by Peter Darman
Opposite the crusader lords sat the Sword Brother castellans, all battle-hardened veterans who had learnt their trade in the endless wars that plagued Germany before either volunteering for service with the order to wash clean their souls, or fleeing to the crusader kingdom because they had a price on their head. To Volquin it did not matter. They had proved themselves in battle against the pagans and from their stone castles they maintained an iron-grip on Livonia. Usually they sat impassively at these meetings while the bishop spoke but now they looked surprised and aghast at what Albert had just announced.
‘Semgallia, lord bishop?’ said Volquin again.
Albert frowned. ‘That is correct, grand master. You and our brave lords from Germany will cross the Dvina to commence our crusade in Lithuania.’
‘What about Estonia, grand master?’ said Rudolf sitting next to Volquin.
‘May I remind your eminence,’ said Volquin, ‘that the Harrien and Wierlanders are still at war with Livonia.’
Albert smiled. ‘You do not need to worry about the Estonians, grand master. This year King Valdemar of Denmark will be landing with his army to subdue the Estonian tribes yet to accept the true religion. So you see, there will be no need to march north.’
There were murmurs among the Sword Brothers at this announcement, not least because they had always been led to believe that they would be the ones to subdue the Estonians. But now final victory was to be denied them. Worse, northern Estonia was to be handed over to the Danes. Bishop Albert noted the discontent.
‘We should welcome King Valdemar’s intervention for it allows us to turn our attention to Lithuania and support our allies there.’
Volquin looked at his castellans who all shrugged at him in confusion.
Volquin smiled. ‘Allies, lord bishop?’
‘Archdeacon Stefan will provide the details,’ said the bishop.
There was an audible groan among the Sword Brothers as the portly nephew of the bishop rose to his feet, giving Volquin’s castellans a hateful stare as he did so. It was common knowledge that there was no love lost between the two. The archdeacon believed Volquin and his masters to be insubordinate and uncouth, and for their part the Sword Brothers despised the governor of Riga for his rich lifestyle, his duplicitous nature and for treating the large and well-equipped garrison of the city as his personal bodyguard. How the grand master would like to use its soldiers to support his brethren in their war against the pagans.
Stefan cleared his throat. ‘For the benefit of the most noble lords to my left I will give a brief summary of the situation in Lithuania.’
The Sword Brothers looked bored and fidgeted with their silver wine flagons as the crusaders stared at the strange, rather womanly archdeacon dressed like a king who stood beside the bishop. Opposite the bishop sat the representatives of the Liv people, the original inhabitants of the land that Albert had colonised. Their king, Caupo, had fallen at the Battle of St Matthew’s Day and as he had no sons his line died with him. The leadership of the Livs was now in the hands of one of the king’s most trusted advisers, Fricis, a man of few words but great courage. And among the men with wild hair and beards sat Rameke, the brother-in-law of Conrad Wolff and now a great warlord among his people who lived at Treiden.
‘Six years ago the Lithuanians invaded Livonia and inflicted great misery and destruction upon us. With God’s help we defeated the pagan horde and threw them back across the Dvina.’
‘We. Archdeacon,’ said Volquin sarcastically.
Stefan ignored him. ‘Since that time internal conflict has broken out among the Lithuanian tribes. Each Lithuanian tribe is led by a duke.’
He smiled at Albert of Saxony. ‘Though these pagans titles do not equate with the nobility of your own title, duke.’
The Duke of Saxony tilted his head in recognition.
‘Several months ago the leader of the Semgallian people, Duke Vincentas,’ continued Stefan, ‘made an approach to the governor’s office for military assistance. Since that time Riga has been supplying weapons and advisers to the duke to aid him in his efforts to stave off the other tribes.’
Volquin and his castellans looked at each other in astonishment. The fact that the archdeacon had been assisting the Semgallians, and thus depriving the order of weapons to equip its own soldiers was bad enough, but his meddling in Lithuanian affairs could lead to another invasion of Livonia.
‘My lord bishop,’ said Volquin, ‘I must protest.’
But Albert held up a hand to him. ‘Let the archdeacon finish, grand master.’
Stefan wore a look of triumph as he carried on. ‘In gratitude for the assistance that Riga has provided him in his hour of need, Duke Vincentas has agreed for his people to be baptised into the Holy Church but requests immediate aid as he fears the wrath of the other dukes.’
‘Thank you, archdeacon,’ said Albert, ‘for a most precise summary of events in Lithuania.’
He rose as Stefan retook his seat. ‘My lords, the coming of the Danes is clearly God’s signal that we should turn our eyes south to where a helpless lamb calls out to be saved. If the Semgallian people wish to enter the Holy Church then it is our duty to ensure they do so. I command that the Sword Brothers muster their soldiers and request that the crusader lords join them for a campaign in Lithuania.’
The crusaders banged their fists on the table and cheered. They had obviously been informed beforehand of the bishop’s plan, during the voyage to Livonia, but the Sword Brothers had been ignorant of the Lithuanian venture, until now. They sat stony-faced as the bishop held up his hands in an appeal for calm.
‘Lord Fricis,’ he said to the Liv leader, ‘your people have suffered greatly during these past two years, having lost a great king and then been basely attacked by the Russians in my absence. I therefore make no call upon you regarding the forthcoming campaign in Lithuania. I do, however, ask that your warriors keep watch on Livonia and its people during our absence.’
Fricis rose and bowed his head. ‘It shall be as you request, lord bishop.’
‘Archdeacon,’ said the bishop, ‘send a message to our friend the duke informing him that a great crusader army will soon be marching to his aid.’
‘It will fortify his courage, lord bishop,’ replied Stefan.
‘And you would know all about courage,’ said Volquin just loud enough for the archdeacon and his castellans to hear.
After the meeting the castellans gathered in the grand master’s office in Riga’s castle, a room barely large enough to accommodate them all as they stood complaining to each other.
‘Miserable little toad,’ snarled Rudolf to no one in particular. ‘He thinks he is Charlemagne.’
‘He will get a lot of men killed,’ said Griswold, the master of Kokenhusen Castle.
The angered mutterings grew louder until Volquin stood and called for silence.
‘My friends,’ he said, ‘there is nothing we can do about this unfortunate situation we now find ourselves in. The bishop has decided that he will crusade in Lithuania and we must abide by his decision.’
‘The archdeacon starts a war that will have no end,’ said Master Friedhelm of Uexkull Castle, the castellan of one of five of the order’s castles that stood on the northern bank of the Dvina.
But no such pessimism existed among the crusader lords who prepared to wage war against the pagans in the hope that their sins would be forgiven if they washed their swords in heathen blood. In truth they cared not if they marched north, south, east or west so long as they could battle the enemy of the pope and win remission for their crimes. War had ravaged Germany for the last twenty years and many lords who came to Livonia had committed numerous atrocities while fighting their enemies. The prospect of more killing and at the same time saving their souls was an attractive proposition.
*****
‘Lithuania?’
Henke looked at Rudolf in surprise as he sat with the other brother knights of Wenden at the regular weekly meeting in the master�
�s hall.
‘The Danes have been given Estonia, apparently,’ replied Rudolf.
Henke was astounded. ‘Who gave it to them?’
‘The pope, Henke,’ said Rudolf. ‘You remember him, surely? He is God’s representative on earth and our supreme master.
‘The Danes will land in northern Estonia this year and occupy Harrien and Wierland. So you see there is no need for the Sword Brothers to march north. Instead we are to cross the Dvina to support our Lithuanian allies.’
‘Do we have any allies in Lithuania?’ asked Conrad.
‘The Semgallians, apparently,’ replied Rudolf. ‘Archdeacon Stefan has been supplying them with weapons so they can fight the other Lithuanian tribes. And now we are to cross the Dvina to lend our support to aid Duke Vincentas.’
‘Who?’ asked Henke.
‘The leader of the Semgallians,’ said Rudolf, ‘who has asked for soldiers in return for his people being baptised.’
Henke grinned. ‘Well, at least we can get revenge for when the Lithuanians came here and tried to capture Wenden.’
‘When do we leave?’ enquired Lukas.
‘In seven days,’ replied Rudolf.
‘What about the Estonians that came here with me?’ asked Conrad. ‘Shall I send them back to their homelands?’
‘I would rather they stay here,’ said Master Thaddeus who usually attended the meetings in his capacity as chief engineer and sometime quartermaster general of all Livonia.
‘Why?’ sniffed Henke.
Thaddeus scratched his wispy white beard. ‘Well for one thing they have proved themselves most useful in the rebuilding of the village that was destroyed by the Cumans. They are very enthusiastic workers.’
‘Course they are,’ said Henke. ‘They’re getting housed and fed for free. You should send them on their way, Rudolf.’
‘Master Rudolf to you,’ said Rudolf forcefully. ‘What is your opinion, Conrad, since they see you as their leader?’
‘If they are asked to stay at Wenden, master,’ replied Conrad, ‘then they will stay.’
‘The settlers would be most happy if they stayed,’ added Thaddeus. ‘They help in the fields as well as chopping wood for huts and barns.’
‘It would strengthen the garrison in our absence,’ said Walter, ‘especially if the Russians or Cumans decide to return to Livonia this year.’
Rudolf brought his hands together. ‘It seems strange that Estonians, indeed wolf shields, should be the guardians of Wenden in our absence.’
‘The schemes of God often appear strange to man, master,’ said Walter solemnly.
‘Conrad,’ said Rudolf, ‘I will speak to the leaders of your followers after this meeting. Kindly go and collect them. They are here of their own volition so they have a right to decide their fate.’
*****
The army that was camped outside the walls of Roskilde that spring was, as far as anyone could remember, the largest ever assembled. The Danish king had summoned all his great lords to his capital and they had answered his command. They did so out of loyalty and fear but also because the lords who were willing to accompany the king overseas were exempted from taxes in return for military service. They arrived at Roskilde from the outlying Danish islands and his lands in southern Sweden and Norway on their tough little horses that were used to harsh northern climes. These beasts had a natural running gait that made them excellent for scouting and long marches but totally unsuitable for battle. The king’s bodyguards, therefore, all had great warhorses imported from Germany and in battle fought in the saddle. The Danish and Swedish lords, however, preferred to fight on foot alongside their men.
The Danish knights all wore segmented iron helmets with fixed face guards, their bodies protected by mail hauberks with mail mittens and mail chausses on their legs. Beneath the hauberk they wore thickly padded gambesons and over both they donned brightly coloured surcoats with very broad three-quarter length sleeves. Like their German counterparts they had swords as their principal weapons and large, almond-shaped shields. The Danish sergeants also copied their German counterparts with their kettle helmets, though many carried large war axes in addition to their swords.
The vast majority of the Danish Army comprised either spearmen equipped with simple hauberks, long wooden shields, helmets and broad, slashing swords, or axe men drawn from the poorer regions of Valdemar’s dominions. The latter wore simple conical helmets with nasal guards, hauberks and carried large round wooden shields. Their only weapons were large-bladed war axes and daggers.
The king and queen had left Dronningholm Castle to attend the service held in Roskilde’s cathedral, a great stone building constructed some fifty years before on the site of a wooden church built by the first Christian king of Denmark: Harald Bluetooth. The cathedral was packed with priests and monks, knights and chiefs and on the walls hung banners sporting Valdemar’s three blue lions surrounded by small red hearts on a yellow background.
As the angelic voices of the choir filled the cavernous cathedral the bishops of Roskilde, Schleswig and Estonia made their way towards the altar, the last of the three being the only one whose bishopric existed in name only. They were led by Andrew, Archbishop of Lund, the sixty-year-old papal legate who was a member of the influential and powerful Hvide family. As part of the agreement brokered between Bishop Albert of Riga and Valdemar, the latter had agreed to wage a crusade against the Estonians in return for the Bishopric of Estonia being under the authority of the archbishopric of Lund. Thus ensuring that Denmark would rule Estonia both physically and spiritually, for what Bishop Albert did not realise was that Archbishop Andrew had personally petitioned the pope who had given Estonia to the King of Denmark.
Valdemar had been delighted with the arrangement but his wife had been far from happy, believing that the archbishop had far too much influence over her husband, influence that she believed only she should wield. Berengaria looked truly beautiful that day, attired in a pure white dress adorned with gold buttons that contrasted sharply with her flawless olive skin, raven hair and brown eyes. Those eyes now settled on the archbishop as the choir stood singing and the prelate turned and ordered everyone to bow their heads in prayer. Her luscious lips curled into a sneer as she and the rest of the congregation did so. Why should she bow her head to a prince of the church? She was a queen after all. The archbishop called upon God to bless Valdemar and his brave warriors who were about to sail across the sea to battle the heathen Estonians. He asked the Lord for a calm sea and a brisk wind to carry the crusaders east to their objective. When he finished everyone said ‘Amen’ and looked up. Berengaria was bored to distraction. She frowned at the ten-year-old Prince Valdemar who fidgeted next to her. The little prince had been the son of the king’s first wife Dagmar, who had died in childbirth seven years before. It irked the queen enormously that ‘Valdemar the Younger’ was more popular than her own children she had born the king: the infants Eric, Sophie and Abel. And she was now pregnant with a fourth child though was not yet showing.
When the service concluded the king and queen walked down the aisle flanked by the standing congregation to the cathedral’s entrance. The queen smiled icily as the assembly bowed their heads to the royal couple as they passed.
‘Remember,’ she whispered to Valdemar, ‘what you take you keep.’
‘I will take Estonia,’ he replied.
‘You should include Livonia in your conquests,’ she said.
The king said no more until they were outside in the bright sunshine, the people of Roskilde cheering the royal couple as they exited the cathedral, or at least the king and his son. Yellow-uniformed spearmen held back the crowd as servants in the king’s livery opened the doors of the horse-drawn coach that stood a few yards away.
The king waved at the cheering crowds. ‘Livonia is ruled by the Bishop of Riga who has the blessing of His Holiness the Pope.’
‘His “holiness” cares only for the expansion of Christ’s kingdom on earth,’ she repli
ed. ‘Why would he care if you controlled Livonia instead of the Bishop of Riga?’
‘A fine service, your majesty.’
Berengaria rolled her eyes when she heard the voice of the Count of Schwerin behind them. ‘Henry the Black’ bowed his head when the royal couple turned to face him.
‘Well, count,’ smiled the king, ‘are you and your men prepared to fight the pagans?’
Count Henry nodded. ‘My men are itching to get to grips with them, majesty.’
‘Are they itching because they are flea-ridden like most of the world’s soldiers?’ sneered the queen.
The count was taken aback. ‘Majesty?’
‘Your German knights are uncouth and unkempt, count,’ she said. ‘They spend too much time drinking when they should be in church praying.’
‘Soldiers drink and gamble, majesty,’ shrugged the count, ‘but they can fight well enough, I promise you.’
‘But not as well as my husband’s soldiers, I think,’ she retorted condescendingly.
The count stiffened as she reminded him that Valdemar had seized his domain five years earlier, forcing him to recognise the Danish king as his liege lord. His eyes narrowed as he looked at the olive-skinned beauty who was universally loathed throughout Valdemar’s kingdom. How exquisite she was with her shining black hair, enticing lips and sultry eyes, the epitome of feminine allure. How he would love to get his hands round that slender neck. Bitch!
He smiled at the young prince standing in a surcoat bearing the arms of his father. ‘It won’t be long before you are accompanying your father on crusade, young prince.’