by Peter Darman
‘It was not what I expected, master,’ Jaan told him.
‘Oh?’
Arri, a year older, was more forthcoming. ‘Why did we retreat from the enemy? We are always told that the pagans cannot resist a Christian army and yet the Kurs beat us.’
‘That’s a good question, Master Conrad,’ grinned Leatherface.
Conrad ignored him. ‘It is a fact of life, Arri, that we cannot always be victorious. Battles may be lost but the most important objective is to win the war. Whoever wins the last battle wins the war. Keep that in mind.’
‘Why did the army include those led by Timothy the Cook, master? Many of your warriors believed them to be worthless,’ asked Jaan.
‘Another good question,’ said Leatherface.
‘Then why don’t you answer it,’ suggested Conrad.
The mercenary needed no second prompting.
‘It all comes down to money and politics, boys. You see Bishop Albert is a member of a very powerful Saxon family, that being a place far from here and a lot less wet. Now the fat madman Timothy the Cook was gathering an army of followers in Saxony and the bishop’s family was eager to be rid of them. So they paid for them to sail to Livonia so they could all be slaughtered by the heathens. That’s why the bishop’s family is so powerful, you see, they are very clever and very ruthless. As well as being very rich.’
‘Next year we will return to defeat the Kurs, master?’ asked Jaan.
‘And the year after and the year after that,’ said Leatherface. ‘The Kurs are a formidable enemy, boys, well trained, it seems.’
‘But our training and weapons are better,’ Conrad told them, ‘especially among the Sword Brothers. That is why the mad charge of the religious fanatics of Timothy the Cook was so easily defeated. Superior discipline and training will always overcome brute force, as I’m sure Sergeant Werner is always telling you.’
‘What I do not understand, master,’ said Arri, ‘is if the followers of Timothy the Cook were followers of God, why did God abandon them?’
‘These boys should be scholars,’ opined Leatherface.
‘We put our faith in God,’ Conrad told them, ‘but we ensure that our swords are sharp and our preparations are sound.’
When they returned to the fort one of Maarja’s guards standing sentry at the gates informed Conrad that Andres had arrived earlier. He feared that the Danes had attacked Jerwen and rushed to the great hall to seek out the duke of that land. But when he arrived he saw the stout Andres laughing and sharing refreshments with Hans and Anton. He walked over to his friend and warlord and embraced him.
‘I have brought someone who desires to speak with you, Susi.’
Hans tilted his head toward one of the hall’s oak pillars, beside which was a fat old man dressed in a threadbare brown tunic and leggings and an equally scruffy cloak. As Conrad’s eyes got accustomed to the dimly lit interior of the hall he suddenly realised whom he was looking at.
Rustic – the old man of the forest who lived in the sacred grove of Kassinurme, near to Andres’ stronghold of the same name. Mystic, recluse and semi-legendary figure, Conrad had encountered him only once before. But now here he was in his hall. He walked over to him, unsure how to greet him. Rustic got straight to the point.
‘I must speak with you, wolf spirit.’
‘Very well, but have you eaten, would you like to rest and refresh yourself?’
Rustic’s piggy eyes narrowed. ‘If I wanted to eat I would have gone to your kitchens and if I wanted to sleep I would already be at slumber. Where can we speak alone?’
Conrad escorted the man who had the aroma of pine to his ‘office’ in the courtyard, the sparsely equipped hut meeting Rustic’s approval. He sat on a stool on the other side of Conrad’s desk.
‘You live a simple life, wolf spirit. That is good.’
‘I, like others of my order, have taken an oath of poverty,’ said Conrad.
Rustic twisted up his nose that resembled a pig’s snout.
‘I have seen the high priests of your religion and they dress and act like kings. But I did not come here to talk of them.’
‘And why did you come here?’
‘To give you advice, wolf spirit, so that you may live and my people can continue to enjoy the peace that the gods have brought them.’
Conrad raised an eyebrow. ‘You are mistaken, sir, it is the one god that has brought peace to this land.’
Rustic chuckled. ‘We can sit here and argue whether the gods sent you to deliver their people from tyranny, using you as their vessel. You may believe otherwise but the gods work their magic in many ways, which neither you nor I can fully understand.
‘They sent me a vision, wolf spirit, that showed you battling for your life in the land of your enemies.’
‘As I am a soldier,’ smiled Conrad, ‘envisioning me battling my enemies is hardly difficult to predict.’
‘This was different,’ continued Rustic, ‘you were alone and surrounded by your enemies in a land of snow and ice. You had walked across the sea to speak with those who would kill you. My advice to you is this. You can only achieve what you desire if you are the last man standing.’
Conrad tried hard not to laugh. He had heard much about the mystic Rustic, how he was feared and revered in equal measure but all he saw was a foul-looking old man talking gibberish. Rustic saw the disbelief in the younger man’s eyes.
‘You have been good to my people, wolf spirit,’ he said, changing the subject, ‘even though you bring the false religion with you. But many speak highly and respectfully of Susi, from the highest warlord to the poorest person, and for that I thank you. It is for that reason that I have come to impart my advice. You would do well not ignore it.’
‘I never ignore warnings of my own demise, sir.’
Rustic shivered. ‘It will be hard winter.’
‘Really?’
As far as Conrad was concerned all the winters in Livonia were hard. The snows came, the temperature plummeted and everyone shivered and tried to keep warm for four months of the year when the land was white and the sun savagely brilliant in clear blue skies.
‘Those who believe they are safe in their lands will be abandoned by the gods this winter,’ said Rustic, his face wearing a faraway gaze.
There was a moment of silence as he stared at the ceiling, seemingly in a trance, before turning his attention back to Conrad.
‘Have you seen the signs?’
‘Signs?’
Rustic sighed and shook his head.
‘It never ceases to amaze me the number of people who live in these lands and know so little about them. It astounds me further when they also ignore the warnings the gods send them.
‘Have you not seen woodpeckers sharing a tree, the early departure of the geese and ducks, the unusually thick hair on the nape of cows’ necks, the heavy fogs that blighted the summer months or spiders spinning larger than usual webs?’
Conrad had to admit he had not noticed any of these things.
‘The animals are preparing for the hard winter to come while man basks in his ignorance,’ fumed Rustic. ‘Take a look beyond the confines of this great fort, wolf spirit, and observe the unusual abundance of acorns and the feverish activity of squirrels as they gather food early to ensure their survival through a hard winter. Take a walk into the forest to see how high are hornets’ nests in trees, which will indicate how high the coming snow will rest.’
‘I can assure you that this fort will be well provisioned for the winter,’ Conrad assured him.
Rustic suddenly rose to his feet and walked to the door.
‘That will be a comfort to those who will be here but you will not be one of them.’
And then he was gone, striding from the hut towards the gate in the inner perimeter wall. Conrad chased after him, requesting that he stay for a meal at least, and offering to fetch Andres from the hall. But Rustic brushed away his offers of help and made his way out of the fort. Conrad fetched Andres
anyway and he stood on the battlements with the Duke of Jerwen, Hans and Anton watching the hulking figure dressed in rags make his way towards the east.
‘I should leave and ensure he gets back to Kassinurme safely, Susi,’ said Andres.
Conrad nodded. ‘Go, my friend, and may God go with you both.’
Andres hurried down the wooden steps but halted at the bottom.
‘What did Rustic want of you, Susi?’ he shouted up at the ramparts.
‘He told me it is going to snow a lot this winter,’ replied Conrad.
Prompted by Rustic’s ramblings over the next few days he did go into the nearby forest and did indeed see many acorns and on early mornings when the grass around the fort was heavy with dew, also spotted many large spiders’ webs. But he saw nothing that convinced him that the coming winter would be any worse than previous ones. A week later all thoughts of the weather were forgotten when a message arrived from Riga demanding the presence of the Marshal of Estonia, Duke of Rotalia, Duke of Harrien and Duke of Jerwen at the bishop’s palace. Courier pigeons were immediately despatched to Varbola, Leal and Kassinurme with messages for the warlords to make their way to Odenpah immediately.
At long last Reval was to be taken, Conrad believed.
After rendezvousing at Odenpah Conrad, his warlords and their escorts had ridden south to Wenden where they were met by Sir Richard, who had also received an invitation to attend the bishop. The column of riders left Wenden at the beginning of November, moving fast to cover the distance as quickly as possible because the days were getting shorter and colder and almost every day a light rain fell, which turned to sleet if a northerly wind was blowing.
‘I take it that the Army of the Wolf will be larger than it was during our late, unlamented campaign in Lithuania, Conrad?’ said Rudolf.
‘Much larger,’ promised Conrad, ‘I will muster as many men as I can to see the Danes driven into the sea.’
‘Reval has strong defences,’ cautioned Sir Richard.
‘I’m sure that Master Thaddeus can fashion suitable machines that can knock them down, your grace,’ Rudolf assured him.
Despite the rain, sleet and wind Conrad was in high spirits when he rode through Riga’s gates on the third day after leaving Wenden. He and the others went straight to the castle where Grand Master Volquin welcomed them. The warriors that had accompanied Conrad’s warlords had never been inside the city and were amazed by its stone buildings, especially the imposing cathedral that was still being worked on. They had also never been inside a place with such unique smells, bustle and crowds. The next day, when Conrad and the others made their way to the bishop’s palace, they gawped at the crowds, shops, alleyways and goods on show. For their part the citizens stared back at the burly warriors in their mail armour, their long hair and wild beards.
The warriors were ushered into the small barracks in the palace’s grounds as the leaders of the Sword Brothers and Army of the Wolf were shown into the bright audience chamber where Bishop Albert sat alongside the rotund Archdeacon Stefan, both attired in their church robes. If Conrad had believed that the meeting was to be an informal affair he was disabused when stewards requested that he and the others leave their swords on a table outside the chamber and then waited while a herald announced their arrival.
‘Ridiculous,’ grumbled the gruff Volquin, shaking his large head as he threw his sword and sword belt on the table. The racket made the guards standing either side of the doors to the chamber jump.
Conrad was delighted when Fricis and Rameke walked into the palace’s hallway, Rameke informing his brother that they had ridden into Riga that morning.
‘How is Kaja?’ were Conrad’s first words.
‘Fat and irritable,’ Rameke told him.
‘I hope you have taken her sword away from her.’
Rameke gave him a grim smile. ‘Would you take a bear cub from its mother?’
There was a moment of humour when the flustered head steward could not find the names of Riki, Andres and Hillar on his parchment. Conrad told him who they were and wrote their names on his list. The steward then went into the chamber and gave it to the herald standing just inside the doors. Moments later Magnus Glueck and the city’s other burgomasters arrived, plump men in expensive clothes who looked down their noses at the hardened, mailed soldiers they encountered. They avoided the burgomasters’ disparaging stares as the herald went about his business.
‘When you are called,’ Conrad told his warlords in a hushed tone, ‘walk forward, bow to the bishop and kiss his ring before withdrawing to allow another to do the same.’
Hillar peered into the chamber. ‘What about the fat man next to him, Susi?’
‘Ignore him, he is not important.’
‘I have a feeling, Conrad,’ whispered Rudolf, ‘that we are all about to kiss the archdeacon’s arse.’
And so the theatre began, Fricis and Rameke called first because of their ranks of king and prince respectively, to be followed by Glueck and his henchmen. Next came the disfigured Count of Lauenburg, who smiled at Conrad and the Sword Brothers before entering the chamber. Sir Richard, Grand Master Volquin and Master Rudolf followed him.
‘Don’t forget to kiss the bishop’s ring.’ Conrad reminded his commanders.
‘Hillar, Duke of Rotalia.’
‘Riki, Duke of Harrien.’
‘Andres, Duke of Jerwen.’
Conrad had to admit that the herald made a decent stab at pronouncing the strange names that he had just been furnished with. Then it was his turn, called last as an insult devised by the archdeacon and Magnus Glueck, no doubt. No matter; he would have the last laugh. He walked forward, bowed his head to Bishop Albert, kissed his ring and walked to the cushion-filled benches where Fricis, Rameke, the Sword Brothers, Sir Richard and his warlords were sitting. Opposite were the burgomasters and the scheming Manfred Nordheim.
The bishop stood and bowed his head. ‘Let us pray.’
The chambers doors were closed as everyone stood and bowed their heads. The bishop concluded his prayer and the meeting began. He remained standing, his mitre and clerical robes making him imposing, though he had not lost the gauntness in his face.
‘My lords, Livonia stands at a crossroads. Following the summer campaign in Lithuania it became apparent to me that the war against Duke Arturus will take time to bring to a conclusion. And time means resources.
‘Riga thrives only because of the trade upon which it is built. When that trade is threatened, the city, Livonia and our crusade against paganism are all threatened. I have therefore decided that after the celebration of Christ’s birth a campaign will be launched against Oesel to bring to an end the threat to shipping in the Baltic.’
Conrad could not believe his ears: a winter campaign against the Oeselians? He rose from the bench but the bishop held up a hand to still him. His warlords gave each other confused looks while Volquin and Rudolf stared at their outstretched feet.
‘In an act of extraordinary generosity,’ continued the bishop, ‘the Duke of Riga has offered to raise and pay for ten thousand soldiers to accomplish the subjugation of Oesel.’
The bishop smiled at Glueck who smiled back. Now Volquin was confused.
‘Ten thousand men, lord bishop, for a campaign to begin in two months’ time?’
‘That is correct, grand master,’ replied Bishop Albert. ‘Commander Nordheim, perhaps you would provide more information on this matter as you have been involved in turning the Duke of Riga’s generosity into reality.’
Nordheim, a smirk on his face, stood and bowed to the bishop.
‘The city of Polotsk has agreed to provide Riga with ten thousand soldiers.’
‘Russians?’ said Rudolf.
‘That is correct, Master Rudolf,’ replied Nordheim. ‘The Polotsk veche has arranged for said number of soldiers to arrive at Riga before the Dvina freezes, after which they will be shipped north to link up with the Sword Brothers, King Fricis’ Livs and the Army of the Wolf on t
he coast of Rotalia. Then the combined force will cross over to Oesel itself.’
There was a stunned silence in the chamber as Nordheim and the bishop retook their seats.
Volquin gave Glueck a withering look. ‘Who will command these Russians?’
‘Commander Nordheim will have that honour,’ answered the archdeacon.
Conrad and Rudolf laughed. Stefan gave them a hateful stare.
‘But what of Reval, lord bishop?’ asked Conrad.
‘What of it?’ replied Albert.
‘The Danes have violated the peace brokered by Cardinal William,’ stated Conrad.
‘I am aware of that, Conrad,’ said an exasperated bishop, ‘and it is for the papacy to administer justice against the Danes. I have written to the Curia explaining the Danes’ transgressions but at the moment the Oeselians pose the greatest threat.’
‘With respect, lord bishop, the Oeselians have not attacked Estonia.’
‘No, but they prey on my ships with impunity,’ snapped Glueck. ‘Where were the Sword Brothers when my crew was killed and my ship and its cargo destroyed?’
‘Covering the retreat of the Livonian Militia, no doubt,’ said Rudolf caustically.
Glueck’s cheeks flushed with rage. The bishop interjected before Glueck insulted Master Rudolf, who did not take insults lightly.
‘The Duke of Riga has the full backing of the church, Master Rudolf. The Oeselians are pagans and as crusaders the Sword Brothers are oath bound to fight heathens.’
‘But, lord bishop,’ interrupted Conrad, ‘King Valdemar despatched a fleet of ships carrying an army to Reval. Its intention was no doubt to launch a war against Estonia. We are fortunate that it was intercepted and destroyed by the Oeselians but we may not be so fortunate in the future.’
Archdeacon Stefan leaned forward. ‘Doesn’t that prove the need for the Oeselians to be speedily dealt with, lord marshal?’
Conrad looked at the plump Stefan and frowned. ‘In what way?’
‘If the Oeselians can sink a fleet carrying a Danish army then they can easily sink defenceless merchant vessels that sail between Riga and Germany. Their next target may be a fleet carrying crusaders to Livonia, such as the brave Count Albert whose presence graces this hall.’