Castellan

by Peter Darman

  Lehola was a great stronghold, its outer timber walls being four hundred yards in length and two hundred yards wide. The great hall in the inner stronghold could feast five hundred men and within the fort were storerooms, stables, huts, forges and an armoury. When the army arrived there were a great many women and children in the inner compound, residents of the nearby villages that had provided the levies for Sir Richard’s army that had gone to Oesel. There was a happy reunion between warriors and their families but in the hall there was nothing but grim faces as an old warrior with a limp that Sir Richard had left in command of the fort updated his lord and the Sword Brothers on the situation. His hair was pure white and his skin wrinkled and leathery, but he still had fire in his eyes and he spoke with authority.

  ‘The only reason this place was not taken was because one of the garrison of Fellin managed to get here on foot after being knocked out and left for dead. So I shut the gates and sent riders to the villages so the people could either get here or seek sanctuary in the forests.’

  ‘You did well, Harald,’ said Sir Richard.

  ‘Kalju has taken Fellin and his army sits in northern Saccalia,’ said Rudolf. ‘And were it not for a stroke of luck he would be sitting in this hall. It is a most regrettable state of affairs.’

  ‘I must remain here to organise a counterattack against Fellin,’ stated Sir Richard. ‘I would ask you to send me reinforcements, Rudolf.’

  ‘Then I must get back to Wenden as quickly as possible,’ replied Rudolf, ‘where I can hopefully muster an army.’

  ‘What army?’ asked Mathias. ‘Have you forgotten that the pox rages in Livonia?’

  ‘Only in Riga,’ said Rudolf. ‘I am hopeful that I can persuade Fricis to muster his Livs to aid us.’

  Bertram sucked on his teeth. ‘He’s Bishop Albert’s man, Rudolf. He won’t do anything without Riga’s authority.’

  Rudolf looked at Conrad. ‘Perhaps your brother, Conrad, may be useful in this instance.’

  ‘Rameke?’ said Conrad.

  Rudolf nodded. ‘Precisely. I am sure he will respond kindly to a personal request for aid.’

  ‘I will ask him,’ said Conrad.

  Rudolf slammed a fist into his palm. ‘Good.’

  ‘I will also leave Tonis and his wolf shields here, your grace,’ Conrad said to Sir Richard. ‘As Saccalians I think they will wish to stay and aid you in your fight.’

  The Army of the Wolf had numbered eight hundred and seventy men when it had departed Wenden. When it returned from Lehola it contained fifty. While Riki and his Harrien rode to the rebuilt village south of the castle and Mathias and Bertram took their men back to Kremon and Segewold, Rudolf scribbled a message for Bishop Albert. Even though all contact with Riga was forbidden he had to inform the bishop that the blockade of Livonia had been lifted but that a new war had broken out in the east against a former ally.

  Chapter 4

  The mass of never-ending forest groves were green and lush with pine, spruce and birch trees, sweet with spring scents. The alder, bird cherry, hazel and rowan bushes were in full bloom, the latter already being plundered by local villagers who believed that rowan protected them against evil and so placed it above the entrances to their huts. Vsevolod had to admit that Lithuania in spring was not an unattractive place; in fact it was very similar to his homeland of Gerzika that lay north of the Dvina. Though it might as well have been a thousand miles away. After the tedium and biting cold of winter he always liked to leave the confines of the stronghold of Panemunis to fill his lungs with fresh air and get away from the plague of petitioners that always descended on the place once the ice and snow had departed and the tracks became passable again.

  He had been persuaded by his wife to undertake a tour of the villages closest to Panemunis so as not to appear a remote, distant ruler, which is precisely what he wanted to be of course. But Rasa, a Lithuanian by birth and the daughter of the late Grand Duke Daugerutis, had pestered him incessantly so he had relented. He knew the people held little affection for him and derisively called him ‘the Russian’ behind his back, but they loved Rasa, especially her fiery spirit. At every village they passed through the people, stinking imbeciles that they were, greeted her with great affection. Mothers held up their dirty, malnourished babies for her to touch, though Vsevolod was appalled and tried to deter her. But Rasa would have none of it; indeed, she dismounted from her horse and embraced the wretches, which caused Vsevolod even more distress but increased their love for his wife.

  They had just left a village where his wife had once again paid no heed to her safety, mingling among the inhabitants freely.

  ‘You should not expose yourself to danger,’ Vsevolod rebuked her.

  She laughed. ‘What danger? These are my people. They love me and I love them.’

  Vsevolod grimaced. ‘Rulers rule and their subjects are subjugated. That is the natural order of things, my love. It is bad enough having to ride among their filthy hovels without having to actually touch them.’

  ‘You will never win them over with that attitude.’

  Vsevolod’s mouth curled into a sneer. ‘I do not want to win them over. I just want them to do their duty.’

  They were riding at the head of a column of fifty other riders, two of whom were carrying Vsevolod’s own standard – a silver griffin on a blue background – and the banner of Rasa’s father: a black boar on all fours against a red background. The mounted soldiers were all Russians, members of the prince’s bodyguard for he went nowhere in Lithuania without sizeable protection. The ravines, hillocks, meadows and forests might possess great beauty but they could also hide an assassin or, worse, a group of assassins.

  To protect against such a possibility he always had his guards near. He insisted that they not only be Russian but also natives of Gerzika to ensure their absolute loyalty. Aras, his general, his fixer and the man tasked with keeping his son-in-law Mindaugas safe, thought it highly amusing but had to admit that the prince’s bodyguards were impressive. They wore helmets with nasal guards and mail aventails protecting their necks and shoulders. Lamellar armour cuirasses made up of burnished rectangular iron plates protected their torsos. The elongated plates were linked together first in horizontal rows, then vertically by means of leather thongs passed through holes in the plates. Each plate had a number of fixing holes distributed over its entire surface. Once fastened together the rows of lamellae overlapped upwards. In this way the scale cuirass greatly exceeded its mail equivalent in terms of defensive properties. Lamellar armour could protect its wearer from thrusting weapons and arrows. Even bludgeoning weapons such as maces could fail to penetrate the lamellae, the force of their blows being ‘scattered’ over the plates, though the wearer would be winded from such a blow at the very least.

  Aras looked behind at the two files of horsemen in their armour, shields bearing a silver griffin, blue tunics, tan leggings and leather boots. Each rider was armed with a lance, sword and dagger.

  ‘You have brought peace, lord,’ he said to Vsevolod, ‘and for that you have the people’s gratitude at least.’

  ‘Gratitude?’ sniffed the prince. ‘I doubt they know the meaning of the word.’

  ‘Don’t be so stuffy,’ said Rasa. ‘Lithuania is at peace, the gods ravage Livonia with pestilence and your daughters have good marriages.’

  He smiled at his wife. She was right about his daughters. He had engineered the marriage of his eldest daughter Morta to Prince Mindaugas, the son of the late Prince Stecse who had been the chief warlord of Grand Duke Daugerutis. He had plans to make Mindaugas grand duke when the opportunity presented itself. His other daughter Elze had been married to Prince Ykintas, son of Duke Butantas, leader of the Samogitians. By a happy coincidence Ykintas and Mindaugas had become friends as well as relatives. Vsevolod also had the friendship of Kitenis, Duke of the Aukstaitijans, and amicable relations with Viesthard, Duke of the Semgallians, notwithstanding that he had tried to conquer Viesthard’s kingdom after forgin
g an alliance with the Northern Kurs. All in all it was a happy state of affairs.

  ‘Mindaugas believes that we should raise an army, cross the Dvina and conquer Livonia,’ said Aras, ‘considering that it is in a weakened state.’

  Vsevolod rolled his eyes. ‘And I suppose that Prince Ykintas agrees with this foolish notion?’

  Aras nodded. ‘Yes, lord, they are itching to give the Bishop of Riga a bloody nose.’

  ‘As we all are, general,’ smiled Rasa.

  ‘The princes have taken to heart the call by the Kriviu Krivaitis for a holy crusade against Livonia,’ added Aras.

  The Kriviu Krivaitis was the spiritual head of the Lithuanian people, a high priest who lived in a hut near a sacred forest grove surrounded by younger priests and white-robed virgins.

  ‘As a military man, general,’ said Vsevolod, ‘I hope you impressed upon our young firebrands that marching an army into a plague-infested country is a recipe for disaster.’

  ‘I did mention it, yes,’ answered Aras. ‘That’s the problem with peace, my lord, princes and dukes have too much time on their hands.’

  They left the ravine and entered a broad meadow littered with snowdrops and buttercups, and saw a rider approaching at speed.

  ‘Look lively!’ shouted Aras as he nudged his horse forward to place himself between the royal couple and the galloping horseman. Half a dozen Russians cantered ahead of him and others flanked the prince and his wife. The rider, seeing the phalanx of horsemen ahead, slowed his horse and raised his right arm.

  ‘State your business,’ shouted Aras.

  ‘I bring a message for Prince Vsevolod from the commander of Panemunis, lord,’ answered the man, who appeared to be unarmed.

  The column halted as the courier walked his horse forward until he was before Aras.

  ‘What message?’ demanded Vsevolod.

  The courier bowed his head to the prince.

  ‘Torolf, ambassador to Duke Arturus, has arrived at the castle and begs an audience with you, highness. The commander asks what is to be done with him?’

  ‘Tell him to kill him,’ joked Aras, smiling.

  But Vsevolod was not amused. ‘Do no such thing. Return to Panemunis and impress upon the commander that Torolf is an ambassador and may not be harmed. Go!’

  The man bowed, turned his horse and galloped away. Vsevolod sighed deeply.

  ‘So Torolf emerges from whatever rock he was hiding under,’ remarked Aras. ‘I wonder what mischief he is making?’

  ‘Nothing to the advantage of Nalsen and Selonia, I’ll warrant,’ said Vsevolod glumly.

  As they recommenced their journey back to their home a knot tightened in the prince’s stomach.

  It took an hour to reach Panemunis, Vsevolod giving orders that Torolf was to be given quarters, food and anything he desired while he and his wife changed their clothes and refreshed themselves. Normally he would have deferred an ambassador until the next day but this was Torolf, the voice of Arturus, formerly duke of the Northern Kurs but now the leader of all the Kurs following his defeat of Duke Gedvilas, who had been killed in the battle. Arturus had sent the duke’s head to him as a present, and also a not so subtle warning that it was unwise to make Arturus an enemy.

  The ambassador was shown into the throne room in the main hall of the fort, the banners of Gerzika and Daugerutis hanging on the wall behind the prince and his wife who were dressed to impress. Rasa had changed from her leggings and boots into a blue dress with wide sleeves, golden belt and a white cloak fastened at the right shoulder with a silver brooch. Black leather shoes completed her appearance. Vsevolod wore a long white tunic that ended just above the knees, with gold edging around the cuffs and neck. He too wore a cloak, his coloured red and adorned with silver griffins and fastened to his right shoulder by means of a silver griffin pin. In the Russian fashion he carried no weapons about his person. Aras, dressed in his thick black leather tunic, black leggings and black boots, stood by his prince’s side, with Russian guards behind the throne and along the walls.

  Vsevolod gave the signal and the doors opened to allow Torolf to enter. Moments later a gangly man in his early thirties walked into the chamber. He may have been an ambassador but he dressed like a poor farmer: simple black tunic, tan leggings, gaiters and boots. Two things made him stand out: his height and his red hair, which was shaved above the ears and plaited from the crown to the back of his neck. His red beard was neatly trimmed, his brown eyes missing nothing. He halted in front of the thrones and bowed deeply first to the prince and then to Rasa.

  ‘Hail, highnesses. Thank you for seeing me at such short notice. The rivers have been unusually high this spring and movement has been difficult.’

  ‘I hope your quarters are acceptable, Lord Torolf,’ smiled Vsevolod.

  Torolf smiled back. ‘The hospitality of Panemunis is famous throughout all Lithuania, highness.’ He bowed his head to Rasa. ‘As is the beauty and wisdom of its princess.’

  ‘You are too kind, ambassador,’ smiled Rasa.

  ‘How may we help you?’ enquired Vsevolod.

  Torolf maintained his smile. ‘It is some while since my lord has contacted you, highness, and he sends his regrets for being so remiss. He has been preoccupied with matters pertaining to Kurland.’

  ‘Kurland?’ queried the prince.

  ‘The name Duke Arturus has given the land that now encompasses all the Kurs following the death of the traitor Gedvilas,’ answered Torolf. ‘The duke has sent me to ask a favour of your highness.’

  Vsevolod’s mouth went dry. ‘Favour?’

  Torolf’s smile slowly disappeared. ‘As an ally of my lord he believes that it would be better if you approached the other dukes on his behalf, seeing as there has, in the past, been some misunderstandings between them and Duke Arturus.’

  Aras laughed. The ‘misunderstandings’ Torolf referred to related to either attempts by Arturus to assassinate the other dukes or kill them on the battlefield. Vsevolod froze him with a stare.

  ‘Please continue, Lord Torolf.’

  ‘Duke Arturus feels that it is time for all Lithuanians to be united against the heathen Christians north of the Dvina. He believes that the pestilence that now ravages Riga is a sign from Perkunas that we should unite in the face of a common foe and not to bicker among ourselves.’

  ‘A sensible policy,’ agreed Vsevolod.

  ‘To which end,’ continued Torolf, ‘my lord proposes a meeting of all the dukes at a place of your highness’ choosing so that he may extend the hand of amity and reconciliation to the other dukes.’

  ‘Those that are still living,’ said Aras under his breath.

  ‘Duke Arturus feels,’ added Torolf, ‘that the words of Prince Vsevolod carry great weight throughout Lithuania and would expedite such a meeting faster than his own approaches to the other dukes, so misunderstood is Duke Arturus within their kingdoms.’

  ‘And if the other dukes refuse to countenance such a meeting?’ said Vsevolod casually.

  Torolf’s bow creased thoughtfully. ‘Then my lord will have no option but to continue the war that the other dukes started.’

  Vsevolod brought his hands together and rested his chin on his thumbs. Arturus calling for peace was like a fish sprouting legs and walking on land. Ever since he had first heard of the Kur leader he had been embroiled in conflict with someone, be it Riga or the other dukes. And now he desired peace. A happy thought passed through Vsevolod’s mind: perhaps the Kurs were exhausted by years of incessant warfare and genuinely desired peace. Perhaps Arturus could be subdued by diplomacy instead of military means.

  ‘You may inform Duke Arturus,’ said the prince, ‘that I will devote all my energies to bring his proposal to fruition.’

  Torolf, clearly delighted, bowed to him again.

  ‘We will continue this conversation tonight, Lord Torolf,’ said Vsevolod, gesturing to an official by the doors to come forward, ‘when we dine together. Rindas will escort you back to your quarters.�
��

  Torolf bowed to the prince. ‘Highness.’

  Bowing to Rasa, he retreated from the chamber in the company of Rindas, the doors closing behind them.

  ‘Interesting,’ remarked Aras. ‘Hard to believe that Arturus wants peace but he definitely wants something.’

  ‘You should have that ambassador’s head for his insolence,’ hissed Rasa. ‘Asking you to be an errand boy for his lord.’

  ‘We do not kill ambassadors, my love,’ said Vsevolod calmly. ‘Besides, I see an opportunity in his insolence. I wonder if the Kurs are so weakened by years of warfare that they have no option but to beg for peace. If so then Arturus has made a grave mistake by his approach.’

  ‘That is a lot of ifs, my lord,’ said Aras. ‘An eagle does not voluntarily cut off its talons.’

  ‘General Aras is right, husband,’ said Rasa. ‘Arturus is not to be trusted.’

  ‘I am in agreement with you both,’ replied the prince, ‘but you forget that at this moment I have the friendship of the other dukes. What friends does Arturus have? None.’

  ‘I doubt that bothers Arturus, my lord,’ commented Aras.

  But Vsevolod was too intrigued to let the opportunity slip. The prospect of a meeting with Arturus was also too enticing. He did not inform his wife and general but the chance of actually meeting the duke of the Kurs face to face, the man who was the stuff of children’s nightmares, was too irresistible. And the opportunity to out-manoeuvre him diplomatically was even more so.