Castellan

by Peter Darman

  ‘It is good to see you, my friend,’ said Albert, smiling when he saw the sword strapped to Bernhard’s waist. ‘I trust you have enjoyed the hospitality of the Marshal of Estonia?’

  Bernhard jerked a thumb at Conrad. ‘He’s a great commander but fusses over me like a mother hen. Thinks I’m going to keel over at any time.’

  ‘Quite right, too,’ said Albert as Conrad, Hans and Anton bowed their heads to him.

  ‘Your army is near, lord marshal?’ asked Albert.

  ‘Five miles to the north, lord bishop. Fourteen hundred men ready to assist your crusade against Dorpat.’

  The bishop smiled. ‘Excellent. Tonight I want you to attend a banquet so that all the army’s commanders can be gathered together.’

  Bernhard stayed with his two fellow prelates while Conrad and his friends rode to the Sword Brother camp north of Dorpat. The quarters of Grand Master Volquin and the chapel tent were in the centre, circled by the tents of the masters, brother knights, sergeants and mercenaries. After leaving their horses at the stables they immediately sought out Master Rudolf, who conveniently was in the grand master’s tent partaking of some fine German wine.

  ‘Well,’ said Rudolf, ‘the wanderers return.’

  They saluted Volquin who ordered them to pour themselves some wine. It was among the best that Conrad had tasted.

  ‘A gift from Duke Fredhelm,’ said Volquin to Conrad. The latter stared blankly back at him.

  ‘The commander of those who have taken the cross in Livonia, Conrad,’ continued the grand master. ‘He is a friend of Rudolf’s father and Bishop Albert has made him general of all those who came from Germany.’

  ‘Two thousand, seven hundred soldiers,’ said Rudolf, ‘including three hundred Flemish crossbowmen, which must have cost someone a lot of money if the gold required to keep our mercenaries happy is anything to go by. How is the commander of my crossbowmen, by the way, still alive?’

  ‘And prospering, master,’ Conrad told him. ‘He and Bishop Bernhard have become firm friends.’

  ‘A bishop and a godless dog of war,’ remarked Rudolf, ‘who would have thought it.’

  ‘Refill your cups,’ Volquin told Hans and Anton, ‘you have all done well these past twelve months, ridding Estonia of that bastard Kristjan.’

  ‘Estonia is not yet free of him, grand master,’ cautioned Conrad, ‘he is in Dorpat.’

  ‘And will be squealing on the end of a lance within the week,’ promised Volquin. ‘What have you heard of the Russians, Conrad?’

  ‘The Russians, grand master?’

  ‘Only Novgorod can save Dorpat now,’ said Volquin.

  Conrad looked at his friends. ‘We have heard no reports of Russian soldiers near Dorpat, grand master.’

  Volquin smiled. ‘Then Kristjan is finished. Bishop Hermann intends to live there after Dorpat has fallen. His brother has made him Bishop of Dorpat, subject to confirmation by His Holiness the Pope, which means there will be a Sword Brother garrison in that hill fort, which means I will need a new master to command it.’

  He looked at Conrad. ‘Would you be interested in such a position, Conrad?’

  Conrad was momentarily speechless. ‘You flatter me, grand master.’

  He thought of commanding a garrison of the order but then remembered he had matters to attend to in Estonia.

  ‘But I must humbly decline.’

  ‘You aim higher, Conrad?’ probed Rudolf.

  ‘No, master, but there is unfinished business in Estonia.’

  ‘What unfinished business?’ asked Volquin.

  ‘Wierland still remains under Danish tyranny, grand master,’ replied Conrad. ‘Bishop Albert made me Marshal of Estonia and I will not abandon my duties. No offence, grand master.’

  ‘Well,’ said Volquin, draining his cup, ‘it looks as though I will have to find myself another candidate for master of Dorpat.’

  He looked at Hans. ‘What about you, Brother Hans?’

  Hans, appalled at the idea of leaving his friends, came up with the perfect excuse. ‘I cannot read or write, grand master.’

  Volquin walked over to the table on which the jug sat. ‘And you, Brother Anton?’

  ‘Neither can I, grand master.’

  Volquin refilled his cup. ‘I did not know, Rudolf, that Wenden is full of illiterates.’

  He raised his cup to Conrad. ‘To you, Conrad, Marshal of Estonia and lion of the north. You have been invited to the banquet tonight?’

  Conrad nodded, as did Hans and Anton.

  ‘Well don’t drink too much and kill Nordheim with your sword. I received a grave admonishment from Bishop Albert concerning your altercation with the garrison of Riga and the subsequent bloodbath at Wenden.’

  Conrad made to protest but Volquin held up a hand to him.

  ‘Just be thankful that you do not have to live in Riga and put up with the pomposity of Archdeacon Stefan and his nefarious schemes.’

  The banquet was excellent and, notwithstanding the presence of Nordheim who sat next to Bishop Albert and ignored all the Sword Brothers present, the fine wine and generous amounts of food made for a most pleasant evening. Conrad and his friends had laughed with Sir Richard, Fricis and Rameke and expressed disappointment that the latter had not brought Kaja.

  ‘She wanted to come,’ he told them, ‘but I could not bear the thought of her being placed in danger. So I left a very unhappy wife at Treiden.’

  Conrad smiled to himself as he remembered a time when Kaja had saved his life by spearing an enemy soldier in battle. She must have been fuming at having been left with the other women.

  Conrad and his friends slept among the Sword Brothers, attending Prime Mass before eating breakfast with the other brother knights. It had been good to see Lukas and Walter again, not so good clapping eyes on Henke, who was as provocative as ever. He was nearly forty now and if anything more brutish and opinionated than ever. He planted himself opposite Conrad and his friends.

  ‘So,’ he said to Conrad, ‘I hear your army of heathens has taken most of Harrien and Jerwen.’

  ‘That is correct, brother.’

  ‘You’ll be fancying a crack at Reval, no doubt,’ Henke grinned.

  ‘Reval is Danish,’ replied Conrad guardedly.

  But Henke would not let it go. ‘I heard you turned down becoming Master of Dorpat after it has fallen. So that leaves me to believe that you have bigger fish to catch.’

  ‘I am a simple brother knight of our order, Henke,’ replied Conrad. ‘One who obeys orders.’

  ‘Simple, yes, but I know you have the favour of Bishop Albert and that old fool Bernhard. In any case you three will have to shift for yourselves soon. There are a dozen novices at Wenden who are soon to become brother knights and they will be filling your places.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Anton.

  Henke grinned maliciously. ‘Is it? You’ve all been away for so long that everyone thinks you are dead.’

  He rose from his bench. ‘Perhaps you soon will be when we attack the fort. I thought the Ungannians were your allies,’ he said to Conrad.

  ‘It is difficult to believe,’ replied Conrad.

  Henke looked confused. ‘What is?’

  ‘That you think,’ sniffed Conrad.

  Henke curled his lip at him and walked away.

  ‘Oaf,’ said Conrad.

  ‘What if he’s right?’ asked a concerned Hans. ‘About us losing our place at Wenden.’

  ‘Perhaps you should have accepted the bishop’s offer of Dorpat, Conrad,’ mused Anton.

  ‘Henke is just trying to cause trouble,’ insisted Conrad. ‘Just concentrate on the coming battle and worry about trivia afterwards.’

  The next day a council of war was held in Bishop Albert’s pavilion. The area where they held it still stank of sweat, wine and roasted meat as servants hurriedly arranged trestle tables side by side, over which they spread white linen cloths. On the way to the council of war Conrad ran into Master Thaddeus, as us
ual appearing deathly pale but at the same time resplendent in his red surcoat.

  ‘Ah, Conrad, you have returned from your northern adventures. We have all been enthralled at Wenden by your progress against the enemy. You remind me of Saladin, though of course he was a Saracen.’

  ‘Who?’

  Thaddeus rolled his eyes. ‘A great Saracen warlord who captured Jerusalem and whom I encountered at Acre, though not on the battlefield I am glad to say.’

  ‘Your siege engines are nearly ready?’ enquired Conrad.

  ‘They are ready,’ declared Thaddeus, ‘though Lord knows my patience has been sorely tested getting them here and assembled in time. It is my destiny to be constantly surrounded by fools. And I have been put in charge of all the non-combatants, which is enough to test the tolerance of a saint.’

  He went on to explain that Bishop Albert had marched to Dorpat with a total of nearly five thousand fighting men. But there was an additional eight hundred non-combatants that were essential to the functioning of an army. They included engineers, pioneers, miners, smiths, carpenters, novices, armourers, wagon drivers, veterinaries, surgeons, priests, monks, hawkers, cooks, pages, servants and whores.

  ‘Whores?’ queried Conrad.

  ‘They are good for maintaining the morale of the baser sort of soldiery,’ he answered.

  Conrad noticed that he had a leather tube tucked under his arm, the contents of which were revealed when they reached the bishop’s pavilion. Servants at the entrance offered the pair wine in silver chalices, Conrad bowing his head to the three bishops and Grand Master Volquin as he walked to the table. Thaddeus ignored everyone, tapped the end of the leather tube and unrolled the piece of parchment that fell out. He huffed and puffed as he attempted to flatten it out. There was a map of Dorpat sketched on it.

  ‘I need paperweights,’ said Thaddeus as he failed to prevent the ends of the parchment rolling up. He pointed to the pectoral crosses around the necks of bishops Albert and Hermann.

  ‘They will do; if I may borrow them.’

  Duke Fredhelm handed over his dagger and Sir Richard did the same, so all four corners of the vellum were pinned to the table top.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Bishop Albert. ‘My lords, if you will step up to the table.

  Conrad stood beside Rameke and stared at the map.

  ‘Later today,’ said Albert, ‘Master Thaddeus’ engines will commence their work, the trebuchets shooting at the hill fort on Toome Hill. The mangonels and crossbowmen will shoot at members of the garrison on the walls around the town. Tomorrow the general assault will begin.’

  Volquin was surprised. ‘Should not the siege engines be allowed to work longer, lord bishop?’

  Albert shook his head. ‘I wish Dorpat to be stormed quickly as a demonstration of God’s power against the pagans. I do not want to be here for weeks, especially if the Russians are tempted to assist the Ungannians.’

  He pointed to the south of the town and smiled at the Liv leader. ‘King Fricis’ brave Livs will assault the southern wall and our valiant crusaders,’ he smiled at Duke Fredhelm, ‘will attack in the west and north. In the north the attack will also be supported by the Sword Brothers.’

  Volquin pointed at the river that bordered the east of the town. ‘And in the east?’

  Bishop Albert smiled at Conrad. ‘The Army of the Wolf, already camped to the north of the river, will cross the waterway and assault the town from the east.’

  He looked at Sir Richard. ‘I would esteem it a great favour, my lord, if your men could support this assault.’

  Sir Richard gave Conrad a grin. ‘It would be an honour.’

  ‘What about the fort, lord bishop?’ asked Rudolf, ‘it is a very strong position.’

  ‘And because it is so strong,’ answered Albert, ‘we will focus on the town first. Once it has fallen we can concentrate our resources against the fort.’

  ‘It is most important that the town falls into our hands relatively unscathed,’ Hermann told them. ‘Please impress upon your men that they are not to embark on wanton destruction.’

  ‘That might be difficult,’ said Bernhard, ‘once soldiers storm a town they tend to give full vent to their fury, especially if there are women to be had.’

  ‘Then inform them that rape is preferable to arson,’ said Hermann. ‘I want Dorpat to be a stronghold of the Sword Brothers and the Holy Church, not charred ruins that we have to rebuild from scratch.’

  ‘Are there any questions?’ asked Bishop Albert.

  ‘I request a delay to the assault, lord bishop,’ said Conrad.

  Albert frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘I have fourteen hundred men to get across the river,’ said Conrad. ‘The Ungannians have impounded all the boats and barges on the Emajogi at Dorpat. They are not stupid. So my men will have to build rafts to cross the river, which will take at least two days.’

  ‘And Sir Richard’s men will also have to be taken into account,’ added Thaddeus.

  Volquin looked at Albert studying the map. ‘An assault against all four sides of the town stands more of a chance of overpowering the garrison, lord bishop.’

  ‘He’s right Albert,’ said Bernhard.

  ‘Very well,’ Albert agreed. ‘Conrad, you will inform us when you have constructed your rafts.’

  ‘Yes, lord bishop,’ said Conrad.

  After the meeting Conrad spoke to Rameke.

  ‘Kaja complains that we hardly see you these days, Conrad.’

  ‘Affairs keep me in the north, my brother.’

  Rameke looked towards the town and hill fort. ‘Many of the people inside the town will be dead in a few days. I thought the Ungannians were your friends.’

  ‘So did I,’ said Conrad.

  He returned to the Army of the Wolf in the company of the Duke of Saccalia and his men and issued orders to create a hundred and fifty rafts to transport them and Sir Richard’s men across the river – a distance of around three hundred feet. After a brief meeting with his commanders it was decided that it would be better if the rafts were constructed near the camp and then once in the water towed south to face Dorpat by ponies rather than build them in full sight of the garrison. So the warriors put down their shields and spears and picked up axes, saws, chisels and ropes, parties being detailed to fell trees, others being responsible for hauling the logs to the riverbank where men waited to lash them together. Scouts were still posted to warn of any enemy approach but everyone else became woodsmen.

  Conrad and his two friends, stripped to the waist, chopped down trees and then trimmed them of their branches. A sweating Jaan assisted, taking delight in shouting ‘have a care’ as a tree that had been notched and sawn on the opposite side crashed to the ground. Afterwards he and the Sword Brothers descended on the tree to hack at it with axes to cut it into manageable pieces.

  Jaan pointed at a maple tree. ‘We should avoid that one, and any oaks too. They are harder to cut and move and don’t float as well as pine, fir and spruce.’

  Anton walked past a dead tree towards a living spruce but Jaan pointed at it.

  ‘Standing dead trees should be used because they do not contain water and so are lighter.’

  ‘You seem to know a lot about making rafts,’ said Conrad.

  ‘My father taught me, Susi,’ the boy replied sadly.

  ‘He was obviously a talented man,’ said Conrad.

  ‘After we have finished the rafts we will cross the river and capture the town?’ said Jaan, his eyes afire with the thought of slaying enemies with his father’s sword.

  ‘We will,’ Conrad told him. ‘You will be staying on the northern riverbank to guard the carts and ponies.

  Jaan snatched at an axe and began furiously chopping at the branches on the felled tree, mumbling under his breath.

  The logs were towed to the Emajogi where the rafts were constructed. The current was at its slowest and the river at its lowest level at the height of summer. The logs were lined up side by side and lashed to c
onnector logs placed on top at right angles to those underneath. Oars were also constructed to steer the rafts across the river when the time came. That time was two days later when they had been completed and towed to their positions facing the town. When his preparations were complete Conrad sent a swimmer downstream to cross the river and deliver a message to Bishop Albert that the Army of the Wolf and Sir Richard’s soldiers were ready to attack.

  *****

  The day of the assault dawned dry and warm. As the sun crept over the forest canopy in the east and turned the clouds in the sky from black to orange, Kristjan stared out at the crusader army that surrounded his town. For two days the accursed instruments of Bishop Albert had pelted the town’s defences with stones that had shattered the ancient timbers and shingle roofs of the towers. Some of his warriors had been decapitated by the missiles, after which Indrek had ordered that only a few lookouts should remain on the walls. It had been the same on Toome Hill, the large stones shot by the trebuchets arching into the air before smashing into the fort, shattering wooden walls, piercing thatched roofs and spreading alarm. And then Kristjan heard that a new army was gathering across the river, an army of fellow Estonians carrying the banners of Saccalia, Jerwen, Rotalia and Harrien. And had he had looked long enough he would have seen another banner among them, a white boar’s head with golden tusks on a blue background. It was the standard of Sir Richard Bruffingham, Duke of Saccalia and friend of Conrad Wolff.

  Indrek looked a shadow of a man, crushed by the thought that Dorpat would soon be a blazing inferno, its people either dead or enslaved, its warriors slaughtered trying to defend their loved ones. But he remained to do his duty, to his people and his lord, the unhinged Kristjan.

  ‘At least the infernal machines have stopped their damnable work,’ observed Vetseke standing beside the pair, immaculate as ever in his mail cuirass, burnished helmet and green cloak.

  ‘That is because they are going to attack,’ said Indrek. ‘Not even the Christians are stupid enough to hit their own men.’

  ‘They are just stupid,’ sneered Kristjan. ‘Today Taara will grant me a great victory over the Sword Brothers. They will be destroyed as an offering to the God of War. Get the men to their positions, Indrek.’