by Peter Darman
The Army of the Wolf now included fifty Harrien warriors, men whose villages the Danes had raided and who had managed to flee into the surrounding forests. Mostly single men in their early twenties, they were led by a blonde-haired individual named Riki, which meant ‘strong’ in Estonian. After he had arrived and had been briefed by Rudolf and Conrad on recent events, Bishop Albert was most eager to meet these natives of Harrien, visiting the camp of the Army of the Wolf to do so. He was escorted by Manfred Nordheim, four of his men and Bishop Bernhard, the two bishops being dressed in mail armour and surcoats but carrying no weapons. Conrad acted as translator as neither of the bishops had a knowledge of Estonian. Riki had been summoned to Conrad’s tent where Hans and Anton stood to attention to welcome the prelates while Kaja stood nearby tending the fire.
Conrad explained to Riki who the two men on big horses were, ignoring Nordheim whom he viewed as a puppet of Archdeacon Stefan. Bishop Albert asked Riki about the Danes.
‘They take captives to work as slaves on their defences at Lyndanise. I do not wish to be a slave.’
‘Why have you come here?’ asked Bernhard.
‘To fight beside Susi,’ smiled Riki.
‘It appears that whereas the Danes seek to rule by the whip and the sword,’ said Bishop Albert, ‘you win men’s allegiance by reputation and myth, Conrad.’
‘We hate the Danes,’ bristled Riki, ‘and make them pay in blood for the crimes they have committed against us.’
‘I wonder if King Valdemar has the appetite to rule Estonia by the sword against a people he has estranged in such a short space of time?’ Albert said to Bernhard.
‘He is a king, Albert,’ replied Bernhard, ‘and believes he is doing God’s work.’
‘We all believe that, Bernhard,’ said Albert.
Bernhard nodded thoughtfully. ‘I wonder what God thinks?’
The bishops reflected on this and sat in silence in their saddles. These richly dressed lords who wore strange hats on their heads but who carried no weapons bemused Riki. But the Christian warriors who did carry weapons treated them with great respect. The sound of giggling coming from behind them prompted Albert and Bernhard to turn round and see Rameke with a sword in his hand facing Kaja, who was also armed. Had the two bishops looked more closely at Conrad they would have seen that his scabbard was empty.
Albert looked at Bernhard and back again at Rameke and the blonde-haired girl he seemed to be fighting. He was perturbed that warriors were sitting outside their tents chatting to each other and ignoring what appeared to be Rameke about to kill a young woman.
‘Lord Rameke,’ he shouted at the Liv, ‘I would speak to you.’
Kaja burst out laughing and pointed her sword at him. ‘A lucky escape, my lord.’
Rameke grinned and placed a finger at his lips to hush her but she stuck her tongue out at him. He sheathed his sword and composed himself before bowing his head to Albert.
‘Lord bishop.’
He also tilted his head to Bernhard. ‘Bishop Bernhard.’
Albert leaned forward. ‘You have a disagreement with that young woman?’
Conrad shook his head as Rameke looked at Kaja. ‘No, lord bishop.’
‘Then why did you draw your sword against her?’
‘So she can practise, lord bishop.’
Bernhard was surprised. ‘How is it that a young woman like that has a sword, for such items are expensive and she does not appear to be a queen?’
‘It is my sword, lord bishop,’ said Conrad. ‘Kaja, come here please.’
She sauntered over with his sword in hand, grinning at Hans and Anton and looking quizzically at the two bishops.
‘Kaja,’ said Conrad, ‘this is Bishop Albert of Riga and Bishop Bernhard.’
She bowed deeply to them both. ‘Majesties.’
They did not understand her words but seemed pleased with her respectful attitude. She handed Conrad his sword.
‘Kaja is a Saccalian,’ Conrad told them, ‘and has been with the army for a while now.’
‘And you are teaching her to fight?’ asked Bernhard.
‘She could already fight, lord bishop,’ said Conrad. ‘I am just teaching her how to fight properly.’
‘Do you think it is wise to show a woman how to use a sword, Conrad?’ said Bishop Albert.
‘She saved my life, lord bishop, so the least I could do was to aid her desire to be able to defend herself.’
‘And what does her father say of this?’ enquired Bernhard.
‘Her family are dead, lord bishop,’ said Conrad, ‘killed by Cuman raiders. She has been baptised into the Holy Church.’
‘And now she is taught to use a sword by the Marshal of Estonia and the supreme warlord of the Livs,’ said Bernhard.
Albert looked at Kaja. ‘You are happy, child?’
Conrad translated the bishop’s words.
She flashed him a smile. ‘Yes, highborn.’
Albert made the sign of the cross at her. ‘Go with God, child.’
He pulled on his horse’s reins to turn the beast.
‘We go to Reval to settle the affairs of Estonia once and for all. Pray God that we can have peace in this land. There have been too many families that have lost loved ones and I would see an end to it.’
The Sword Brothers and Rameke saluted as the prelates left their presence and rode back to where their pavilions were pitched.
‘So that was the Bishop of Riga,’ remarked Kaja. ‘He does not seem like a tyrant.’
‘Who said he was a tyrant?’ said a surprised Conrad.
‘I was always taught that the Bishop of Riga was a sorcerer who conjured up devils to torment the Estonian people.’
‘And now you know differently,’ said Conrad.
‘Just as you know that the Livs are not your enemies,’ added Hans.
Anton placed an arm around Rameke’s shoulders. ‘And some might even become your friends, or more than that if you are lucky.’
The army followed in the wake of Count Henry as it advanced north towards Reval, through a land of high hills, wild forests, lakes, rivers and bogs. Though it was late summer and many of the riverbeds were nearly dry, the almost constant rainfall, though not heavy, was enough to keep the ground soft. This caused the tracks to quickly become rutted and muddy, slowing progress as wagons inevitably got stuck.
Riki and some of his Harrien accompanied Conrad and other parties of Estonians that rode ahead as scouts. They came across deserted villages, Riki explaining that the inhabitants had fled with their belongings deep into the forest; there to wait until the invaders had passed.
‘How can we convince them that we are not their enemies?’ asked Hans.
‘By leaving their villages intact,’ replied Riki.
As they got nearer to Reval they came across a village that had been burned to the ground and the bodies of those who had been unable or unwilling to leave hanging from nearby trees.
‘The work of the Danes,’ remarked Riki grimly.
‘Or Count Henry,’ said Anton.
They cut down the bodies and Riki organised their cremation. Conrad urged him to hurry before the main army arrived and its priests learnt of the presence of unburied bodies. If they did then they would insist that they were buried. As Conrad stood with his friends watching the pyres consume the bodies of the Harrien, Riki questioned him concerning the crusaders’ hostility to cremation.
‘Among my people we believe that the soul leaves a dead body and returns to another living thing,’ said Riki. ‘A body is just a shell that has no importance after death.’
‘Also,’ he stated, ‘burning prevents the return of a spirit to the body and fire wards off evil spirits.’
‘We bury our dead,’ said Conrad, ‘because we believe that the dead sleep in the ground until they are resurrected by God.’
‘You can’t wake up and get out of your grave if you are a pile of ashes,’ said Anton.
‘Our religion teaches that we are cr
eated in the image and likeness of God,’ continued Conrad.
‘What god?’ queried Riki.
‘The one true God,’ said Conrad. ‘The point is, Riki, that as we are created in His likeness we must treat our bodies with respect after death.
‘But what if one of you falls into a fire and his body is destroyed?’ asked Riki. ‘Your body will be ashes.’
‘Destruction by fire cannot prevent God reuniting the elements of a body, even from ashes, on the day of resurrection,’ Anton told Riki.
Riki thought for a moment. ‘If your God is powerful enough to do this then surely it does not matter if a body is buried or burned.’
‘Fortunately we do not have to argue such points,’ said Conrad. ‘We have the much simpler task of fighting the enemies of our church.’
‘Will not your priests be angry with you when they learn that you have allowed us to cremate these bodies?’ Riki asked Conrad.
‘Not if you keep your mouth shut, they won’t,’ said Hans.
Conrad held up a hand to his friend. ‘I am not a Dane,’ replied Conrad. ‘It is my wish to convince you, and others of your people, to join my church so that we can unite this land in peace and friendship.’
‘Eventually,’ added Anton.
They came across another two destroyed villages the next day, once more Riki and his men collecting the bodies left hanging from trees and consigning them to raging fires. He said little though Conrad could tell that he and the other Harrien were enraged at what had been committed against his fellow tribesmen. He felt sure that the atrocities of the Danes would aid the Bishop of Riga in his efforts to win over the Estonians and persuade King Valdemar to leave this land.
Ironically the Danes appeared that afternoon, or at least a party of them. They were waiting on a dirt track by the side of a red sandstone outcrop. A knight and four sergeants. The former had his face hidden under a full-face helmet and the latter were all wearing kettle helmets. The knight’s horse was covered in a black and yellow caparison, his almond-shaped shield and surcoat carrying the same colours. His shield was also decorated with a red cross, though Conrad could not see the designs on the shields of the sergeants as they were slung on their owners’ backs.
Conrad held up his hand to halt his party when he first saw them, and the two sides eyed each other warily before the Danish knight upturned his lance and slammed the iron head into the earth, removed his helmet and spurred his horse forward. The sergeants stayed where they were.
‘Wait here,’ said Conrad, passing his lance to Hans and urging his horse forward.
‘Do not trust them, Susi,’ warned Riki.
‘Have no fear, Riki,’ replied Conrad. ‘They bring a message from their king.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because if they had wanted to kill us their crossbowmen would have begun shooting.’
‘What crossbowmen?’ said Anton.
‘In the trees on the left and on the rocks,’ replied Conrad.
They were well hidden but the more Hans and Anton stared they realised that the round shapes on the top of the outcrop were not boulders but helmets, and in the trees the greens and browns also contained yellow surcoats.
‘Watch yourself,’ called Hans.
But Conrad did not sense any danger as he walked his horse forward until it was facing the knight’s mount. A mail coif that covered his head and neck framed the Dane’s square face. Conrad thought he detected a sneer as he looked at the group of pagans on their ponies. His dark brown eyes looked back at Conrad.
‘I am Gustav of Grambow.’
‘I am Brother Conrad of the Sword Brothers.’
Gustav’s eyes widened as he recognised the man who had struck his lord across the face only days earlier.
‘You are the Marshal of Estonia,’ he said.
‘And you are not Danish,’ retorted Conrad.
‘Count Henry is my liege lord,’ Gustav stated defiantly.
‘I assume that you are here on your lord’s behalf.’
‘No,’ said Gustav curtly. He reached into a saddlebag beneath his horse’s cover and pulled out a rolled document.
‘I have a message from King Valdemar for Bishop Albert.’
He hesitated before handing it to Conrad. ‘It is for the bishop’s eyes only.’
‘The seal will only be broken by Bishop Albert, that I promise you,’ smiled Conrad as he was handed the document. ‘Unless one of your crossbowmen shoots me in the back first.’
‘Only pagans and heretics indulge in such practices,’ he sneered.
Conrad wheeled his horse around. ‘Please give my compliments to your master.’
‘Are you going to open it?’ said Hans casually.
‘It has a seal on it, Hans,’ replied Conrad. ‘Besides, it is not addressed to me.’
‘It is probably about you, though,’ mused Anton. ‘After all, you did ambush the king’s chief commander.’
‘And killed his horse,’ added Hans.
They were riding back towards the army, the sun still high in the sky despite the lateness of the hour for in northern Estonia in summer the hours of darkness are slow in coming and short. There had been a short, sharp shower after their meeting with the aggressive Gustav and now the air was filled with the aroma of fresh grass and pine. Conrad could understand why the Danes wanted this land. Its soil was fertile, the forests were full of game and the lakes and rivers were full of fish. Just as the Bishop of Riga had built a flourishing kingdom in Livonia so Valdemar no doubt wished to do the same in Estonia.
Once back in camp Conrad rode straight to Bishop Albert’s pavilion and handed him Valdemar’s message. He invited Conrad to sit with him, instructing a young servant boy to serve the brother knight wine while he broke the seal and read the communication. The bishop’s pavilion was actually two carousel spoke-wheel pavilions – whereby spokes radiated out from a hub attached to a centre pole near the roof to maintain its round shape – connected by a canvas hallway. The latter had flaps in each side to provide the main entrances, with sunshades over each entrance. One of the round pavilions was where the bishop slept and prayed and the other, where Conrad was sitting, was a reception area. Both could be closed off for privacy.
‘King Valdemar requests my presence at Reval,’ said the bishop at length. ‘No doubt to upbraid me for bringing an army into Estonia.’
He looked at Conrad. ‘I heard about your disagreement with the Count of Schwerin. Most unfortunate, I have to say.’
‘The count was leading an army, lord bishop,’ said Conrad. ‘As Marshal of Estonia I have a duty to protect the people of this land. Would that King Valdemar shared the same sentiment.’
The bishop rolled up the letter. ‘The Danes do seem to mistreat the Estonians.’
Conrad sipped at his wine. ‘They treat them as slaves, lord bishop.’
Albert’s brow creased. ‘Kings are apt to treat their conquered subjects harshly. It is the way of things.’
‘It may work to our advantage, lord bishop.’
Albert looked interested. ‘In what way?’
‘The Harrien leader you met earlier, lord bishop, is full of hatred towards the Danes, as are his men. Many more will rally to your banner, lord bishop, of that I am certain.’
‘You wish me to incite a rebellion against King Valdemar?’
‘He already has a rebellion on his hands, lord bishop. I am merely suggesting we use it for our own gain.’
Albert smile politely at his young marshal but did not inform him that Valdemar’s invitation had specifically asked the bishop not to bring Conrad to the meeting nor any other members of the Sword Brothers, or indeed Sir Richard Bruffingham and the Duke of Saxony.
So he took only Nordheim and his fifty horsemen and left his army ten miles southeast of Reval, the Count of Schwerin meeting the prelate two miles from the town with an escort of fifty knights. The bishop noticed the flags fluttering above the twin gates in the timber wall that gave access to Re
val – one a white cross on a red background, the other Valdemar’s blue lions banner – and the same standards flying from the stronghold atop Toompea Hill where the king awaited him. Spearmen lined the route from the perimeter gates to the entrance of the hill fort, their almond-shaped shields painted blue and yellow. Inside the compound more spearmen lined the walls and a phalanx of Count Henry’s crossbowmen stood to attention in front of the main hall. The bishop’s heart sank. This display of strength was intended to show him that Valdemar had no intention of abandoning Estonia.
Count Henry dismounted and gave orders that Nordheim and his men were to be shown to a newly built wooden barracks inside the fort, servants taking their horses to the stables that were similarly new. The count then invited Bishop Albert to accompany him into the hall where the king awaited him. Out of politeness Albert said nothing about the large bruise on the count’s face, though he knew it was the result of his marshal striking him, or so Master Rudolf had informed him. As he walked into the dim interior of the former pagan hall his spirits sank lower.
When he was escorted into the reception hall trumpeters blew their instruments and guards at the doors snapped to attention, Albert removed his mitre and walked towards the king. Valdemar was flanked by his two bishops and the Archbishop of Lund on one side and on the other his senior Danish lords. Count Henry left him to stand with his brother as Albert bowed to Valdemar and stepped forward to kiss his ring when the king held out his hand. He then kissed the ring on the middle finger of the right hand of the archbishop’s hand. The ring was gold like the king’s and was set with a large amethyst, the stone that was a reminder of the archbishop’s office. The purplish hue of the stone resembled the colour of wine and was intended to prompt its wearer not to become ‘drunk’ with power but rather to focus on more spiritual matters. The churchmen looked uncomfortable as they smiled sheepishly at Albert, who was about to discover the reason why he had been invited to Reval.