Schism, page 19
part #5 of Crusader Chronicles Series
‘Lady, Master Conrad.’
The party was going into the woods to hunt elk and boar to supplement the fort’s food supplies, which would be good crossbow practice.
‘Try not to waste too many bolts,’ Conrad shouted down.
‘We are professionals, Master Conrad,’ came the answer, ‘we always hit what we aim at.’
Falcone flashed a smile at Conrad and Maarja, revealing a row of white teeth.
‘They make an unlikely pair,’ said Maarja of Leatherface and Falcone. ‘They look so different and their manners are poles apart, and yet they talk with each other as though they are old friends.’
‘The brotherhood of mercenaries, lady. Men who are paid to fight have more in common with their own kind than those who employ them.’
‘You do not like your commander of mercenaries and his Italian friend?’
‘I like them a lot, lady, but if there is no money to pay them they will be away. It is the nature of their business.’
Conrad looked to where the not even half-built manor house that would eventually be the home of Lady Maarja stood. All work had halted during the winter, the workers having travelled back to Dorpat. They would soon be arriving to continue their work seeming to progress at a snail’s pace. Conrad was glad; he liked having Maarja at Odenpah.
They walked back to the inner compound together, the men and women who lived in the fort as workers exchanging pleasantries as they passed. Barefoot children ran around like forest demons, giggling as they poked sticks at pigs in pens, making the animals squeal and grunt.
They reached the steps leading up to the fort’s inner compound where they encountered Arri and Jaan. They saluted Conrad and bowed deeply to Maarja.
‘May we speak to you, master?’ asked Jaan.
Conrad knew what it was about but indulged them anyway.
Jaan glanced at Arri who nodded.
‘We request permission to accompany you to Mesoten, master.’
‘Request denied.’
Jaan was going to protest but knew better than to question the command of one of the order’s castellans. There was an awkward moment of silence before Conrad broke it.
‘You would both desert the Lady Maarja and the families living in this fort?’
They shook their heads energetically.
‘No, master,’ said Arri.
‘We would never desert you, lady,’ added Jaan.
Maarja tilted her head in recognition of their chivalry.
Conrad pointed at them. ‘You two are the senior novices at Odenpah. The others look up to you. When I leave with Hans and Anton you two will be de facto Sergeant Werner’s deputies. He will be relying on you to ensure this fort is well defended. Would you abandon him in his hour of need?’
More shaking of heads.
‘Furthermore, and you would do well to think on this, I am responsible for all the souls within the walls of this fort. If I strip it of every man capable of carrying a spear or sword and leave the fort defenceless it would be a dereliction of duty. When I am at Mesoten I want to focus on the task in hand, not worry about the defence of Odenpah. You understand?’
They nodded.
‘Excellent, now if you will excuse us both.’
They saluted and withdrew, pacified though not particularly happy.
‘They remind me of two hunting dogs that my father owned,’ said Maarja as Conrad took her arm and they walked up the steps to the inner compound. ‘They were his bravest and fiercest hunting hounds and he loved them. He lavished them with affection and made sure they had the best care available. In the pack they were always the first to bring down the prey. We were all very fond of them, even Kristjan.’
‘What happened to them?’
Maarja sighed. ‘They were both killed by wild boars. It seems the bravest and best are always the first to fall.’
Fortunately Odenpah’s best and bravest were left behind when Conrad, Hans, Anton and the mercenary crossbowmen set out two weeks later, Conrad having received word from his warlords that they had sent their contingents to Lehola. Conrad had stressed to Riki that the ‘bastards’ should bring with them as many crossbow bolts as possible, though not all of them were marching south to Lehola.
‘I do not want all “the bastards” slaughtered at Mesoten,’ Conrad told his friends as they rode at the head of the column of Genoese soldiers.
‘Reassuring to know, Master Conrad, that you think we are on a suicide mission,’ remarked Leatherface.
‘Conrad has been possessed of an ill humour these past few weeks,’ said Anton, ‘best to ignore him.’
‘Splendid advice,’ grinned Leatherface.
‘I did not say that we are on a suicide mission,’ Conrad shot back, ‘but I see no point in emptying Estonia of good soldiers.’
‘You believe that Estonia is imperilled, Master Conrad?’ asked Falcone.
‘I do,’ replied Conrad bluntly. ‘The Russians are quiet at the moment but who knows if it will last.’
‘At least we have peace with the Oeselians,’ said Hans.
‘For the moment, yes, but they are pagans and there are many among them that do not have the foresight of their king.’
‘It’s very sad, Falcone,’ said Leatherface, ‘when he first came to Livonia Master Conrad was an innocent young lad but years of fighting have turned him into a cynical commander who trusts no one.’
‘Master Conrad’s fame has spread far and wide,’ stated Falcone. ‘I heard that in Rome it is said that his mere presence on the battlefield is worth a thousand men.’
Hans was impressed. ‘They say that?’
‘They do,’ answered Falcone solemnly.
‘Just think,’ said Leatherface, ‘Master Conrad is the talk of the city among Rome’s brothels and alehouses.’
Hans and Anton burst into laughter while Conrad retained a dignified silence. But he had a smile on his face when the column reached Lehola where the Army of the Wolf’s tents ringed the fort. It was not the whole army, merely four hundred men, including two hundred ‘bastards’, but it always filled him with pride when he saw the felt tents of the Estonians and their standards. When he approached the fort word spread that Susi had arrived and soon he was surrounded by dozens of long-haired warriors. They cheered, shouted his name and those that had been members of the Army of the Wolf for years shook his hand and chatted to him as though he was an old friend, which is exactly what he was.
One warrior, a man in his thirties, appeared beside his horse.
‘Hillar is like an angry bear, Susi.’
‘You have known him for a long time?’
‘Oh, yes, he and I fought beside each other when you relieved this fort when it was under siege.’
Conrad remembered. ‘They were good times.’
‘That was when we were young and did not have families to consider.’
Conrad was alarmed. ‘I gave orders that only single men were to march south with me.’
‘Oh we ignored those and drew lots instead. Why should only single young men have all the fun?’
It was sentiment echoed by all the warriors gathered at Lehola. They viewed themselves as privileged to have been selected to march south with Susi and gave no thought to what they would encounter in Semgallia. After all, the Army of the Wolf had never lost a battle. Why should the coming campaign be any different?
Lehola was a hive of activity, its inner compound filled with traders, workers and their families. Saccalia had been at peace for many years now and Sir Richard was determined to turn his realm into a prosperous dukedom. Conrad found the Duke of Saccalia in his hall in the midst of dozens of local villagers, all men who wanted to speak to the English knight who ruled over them. A tonsured priest stood next to Sir Richard as the duke listened to a petitioner, nodding gravely as the man gestured with his arms, though about what Conrad could not tell. A few quiet words from the duke, a smile and the man was sent on his way, a look of contentment on his face. Conrad caught the eye of Sir Richard who raised his arm in acknowledgement. But it was over an hour before he was free to speak.
The hall had the aroma that Conrad knew well – sweat, fresh rushes, leather and the hint of a feast the night before. When the last petitioners had left the hall Sir Richard rose from his chair and embraced his friend.
‘So, we march to war together again.’
‘You will be marching with us, your grace?’
Sir Richard gave him a sly smile. ‘You may have ordered Riki, Hillar and Andres to stay at home but I fancy a break from playing the role of chief clerk of the kingdom Have you ever spent days listening to the grievances of the headmen of villages?’
‘I have not had that pleasure.’
‘Well if you had you would welcome the opportunity to seek a bit of peace and quiet on the battlefield. I had no idea how many villages Saccalia contained until they sent their representatives to Lehola.
‘How is Paul getting on?’
‘He has turned into an excellent knight, your grace. He and his men are providing a valuable service in Wierland.’
‘I always knew he would make a good commander,’ said Sir Richard with pride, ‘and I thank you for giving him the opportunity to become the man he deserves to be.’
He ordered another chair to be arranged for Conrad, and mead and food to be brought from the kitchens. Then they both sat beneath the great banner bearing Sir Richard’s crest as Duke of Saccalia: a white boar’s head with golden tusks on a blue background. Notwithstanding his complaints Conrad thought Sir Richard looked well and untroubled.
‘Tonis will be here,’ he said, ‘and like me is looking forward to marching with the Army of the Wolf again. He’s a father now, twins would you credit it?’
‘We are in the midst of an epidemic of babies, it seems. It is a sign that Estonia prospers. And you, your grace, have you thought of a wife and family?’
The English lord looked forlornly into his drink. ‘No.’
He had come to Livonia to crusade and, like many others, to wash away his sins with pagan blood. The woman he had loved, who had loved another, had taken her own life and because of it was now in hell. Racked with guilt Sir Richard, having abandoned his title and coat of arms, had travelled to Livonia with only his horse, weapons, armour and squire. His courage and devotion to the cause of the Holy Church had won him fame, a title, lands and, Conrad hoped, a place in heaven for his lost love. But he could see that guilt was still a companion of Sir Richard Bruffingham and would probably be so until his dying day.
Tonis carried no guilt and was all smiles and iron embraces when he arrived with his men two days later. The former pagan was now a Christian and Duke of Fellin with his own lands and villages around his great timber stronghold south of Lehola. He too looked fuller in the face and stouter in body.
‘Fatherhood agrees with you, my friend,’ smiled Conrad.
‘When I am not fighting I am making babies, Susi,’ he grinned. ‘Life is good.’
With the arrival of Tonis the march south could begin. Sir Richard was accompanied by a score of knights and the same number of squires, though his destriers were left behind at Lehola. They rode on coursers, a lighter mount than a warhorse but still a good horse. They had been imported from Germany at considerable cost, an indication of the Duke of Saccalia’s growing wealth and status. The two hundred warriors drawn from Saccalia, Harrien, Jerwen and Rotalia all rode Estonian ponies, hardy beasts smaller than horses that had twice the stamina and could withstand extremes of weather with ease. The dour-faced Ulric and his ‘bastards’ also rode on ponies, with more ponies pulling two-wheeled carts containing the Army of the Wolf’s tents, spare clothing, food, weapons and many barrels filled with crossbow bolts. Other carts carried the tents and supplies of Sir Richard and his knights and squires. The duke also brought his fifty crossbowmen, now kitted out in blue long-sleeved gambesons with a white boar’s head stitched on their fronts.
It was a colourful army riding south among the trees and meadows of an Estonia now bursting with life. The sun shone most days and northern winds were rare. On some days a light rain fell in the afternoon, enough to cool the air but never a deluge reducing tracks and camps to seas of mud.
The warriors drawn from Saccalia, Harrien, Jerwen and Rotalia wore tunics and leggings coloured green or brown. But every one had an iron helmet, shirt of mail armour, beneath which was worn a garment similar to a gambeson and a round shield with a central iron boss and leather strap allowing it to be slung on the back. Every warrior was armed with a spear, hand axe and a long knife with a blade two feet in length, used to devastating effect in close-quarter combat. Sir Richard’s crossbowmen, trained to fight among his spear-armed Saccalian warriors, stood out in their blue, the colour of the surcoats and shields of Sir Richard’s knights.
The crossbowmen of the ‘Bishop’s bastards’ wore padded garments akin to gambesons dyed yellow, the tunics of Ulric’s spearmen dyed the same colour. Both missile troops and spearmen wore iron helmets, the spearmen also protected with mail shirts. Unlike the Estonians these Christians originally from Germany carried teardrop-shaped shields painted with red crosses. But many had married native women and had adopted local customs, growing their hair and beards long and carrying pagan good luck charms on their bodies. Their most prized possession was their banner, a large white flag bearing a bishop’s mitre, the mitre adorned with three blue crosses to symbolise the Holy Trinity. Beneath was a red rose, the symbol of the city of Lippe, in honour of their first commander, Bishop Bernhard. Beneath the mitre and rose was a scroll bearing the motto Episcopi Spurii. Lastly there were Falcone’s red-uniformed Italians, a gift from the papal legate.
The Estonians carried the symbols of their kingdoms on their shields, just as they had when they had battled the Sword Brothers – the Saccalian wolf, the Harrien lynx, the Jerwen bear and the Rotalian stag. Just over five hundred men travelled south through Estonia and then Livonia, rendezvousing with Master Rudolf at Wenden before journeying on to the Dvina. They did not dawdle at Wenden, halting only a night before re-commencing their march. Conrad made no attempt to hide his disappointment at the low numbers Rudolf had mustered, a measly eighteen brother knights, thirty sergeants, fifty crossbowmen and the same number of spearmen.
‘The northern garrisons of the order are already below strength,’ said Wenden’s castellan as he rode in the company of the army’s commanders, ‘if I had taken any more men from them the Russians might be tempted to try to steal Narva back from us.’
‘I thought Bishop Hermann and the Russians were firm allies now,’ said Sir Richard.
‘For now, yes,’ agreed Rudolf, ‘but their relationship exists only because the bishop wishes to turn his bishopric into a rich province. But Walter believes he is being too greedy in taxing the Russian merchants. I fear it will eventually lead to conflict.’
He cast Leatherface a disparaging look. ‘Apart from that, the cost of maintaining a sizeable force of mercenaries is crippling the order.’
‘Good mercenaries are worth their weight in gold,’ replied the mercenary, ‘ain’t that right, Master Falcone?'
Falcone smiled. ‘I have always thought so. You do not believe our numbers are sufficient for this expedition, Master Conrad?’
Conrad turned in the saddle to look at the column of riders and carts behind him.
‘Not if the whole of Lithuania is mustered against us, no.’
He said the same to Grand Master Volquin ten days later when the army had reached Holm Castle, which had been a Sword Brother stronghold for over thirty years and was Livonia’s first stone building. Its walls were ten feet thick and beyond them a deep moat protected three sides of the castle. The waters of the River Dvina shielded the fourth side.
Volquin stood with Conrad, Rudolf and Sir Richard on the castle’s southern ramparts, staring across the blue waters of the Dvina to the unending forests of Semgallia beyond.
‘The Kurs will not be part of the Lithuanian alliance,’ said the grand master, ‘it was their ambassador that alerted us to the forthcoming attack on Mesoten.’
‘And you believed him?’ asked Conrad.
Volquin nodded. ‘There is no love lost between the Kurs and the other dukes. Besides, the new Kur duke’s merchants are trading in Riga. They are purchasing large amounts of food. Most odd. But what it tells me is that they have no interest in fighting us. ‘
He looked at Conrad. ‘Imagine a burning candle, Conrad, and how during the hours of darkness it attracts moths. Mesoten is that candle. We badly need a victory in Lithuania to show that just as the Sword Brothers prevailed in Livonia and Estonia so will they eventually triumph in Lithuania.’
*****
Lithuania, the land of rivers and lakes, was a carpet of green in the spring sun. Its vast forests of pine, spruce and birch covered over half its extent and between and among them the many groves and meadows were green and lush due to the rain that fell most days. Many of the floodplain meadows were still full of water but were slowly drying and filling with snowdrops and buttercups. The forests echoed with the rapping of woodpeckers and above the meadows hovered kestrels searching for prey. The land was alive with elk, deer, boar, lynx, wolves, martens, rabbits and foxes. It was also a land at peace.
‘We don’t want any more war.’
The burly chief, his beard falling to his chest, stood defiant in Panemunis’ hall. Behind him other bearded men murmured their agreement.
Another stepped forward, older, his hair streaked with grey.
‘I fought for Grand Duke Daugerutis over the river and left many of my friends there. I was at the Abava and the Iecava fighting the Kurs and saw many of my kinsmen fall. I say that Selonia has shed enough blood.’
The hall was packed with men after the summons from Prince Vsevolod that all the princes, chiefs and headmen of Selonia and Nalsen should present themselves at Panemunis. True to his pledge, as soon as Mindaugas had announced his intention to visit his capital to enlist men for the crusade against Mesoten, the prince had summoned the representatives of the people.
Lithuanian society was highly hierarchical. At the top was a duke, beneath him were princes who ruled districts within his kingdom. Next came the village chiefs who answered to a prince. For his part a headman was in charge of a hamlet or farmstead. Prince Vsevolod was not a duke and nor was he a Lithuanian. But he was the husband of Princess Rasa, the red-haired daughter of Grand Duke Daugerutis, one of the greatest Lithuanians in living memory, a man who had been revered, feared and respected throughout the Lithuanian kingdoms, except Kurland of course.
