by Peter Darman
‘Perhaps you wish to take us back to Riga and put us to death,’ said the youngest healer.
‘Of course not,’ he said.
‘Why?’ asked another.
‘Because I am not a murderer,’ he replied.
He heard jangling and trundling and spun to see a small cart being driven into the grove. Two huge men sat on the driver’s seat.
‘They will take you back to Treiden,’ said the older healer.
He walked to the cart but then stopped and turned.
‘Thank you. I was certain I would die but now, because of you, I live.’
‘Farewell, Susi,’ she said.
He jumped on the back of the cart, which drove from the grove. He took one last look at the grove of oaks now deserted. It was as if the women had vanished.
The men said nothing to him during the journey but when he arrived at the hill fort at Treiden Rameke, Kaja and their three sons hugged and kissed him, the youngest boy not knowing why but happy nonetheless. Kaja was at first reluctant to embrace him too tightly for fear of disturbing the wounds on his back but when Rameke locked him in a bear hug she saw that Conrad did not wince or cry out. Later, when the three of them were alone he told them he had never felt more alive.
‘We have had a room prepared for you, Susi,’ said Kaja.
‘You will find your belongings there,’ Rameke told him. ‘I asked Master Rudolf for the clothing, though he told me that the surcoat and shield were old ones from the armoury.’
The room contained a single bed, upon which had been arranged his clothes, on top of which was laid a sword in a scabbard and a silver ring beside it. On a wooden frame by the bed hung a mail hauberk and chausses. Tears welled up in his eyes as he took the ring and kissed it. He slipped it on to his finger and closed his eyes to give thanks for the return of his most precious possession. He drew the sword from its scabbard and examined it in the candlelight. He ran a hand along the broad and evenly tapered blade gripping the black leather handle. He admired the disc-shaped pommel bearing unicorns on both sides and caressed the cross guard with its ‘waisted’ arms.
In the morning he knelt beside the bed and prayed. Was he a heretic now? If he was then it would be God’s decision to punish him. Until then he would continue to serve Him and the Sword Brothers. He would ride to Wenden first to thank Rudolf for the clothing and armour.
He dressed slowly and carefully, savouring the attire that had been denied him for so long and which he never thought he would wear again. Over his silk vest he put on a quilted aketon and then the long-sleeved hauberk. He closed his eyes and took in the aroma of the metal. Next came the mail chausses that protected his legs and on his feet he pulled on the leather boots given to him by Rameke. Over the hauberk he put on a linen-covered quilted, sleeveless gambeson. Then came the white surcoat sporting the red sword and cross of his order and finally the sword belt and attached scabbard and sheath. He adjusted the buckle and walked from the room.
He took off the sword belt and handed it to a guard at the doors to the main feasting hall as it was forbidden to carry a weapon in the hall of a Liv chief, much less a king. He felt a surge of emotion well up inside him when the king and queen stood when he entered, the guards around the walls banging the hafts of their spears on the floor to salute him as Rameke and Kaja and their sons welcomed him to their table.
‘You can stay here, Susi,’ Kaja told him.
‘We can hunt together,’ said Waribule, who had inherited his grandfather’s looks.
Conrad looked at him. ‘I would like that and one day we will hunt together, that I promise. But now I have to report to Wenden. I am still a Sword Brother and am oath-bound to my order.’
Rameke glanced at his wife who stared down at the table.
‘You will find much has changed at Wenden, my brother,’ said Rameke glumly. ‘It is for Master Rudolf to acquaint you with developments, Conrad.’
‘He will be delighted to see you, Susi,’ said Kaja.
The land around Treiden was verdant and bursting with life, the air thick with the scent of pine and the meadows full of blossoming flowers. Rameke gave Conrad a horse to ride and another for his tent and fodder before bidding him farewell. Already a crowd of petitioners had gathered outside his hall.
‘A king’s work has no end,’ he complained.
Conrad hugged Kaja. ‘You have saved my life twice now. I do not know how to repay you.’
‘You could stay with us,’ she suggested.
He smiled and kissed her on the forehead.
‘I cannot desert my order, highness.’
He adjusted the shield on his back, clasped forearms with his brother and lifted himself into the saddle. He raised a hand to them both and spurred his horse forward through the fort’s gates and down the hill to the town surrounding the stronghold. He would be at Wenden in a couple of hours.
Chapter 7
The weather was fine and dry as he rode north along the banks of the Gauja, the occasional riverboat passed him as it sailed its way south, or oars dipping in the water to propel it north. Corncrakes flew in the sky and hares poked their heads above the grass when he trotted through meadows. There were no bridges across the river but there were ferries – nothing more than rafts – that took passengers across the waterway where its current was slower. He arrived at one such place, a village sited on a bend in the river beyond a series of sandstone crags topped by towering pines looking down on dark and brooding pools. Around the village were fields and among the huts well-stocked animal pens. Men busy in the fields stopped their work as he approached, a knight in mail with a shield slung on his back. They gave him quizzical looks and pointed but went back to their labours when he passed by. Barefoot children skipped alongside him as he made his way to the river where a line of small fishing boats rested on the bank after their early morning hauls.
One of the fishermen was also the ferryman. He sat on a stool near his raft gutting fish, tossing the unwanted heads at a group of cats spitting and hissing at each other over the spoils.
‘You will take me across the river?’
He stopped and looked up at Conrad, surprise in his eyes.
‘You are going to Wenden?’
Conrad nodded.
‘You must have been away a long time.’
Was he a sorcerer too?
‘I have.’
He stood, shooed away the cats and wiped his hands on a dirty cloth. He called to the nearest hut.
‘Make sure these furry devils don’t steal my catch.’
A buxom blonde-haired woman wearing a pristine apron appeared at the door. She too registered surprise at Conrad’s appearance. He was beginning to feel distinctly uncomfortable. The slow current took the raft and its passenger and his horses across the river, which was narrow at this point, no more than thirty paces wide. The ferryman stood and held the rudder, constantly glancing at Conrad.
‘Something troubles you?’
‘No, sir, not at all.’
The raft ran aground on a gently sloping pebble bank. Conrad paid the man from the coins Rameke had given him and continued his journey. He stopped and ate a meal of cured meat, bread and cheese washed down with kvass by a copse of spruce. Kestrels hovered above the adjacent meadow looking for prey, a far-off white-backed woodpecker tapped at a tree and behind him a nervous deer froze at the treeline. It was as if he was the only person left in the world. His thoughts turned to his friends and how they had once travelled this land together. He smiled when he remembered them all but his heart grew heavy when he realised he would never see them again, not in this life anyway.
He rode along tracks and through meadows he knew well and then he saw it. Just a glimpse of towers at first but then a mighty fortress as the trees disappeared and Wenden loomed into view. It had always taken his breath away and it did so now, its huge gatehouse, tall towers and thick walls standing proud and invincible on the high escarpment. Beyond the gatehouse lay the outer perimeter, filled with hu
ts and training fields, enclosed by a timber wall sitting on a stout earth rampart. He smiled approvingly and kicked his horse forward towards the outer gatehouse. The gates were open. A detachment of sergeants in kettle helmets trotted over the wooden bridge spanning the moat, lance points glinting in the sun. They slowed as he passed them, every one staring at him in wonderment. So pleased was he to see Wenden that he failed to notice their stares and the confused looks of the guards at the gates. He was smiling when he rode into the great cobbled courtyard, dismounting and taking his horses to the stables along the western wall.
He left his mounts in the care of a fresh-faced stable hand and walked across the courtyard to the master’s hall. Two guards flanked the entrance.
‘Please convey my compliments to Master Rudolf,’ he said to them, ‘and inform him that Master Conrad is here to see him.’
They glanced at each other.
‘Master Conrad?’
‘From Odenpah,’ he said, ‘though it is a while since I have been there I must confess.’
Then he noticed their shields. They bore not a red cross over a red sword but instead a black cross on a white background. He turned and looked at the gatehouse where two banners fluttered on each tower. They too carried the same design.
‘Master Conrad, of course, please wait here.’
One guard disappeared into the hall. Moments later he returned with Rudolf who roared with delight and embraced Conrad.
‘By all the saints, is it really you?’
‘None other, my friend.’
Rudolf placed an arm around his shoulders.
‘Come. I never used to believe in miracles but now I have seen one with my own eyes. This is a good day.’
Conrad noticed the black cross on Rudolf’s white surcoat. That was his first question when the two were seated in his office. Wenden’s master ordered wine to be brought before he began to explain.
‘Wine?’ queried Conrad.
‘Much has changed since you have been away, my friend.’
He told Conrad that the Sword Brothers no longer existed, having been absorbed into the Teutonic Order.
‘There were too few of us left to defend Livonia and Estonia, not to mention our lands south of the Dvina. So the Pope suggested that we merge with the Teutonic Order, hence the new uniforms.’
‘What has changed?’
Rudolf took a swig of wine. ‘Apart from the improvement in drink not much. I am still deputy master of the Livonian Order.’
‘The what?’
He grinned. ‘That’s the official name of the Teutonic Order in these parts. Teutonic brother knights garrison the castles along the Dvina but the masters of Kremon, Segewold, Mesoten and Odenpah are still the same as they were before you left. Does Bishop Nicholas know of your return?’
‘Not yet. I thought I would visit old friends first before meeting old enemies. Archdeacon Stefan still rules Riga?’
‘He does,’ answered Rudolf, ‘though you might be interested to know that the Duke of Riga is no longer with us.’
‘Oh?’
‘Murdered by his wife, no less. By all accounts the archdeacon misses his partner in crime greatly and has taken refuge in drink.’
He looked at Conrad. ‘Was it terrible, your ordeal?’
‘It was worse seeing the order that I had served for twenty-five years being destroyed before my eyes. It was my pride and longing for revenge that contributed to the deaths of all those valiant men and I will answer for it, that I know.’
Rudolf shrugged. ‘Soldiers die in battle, Conrad, and not every battle can be won. I thank God that you are back with us.’
‘What of Estonia?’ probed Conrad.
‘Ah. Well, following the defeat south of the Dvina our order was stretched as I said. Everyone was eager for Livonia and Estonia to be strengthened in the face of possible aggression from the Russians, to say nothing of the Lithuanians. The Pope believed that the only way to do this was to amalgamate us with the Teutonic Order and entice the Danes back.’
‘The Danes?’
‘A year ago William of Modena arranged a meeting between King Valdemar and Hermann Balke, the Livonian Master, on a Danish island at which it was agreed that the Danes be given back Reval and northern Estonia.’
Conrad was appalled. ‘It cannot be.’
‘I’m afraid so,’ continued Rudolf. ‘The Treaty of Stensby ratified the transfer of Reval and parts of northern Estonia to Valdemar. All of Wierland and northern Harrien are now under Danish control, Conrad. It was Balke’s last act. He died earlier this year. He was a good man.’
Conrad grew angry. ‘Good man? He has betrayed all the men who died fighting to rid Estonia of the Danes.’
Rudolf held up a hand. ‘Calm yourself. It could have been worse. Valdemar could have insisted that all of Estonia was surrendered to him.’
‘What of the Army of the Wolf?’ asked Conrad.
‘Your warlords refuse to serve under the Teutonic Order,’ said Rudolf. ‘Because they are Christian dukes there is little that can be done to dissuade them from their intransigence, especially as they command hundreds of veterans. Riki is particularly irate because he had to surrender half his land, though he still retains Varbola.’
‘And Bishop Hermann?’
Rudolf laughed. ‘Still building his new Jerusalem. You should visit him. Lukas is master of Dorpat now.’
The door flew open and Ilona burst in, all hair and long skirt. She flung her arms around Conrad, her eyes filled with tears.
‘At first I did not believe it but then I heard of a man in armour wearing the colours of the Sword Brothers and an old stable hand told me it was Master Conrad.’
Conrad held her close. ‘I am so glad to see you.’
All talk of politics and alliances ended as the three of them laughed, drank wine and reminisced about old times. Afterwards Rudolf sent couriers from Wenden, swearing them to secrecy regarding the return of Master Conrad. They were to deliver their letters and say nothing on pain of a flogging. Conrad was given a hero’s welcome by the sergeants and brother knights, nearly all of whom had served alongside him during the many campaigns against the Danes and Lithuanians. A powerfully built individual pushed his way through the small crowd surrounding him.
‘So the prodigal returns.’
Henke had not changed all that much. A little older certainly, his hair showing grey. But he still exuded an air of menace mixed with contempt and his eyes were still cold. The two stared at each other, Henke’s eyes unblinking. Conrad was astounded when the semblance of a smile disturbed his hard-bitten features, even more so when he extended his hand.
‘Welcome back.’
Then he was gone. Otto’s welcome was frostier.
‘You have been sent back to us for a great purpose. How else can you explain surviving a battle where so many better men perished at the hands of pagans?’
‘How indeed?’
Conrad had wanted to ride to Odenpah but Rudolf and Ilona had implored him to stay at Wenden a little longer. How could he refuse their pleas? Few days later he felt a tingle of excitement as he watched the banners appear in the great meadow adjacent to the gates in Wenden’s outer perimeter wall. He was standing in one of the stone gatehouse towers as his warlords rode into view. A warm glow enveloped him when he saw the symbols of his lieutenants: the lynx of Harrien, the bear of Jerwen, the wolf of Saccalia, the stag of Rotalia, the sceptre of ‘The Bastards’, the bull of Sir Paul and the boar of Sir Richard. Rudolf had arranged a guard of honour to welcome them, two lines of mercenary spearmen flanking the track leading from the outer perimeter to the stone castle, with brother knights and sergeants on parade in the courtyard. Novices came forward to take the nobles’ horses as a fanfare of trumpets made the beasts nervous.
Hillar marched up to Rudolf and embraced him.
‘I hope you haven’t summoned us here to do the bidding of Bishop Hermann or Bishop Nicholas. We won’t have it. We are done with being pissed on fr
om a great height.’
Sir Richard grimaced but Riki and Andres nodded grimly.
‘That’s told you,’ said Sir Paul. ‘Hillar’s been spitting blood all the way here. Can’t you find him a bear to wrestle?’
‘My friends,’ smiled Rudolf. ‘First of all I did not summon you here I requested the pleasure of your company.’
‘What do you want, Rudolf?’ asked Andres.
‘Why should I want anything?’
‘Because we have not heard from you in months,’ said Riki, ‘and then an invitation from Wenden arrives out of the blue.’
‘I have to say I was also curious,’ said Sir Richard.
‘And I,’ agreed Tonis.
‘Me too,’ added Sir Paul.
Rudolf laughed. ‘So many questions and all will be answered, that I promise. But first join me in my hall for refreshments to relieve your parched tongues and tired bodies.’
The warlords pitched their tents outside the walls of the castle before walking back for the feast Rudolf had arranged for them. It was a lavish affair, platters loaded with slices of roasted boar, duck, goose and deer. Freshly baked loaves decorated the tables and novices brought a seemingly unending supply of honey mead, wine and kvass from the kitchens. The atmosphere was at first sombre and solemn. Everyone stood with heads bowed as Otto led them in prayers. But as the evening wore on and bellies were filled the nobles relaxed and began to revel in each other’s company. It had been a while since they had all been together. As Rudolf knew it would drink loosened tongues and made men feel more even-tempered.
He banged his fist on the table and stood. Slowly the din died down and flushed, happy faces turned in his direction.
‘My friends,’ he began, ‘it cheers me greatly to see my hall filled with brave and noble men.’
‘He’s not talking about you, Paul,’ grinned Sir Richard. Paul belched.
‘I remember all the battles and campaigns we have fought together,’ continued Rudolf, ‘during which we lost many good comrades and soldiers.’
They mumbled in agreement. Rudolf cast his head down.
‘I cannot speak for you but there is not a day that passes when I do not think of the brothers I lost south of the Dvina at the hands of the Lithuanians.
