Castellan

by Peter Darman

  At the last second Conrad leapt to the left to cause the spear point to pass by his right side, clenching his right fist and smashing it on the back of the boy’s neck as he stumbled past, knocking him to the ground. The boy was agile and tried to get up as soon as he had fallen, but Conrad had whipped out his sword and held the point at his neck before he could rise. The brother knight looked at the old man.

  ‘Do you want this boy’s life on your conscience?’

  The youth was now terrified, fear in his eyes, as Conrad held the sword at his throat. He looked pleadingly at the old man. For the first time the latter looked unsure, hesitant.

  ‘What is this place?’ asked Conrad.

  ‘Restu,’ replied the old man.

  Conrad withdrew his sword from the boy’s throat.

  ‘Get up.’

  Looking utterly relieved, he sprang to his feet and ran back to the old man’s side.

  ‘Forgive me, grandfather,’ he said to him.

  The old man looked kindly at him.

  ‘I make you this promise. I, Conrad Wolff, Marshal of Estonia, will replace your cattle after the war is over. This I vow to God and to you, and a Sword Brother does not break his vow.’

  He picked up the helmet and threw it to the boy.

  ‘Remember,’ he said to the youth, ‘an enemy never stands still so you can spear him. Think before you attack, never let your rage master you.’

  He walked back to his horse and regained the saddle. In the distance the sergeants were herding the cows out of sight. He tugged on the reins to turn the beast around.

  ‘Sword Brother,’ called the old man. ‘What if you lose the war, what then?’

  Conrad smiled. ‘The Sword Brothers never lose a war, sir. You will get your cattle back, have no fear.’

  He dug his spurs into his horse’s side and cantered away, the crossbowmen following.

  ‘Fine words,’ agreed Leatherface. ‘You should have let us kill them, saves lots of trouble later.’

  ‘When I return their cattle to them I will have earned their loyalty,’ replied Conrad. ‘Why make enemies when you can make friends with a bit of effort.’

  Leatherface sighed. ‘That’s not really the mercenary way of thinking, Brother Conrad.’

  Conrad had been in Livonia for thirteen years. During that time he had learned to use a wide variety of weapons, both on foot and in the saddle. He had taken part in battles against the Estonians, Oeselians, Cumans, Lithuanians and Russians. He had taken part in sieges and been besieged himself. He was a skilled veteran, a man at home on the battlefield. But nothing had prepared him for the stress and frustration associated with herding cattle.

  Moving a few beasts was easy enough, but when his raids had collected just over fifty the nightmare began. He and the sergeants made a lot of noise in an attempt to get the herd moving, Riki’s warriors trying vainly to dissuade him. The cattle refused to move at first, but when he, the sergeants and crossbowmen attempted to frighten them into moving they scattered in all directions, into the woods, into thickets and into the waters of a river. It took half a day to re-assemble them. Afterwards one of Riki’s men, a thickset warrior with a huge beard, berated the Marshal of Estonia.

  ‘You should never shout or whistle when herding cattle, Susi. They are not warriors to be barked at. If the cattle start running you have lost.’

  ‘Perhaps we should tie them together,’ suggested Conrad.

  ‘Or shoot them,’ added Leatherface.

  The warrior shook his head. ‘All you need is a drover to walk behind them to move them along and calm them.’

  ‘We are in your hands,’ Conrad told him, ‘just get them moving.’

  The next day the warrior began his work, having told Conrad and the others that they should not make any sudden movements or noises that would stampede the herd. He let the cattle form themselves into a loose herd before walking back and forth behind the beasts, to stimulate predator ‘stalking’ behaviour. This caused anxiety in the cattle and made them want to bunch together. When they had done so the warrior continued to walk back and forth to the rear of the herd but then moved closer to the animals. In response they began walking away from him and in the direction he wanted them to go. Conrad spurred his horse towards two cattle that were apart from the herd.

  ‘Leave them, Susi,’ said the drover. ‘They will join the rest soon enough.’

  And they did, walking to the herd that was miraculously moving in the general direction of Lake Vortsjarv.

  ‘A drover replicates the movements of a predator,’ the drover told him, ‘so for safety cattle will bunch together.’

  It was still a frustrating process though, and slow. To ease the boredom Conrad and Leatherface went hunting most days, bringing back the carcasses of at least two roe deer each afternoon that were gutted and cooked in the evening. It took five days to reach the rendezvous point and another week to reach Wenden, by which time Conrad was heartily sick of cows and staring at their rumps. When they reached the castle a beaming Rudolf met Conrad at the outer perimeter gates and watched as the cattle were herded into a fenced-off area near the wagon park.

  ‘How many cattle?’ he asked Conrad.

  ‘Two hundred and twenty, master.’

  Rudolf rubbed his hands together. ‘Excellent, well done.’

  ‘What news of Lehola, master?’ asked Anton.

  ‘You can ask Sir Richard yourself, he is here at Wenden,’ answered Rudolf, ‘but suffice to say that Lehola is safe and well provisioned, though Fellin is still occupied by troops loyal to Kristjan. However, they will be dealt with once Bishop Albert lands at Riga and marches north to join us.’

  Conrad was surprised. ‘Sir Richard is at Wenden?’

  ‘Of course,’ replied Rudolf, ‘he is here for Kaja’s wedding and will accompany us to Treiden. Rameke has already departed with my note that will be fixed to the church door where they will be married.’

  Conrad was even more confused. ‘Note?’

  Rudolf rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t you know anything about the marriage ceremony, Conrad?’

  ‘No, master.’

  ‘He don’t know anything about herding cattle either, Master Rudolf,’ remarked Leatherface who had strolled over for no reason in particular. ‘Good job he’s useful with a sword, ain’t it?’

  ‘After a marriage has been arranged,’ Rudolf told him, ignoring the mercenary, ‘a wedding notice must be posted to the door of the church where the ceremony is to take place. It states who is to be married, in this case Prince Rameke to Princess Kaja.’

  Conrad, now more confused than ever, looked at Hans and Anton who wore similar bewildered looks.

  ‘Kaja is not a princess,’ he said to Rudolf.

  ‘She is a farmer’s daughter, or was,’ added Hans.

  Rudolf spread his arms. ‘If that is the case then how can her family afford such a large dowry?’

  ‘Dowry, master?’ said Conrad.

  Rudolf pointed at the cattle. ‘Over two hundred head of cattle, a dowry fit for a princess, I think.’

  Leatherface bowed his head to Rudolf. ‘And here was I thinking that you were a gruff old mercenary like me. I forgot you are a lord’s son.’

  Rudolf shook his head at the three brother knights who were perplexed.

  ‘Rameke is the second most important Liv in this land after Fricis. There are many Livs who want to see him marry a woman of his own race rather than a Saccalian, much less a penniless, landless Saccalian. But if they are convinced that Kaja is a woman of wealth then they will warm to the union more quickly. And the fact that the Marshal of Estonia and the Duke of Saccalia will be attending the wedding only adds credence to the notion of Kaja’s high position. Grand Master Volquin will also be in attendance, as will I.’

  Conrad was impressed. He had thought Rameke’s wedding would be a small affair in the wooden church in the middle of the village next to the hill fort at Treiden. But Master Rudolf had obviously been thinking ahead.

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nbsp; ‘The Duke of Saccalia will be giving Kaja away,’ continued Rudolf. ‘I assume that you will be Rameke’s best man, Conrad?’

  ‘Yes, master.’

  Couriers were sent north to request the attendance of Hillar and Andres at Wenden, though Tonis remained at Lehola with his wolf shields to hold the stronghold should Kristjan attempt to storm it in Sir Richard’s absence. Rudolf also thought it politic not to have the wedding feast at Treiden attended by warriors carrying the symbol of Lembit, who had inflicted much misery on Livonia. But despite the attention being lavished on her wedding Kaja was in a glum mood when Conrad went to see her. She shared Ilona’s hut in the outer perimeter, among the simple lodgings of the castle workers and their families. After she had spent a morning on the training field assisting Lukas teaching novices the art of fighting with a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other, he found her sitting outside the hut cleaning her sword. Ilona came from the interior with a small jar filled with one of her herbal concoctions, which she gave to a waiting woman.

  ‘Brother Conrad,’ she smiled, ‘come to see how the blushing bride is getting along?’

  Kaja stopped running the cloth along the length of the blade and looked up. She gave Conrad a weak smile.

  ‘Why so sad?’ he asked. ‘Has one of the novices got the better of you?’

  She smiled more convincingly. ‘Not yet, Susi.’

  ‘Kaja is annoyed that Father Otto will not be marrying her to Rameke,’ said Ilona.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Rudolf informed us that a priest cannot marry a couple if he has killed someone,’ explained Ilona, ‘it is a rule of the Holy Church.’

  ‘Ah, I see.’

  Kaja stood and slashed the air with the sword. ‘It is a stupid rule.’

  ‘Rudolf told me that Bishop Bernhard will officiate instead,’ said Ilona.

  Conrad was astounded. ‘An honour indeed.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of him,’ stated Kaja dismissively.

  ‘He is the Bishop of Semgallia,’ Conrad told her, ‘and one of the most important churchmen in Livonia.’

  Kaja slashed the air again. ‘I prefer Father Otto.’

  Ilona frowned at her. ‘You will soon be a princess, Kaja, and must learn to act like one. You are very lucky.’

  Conrad looked at the handsome Ilona, her hair still as black as night. He wondered if she ever regretted meeting Master Rudolf. She had saved his life and nursed him back to health after his body had been burned at Holm. Everyone knew that she was in love with him and Conrad believed that he was devoted to her. But the vows Rudolf had taken on becoming a Sword Brother meant the two could never marry. And so Ilona chose to remain single and not bear children so she could be near Rudolf.

  Kaja’s dowry was sent on ahead, guarded by a score of sergeants and the same number of spearmen, with drovers ensuring that the cattle made decent progress after being driven across one of the Gauja’s fords north of Wenden and then south along the northern riverbank to Treiden. Master Rudolf also sent heralds ahead to announce in every village the herd passed that it was the dowry of Princess Kaja of Saccalia. The ‘princess’ herself was accompanied to Treiden by Rudolf as Master of Wenden, Lukas who had taught her how to use a sword, Ilona her Maid of Honour, Conrad as Marshal of Estonia and Hans and Anton because they were her friends. Rudolf had decreed that he and his brother knights should travel to Treiden in full armour, riding warhorses, Hans being entrusted with carrying Wenden’s banner as Walter had been left behind to command the garrison. Then came the commanders of the Army of the Wolf, each one in helmet and mail armour and riding well-groomed ponies. Conrad hated the journey because Rudolf decided that he and his men should wear their full-face helms to impress the villages they passed through. Mid-summer’s day had recently passed – it was hot and windless so the brother knights roasted in their armour. As did the Duke of Saccalia.

  Sir Richard Bruffingham had come to Livonia a crusader in search of redemption, a clean-shaven man with a bald head who wore no coat of arms on his surcoat or shield. But Pope Honorius himself had created him Duke of Saccalia so Bishop Albert directed Riga’s College of Arms to create a fitting coat of arms for his position. The college had sent a surcoat, banner and legal document verifying the heraldic device that Sir Richard was now authorised to wear: a white boar’s head with golden tusks on a blue background. The boar had been chosen because it was a symbol of endurance, courage and a willingness to fight to the death. The six knights who had accompanied Sir Richard also wore duplicate surcoats that had been made at Lehola and Squire Paul carried the new banner of his lord.

  Rudolf’s plan had the desired effect. When the party reached Treiden the settlement was surrounded by dozens of tents to accommodate those Livs who had come to see their prince marry. All witnessed the Princess Kaja’s procession. Grand Master Volquin was accommodated in the great hall of the hill fort, though Fricis sent a courier to Rudolf and Sir Richard apologising for the fact that there was no room for them or their knights. So they too pitched their tents outside the settlement, the great herd of cattle sent on ahead was in an enclosure to the north of the hill fort.

  The settlement was thronged with people on the day of the wedding. Bishop Bernhard in his plain white woollen mantle and habit stood in front of the couple. The simple church with its thatched roof was their background. A sea of faces looked on as Bernhard conducted the ceremony in the open, Kaja wearing a blue dress, the traditional colour of purity. Rameke wore a plain green tunic, brown leggings and leather boots.

  Despite its rustic appearance the marriage ceremony was conducted according to strict rules. The aged Bernhard read from his bible with Rameke standing on the right side of Kaja. She stood on the left because God had created woman from a rib in the left side of Adam. Her long blonde hair shone in the sun and Conrad thought they made a handsome couple. He passed a silver ring to Rameke and Sir Richard handed a silver band to Kaja, the items of jewellery were given to Bishop Bernhard who blessed them. They were then exchanged and placed on the bride’s and groom’s fourth fingers.

  When the ceremony in front of the church doors had been concluded they and a select few, he included, went inside the austere building. The couple stood beneath a white linen sheet held aloft by gangly, deathly pale choirboys as the bishop conducted a mass in Latin. After which Bernhard gave the kiss of peace to Rameke, which was passed to his new wife. Thus did Kaja, an orphaned Saccalian girl, become a Livonian princess.

  The newly married couple beamed smiles from the top table in the hill fort’s great hall beside Bernhard, Fricis, Volquin, Sir Richard and Rudolf. But Conrad thought that the happiest person in the hall was Hans, whose eyes lit up when an endless stream of food was brought from the kitchens for the dozens of guests. Servants brought huge platters heaped with sizzling strips of deer, wild boar, duck, goose and chicken, the meats seasoned with caraway seeds, onions, garlic and white mustard. Strong honey beer – medalus – served alongside a non-alcoholic drink made from rye bread and flavoured with fruit and herbs. The Livs called it kvass.

  Young girls scattered rose petals on the floor among the rushes as the hall filled with the sounds of boasting, laughter and raucous cheering. Soon drunk warriors were trying to grope shapely female servants or grappled with bearded brutes on the opposite side of the table in bouts of arm wrestling. The feasting went on long into the night, after the newlyweds had retreated to their private quarters. Eventually most of the men in the hall fell into a drunken slumber, some staggered outside to collapse when the fresh night air entered their lungs, and a few, sober, took time to reflect. One of the latter was Conrad who left Hans and Anton sleeping on the floor of the hall to wander outside to stare up at the clear night sky.

  He walked to the gates of the fort, which had been left open so the guests could wander back to their tents. Few did, either passing out in the compound or preferring to sleep on the floor of the hall. Nevertheless the gates remained open and an unusually large number of guards s
tood sentry in the fort’s towers, outside the gates and in the compound itself.

  The fort was on a hill half a mile west of a bend in the Gauja. Two miles to the south, on the other side of the river, was the order’s castle at Segewold. Kremon Castle was nearer and on the same side of the river as Treiden. Conrad nodded to the guards at the gates and walked a few paces down the hill, the settlement at the foot of the hill a mass of black shapes. The fort was now eerily quiet after the unending din earlier that had made his voice hoarse as he tried to make himself heard conversing with guests.

  He stopped a few paces from the gates and looked at the silver ring on his hand. He thought of Daina and his son Dietmar, both of whom had been wrenched cruelly from him. That dreadful night seemed like only yesterday and though the searing pain that had gripped him in the aftermath of their deaths no longer possessed him, a dull ache still remained. He turned the ring on his finger but became aware of faint footsteps behind him. He swivelled around, hand on the hilt of his sword. He may have been in Treiden but Livonia was not paradise and had its fair share of robbers whose friend was the night.

  Bishop Bernhard threw up his hands. ‘My mistake to creep up on Livonia’s finest swordsman.’

  Conrad took his hand away from his sword. ‘Hardly that, lord bishop.’

  Bernhard was eighty if he was a day yet his frame was still lean and his reflexes sharp. Conrad smiled when he noticed a sword strapped to his waist.

  ‘You were the best man at the wedding, were you not?’

  ‘Yes, lord bishop.’

  ‘There you are, then. The best man is exactly that: the best swordsman that can be found to ensure that a wedding is not interrupted. I think Prince Rameke made a good choice.’

  Bernhard looked back at the fort. ‘Many men will have sore heads in the morning. But not you, Conrad, eh.’

  ‘Drinking myself into a stupor is not for me, lord bishop. And you?’

  ‘When I was a soldier I liked nothing better than drinking myself into oblivion after a battle. Fighting, drinking, whoring; it was a way of life for a young Bernhard of Lippe. But no longer.’