by Peter Darman
Volquin nodded. ‘Indeed, the scourge of our crusade.’
‘He must be dealt with sooner rather than later,’ said Rudolf, finishing the most excellent wine he had just been served.
‘To which end I have been summoned to the bishop’s palace to discuss strategy with the archdeacon tomorrow. I would consider it a favour if you would accompany me. I find his company irksome. That being the case, your calming presence will prevent me saying something that I may later regret.’
Rudolf smiled. ‘I might say something that the archdeacon may regret, grand master.’
‘He fears an uprising incited by Lembit,’ continued Volquin, ‘a not entirely unreasonable assumption.’
‘The walls of Riga are strong enough,’ said Rudolf.
‘Though not, perhaps, the faith of our resident archdeacon,’ suggested Volquin. ‘Now, if you will forgive me, I have letters to write.’
The aim of the Bishop of Riga was to import Christian settlers into Livonia who would eventually outnumber and then supplant the indigenous peoples. Though many of the latter had accepted baptism and been received into the church’s embrace, many more remained pagans. Even among the lands controlled by the bishop and the Sword Brothers the newly converted locals could be volatile and untrustworthy. For generations their ancestors had worshipped strange gods and made human sacrifices to appease their deities and though they professed loyalty to the Christian religion, they were apt to waver at the slightest provocation. The news of massacres of Christian priests and settlers had done nothing to encourage the flow of those willing to begin a new life on the Baltic’s Christian frontier. Every year a few hundred crusaders came with the bishop from Germany. They stayed for a year, sometimes less, and then returned to their homelands, having dipped their swords in pagan blood. But Livonia needed settlers if it was to survive and prosper.
‘Ah, Grand Master Volquin and Brother Rudolf. Please, be seated.’
Archdeacon Stefan held out a hand to the two well-furnished chairs placed in front of his desk and smiled at his two guests. The audience chamber of the bishop’s palace was a sumptuous place, its stone windows softened with cushions and fabrics and the walls covered with oak panelling. Behind the archdeacon’s desk was a magnificent stone fireplace, above which was a large painting depicting Bishop Albert kneeling on the soil of Livonia and giving thanks to the Lord for his safe arrival. The bishop’s palace was located adjacent to the castle and was one of the first stone buildings to have been built in Livonia. It had begun as a modest structure but had been expanded to include a great hall, audience chamber, withdrawing chamber, bedrooms, kitchens, courtyard, stables and storerooms. When the bishop was away his nephew the archdeacon was left in charge.
Archdeacon Stefan was, like his uncle, a member of the Buxhoeveden family, one of the oldest noble families of Europe originally from Saxony. And though he had taken the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience as required by his religious position, he was also very aware of his own and his family’s power and influence. Reflecting his position he wore a rich white dalmatic and a gold pectoral cross, with a gold ring on his finger. His eyes darted left and right as he observed Volquin and Rudolf take their seats.
‘Some refreshment, perhaps?’ he offered, clicking his fingers at a young man, a fresh-faced youth in a white habit standing by a table covered with a linen sheet. He picked up a silver tray holding drinking vessels and brought it over, holding it out to the archdeacon first.
‘Thank you, Brother Thomas,’ said Stefan, a flash of desire in his eyes.
Brother Thomas then placed silver-gilt wine flagons before Volquin and Rudolf before returning to the table to fetch a jug. He then proceeded to fill the flagons with wine.
‘I heard about your unfortunate incident with the Oeselians,’ Stefan said to Rudolf, ‘but I am glad to see that you are unharmed. You have returned with reinforcements?’
Rudolf nodded. ‘Mercenaries and stonemasons, archdeacon, plus a handful of boys.’
Stefan’s eyes lit up. ‘Boys?’
‘Unfortunates and those sent by their families to serve God against the heathens,’ answered Rudolf. ‘I am hopeful that they will make fine soldiers.’
‘We have too few of those, I fear,’ remarked Stefan casually. He looked at Volquin. ‘To which end, grand master, I have asked you here to ascertain if the Sword Brothers can spare any men to reinforce the garrison of Riga.’
‘Impossible,’ replied Volquin. ‘To strip any garrison of men would be to fatally weaken it.’
‘It is as Grand Master Volquin says,’ added Rudolf.
Stefan began tracing a finger around the rim of his flagon. ‘It is my responsibility to ensure the safety of Riga in the bishop’s absence. With the Oeselians ever more troublesome and the Estonians at war with us, to say nothing of the Lithuanians, Riga is threatened on all sides.’
Rudolf raised an eyebrow. ‘The Lithuanians?’
Stefan waved a hand at him. ‘Just rumours that one of their leaders, Prince Stecse, is raising an army that he intends to bring across the Dvina in order to assault Riga.’
Rudolf looked at Stefan with contempt. The Lithuanians infested the lands south of the River Dvina but mainly kept themselves to themselves. They formed a loose confederation of tribes that were mostly bickering and fighting among themselves, giving the crusaders a free hand to conquer the tribes north of the river. But now river gossip had reached the ears of the archdeacon, who was clearly terrified that Riga would be attacked and his luxurious living disturbed.
‘The most pressing threat lies to the north,’ said Volquin, like Rudolf unimpressed by rumour. ‘Lembit has united all the tribes of Estonia and now seeks nothing less than the conquest of all Livonia to make himself king of all the lands north of the Dvina.’
‘To which end, archdeacon,’ said Rudolf, sipping his wine, ‘it would be more prudent to reinforce Wenden rather than reduce its garrison. I was hoping that I might take some of Riga’s soldiers with me when I journey north later today.’
Stefan nearly choked on his drink. ‘Take Riga’s soldiers? No, no, not at all. That will not do at all. I have barely enough men to defend the town as it is. The great majority of last year’s crusaders have returned to Germany. All I have left are the bishop’s soldiers and a few mercenaries.’
Volquin sighed. ‘Three hundred of the bishop’s soldiers in addition to a further two hundred mercenaries that make up the garrison and a hundred remaining crusaders constitutes a more than adequate force, I think.’
Stefan jumped up out of his chair and shook his head with alarm. ‘And if a fleet of Oeselian ships sails up the Dvina and the Lithuanians cross the river to attack Riga I will need every one of them. I cannot spare a single man.’
Stefan’s eyes narrowed as he looked at Rudolf. ‘You said that you have brought stonemasons back with you?’
Rudolf nodded.
Stefan regained his chair. ‘Well, then, those combined with the ones already at Wenden will be able to make the castle’s walls strong enough to resist a pagan attack.’
‘The construction of the castle has been going on for barely two years, archdeacon,’ protested Rudolf. ‘It will be many more before the work is finished.’
Stefan held up a hand to him. ‘The bishop will be here in three months, God willing, and will bring with him a great army of crusaders that he will use to crush Lembit and the rabble that follows him. Of that you can be certain.’
‘But if Lembit attacks Wenden before then, archdeacon,’ reasoned Rudolf, ‘the garrison will be hard-pressed.’
Stefan was uninterested. ‘Ill-armed pagans cannot take a Christian fortress, Brother Rudolf. God will not allow it.’
Rudolf was tempted to say that if the archdeacon believed that then there was little need for him to cling to his soldiers at Riga but thought better of it.
Stefan was now in full swing. ‘Which brings me neatly to matters of strategy, Grand Master Volquin.’ He brought his hands together i
n front of him. ‘The recent, unfortunate reverse at the hands of Lembit was the result of over-ambition and carelessness, of that I have no doubt.’
Volquin’s jaw locked in anger but he said nothing.
‘So I must ask you, grand master,’ continued Stefan, ‘to convey to your castellans not to undertake offensive action on their own volition but to remain on the defensive until the bishop arrives with his army. After all, the Sword Brothers are his servants.’
‘Are the castellans free to undertake defensive action, archdeacon?’ asked Rudolf mischievously.
Stefan was confused. ‘Defensive action?’
Rudolf began to enjoy himself. ‘Yes. For example, if Wenden is attacked is the garrison free to defend itself or should it wait for the bishop’s army before it acts.’
Stefan was not amused. ‘I would have thought the answer was obvious. The Lord does not look kindly upon those who treat His work with levity, Brother Rudolf.’
Rudolf restrained himself from laughing. ‘No, archdeacon, of course not.’
Stefan frowned at Rudolf before turning his attention to Volquin. ‘I would ask you to write to your castellans to remain on the defensive until the bishop arrives, Grand Master Volquin.’
Volquin smiled through gritted teeth. ‘I shall despatch letters this very day, archdeacon.’
After the meeting he walked with Rudolf back to the castle. ‘Lembit will attack in great strength before the bishop arrives,’ he said glumly. He looked at Rudolf. ‘And when he does the first blow will fall on Wenden.’
Ever since their establishment the strategy of the Sword Brothers had been to storm the hill forts of the pagans prior to building stone castles on those sites. In this way Christian control of the countryside could be established and expanded. Settlers were then enticed from Germany who cleared the forests to plough their fields and sow their crops while the local garrison of Sword Brothers provided security. As more castles were built more land came under Christian control. That was the theory at least.
‘Even though its castle is less than half-built,’ replied Rudolf, ‘Wenden is strong enough to resist assault. I am more concerned about the loyalty of the Livonians.’
Volquin shrugged. ‘They have received baptism and are faithful.’
‘As long as we stay strong,’ said Rudolf.
‘Ever the realist, Rudolf. Please convey my regards to Master Berthold when you arrive back at Wenden.’
‘I will grand master. Would that you were in command at Riga instead of the archdeacon.’
‘He is the bishop’s nephew so I have to tolerate him, much as one would put up with a toothache. But I agree with you concerning the next Estonian attack. It will undoubtedly be against Wenden. Alas I have no forces to send back with you.’
‘Then the sooner I get back there the better,’ Rudolf replied.
Fortunately for Conrad and his youthful companions they had no knowledge of Estonians or Lithuanians as they helped load the wagons assembled in the castle courtyard with food, tools, weapons and tents prior to their journey to Wenden.
‘Where is Wenden?’ asked Hans.
‘I do not know,’ replied Conrad as he and his friend finished packing tent poles onto a four-wheeled wagon.
‘It is the home of Rudolf and Henke,’ said Anton, with Bruno’s help heaving a vat of salted meat onto another wagon.
‘Hopefully it will be as grand as this castle,’ added Johann, struggling with a handful of tent poles.
‘As long as its granary and storerooms are well stocked I do not mind where it is or how big it is,’ remarked Hans, prompting laughter from the others. Hans had never known a time in his short life when he had had regular meals and he could not have been happier.
They left just after midday, three four-wheeled wagons piled high with supplies, each one pulled by a single horse, and half a dozen smaller two-wheeled carts hauled by mules carrying weapons, armour and crossbow bolts. The wagons, carts and their civilian drivers were in the pay of the Sword Brothers, as were the riverboats that would take Rudolf and his party to Wenden.
The area around Riga was flat and had been cleared of trees so the land could be cultivated. Small settlements of farmers’ wooden homes dotted the landscape but as the party trudged north the fields disappeared and were replaced by forests of thick spruce and pine. Everyone walked by the side of the wagons, apart from the children who were allowed to ride next to the drivers, and so the pace was slow. Conrad had never seen so many trees and after a while their towering presence began to unnerve him. Everyone was walking in silence, the only sound being the clanking of cooking utensils hanging from the wagons and the jangling of the harnesses on the mules and horses.
The air was suddenly filled with an unearthly wail coming from the forest and everyone stopped and stared in the direction it had come from. There was another long wail that cut through air, the children began to cry and the mothers ran to their offspring in alarm.
‘It is just an elk,’ shouted Rudolf, ‘nothing to be alarmed about.’
Hans looked at Conrad. ‘It sounds like a monster.’
‘They are big, boy,’ said Henke in front of him, ‘but easy enough to kill and they make a tasty meal.’
The women fussed over their nervous children as the elk made another call and the journey re-commenced. Conrad kept glancing at the dark forest on his right. What other monsters were lurking within its forbidding interior?
With the rutted track and the slow pace of the youths, women and stonemasons they made barely ten miles before Rudolf gave the order to halt and make camp in a large meadow sited by an even larger lake filled with crystal-clear, ice-cool water. Rudolf gave instructions that no one was to drink it, as ingesting the standing water would result in diarrhoea, stomach cramps and loss of strength, and there was no room on the wagons to carry sick individuals. The mercenaries erected their own tents but Rudolf and Henke instructed Conrad and the other youths to construct their own shelters and those for the stonemasons and their families. As the shadows lengthened when the spring sun began to dip in the west Conrad and the others learned how to erect central poles, ridge poles, tent canopies, ornamental valances and guy ropes. After they had finished they stood back and admired the half dozen round tents with sloping sides that they had pitched, all sporting a pennant on top bearing the insignia of the Sword Brothers.
Anton pointed to one of the flags hanging limply in the windless late afternoon air. ‘That is to indicate whose camp this is,’ he said, keen to show off his knowledge of banners and heraldry.
‘It is to stop birds roosting on the top of the tent and shitting all over it,’ Henke corrected him, causing Anton to blush.
After a day of walking they were beginning to feel tired but Rudolf had another task for Conrad and his companions when he handed them shovels made of oak with iron-reinforced bands on the digging end and mattocks. He then led them a short distance from camp and instructed them to dig latrine trenches. By the time they had finished they were exhausted and it was dusk, the camp illuminated by fires that had been lit. Conrad looked at the black mass of trees that surrounded them on all sides and shuddered. The forest seemed even more foreboding as the light faded and the night began to envelop them. Rudolf organised the rota of sentries to stand guard throughout the night and then said prayers in front of the entire party, everyone kneeling with heads bowed. Afterwards the boys ate a hearty meal of cured meat and bread washed down with ale. Despite his apprehensions Conrad slept more soundly than he had since that dreadful night in Lübeck.
The next morning the camp was dismantled, the tents packed back on the wagons and the journey north continued, everyone walking aside from the children. Despite Hans’ attempts to brighten his spirits Conrad remained largely silent, staring down at the dirt track as he trudged along. Had he made the right decision in leaving Lübeck? What future lay in store for him in this strange land of trees and lakes? He had no answer to these questions but comforted himself with knowing that
at least Marie was safe. That was something at least. He pulled his cloak tight around him. Though it was spring the morning had been cool with a heavy dew and the sun was slow to show itself from behind the grey clouds above. But amid the gloom the signs of spring were everywhere: flowers and trees in blossom and the twittering of birds.
After an hour they came to a settlement of wooden huts next to a wide river and Rudolf called a halt. He and Henke went to one of the huts and disappeared inside while a collection of blonde-haired men and women stared at the new arrivals. After a few moments they went back to their labours as Conrad sat on the ground next to Hans, resting against one of the solid wheels of a cart. The women began assisting their children down from the drivers’ benches.
‘Looks like we will be travelling on the river,’ said Hans, grinning. ‘No more walking.’
Rudolf and Henke reappeared from the hut accompanied by an old man with white hair and a bushy beard who proceeded to bark orders at a group of sullen-looking men standing near another hut. They slouched off in the direction of the river where Conrad could see the masts of several boats in the water.
‘We’ll soon have you on your way, sir,’ the old man grinned at Rudolf, revealing a mouth largely empty of teeth. ‘If you can get the carts to the river we’ll load their cargoes first.’
Henke strolled over and pointed at Conrad and his companions. ‘Some more labour to prevent your minds from filling with wicked thoughts.’
Five minutes later Conrad and Hans were once again unloading barrels and crates from the wagons onto a rickety wooden quay on the riverbank, to which were moored riverboats. In appearance they were very similar to the ones that had attacked the cogs, Conrad thought, though were smaller and shorter. They were around forty-five feet in length, wide in the middle and pointed at each end. Each one had a mast some thirty feet high to which was attached a furled sail, plus a side-mounted rudder on the starboard side. The hulls were made from overlapping oak planks, which were around twelve feet in width.
The men from the village placed the supplies and stores into the boats and then Rudolf divided his party among the vessels. He assigned two crossbowmen and two spearmen from the mercenaries to each boat and then divided the civilians between the vessels, ensuring that all the families stayed together. Finally he ordered Conrad and Hans to travel in the first boat with him, with Henke keeping charge of Anton, Bruno and Johann in the second boat.