Leather face sniffed at the cold air. ‘What’s done is done. No point in moping around, not when your task is only half done.’
‘I thought she was a man,’ said Conrad, not listening to the older man.
‘Well, then, what are you worrying about? I’ve done worse if it is any consolation.’
‘It isn’t,’ replied Conrad.
Leather face grew angry and started jabbing him in the chest with a finger. ‘Now don’t you get high and mighty with me. You should be organising your army for the ride to Odenpah instead of sulking like a child. This is not your private army.’
Conrad brushed away the mercenary’s hand. ‘I am aware of that.’
‘Are you? Your orders were to relieve Lehola, if I’m not mistaken, so why are we camped by this lake when we could be warming ourselves by a fire in the former hall of Lembit?’
‘The order owes a debt to Kalju and his family,’ said Conrad. ‘It was the fault of the Sword Brothers that war was visited on Ungannia and it is our responsibility to right the wrongs committed against Kalju’s kingdom.’
Leather face laughed. ‘Good luck with that. I think you’ll need a bigger army. In the meantime I suggest you get off your holy arse, strike camp and ride south to get to Odenpah before the enemy does.’
Suitably chastised, Conrad called a council of war that afternoon as individuals huddled around campfires burning damp firewood that produced white smoke that added to the mist hanging in the air. The cold and wet seeped into people’s joints and bones and chilled them to the core. This made everyone miserable and irritable and even the hardy Estonian ponies stood with their heads bowed, the lucky ones having blankets on their backs.
The council meeting was held in Sir Richard’s pavilion where squire Paul served heated honey mead.
‘The men are eager to be away,
Susi
,’ Tonis said to Conrad, ‘particularly the ones who have joined us since we arrived here. They are eager to exact revenge upon the invaders.’
‘As are my warriors,
Susi
,’ echoed Hillar, the commander of the score of Rotalians.
Conrad took a large swig of his drink. He felt good as the liquid went down his throat and warmed his belly.
‘We will leave tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Tonis, despatch some scouts to reconnoitre the route we will take. I do not wish to run into the Cumans on the way.’
Tonis nodded. ‘Yes,
Susi
.’
Hans and Anton laughed. They found Conrad’s new nickname highly amusing.
‘You don’t have to call me that,’ Conrad said to Tonis.
Andres, the stout leader of the Jerwen contingent, shook his head. ‘That is the name that everyone has bestowed upon him. It is a great honour and a portent of victory.’
‘Quite right,’ said Sir Richard. ‘You should indulge it, Conrad, that is to say,
Susi
.’
Conrad rolled his eyes but leather face agreed.
‘Men fight better when they believe their commander has special powers. Sir Richard is right.’
The English noble, his head wrapped in a large fur-lined hat, smiled. ‘I always like to think so.’
‘Tomorrow it is, then,’ remarked Conrad.
The camp was dismantled in the pre-dawn darkness, the tents, fodder and food loaded on the draught animals for the ride south. All the riders were wrapped in furs, cloaks and thick clothing for the journey since the temperature had dropped markedly and there were flecks of snow on the bitter easterly wind. They travelled at a slow pace so the scouts could report back on an hourly basis. No one knew where the Cumans and Russians were and even though their own numbers totalled over four hundred, the enemy still greatly outnumbered them. The first night they made camp five miles east of Lake Vortsjarv, the scouts returning with news that the Cumans were no longer camped south of the lake but had moved off in a northeasterly direction. The next day Conrad took the decision to strike directly east for Odenpah.
They reached it two days later.
During the journey they had encountered no Cumans or Russians and the villages they passed through were all deserted, though still intact.
‘The enemy used them for quartering men and horses,’ remarked Tonis as they trotted through a settlement of a score or more huts surrounded by barns and animal pens.
‘And the inhabitants?’ queried Sir Richard.
‘Hopefully safe deep in the forest or inside Odenpah,’ the Saccalian replied.
‘More likely either dead or taken as slaves,’ stated leather face bluntly.
‘I hope not,’ said Tonis.
Hillar and Andres murmured their agreement.
The Estonian leaders, Sword Brothers and Sir Richard were riding at the head of the column, half a dozen of the noble’s men a hundred paces in front serving as a vanguard. Sir Richard turned in his saddle to look at Tonis.
‘You are Saccalian so what do you care if Ungannia suffers? Have not the Estonian tribes warred between themselves for centuries?’
Tonis nodded. ‘It is true that we have raided each other’s lands in the past. But our former squabbles seem petty in the face of the great dangers the Estonian people now face. Estonia has become the playground of Russians, Oeselians and…’
His voice trailed off as he cast a glance at the Sword Brothers.
Conrad finished his sentence for him. ‘And the Sword Brothers.’
‘But at least the Sword Brothers do not steal our women and children,’ said Hillar.
‘They just want your souls,’ remarked leather face impishly.
There was an awkward silence as they trotted through the empty village and followed the ancient dirt track that led east to Odenpah. After a few hundred paces the track entered a great forest of spruce and pine, the floor covered in mushrooms and berries. The forest, usually filled with the calls of chaffinches, blackbirds, cuckoos and a host of other birds, was now silent, the migratory birds having flown to warmer climes. The jangling of pony bits and their snorting were the only sounds as the column slowly moved through the ocean of trees.
It was three hours before they reached the eastern side of the forest to enter a great meadow that led to Odenpah. It showed signs of a recent camp: beaten-down grass where tents had been pitched, blackened patches where fires had been sited and piles of horse dung scattered in all directions.
The column continued its journey towards the hill fort, the towers and battlements seemingly empty as they approached it. But as they neared the fort’s entrance in the south of the outer wall the gates opened and a party of horsemen rode from Odenpah. Conrad held up his arm to signal a halt as the Ungannian riders cantered towards them. At their head a great banner bearing the symbol of a golden eagle fluttered in the drab autumn afternoon, the design reciprocated on the shields of the warriors behind the standard bearer.
Conrad recognised the powerful build of Kalju at the head of the column as the Ungannians slowed to a trot around a hundred paces from him, the chief holding up an arm to slow his men to a measured walk as he removed his helmet and brought his pony to a halt. He looked left and right at Sir Richard and the warriors carrying shields bearing the emblems of Saccalia, Jerwen and Rotalia. Conrad thought he looked tired.
His lips curled into a half-smile. ‘The last time I saw a wolf shield in front of my fortress it had Oeselian and Russian friends.’
‘All these men are Ungannia’s allies, lord,’ said Conrad.
‘Are you here on the orders of the Bishop of Riga, Conrad Wolff,’ asked Kalju, ‘to convince me that my kingdom would be safe under his protection? I fell for that trick before and it brought me and my people nothing but misery and death.’
‘He came here on his own initiative,’ said Sir Richard, ‘to ensure you and your family were safe.’
Kalju nodded at Sir Richard and looked beyond the knot of commanders.
‘Where are the others of your order, Conrad, for I see only four of your knights?’
‘That is all we number, lord,’ said Conrad.
‘Brother Conrad and his three companions were sent by Master Rudolf at Wenden to relieve Lehola,’ said Sir Richard, ‘which he achieved, slaughtering many Cumans.’
Kalju appeared impressed. ‘With only four knights?’
‘Plus a few crossbowmen and the assistance of our allies from Saccalia, Rotalia and Jerwen, lord,’ stated Conrad.
‘He is
Susi
, lord, the ancient slayer of our enemies come to avenge our misfortune.’
Conrad heard the voice of Kaja behind him and was mortified.
He turned in his saddle. ‘Be quiet.’
Kalju raised an eyebrow and pointed at the helmeted figure behind Conrad.
‘Show yourself.’
Kaja removed her helmet and her blonde locks tumbled out. The warriors behind Kalju burst into laughter.
‘You bring women to fight by your side, Conrad?’ asked Kalju.
‘Just a few, lord,’ admitted Conrad.
‘Saccalian women are a match for any Ungannian man,’ said Kaja, her blood up.
Kalju ignored her and looked at the bare-headed Tonis.
‘What about you, wolf shield, do you also fight for
Susi
?’
‘I do, lord,’ replied the Saccalian.
‘He defeated the enemy at Lehola and Lake Vortsjarv, lord,’ said Hillar.
Kalju looked at Conrad. ‘How many do you number?’
‘Four hundred, lord.’
‘You bring your own food?’
Conrad nodded.
‘There are many people inside the fort,’ said Kalju. ‘But your men, and women, can camp outside the gates. You, Sir Richard and your leaders will eat in my hall tonight. Eha will be glad to see you.’
The wife of Kalju was all smiles and hospitality when she met them, though Conrad noted that she was slimmer than the last time he had seen her and her face was slightly gaunt. She embraced him warmly and her green eyes misted with tears when he expressed his sorrow for Villem’s death.
‘I know you and your friends were faultless in the matter, Conrad, but my husband cannot forgive the Sword Brothers for causing the war that has devastated Ungannia.’
They were walking from the stables in the outer stronghold towards the steps cut in the mound that led to Odenpah’s higher, inner stronghold. The fort was thronged with people: warriors, women, the elderly and dirty children who stared at the mailed knights with empty expressions. Ahead Sir Richard walked with Kalju, Tonis, Hillar and Andres.
‘I came as quickly as I could, lady,’ he said.
She linked her arm in Conrad’s. ‘And in such strange company.’
‘Allies we have collected along the way, lady.’
‘We certainly need allies,’ she agreed.
‘Did the enemy cause much damage?’
She closed her eyes. ‘They swarmed across the Mother of Waters and slaughtered many in Dorpat, though fortunately did not take the fort. We tried to get as many inside this stronghold as possible but many of the inhabitants of outlying villages were killed before they could get here. Either that or taken as slaves.’
‘The Cumans are barbarians,’ he hissed.
‘I think it is better to be dead than a slave,’ she said softly.
They spoke no more as they ascended the stone steps that led to the squat opening to the inner stronghold. This too was heaving with people and was heavy with the scent of animal and human odours. That night Kalju gave a feast in his hall to celebrate the ending of the siege and the arrival of the relief force. It was a sombre affair, Kalju, Eha and the chief’s warlords eating little out of consideration for the meagre rations that those inside the fort had to live on. The solemn atmosphere was alleviated a little when Conrad announced that he would order any spare food brought by the relief force to be given to the garrison in the morning. It was hardly a large amount but Kalju appreciated the gesture and told Conrad and the three other brother knights that they would always be welcome in his kingdom. He also extended the invitation to Sir Richard and his knights who had fought by the side of the Ungannians when a combined force of Russians, Oeselians and Saccalians had assaulted Odenpah. That had been two years ago when Kalju had welcomed the aid of the Sword Brothers, indeed had solicited it. But now his eldest son was dead and invaders from the east had ravaged his kingdom and he blamed the order. As Hans stuffed his face with sausage and drank copious quantities of beer Conrad wondered how Ungannia would survive if it turned its back on the Bishop of Riga and the Sword Brothers.
The Kurs may have suffered a reverse at the hands of Duke Vincentas’ crossbowmen but they had a sting in their tail, swinging south and catching Viesthard and his men during their march to the prince’s stronghold at Tervete. The Semgallian lord was injured in the shoulder and by the time he had reached the sanctuary of his hill fort, having first led a counterattack against the Kurs, he had lost a great deal of blood.
At the same time as Viesthard was battling the Kurs, Vincentas’ crossbowmen were repulsing a daring Selonian assault against his mighty hill fort sited on the west bank of the River Lielupe. Hundreds of warriors in riverboats came out of the autumn mist that hung over the waterway to scale the great mound upon which Mesoten sat. General Aras watched on the riverbank as his men placed dozens of scaling ladders against the ancient timbers and clambered up them. Only to be shot down in droves by crossbowmen on the ramparts, assisted by Semgallian spears. Vincentas was beside himself with joy as dozens of enemy warriors died before his capital, believing that his friends in Riga had been sent by the gods to deliver him from his enemies.
In stark contrast Aras watched with horror as his men were felled like ripened wheat being scythed and ordered an immediate withdrawal back across the river. The Semgallians did not have crossbowmen and had he known there were some in the fort he would have never ordered an assault. The piles of dead at the foot of the ramparts led him to believe that Duke Vincentas had allied himself to the Bishop of Riga, for only the Christians used such weapons. It meant that the conquest and division of Semgallia would not be as straightforward as Prince Vsevolod believed.
In the hour of victory Vincentas received news of the injury to his trusted adviser, the man who had become like a father to him in the aftermath of Duke Ykintas’ death. So he rode immediately to Tervete with a small escort. When he arrived he found the prince unconscious, healers with anxious faces gathered round his bed. A white-robed priest, a member of the
Kriviai
, stood with his eyes closed chanting prayers.
‘Will he live?’ Vincentas asked a white-haired healer beside him.
‘He has lost much blood but we washed the wound with lead water and have stopped the bleeding with yarrow. The prince is strong and the weapon did not break any bones in his shoulder. The outlook is hopeful, lord.’
His expression and those of the other healers told him otherwise but Viesthard was in their hands. He at least had faith in their abilities. Healers were always family elders who had received the secrets of their trade by word of mouth from their fathers. Though women were allowed to learn the secrets of herbs and birthing, charms and healing were closely guarded secrets and strictly confined to men.
The
Kriviai
continued his dismal chanting, adding to the sense of doom that hung over everyone’s heads.
‘Get out,’ barked Vincentas, which at last shut up the priest. ‘All of you.’
The healers bowed their heads and withdrew immediately, though the priest gave the duke a disparaging look before slowly leaving the chamber. The
Kriviai
were free to travel throughout Lithuania and were revered in every kingdom. The people believed that the head of their priesthood, the
Kriviu
Krivaitis
, received his wisdom directly from the gods who spoke to him in the sacred oak grove where he practised his ancient religion.
When the guards closed the doors after the priest had left Vincentas knelt beside the bed. Viesthard’s breathing was shallow but not too laboured.
‘Have no fear, old friend. I will ensure that the Kurs and Selonians pay for their insolence. I will unleash a storm against them. They will regret making war upon us, that I swear.’
That night Vincentas wrote a letter to Manfred Nordheim at Riga stating that if Bishop Albert would consider crossing the Dvina to aid him when he returned in the spring, then he would accept his priests going among his people to preach their religion. He himself would not accept Christian baptism as to do so would dishonour his father’s memory. But he was more than willing to allow Semgallia to become a base from where the bishop could establish his faith in Selonia and among the Kurs. The courier left Mesoten the next morning when the ground was white from a deep frost. Throughout Semgallia the lakes were beginning to freeze over to herald the oncoming winter.
*****
Icicles hung from every roof and tower in Panemunis when Aras arrived at Vsevolod’s capital. He and his men were wrapped in thick cloaks and wore fur-lined caps on their heads but their faces were still chapped and their eyes red following their ride. The cruel hand of winter was slowly tightening its grip over Lithuania and would not relent until the spring. The lakes were frozen solid and ice was enveloping rivers and streams. The evergreens were weighed down with the first snows of the winter and animals were being butchered so their meat could be preserved to provide food throughout the winter. The common folk smoked their meat whereas the rich lords and princes used salt as a preservative. Villagers also engaged in ice fishing on frozen lakes to supplement their food stocks for the Lithuanian winter was long and hard and starvation was a very real possibility for many.
Stable hands led the horses away as Aras ordered his men to go the kitchens to warm their chilled bodies while he sought out the prince. He found him in a reception room behind the main hall in the company of his wife and youngest daughter, the fiery Elze, who had inherited her mother’s temperament. Guards showed the general into the room where a fire crackled in a stone hearth. Like most of the other rooms in the stronghold the banner of the prince hung on one wall: a winged silver griffin on a blue background. Aras smiled to himself. Vsevolod was slowly erasing all traces of the former owner of Panemunis, Grand Duke Daugerutis, making the stronghold and indeed the grand duke’s kingdom, his own.
Vsevolod smiled when Aras entered. ‘Ah, Aras, come in and save me from my wife and daughter. They harangue me from all sides.’
He pointed at a servant standing just inside the door. ‘Bring hot soup for the general.’
Rasa smiled at Aras. Elze also acknowledged him but then turned back to her father, tossing her long red locks as she did so.
‘Why can’t I marry Vasilko? He is the son of a king. Morta married Mindaugas who will be a duke one day so I should marry a prince.’
Vsevolod wagged a finger at her. ‘First of all, Vasilko is not a prince but the son of a prince. And secondly, I decide whom you will marry. Now please leave us so I can discuss matters of greater importance with General Aras.’
Elze stood with her hands on her hips for a moment before turning on her heels and storming from the room, slamming the door behind her.
Rasa grinned but Vsevolod was not amused. ‘You must have words with her,’ he told his wife. ‘She must be reminded of her duty.’
Rasa shrugged. ‘She is disappointed, that is all.’
Vsevolod turned to Aras. ‘Prince Boris of Polotsk has proposed a marriage between Elze and his son, a most ridiculous idea. Boris seeks allies against the Sword Brothers for he knows that his kingdom is next on their list of objectives. I see no merit in lending him support, for that is what he wants, before I complete the conquest of Semgallia.’
Aras reached into his tunic and pulled out a crossbow bolt. He tossed it onto the floor in front of Vsevolod.
‘That might take longer than we first thought.’
Rasa looked at the iron-headed missile. ‘An arrow?’
‘A crossbow bolt, lady,’ Aras corrected her. ‘One of dozens shot at my men during their attempt to capture Mesoten. We were repulsed from the walls.’
Vsevolod’s brow furrowed. ‘That was unfortunate. If Mesoten had fallen then the eastern half of Semgallia would have been ours.’
‘Vincentas has been supplied with either soldiers or weapons by the Bishop of Riga,’ said Aras as a slave brought in a tray holding a bowl of steaming soup.
Vsevolod’s concern deepened. ‘Are you certain?’
Aras took the bowl and blew on the soup. ‘The Semgallians have no crossbows, which means that they were supplied with them. Riga would be my guess.’
He sipped loudly at the soup.
‘The Semgallians are not followers of the Rigan religion,’ said Rasa. ‘Why then should the bishop aid them?’
Aras, his top lip covered in soup, shrugged but Vsevolod nodded his head.
‘It is not the Bishop of Riga, my love, who offers aid. I sense the machinations of Archdeacon Stefan at work here.’
‘Who’s he?’ asked Aras.
‘The nephew of the Bishop of Riga, governor of Riga and the most dangerous man in Livonia.’
‘He is a warrior?’ said Aras.
‘He is a poor excuse for a man with a womanly appearance and a taste for fine living,’ replied Vsevolod.
Aras finished his soup and tossed the empty bowl to the slave who had brought it to him. ‘Then he will not trouble us.’
‘You could not be more wrong, general,’ said the prince. ‘On a happier note you will be delighted to hear that Coloman has unleashed a war against Duke Kitenis in retaliation for the devastation of his border villages. So you see, not all of your efforts have been wasted.’
Aras bristled at the sleight but remained impassive. Despite having been promoted by the prince to command all the warriors in Nalsen and Selonia he often found the former ruler of Gerzika both patronising and arrogant.
‘So we will fight beside the Aukstaitijans next year?’ asked Aras.
‘We will
offer
to fight beside them, general,’ said Vsevolod, ‘thereby earning the gratitude of Duke Kitenis. But I see no purpose in expending the lives of our soldiers battling the Russians when others can be relied upon to do that. We must not lose sight of our objective.’
‘Which is, lord?’
‘To make Mindaugas the grand duke of all the Lithuanian peoples,’ said Vsevolod.
He knew that as a Russian the Lithuanians would never accept him as their grand duke; far better to give the impression that he acted solely to further the interests of his son-in-law. He already controlled the kingdoms of the Selonians and Nalsen and in the spring would have the allegiance of the Aukstaitijans. In addition, he had forged an alliance of sorts with Arturus and his Northern Kurs. It was only a matter of time before Semgallia was carved up between him and Arturus and that just left the Southern Kurs and the Samogitians to deal with. The former were already at war with Arturus and once Gedvilas had been defeated Duke Butantas would have the Northern Kurs on his western borders.
‘What of Riga assisting Vincentas?’ pressed Aras.
Vsevolod waved a hand at him dismissively. ‘When the Bishop of Riga returns to Livonia he will lead his crusaders north to complete the subjugation of the Estonians, though in his absence the crusader kingdom has managed to embroil itself in a war with Novgorod. So you see, my dear Aras, the bishop will not be turning his attention to affairs south of the Dvina for a good while yet.’
*****
The aged archivist finished reading the missive and handed it back to Archdeacon Stefan. The prelate smiled and waved the old monk away. He passed the letter to Nordheim.
‘Why can’t these pagans write Latin like civilised people?’
‘Fortune smiles on you, sir,’ said Nordheim as he stood in front of the archdeacon in the richly appointed withdrawing chamber of Riga’s bishop’s palace.
‘I like to think that it is the hand of God at work,’ Manfred. ‘The bishop can now cross the Dvina and wage war against the pagan Lithuanians, thus relieving the not inconsiderable threat against Riga at the same time.’
‘You are certain that the bishop will wish to crusade in Lithuania?’
Stefan smiled slyly. ‘Oh yes. I will do my utmost to convince him. Besides, he will be bringing to Livonia many German knights who wish to slaughter the godless pagans. With the Danes landing in northern Estonia there will be little opportunity for them to wash their swords in heathen blood there, whereas there is an ocean of infidels just across the Dvina waiting to be converted.’
Nordheim raised an eyebrow. ‘Converted?’
‘Or slaughtered, it makes no difference.’
Stefan fell silent for a moment then looked at his subordinate. ‘Do not mention this letter to anyone, especially Grand Master Volquin or any or his boorish castellans. Duke Vincentas and his request for aid shall remain a secret for now.’
*****
‘In the spring I will crush the Sword Brothers and free my people.’
The warriors cheered and drank more beer as Jaak raise his cup in the air and then downed its contents in one. The chief of the Jerwen was now roaring drunk and as he tried to regain his chair he fell backwards and toppled onto the floor. There was more wild cheering at the spectacle of the chief being unable to get up unaided. Alva gestured angrily to grinning guards standing behind Jaak to help the chief into his seat.
‘More beer!’ he called as the guards planted him in his chair.
A nervous female slave holding a jug of beer glanced at Alva as Jaak frantically beckoned her over. The chief nodded and she began to fill Jaak’s cup. He began fondling her buttocks and then grasped one of her breasts with his other hand.