Schism, page 26
part #5 of Crusader Chronicles Series
Conrad sat down on what passed for his bed as the jailor mulled over in his tiny mind the threat that had just been issued to him. He glanced at Conrad and Volquin and began fiddling with his set of keys.
‘I will wait outside. No tricks, mind.’
He closed the thick cell door behind him.
‘Idiot,’ fumed Volquin who looked around the dim cell in despair, the only light a candle flickering on the wall.
‘I apologise for this, Conrad. I will get you out as soon as possible.’
‘That might be easier said than done, grand master. It would appear that our enemies are determined to punish our order.’
‘Enemies?’
Conrad turned the silver ring on his finger. ‘Archdeacon Stefan and the Duke of Riga, to say nothing of Manfred Nordheim and the members of Riga’s city council. Only now, with the help of the vice-legate, do they feel confident to make their move against us.’
‘They will find that the Sword Brothers are a force to be reckoned with,’ Volquin assured him. ‘Can I get you anything to make your confinement more bearable?’
‘A parchment, some ink and a table of some sort that I may write a letter, grand master.’
Volquin was confused. ‘Letter?’
‘To my sister,’ replied Conrad. ‘I feel it is only proper to let her know that I am still alive, at least for the moment.’
Volquin left the cell a deeply unhappy man, his gloom only partly relieved by threatening the jailor further should any harm be visited upon Conrad. But Odenpah’s master lay on his bed and kept turning the ring on his finger, staring at the pale shadows cast on the damp stone ceiling by the candle’s flame. He had no doubt that his coming trial would be a formality and he would be found guilty, of what was still a mystery. He had made too many enemies; he knew that. He had insulted and ridiculed the Duke of Riga, Manfred Nordheim and the Duke of Narva. His only regret was not being able to kill von Kivel but he had no remorse over his actions. Only now did he realise what a loss the death of Bishop Albert had been. Like many others he had never even considered the bishop’s death. It was inevitable, of course, but in the distant future, many years hence.
The jailor avoided Conrad’s stare when he entered the cell later carrying a small table and writing materials. A soldier of the garrison brought in a wooden tray holding a meal of bread, cheese and watered-down wine. It proved remarkably edible and the soldier even refrained from spitting on the food. It seemed the spectre of Grand Master Volquin loomed large over the city garrison as well as its gaolers. They even provided him with a spare candle.
Conrad was far from downcast after he had finished his meal and sat down to pen his letter, a correspondence he should have undertaken a long time ago. He did not bother mentioning his position as Master of Odenpah or Marshal of Estonia and only alluded to the great number of victories he had been a part of. He knew these things mattered to lords and kings but he was neither. He was the son of a baker and was writing to his sister, the daughter of a baker. But he did write at great length while describing Daina and the brief time he had spent with her as husband and wife before ‘God called me to another duty’. He described the friends that had shared his journey to Livonia – Hans, Anton, Bruno and Johann – and the friends he had made and those lost during his service in the Sword Brothers: Rameke his brother, Ilona, Kaja, Sir Richard, the commanders of the Army of the Wolf, Walter and Maarja. He told her that there had never been a day when he had not thought about her and prayed for her and their parents. He wrote until the second candle had nearly disappeared, filling all the parchments supplied to him. There were too few words for it was impossible to record twenty years of a life spent in the service of the Sword Brothers. He finished with the words that were always in his mind.
‘I remain your loving brother and pray that God may grant you peace in this world and the surety that we shall be reunited in the next life with our parents.’
After he had finished he lay on the bed and closed his eyes, only to be awoken what seemed like seconds later by a key being turned in the lock. An armed escort waited for him in the corridor outside, a party of the garrison’s soldiers commanded by Gunter. Grand Master Volquin was also in attendance.
‘I apologise for this, Master Conrad,’ said an unhappy Gunter, ‘but I have to escort you to the archdeacon’s court, which is to be convened in the palace.’
‘I think the opportunity to wash and shave beforehand would be welcome,’ Volquin insisted.
‘Of course,’ replied Gunter.
Volquin furnished a change of cloths after Conrad had washed the aroma of the cell from his body and trimmed his beard. He handed the grand master the parchments and asked him to send them to Sister Marie, a nun serving at St John’s Convent, Lübeck.
‘My sister, grand master.’
Volquin took the parchments. ‘How long have you been in Livonia, Conrad?’
‘Twenty years, grand master.’
‘Your sister may not be alive, Conrad,’ said Volquin with a heavy heart, ‘pestilence and illness often visit cities.’
‘She is alive,’ said Conrad.
For his courtroom appearance Conrad was given the non-military attire of a Sword Brother. The long tunic of dark cloth belted at the waist, reached down to the ankles and had tight-fitting sleeves. Beneath the tunic he wore a woollen shirt because there was a distinct nip in the morning air. His leggings were also woollen. The white cloak around his shoulders and leather shoes completed his appearance.
Flanked by guards and escorted by Gunter and Volquin he made his way from the castle to the Bishop’s Palace, a short walk through the streets of Riga already packed with curious onlookers eager to catch sight of Master Conrad, the famed Marshal of Estonia who led an army of wild pagans, and who was now to be taken before a canon court to be charged. But with what?
‘Sorcery, invoking and conjuring up evil spirits, practising the magic arts, evil-speaking and evil-doing, sedition, disturbing the peace, inciting wars, cruelly thirsting for human blood and encouraging its shedding. And heresy.’
The last word shot from the examiner’s mouth like a crossbow bolt. The tonsured lawyer finished reading from the document and walked back to the bench where the others of his profession were sitting. Clerks at sloping tables recorded his words on goatskin parchments with their quills.
Vice-legate Baldwin had come to Livonia without soldiers but had brought a small army of clerks, lawyers and priests who were experts in detecting heresy and the work of the Devil. They sat along one wall of the audience chamber, near to the dais where Archdeacon Stefan, Abbot Nicholas and the vice-legate sat. Conrad was seated on a stool in the centre of the chamber, facing Baldwin and the abbot and archdeacon who flanked him. The vice-legate, confident in his abilities, had insisted that the trial should be a public affair so Livonia could see the workings of canon law. Stefan was very opposed to this but the vice-legate overruled him. Manfred Nordheim was posted at the gates to the palace to ensure that any undesirables were kept well away from the trial, though he did nothing to prohibit Volquin and several of his castellans from attending.
Baldwin and his ‘army’ were attired in white linen vestments reaching down to the ground and had close-fitting sleeves. The vice-legate himself, stern, pious, unhinged, kept staring reproachfully at the gold pectoral cross hanging around the archdeacon’s neck. Such jewellery was reserved entirely for bishops.
Near the vice-legate, Stefan and Nicholas sat a gloating Magnus Glueck and his fellow burgomasters, all dressed in furs and finery as befitting their wealth and status. A smirking Dietrich von Kivel stood beside the dais next to an uncomfortable Gunter. Bored guards armed with short spears and swords stood around the walls.
When the proceedings finally got under way the hall was packed, though Conrad had his back to most of the assembly as he stood facing his accusers. Because it was an ecclesiastical court he would be judged according to canon law, which meant that he was presumed guilty. It would be up to him to convince the vice-legate, who for the purposes of the trial was the inquisitor of the faith, of his innocence.
An old monk, his tonsured head scabby and almost bereft of hair, shuffled forward carrying an old leather-bound bible and held it out to Conrad. He rested a hand on the old tome and took a sacred oath, pledging to tell the truth. There was absolute silence in the hall as Baldwin leaned forward in his chair.
‘Master Conrad, you have heard the charges laid against you by this court. How do you plead?’
‘I am innocent of all charges.’
Baldwin leaned back and stroked his chin. ‘I want to go back to the time when you were created a brother knight of the Sword Brothers. I believe that before you came to Livonia you were the son of a baker.’
‘Yes.’
‘Is it not a rule of the Sword Brothers that only nobles and the sons of nobles may become brother knights?’
‘It is.’
Baldwin thought for a moment. ‘Then how is it that you, a lowborn baker’s son, became a brother knight?’
‘I saved the life of Bishop Albert,’ replied Conrad, ‘and was rewarded with the rank of brother knight.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘Mystery solved. But not only did you become a brother knight but soon afterwards you were leading your own army which I believed was called the Army of the Wolf?’
‘That is correct.’
Baldwin wore a furrowed brow. ‘Are you a man of wealth, Master Conrad?’
‘Every member of the Sword Brothers takes an oath of chastity, poverty and obedience,’ answered Conrad.
‘Then how is it that you were able to raise and equip an army all by yourself?’
‘I was sent to relieve a place named Lehola where I found a number of warriors that I was able to enlist.’
Baldwin spread his hands. ‘How fortunate. An army suddenly materialises for you to lead. Was this army composed of Christians, Master Conrad?’
Conrad could see where this was leading. ‘No.’
‘Pagans, then?’
‘Yes.’
Baldwin stood and stepped down from the dais. ‘An army of pagans appears as if by magic. Is that how you would interpret events?’
‘They were taking shelter in the forest,’ said Conrad, ‘all I did was to provide them with weapons so they could relieve Lehola, which was under siege.’
Baldwin changed tack. ‘Is it true that the Army of the Wolf has won victory after victory during its time under your command?’
‘It has won some successes, yes.’
Baldwin faced the spectators behind Conrad. ‘And yet you have had no formal training in the art of leadership, no upbringing to prepare you for high office. You were the son of a baker. How to explain your rapid rise, Master Conrad?’
‘I am a soldier of Christ,’ stated Conrad defiantly.
Baldwin walked over to one of his clerks who handed him a parchment.
‘Are you? Then perhaps you can explain this. A number of years ago you had agreed to submit to the mercy of King Valdemar of Denmark, who was then in possession of Reval.’
‘Yes.’
‘Mm, but at the moment when you were surrendering yourself an army of heathens under the command of Kalju,’ Baldwin studied the name, ‘yes, Kalju, rescued you and destroyed the army of King Valdemar.’
‘Yes.’
Baldwin’s voice got louder. ‘How can a Christian army led by one of the most pious monarchs in all Christendom be defeated except by sorcery?’
Before Conrad could answer a voice shouted behind him.
‘It was not sorcery but courage that defeated the Danes.’
Conrad turned to see Kaja, pregnant, her blue eyes filled with anger, walking forward. There were horrified gasps from the burgomasters and Rigans among the spectators.
‘Remove that woman,’ ordered Baldwin.
Guards walked forward but stopped when Rameke, Sir Richard, Hillar, Andres and Riki stepped forward with hands on their sword hilts. They were hard men, used to battle and bloodshed and they were more than a match for the pristine, colourful men of Riga’s garrison. There was a stand-off as Conrad’s friends stared, unblinking at the guards. Volquin walked forward and whispered into the vice-legate’s ear. Baldwin, all smiles, walked forward and bowed his head at Kaja.
‘Princess Kaja, I believe. You are most welcome.’
Kaja was taken aback. ‘I am?’
‘Of course,’ insisted Baldwin who slapped his hands together. ‘A chair for the princess. Cannot you see she is with child?’
The guards retreated, Conrad’s friends relaxed and the beautiful Kaja, a gold torc around her neck and rings on her fingers, was provided with a chair. She smiled at Conrad but gave Baldwin a defiant glare. But the vice-legate was an accomplished inquisitor and was used to dealing with hostile witnesses. He quickly had the measure of the wife of Rameke.
‘You are well acquainted with Master Conrad, your highness?’ smiled Baldwin.
Kaja made her first mistake. ‘I have known Susi for many years.’
Baldwin appeared perplexed. ‘Susi? Who is Susi?’
Kaja frowned. ‘That is the name that was bestowed on Master Conrad years ago by my people?’
‘Your people?’
Kaja’s patience was running thin. ‘Saccalians.’
Baldwin looked around for enlightenment.
‘One of the Estonia tribes, your eminence,’ Volquin told him.
‘Ah, I see.’ Baldwin spoke softly to Kaja. ‘Susi is a familiar name, a nickname, for Master Conrad?’
Kaja looked at the unhinged monk as though he was an idiot.
‘Susi is the name of the wolf spirit that inhabits the forest, the protector who comes when the people have need of him. Just as Susi came to us in our hour of need. His second given name is ‘Wolff’ and we took it as a sign that he had been sent to us.’
‘A sign from who, I wonder?’ mused Baldwin. ‘You are a Christian, princess?’
‘I am.’
‘Praise be and you will bring into the world a Christian child, with God’s help.’
‘My second child.’
Baldwin nodded approvingly. ‘The angels rejoice. But if we may return to the time when you first met Master Conrad. You were pagan at that time?’
‘I was.’
‘And you firmly believed that Master Conrad was the embodiment of a wolf spirit that had inhabited your land since ancient times.’
‘Yes.’
Baldwin brought his hands together. ‘And all those who flocked to Master Conrad’s banner believed him to be the spirit of the forest wolf made flesh?’
Kaja looked confused. ‘He is a man not a wolf.’
Many in the audience laughed at her comment. Baldwin also smiled.
‘Of course, but you must have believed that Susi was beloved of the old gods.’
‘Yes,’ said Kaja, not thinking.
Baldwin turned away from her to address the hall.
‘But we all know that there are no gods only the one true God. We also know that Satan masquerades in many guises, the wolf being one of them.’
He turned back to Kaja. ‘Thank you, princess, you have clarified many points.’
‘Susi is not Satan,’ shouted Kaja.
‘No, indeed, princess,’ agreed Baldwin, ‘but Satan has many helpers in this world.’
‘It is fine, Kaja,’ said Conrad. ‘Do not alarm yourself.’
Kaja, her eyes moist, smiled weakly at him and returned to the embrace of Rameke and the comfort of Conrad’s warlords. They were deeply unhappy but Baldwin was delighted and at the end of the first day he retired to his quarters convinced that Master Conrad’s time on earth was shortening by the hour.
The next day comprised an examination of the charge that Conrad had incited wars, specifically against Danish land in Estonia.
‘Is it not true that you forged an alliance with the pagan Oeselians to enable you to attack Reval?’
Conrad nodded. ‘Yes.’
Baldwin shook his head solemnly. ‘How many Christian lives were lost when these heathens attacked Reval?’
‘I do not know.’
‘Did you know that Reval had been granted to King Valdemar by the Holy Father himself?’
‘Yes.’
‘And yet you still attacked it, knowing that to do so was against the express wishes of the Bishop of Rome himself?’
‘Yes.’
There were shocked gasps in the hall as Baldwin let his hands fall to his sides.
‘Your own words condemn you, Master Conrad.’
Conrad was going to speak about the rescue of King Valdemar from the Oeselians and the saving of Bishop Albert himself on Muhu but said nothing. He knew that the decision of the court had been decided before he had stepped into it. At that moment, when his fate had all but been decided, the only thought that occupied his mind was whether the long letter he had sent to his sister had left Riga.
The third day offered some light relief as Baldwin asked the corpulent Glueck to testify regarding the charge of sedition levelled at Conrad. The Duke of Riga, to emphasise his status, had insisted on standing to face Conrad but had to ask for a chair as his knees began to ache from having to support his great bulk for a protracted period. Sweating, his cheeks red and his breathing heavy, Baldwin asked him about Bishop Albert’s crusade south of the Dvina.
‘I had to endure the constant insults from Master Conrad,’ complained Glueck, ‘which were invariably made at meetings of the council of war.’
‘It must have been most uncomfortable for you, your grace,’ said Baldwin.
‘It undermined me and affected the morale of the Livonian Militia,’ complained Glueck, ‘which I raised and paid for out of my own purse, I might add.’
Mocking chortles were heard in the chamber.
‘My position was ridiculed and undermined,’ bleated Glueck. ‘It was only with the assistance of my good friend Archdeacon Stefan that my name was restored, and all because the Marshal of Estonia had abused his position and mine.’
‘Alas, your grace,’ said Baldwin, ‘Satan is cunning and will do anything he can to undermine godly Christian lords.’
The fourth day was different from the rest in that there were no spectators to the trial. Baldwin, aware that Conrad had supporters among those who had filled the audience chamber every day, decreed that as only sentencing remained there was no need for any more witnesses and hence there was no need for anyone not involved in the workings of the court to be present. Stefan insisted that guards be present in case Conrad should attempt to escape while the judgment of the court was being given. But Conrad stood in silence and stared at the portly archdeacon as Baldwin pronounced sentence.
