Castellan

by Peter Darman

  The animals were slaughtered first as a sacrifice to the god but people continued to die. So all the surviving slaves were gathered together outside the great hall in the inner stronghold and had their throats slit – fifty women and children – their blood collected in bowls and used by the priests to daub pentagrams on the walls of the hall. And suddenly there was no more sickness.

  The survivors said it was a miracle but the disease had left a terrible legacy for their bodies were covered with scars. A few were left blinded by the affliction they had suffered. It was reckoned a miracle that Kristjan, the seventeen-year-old son of Kalju and Eha, had been untouched by the plague, despite him having attended his parents and sisters from the beginning of their terrible ordeal. But the boy wept long and hard at the funeral pyres of his family and shed tears of bitterness when he looked at the scarred face of his once beautiful sister.

  Kristjan was installed as the new chief of Ungannia and out of politeness he listened to the priests who told him that Tooni was a thirsty god who demanded a great many souls in payment before he departed. But the new chief was not thinking about the gods; only revenge. For he thought it no coincidence that just prior to the outbreak of the pestilence a chest of clothes had arrived, a gift from Kalju’s friends at Riga. The chest was full of rich apparel that had delighted Eha and his sisters in particular. But days after they had worn them they had fallen sick. The clothes and chest had been subsequently burnt but Kristjan remembered the logo that had been etched on the chest. He had seen it many times before: a red cross over a red sword. And anger burned within him.

  He had no desire to stay at Odenpah so he commanded Indrek, formerly commander of his father’s bodyguard and happily also untouched by the pestilence, to issue a summons for the kingdom’s warlords to gather at Dorpat. After messengers had been despatched he and Indrek rode north with a small band of warriors. Kristjan vowed never to set foot in Odenpah again or gaze upon its ramparts until he had shed Sword Brother blood.

  *****

  To ensure Sword Brother control over Rotalia, Hillar and his three hundred warriors were left in the kingdom to support the efforts of Koit to persuade the village and parish elders that Riga’s rule would be beneficial and not tyrannical. Hillar’s men were delighted that they could return to their villages, those that were still standing after Oeselian and Danish depredations, and see their kinfolk again. In addition, Conrad left behind Andres and his four hundred Jerwen, both to reinforce Hillar if the need arose and to be near their homeland when the time came for the Sword Brothers to seize the whole of Estonia.

  ‘And when will that be, master?’ enquired Conrad as the rest of the army was making its way back to Wenden.

  ‘Next year, most likely,’ replied Rudolf. ‘We still have to convey our good news regarding the lifting of the blockade to Bishop Albert, which will allow him to travel back to Germany to recruit crusaders for next spring.’

  ‘We could have conquered Estonia by ourselves,’ muttered Henke. ‘We should have left that Danish king on Oesel and marched straight to Reval.’

  He was not happy, not least because he had had no chance to split Oeselian skulls on the island, the crossbowmen having achieved victory by themselves.

  ‘If that was my intention, Henke,’ said Rudolf, ‘then there would have been little point in going to the island in the first place. But now I have Valdemar’s signature on a document that pledges to end the blockade of Livonia and cedes Estonia to the Sword Brothers.’

  ‘Minus Reval,’ said Walter quick to point out the minutiae of the agreement.

  ‘Quite so,’ agreed Rudolf.

  Conrad had been asked to ride with the other commanders of the army, the two other masters joining Wenden’s castellan and brother knights and Sir Richard and his doughty squire. He had also insisted that Kaja join the group, still delighted with her performance on Oesel. He thought it hilarious that Valdemar had been humiliated in front of his knights and churchmen by realising that a girl had come to rescue him.

  ‘What if he’s dead?’ Henke said suddenly.

  Rudolf turned in the saddle to look at him. ‘Who?’

  ‘The Bishop of Riga. For all we know the pox may have killed everyone within the city.’

  ‘Pray God that he still lives,’ said Walter earnestly.

  But Henke had the bit between his teeth. ‘If he is then that little archdeacon runt will be in charge, together with that slimy bastard Nordheim.’

  ‘Your language is intemperate, brother,’ Walter scolded him, ‘especially as we have a lady present.’

  ‘What lady?’ sniffed Henke.

  ‘Kaja,’ said Conrad.

  ‘She’s a heathen,’ scoffed Henke. ‘She don’t understand what we’re saying, do you girl?’

  ‘I understand that you have no manners,’ said Kaja in perfect German.

  The brother knights burst into laughter though Henke was far from amused. He decided to take out his frustration on Lukas.

  ‘I blame you for all this, Lukas. You taught her how to use a sword and now she thinks she is a lady whereas in fact she is a lowborn Saccalian who should be working in the kitchens.’

  But Lukas had heard it all before. ‘Just because you were deprived of your quota of slaughter on Oesel there is no need to take your frustration out on all and sundry. As for Kaja, she won her place among the novices on merit.’

  ‘Thank you, Brother Lukas,’ she said.

  ‘In any case,’ said Rudolf loudly, ‘if the worst has happened and Bishop Albert has been taken from us then his Holiness the Pope will appoint a new bishop to take control of matters in Livonia and I can assure you, Henke, that it will not be Archdeacon Stefan.’

  ‘And if you think that piece of parchment will save Livonia from Valdemar’s wrath,’ muttered Henke, ‘then you are mistaken, Rudolf.’

  ‘I am apt to agree with Brother Henke,’ said Sir Richard. ‘Humiliating a king is no small matter, Rudolf. Something that you and all of us may live to regret.’

  But Rudolf was not to be deflated.

  ‘Valdemar made a great mistake invading Oesel, perhaps the greatest of his reign. Before he was Christendom’s most feared warlord in northern Europe, the man who had humbled the north German lords and treated the Baltic as his own private lake. But now word will spread that King Valdemar was at the mercy of the pagans and was only saved from death by the Sword Brothers.’

  He looked at Kaja. ‘Perhaps word will also spread that among those who rescued him was a young girl from Saccalia. How diminished his reputation will be.’

  ‘You seek to provoke rebellion within his domains?’ asked Sir Richard.

  ‘My only concern is my order and Livonia, your grace,’ Rudolf answered. ‘But if Valdemar’s attention is focused not on Estonia and Livonia but elsewhere then so much the better for us.’

  ‘Clever,’ remarked Squire Paul. ‘Bet you wish you had thought of that, your grace.’

  ‘Be quiet,’ Sir Richard ordered him.

  ‘I have to say that, notwithstanding the pox that currently ravages Riga,’ said Rudolf, ‘events are turning to our advantage. Rotalia is under the protection of the Sword Brothers, Ungannia is an ally of the bishop, Saccalia is a close ally of our order,’ he tilted his head at Sir Richard. ‘And Conrad has been restored to his position as Marshal of Estonia.’

  Conrad had to admit that Master Rudolf’s plan had been a masterstroke. He prayed that Bishop Albert still lived because the deputy commander of the order he had created had reversed a previously sad state of affairs. Reval could still become a thorn in the side of the Sword Brothers and Jerwen, Wierland and Harrien still had to be subdued. But a small contingent among the men riding ponies in the long column behind him was from Harrien and he had left four hundred Jerwen with Hillar in Rotalia. And just as Hillar had facilitated the absorbing of Rotalia into Sword Brother territory, so he believed that Andres and Riki could achieve the same in Jerwen and Harrien respectively.

  The days were gettin
g longer and warmer now, though there was still mist over the bog fields early in the morning. As the guides led the nearly eight hundred men through the forests of pine, birch and fir of southern Rotalia the mood was relaxed, almost carefree. The order’s mercenary crossbowmen were particularly happy because the lifting of the blockade on Riga meant a resumption of trade and that meant monies would again be flowing into the Sword Brothers’ coffers. And that meant they would be paid. Leatherface was whistling, his crossbow slung over his shoulder, as his pony plodded through a sun-dappled stretch of birch trees with tits singing in the branches.

  *****

  It had been over ten years since the Sword Brothers had taken Fellin during a winter siege. Then the stronghold with its high timber walls and deep moat had been Lembit’s second fortress behind Lehola, but now it was the residence of Peeter, Count of Fellin, the Saccalian who had been awarded the title by Pope Honorius himself after the old warrior had accepted baptism. He had fought for Lembit against the Sword Brothers but had been won over to the side of the Christians when a young brother knight had created an army that had relieved Lehola when it had been besieged by barbarians. He had subsequently become a good friend of the Duke of Saccalia, a man who treated him and his people with respect and as equals. Saccalia was at peace and prospered.

  It was true that in return for peace and protection the kingdom had to accept Christian priests into its villages. But these men from what Sir Richard had told him were from the Cistercian Order. They had aroused pity when they first appeared with their shaved crowns, and dressed in undyed woollen habits which proclaimed their poverty to the world. They built their own hovels on the edge of villages and lived on a diet of vegetables, herbs and beans. Sir Richard sent food to ensure they did not starve throughout the winter and gave orders that they were not to be molested. At first the people simply ignored them. But gradually the priests’ piety and kindness endeared them to the natives, not least because they were the most impoverished inhabitants of each settlement. There were not many of them but they went about their preaching in a quiet, dignified way, so that gradually the seeds of Christianity were planted in Saccalia.

  Peeter was in the armoury when a guard reported that a sentry in one of the fort’s towers had spotted a column of riders approaching from the east.

  ‘Around a score, lord.’

  Peeter gave the order to muster the garrison and strolled outside. Barefooted children ran around Fellin’s interior chasing chickens and goats. Slaves fed pigs in pens between the huts. A dozen warriors in leather breastplates, carrying shields bearing wolf insignia formed up in a line in front of the great hall. Most of the wolf shields were with Sir Richard in Rotalia, along with the levies that had been raised from the villages around Fellin and Lehola. Peeter walked over to the open gates in the eastern wall and looked across the wooden bridge over the moat, then peered up at the sentry in the nearest tower.

  ‘Do you see any banners?’ he shouted.

  ‘Eagle banner, lord,’ came the reply.

  Ungannia? Strange, he had received no word from Kalju concerning a delegation. He shrugged. Perhaps it was Kalju himself come to visit his friend Sir Richard. He would have to inform him that he had wasted his journey. He turned and walked back to his hall.

  He ordered his steward to tell the kitchen slaves to prepare a feast. The man scurried into the hall’s interior as Peeter stood in front of his men and waited to welcome Kalju. It had been too long since he had seen him.

  The riders thundered across the bridge and into the fort, children and animals squealing and running for cover as the sweating ponies were brought to a halt and their riders alighted from their saddles. All were wearing helmets and mail shirts with swords at their hips. Aside from the banner man each one was also armed with a spear that they now thrust into the earth. The round shields that dangled from their saddles carried the golden eagle symbol of Ungannia.

  The leader took off his helmet to reveal himself not to be Kalju but a powerfully built young man with long fair hair and blue eyes who walked up to Peeter and nodded.

  ‘I am Kristjan, son of Kalju and Lord of Ungannia.’

  Fellin’s great hall was half empty as Peeter feasted the arrivals that night. Slaves brought great quantities of beer and honey mead for his guests. They served huge portions of roasted boar but Kristjan ate and drank sparingly, as did his men. Peeter’s wolf shields, glad to have some excitement after having missed out on the campaign to Oesel, drank and ate to excess, toasting their Ungannian allies and engaging in drinking bouts with their comrades. Peeter sat at the top table with Kristjan, who kept looking at the tonsured priest sitting at a nearby table chatting to a slave and eating even less than him.

  ‘Who is that?’ asked the young Ungannian.

  ‘Father Dietmar, sent by Riga to preach in local villages.’

  ‘A Christian?’ sneered Kristjan as a slave placed a platter of bloodless white sausages in front of him.

  ‘We are all Christians here, young lord,’ said Peeter. ‘The world changes and we must change with it. Your own father recognised that when he made an alliance with the Sword Brothers. I trust he and your mother are well.’

  Kristjan tore off a small piece of rye bread and nibbled it.

  ‘Has Saccalia abandoned the gods, Lord Peeter? Do men no longer revere and fear Uku, Jumal, Mielikki and Kuu?’

  ‘Men are free to follow their conscience,’ answered Peeter as there was a great cheer from his men as one who had drank too much threw up violently.

  ‘Are men free when they are forced to live under the heel of the Sword Brothers?’ said Kristjan.

  ‘Why are you here, Kristjan?’ queried Peeter, getting annoyed at the surly young man who had arrived unannounced and was enjoying his hospitality with little courtesy.

  ‘I want your aid, Lord Peeter,’ said Kristjan. ‘Just as Ungannia is a free kingdom so do I desire Saccalia to join me in rejecting the Christian filth that pollutes our lands.’

  Peeter was shocked by these words and thought that the young man was deranged.

  ‘These are your father’s words?’

  Kristjan looked at the older man. ‘My father is dead. Murdered by the Sword Brothers. I ask you again: will you join me?’

  Peeter was astounded to hear that Kalju was dead.

  ‘I had no idea, Kristjan. Please forgive me.’

  Kristjan shrugged. ‘You have done nothing wrong, lord. It is the Sword Brothers who are to blame for my parents’ and my sisters’ deaths. I will avenge them. But will you avenge those Saccalians murdered by the Sword Brothers?’

  ‘That was different, Kristjan, that was war. We have made peace with the Bishop of Riga and Saccalia is free of strife and prospers.’

  He placed a hand on the Ungannian’s shoulder and looked at him kindly.

  ‘There have been no Sword Brothers in Ungannia, Kristjan. Your grief has blinded you to the truth. How did your parents die?’

  Kristjan looked at Father Dietmar. ‘The Sword Brothers used Christian magic to kill them, just as it will kill you if you let their wizards practise their black magic here. But you have a chance to throw off the Christian yoke. I have summoned Ungannia’s fighting men to my banner so we can wash our swords in Christian blood.’

  Peeter shook his head. ‘The old ways will not return, Kristjan. Ungannia is free only because it has the protection of the Sword Brothers. In your heart you must know this.’

  Kristjan smiled and placed his hand on top of the old man’s.

  ‘I knew that would be your answer.’

  He held Peeter’s gaze as he pushed the point of the dagger into his armpit before whipping it back and thrusting it into the neck of the wolf shield sitting on his other side.

  ‘Now!’ he bellowed.

  Inebriated Saccalians smiled dumbly as their guests pulled concealed daggers and began a stabbing frenzy. Some Saccalians were slumped at their tables, unconscious from drink, when their throats were slit; others died with con
fused looks on their faces. A handful tried to resist but were pounced on and had their faces and torsos reduced to bloody pulps. And suddenly it was over.

  ‘Get your weapons,’ ordered Kristjan as Peeter slumped in his chair, unable to move as blood pumped from his armpit. As slaves screamed and then fell silent as they too were killed, the Ungannians opened the doors to the hall and attacked the two guards standing outside. They then retrieved their swords, spears and shields that had been stacked on long benches either side of the doors. For it was common custom that guests did not take weapons into a host’s hall.

  ‘Secure the rest of the fort,’ commanded Kristjan as he strapped on his sword belt. His commander saluted and exited the hall with half a dozen warriors. Of the paltry garrison only a handful still lived and they were in the watchtowers. They would be speedily dealt with.

  ‘Kill the wives and children of these wretches,’ ordered Kristjan to another of his men. Another four warriors left the hall. He knew the slaves presented no threat and would already be cowering in some corner, praying to whatever gods they worshipped that their worthless lives would be spared. The other warriors dispersed to stand guard at the entrance to the hall and the doorway that led to the kitchens. Kristjan looked around at the blood-splattered corpses and smiled. His smile disappeared when he heard frantic whispering behind him and turned to see Father Dietmar on his knees clutching in his hands the wooden cross he wore around his neck. His eyes were closed as he recited prayers in a language Kristjan did not understand. He drew his sword, walked over to the priest and smashed the weapon’s hilt hard against the side of the priest’s face. Dietmar let out a squeal and crumbled to the floor, unconscious.

  ‘Heathen.’

  Kristjan sheathed his sword and went back to the top table where the fatally wounded Peeter sat slumped in his chair. One side of his tunic was stained red and his life was slowly leaving him. Kristjan retook his seat and stared at the scene of mayhem in front of him.