As Dust to the Wind

by Peter Darman

It was true and he knew it. She was the living example of such virtuous thinking. But ever since the discussion with Rudolf at Wenden all he could think about were his dead parents and the desire for revenge that burned within him.

  *****

  The Duke of Holstein arrived at Riga with great pomp and ceremony. The cogs that brought him and his army to the port all flew the coat of arms of Holstein: a white nettle leaf on a red background. Even the square sails of every cog carried the emblem, leaving no one in any doubt as to who was arriving at the port. Trumpeters sounded a mighty fanfare when the ship carrying their lord docked and the duke himself trod the gangplank. Each of the trumpeters was dressed in red, their tunics adorned with his livery. The Bishop of Riga, Archdeacon Stefan, Duke of Riga and Grand Master Volquin were there to meet the man rumoured to be the richest merchant in the whole of the western Baltic. Any historians present would have noted that among the dignitaries he was meeting was the richest man in the eastern Baltic. It was indeed a portentous day.

  The Duke of Holstein was dressed in silk and ermine but even those expensive materials could not hide the fact that the noble was remarkably ugly with pale skin, a leering expression and over-sized jowls. He was also fat; beads of sweat forming on his forehead as he waddled towards the bishop and his entourage. He kissed the bishop’s ring and grinned maniacally when he was introduced to Stefan, the equally repellent Magnus Glueck and Volquin. The grand master took an instant dislike to him.

  ‘Welcome to Riga, your grace,’ smiled Volquin, ‘I trust your journey was a pleasant one.’

  Braune made a grunt like a pig. ‘It was tolerable, nothing more.’

  The duke’s entourage comprised arrogant, loud young nobles who fawned over their rich benefactor. But among the preening peacocks were some who looked very different, and one in particular. He stayed close to the Duke of Holstein, his black eyes darting left and right and his hand always near his sword handle. He was not a young man, nearing his sixtieth year, but he had not allowed himself to run to fat unlike his master. His black leather tunic and boots gave him a formidable and intimidating appearance, which was precisely the point. His men were similarly attired and they were half his age, did not smile and likewise kept their hands near their weapons.

  ‘We should leave these docks, lord,’ said Artur tersely.

  ‘What? Yes, you are right.’

  ‘Quarters have been assigned to you and your men in the Bishop’s Palace, your grace,’ smiled Stefan.

  ‘Artur and his men will be accompanying me,’ said Braune, ‘I have many enemies.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ muttered Volquin, a remark unheard by the Duke of Holstein but registered by Artur who gave the grand master a threatening look.

  Artur stayed close to his lord during the lavish banquet laid on for the Duke of Holstein that evening. Nordheim’s guards stood at the doors to the palace’s audience chamber and more sentries patrolled the walls of the bishop’s residence, but Artur and his men kept watch like hawks as Braune was feted by the bishop and the Duke of Riga. Braune and Glueck quickly realised they were kindred spirits and became very drunk as they toasted each other and Bishop Nicholas.

  Grand Master Volquin took the opportunity to speak to Artur as he hovered behind his lord, who was deep in drunken conversation with the Duke of Riga.

  ‘I doubt that your lord has enemies in Riga.’

  ‘Rich men have enemies everywhere.’

  ‘I suppose it depends on how they made their wealth,’ said Volquin.

  ‘Meaning what?’

  Volquin shrugged. ‘It matters not.’

  ‘My lord is eager to hunt pagans,’ said Artur. ‘I hope Lithuania has sufficient numbers to provide good sport for him. He has very demanding tastes.’

  ‘I think there will be enough pagans to satisfy his grace’s appetite.’

  The next day a surprisingly alert and sober Duke of Holstein attended a service of thanksgiving in Riga Cathedral, at which Bishop Nicholas thanked the duke for his generous donation to the holy see’s coffers and decreed that every church in Livonia and Estonia would hold special services to pray for the success of Braune’s forthcoming crusade against the heathen Lithuanians. The only blemish on the service was afterwards when a desultory rain began that continued on into the evening.

  Two days later the crusader army crossed the Dvina on a great armada of rafts and riverboats. Hundreds of Riga’s citizens gathered along the riverbank near Holm Castle to see the crossing, which took hours to complete. Bishop Nicholas himself blessed the Duke of Holstein and his entourage in the first riverboat, a stout chair stuffed with cushions being placed in the centre of the deck so the duke could enjoy a comfortable crossing. Braune’s personal group of minstrels played soothing music in the stern of the vessel as the duke and Artur chatted to the gift that Bishop Nicholas had supplied to them: Manfred Nordheim. Despite Archdeacon Stefan’s misgivings the bishop was insistent that the commander of Riga’s garrison and his fifty horsemen should accompany the Duke of Holstein on his crusade. He decreed that it was fitting that Riga’s soldiers should be part of what promised to be an historic venture.

  To ensure that every part of the crusade was recorded for posterity the Duke of Holstein had brought with him scribes to record each day’s events. The duke also had a bard so his exploits would become part of literature to rival the Song of Roland. In addition the duke had a personal confessor, who happily for Braune was as deaf as a post. A small army of cup bearers, heralds, stewards, grooms, stable hands and servants was also in attendance to ensure the duke’s life in the field would be as comfortable as possible.

  The real army comprised a hundred knights from Lübeck and other towns in northern Germany, the same number of squires and three hundred ‘lesser knights’ who had no squires or lands but did have sufficient funds to purchase a horse, weapons and armour. These men hoped to at least acquire plunder during the crusade, though those who distinguished themselves in battle might be awarded land for their bravery. The fifteen hundred foot soldiers recruited from Lübeck and the surrounding towns were of variable quality. The best were the two hundred mercenary crossbowmen, each one on a par with their counterparts in the Sword Brothers. The eight hundred men of the town militias all had iron helmets, a spear, teardrop-shaped shields and at least half had swords. Unfortunately no one had given any thought to the time of year and so none had cloaks for the march into Lithuania. More worrying was that they were all part-time soldiers, used to attending training sessions once a week where they received the bare minimum of instruction. But then, as everyone told them, they would only be fighting animal-like pagans. The five hundred mercenary foot soldiers hired by the Bishop of Lübeck were all seasoned veterans and well equipped and armed with spears, swords, axes and maces.

  Priests stood at the water’s edge blessing each boat and raft before it pushed off into river, the Dvina being mercifully calm – proof of God’s approval of the great venture. Grand Master Volquin and his Sword Brothers had crossed over first to provide a vanguard for the Duke of Holstein. Volquin had summoned the garrisons of Holm, Uexkull, Lennewarden, Kokenhusen and Gerzika to his banner – sixty brother knights, a hundred sergeants, two hundred spearmen and two hundred crossbowmen. Half the entire strength of the Order of Sword Brothers was marching south with the Duke of Holstein.

  It was late in the day when Conrad arrived at the Dvina, the waterway still full of rafts and boats of varying sizes ferrying what appeared to be an endless amount of horses, men, wagons and carts filled with supplies, non-combatants and camp followers across the river. Godfrey, the castellan of Holm, had been ordered to remain on the northern riverbank to ensure that none of those coming from Germany remained north of the river. Mercenaries hired in Germany could quickly become lethal bands of robbers should they so desire. And a peaceful and prospering Livonia would be a tempting target for hardened dogs of war.

  Godfrey was standing a few yards from the water’s edge with his deputy when Conrad ro
de up and dismounted.

  ‘Conrad. Volquin told me you were joining us. Life at Odenpah too peaceful for your liking?’

  ‘Something like that.’

  Holm’s castellan looked at him. ‘Is your army on the way?’

  ‘It has better things to do than get slaughtered in Lithuania.’

  Godfrey laughed. ‘You are under no illusion as to our chances, then?’

  Conrad looked up at the threatening sky. ‘I once campaigned in Lithuania in the spring when it snowed and in the autumn it rains incessantly. But perhaps the Duke of Holstein’s army is large enough to crush the Lithuanians.’

  Godfrey screwed up his face. ‘It’s no worse or better than other armies that have come from Germany, though two thousand men errs on the small side in my opinion. Still, he has a poet so we must not underestimate him.’

  ‘A poet?’

  ‘To write verses about his forthcoming victories,’ said Godfrey in deadly earnestness. ‘I don’t suppose your Kur ally will be joining us.’

  ‘King Lamekins is an astute and gifted commander,’ said Conrad.

  ‘That’s a no, then.’

  ‘What is your opinion of the Duke of Holstein?’

  Godfrey sighed loudly. ‘He is rich, powerful and very unpleasant to look upon. What can I say? The Pope has issued a call to kill pagans and he and his considerable fortune has answered it.’

  ‘So he can buy redemption,’ remarked Conrad bitterly.

  ‘That’s what rich men do, Conrad. I’m sure the grand master will be eager for you to meet him. Tonight in his pavilion, perhaps, if you can find a place on a raft for your horse.’

  ‘I look forward to it, Godfrey.’

  Chapter 5

  Conrad stared into the eyes of the man who had occupied his thoughts for so long. The pavilion was full of knights, Sword Brothers, minstrels, priests and servants but it seemed like he was alone with his nemesis.

  ‘May I introduce Master Conrad, your grace,’ said Grand Master Volquin, ‘Marshal of Estonia and a man who has fought pagans in this land for twenty-five years.’

  Braune’s brown eyes examined Conrad admiringly, unaware of the reason that had brought the Sword Brother to Livonia in the first place.

  ‘Master Conrad saved Bishop Albert’s life and killed the pagan leader Lembit at the Battle of Saint Matthew’s Day, later conquering the whole of Estonia with the assistance of an army he had raised from among the natives.’

  Conrad’s eyes narrowed as a voice in his head screamed at him.

  Kill him. Draw your sword and run it through that fat belly. Avenge your mother and father. Are you a man or a base coward? Everything you have done in your life has led to this moment. Strike now. Do not hesitate.

  ‘It is an honour to meet you, Master Conrad,’ said Braune.

  Conrad bowed his head. ‘As it is for me to make your acquaintance, your grace.’

  Coward.

  ‘Tell me,’ said Braune, ‘in your opinion what would be the best route to follow to draw the most heathens to us? I am eager to slaughter as many Lithuanians as possible.’

  ‘That is easy,’ smiled Conrad. ‘Aim for Medvegalis and I am certain that your grace will see more pagans than you have ever dreamed of.’

  The Duke of Holstein looked quizzically at Conrad and Volquin.

  ‘Medi what?’

  ‘Medvegalis,’ said Conrad slowly. ‘The main stronghold of Duke Ykintas, the leader of the Samogitians.’

  Braune rubbed his delicate hands. ‘Most excellent. We will head for there tomorrow. You know the way, Master Conrad?’

  ‘Happily, your grace, all we have to do is march directly south and we will come across it in around fifteen days.’

  Braune looked concerned. ‘He will not run away, will he?’

  ‘Your grace?’

  Braune waved his hand in the air. ‘This pagan leader.’

  ‘Duke Ykintas,’ said Volquin.

  ‘I did not come here to spend my time chasing pagans around the countryside,’ insisted Braune, ‘I have heard that they are all illiterate cowards. I mean to have some sport.’

  ‘I can say with some confidence that Duke Ykintas will stand and fight,’ Conrad assured him.

  ‘Good,’ replied Braune. He suddenly turned and went back to his place at the trestle table, spotting that a servant had placed a silver platter heaped with cooked venison on it. The black-eyed Artur, ever his shadow, followed.

  ‘Are you mad?’ said Volquin angrily.

  Conrad feigned innocence. ‘Mad, grand master? I sincerely hope not.’

  ‘The plan was to march to the Tervete Valley and let the Duke of Holstein amuse himself with raiding Semgallian villages. We do not wish to stray too far from Ortwin at Mesoten. Now I shall have to persuade the duke that we should not march to Medvegalis.’

  Volquin was fuming. ‘In future hold your tongue, Conrad.’

  But the Duke of Holstein was not to be dissuaded and the next day announced that he would be leading the army south into Samogitia. He sent a summons to Conrad that he was to be his personal adviser for the duration of the campaign, a request that Volquin dare not refuse for fear that Braune would default on his donation to the Sword Brothers. And so the army marched south, at first making good progress over tracks still hard from the summer, the weather dry despite the continual presence of grey clouds overhead threatening rain The great column of horsemen, soldiers and non-combatants on foot and dozens of attendant wagons threaded its way through green pastures, rolling hills and between great forests of spruce and pine. Once in Samogitia the duke ordered his lesser knights to amuse themselves, which involved pillaging and burning any settlements they came across.

  Braune, looking ridiculous in mail armour and red surcoat bearing his white nettle leaf motif, questioned Conrad closely on the Samogitians as they rode south. The duke was also accompanied by Grand Master Volquin and Manfred Nordheim and his horsemen, the banners of Holstein, Riga and the Sword Brothers fluttering in the stiff breeze.

  ‘The pagans that live in these parts, are they hunters?’

  ‘They hunt, yes,’ said Conrad, ‘but they also farm the land, the soil being particularly suitable for producing flax and lint.’

  ‘Are there any towns or cities that we may burn?’

  ‘Most settlements are small, villages mostly comprising low, rectangular wooden huts the inhabitants share with their livestock.’

  ‘Disgusting,’ muttered Braune.

  As the days passed the skyline was filled with pillars of black smoke where the duke’s knights had burnt villages. But they returned frustrated, informing Braune that the villagers had abandoned their homes and taken their livestock with them.

  ‘Base cowards,’ sneered Braune.

  ‘It is a common tactic the pagans employ,’ said Conrad. ‘They flee to sacred groves deep in the forest there to wait until danger has passed.’

  ‘They readily abandon their homes?’

  Conrad shrugged. ‘Huts can be rebuilt easily enough. Men, cattle and horses are harder to replace.’

  But not all the Samogitians managed to escape the crusaders. A patrol of knights with blood-covered lance points returned with a prisoner, a pagan with a thick beard, ripped tunic and bruised face.

  ‘We killed the rest, your grace,’ reported the patrol leader with satisfaction, ‘but managed to capture this one alive.’

  The army continued its march south as a fascinated Braune studied the prisoner closely.

  ‘Has he said anything?’

  ‘Nothing, your grace.’

  ‘What is your name?’ shouted the duke at the Samogitian.

  The man gave him a disinterested stare.

  ‘He will not understand German,’ said Conrad.

  Braune looked disappointed. ‘Ah, I see. Artur, your assistance.’

  The duke’s bodyguard jumped down from his horse and assisted Braune in alighting from his. Artur gestured to the patrol members to dismount and secure the prisoner. Th
ey did so and held the prisoner’s arms firmly, though the pagan made no attempt to resist them. Braune gingerly approached the Samogitian, jumping when he snarled at him. The duke drew his dagger from its sheath and thrust it into the man’s belly. The prisoner groaned and collapsed, retching as blood gushed from the wound.

  ‘Ha, see how he fell,’ gloated Braune.

  ‘It was a masterful strike, lord,’ said Artur. ‘It will take him a long time to die.’

  Volquin was staring at his horse’s neck and Nordheim was mildly amused but Conrad was appalled. It confirmed everything he had ever thought about the Duke of Holstein who handed his dagger to Artur for cleaning. After its blade was free of blood he handed it back to Braune. The prisoner was now lying on his side after being released by his captors, spitting blood from his mouth, his breathing laboured. Conrad dismounted, drew his own dagger and in a lightning movement whipped it across the pagan’s throat. Braune was stunned and Artur livid. Conrad caught his eye.

  ‘You have something to say to me?’

  Artur’s hand went to the hilt of his sword.

  ‘No, Artur,’ commanded Braune. ‘Really, Master Conrad, you have been living too long among pagans. Your manners leave a lot to be desired. Still, it was a deft use of the dagger I have to say.’

  Conrad bowed his head to him. ‘Your servant, lord.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ continued the duke, ‘I must demand that you apologise…’

  There was a sudden rumbling above and large spits of rain began to fall. Braune looking at the sky screwed up his face.

  ‘Never mind that. Artur, get my pavilion erected. I have no desire to get drenched and catch a chill.’

  The heavens opened, prompting the Duke of Holstein to call his men to him. They jumped from their horses and hoisted their shields over their lord to afford him some cover, Artur advising they seek the sanctuary of the nearest trees until the duke’s pavilion could be erected. Conrad standing with rain coursing off his mail coif-framed face, looked with a smug expression at Grand Master Volquin.

  ‘Give the order to make camp,’ ordered the grand master before turning to Conrad. ‘You play a dangerous game, Conrad.’