Castellan

by Peter Darman

  ‘I regret what occurred concerning the soldiers from Riga, master.’

  Rudolf pinched his nose. ‘Regret? Why?’

  ‘The incident may have severe repercussions for the order.’

  ‘You have no need to concern yourself with that, Conrad. I have written to the grand master informing him of Archdeacon Stefan’s gross breach of protocol.’

  ‘Even so,’ sighed Conrad, ‘the archdeacon will take the insult personally.’

  Rudolf laughed. ‘I hope so for that was my intention. You are an important man, Conrad, not some base villain to be taken away and hanged on the whim of a fat churchman. But I’m afraid you will no longer be able to travel to Riga again, at least not without an armed escort.’

  Conrad thought of the noise, the ramshackle crowded streets and the stench that filled them.

  ‘I can live with that, master.’

  Rameke arrived the next day at the head of two hundred bearded, hardy warriors on hale ponies, an additional twenty men driving carts loaded with the Livs’ tents, food and spare weapons and armour. The ponies looked slightly ridiculous with their low legs, long bodies and wide and swinging trots, their colours a collection of blacks, greys, chestnuts and creams. But they had amazing stamina and could withstand inclement weather that would kill the horses imported from Germany. The Livs made camp on the meadow outside the outer perimeter while their leader went to pay his respects to Master Rudolf.

  He had gone not twenty paces before a delighted Kaja accosted him by jumping into his arms, nearly knocking him over. Conrad, Hans and Anton had also walked down to the outer gates to welcome their friend, who wore a broad smile as his beloved linked an arm in his. Rameke embraced the three brother knights before the party began walking along the track that led to the castle.

  ‘I heard about what happened with the soldiers from Riga,’ said Rameke, ‘Fricis sends his compliments to all three of you for saving the life of a Liv.’

  ‘We would have done the same if it had been anyone,’ said Conrad, ‘I despise bullies.’

  ‘Alas we have heard of many outrages committed against our people,’ lamented Rameke. ‘Many who come from overseas see us as not worthy of sharing this land with them.’

  ‘Encouraged by Archdeacon Stefan, no doubt,’ said Anton.

  Hans nodded. ‘He’s no friend of the Livs.’

  ‘Or the Sword Brothers,’ added Conrad.

  ‘It is hard to believe that he is related Bishop Albert,’ said Rameke.

  ‘It is hard to believe Conrad is related to you, my friend,’ said Anton, ‘what with you being such a warlord and Conrad being such a poor specimen.’

  Rameke laughed but Conrad had to agree that the Liv was very different from the first time he had seen him all those years ago. Then they had been boys but now Rameke was Fricis’ deputy and a warlord of great repute. His position was reflected in his appearance: fine quality mail shirt, gilded helmet and a fine sword in an expensive scabbard. He had inherited his father’s stocky build and with his thick, shoulder-length hair and full beard he presented a formidable appearance. Conrad thought that he and Kaja would have handsome children.

  ‘I am happy that you are marching north with us,’ Kaja said to Rameke, planting a kiss on his cheek.

  Rameke looked at Conrad as Hans and Anton looked straight ahead.

  ‘You cannot come this time, Kaja,’ said Conrad.

  Kaja stopped and placed her hands on her hips, eyes full of fire and nostrils flared to produce a vision of savage beauty.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because they are my orders, Kaja,’ replied Conrad.

  He thought that would suffice but she stood there, rock like, as the brother knights and Rameke looked at each awkwardly.

  ‘Who will carry your banner, Susi?’ she asked.

  ‘I will find someone else, do not worry about that.’

  Kaja regarded him coolly. ‘Then I will ride with Rameke.’

  Rameke faced his future bride and took her hands in his.

  ‘I asked Conrad not to take you on campaign with him again, my love. I cannot fight with my mind full of visions of you being cut down by our enemies.’

  ‘It is true, Kaja,’ said Conrad, ‘and in truth I too have feared for your life on numerous occasions.’

  Hans and Anton mumbled their agreement but Kaja was not so easily swayed.

  ‘So I am to be kept here like a bird in a cage until I am married? And afterwards, will I be kept as a virtual prisoner at Treiden?’

  Rameke was appalled. ‘I would never compel you to do anything.’

  Kaja replaced her steely demeanour with a sultry look. ‘Then let me go with you, my love.’

  But Rameke would not be persuaded. ‘I cannot.’

  He brought up her hands and kissed them.

  ‘Let us not argue, my sweet. We are soon to be married. When I come back from this next campaign we will be united forever at Treiden.’

  ‘If you come back,’ she said.

  ‘We’ll make sure he comes back, Kaja,’ promised Conrad. ‘Have no fear.’

  She was only partly pacified but Conrad assured her that the campaign would be short.

  ‘Very short if Kristjan gets here before we leave,’ mused Hans.

  ‘I remember him from when we visited Odenpah,’ said Kaja. ‘He seemed like an angry boy.’

  ‘Now he’s an angry man with an army behind him,’ Anton told her.

  Kaja’s ire was partly appeased when she was given responsibility for organising those women from among the Saccalian refugees who could handle a spear or shoot a bow. Rudolf had given orders that the village where the Army of the Wolf had made its base should be abandoned until the threat of Kristjan had been dealt with. Therefore Riki’s warriors escorted all the women, children and elderly to Wenden where they were quartered within the outer perimeter. Master Thaddeus was promoted to garrison commander in the absence of Walter and Rudolf. He and his clerks fussed around like mother hens but Conrad had to admit that the new arrivals were accommodated with little trouble, tents being issued from stores to house them.

  ‘It is fortunate that it is early summer,’ remarked Thaddeus as he stood with Conrad on the track that led from the castle’s gatehouse down the hill to the gates in the outer perimeter wall. ‘Tents are not as comfortable as huts.’

  ‘Not if they are attacked by enemy warriors,’ said Conrad.

  ‘This Kristjan seems to have sprung from nowhere, Brother Conrad. I thought you were Marshal of Estonia. Cannot you order him to lay down his arms?’

  ‘I could, sir,’ laughed Conrad, ‘but he would send the courier’s head back to me as an answer.’

  Thaddeus observed Kaja speaking in front of a group of around thirty women of a similar age to her. Though he could not hear what she was saying she was jabbing the air with an arm as she walked up and down in front of them, sword in scabbard dangling at her hip.

  ‘Kaja is a remarkable young women,’ observed Thaddeus. ‘Full of fire and enthusiasm.’

  ‘She is a formidable swordswoman,’ said Conrad proudly, ‘and will make a fine wife for Rameke.’

  Thaddeus turned and walked back towards the castle.

  ‘Let us hope that this Kristjan’s army does not contain others like her, Conrad, for if so he will surely cause much mischief.’

  There was no time to reflect on an army of Kajas with the arrival of the garrisons of Segewold and Kremon the same day. Masters Bertram and Mathias rode to the castle while their men pitched their tents outside the outer perimeter. Conrad was summoned to the master’s hall. When he arrived he found a warm welcome from Bertram and Mathias.

  ‘I cannot believe that little bastard Stefan tried to arrest you,’ said Bertram.

  ‘He should have his throat slit and his fat corpse thrown in the Dvina,’ suggested Mathias.

  ‘Agreed,’ said Rudolf, ‘but we have more urgent matters to attend to. Conrad’s scouts have brought news that Kristjan is marching south at spe
ed. Tomorrow we march north to intercept him.’

  ‘We brought only horsemen, as instructed Rudolf,’ relayed Bertram.

  ‘Like the trip to Oesel,’ beamed Mathias.

  But it was not quite like the expedition to Oesel in that this time the warhorses would be accompanying the brother knights and the sergeants would be fighting as armoured horsemen and not crossbowmen. But the latter, all mounted on ponies, would include the doughty Leatherface who had recovered fully from his wounds. And the novices, all eager to take part in a campaign, would also be riding north. A dozen crossbowmen and all the spearmen, plus Kaja’s women warriors, would defend the castle. In addition, Wenden’s village also had its own militia – forty men capable of bearing arms raised from the more than two hundred people that now lived there.

  Everyone worked until dusk in the wagon park to load the two- and four-wheeled vehicles that would haul the tents, food, tools, spare clothing, weapons and armour, saddles and ammunition that would be needed. Fortunately Livonia’s abundance of grassland, rivers and lakes meant that the horses and ponies would have adequate grazing and water each day. Mules pulled the two-wheeled carts while packhorses hauled the four-wheeled wagons. The sergeants drove the carts and wagons, their horses tied to the vehicles. The novices rode their own horses and were responsible for the brother knights’ warhorses, the pampered beasts that were valued more highly than the brother knights.

  Once the women and children had been settled in the castle grounds Conrad sent Riki and his Harrien warriors north to scout for Kristjan’s forces. Once they had been located Riki and his men were to fall back immediately to join the main force.

  The castle’s chapel was packed when Prime Mass was given on the morning of departure, with sergeants and novices standing outside as the priests of Kremon and Segewold repeated the words of the mass and cast vicious glances at the mercenaries who stood in the courtyard checking their equipment rather than hanging their heads in prayer. Then Rudolf ordered the march north to begin, much to the chagrin of Hans.

  ‘We should have breakfast first. Not a good strategy to march on an empty stomach.’

  ‘We will be eating at lunch,’ said Anton, ‘and you won’t be marching, you’ll be sitting on a horse.’

  ‘That’s not the point,’ Hans rebuked him. ‘I need some ballast in my stomach to be in fighting trim.’

  Conrad laughed. ‘Poor Hans. Just think, the horse he will be riding will have been fed and watered whereas he will be close to passing out due to lack of food.’

  He slapped his friend on the back. ‘Only through suffering will you reach heaven, my friend.’

  ‘Levity and blasphemy are not the attributes of a Sword Brother, Brother Conrad.’

  Conrad rolled his eyes as he heard the deep voice of Otto behind him, before turning to see the extremely tall, thin priest two paces away glaring at him with those cold, black eyes. Conrad was tall but Otto towered over him, his bald head a mass of battle scars, the deepest being the deep gash above his right eye. He resembled a hideous gargoyle that decorated Riga’s cathedral.

  ‘Just keeping the mood light, Father Otto,’ smiled Conrad.

  ‘Smiting the heathen is not a matter for joviality, Brother Conrad. We embark on God’s business.’

  Otto wore the simple undyed habit of the Cistercian Order, with the addition of a sword and dagger strapped to his broad leather belt.

  ‘I thought it against the rules of the church for a priest to spill blood, father.’

  Otto grinned maliciously. ‘Heathen blood does not count, Brother Conrad.’

  Rameke, who had been in the chapel with the three masters, saw Conrad and walked over. He carried his round, leather-faced shield that carried the sign of the moon motif, its central metal boss highly burnished. He smiled at the three brother knights and nodded at Otto.

  ‘Father.’

  Otto looked down his nose at the design on his shield, which resembled a large ‘c’.

  ‘You carry a pagan symbol on your shield, Lord Rameke.’

  ‘The Sign of the Moon, father. It is the symbol of Meness, God of War, who has been worshipped by my people for generations. Legend tells that he wielded a sword of diamonds and wore clothes woven from the stars.’

  ‘Such talk is heresy, Lord Rameke,’ fumed Otto, ‘you should not indulge it.’

  Rameke pointed to his fifty strong bodyguard that waited in the courtyard beside their ponies. Each man also carried a shield that bore the sign of the moon.

  ‘Men fight better when they believe luck is on their side, father.’

  ‘Men do not need luck when they have God on their side, Lord Rameke.’

  He gave Conrad a disparaging frown and marched off.

  ‘I’m going to the kitchens to beg for some scraps,’ said Hans, embracing Rameke then walking briskly to the kitchens.

  ‘Don’t be late,’ Conrad told him.

  ‘Yes, lord marshal,’ came the sarcastic reply.

  Conrad embraced his brother. ‘God be with you.’

  ‘And you,’ replied Rameke.

  Then he embraced Anton before walking back to his bodyguard. There was a touching scene when Kaja, all blonde hair and mail armour, wrapped her arms around her future husband, to the hoots and whistles of his bodyguard. It was a picture that put a deeper frown on Otto’s battered forehead. A blast of trumpets signalled that the time for farewells was over as Rameke led his men out of the courtyard and horses and mules were brought from the stables.

  The courtyard was expansive but there was suddenly hardly room to swing a sword as beasts were arrayed and inspected before being led over the drawbridge to the wagon park. Then the palfreys were brought into the courtyard. These were riding horses with a smooth gait that would be the mode of transport for the brother knights and sergeants on the march. In battle the former would switch to the warhorses that were brought into the courtyard last.

  Aggressive, hot-headed and weighing up to twelve hundred pounds each, the destriers were the pride of the Sword Brothers. They were well bred, highly trained horses that had been purchased in Germany and shipped over to Livonia at great expense. Conrad thought that it was just as well that each garrison of the order had a maximum of twelve brother knights – the number of apostles that Christ had gathered around him – otherwise the Sword Brothers would have faced bankruptcy.

  He and Anton carefully inspected the straps, hooves and saddles of their palfreys before moving on to their warhorses and inspecting them. A stable hand held the reins of a warhorse that was not being checked over by one of Wenden’s brother knights.

  Rudolf looked up and down the line. ‘Where is Brother Hans?’

  ‘Call of nature, master,’ replied Anton.

  A smiling Hans appeared a couple of minutes later, sack slung over his shoulder. He quickly fastened it to the saddle of his palfrey before Rudolf saw it.

  ‘One day you’ll be caught out and get a flogging,’ Anton told him.

  Hans winked. ‘But not today, my friend.’

  In one corner of the courtyard Leatherface was shouting obscenities at the one hundred and twenty crossbowmen from Kremon, Wenden and Segewold that he had been given command of. For good measure he was also abusing two armourers who had ventured from their stone and iron citadel in the southeast corner of the courtyard. He stood beside his packhorse and told them in no uncertain terms that they should furnish him and his men with adequate ammunition because there was an inexhaustible supply of pagans. The armourers scuttled back to the massive armoury to satisfy his demands.

  ‘My boys need plenty of bolts to shoot the heathens down.’

  This brought a great cheer from the crossbowmen, who waved their weapons in the air. The brother knights released the warhorses to the charge of the novices and walked back to their palfreys.

  ‘I wish I was coming with you, Susi.’

  He laid a hand on Kaja’s arm. ‘It is a comfort to me that you are safe here. But remember that you are also responsible for
defending this place. So take heed of what Master Thaddeus tells you.’

  ‘Yes, Susi.’

  He hauled himself into the saddle and wheeled his horse right following another blast of trumpets. Hans and Anton raised their hands to Kaja as Rudolf led eleven brother knights, thirty sergeants, twenty novices and one hundred and twenty crossbowmen from the courtyard. They trotted across the courtyard and down the track to the outer perimeter gates, children waving and running alongside them as they did so. Another twenty sergeants sat on loaded wagons and carts waiting to follow the horsemen, and outside the gates were the garrisons of Segewold and Kremon and Rameke’s Livs. Nearly five hundred men began the journey north to halt the advance of Kristjan, while ahead of them Riki’s fifty Harrien were scouting the land to insure against any nasty surprises.

  *****

  Despite it being the beginning of summer the days could still be cool and rainy, the tracks quickly turning to rivers of mud when pounded by hundreds of hooves and feet. The forests and meadows had sprung to life and brimmed with game and birds. The days were long, which meant that Kristjan made good progress as his army headed south. His Ungannians and Vetseke’s Russians were all mounted, which meant they could endure the long days easily enough, but those on foot were soon complaining.

  ‘You think that Taara is interested in the bleatings of the common folk?’ asked Kristjan.

  The sun lanced through gaps in the forest canopy and the air was heavy with the scent of pine. Vetseke riding beside him thought the young man’s recovery from the hornet stings had been remarkable, but believed that his youthful enthusiasm was now laced with a dangerous dose of arrogance.

  ‘I think that men driven to the limits of their exhaustion will not be much use in battle, young lord,’ replied Vetseke.

  ‘Don’t call me young,’ snapped Kristjan. ‘I am the appointed servant of Taara. My age is irrelevant.’

  ‘We should make camp soon,’ suggested Vetseke. ‘To give the men and beasts an opportunity to rest.’