a middle-aged, balding man with a paunch, was fixed to the whipping post and lashed fifty times. Stefan pointed at him as he groaned and thrashed about as leather strips bit into his soft flesh.

  ‘That is a baker, a man who for years swindled his customers by overcharging for his loaves, apparently. I know how you, like me, despise bakers and bakers’ sons in particular.’

  They watched as the semi-conscious baker was dragged to the second platform where he was placed in the pillory. One of the assistants took something out of the pouch hanging from his belt. The baker squealed in torment as his ears were nailed to the wood. Glueck laughed at this and leaned towards Stefan.

  ‘Surely his ears will be damaged beyond repair?’

  The archdeacon nodded. ‘Ah, but you see, Magnus, he was to have his ears cut off anyway. Having them nailed to the boards ensures that he cannot dodge the missiles thrown by the crowd.’

  Those missiles included rotten vegetables, stones and horse dung as the hapless, bleeding prisoner was struck by a number of his swindled customers.

  ‘He will be in the pillory for a day,’ said Stefan.

  ‘If only it was the baker’s son that was nailed there,’ remarked Glueck. ‘Perhaps one day. But to business. Your uncle will guarantee a crusade against the Oeselians if I raise ten thousand soldiers?’

  ‘I give you my word,’ promised Stefan.

  ‘Then next year we will finally be able to deal with the Oeselians,’ said a satisfied Glueck.

  ‘Actually, Magnus,’ smiled Stefan, ‘Commander Nordheim has an idea that you may find attractive.’

  The ugly, fat head turned towards the archdeacon’s henchman, who was signalling to his guards below to disperse a rowdy portion of the crowd that was pelting the floggers with vegetables. Crowds were notoriously excitable, the smell and sight of blood, combined with alcohol, creating a volatile atmosphere. Any prospective trouble had to be stamped on ruthlessly. He watched as his guards went among the troublesome spectators and hauled the ringleaders away and out of the square. He turned to Glueck.

  ‘Your grace might consider raising your army from the Principality of Polotsk, which is not only closer but would also cost you a lot less than hiring mercenaries in Germany.’

  Glueck was unimpressed. ‘Polotsk is a Russian city. Why would I want to hire Russians, and why would followers of the apostate Orthodox religion wish to fight for the Catholic Church?’

  Nordheim nodded thoughtfully. ‘Because, your grace, Polotsk has fallen on hard times. Its rulers would welcome any additions to its empty treasury. As to why Russians would fight for Livonia; frankly if they are paid they will fight for the Devil himself.’

  Stefan’s forehead creased into a frown.

  ‘Begging your pardon,’ said Nordheim. ‘In addition, your grace, ten thousand men could be at Riga in two months, meaning that you could mount a winter campaign against Oesel.’

  Glueck turned up his bulbous nose. ‘Sleeping in a tent is bad enough, Commander Nordheim, living in one with snow on the ground would be a severe hardship.’

  Stefan ordered the novice to refill Glueck’s cup.

  ‘Magnus, my dear friend, men like us are not destined to sleep on the ground and wallow in mud and filth like pigs. My uncle has the Sword Brothers for that. We are men who raise and direct armies and shape the world we live in. Let Commander Nordheim lead your army, leaving you free to concentrate on your business interests.’

  Glueck was not sure. ‘It may appear dishonourable for me to remain at Riga while the bishop crusades against the Oeselians.’

  Stefan spread his hands. ‘You have already taken part in two crusades, Magnus, to say nothing of your generous contributions towards the construction of the city’s cathedral. And now you pay for the raising of an army out of your own funds. Men will say that you have satisfied all that honour demands of you.

  ‘I promise you this: if word reaches me of any who say otherwise I will have them hanged and their bodies displayed on the city walls. The city criers will announce my decision and the promise that it will not only be the miscreants who will be punished but their families also. And they will be excommunicated before they are punished.’

  Glueck put down the cup and brought his hands together, resting his chin on the entwined fingers. He looked up at Nordheim.

  ‘You are confident that the Russians will be agreeable to your scheme?’

  ‘I am certain, your grace.’

  ‘Then go to Polotsk and raise my army,’ Glueck told him.

  Stefan was delighted and smiled like the rapacious leech he was. But as the last prisoner was being given fifty lashes below the balcony he stopped smiling and twisted up his nose.

  ‘I will never get accustomed to that smell.’

  ‘Blood, sir,’ Nordheim told him. ‘People who are whipped and mutilated bleed a lot, unfortunately.’

  Stefan held a scented cloth to his nose. ‘It is disgusting. Let us be away to more agreeable surroundings, Magnus. These commoners have a stench unique in the whole world, I think.’

  Chapter 10

  ‘So the Oeselians destroyed the Danes’ fleet, a fleet carrying an army that was sent by Valdemar to conquer Estonia, no doubt.’

  Conrad stretched out his legs in his chair and smiled with satisfaction. He looked at the courier that had been sent to him by Riki at Varbola, a rough-looking warrior with a full beard and a ripped cape splashed with mud. As usual it was raining, the tracks around Odenpah resembling rivers of mud in the late autumn gloom.

  ‘And what of the Danes at Reval?’ Conrad asked the warrior.

  ‘They do not venture beyond their walls, Susi. That may change when the snows come and the ground turns to iron with the cold.’

  ‘Get some hot soup inside you and a new cape from the stores,’ Conrad ordered.

  The man bowed and walked from Odenpah’s great hall. Servants heaped more wood on the raging fire burning in the chamber. Guards closed the doors to the hall after the warrior had left.

  ‘So we are in debt to the Oeselians,’ remarked Anton standing to the side of Conrad.

  Conrad nodded. ‘So it would seem.’

  ‘But that does not solve the problem of how to take Reval,’ said Hans, lounging in the chair beside Conrad. ‘By all accounts the town’s defences are intricate, as the Russians discovered to their cost.’

  ‘Sounds like a task for Master Thaddeus,’ suggested Anton.

  ‘If Bishop Hermann will spare him,’ said Conrad. ‘Well, we will have plenty of time to think on it as winter will be here soon and nothing will happen until next spring at the earliest.’

  ‘Unless Bishop Albert decides to take us across the Dvina once more.’

  Conrad rolled his eyes. ‘That is a war that is set to run and run. It will be hard to convince the Estonians to campaign in Lithuania when their lands are under threat from the Danes.’

  ‘Bishop Albert will expect the Army of the Wolf to march with him if he decides to cross the Dvina next year,’ said Hans.

  ‘In that case I will ask for volunteers only,’ replied Conrad,
‘men who have no families or land. I cannot ask men to leave their women, children and homes to the mercy of the Danes.’

  ‘Then it will be a small army,’ said Anton.

  Conrad shrugged. ‘So be it. Let that fat idiot Glueck provide the bishop with soldiers, I hear he has boasted of providing him with ten thousand.’

  He looked at his friends and all three burst out laughing.

  Life went on at Odenpah as before. The novices trained under the watchful eyes of Werner, the Lady Maarja tended to her flowers and vegetables and spent time with the three brother knights, Leatherface complained about the weather in between teaching the novices about shooting crossbows and the fort’s workers and their families filled the vast stronghold with welcome activity. Walter sent word from Dorpat that the town was full of Russian traders that were treated with great civility by Bishop Hermann, who wanted to encourage commerce with Novgorod in order to turn his bishopric into a rich province. But the best news was that people were returning to the villages surrounding Odenpah. It was a slow and tortuous process and those who did return to the previous ghost settlements daubed their huts in pagan symbols to ward off the evil that they suspected still resided at Odenpah. But whenever he heard about a village being re-occupied Conrad rode to the settlement to welcome its residents and told them that they would always receive a warm welcome and a receptive ear at Odenpah. On these visits he liked to take Arri and Jaan because they were his senior novices and also Estonian, so the villagers could see that the garrison of Odenpah was not foreign but included their own people. Leatherface also managed to invite himself, Conrad suspected because he was thinking of his retirement and his desire for a young native wife. Both novices were on the cusp of manhood, their bodies becoming stronger and their minds more enquiring. But they both still had five years of training before they became brother knights.

  ‘By all accounts you both acquitted yourselves well during the recent crusade,’ Conrad told them as they were returning to Odenpah from one such visit, ‘especially when the Kurs infiltrated our camp. What are your opinions of the campaign?’