Master of Mayhem

by Peter Darman

  ‘I sincerely hope not,’ said Conrad gloomily.

  The rest of the meeting was pleasant enough though, and after a couple of cups of beer and the warm soup Conrad began to relax and engage in more convivial conversation. Rudolf informed him that Bishop Hermann had set Master Thaddeus to work designing a stone castle to replace Dorpat’s pagan hill fort and a stone church to be built in celebration of his brother’s victory over Kristjan.

  ‘Thaddeus told me that both ventures are not only wildly ambitious but will be ruinously expensive,’ remarked Rudolf. ‘But the old goat is in his element and it might take a bit of persuading to get him to go back to Wenden now that he has a whole town to design and build.’

  ‘What of the Ungannians?’ asked Conrad. ‘I hope they are not being treated harshly. We do not want another insurrection on our hands.’

  ‘The Ungannians are forbidden to carry weapons inside Dorpat,’ replied Rudolf, ‘until they have proved their loyalty. The town itself will be the permanent residence of Bishop Hermann and as such will have a Sword Brother garrison supplemented by German mercenaries. There will be no opportunity for another insurrection.’

  Rudolf stood and refilled Conrad’s cup. ‘Speaking of garrisons, when are you going to attend to yours at Odenpah?’

  ‘I have had no time,’ stated Conrad flatly. ‘Securing Narva was more important and now I have to march south. But there is no danger of Odenpah falling into the wrong hands.’

  Bertram raised an eyebrow. ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘The Ungannians believe it is cursed,’ Anton answered for his friend. ‘It was ravaged by the pox that killed most of its inhabitants and now no one goes there.’

  ‘You are wrong, Brother Anton,’ said Rudolf. ‘All three of you may be interested to know that Master Walter has visited Odenpah frequently. He and that pagan girl…’

  ‘Maarja,’ Conrad told him.

  ‘They apparently pray together,’ continued Rudolf.

  Conrad liked Walter. They had been on the same ship that had sailed from Lübeck fifteen years earlier. Walter was the son of a noble family who had turned his back on wealth and fine living to take the cross in Livonia. Conrad’s first impression of him had been a man blessed with a godly nature and nothing that had happened in the years since had caused him to change his mind. Off the battlefield Walter was a noble and gentle spirit; on it he was an accomplished fighter. Perhaps as skilled as the killing machine that was Henke. Conrad smiled; Walter was a better soldier on account of having a brain rather than just base animal instincts.

  ‘So Odenpah is in good hands,’ said Rudolf, ‘until you return from our crusade in Semgallia.’

  ‘Who commands the garrison of Dorpat when Walter is away, Master?’ enquired Hans.

  ‘Lukas,’ said Rudolf.

  ‘Let us hope that Bishop Albert will be able to convince the Curia to release funds for Livonia,’ said Mathias.

  Rudolf looked bemused. ‘Funds?’

  ‘Victory comes at a price, Rudolf,’ the veteran master told him. ‘Think of those places that we have captured in the last few months. Dorpat, Odenpah and Narva. They all require garrisoning, which means more warhorses, weapons and armour to equip them. And now the bishop wants to add Mesoten to the list of Sword Brother castles.’

  ‘We can scarce pay our mercenaries as it is,’ added Bertram. He looked at Conrad. ‘That’s why we need Reval, lord marshal, so we can earn some money from trade.’

  ‘The bishop would say that the Lord will provide,’ offered Rudolf hopefully.

  Mathias placed his hands behind his head. ‘Sometimes I miss the old days. In Germany you could hold a town to ransom easy enough if you had the number of men. Steal the jewels of the fine ladies or take some important hostages and threaten to slit their throats unless the authorities paid their ransoms. Happy days!’

  ‘They were not always good times,’ said Rudolf. ‘Thieves, even good ones, eventually get caught and hanged.’

  ‘Tell me, Riki,’ said Bertram, ‘is there a cave somewhere in this land, in which there is a great horde of gold to finance the expansion of the Sword Brothers?’

  Riki laughed. ‘If there is, Bertram, then its location has not been revealed to me or indeed anyone I know.’

  Bertram spread his hands. ‘You see, Rudolf, the impoverishment of our order awaits.’

  ‘Not if we can seize Reval,’ answered Rudolf.

  ‘Or perhaps we could ask Archdeacon Stefan for a donation,’ suggested Mathias. ‘After all, we know how fond he is of the Sword Brothers.’

  They all laughed and banged their fists on the table, even Riki who did not know the archdeacon personally but had heard much about him, and nothing good. Rudolf told them that the gathering at Riga was scheduled for two months’ time.

  Conrad and his friends spent two days at Varbola, during which he sent couriers to Andres and Hillar informing them of the forthcoming campaign in Semgallia and asking them to send their contingents to Varbola where he would meet up with them. He also stressed to them the need to remain vigilant regarding not only the Danes but also the Oeselians, especially as spring often brought raiders to the coast of Rotalia. But it was Reval that most occupied Conrad’s mind and he came up with a scheme that he believed would increase the likelihood of the port falling into the hands of the Sword Brothers after they had settled affairs in Semgallia.

  *****

  ‘Don’t let that standard fall,’ ordered Conrad as he led the column of riders towards the designated location

  He turned in the saddle and gave Jaan a stern stare. The Harrien teenager was gripping the shaft holding the Sword Brother standard like his life depended on it. It had been the same banner that Kaja had once proudly carried, the one that Master Rudolf had given to Conrad several years before when he, Hans and Anton had ridden north to meet up with a ragged band of Saccalians – the first members of what would become the Army of the Wolf.

  Hans looked at Anton, smiled and shook his head.

  ‘It is a great honour to carry an army’s standard,’ continued Conrad, ‘and the one you are holding in particular, Jaan. You have heard the story of Kaja?’

  ‘Yes, Susi, the Saccalian who became a Queen of the Livs,’ answered Jaan.

  ‘Who told you she was a queen?’ asked Hans.

  ‘It is common knowledge among the Saccalians that Kaja is the wife of Rameke and lives in a great hill fort,’ the boy answered, ‘where she tells her husband how to rule the Livs.’

  ‘Who said that the animosity between the Livs and Estonians had vanished?’ asked Hans.

  ‘It takes time for age-old hatreds to wither and die,’ said Conrad.

  ‘There is still time to abandon this ill-conceived venture,’ said Leatherface.

  Conrad did not answer the mercenary, so tired was he of listening to his complaints during the journey. The ill-conceived venture as he called it was a parley between the Marshal of Estonia and the Governor of Reval, requested by the former and finally agreed to by the latter following days of toing and froing between representatives of each side. Eventually Reval’s governor agreed to meet Conrad at a place five miles south of the town and the same distance north of an outpost that had been lost to the Sword Brothers during the winter. The order’s soldiers were now being withdrawn to Dorpat before the march to Riga and so Harrien warriors were garrisoning the main former Danish positions. Others had been pulled down and their timbers burnt to prevent their re-occupation by the Danes.

  Conrad and his friends had spent the night at the outpost before riding to the agreed rendezvous point where the track they were following passed through a gap between two small rocky hills before entering a forest of spruce. As agreed each party would number no more than ten.

  Conrad was delighted that the governor had agreed to the meeting, informing his friends that he was determined to make the Danes aware of the perilous position they were in, to sow the seeds of doubt in their minds. Leatherface had derided the idea.

&nbs
p; ‘What’s the point of talking when everyone knows that the matter will be settled by the sword?’

  ‘There is every point,’ insisted Conrad. ‘Not every quarrel is settled by war.’

  ‘So says the man who has conquered Estonia by the sword,’ said Leatherface.

  But Conrad waved away his cynicism and in truth the prospect of war and destruction seemed a long way off. The air was heavily scented with pine and leaves had returned to the grey alder, oak and aspen trees. They made their way past bog ponds and lakes and skirted expanses of spruce and pine where elk, red deer, roe deer and foxes roamed. Partridges, corncrakes and white wagtails flew overhead and the forests echoed with the tapping of woodpeckers. The three Sword Brothers were attired in their mail armour and white surcoats, shields on their backs held in place by leather straps fastened to the insides. They carried no lances as a sign of their peaceful intent, the five Harrien warriors likewise carried no spears, only swords and axes.

  ‘We’re here,’ said Hans, pointing to the grass-covered hills flanking the track, on which was a group of riders.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ hissed Leatherface, who unseen by the Sword Brothers loaded his crossbow and held it by his right side.

  Conrad held up his hand to halt the riders behind him as his party closed to within thirty paces of the Danes. He dismounted and handed his reins to Jaan who rammed the spiked end of the standard into the soft ground. Hans and Anton likewise dismounted and followed their friend as he walked towards the Danes, three of whom had also alighted from their horses. Like the Sword Brothers they were helmetless, their faces framed by the mail coifs they wore on their heads.

  The atmosphere was relaxed as Conrad halted in front of a man at least six inches shorter than him, his large head encased in mail, the beard on his swarthy face neatly cropped though flecked with grey. The emblem emblazoned on the yellow surcoat that covered his broad chest showed a black eagle with red talons.

  ‘So you are the Marshal of Estonia.’

  Conrad was surprised that the accent was German rather than Danish. He was also taken aback by the arrogant tone.

  ‘I am the Marshal of Estonia,’ replied Conrad. ‘And can I assume that you are the Governor of Reval?’

  ‘The governor has better things to fill his time than engage in trivia with a lowborn Sword Brother,’ sneered the German. ‘So he sent me instead.’

  ‘And you are?’ demanded Conrad.

  The German smiled. ‘Dietrich von Kivel.’

  It was the former governor of Narva, the man who had tried to destroy the Army of the Wolf on the frozen lake and who would have succeeded had it not been for the timely arrival of the Russians. Kivel saw the surprise in Conrad’s eyes.

  ‘That’s right, Sword Brother, we have met before.’

  Conrad regained his composure. ‘Then you know the precarious position you and your Danish friends are in. Narva has been lost, your outposts have been driven in and in Germany a Danish army has been defeated. Reval is isolated with no hope of relief.’

  Kivel appeared unconcerned. ‘Reval withstood a great siege recently and its defences are strong.’

  He nodded towards the Harrien warriors on their ponies. ‘If the Russians with all their fine soldiery could not take it do you think you can do any better with a ragtag band of pagans?’

  Kivel’s rudeness was astounding.

  ‘I came here to make the governor an offer,’ said Conrad. ‘But seeing as he did not have the courtesy to attend this meeting then perhaps you would be kind enough to relay it to him.’

  ‘What offer?’

  ‘That if he surrenders Reval to me then I guarantee him and his garrison safe passage back to Denmark. He will be given time to embark his men in the port for the trip back to Denmark. Better that than the certainty of knowing that Reval will fall to the Sword Brothers.’

  Kivel scratched his beard. ‘The governor is the Count of Roskilde, a noble who has many estates in Denmark and who has been entrusted by his king to safeguard Reval. You really think that he would even entertain the thought of surrendering the port, much less to a lowborn baker’s son?’

  Hans and Anton murmured angrily behind their friend but Conrad held up a hand to silence them.

  ‘I can see that this meeting has been a waste of time. Your insolence may give you solace but does not change the perilous position you and your governor find yourselves in. I offered the hand of friendship; the next time we meet I will not be so accommodating.’

  Kivel grinned. ‘The next time we meet?’

  ‘Ambush!’ shouted someone behind Conrad.

  Kivel turned on his heels as archers appeared on the hills either side of the track, locals by the look of their brown leggings and green thigh-length tunics. Conrad heard whooshes and saw with horror Hans fall as he turned his back on the bowmen on the rise to the left: two men who had strung and loosed arrows at him and his friends. He went down on one knee as an arrow thumped into his shield. He drew his sword and looked up in horror to see an archer about to shoot at him from the hill on the other side. The man’s expression changed from delight to horror when a crossbow bolt went into his chest and he pitched forward before he had a chance to release his bowstring.

  ‘Move!’ shouted Leatherface behind the Sword Brothers as the Harrien warriors charged forward on their ponies. Enemy archers brought two down as they did so and another bowmen hit Leatherface’s horse, throwing its rider. Conrad held his shield over Hans as he and Anton hauled back their friend, the surviving Harrien using their shields to form a shield wall of sorts as the Wierlanders continued to shoot at the retreating group. But Leatherface, crouching beside the body of his dead horse, killed another as Conrad and his friends staggered past him.

  ‘Ride back!’ Conrad screamed to Jaan as the youth plucked the banner from the earth and was about to spur his horse forward, to certain death.

  A Harrien gave a high-pitched scream as an arrow entered the side of his throat, blood spurting from the wound. Another missile slammed into Conrad’s shield as he continued to drag his friend back. But Leatherface had the measure of the archers now, who were standing on top of the hills around two hundred paces away, and he began loading and reloading his weapon with speed and skill. He hit another two bowmen and the rest decided they had had enough, turning tail and disappearing as quickly as they had appeared.

  Conrad knelt beside his friend, an arrow lodged in his side.

  ‘I’m done for,’ said Hans weakly.

  ‘Don’t speak, conserve your strength,’ Conrad told him in a trembling voice. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach as he cradled his comrade’s head. A Harrien handed him a water bottle that he held to his friend’s mouth so Hans could drink.

  ‘There is no blood.’ Anton was staring at the spot where the arrow had entered Hans’ side.

  Conrad did not hear him as tears welled up in his eyes. Hans coughed as he drank too much water. Anton yanked out the arrow and examined its iron head. He began laughing.

  ‘Unless Hans has no blood in his body then this arrow has not pierced his flesh.’ Conrad shook his head and looked at Anton. Hans pulled himself up, suddenly no longer at death’s door.

  ‘What?’

  Anton showed him the arrow. ‘See, no blood. The arrow obviously did not have the force to go through a gambeson, mail armour and aketon.’

  Conrad jumped to his feet. ‘Thank God for modern armour.’

  Hans sheepishly rose to his feet and rubbed his side. ‘It still feels tender.’

  Leatherface sauntered over. ‘When you boys have finished your chat I think it would be appropriate to depart rapidly before the enemy returns.’

  Conrad insisted that the dead Harrien were not left behind, their bodies being tied to ponies before they departed. Leatherface, his own horse dead, shared a mount with Jaan who was desirous to follow the enemy.

  ‘We should chase them, Susi, to show them that the Army of the Wolf is not to be tangled with.’

  �
�Get off this horse, then,’ Leatherface told him, ‘and make your way north to Reval if you want to fight the Danes.’

  Conrad was not listening. ‘I cannot believe they violated the terms of the parley.’

  ‘What terms?’ Leatherface mocked him. ‘They existed in your head only. You placed yourself and your friends in danger and you are lucky to have escaped with your life. That mercenary must have thought all his birthdays had come at once when he heard that you wanted to talk.’

  ‘He is a mercenary?’ said Hans, his side still tender.

  ‘When you’ve been a mercenary as long as I have,’ Leatherface told him, ‘you recognise kindred spirits; you can smell them. The Danes are probably paying him handsomely for his services and I would guess that those archers are loyal to Kivel.’

  ‘They are Wierlanders,’ said one of the Harrien warriors.

  ‘Impossible,’ snapped Conrad, ‘the Wierlanders have been oppressed by the Danes and we have freed them.’

  ‘What annoys you most,’ said Leatherface, ‘that Kivel tried to kill you or that some Wierlanders are fighting with the enemy?’

  Conrad did not reply as they made their way back to the small fort where they had spent the previous night. He was enraged and aggrieved in equal measure but above all determined to have his revenge on Kivel.

  But that night, as the funeral pyres raged for the Harrien that had been killed in the ambush, Leatherface presented him with a more practical dilemma.

  ‘When we march south Kivel and the Danes will soon learn that the famed Marshal of Estonia has departed with many of his men.’

  Conrad stared into the roaring flames as the garrison of the fort and his friends stood in front of the pyres.

  ‘So?’ said the Sword Brother.

  Leatherface sighed. ‘So, this place and all the other outposts that your order captured during the winter will be recaptured one by one and their paltry garrisons put to the sword, most likely.’

  ‘He’s right, Conrad,’ said Anton. ‘It would be best to abandon the outposts, which are too close to Reval, and send their garrisons to Varbola.’