by Peter Darman
Conrad knew nothing about Danes or diplomacy but he did know that pagans could not on their own defeat mailed crusaders on horseback or crossbowmen on foot.
‘Forgive me, master, but such an army would be unable to withstand mailed horsemen.’
‘You are not to fight the Danes, Conrad. They are, after all, Christian allies in our fight against heresy. I will send a rider to Sir Richard requesting that he accompany you with his knights when you march north. When you encounter the Danes they will discover that southern Estonia is already under the control of Christians and will therefore halt their advance. You will leave within the week.’
Conrad, barely able to take in what Rudolf had just told him, bowed his head and rose to his feet. The master picked up the commission that the bishop had sent from Riga.
‘You should take this with you as proof of your position when you meet with the Danes,’ Rudolf told him. He reached down and picked up a tubular leather container, rolled up the commission and placed it inside, replacing the lid. He then handed it to Conrad who walked to the door and opened it.
‘And Conrad.’
He turned and looked at Rudolf. ‘Yes, master?’
‘It is a great honour that has been bestowed on you. Well done.’
Later that day, after spending two hours on horseback riding at the rings on the training field, which involved carrying off a ring suspended from a cord on the tip of a lance, Conrad informed his friends of his new position. The practice was carried out in full armour and helm and on warhorses fully equipped in padded caparisons, and by the end of the session both horses and men were sweating as the four brother knights led their chargers up the track back to the stables.
‘How can an army of pagans fight crusader knights?’ asked Johann with concern.
‘I go not to fight the Danes but to assert the bishop’s authority, apparently,’ replied Conrad.
‘With a hundred a sixty warriors, some of whom are women?’ said Anton incredulously.
‘And four brother knights,’ said Conrad. ‘You three are coming with me.’
‘The commission says that?’ asked Anton.
Conrad shrugged. ‘I have no idea, I cannot read it.’
When they reached the courtyard stable hands assisted them in removing the caparisons and saddles, after which the brother knights led the horses to water troughs so they could drink. They stood while the chargers sated their thirsts and afterwards began sponging down the beasts with copious amounts of water to cool them down. The brother knights continued to sweat in their gambesons and armour as they did so. Then the animals had their coats scraped with wooden scrapers to remove excess water before being walked slowly in the shaded areas of the courtyard. Each brother knight regularly felt his beast’s skin to check it had cooled down as he had been instructed by the veterinaries. When the horses’ temperatures had returned to normal they were handed over to the stable hands who led them back to their stalls. Then the brother knights returned their shields, helmets and lances to the armoury before retiring to the second storey of the dormitory so Anton could examine Conrad’s commission.
‘Well?’ said Conrad as he sat on the edge of his bed, one of twelve that occupied the spacious room that also contained two great fireplaces to provide warmth during the bitter Livonian winters.
Anton perused the words carefully. ‘You are in command of Estonia’s horses, carts, wagons and containers, as well as being responsible for the transportation of goods.’
Conrad looked at Hans and Johann in confusion. ‘Makes me sound like a merchant. Are you sure you can read?’
‘Quite sure,’ snapped Anton irritably. ‘Please be quiet. You are also to punish soldiers who fail in their duties and judge disputes, to receive a daily tribute of meat and grain.’
Hans’ eyes lit up. ‘That’s more like it.’
Anton sighed. ‘May I continue?’
Hans smiled at him.
‘You are to command the bishop’s forces in battle and appoint your own officers, and are given authority to act for the bishop in legal and judicial matters pertaining to Estonia.’
Anton rolled the document up and slid it back in its container.
‘I appoint you all as my officers with immediate effect,’ said Conrad.
‘With our own daily tribute of meat and grain?’ enquired Hans.
Conrad smiled. ‘As much as you can eat, my friend.’
‘Is there enough meat in Estonia to fill Hans’ belly?’ asked Johann.
They all burst into laughter, not seeing Walter who had entered the dormitory.
‘It is good to see you all in good cheer,’ remarked Wenden’s deputy commander.
‘Brother Walter,’ said Hans, ‘Bishop Albert has made Conrad Marshal of Estonia.’
Walter came over and extended a hand to Conrad. ‘Master Rudolf has just informed me. Congratulations, Conrad.’
Conrad took his hand. ‘Thank you, Brother Walter.’
‘It is a position of great importance,’ said Anton.
‘Indeed it is,’ agreed Walter. ‘Originally a marshal was no more than a servant in his lord’s stables who was under the authority of a constable. But now the marshal is one of the most trusted servants of a king whose tasks are among the most important in his realm. The bishop must hold you in high esteem, Conrad.’
‘The commission says that I can appoint my own officers,’ said Conrad.
‘Of course,’ replied Walter, ‘a marshal surrounds himself with those he can trust.’
‘Do you think the master will allow Anton, Hans and Johann to accompany me into Estonia?’
Walter smiled. ‘I am certain of it.’
And so he did. Five days later the four of them stood in the courtyard with the castle’s garrison paraded around them. The brother knights stood in one group behind Rudolf and Walter, the sergeants in front of the northern wall and the spearmen and crossbowmen arrayed in front of the dormitory. It was approaching the beginning of autumn when crops would be harvested and the leaves of deciduous trees started to change colour from green to yellow and brown. It was warm but not hot and a gentle breeze filled the courtyard and took away the odour of horse dung that littered the cobbles as the horses and ponies defecated where they stood. The Estonian camp that had been situated for many weeks beyond the outer perimeter’s gates was gone now, its tents packed on carts waited for the commanders of the Army of the Wolf who stood in front of Master Rudolf awaiting their final orders.
The raven-haired Ilona stood by the door of the master’s hall beside the mad Abbot Hylas who stood mumbling to himself, rocking to and fro, an idiot lost in his own world. Rudolf turned and pointed to one of the sergeants who held a banner tied around the flagpole. The sergeant stepped forward, saluted and handed it to the master. Rudolf walked forward and held it out to Conrad.
‘This is a banner of our order,’ he spoke loudly enough so everyone in the courtyard could hear his words. ‘It is a symbol of the Holy Church and is therefore a sacred item. I give it to you, Brother Conrad, Marshal of Estonia, that you may show it among your domain to let everyone know that you undertake Christ’s holy work.’
He handed it to Conrad and then beckoned Otto over. The severe, bareheaded priest strode forward and grasped the flagpole.
‘Bow your heads!’ he bellowed.
The assembly bowed their heads except for Andres, Hillar and Tonis who stared impassively as the mailed soldiers lowered their heads on the orders of an unarmed bald man.
‘Father in heaven, King of glory,’ said Otto, ‘we praise You for having made the world, and for having chosen us as Your beloved people. Bless this banner we have made, and be pleased with our efforts to serve You.
‘Help us to continue to use our lives and our talents for Your honour and glory and for the salvation of Your people. Praise and thanks are Yours, eternal Father, through Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviour.
‘Amen.’
Everyone said ‘amen’ as Otto stepped back gla
ring at Conrad as he did so. Rudolf offered his hand to Conrad.
‘God be with you.’
‘And you, master,’ replied Conrad.
‘And do not provoke the Danes, Conrad. Sir Richard will be with you so learn from a noble knight how to conduct yourself. Remember always you represent the bishop and the interests of Livonia, as well as our order.’
‘Yes, master.’
Conrad suddenly felt the burden of great responsibility bear down on him as he walked to his horse, gave the standard to Hans and hoisted himself into the saddle. He took the banner from his friend and then nudged his spurs into his horse’s flanks. He and the other three brother knights rode palfreys, the Estonian commanders mounted on their hardy ponies. The iron-shod hooves clattered on the cobblestones as the seven riders left the castle, trotted over the drawbridge and down the track leading to the perimeter gates.
Outside the gates over a hundred Estonian warriors, mostly men but a few women, were waiting on their ponies, others on the seats of wagons that carried spare weapons, fodder, food and tents. The warriors carried spears and had their large wooden shields either slung on their backs by using the leather sling that was fitted to their rear, or dangling from their saddles. Conrad had never taken any notice of pagan shields before, believing them to be inferior to those of Christian soldiers. But in fact the more time he spent with the Livs and Estonians showed his view to be wrong. Native shields were made from wood taken from lime trees, which was lightweight and did not split as readily when struck as other types of wood did. Of course a crossbow bolt could go through a pagan shield with ease, but the same was true of crusader shields. In addition, pagan shields were gripped by a wooden handle nailed to the inside of the shield, the hand being protected by a domed iron boss. Unlike his own shield, there were no straps to grip the arm and so a pagan shield could be rotated freely from side to side. Lastly, the pagan shield was rimmed with leather to prevent it from splitting when hit on its edge. The rim also helped to bind the shield together since the leather shrank after it was installed, forcing the planks more tightly together.
As he led the column of riders and wagons north these thoughts filled Conrad’s mind. A female voice snapped him out of his idle thoughts.
‘What is that, Susi?’
He turned to see blonde locks coming from under an iron helmet and a pair of blue eyes either side of a large nasal guard. She was looking at the banner tied round the flagpole.
‘It is our banner, Kaja,’ he said. ‘The standard of the Sword Brothers.’
‘Why is it tied up?’
Conrad thought for a moment. ‘I do not know.’
He brought his horse to a halt, forcing the others to do the same. Behind them the whole column slowed to a stop. He united the ribbons and shook the flag free: a red cross over a red sword on a white background. Kaja was singularly unimpressed.
‘It should be a wolf,’ she said, disappointed.
‘Conrad does not have fond memories of wolf banners,’ Hans told her.
‘None of us do,’ added Johann, remembering Lembit’s wolf flag.
Conrad nudged his horse forward as Tonis, the shield on his back carrying the leering wolf symbol of Lembit, looked most uncomfortable as they left Wenden behind and entered the forests, deep valleys and lakes that characterised the strip of land that separated northern Livonia and southern Saccalia. Half of the land was covered in trees where deer, bear, elk, lynx, fox, wolves and wild boar lived.
Kaja pointed to a tree that had dark green leaves, some of which were showing signs of turning to yellow.
‘That is bird cherry. The flowers of the fruit can be used to cure headaches and toothaches.’
‘I hear Ilona’s words in your voice,’ said Conrad.
‘She taught me many things about the trees and plants of the forest, far more than I ever learned in my village,’ she enthused. ‘I like her.’
‘So do I,’ said Conrad. ‘We all do.’
‘Is she a sorceress?’ asked the Estonian girl.
‘We don’t allow sorcerers in Livonia,’ said Anton.
‘We burn them,’ added Johann.
Kaja was horrified. ‘That is terrible. I thought your god is merciful.’
‘As long as you worship him,’ said Hans.
‘I hope you will not burn me, Susi,’ she said with a nervous tone in her voice.
‘No one is going to burn anyone,’ said Conrad. ‘Ilona is a healer not a sorceress. There is no magic in what she practises, just great knowledge.’
‘The only burning you have to worry about, Kaja,’ said Hans, ‘is the fire that will cook our meals. When do we starting getting our daily tribute, Conrad?’
The next morning Andres and Hillar left the army with their men, the former to ride into Jerwen to recruit for the muster at Lehola, the latter to do the same in Rotalia. Their leaving allowed Conrad to talk with Tonis who commanded fifty wolf shields in addition to another forty Saccalians who included Kaja. The days were still pleasant though there was a distinct freshness in the air to signal the approach of autumn.
‘You know that I killed Lembit,’ said Conrad.
‘At Wolf Rock, lord, yes.’
‘You were there?’
Tonis nodded. ‘Yes, lord. It was a hard fight. I lost some good friends.’
‘I am sorry.’
‘We all hope for a good death. They followed their lord and died serving him in battle.’ He looked at Conrad. ‘What else can a warrior hope for?’
‘To grow old and die in his bed?’
Tonis laughed. ‘To be too old to use a sword or stand in a shield wall is like a living death, I think. It is not for me.’
Conrad had to admit that he had warmed to Tonis after the unfortunate incident at Wenden when they had first met, but he still thought it strange that his current task was to lead a band of his former enemies to deter Christian crusaders. He did not understand but was sure that the Danes would be accommodating to the bishop’s request. After all, they were all servants of the Holy Church.
*****
‘The archbishop and bishops are eager to preach the holy gospel to the pagans, Count Henry.’
The latter looked up at the figure of King Valdemar on his warhorse, resplendent in his yellow linen surcoat that bore three blue lions surrounded by small red hearts, his mounted bodyguard behind him. The king had ridden from Lyndanise to the fort atop Toompea Hill where the count had made his headquarters. This was partly out of military reasons but more out of a desire to be away from the sanctimonious prelates who did nothing but complain and pontificate to anyone who would listen.
‘It would be unwise to go anywhere until we have secured our base, majesty,’ replied the count, who stood outside the only building inside the fort, a simple rectangular hall with a wooden roof.
‘This place will have to be strengthened for a start,’ continued the count, ‘and my scouts have informed me that there is a great pagan stronghold not thirty miles south of this fort.’
Valdemar waved a hand dismissively. ‘Pagan strongholds? What are they but piles of logs perched on hilltops. We have destroyed pagan resistance, Count Henry, and now all that remains is for us to seize what God has given us. I intend to march south and you will be coming with me.’
The count bit his lip. ‘Of course, majesty, if that is your desire.’
There was a stiff breeze blowing in from the sea that ruffled the two banners held behind the king. The one sporting the three blue lions he recognised but the other, a red standard bearing a white cross, he thought odd.
‘What is that, majesty?’ he asked, pointing at the flag.
‘I have adopted it as the emblem of my crusade in Estonia,’ answered Valdemar. ‘It is the same design that was on the cloth sent by God during my victory over the pagans. Proof that our Lord smiles on my crusade.’
He tugged on his mount’s reins to wheel the beast around. ‘Gather your men, count, it is my desire to have Estonia subdued before the fi
rst snow falls.’
He raised his arm half-heartedly and rode from the compound, his bodyguard following. One of the count’s lieutenants strode from the hall to stand by his lord, watching the king’s riders canter down the slope back to Lyndanise.
‘There he goes,’ said the count, ‘the king who won the recent battle on his own. He has decided to change history and tell people that it was the Danes who vanquished the pagans. And now we are to march south so he can conquer all of Estonia.’
‘He’s a lucky bastard, I’ll give him that,’ remarked his subordinate disrespectfully.
The count looked at his fellow knight, who despite being his younger brother bore little resemblance to the fierce old warrior from Schwerin who was nicknamed ‘Henry the Black’.
‘Luck doesn’t last forever, Gunzelin,’ replied the count. ‘However, we agreed to accompany our liege lord to this land of trees and bogs and so must honour our pledge. Give the order to make ready to march.’
Gunzelin spat on the ground. ‘Coming here was a mistake. We should be in Germany raising men to defend our lands.’
The count smiled at his brother. Like him he resented Valdemar but unlike his brother he was better at hiding his feelings. It had been five years since Valdemar had seized the count’s castle and lands while he and his brother had been away fighting in southern Germany. When they returned they were prepared to fight the Danes to repossess their property but Valdemar held the count’s wife as a hostage and he was unwilling to risk one of the few things he held dear in the world. So they had agreed to swear allegiance to Valdemar. The count thought it no coincidence that the king had married the detestable Portuguese princess just before he had seized Schwerin and believed her scheming mind to be behind the outrage.
‘We will be back home soon enough,’ said the count, ‘but first let us fulfil our obligations. At least we will be able to leave the churchmen behind. I grow tired of their platitudes.’
‘Pity they didn’t all get their skulls split open by pagan axes,’ said Gunzelin casually.
‘You should be more respectful towards the princes of the church,’ remarked the count.