Castellan

by Peter Darman

  ‘What wind?’ said one in a gambeson, looking up into the cloudless sky.

  ‘The weather can change drastically in a very short time,’ Conrad told him. ‘And when the wind does pick up make sure those marching against the wind, those in the front ranks, are relieved frequently. One last thing, don’t let your men sing or make loud noises when the wind has dropped. In clear, frosty weather sounds carry to great distances and I don’t want any enemy patrols learning of our existence unnecessarily.’

  They nodded sullenly, grumbled among themselves and wandered back to their men lined up near the gates.

  ‘Miserable bastards,’ muttered Conrad.

  ‘Bishop Bernhard’s bastards,’ said Anton, shaking his head.

  ‘I like it,’ said Hans, ‘we should have a banner made up with those words in Latin written on it.’

  Conrad gave him a shove. ‘You can’t read Hans so the motto would be wasted on you.’

  ‘How many do you think will reach Leal?’ asked Anton.

  ‘All of them,’ insisted Conrad, ‘and it’s our job to make sure they do.’

  ‘Bishop Bernhard’s bastards,’ said Hans loudly with a grin on his face. ‘I love it.’

  ‘As far as I know, Brother Hans,’ came a voice behind them, ‘my mother and father were married when they conceived me, though I have to confess that I never did question them closely on the matter.’

  Hans turned, mortified, to see Bishop Bernhard wrapped in a huge bearskin cloak, his head encased in a fur-lined cap that covered his ears and the back of his neck.

  ‘So I take great exception to you calling me a bastard.’

  Hans went pale. ‘Lord bishop, forgive me, I did not mean to imply that you are illegitimate. I would never seek to dishonour your name, I…’

  Bernhard creased over with laughter. ‘It’s a good job I don’t take offence easily, Brother Hans, so stop your fawning.’

  He rubbed his hands together and nodded towards the two hundred men who were beginning to file out of the fort’s gates.

  ‘So, what do think of north Germany’s finest soldiers?’

  Hans stared at the ground, Anton began examining the ends of his mittens and Conrad wore a dumb smile.

  ‘Frost got your tongues?’ snapped the bishop. ‘Speak freely.’

  ‘They would be better off back in Germany, lord bishop,’ said Conrad.

  ‘Well they aren’t, so as commander of this expedition it is your job to make sure they all get to Leal in one piece.’

  ‘You flatter me, lord bishop,’ said Conrad caustically, ‘in believing that I can work miracles.’

  ‘Don’t be a smart arse,’ replied the bishop. ‘You are stuck with them and me and that’s the end of it. So get used to it.’

  Conrad turned and waved a man forward leading a team of ponies hauling a sled.

  ‘In that case, lord bishop, you will do me the honour of alighting your transport for the journey to Leal.’

  Bernhard was mortified. ‘A sled? Do you think I am a bag of fodder? Where’s my horse?’

  ‘In the stables, lord bishop,’ said Sir Richard who had exited his hall in the company of Squire Paul. ‘Conrad believed that a sled was a more appropriate method of transport for a prince of the church.’

  Bernhard’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. ‘Did he indeed.’

  ‘As you said, lord bishop,’ said Conrad, ‘I am commander of this expedition so my decision is final.’

  Like his commanders Bernhard grumbled and mumbled but did as he was told. Three more horses, all encased in white caparisons bearing the insignia of the Sword Brothers, were brought from the stables. Bernhard said farewell to Sir Richard and Paul and took his seat in the sled, the leader of the ponies wrapping him in a thick blanket once he was ensconced. He led the ponies toward the gates and Hans and Anton, after saying farewell to Sir Richard and Paul, hauled themselves into their saddles and walked their horses beside the sled.

  ‘Your bodyguards, lord bishop,’ Conrad called after the prelate, ‘to ensure nothing untoward happens to you.’

  ‘He’s hardier than he looks,’ said Sir Richard.

  ‘That’s good because I have cut down corpses from the gallows who have looked healthier,’ remarked Paul.

  ‘You think you stand a chance of taking Varbola, Conrad?’ asked Sir Richard, ignoring his squire.

  Conrad shook his hand and then Paul’s. ‘I am certain of it, which is more than can be said for getting the bishop and his men safely to Leal.’

  Leal was around fifty miles directly west from Lehola, a hill fort sited on the largely flat inland plain of western Rotalia. When the land was in the icy grip of winter there were only six hours of daylight each day, which meant that only four could be spent on the move. The best that could be achieved in such conditions was five miles each day. Those days were some of the most exhausting that Conrad had spent in the whole of his time in Livonia. He did not concern himself with the welfare of his Harrien or Saccalians, and knew that Hans and Anton would keep a watchful eye over the bishop, so he spent all his time among the crusaders, becoming akin to their nursemaid.

  He remembered the sage words of Master Rudolf when the Sword Brothers had been conducting a winter campaign.

  ‘Cold produces lethargy in men and their reactions become clumsy and slow, made worse by the bulky clothing they are wearing. The more time they spend outside in the freezing cold the more discouraged they become, even among those, such as the Sword Brothers, who are accustomed to living and fighting in such conditions. This foments an idea in their minds that they are doing more than their fair share of the work. The only way to deter this poisonous idea is to ensure all the work is shared and get hot food into their bellies twice a day.’

  Conrad appointed Hans master cook, responsible for ensuring the ‘Bishop’s bastards’ ate two cooked meals a day, invariably thick vegetable broth with strips of cured meat. He knew his friend was a stickler for maintaining meal times and so took to his task with gusto. Conrad himself slept a maximum of three hours a night. Once a campsite had been selected he called all the commanders to his tent to issue orders for the hours of darkness, which included sentry rotas, organising parties to collect firewood – the wood of dead pines, fir and birch – and other parties to cut fresh boughs for lean-tos and bedding. He gave all present the opportunity to report and air any grievances. As the commander of the crusaders, a former soldier with black hair, eyes and beard, was from Saxony and could not speak Estonian, it meant Conrad had to act as translator.

  After the nightly meeting he undertook an inspection of the camp. In the Harrien and Saccalian sections it was more a matter of shaking hands and sharing jokes with old comrades of the Army of the Wolf. Their tents were well sited, their stabling areas well-built and their fires well-tended. The crusaders needed close supervision when it came to building and maintain fires. The first night the whole camp was engulfed in thick, choking smoke as the Germans heaped freshly cut evergreen branches on the flames. Conrad, his two friends, Riki and Tonis, the latter two now fluent in German, went among the crusaders to advise them where they had gone wrong. But the fires were not extinguished so as to not demoralise the recruits.

  Conrad stood in the middle of a group of tired and cold men, their eyes smarting from the smoke. He arranged some logs in a circular formation, resembling the spokes of a wheel. Where they crossed at the centre he placed some kindling and used a flint and stone to light it.

  ‘This is called the hunter’s fire,’ he told them. The kindling caught alight and began to burn. He placed several twigs on the flames and the ends of the logs began to hiss.

  ‘Once the fire catches in the centre you can keep pushing the logs into the fire as the ends burn away. With a good supply of firewood this fire burns slowly and warms well.’

  Surprisingly, none of the crusaders died that first night. Nevertheless, Conrad issued orders that there would be no movement on the second day. When the bishop queried this he replied that
the crusaders would spend the day making snowshoes. Supple green boughs were cut and bent into three hoops, one outer, one central and one inner. The ends of each hoop were tied together and then the three hoops were tied together and a foot holder made from birch bark sheets. These greatly facilitated not only movement over the landscape but also prevented the men’s boots from becoming soaked.

  The most useful members of the expedition turned out to be Leatherface’s score of crossbowmen, all of them hard-bitten, usually reticent individuals who had lived in Livonia for many years. They had been recruited in Germany and their commander made sure they marched with the crusaders. In this way they gradually began to warm to their fellow Germans, giving them tips concerning camp craft, preserving stamina and how to find things to eat even in the barren white landscape they were trudging through. They learned that edible red bilberries grow in pinewoods beneath the snow and that fir and pine cones, when held over a fire, will open and yield nourishing seeds. They told them to keep their hair short as a protection against lice and to brush their hair every morning and evening and shave to prevent moisture caught in beards from freezing.

  ‘Thank you for using your men as guardians of the crusaders,’ said Conrad. ‘I wish I had thought of it.’

  ‘You’ve had a full platter to deal with,’ replied Leatherface, his cheeks pinched by the cold. ‘We’ll get to Leal in one piece but you’re taking a big risk attacking Varbola in this weather.’

  The day was bitterly cold, the sun brilliant and brutal in making the whiteness twice as bright. They were both leading their mounts, Conrad’s horse wearing a nosebag to prevent ice forming in its nostrils. Leatherface’s Estonian pony, being more squat and hairy, did not require one.

  ‘You should wait till the summer,’ continued Leatherface, ‘the bishop will be returning from Germany with an army at his back and Grand Master Volquin will be mobilising all the Sword Brothers to march beside him.’

  ‘The bishop will be marching east into Ungannia,’ replied Conrad, ‘not north into Harrien.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So there are many among the men I command who want their homelands freed, and I am apt to agree with them.’

  Leatherface wiped his running nose on his sleeve.

  ‘What’s so special about Varbola, anyway?’

  ‘It is the strongest hill fort in northern Estonia. Its capture will be of huge symbolic value. In addition, I intend to strike a blow against the prestige of Kristjan. If he loses Varbola then he loses northern Estonia.’

  ‘Mm. And the Danes? What about them?’

  ‘What about them?’ replied Conrad. ‘They can hold Reval but that is all. Their king is in prison and their north German lords are in rebellion. They may be safe behind Reval’s walls but they have no power beyond them.’

  ‘You have it all worked out,’ said Leatherface, ‘I’m impressed.’

  Conrad gave him a wry smile. ‘The time to be impressed is when it has all come to fruition. Until then it is merely a dream.’

  The column reached Leal, which had been strengthened by Hillar’s men, with all its complement of crusaders. Admittedly a dozen were suffering from frostbite and a further score were exhausted but Conrad reckoned he had achieved a great triumph. They spent a week at Leal enjoying the hospitality of the Rotalians, the men being warmed, well fed and rested while the Army of the Wolf was mustered. With Bishop Bernhard’s crusaders Conrad could gather an army of just over a thousand men in total, but he decided that those Hillar had posted to small forts along the coast as a defence against Oeselian raids should stay put. In addition, a hundred of Andres’ Jerwen were left at their posts to defend the eastern border of Rotalia from any incursions from the east. Andres had lost fifty men who had rallied to Kristjan when the Ungannian had first raised his banner, but since then there had been no more desertions.

  ‘I know you must be disappointed that we are not marching to free your homeland,’ Conrad had said to Andres the day after the latter had arrived at Leal. ‘But when Bishop Albert returns to Livonia in the spring he will conquer Ungannia and then Jerwen will fall to us.’

  ‘It will be good to return home, Susi,’ admitted Andres, who looked as though he had lost weight since the last time Conrad had seen him.

  ‘Only a few more months, my friend, and then you and your men can return home.’

  But until then Andres and two hundred and fifty of his men would march north to Varbola, along with Tonis’ one hundred wolf shields, Riki’s fifty Harrien, Hillar and two hundred Rotalians and the score of Leatherface’s crossbowmen. Six hundred and twenty men riding ponies and leading nearly as many more loaded with tents and supplies. Bishop Bernhard’s men were left at Leal but the churchman himself insisted on coming.

  ‘I didn’t leave one hill fort just to sit in another,’ he told Conrad, ‘and I’m not travelling in a sled, either.’

  ‘I cannot guarantee your safety, lord bishop,’ Conrad told him.

  ‘I did not ask you to. This expedition has reminded me of my days as a soldier. Even though I entered the church many years ago it has been good to rekindle old memories. You would not deprive an old man of a slither of enjoyment would you, Brother Conrad?’

  So the bishop was given a horse and he rode at the head of the column with Conrad, his two friends and the irreverent Leatherface. Most days were crisp and bright, a long column of black figures threading their way through a deserted winter wilderness.

  ‘So,’ said Leatherface, ‘how are you going to take this stronghold with no siege engines and in the depths of winter?’

  It was midday and the kingdom of Harrien was an endless expanse of white in all directions. The sun shone from a cloudless sky, there was no wind and the air was pure and invigorating.

  ‘You must forgive the commander of my crossbowmen, lord bishop,’ said Conrad, ‘he forgets his place from time to time.’

  ‘He has a point, though,’ remarked Bernhard, ‘I have been talking to some of your men and this Varbola sounds a most impressive stronghold.’

  ‘It is built on the north side of a knoll in the shadow of a great forest,’ stated Conrad. ‘It comprises a timber palisade built on an earth rampart fronted by limestone rocks. The perimeter wall is around two thousand feet in extent and has wooden towers along its length. In addition, the fort is surrounded by a thirty-foot wide dry moat. The fort contains a great hall, stables, storerooms, armouries and ninety stone huts to accommodate the substantial garrison. Even Master Thaddeus would struggle to reduce such a fortress.’

  Hans and Anton looked at their friend who was wearing a knowing smile.

  ‘Long odds, Conrad,’ said Bernhard.

  ‘It’s a good job we have you with us, bishop,’ remarked Leatherface. ‘Because by my reckoning the only chance of taking that fort is if the Lord himself breaks down its walls.’

  ‘What say you, Conrad?’ asked Bernhard, ‘are you relying on a miracle to take Varbola?’

  ‘Not a miracle, lord bishop,’ replied Conrad, ‘just a belief in the weakness of men.’

  Five days later the bishop was standing on the edge of a forest of pine, with Conrad and his commanders staring at the great hill fort of Varbola. Aside from one day when the Army of the Wolf had been forced to halt due to a snowstorm, this day was like the rest: bright, windless and limb-numbingly cold. The army had been camped among a cluster of ancient oak trees near the village of Lumandu, approximately three miles southwest of the hill fort. It had once been a thriving settlement with many huts, barns, a central hall belonging to the village chief and animal pens. But that was before Harrien had become a plaything of the Oeselians and Danes. Now it was deserted, its inhabitants having fled, been killed or captured as slaves. It was just one of dozens of villages throughout Estonia that had suffered a similar fate.

  ‘It looks even more formidable close up,’ said Leatherface, who placed a thumb on one nostril and blew phlegm out of the other.

  Conrad grimaced as he caught the eye of
Bishop Bernhard, who merely smiled. He had been deep in conversation into the early hours with Riki who had mysteriously left camp before dawn. No one knew why but now Conrad shed light on the mystery.

  ‘Riki should be in the fort by now, or at least I hope he is. I also hope that he is sitting with the fort’s commander telling him of a great prize that is within snatching distance.’

  ‘What prize, Susi?’ asked Hillar.

  ‘Me,’ replied Conrad.

  Hillar looked confusedly at Andres and Tonis. Hans screwed up his face and Anton looked bemused.

  ‘I do not understand,’ said Tonis.

  ‘Me neither,’ added Leatherface.

  ‘My guess is that the fort is garrisoned by Ungannians,’ said Conrad, looking at the banners hanging limply from flagpoles atop the snow-capped towers. ‘If the commander discovers that the Marshal of Estonia is travelling to Reval to meet with the Danes, and that his route will take him near Varbola, which he thinks is unoccupied, then he will be tempted to sally out to kill or capture him.’

  Leatherface laughed. ‘Who concocted that ludicrous plan?’

  Conrad frowned at him. ‘How little you know of our enemies, my friend. Kristjan is motivated by hate: hatred of the Danes but above all hatred of the Sword Brothers. In his eyes we are responsible for the death of his older brother, correctly as it transpires, as well as his parents and sisters, which is incorrect. By now he will have learnt of the fall of Fellin after his ignominious retreat from Reval.’

  He pointed towards the fort. ‘If the commander of that stronghold has even half a brain he will be organising a force to ride out to attack the village where I am staying.’

  ‘You might have sent one of your leaders to his death, Conrad,’ said Bernhard.

  ‘He volunteered to go after I had explained my plan to him,’ replied Conrad guardedly.

  ‘That’s all right, then,’ remarked Leatherface.

  ‘Perhaps I should have sent you,’ snapped Conrad. ‘You forget that Riki is Harrien. This is his land. Furthermore, before he joined us he was one of Alva’s men, a member of the garrison of Varbola. He fought at Wolf Rock against the Sword Brothers. He is a man worthy of respect and trust.’