Schism, page 28
part #5 of Crusader Chronicles Series
Rudolf peeled off his mask. ‘Not enough men? Sir Richard was stationed in woods but ten miles from the city with three hundred soldiers, just in case the garrison decided to give chase. He and Rameke will be withdrawing north by now.’
‘We can still stop them and get them to turn around,’ said Hillar loudly.
Rudolf looked at the big Rotalian lord. ‘I am tempted, your grace, sorely tempted.’
He spotted Henke taking off his face mask.
‘You should leave it on, Henke, it suits you.’
The butcher of Wenden certainly looked like an executioner, his leather apron splattered with blood and his forearms covered in gore after his frenzied attacks on all and sundry with his mace.
‘Let’s get you some better clothes,’ Godfrey said to Conrad.
‘What about these, Susi?’
Conrad turned to see Riki standing with the shaking, terrified women that had been rescued from an appalling fate. They had been spirited away from Riga but seeing dozens killed around them, many by a rage-filled Henke, had done nothing to calm their nerves. If anything they were close to breaking down completely.
‘I would ask that a place of solitude and calm could be found for these poor women,’ Conrad said to Godfrey.
‘I will attend to their physical and spiritual needs,’ came a booming voice behind them.
Father Otto walked past Godfrey and Conrad and held his arms out wide.
‘Come sisters, no harm will come to you.’
He literally scooped them up in his arms and bundled them towards the castle’s stone chapel.
‘Don’t forget to feed and water them,’ Conrad shouted Otto.
‘I need no lessons in hospitality from you, Master Conrad,’ came the insolent reply.
Holm Castle had been the first stone building in Livonia and had been a Sword Brother stronghold for thirty years. It was actually built on an island next to the River Dvina, its wide, deep moat surrounding the castle on three sides and the river itself protecting the fourth side. An enemy had never taken its thick stone walls and high towers and its castellan was not a man to be crossed. Godfrey was older than Volquin and had been proposed by some to be Grand Master. He had been Bishop Albert’s first Sword Brother Master and castellan and had been lord of men such as Rudolf and Lukas when they first came to Livonia. Godfrey’s sword was sharp but his tongue was even more cutting and it was his brusque nature and willingness to tell the truth, no matter how uncomfortable, that finally ruled him out of the running for Grand Master. Volquin could be just as brutal and merciless as Godfrey but Holm’s master was too undiplomatic to be Bishop Albert’s right-hand man. His forthright nature was on display that evening when a banquet was held in Conrad’s honour.
Normally meals among the order were eaten in silence, with brother knights sitting first and sergeants second. But this occasion was a feast to which all Holm’s brother knights and sergeants were invited, though lots had been drawn to decide who would stand guard duty during the festivities. Every Sword Brother garrison employed mercenaries, many of whom had been resident in Livonia for years, often more Liv or Estonian than the natives, taking wives and producing children. But though mercenaries could assist in guard duty they could never be trusted to undertake it alone. One of the rules of the order was that its castles were guarded day and night only by those who had taken the oath of the Sword Brothers. Mercenaries could be trusted only to a certain extent.
The stone dining hall with its vaulted ceiling was filled with loud Estonians and angry, sullen brother knights and sergeants, Conrad seated between Godfrey and Rudolf on the top table. Novices served huge quantities of beer and mead to the guests, inevitably resulting in the level of noise rising as men became drunk and loud. Hans, seated with Riki, Andres and Hillar, was more interested in the bread, cheese, pork and boar placed before him on wooden platters than drink, though he did require prodigious amounts of beer to wash down the even greater quantities of food he was consuming.
‘Leave it,’ barked Godfrey to a novice who was going to take away an earthenware jug half-full of mead.
Conrad, relieved to have been saved from the executioner’s iron bar and red-hot pincers, was concerned about what would happen now that he had been spirited away from under the vice-legate’s nose. He picked at his food as he mulled over thoughts in his head.
‘Food not to your liking?’ asked Godfrey.
‘I am concerned that in freeing me Archdeacon Stefan and the vice-legate will launch reprisals against Estonia,’ said Conrad.
Godfrey downed a large tanked of beer and refilled it.
‘You hear that, Rudolf? Conrad thinks the wrath of Riga will be unleashed against us.’
Rudolf tore off a chunk of roasted boar. ‘That’s the problem with Conrad, he’s always been too much of a thinker.’
He pointed the chunk of cooked meat at Henke a few paces away at another long table.
‘You should be more like Henke, a man who draws his sword first and thinks about his actions afterwards.’
Godfrey belched and rose to his feet, beer dripping from his beard.
‘Silence!’ he bellowed.
The din in the hall slowly ebbed and died as all eyes turned to the now drunk castellan. Godfrey slammed his tankard on the table and grabbed Conrad’s shoulder.
‘Today we were forced to rescue a great warlord and Master of the Sword Brothers because affairs in Livonia had reached such a sad state that good men are condemned while knaves and traitors hold high office.’
The brother knights and sergeants banged their tankards on table tops and the Estonians, those who could understand German, clapped and cheered. Those who could not were informed of what was being said via urgent whisperings from comrades.
‘Since the death of Bishop Albert this land has rotted from within,’ continued Godfrey loudly, ‘and good men are expected to say and do nothing. Well I say no longer. No longer will the Sword Brothers tolerate boy lovers such as Archdeacon Stefan or fat fools such as the Duke of Riga wrecking what the Sword Brothers and Bishop Albert built during thirty years of blood and toil.’
The brother knights and sergeants stood and clapped and the Estonians cheered wildly. Godfrey held up his arms to call for silence.
‘Grand Master Volquin, Master Rudolf and the other masters of our order are all in agreement that we cannot allow Livonia to become corrupt and rotten. I now ask the Marshal of Estonia if he and his army will join us in this pledge.’
‘We are with you, Susi,’ called Hillar.
‘The Army of the Wolf stands with you,’ added Andres.
‘As does the whole of Estonia,’ pledged Riki.
‘Well, Conrad,’ said Rudolf, ‘the hour is at hand. You hold the fate of Livonia and Estonia in yours hands.’
Conrad took a mouthful of beer, rose slowly to his feet and looked at the sea of expectant faces staring at him. There was silence in the hall and no one moved. He felt a heavy weight suddenly bear down on his shoulders.
He gave Hans a thin smile. ‘Estonia stands with you, Godfrey.’
The hall erupted with wild cheering. Rescue had become rebellion.
*****
The day after the rescue of Conrad Wolff the vice-legate convened a meeting in the audience chamber of the Bishop’s Palace. As before he wore a simple grey habit as he sat down in the bishop’s chair, his clerks diligently recording every word on their parchments. Archdeacon Stefan, traumatised by the previous day’s events, not least by a crossbow bolt splitting the skull of a young serving boy pouring him wine, covering his vestments with blood and brain, had taken to his bed with an attack of nausea. No one missed him.
Magnus Glueck, resplendent in mail armour and magnificent blue surcoat upon which a sliver griffin had been stitched, sat in the chair beside the dais which the archdeacon had occupied when Bishop Albert had been alive. Manfred Nordheim stood on the other side of the wooden platform beside Dietrich von Kivel.
The vice-legate, his fingers twitching with excitement, was dictating to his clerks.
‘We will recommend Abbot Nicholas to the Holy Father to be the new Bishop of Riga. The vacuum that has been created since the passing of the great Bishop Albert has allowed evil to flourish in God’s own city.’
Glueck, not used to being at anyone’s beck and call, even a papal vice-legate, cleared his throat. Baldwin’s fingers stopped moving.
‘You have something to say, your grace?’
The Duke of Riga stood and puffed out his chest, which unfortunately was dwarfed by the enormous girth beneath.
‘Your eminence, the Livonian Militia stands ready to march with the garrison of this city to recapture and bring to justice the heretic Conrad Wolff.’
‘Your enthusiasm is to be commended, your grace,’ said Baldwin, ‘but I fear that neither the garrison nor the militia are adequate to deal with the spectre that presents itself.’
‘Spectre?’ queried Glueck.
Baldwin jumped from his chair and began pacing up and down in front of the dais.
‘Satan reveals himself at last, as I suspected he might. Conrad Wolff is a mere servant of Lucifer. I intend to cleanse this land of the evil that infects it and that will take an army, a godly army filled with men infused with the Holy Spirit.
‘I intend to take ship to Germany tomorrow and then travel to the Curia to secure the funds required to build the army of the Lord. Dietrich, you will be coming with me so you can begin raising godly men for this august task.’
‘In Germany?’ said Nordheim lightly.
Baldwin swung around and glared at him.
‘You would do well to attend to the soldiers of your garrison, commander, who yesterday showed themselves to be woefully deficient in the defence of this city. When I return I intend to purge this city of the feckless, idle and deviant.’
Nordheim bowed his head to the vice-legate. ‘Good luck with that,’ he said under his breath.
A door to the chamber opened and one of Nordheim’s guards entered and marched across the floor to his commander.
‘Grand Master Volquin is here,’ he said to Baldwin.
‘Show him in,’ ordered the vice-legate.
Glueck sat down as the grand master strode into the chamber and bowed to the vice-legate, who also returned to his chair.
‘Welcome, Grand Master.’
‘Where were your men yesterday?’ demanded Glueck.
‘I heard about the trouble in the city square,’ said Volquin, ‘most unfortunate.’
He gave the Duke of Riga a contemptuous glance. ‘As to my men, I thought the responsibility of securing Riga resided with its garrison.’
‘Those who rescued the Marshal of Estonia were soldiers,’ stated Nordheim.
‘Were they?’ replied Volquin. ‘I would not know, I was not there.’
‘How convenient,’ spat Nordheim.
‘Have a care, Commander,’ warned Volquin, ‘I would not wish your tongue getting you into trouble.’
‘Enough,’ snapped Baldwin. ‘Grand Master I intend to take ship to Germany to raise an army with which to subdue Estonia and bring Master Conrad to justice. I hope the Sword Brothers will remember their oath to the Holy Father and the Holy Church.’
‘You can be assured, your eminence,’ said Volquin sternly, ‘that the Sword Brothers will do what they have always done, which is to defend Livonia and the interests of the Holy Church.’
Baldwin nodded. ‘Good. Rest assured, gentlemen, that when I return evil will be exorcised from this land. The agents of Satan will be snuffed out.’
Volquin was treated by the vice-legate to a long, monotonous lecture concerning his exploits against the Cathars in Spain, which involved torturing and burning hundreds of men, women and children whom he had condemned as heretics and agents of Satan. Glueck nodded contentedly as Baldwin recounted his ‘triumphs’ and Kivel wore a self-satisfied grin Volquin wanted to remove with the edge of his sword. The vice-legate’s eyes bulged as he described flesh being ripped and burned. After it was over he flopped back down in his chair, the sweating clerks having a respite from their scribbling at last. Almost in a trance, Baldwin dismissed everyone and walked from the chamber, demanding that von Kivel accompany him. A disillusioned Volquin, none the wiser as to why he had been summoned to the palace, angrily stormed from the chamber, leaving Nordheim and Glueck alone.
The commander used the opportunity to have a quiet word with Riga’s leading merchant.
‘One of my officers reported that Prince Rameke was involved in the rescue of Conrad Wolff yesterday.’
Glueck’s unseemly face frowned.
‘I’m sure he is mistaken.’
Nordheim was taken aback. ‘I am certain he is not. The prince is a well-known figure in Livonia. A warrant should be issued for his arrest.’
Glueck sighed. ‘Let me explain why your officer was mistaken, commander. Prince Rameke is a man of great influence among the Livs and, because King Fricis has no male heirs, will be their king in the future.
‘Many Rigan merchants, myself included, trade with the Livs in commodities such as grain, hides and timber. If the prince is arrested the supply of those commodities will invariably dry up, which the city council would not like at all. You understand?’
‘So the prince goes free?’
Glueck shrugged. ‘He is a man of power and influence in Livonia and his followers help to fill the city’s coffers. Are we to imperil that on the word of one of your officers?’
The tone in Glueck’s voice meant the question was rhetorical and so he took his leave, satisfied that the insane papal vice-legate would return to Livonia in the new year with an army that would rid the world of Conrad Wolff, his army and hopefully clip the wings of the arrogant Sword Brothers once and for all.
*****
Conrad was glad to be back at Odenpah, the life of the garrison continuing as normal. But within days of his return a steady stream of village headmen made their way to the fort to report dire news: a series of early frosts had destroyed all the crops in the fields. Conrad and Hans rode to the outlying villages to see the damage for themselves and at every settlement it was the same. At one village the old headman, his hair thinning and grey and his skin leathery and sagging, showed them the fields of rye and wheat that would normally have been golden and ripe for harvesting. But after the frosts they had become stretches of black, rotting vegetation.
The old man bent down and plucked a handful of ruined rye.
‘The frost has killed every crop, Susi, all the wheat, rye, barley, oats, peas, beans and vetches.’
‘Everything has gone?’
The old man nodded. A small crowd had begun to gather around them, healthy children, good-looking women with clear eyes, and shiny blonde or fair hair. Broad-chested men who should have been scything crops in fields now had nothing to do.
‘What of the hay crop?’ asked Conrad.
‘That was unaffected, Susi, but people cannot eat hay.’
In early summer each year the meadows were scythed to make hay to provide winter fodder for animals. A good crop meant a relatively steady supply of fresh meat over the winter months.
‘No tribute for Odenpah, though,’ said Hans.
Every Sword Brother garrison was paid a tribute in grain by every village within its district, part of which was taken to Riga for sale to merchants who shipped it to Germany. The money raised was used to pay the wages of mercenaries and purchase armour and horses. There was also a burgeoning leather trade in Riga and Liv merchants supplied timber for the construction of buildings and ships to the port as well. The past few years of peace in Estonia had seen the people grow healthy on the back of a series of good harvests but this winter would be different. There would be no excess grain to sell in Riga or to feed Odenpah’s garrison. Hans looked as worried as the villagers standing around him. Expectant faces looked at Conrad, the man who had established peace in Estonia and was the reincarnation of the wolf spirit of the forest, the great spectral defender of the people. An elk grunted at the edge of the forest on the other side of the fields and Conrad knew the answer.
He looked at the headman. ‘Your crops may have been ruined but you possess the means to allow you to purchase replacements.’
‘Susi?’
‘Organise hunting parties to kill and skin elk. You can smoke the meat to feed your people and send the skins to Odenpah. I will take them to Reval where they can be sold for grain. I will send you some crossbowmen to assist you with the hunts.’
It was a desperate measure but it had the advantage of keeping villagers occupied instead of contemplating a winter of hunger and after that a spring that would be equally as hard. It was fortunate that all the novices at the fort had been thoroughly trained in the use of the crossbow and even more fortuitous that they were Estonians and not Germans. This meant they spoke the local language and would be able to work alongside the villagers with ease.
Conrad conferred with Sergeant Werner, Leatherface and Falcone concerning the organisation of the groups. It was decided that a fledgling brother knight and two prospective sergeants would be sent to each far-off village. Those villages around the fort would be allotted parties of Falcone’s crossbowmen, who would return each evening to sleep in the fort. The Genoese were all hard-bitten mercenaries so Conrad did not want them lodging in settlements that had an abundance of blonde, blue-eyed girls and young women.
‘I mean no offence to you or your men,’ Conrad said to Falcone in the fort’s main hall.
‘None taken, lord,’ smiled Falcone, flashing his immaculate teeth, ‘my men satisfy their base urges in Dorpat’s brothels.’
‘What about the novices?’ asked Leatherface.
‘What about them?’ replied Conrad.
The mercenary rolled his eyes. ‘They are all young, strong and full of fury and you are quartering them in villages with no one to see that they don’t step out of line.’
‘He’s got a point, Conrad,’ admitted Hans.
Leatherface leaned back in his chair, placed his hands behind his head and began reminiscing.
