by Peter Darman
‘And Viesthard?’ asked Aras.
‘Viesthard?’ scoffed the Russian. ‘He clings on to Tervete like a chick in the nest of a high tree buffeted by the wind. Why should I consider a man who cannot even hold on to his own kingdom, what’s left of it?’
He turned to his trusted general.
‘The mission calls for tact and diplomacy, Aras, that is why I am sending you personally. And speaking of tact, I see no reason to mention this scheme to Princess Rasa and definitely say nothing to Mindaugas.’
Aras smiled weakly. ‘He would find little merit in what you are proposing, lord.’
‘He would see none,’ said Vsevolod firmly. ‘But what my son-in-law must realise is that politics is above all a pragmatic business. It’s all very well charging off to war with other impressionable young men, but when the dust has settled, calmer, more rational minds have to clear up the mess.’
‘It might be an idea to send a token force to aid Prince Ykintas,’ suggested Aras, ‘at the very least to provide an escort for him and Princess Elze should they be forced to flee Samogitia.’
Vsevolod rapped his fingers on the wooden wall. ‘Very well, I will despatch some horsemen to appease my wife and eldest daughter. But Mindaugas will remain here. If he goes to Samogitia he will only hatch a mad scheme with Ykintas to strike at Arturus that will result in nothing except their deaths.’
Aras wondered which scheme was the most insane: to fight Arturus or to invite the Bishop and the Sword Brothers into Lithuania?
*****
While the Bishop of Riga had assailed Dorpat and Ungannia in southern Estonia, further north Reval remained unmolested. Fleets of cogs transported supplies and soldiers to the port, sailing together to deter attacks by Oeselian longships. Occasionally a vessel fell out of line, was surrounded and boarded, its crew either killed or taken as slaves and its hold plundered. But in general the line of communications between Denmark and Reval remained relatively secure. But no goods transited through the port, the Novgorodians preferring to trade with Riga via the Dvina, especially after the loss of Russian lives during the siege of the port. So Reval became a military base, an isolated Danish outpost on the Gulf of the Finns.
The latest flotilla to land at the port had brought food, weapons and armour and a message for Count Rolf, the governor. After reading it he led a party of horsemen from the town ten miles south to a small hill fort, an outpost, one of several that the Danes had taken possession of. Set on top of a sandstone outcrop on the edge of a pine forest, it had once been the refuge of local villagers. But the villages were now empty and their inhabitants had either fled, been killed or taken as servants to work on Reval’s defences. If the latter then most of them were also dead, a consequence of the ill-usage they had been subjected to. This part of Harrien was largely devoid of native inhabitants, a fact that Rolf was glad of as he and his men rode by impenetrable thickets and skirted festering bogs. It was one less thing to worry about.
The hill fort, in truth nothing more than four timber walls constructed on top of a bank of earth with one watchtower in a corner and a single gate for an entrance, was home to a small garrison of ten men – a sergeant and nine spearmen and a few ponies that were used for communications with Reval. The men lived in a single wooden hut inside the fort with another hut for their stores. From the top of the watchtower a sentry could see for miles around, and could warn of the approach of another army intent on besieging Reval. But no army had come; indeed, no activity of any kind had been detected in the green wilderness for some time.
Today, though, the fort was the scene of high activity. First the brave and arrogant Count Albert had arrived with his dozen knights, all mounted on destriers covered by red caparisons sporting white nettle leaf motifs. The count, bored by garrison duty, often rode out on these expeditions, like a knight of old in search of a dragon to slay. On every occasion he rode back to Reval disheartened that he had found no dragon or natives to battle. He also liked to think that these excursions to the small outposts that ringed Reval boosted the morale of their tiny garrisons, though truth be told the opposite was the case. The common soldiery found him boorish and loud. They were glad to see the back of him and his warhorses that invariably dumped large amounts of dung inside their forts.
The commanding sergeant groaned when the sentry shouted down from the watchtower that the governor himself was approaching at the head of a column of horsemen. More dung to shovel! The fort had a large enough compound to accommodate the two parties of horsemen, the beasts being tethered to wooden rails while the governor and Count Albert walked together back out of the fort. Overhead a pair of black storks cut through the air as Rolf handed the younger man the letter.
‘It is from the Archbishop of Lund. He is raising an army to rescue the king, your uncle, and his son from their imprisonment.’
Albert took the letter and began reading it.
‘The archbishop is requesting your return to Denmark, together with your men and the crossbowmen that the king despatched to Reval when he was still at liberty.’
Albert finished reading and nodded thoughtfully. ‘The archbishop leaves the decision in your hands, Rolf.’
‘I know that you are bored to distraction here, Albert, and yearn to return to Denmark. I will not stop you.’
He took the letter from Albert. ‘In truth I would join you if my responsibilities here did not prevent me.’
‘Every effort should be made to secure the freedom of the king,’ said Albert.
Rolf nodded. ‘I agree.’
Albert looked at the fort. ‘What about Reval, though? Will you be able to hold it if the Russians come back?’
‘As long as the port remains open I can hold Reval,’ stated Rolf. ‘In any case I doubt the Russians will return any time soon, not after the losses they suffered last time. But the king’s liberty is more important than Reval and its garrison. I could always request reinforcements from the garrison of Narva if things become pressing. Notwithstanding that its commander has become a law unto himself of late.’
‘Once we have defeated Count Henry and his rebels we will return to Reval and complete the conquest of this land,’ asserted Albert.
Rolf pondered for a moment, remembering the reverses they had suffered at the hands of the Oeselians, the humiliation of being rescued by the Sword Brothers and the subsequent capture of King Valdemar.
‘Let us hope so, Albert. You and your men will be able to leave on tomorrow’s tide if you ride back with me.’
Rolf watched the cogs leave the Bay of Reval, on board all of Count Albert’s soldiers plus the three hundred crossbowmen originally sent by Valdemar. They had proved invaluable during the siege but Rolf comforted himself that he still had five hundred soldiers to defend the port, the defences of which remained formidable. He was certain that any assault against the walls of Reval would result in bloody failure. In any case it was now autumn and no enemy would commence a siege with the prospect of seeing its army freeze to death in the snow and ice of an Estonian winter.
*****
Conrad clapped his hands together in a futile effort to restore the feeling to his fingers. Despite his mittens he had been crouching by the side of the fir tree for too long and now the cold was beginning to permeate his limbs. Like his friends he was well wrapped in woollen underwear, woollen leg wraps under his thick leggings and snug felt boots on his feet. His cape was also made of felt and was a lot thicker than the standard Sword Brother issue. Like Hans and Anton he still wore his aketon, gambeson and hauberk but had dispensed with mail chausses on his legs. It was difficult keeping chainmail free of rust when fighting in winter and so they did away with unnecessary items. He heard a chewing noise behind him and turned to see Hans eating a piece of cured meat.
‘We should get back to camp, Conrad,’ he said, ‘we will freeze to death if we stay here any longer.’
‘He’s right,’ added Anton, looking at the long shadows cast by the sun. ‘It’s starting to get
dark.’
The summer at Dorpat seemed like another age. In the aftermath of the great victory Brother Walter of Wenden, whose piety, bravery and steadfastness was known throughout the Sword Brothers, was made Master Walter and given command of the order’s new castle at Dorpat, which would be built on the site of the hill fort on Toome Hill. Rudolf made Brother Lukas Wenden’s deputy commander. With Ungannia conquered Bishop Albert, greatly satisfied, returned with the army to Riga to celebrate God’s victory in the cathedral. The Army of the Wolf was dispersed to its strongholds in Harrien, Jerwen and Rotalia, though Tonis had returned to Saccalia to undertake his new duties as Count of Fellin. Conrad was sad to see him leave but it made perfect sense. He was a Saccalian and a veteran of many battles and campaigns and greatly respected throughout his native land. So he travelled back with Sir Richard. To compensate for the loss of his Saccalians, Conrad’s command of the ‘bishop’s bastards’ was confirmed, which pleased him enormously. They returned to Varbola and their wives with Riki and his Harrien.
Conrad and his two friends had been ordered to remain at Dorpat by the Bishop of Riga, who had summoned him to his pavilion in the days after the battle. The prelate had declined an opportunity to be accommodated in the hill fort on account of the smell of death still permeating the town as hundreds of bodies were consigned to funeral pyres beyond the walls. Christian dead were buried, pagans were cremated and the nauseous aroma of roasting human flesh hung in the summer air like an invisible low-lying cloud. The smell permeated clothing and stuck in the back of the throat and no matter how many battles he fought in Conrad was convinced that he would never get used to it.
At the pavilion he found Bishop Albert, his brother Bishop Hermann, Grand Master Volquin and Master Rudolf seated at a trestle table over which had been draped a white cloth. To one side was a smaller table also covered in white, on which stood a large silver cross. Two of Nordheim’s guards showed him into the reception area where the bishops and two commanders of the Sword Brothers sat facing him. Albert and Hermann both wore white mitres, though their attire was martial: mail hauberks and red surcoats emblazoned with the gold cross keys motifs. Conrad bowed his head.
‘Welcome Brother Conrad,’ said Albert, ‘Marshal of Estonia and now lord of nearly all that land. Your service to the Holy Church and the Order of the Knights of Christ has been exemplary these past two years.’
Volquin and Rudolf rapped their knuckles on the table to indicate their support for the bishop’s words. Hermann smiled and Conrad blushed.
‘I was merely performing my duty, lord bishop.’
‘God uses people like you, Conrad,’ said Albert. ‘Many men do their duty to a greater or lesser degree, but what you have achieved in Estonia has been nothing short of remarkable.’
Once again the seated Sword Brothers rapped their knuckles on the table.
‘After the Lord’s great victory at Dorpat His word is now heard from the Dvina to the Gulf of the Finns. My brother will be made Bishop of Dorpat and the town will be strengthened as a bulwark against the heretic Orthodox Russians in the east.’
Conrad thought this eminently sensible.
‘I also intend to make Odenpah a stronghold of the Sword Brothers,’ continued Albert, ‘so that the flame of rebellion will never again burn in Ungannia. I have conferred with Grand Master Volquin and Master Rudolf and they agree with my decision to make you the Master of Odenpah.’
Conrad was stunned. ‘Me, lord bishop?’
‘Grand master?’ said Albert.
‘You have led armies, defeated enemies and brokered agreements to the benefit of Livonia, Conrad,’ stated Volquin. ‘It is time your accomplishments were rewarded.’
‘And Dorpat would feel more secure knowing that the Master of Odenpah was the Marshal of Estonia,’ added Hermann.
‘You are most generous, lord bishop,’ began Conrad, ‘but…’
Albert held up a hand to him. ‘The matter is not open to debate, Conrad. Consider the offer of becoming master a direct command from the Bishop of Riga on behalf of His Holiness the Pope.’
So that was it. He was to be made Master of Odenpah whether he liked it or not. He should have felt proud but in truth he felt hard done by.
‘You do me great honour, lord bishop. Thank you.’
‘Excellent,’ beamed Albert, ‘all’s well that ends well.’
‘I have a request, lord bishop,’ said Conrad.
‘Regarding?’ queried Albert.
‘The lady Maarja, lord bishop.’
Albert looked quizzically at his brother, who shrugged his shoulders. Volquin and Rudolf were equally mystified.
‘The lady Maarja is the current resident of Odenpah, lord bishop,’ explained Conrad, ‘she is the sister of Kristjan, instigator of the late rebellion against Livonia.’
‘She intends to resist us?’ asked a concerned Rudolf.
Conrad looked forlorn. ‘Alas, master, she lives at Odenpah with a few servants, a victim of the pox that has scarred her face and hands.’
The two bishops crossed themselves and held their pectoral crosses that dangled on silver chains around their necks.
‘May Christ have mercy on her,’ said Albert.
‘You have been told this?’ asked Volquin.
‘I have been there to see her suffering myself, grand master.’
‘That was brave,’ said Hermann.
‘Or foolhardy,’ Rudolf rebuked him.
‘There is no pestilence at Odenpah, master,’ said Rudolf, ‘just an empty shell where once there used to be a mighty stronghold held by a great warlord. The lady Maarja is the only surviving member of Kalju’s family and I will not see her evicted from her home to become a beggar in her own land. If I am to be Master of Odenpah then that is my first order.’
Rudolf frowned at his insolence but Albert merely retained a calm disposition.
‘We are not heathens, Master Conrad. We do not make war on women, children and the weak, much less those who have been afflicted by a terrible illness.’
‘We shall build a leper house,’ announced Hermann, ‘a place of sanctuary and healing near to her home where she can live in peace until she departs this life.’
‘I will ask her if that is acceptable, lord bishop,’ said Conrad.
‘Perhaps we should build her a palace instead,’ remarked Rudolf caustically.
‘It would be politic to show her civility and mercy,’ replied Conrad calmly. ‘Though she has been shunned by her own people because of her affliction to slight her in any way would make the Sword Brothers look petty and vindictive.’
‘You have your answer, Master Rudolf,’ said Albert. ‘It shall be as you wish, Master Conrad.’
The meeting over, Conrad walked back outside the pavilion to where Hans and Anton were waiting.
‘Well?’ said Hans.
‘I have been made Master of Odenpah,’ replied Conrad flatly.
‘You don’t seem very pleased with your promotion,’ observed Anton.
Conrad gave him a sly look.
‘Well, one benefit is that I can appoint my own deputies, I believe. So you two are coming with me.’
Rudolf came from the pavilion and walked over to the trio.
‘I would have a word alone with Master Conrad,’ he said to Hans and Anton.
They saluted him and went to collect their horses, leaving Conrad and Rudolf alone. Around them hundreds of men in uniform were cleaning their armour, riding their horses from camp to mount patrols or practising drills to keep them occupied. Squires and pages brushed horses and mended their masters’ clothes and engineers oversaw the dismantling of siege engines. It was the scene of an army preparing to return home.
‘So Wenden says goodbye to one of its more illustrious sons,’ smiled Rudolf. ‘It makes sense that the Marshal of Estonia should be based in that land.’
‘I suppose so, master’ muttered Conrad.
Rudolf sighed. ‘All right, what is troubling you? When the bishop informed yo
u of your elevation to master you had the appearance of a man who had just been sentenced to death.’
‘Wenden was my home for many years, master,’ said Conrad glumly. ‘I will miss it and those who live there.’
Rudolf was momentarily lost for words. ‘You will?’
Conrad nodded.
‘I will keep that to myself. If word gets out that the Marshal of Estonia is not a remorseless killer then our enemies may no longer be cowed into submission.’
‘If I am killed I request that I am buried with my wife and son in Wenden’s cemetery.’
‘If we manage to retrieve your body I think that can be arranged,’ said Rudolf in a matter-of-fact fashion.
‘I would like Hans and Anton to be my deputies, master,’ asked Conrad.
‘As they too are never at Wenden and are your deputies anyway that is most sensible.’
Conrad was cheered by Rudolf’s answers. Wenden’s castellan tugged his elbow.
‘Let us walk.’
He watched a party of mounted sergeants riding past, kettle helmets glinting in the sun.
‘The bishop takes the army back to Riga to celebrate our victory but the grand master has ordered that some of the order’s soldiers should remain in Estonia. He wants them to join with your men to test the Danish defences around Reval.’
Conrad was surprised. ‘We are at war with the Danes, master?’
‘No, but while the Danes are preoccupied in northern Germany the grand master is of the opinion that the Sword Brothers should let them know that Estonia does not belong to them.’
Conrad was tempted to ask about Rudolf’s father, Count Henry, but then remembered that the count had been responsible for Johann’s death and thought better off it.
‘Word is,’ continued Rudolf, ‘that the Danes are raising an army to crush the German lords who have sided with my father.’
‘Your father risks much by his actions,’ said Conrad. ‘Valdemar does not seem the forgiving type.’
Rudolf laughed. ‘If my father is defeated on the battlefield then he will die with a sword in his hand, of that I am certain.’