Schism, page 18
part #5 of Crusader Chronicles Series
‘There will be no breach on the Kur side, grand master,’ said Torolf, ‘of that you can be certain.’
The agreement made, Stefan insisted that Torolf be shown to the lavish bedroom assigned to him during his stay. The archdeacon asked if the ambassador desired his men to be quartered in the room with him, a suggestion that horrified Torolf. He said he had every faith in the archdeacon’s guards not to murder him while he slept. The steward escorted him to his quarters where he could rest and refresh himself prior to the evening’s feast Stefan was giving in his honour. Manfred Nordheim escorted the Kur axe men to the barracks in the palace grounds where they would be quartered until Torolf returned to Kurland.
Volquin poured himself more wine when the doors to the audience chamber had been closed.
‘Ortwin will have to be reinforced immediately.’
‘Riga’s garrison is needed in the city, grand master,’ said Stefan hurriedly, ‘in case the Kurs break their word.’
Volquin grunted. ‘They will not break their word. They have no need to. They can sit and watch while we and the other Lithuanian dukes fight each other. Still, the fact that their new duke has sent his ambassador here tells me that the raid against his coastal region was successful.’
Stefan screwed up his face. ‘The raid conducted by the Oeselians?’
‘The very same.’
‘They are pagan pirates, grand master, and not to be trusted.’
‘That may be but Master Conrad gets on well with their king so for the time being the Oeselians are our valued allies.’
‘Does it not concern you, grand master, that Master Conrad has not only an army of Estonians at his beck and call but can now call upon a fleet of pagan warships?’
‘Master Conrad is a valued member of the Sword Brothers, archdeacon. We will need men like him if we are to hold on to Mesoten in the coming months.’
*****
Winter was reluctant to loosen its grip, the land still covered in snow a month after Torolf’s visit to Riga. On both sides of the Dvina people began to use the last reserves of peat and firewood in a vain effort to keep warm. To fend off cold and boredom lords went into the woods to hunt elk and wolves. For their part wolves also went hunting, packs gathering near villages in search of livestock they could steal. For people huddled round small fires in their huts their night-time howling added to the winter gloom. Men beseeched whatever god they believed in to deliver them and their families safely through the winter.
At Odenpah life went on as usual, notwithstanding the weather. The fort was slowly turning into a functioning stronghold now its huts were filled with workers and their families and the barracks was home to a fledgling garrison of novices. They had been recruited largely from Harrien, Jerwen and Rotalia and all, at the request of Conrad, were orphans whose parents had been killed by the Danes. He had told his warlords any boy they sent to him must also be a volunteer. It was no small thing to give one’s life to a religious order, to deny oneself the chance of a wife and children, and to pledge oneself to a life of poverty, chastity and obedience. That said the Sword Brothers were a family, a brotherhood of warriors with a proud heritage. To wear the red insignia of the order was a great honour, to him the highest.
Conrad stood in the great meadow in front of Odenpah and watched Sergeant Werner putting the novices though their paces. There were over fifty of them now, the most senior, which included Arri and Jaan, young men with powerful physiques who were adept at wielding a host of weapons. They had been novices for five years and in another two would become brother knights of the order. Seven others would join them, yet to be selected, so that Odenpah would have a full complement of twelve brother knights, including himself, Hans and Anton. Each castle of the order was supposed to have twelve brother knights, in honour of the same number of Apostles who had been with Christ at the Last Supper.
Today the younger novices were most excited because Werner had issued them with real swords from the armoury, with which they were trying to stab and cut the older novices. They went about their task with gusto, hacking and thrusting as the older boys and young men, equipped with shields only, danced around them to avoid their blows.
‘Keep moving,’ shouted Werner, ‘always remember to keep moving.’
Conrad smiled. How many times had he heard those same words shouted at him by Lukas at Wenden? He strolled over to where Werner was standing arms folded across his chest. The day was bright and the air icy, though fortunately there was no sun that would have forced everyone to squint in the white brightness. Like all sergeants in the order he wore short-sleeved mail armour and in battle a kettle helmet instead of the full-face helm worn by brother knights. The latter were recruited from among the nobility whereas sergeants were of a lower social order, being drawn from cities, towns and the country. There were exceptions. Conrad and Hans had been elevated to brother knights because they had saved the life of Bishop Albert. But everyone knew that sergeants were the backbone of the order. They were more numerous, fought just as well as brother knights and tended to have more practical, down-to-earth natures.
Werner shook his head as one of the novices armed with a sword took a wild swing at his target and nearly fell over when he missed.
‘Control at all times,’ he hollered.
‘They look as though they are having fun, sergeant.’
He pointed at the line of young novices.
‘Months of training with a wooden waster are forgotten when you put a real sword in their hands, master. It’s as though three feet of steel has taken possession of them.’
He saw Jaan grin mockingly at a young novice who was becoming frustrated at being unable to slice him open with his sword. Werner tilted his head at the boy, whose sword swings were becoming ever more desperate and wild.
‘That boy is a model student, calm, diligent and attentive. But soon as he gets a sword in his hand he thinks he’s Charlemagne.’
The boy screamed and ran at Jaan, intent on running him through, only to see him side step and trip his ankle as he passed, sending him sprawling.
Werner sighed. ‘I’ve seen the same sort of thing in battle. A man who keeps his head in battle literally keeps his head.’
Jaan, still grinning, helped the boy up and they resumed their sparring.
‘What are your opinions of Arri and Jaan, sergeant?’
‘They are like hunting dogs, straining at the leash.’ He turned to Conrad. ‘You are still intent on making them brother knights?’
‘I am. I have Bishop Hermann’s promise that he will sanction their promotion, they and seven others.’
‘They will be the first brother knights that are Estonians.’
Conrad nodded. ‘As will those that will become sergeants.’
‘When I came to Livonia I spent my time fighting Estonians. Never thought I would see the day when they would be wearing the white surcoat of the Sword Brothers. And yet here we are.’
‘Here we are indeed, sergeant.’
‘Conrad.’
He turned to see Hans striding towards him. He friend nodded to Werner as the younger novices began to tire.
‘Keep moving,’ shouted Werner, ‘I will tell you when you are exhausted.’
‘A courier pigeon has just arrived from Wenden, Conrad. Our presence is required there immediately.’
‘Concerning what?’
Hans opened his hands. ‘No idea. Just a short message from Master Rudolf.’
Pigeons were a speedy way to get messages to the order’s castles, especially in winter when the tracks were often covered in deep snowdrifts. But they were always vulnerable to birds of prey, especially in the colder months when prey was harder to come by. That being the case, two courier pigeons were released with the same message. The fact that only one had arrived at Odenpah indicated one pigeon had been taken.
The next day Conrad and his two friends left the fort accompanied by a pair of ponies loaded with a tent and supplies. It was the coldest month of the year and despite their woollen leg wraps, underwear and felt boots it was difficult to keep warm, especially when a wind kicked up. Even in bright sunshine the temperatures never crept above freezing and rapidly plummeted with the slightest breeze. Their beards were frosted when they rode through Wenden’s outer perimeter gates, the moat in front of the earthen rampart filled with snow that had fallen earlier that morning. But after the numbing cold of the journey their spirits were warmed when they caught sight of the mighty stone citadel of Wenden, the immovable and invincible stronghold of the Sword Brothers rising up from the surrounding forests. No matter where they were sent Wenden would always remain their home. They had seen it being built, had stood on its ramparts to defend its thick walls from enemy hordes and would one day be buried in the cemetery beneath the castle’s gatehouse.
When they left their horses they shared jokes and reminiscences with the stable hands they had known when they had been novices. Like them they had been young then but were now approaching their middle years. They had wives and children who lived in the outer perimeter, in the ever-increasing number of huts that had sprung up either side of the track running from the gates in the outer wall up the hill to the stone gatehouse.
They went straight to the master’s hall, sergeants standing guard outside its oak door snapping to attention as the Marshal of Estonia and his deputies passed them. A clerk, a monk dressed in the white habit of the Cistercian order, asked them to remain in the main part of the hall until he had determined whether the master was free to see them. While they loitered a familiar face appeared.
‘The Lord preserve us, are we in mortal danger?’
Conrad smiled. ‘Master Thaddeus, I trust you are well?’
Livonia’s quartermaster general had always been thin and pale but in winter his gauntness was magnified, compounded by his thinning white hair and beard. Wrapped in a long, padded tunic with tight-fitting sleeves, under which was a thick woollen shirt, his frame looked more solid than usual.
‘As well as anyone can be in a land of such fearsome winters,’ he grumbled. ‘I had imagined that in my dotage I would be living in the Holy Land where the climate is more agreeable for people of advanced years. But the crusader lords who misruled it have lost most of it to the Saracens and I have no wish to live among people who have to fall on their knees five times a day to pray. My knees could not take such a routine so here I am, a prisoner in Livonia.’
Hans rolled his eyes and Anton smiled kindly at the old man.
‘You have an aversion to prayer, Master Thaddeus?’ remarked Anton in a light-hearted manner.
‘I am as godly as the next man,’ insisted Thaddeus, ‘but have no liking for falling to my knees and prostrating myself every day. A religion that makes no dispensation to age is not civilised, in my opinion.’
‘And they would probably kill you,’ said Hans.
‘Who?’
‘The Saracens,’ replied Hans, ‘I have heard they are barbarians.’
Thaddeus raised his eyes to the roof. ‘It might surprise you to know, Brother Hans, that in the Holy Land Christian crusaders have committed as many and probably more atrocities as the Saracens. And the Saracens have a most refreshing habit of honouring their word, which is more than can be said of many Christian lords.
‘What brings you to Wenden?’
‘A summons from Master Rudolf,’ replied Conrad. ‘I don’t suppose you know what it is about?’
Thaddeus gave them a thin smile and walked to the hall’s door.
‘You are correct, I don’t.’
He opened the door, there was a cool blast of air and then he was gone.
‘Helpful as ever,’ remarked Anton.
The monk returned with news that Rudolf would see them and minutes later all three were perched on stools across the table from Wenden’s master in his snug, warm office. A fire crackled in the hearth as the monk served them warm milk.
‘I will get straight to the point. The grand master is mobilising a force to reinforce Mesoten, which he expects to be attacked in the spring. I want you three to be part of it, plus your “bastards” Conrad. He wants no novices, no local levies, only seasoned fighters who won’t panic when they are attacked by thousands of pagans.’
‘He’ll be asking the Duke of Riga to lead the Livonian Militia across the Dvina, then,’ said a straight-faced Anton.
Hans and Conrad burst into laughter but Rudolf was not amused.
‘You three need to learn some manners. Not even the Army of the Wolf and its commanders can ignore reality forever. The Duke of Riga is a very powerful man and the Sword Brothers need the help of powerful men. Now that Bishop Albert is no longer with us, God rest his soul, we need all the allies we can get.’
Anton, milk stains on his beard, looked perturbed.
‘How many pagans will be assaulting Mesoten?’
Rudolf shook his head. ‘No idea, but there should be enough to amuse you, Anton.’
‘Mesoten is only a timber stronghold,’ said Conrad, ‘one that can be overrun with enough men.’
Rudolf gave him a sly smile. ‘My estimate is that is what Grand Master Volquin is thinking. It is a tempting target, especially if the Lithuanians manage to muster enough men. But we have time to reinforce Master Ortwin and if we can kill enough pagans then hopefully we can strike a heavy blow against the Lithuanians.’
‘Or we could all be slaughtered,’ said Hans without a trace of irony.
‘We all die, Hans,’ replied Rudolf, ‘the only uncertainty being the time and manner of our demise.’
He jumped up. ‘But let us not talk of our deaths, only those of the enemy. We are, after all, Sword Brothers, men whose only purpose is to fight the enemies of the Holy Church. We are not farmers, politicians or merchants. Without war we have no purpose and no future.
‘Now that Master Conrad has pacified the whole of Estonia and we have peace with the Russians, only the Lithuanians can keep us gainfully employed. We should be thankful for that at the very least.’
Conrad stood and raised his cup. ‘To the Lithuanians, may there be enough of them to ensure the Sword Brothers thrive in the coming years.’
Anton and Hans stood and joined the toast.
‘To the Lithuanians.’
Chapter 6
It was mid-spring before the reinforcements for Mesoten were ready. Grand Master Volquin realised that time was pressing but also knew that it would take time for the Lithuanians to muster their forces for their attack on the fortress. When the snows melted the land became drenched in melt water, the bogs and marshes flooded and the rivers and streams became raging torrents as they filled with ice floes that melted in the spring sunshine. Corncrakes and great snipes swooped over flooded meadows, the forests of spruce, oak elm and maple were filled with lush undergrowth, though in the bog forests the pines stood among cool melt water. Movement for even small parties in such a landscape was difficult enough; for armies it was almost impossible. So everyone waited for the waters to subside and the land to dry before marching.
Conrad stood on Odenpah’s outer wall and stared out at the great meadow in front of the fort. It was a typical spring morning, the sky clear and the sun shining, though the wind was still cool. In the afternoon, like most afternoons, clouds would appear to blot out the sun and make it feel cooler. There might even be rain, though only a light shower. He closed his eyes and breathed in the pure air scented with a hint of pine. Like thousands of others he was glad to see the back of winter. Light footsteps on the wooden walk way made him open his eyes.
‘Lady Maarja.’
The black-veiled figure stopped. ‘I hope I am not disturbing you, Conrad.’
‘Of course not, please join me.’
In the sun he could see her face plainly behind the veil always covering her scarred features. She smiled and placed her hands on top of the timber parapet.
‘You will be leaving soon?’
He nodded. ‘When I receive word that the men have reached Lehola I and the others will ride there for the march south.’
‘Your warlords must be frustrated that they will not be marching with you.’
He laughed. ‘That is putting it mildly, lady.’
When Rudolf had informed him that Volquin was gathering soldiers to reinforce Mesoten Conrad had sent courier pigeons to Leal, Varbola and Kassinurme alerting his commanders that he would be calling on their men to make up part of this force. He received missives from each of them in turn to say they would be joining him south of the Dvina. There followed journeys through the snow to each stronghold where Conrad had explained that he would be taking only fifty men from each Estonian tribe: Saccalian, Harrien, Jerwen and Rotalian. He also told Riki, Hillar and Andres that he would not be taking them.
‘They hold you in high regard, Conrad, and love you like a brother.’
He smiled again when he thought of the rage and curses of Hillar when he informed him that it was impossible for the Duke of Rotalia to journey south. As he subsequently told Riki and Andres they were now important men, Christian dukes with thousands of people under their rule and great areas of land to administer. They were no longer landless warriors but men of quality who were the guardians of Estonia.
‘The irony being, lady, that I no longer have control over them. They are dukes and can go where they will whereas I am a poor brother knight.’
She laid a hand on his arm. ‘They love and respect you, Conrad, and that is more important than any titles, I think.’
He became very serious. ‘I think too much of them to allow them to be killed in a foreign land, far away from their homes and families.’
‘You think your mission will fail?’
‘I think that Grand Master Volquin will dangle us like bait to entice the Lithuanians and they will undoubtedly bite. Whether we are alive at the end of their feeding frenzy only God will know.’
He heard the jangling of horse bits and the rustle of men on horseback and peered down to see Leatherface and Falcone leading the Genoese crossbowmen out of the gates. Leatherface turned his head and raised his hand to them both.
