They continued to walk through the crowds back to the kremlin, the centre and safest part of the city that was surrounded by stout timber walls. And dominating the kremlin was the white-walled Holy Trinity Cathedral, one of many Orthodox churches inside the city. Gleb stopped as they passed the site of a new building, white stones stacked on pallets and workmen standing with heads bowed as a red-robed priest with a long black beard stood with his arms open reciting prayers.
‘Not another church,’ said Gleb loud enough for the priest to hear. ‘Don’t you Christians already have enough places of worship to abase yourselves before your god? Must you pollute the entire city with your practices?’
The priest stopped, glowered at Gleb and began to walk towards him, but then saw the mayor’s guards and Domash himself. He also saw the throng that surrounded the wretched heretic. For a moment there was a standoff as Gleb folded his arms and stared defiantly at the priest. Domash smiled and walked forward to speak to the priest, in a low tone ordering Gleb to remain silent.
‘The work is about to begin on our new church, father?’ said the mayor.
‘Yes,
Posadnik
,’ replied the priest gruffly.
‘Praise be,’ smiled Domash.
‘Yes, indeed. Praise God who smiles down on his holy city of Pskov,’ shouted the priest, causing the mayor to jump.
‘Well,’ said Domash, ‘do not let me interrupt your service any longer.’
The priest dipped his head at the mayor, glared at Gleb and went back to his blessing of the site. Domash and Gleb continued their journey back to the kremlin.
‘Crows,’ spat Gleb.
‘You should have more care in your choice of words, Gleb,’ Domash warned him. ‘You may have my protection but the church is very powerful here and sends frequent reports to Archbishop Mitrofan at Novgorod. Prince Mstislav already looks unfavourably upon Pskov. You should not give him another reason to increase his displeasure or his wrath. He is not averse to ordering someone’s execution on a whim and regretting it later.’
The guards stopped anyone still following them as Domash and Gleb walked through the huge open gates that gave access to the kremlin. Spearmen standing sentry inside and outside the gates snapped to attention as they passed.
‘You must be very worried, then,’ smirked Gleb.
‘Worried, why?’
‘Well, it was you who lost the prince’s banner and got his brother-in-law killed,’ said Gleb. ‘And that pretty young wife of his. What was her name?’
Domash bristled at being reminded of things he preferred to forget. He stopped and jabbed a finger at his pesky pet. ‘I was not responsible for their deaths.’
‘A debatable point. Still, it was generous of you to give Yaroslav one of your houses so he and his wife had a home after their banishment. Very charitable.’
Domash smiled and spread his hands. ‘I am a generous person. After all, have I not just authorised the construction of twelve new fortresses along the Velikaya River so that our merchants and their caravans are unmolested during their business activities?’
The river gave Pskov access to the sea via Lake Peipus and the Narva River and as such was strategically important.
‘Yes, indeed,’ agreed Gleb, ‘most generous. Some say that you treat Yaroslav and his wife the Princess Theodosia with greater respect than Mstislav himself.’
Domash’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who says?’
‘Just gossip,’ replied Gleb. ‘Still, the fact that you attended some strange ceremony in that place,’ he nodded towards the Holy Trinity Cathedral, ‘with them both only serves to fuel the gossip.’
‘It was a baptism, that is all,’ stated Domash.
‘What’s that?’
The mayor shook his head. ‘Your ignorance of our religion sometimes astounds me, Gleb. A baptism is where a person is admitted into the Holy Church. It is a most important ritual of the Orthodox religion. I was attending in my role of godparent to Yaroslav’s new son.’
Alexander Nevsky, born to Yaroslav’s third wife Theodosia, had arrived in the spring and Domash had wasted no time in proposing himself as the infant’s godparent. Thus did he ally himself to the powerful Nevsky family, though giving scant regard to the child itself.
‘A wise choice,’ said Gleb, ‘I received a sign from Rozhanisty that the child will rise to be a great warlord.’
‘Who is Rozhanisty?’ asked Domash.
‘The Goddess of Birth.’
The mayor rolled his eyes. ‘Spare me your pagan nonsense.’
Gleb curled his top lip. ‘Nonsense? Was it nonsense when I told you that there would arise a new power in the north and thus did not the Danes appear? The gods speak to me and they say that Alexander Nevsky will defeat the white knights from the west that wear black crosses. On a battlefield of ice.’
Domash sighed. ‘The Nevsky family are servants of the Orthodox Church not agents of heresy.’
‘I thought the Sword Brothers are heretics.’
Domash scratched his head. ‘They are. The Danes too.’
Gleb sneered at the cathedral. ‘But they are Christians like you, are they not? They wear crosses on their shields and banners and pray to the same god as you do.’
The mayor’s nostrils flared. ‘They
are
not
like us. They follow the pope, a man who masquerades as one appointed by the Lord Himself, the agent of Christ on earth. As such they believe his opinions on matters of morals and doctrine to be infallible.’
‘How useful,’ said Gleb admiringly.
‘Useful? It is blasphemy.’ He looked at the
Skomorokh
. ‘Though no more than the heresy you spread.’
Gleb bowed to him. ‘You flatter me, lord. But rather than concern yourself with the activities of a poor
Skomorokh
you should look to the west to where the Danes and Sword Brothers, being of the same faith, gather their forces. How long will it be before they look east towards Pskov and Novgorod?’
‘Though I am loathe to admit it you are right,’ said Domash. ‘The Danes and Sword Brothers are allies in their quest to darken the world with their heresy.’
The ruins of Mesoten were still smoking when Viesthard and his men returned to the former hill fort after trailing the Bishop of Riga’s army back to the Dvina. The Sword Brothers and the soldiers of the Duke of Saxony formed the formidable rearguard, thus ensuring that the vastly outnumbered Semgallians did not unduly bother the crusaders and their wagons as they fell back to the river. Once there the boats and rafts were brought across the waterway to transport the men, animals, siege engines, carts and wagons back to Livonia. Everyone in the bishop’s army agreed that the expedition had been a great success and so Albert declared a two-week rest for his men and ordered great quantities of beer be brought from Riga for distribution among the common soldiery.
When he rode back to Mesoten Viesthard found five hundred miserable women, children and elderly men and woman huddled at the northern foot of the hill, most of them dazed and confused by their recent traumatic experience. He ordered his men to distribute food prior to escorting them back to Tervete where they could be resettled. He would have liked to rebuild the villages that had been razed by the crusaders but he did not have the men to defended western Semgallia from the Kurs, the east of the kingdom from the forces of Prince Vsevolod, in addition to basing soldiers along the Dvina to warn of a fresh crossing by the crusaders. His soldiers started fires that added to the all-encompassing odour of wood smoke that hung in the air for miles, Duke Butantas’ army adding to the smoke haze that covered the area.
The Samogitians pitched their tents two miles south of what had been the large town of Mesoten while the duke and an escort rode to find Viesthard. They found him standing in the middle of the pontoon bridge the crusaders had built across the Lielupe River, staring at the water.
Butantas dismounted and left his horse with Semgallian guards, he and another, younger man striding across the logs. Viesthard heard the boots and glanced at his visitors.
‘My lord, duke. You will forgive me if I cannot entertain you as befitting your rank.’ He pointed at the smouldering ruin of the hill fort. ‘The Bishop of Riga’s siege engines destroyed my hall.’
Butantas was known for being aloof and cunning but now he only had sympathy for the Semgallian leader as he looked at the blackened remains of Mesoten.
‘I am sorry,’ was all he could say.
Viesthard was surprised. ‘Sorry, lord duke? Why should you be sorry? I have nothing but gratitude for the warriors of Samogitia and their leader who came to my aid. It is I who should be sorry for your warriors who fell in vain to save this place.’
‘It is my regret that I did not join you at the Dvina,’ said Butantas, ‘when the crusaders crossed the river. Perhaps together we could have turned them back before they despoiled your land.’
Viesthard looked at the young man beside the duke who had a wiry frame and narrow face like Butantas.
‘This is my son, Prince Ykintas,’ said the duke.
The younger man bowed his head to Viesthard. ‘An honour to meet you, sir.’
Viesthard dug a heel into the bridge. ‘The crusaders built this bridge. They did not destroy or dismantle it, which leads me to believe that they intend to return.’
‘You should destroy it, sir,’ suggested Ykintas.
Viesthard shook his head. ‘It is a good bridge, young prince, though it might be swept away when the river floods in the spring.’
Now it was summer the level of the Lielupe had dropped and the meadows either side of it were dry. The days were long and warm, which perplexed Viesthard.
‘I give thanks to Perkunas that the Bishop of Riga has taken his army back across the Dvina.’
‘You will rebuild Mesoten?’ asked Butantas.
‘I have neither the men nor the time to do so,’ said Viesthard glumly. ‘To the west I have to fend off the Northern Kurs and to the east there are the armies of Prince Vsevolod. I may have to abandon eastern Semgallia otherwise I fear my forces will be stretched too thinly.’
‘Lithuanians should not make war upon one another,’ said Ykintas bitterly.
‘Men will always make war upon one another, young prince,’ stated Viesthard, ‘if they smell weakness or an opportunity to increase their own wealth and power. Arturus and Vsevolod believe they can divide Semgallia between themselves. No doubt the more so now that the crusaders have laid waste a great portion of the kingdom.’
‘Samogitia will stand by its ally Semgallia,’ announced Butantas. ‘Gedvilas fights the Northern Kurs as well as you, my lord, and I will leave soldiers with you to support your fight with Vsevolod.’
Viesthard was sceptical that the Southern Kurs would be able to offer much resistance to their northern neighbours but he was grateful for Samogitian support. He extended a hand to Butantas.
‘I am in your debt.’
Butantas gripped Viesthard’s forearm. ‘You owe me nothing, lord.’
They both turned when they saw two riders galloping hard towards the bridge, one of whom had a horn to his lips and was frantically blowing it. The commander of the soldiers guarding the bridge ordered his signaller to sound the alarm and seconds later he added the sound of his own horn to that of the horseman’s. The guards ran to the eastern end of the bridge and formed a line of shields and spears as the two riders pulled up their horses before them. As the one with the horn continued to blow his instrument the other began excitedly gesticulating with his arms at the commander.
‘If you will forgive me,’ Viesthard said to Butantas before rushing over to the commotion.
‘Stop sounding that wretched horn,’ he bellowed. He pointed at the other rider. ‘And you, compose yourself.’
The riders, both sweating profusely and their horses likewise agitated, bowed their heads.
Viesthard calmly pushed his way through the guards and looked at them.
‘I assume you have something to report?’
‘Horsemen approaching from the east, highness,’ said the one possessed of flapping arms.
‘Hundreds,’ added the other.
On the western side of the bridge Semgallian horsemen were forming into ranks and foot soldiers were deploying into position to repulse a crossing of the river, for in stretches either side of the bridge the Lielupe was shallow enough for horsemen to cross.
‘How far away?’ asked Viesthard calmly.
‘Less than two miles, lord.’
‘Did you identify them?’ enquired Viesthard further.
‘I saw a banner with a silver beast on a blue background,’ said the signaller.
Viesthard sighed and lowered his head.
‘The emblem of Prince Vsevolod,’ said Duke Butantas who had followed Viesthard.
The Duke of Semgallia cast Ykintas an ironic smile. ‘You see, young prince, how quickly scavengers gather when they smell blood.’
Ykintas drew his sword. ‘I will fight here beside you, lord.’
Viesthard laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘I am thankful for your offer but I am of a mind to destroy this bridge to deny the enemy an easy passage across the river.’
‘They are here, highness,’ announced the scout who proceeded to gesticulate wildly again with his arm, this time in the direction from where he had come.
Viesthard turned and saw a great multitude of horsemen flooding the eastern end of the grassland that abutted the river. The sun glinted off lamellar armour, helmets and the points of
spisas
, while at the head of the riders were two great banners, one red, the other blue.
Viesthard pointed at the scouts. ‘Two miles away? What are they riding, winged horses?’
He looked behind at the warriors lining the riverbank, his horsemen deployed on their flanks, and then back at the enemy.
‘I would suggest that you and your son return to your men, my lord,’ he said to Butantas. ‘No point in all of us dying here.’
He pointed at the scouts. ‘You two get back across the river. And tell the commander of the crossbowmen to get his soldiers here fast.’
They walked their horses through the guards and trotted across the bridge. More warriors, men wearing mail armour and helmets, leather thongs round their lower leggings, came trotting across the bridge to form a thick shield wall in front of the two dukes.
‘They are advancing,’ said the commander.
Butantas forgot about withdrawing as he stood beside Viesthard and observed a small group of riders leaving the main enemy body that was now around six hundred paces away. The horsemen broke into a gallop until they had covered half the distance between them and the bridge and then slowed to a canter and then a trot.
‘Do they believe that so few can break us?’ hissed Viesthard. ‘Is Vsevolod’s opinion of us so low?’ He drew his sword ‘Prepare to repulse horsemen.’
But the horsemen slowed again, to a walk, as they neared the bridge and then stopped altogether a hundred paces from the bridge. Two took off their helmets and nudged their horses forward, both of them raising their right arms as they did so.
‘What trickery is this?’ said Ykintas.
Fifty paces away one of the riders, a man wearing rich lamellar armour and sporting a neatly trimmed black beard, called to the Semgallians.
‘We come in peace.’
Viesthard looked in confusion at Butantas.
‘I am General Aras,’ continued the horsemen, ‘and seek an audience with Duke Viesthard.’
The two riders had now halted some thirty paces from the shield wall while they waited for an answer. Next to Aras sat a serious-looking younger man with a long face and a wilder beard than his older companion. But he too wore rich armour and carried a gilded helmet. Viesthard, sword still in hand, pushed through his men to stand before Aras.
‘I am Viesthard, state your business.’
Aras looked at the line of whetted spear points pointed at him and the row of determined men holding them.
‘Perhaps we could put away our weapons before we speak.’
Viesthard slid his sword back into its scabbard. ‘There. So speak.’
Aras, slightly discomfited by the aggressive, albeit understandable, demeanour of the Semgallians, managed a forced smile.
‘Very well, lord duke. I am here on behalf of Prince Vsevolod, ruler of the Selonian and Nalsen peoples and guardian of the
Kriviu
Krivaitis
who has declared a holy war against the Christian invaders of Lithuania.’
He held out a hand to Mindaugas. ‘This is Prince Mindaugas, son of Prince Stecse and heir to Prince Vsevolod, who is eager to draw his sword against the Bishop of Riga.’
Viesthard folded his arms and regarded Mindaugas. ‘So, you are Stecse’s son.’
Mindaugas bowed his head at Viesthard. ‘Yes, lord duke.’
Viesthard’s cool disposition thawed a little. ‘I knew your father. He was a fine man and a great warlord. The last time I saw you it was seven years ago, at the camp on the other side of the river. Do you remember, Duke Butantas?’
Aras was momentarily shocked that the leader of the Samogitians was standing beside Viesthard. Vsevolod had assured him that Butantas was a duplicitous individual who would wait to see what fate befell Semgallia before making his move. Butantas was obviously more calculating that Vsevolod gave him credit for. Before he could say anything Mindaugas had dismounted and went down on one knee with his head bowed before the row of now bemused spearmen.
‘Duke Viesthard, though we have come too late to assist you against the barbarians, know that I, Mindaugas, son of Stecse, do hereby pledge my allegiance to you and to the defence of Semgallia, unworthy though I may be.’
Aras was shocked and alarmed while Butantas was surprised and a little taken aback. But Viesthard seemed touched by the gesture. He tapped the commander of the guards on the arm.
‘Take your men back across the river. And give the order to the rest to stand down.’
The man saluted and barked an order at his men, who rested their spears on their shoulders, about-faced and marched back to the western riverbank. Viesthard stifled a grin as he walked forward and laid his hands on Mindaugas’ shoulders.
‘Please get up.’
Butantas and his son came forward as Mindaugas rose to his feet. He turned to Aras.
‘Please get off your horse, general.’
Relieved that Mindaugas had not been skewered by a spear, Aras saluted and dismounted as ordered.
‘Your father was a great warrior,’ Butantas said to Mindaugas.
‘So,’ Viesthard said to Mindaugas, ‘I see you have brought many soldiers with you.’
‘A thousand horse and five thousand foot following, lord duke,’ Mindaugas replied with pride.
‘Unfortunately you are too late,’ said Viesthard. ‘The crusaders are already back in Livonia.’
‘Cowards,’ spat Mindaugas.
Viesthard spotted the look of relief on Aras’ face. ‘Most convenient for you, general, is it not?’
‘We will follow them,’ declared Mindaugas. ‘I bring six thousand soldiers that can be added to the forces of Samogitia and Semgallia.’
Mindaugas’ eyes blazed with enthusiasm. ‘We will raze Riga to the ground in retaliation for the outrages committed here.’