by Peter Darman
‘Don’t be an idiot, Conrad,’ said Hans, ‘who else is going to watch your back?’
‘As dust to the wind,’ grinned Anton.
It was always reassuring seeing Wenden, its huge towers and thick walls a symbol of the power of the Sword Brothers, of their strength and endurance. Inside the outer perimeter they stopped off to pay their respects to Ilona, now in her early forties, her black hair showing a few strands of grey, though they might have been a consequence of the harsh winter just passed. But she was still striking and a little intimidating, the Liv healer who had never been baptised but who was loved by the soldiers and civilians of the garrison alike. She had been the midwife when Kaja had given birth just as she had been when Daina had given life to Dietmar. She stood with Conrad beside their grave, the mighty castle towering above them.
‘Grand Master Volquin arrived yesterday,’ she told him, ‘along with the masters of Kremon and Segewold. And now you too are here, and not just to visit this grave, I think.’
‘You are right,’ he said. ‘An affair that has been allowed to fester for too long needs settling.’
‘And you are the instrument by which it will be settled, Conrad?’
‘God willing.’
In the master’s hall of the castle the next morning the grand master asked God to heal Bishop Albert speedily as he and the others stood around the oak table where Conrad had spent many a weekly meeting when he had been a brother knight of the garrison. After prayers they sat and Volquin turned to Conrad.
‘Was the plan in your mind when you walked out of our camp that night on Muhu?’
‘No, grand master,’ replied Conrad, ‘it came to me later. When we were on Muhu my only thought was extracting ourselves from the mess that Archdeacon Stefan had created for us. I trust he is well.’
Masters Bertram and Mathias laughed and rapped their knuckles on the table. Rudolf smiled.
‘Very amusing, Conrad, you tease the archdeacon like a man prods a snake.’
‘An apt analogy, grand master,’ said Rudolf.
‘Be careful he does not bite you,’ Volquin warned Conrad.
‘Affairs in the north need settling quickly, grand master,’ stated Conrad. ‘As there will be no campaign in Lithuania this year we have an opportunity to bring about a situation that is favourable to the Sword Brothers.’
‘To the Sword Brothers or to you?’ asked Rudolf.
‘They are one and the same,’ Conrad shot back.
‘Then please enlighten us as to the specifics, Conrad,’ ordered Volquin.
For the next half hour Conrad explained his plan to them, trying to sound as convincing as possible. He was sure it would work but he needed the grand master’s agreement else it would all be for nothing.
‘How many of your Estonians can you raise?’ asked Bertram.
‘Between three and four thousand,’ replied Conrad.
Volquin looked confused. ‘For the last two crusades you have brought only a thousand or less to the army.’
Conrad kept a straight face. ‘They do not like travelling far from home, grand master.’
‘Let me tell you what I think,’ said Volquin. ‘I think that your plan has merit.’
Conrad was elated. ‘Thank you, grand master.’
Volquin raised a finger. ‘Not so fast, lord marshal. My priority is safeguarding Livonia, which means I can take no soldiers from the garrisons along the Dvina as they may be needed by Master Ortwin at Mesoten should the Kurs decide to attack us once more. I cannot ask King Fricis for any aid as I have no power over the Liv king or his warlords. I also cannot call upon the garrison of Dorpat as I require Master Walter to guard that place and Bishop Hermann.’
He looked at his castellans.
‘That leaves the garrisons of Kremon and Segewold, which is why I invited Master Bertram and Master Mathias here, and the garrison of Wenden of course.
‘Because this venture carries great risks I leave it to each master to say if he will support it.’
‘Bertram?’
‘Yea.’
‘Mathias?’
‘Yea.’
‘Rudolf?’
‘Yea.’
Conrad fought back the temptation to shout with joy.
‘So be it,’ said Volquin quietly, ‘the die is cast. We are in your hands now, Conrad.’
*****
‘Scarecrows?’
Hillar looked bewildered as he tried to understand Conrad’s thoughts.
‘Scarecrows?’
He said it again in an effort to make sense of it, to no avail. He looked at Andres who shrugged and at Riki whose face was blank. Conrad had gathered his warlords at Varbola to inform them of his plan, which they had greeted warmly, not least Riki. But they were perplexed when he explained the details to them.
‘I remember the battle at Wolf Rock,’ said Conrad, ‘when Lembit fooled us by deploying scarecrows among his warriors. We wasted a lot of crossbow bolts shooting at straw that day. It was a lesson I have not forgotten. But unlike at Wolf Rock you and your men will not be within range of enemy missiles. All you have to do is to keep the enemy’s attention.’
‘We should be by your side, Susi,’ grumbled Hillar.
‘We do not need the heathens,’ said Riki.
Conrad smiled to himself. Not so long ago these men were landless warriors led by a brother knight from Wenden. Now they were Christian lords, each one powerful in his own right, capable of raising a large war band. They were friends of the Bishop of Riga and the Holy Father’s legate but at heart they were still the same rough warriors that had founded the Army of the Wolf with him.
‘If they betray you we will raise an army and lay waste their land,’ swore Andres.
‘I’m sure the lord marshal will be comforted by that when his bones are being picked clean by crows,’ grinned Leatherface, his left leg dangling over the arm of the chair he was sitting in. Conrad ignored him.
‘My friends, I do not intend to get killed and I certainly have no desire to see any of you harmed. You are too dear to me for me to allow that.’
‘Too valuable more like,’ said Leatherface.
Conrad turned on him. ‘If you do not have anything constructive to say then please refrain from saying anything at all. This is not a game.’
Leatherface jumped up. ‘You are precisely wrong, lord marshal. You and all of these fine lords here are part of a great game, a game that has no end.’
‘What game is that?’ asked Riki.
‘The game of kings and popes and princes and bishops,’ answered the mercenary. ‘The game that has torn Germany asunder and will do the same in these parts.’
He turned to Sir Richard who was staring into his cup.
‘Your grace, what do you say, you who have knowledge of such things? Why else would you press for the creation of the dukedoms of Rotalia, Harrien and Jerwen?’
Sir Richard, no longer looking drawn and haggard as he had on Muhu, glanced at the mercenary and Conrad.
‘It is true. We need to consolidate our positions, especially if, and I pray to God that he does not, Bishop Albert dies. That is why I believe that Conrad is right to strike now.’
‘Thank you, your grace,’ said Conrad. ‘And in that vein I must ask you and your knights to remain with Riki, Andres and Hillar and their men to swell the numbers the enemy will be staring at.’
‘I hope that I and they will be able to use our weapons at least, Conrad,’ said Sir Richard.
‘They will,’ promised Conrad.
The month of May was filled with mustering the Army of the Wolf, quietly and with as little fuss as possible. Women in the villages worked to create scarecrows that were put on carts and taken to Varbola. Grand Master Volquin informed Archdeacon Stefan that he was going to conduct a tour of his order’s garrisons and would be away from Riga for a few weeks. The archdeacon was overjoyed and Volquin was glad to be away from the poisonous atmosphere of Bishop Albert’s palace. The bishop himself was receiving te
nder care, contradicting the belief that the archdeacon was devoid of all human sentiment, but he showed no signs of improvement. Bishop Hermann left Dorpat to travel to Riga to pay his respects to his brother, many believing that he was doing so to say goodbye to his sibling. But with Hermann removed from Dorpat at least he would not hear rumours of hundreds of warriors making their way to Varbola.
Conrad himself journeyed to Leal from where he received messages and sent missives to King Sigurd, and then the king himself requested a meeting with him. Hillar wanted him to take a large contingent of warriors as a bodyguard but Conrad said no.
‘If I appear alone he will see it as a sign that I trust him,’ he informed the hulking Rotalian.
‘Or he might kill you, Susi.’
‘He could have killed me on Muhu had he wanted to,’ Conrad told him. ‘He did not, and anyway we have an agreement with the Oeselians.’
Hillar mumbled something under his breath but Conrad could not make out the words. When he rode from Leal Hillar sent a dozen horsemen after him to act as an escort. Conrad had to order them to go back to the fort, their commander looking most disconcerted.
‘Don’t worry,’ Conrad told him, ‘when I return I will inform Lord Hillar that I commanded you to leave me.’
‘But what if you do not return, Susi?’
It all came down to trust and the people of Rotalia had little reason to trust the Oeselians. The sea raiders had plagued their coastal villages from time immemorial, taking slaves, burning homes and killing at will. Even inland settlements had experienced the fury of an Oeselian attack. Everyone who lived in the fishing villages dotted along the coast had come to dread the sight of a square sail on the horizon. And yet thus far the agreement had held. When the sea ice had melted there had been no Oeselian raids. Unfortunately this did nothing to calm the Rotalians; on the contrary their apprehension grew by the week. Hillar was convinced that it was all part of an elaborate Oeselian plan to lure his people into a false sense of security. When their defences were down the Oeselians would strike, he believed. But Conrad was convinced that the longer the peace held the more chance it had of lasting.
After an hour Conrad arrived at the long stretch of sandy beach assigned for the meeting. Because this stretch of white sand was opposite the island of Muhu – less than five miles across the sparkling blue sea – there were no fishing villages nearby. It was too close to Oeselian territory. Conrad dismounted and walked to the pony he had been pulling that was loaded with food, a tent should he need it and firewood. This he used to build a fire lighting it with a flint and stone. While it was burning he took the axe strapped to the pony and walked to the line of pine trees fronting the beach a short distance from the sand. He cut down some fresh boughs and threw them on the fire, which was soon billowing grey smoke. Then he waited.
His horse munched on the coarse marram grass villagers used for thatching, fuel and cattle fodder. Conrad took his axe to some and tossed it on the fire to maintain the volume of smoke. He looked around at the grass-covered dunes, the tracts of pine and the shimmering surface of the sea, rippled by a pleasing westerly wind. How different this place had been in the previous winter when thousands of men had walked across the frozen sea to Muhu, many never to return. He cursed Archdeacon Stefan who had contributed to the disaster by ill-provisioning the Russians. He wondered if the Oeselian king knew how close he had been to destroying the Order of Sword Brothers? Of course he had. His thoughts were interrupted by a square sail out to sea. He glanced at his horse to ensure it was nearby and instinctively checked that his sword belt was securely fastened, glancing at his sword and dagger respectively. Then he reproached himself. It was all about trust.
The boat was a mighty skeid showing thirty pairs of oars, a magnificent carved dragon’s head at the prow, the same beast decorating the sail. Conrad walked down to the water’s edge, waves gently lapping the sand, as the longship glided across the sea. It was moving at speed, a few minutes ago a small shape on the horizon but now an intimidating display of Oeselian power. The oars were dipping into the water in unison to augment the wind filling the sail to power the ship towards him. He kept thinking of the word ‘trust’ as the oars suddenly dropped into the water and stayed there, the longship slowing dramatically as it neared the beach, the bow gently running aground on the sand in the shallows.
Warriors in mail armour, helmets and carrying spears, shields slung on their backs, jumped down from both sides of the ship. They did not come ashore but instead formed a compact mass as another man left the ship and jumped into the water. A pair of archers came to the prow of the ship, strung arrows and pointed them at Conrad. He spread his hands to indicate no evil intent, an angry voice ordered them to stand down as the group of warriors waded ashore. They took up positions around Conrad but held their spears vertically rather than pointing at him. That was something at least. Then Sigurd himself was before him.
He certainly looked like a king. Beneath his thigh-length mail corselet, or hringserkr, he wore a rich blue tunic that had a gold silk hem. Tall like Conrad, he had the blue eyes and blonde hair of his race though, unusually, a clean-shaven face. He was perhaps ten years older than Conrad who bowed to the king.
‘Majesty.’
‘Walk with me, Sword Brother.’
They strolled along the beach with the Oeselian warriors who all looked bored.
‘We have launched no attacks on any part of Estonia,’ stated Sigurd, ‘as agreed.’
‘The Estonians are most grateful, majesty.’
‘Mm, and now you wish me and my warriors to fight beside them, a prospect that many of my people find distasteful, Sword Brother.’
‘They would not have to fight together, majesty.’
‘Oh?’
Conrad told him the details of his plan, Sigurd saying nothing as he explained to him the specifics. When he had finished they had strayed far from the longship. Sigurd looked out to sea.
‘You will have to agree to my terms, Sword Brother.’
‘Name them, majesty.’
They began walking back to the ship and Sigurd stated his conditions. He was expecting Conrad to raise objections but he did not. The king stopped to face him with seagulls hovering on the wind above them.
‘There is a beach, long and sandy like this one, to the north. It is called Roosta. Your warlords will know of it. Bring your men there in two weeks’ time.’
He extended his right arm to Conrad who clasped it.
‘We go to make history, Sword Brother.’
He walked back into the water, his guards following, but then stopped and turned.
‘I wonder what history will say of us?’
Conrad had no time to think about history in the days following as he organised two marches. One by the Army of the Wolf from Varbola and one by the Sword Brothers from Hillar’s stronghold at Leal. Grand Master Volquin had arrived there at the head of the garrisons of Wenden, Segewold and Kremon, the grand master’s banner flying beside those of the three castles. The brother knights did not bring their destriers as they would not be needed but each garrison nevertheless brought a fair number of wagons carrying food and supplies. And the mercenary crossbowmen and spearmen were on foot. Taken together this meant that it would be a slow march to the beach. Hillar told him it would take the Sword Brothers six days to get to Roosta. They would arrive a day before the rendezvous with the Oeselians.
The Sword Brothers left Leal the day after they had arrived, Hillar leading over a thousand Rotalians north towards Varbola on the same day. Every village had sent men to the great gathering, their shields carrying the stag motif of Rotalia. Those who were members of the Army of the Wolf were well armed and armoured but hundreds carried only a spear, shield and a long knife. Those men who had seen too many summers were left to guard Leal as its master rode out to take his position at the head of his warriors. They were gathered on the ground outside the fort and cheered him as he rode by, his stag banner flying behind him.
> As a mark of respect the brother knights and sergeants of the order saluted him as they passed, dipping their lances as Hillar, Duke of Rotalia, rode to lead his men to the great muster at Varbola. As he did so the Sword Brothers began their march to Roosta, led by local scouts. Conrad bade farewell to Grand Master Volquin and Masters Rudolf, Bertram and Mathias and told them he would be at the beach for the rendezvous. He saluted, turned his horse and rode down the column of brother knights and sergeants, and the foot soldiers marching alongside the wagons. Priests and novices were also present with the order’s soldiers, together with civilians driving the carts and the usual individuals necessary to keep an army on the move: armourers, blacksmiths, veterinaries, surgeons, saddlers and carpenters.
He rode to Varbola with Hillar and his Rotalians, his warriors in high spirits as they marched through meadows filled with buttercups and forests carpeted with lush undergrowth. Despite the host of two-wheeled carts filled with scarecrows they moved faster than a Christian army, covering up to ten miles a day and reaching Varbola in five days. The site that greeted their eyes when they arrived brought tears to even Hillar’s eyes: row upon row of tents, hundreds of campfires that produced a permanent and huge smoke cloud over the army that surrounded the massive hill fort.
Conrad stood on its ramparts with his warlords admiring the sprawl of tents, ponies and warriors before him.
‘It is the first time that Varbola has seemed small,’ he remarked.
‘The largest gathering of Estonians since Lembit mustered his army at Wolf Rock,’ declared Andres proudly. ‘Apologies, Susi.’
Conrad smiled at him. ‘Why should you apologise, my friend? What you say is true only then Lembit promised only perpetual war and death whereas now we gather to secure Estonia and bring peace to its peoples.’
‘Talking of which,’ said Andres, ‘I have brought two hundred Wierlanders with me. They were sent to me by Rustic.’
‘He acts in our interests?’ asked Conrad.
‘I doubt that, Susi, seeing as he sees the religion of the Holy Church as a poison. But he has lived for many years and seen what war has done to his people. He wants peace in this land.’