He looked at Rudolf and ignored Conrad.
‘The Bishop of Riga is marching north?’
‘He is,’ replied his son.
‘Then I will inform King Valdemar of his imminent arrival at Reval. They can decide the fate of this land between them.’
He pointed at Conrad.
‘And your fate, for he ordered that this so-called Army of the Wolf should be destroyed.’
Conrad laughed. ‘And yet it is you and your army that were nearly destroyed.’
One of the squires brought the count a horse and held the reins as Henry hauled himself into the saddle.
‘Nearly being the operative word,
boy
. You should have killed me when you had the chance. You will not get another one.’
He wheeled the horse around, dug his spurs into its side and rode back down the track, his knights and squires following. They took their own dead with them and left only the slain warhorse of Count Henry behind. Seething, Conrad ordered Tonis to send word to Hillar and Andres to withdraw their men back to camp as he followed the brother knights and Sir Richard’s men on foot along the forest track. He sank into a deep sulk as he watched Duke Henry’s son disappear, thereafter staring at the ground and mumbling to himself and ignoring the efforts of his friends to cheer him.
That evening his mood darkened as the Army of the Wolf celebrated what had been a flawlessly executed ambush and an almost bloodless victory over the enemy. But whereas the Estonian warriors thought
Susi
was a great warlord who achieved victory without shedding the blood of his men, Conrad felt cheated. Cheated of victory and cheated of vengeance. He barely spoke two words to Kaja as she served him his evening meal and afterwards stalked off towards the dark, brooding White Horse Hill that was bathed in pale moonlight. He wrapped his cloak around him as the night sky was clear and the temperature had dropped, made worse by the ache that throbbed within his belly. He scrambled up the slope, tripping over undergrowth and banging his arms on low-lying branches. When he reached the summit he stared down through a gap in the forest canopy at the glow of the campfires in Count Henry’s army on the meadow below. Behind him he could hear the sounds of revelry coming from his own camp.
He began to formulate a plan in his mind. He would lead a night raid against the count’s camp. He was, after all, the Marshal of Estonia with around nine hundred men under his command. His Estonians would move silently through the forest like ghosts to appear among the count’s tents unseen. He would wait until the early hours of tomorrow morning when German bellies were full and men slept, secure in the knowledge that the army camped on the other side of the hill meant them no harm.
‘I let you down, Johann. I am sorry.’
A twig snapped behind him. He spun round, pulling his sword from its scabbard as he did so, to see Rudolf standing a few feet away. Wenden’s master held out his arms.
‘I come in peace, lord marshal.’
Conrad slid his sword back in its scabbard and turned back to observe Count Henry’s camp. He heard Rudolf approach.
‘Your Estonian chiefs were most concerned about your disappearance, brothers Hans and Anton as well. An army commander has a responsibility to his men not to absent himself in the middle of the night and wander off alone.’
‘I needed some time to think, master,’ said Conrad.
Rudolf stood beside him and stared down at the German campfires.
‘To think or to plan?’
‘I do not know what you mean, master,’ replied Conrad evasively.
‘How long have you been with us at Wenden, Conrad?’
‘Over ten years, master.’
‘Ten years. Long enough I think to know how your mind works, Conrad. You are above all loyal, to the Sword Brothers, to your friends and to me, I hope.’
‘Of course,’ said Conrad.
‘And to the memory of your dead friend, I assume?’
Conrad did not answer.
Rudolf pointed towards the campfires. ‘A tempting target, do you not think? But night-time attacks are notoriously difficult to plan and execute. Is that not so, marshal?’
‘Difficult for knights on horseback and spearmen on foot, yes,’ agreed Conrad.
‘But not impossible,’ continued Rudolf, ‘for lightly armed pagans who are accustomed to moving unseen and unheard through trees.’
He turned to face Conrad. ‘After all the excitement earlier I forgot to congratulate you on a well-executed ambush. Sir Richard was most impressed and by all accounts he is not a man to give his praise lightly.’
‘The ambush failed,’ said Conrad flatly. ‘The target was allowed to escape.’
‘And you blame me for this?’
‘No, master, I blame myself for not being ruthless enough. I had my dagger at Count Henry’s throat and should have…’
He suddenly remembered to whom he was speaking. ‘Apologies, master. I intended no offence.’
‘You did not know that Count Henry was my father so no apology is necessary.’
‘One thing I do not understand, master, and that is your name. You are called Rudolf Kassel with no reference to Schwerin.’
‘Remind me, Conrad, what was your chosen path before God intervened and brought you to Livonia?’
‘I was apprentice to my father, a baker,’ answered Conrad.
‘A baker. Yes, of course. I remember now. I was born the son of a count, the second son as it happens, trained from infancy to be a knight. Unfortunately second sons do not share in their older sibling’s inheritance and so there was nothing for me to do, apart from fighting. And so, much to my parents’ consternation, I became a mercenary. A good one, I might add.’
‘Brother Lukas told me that he was once part of your mercenary band,’ said Conrad.
‘And Henke and Otto and many others,’ continued Rudolf. ‘But the life of a mercenary is a hand-to-mouth existence where death and poverty are constant companions. The dream is to earn enough money to purchase an estate where one could live with all the trappings of knighthood, but it is all illusion.
‘And so we drifted from one place to another, looking for work, occasionally turning to brigandage to survive. Our greatest victory, or atrocity according to your point of view, was at Kassel, a town in northern Hesse. We were hired to capture the town and did so, though the cost in civilian casualties was high. And then the noble lords of Hesse decided that we were not welcome in their lands and so harried us north. After numerous harsh winters and fighting for a pittance we ended up in Lübeck. We had no money, prices on our heads and our numbers had been whittled down to a handful. So we took the only course open to us. We joined the Sword Brothers.’
‘Why did you not return to your family?’ asked Conrad.
‘Well for one thing,’ said Rudolf, ‘my father, embarrassed by the tales about his younger son, had disinherited me, which is ironic as I would only have inherited his wealth and lands if my dear brother, Frederick, had died.’
‘You father said that he is dead,’ said Conrad.
‘God’s joke at my expense, perhaps,’ suggested Rudolf. He looked at the brother knight.
‘What are the odds of a baker’s son rising to become Marshal of Estonia, do you think?’
‘Long, master.’
Rudolf placed an arm around Conrad’s shoulders.
‘Come, put all thoughts of revenge aside and share in the affection and loyalty of your men.’
As they did so Conrad questioned Rudolf further regarding his father.
‘Will you ride to the count’s camp, master?’
‘To what end?’
‘To effect a reconciliation,’ said Conrad.
Rudolf chuckled grimly. ‘You know little of the mind of the Count of Schwerin, Conrad. Reconciliation and forgiveness are alien concepts to him.’
The next day Count Henry struck camp and retreated north back to Reval. Conrad despatched scouts to shadow his army as it retraced its steps. At the same time as the score of Jerwen on ponies left, riders arrived from the south with news that the Bishop of Riga’s army had crossed the Pala seven days earlier and was ten miles south of White Horse Hill. Like Count Henry’s soldiers it was accompanied by dozens of wagons and carts, though not by as many soldiers as had crossed the Dvina earlier in the year.
Fricis and Rameke had journeyed north with a thousand Liv warriors, but had been forced to leave many more in Livonia so they could assist in gathering in the harvest. But it was the threat of Lithuanian aggression that had obliged the Duke of Saxony to leave the majority of his spearmen and militiamen at the Dvina, divided between the garrisons of Lennewarden, Holm, Uexkull, Kokenhusen and Gerzika. For the same reason the masters of those strongholds – respectively Arnold, Godfrey, Friedhelm, Griswold and Jacob – were forced to remain with their garrisons along the river. As a result only Master Mathias and Kremon’s garrison and Master Bertram and the soldiers accompanied Grand Master Volquin from Segewold. Nevertheless, added to the forces of Master Rudolf, Sir Richard and Conrad, the bishop was still able to muster a total of just over three thousand eight hundred men.
The Army of the Wolf now included fifty Harrien warriors, men whose villages the Danes had raided and who had managed to flee into the surrounding forests. Mostly single men in their early twenties, they were led by a blonde-haired individual named Riki, which meant ‘strong’ in Estonian. After he had arrived and had been briefed by Rudolf and Conrad on recent events, Bishop Albert was most eager to meet these natives of Harrien, visiting the camp of the Army of the Wolf to do so. He was escorted by Manfred Nordheim, four of his men and Bishop Bernhard, the two bishops being dressed in mail armour and surcoats but carrying no weapons. Conrad acted as translator as neither of the bishops had a knowledge of Estonian. Riki had been summoned to Conrad’s tent where Hans and Anton stood to attention to welcome the prelates while Kaja stood nearby tending the fire.
Conrad explained to Riki who the two men on big horses were, ignoring Nordheim whom he viewed as a puppet of Archdeacon Stefan. Bishop Albert asked Riki about the Danes.
‘They take captives to work as slaves on their defences at Lyndanise. I do not wish to be a slave.’
‘Why have you come here?’ asked Bernhard.
‘To fight beside
Susi
,’ smiled Riki.
‘It appears that whereas the Danes seek to rule by the whip and the sword,’ said Bishop Albert, ‘you win men’s allegiance by reputation and myth, Conrad.’
‘We hate the Danes,’ bristled Riki, ‘and make them pay in blood for the crimes they have committed against us.’
‘I wonder if King Valdemar has the appetite to rule Estonia by the sword against a people he has estranged in such a short space of time?’ Albert said to Bernhard.
‘He is a king, Albert,’ replied Bernhard, ‘and believes he is doing God’s work.’
‘We all believe that, Bernhard,’ said Albert.
Bernhard nodded thoughtfully. ‘I wonder what God thinks?’
The bishops reflected on this and sat in silence in their saddles. These richly dressed lords who wore strange hats on their heads but who carried no weapons bemused Riki. But the Christian warriors who did carry weapons treated them with great respect. The sound of giggling coming from behind them prompted Albert and Bernhard to turn round and see Rameke with a sword in his hand facing Kaja, who was also armed. Had the two bishops looked more closely at Conrad they would have seen that his scabbard was empty.
Albert looked at Bernhard and back again at Rameke and the blonde-haired girl he seemed to be fighting. He was perturbed that warriors were sitting outside their tents chatting to each other and ignoring what appeared to be Rameke about to kill a young woman.
‘Lord Rameke,’ he shouted at the Liv, ‘I would speak to you.’
Kaja burst out laughing and pointed her sword at him. ‘A lucky escape, my lord.’
Rameke grinned and placed a finger at his lips to hush her but she stuck her tongue out at him. He sheathed his sword and composed himself before bowing his head to Albert.
‘Lord bishop.’
He also tilted his head to Bernhard. ‘Bishop Bernhard.’
Albert leaned forward. ‘You have a disagreement with that young woman?’
Conrad shook his head as Rameke looked at Kaja. ‘No, lord bishop.’
‘Then why did you draw your sword against her?’
‘So she can practise, lord bishop.’
Bernhard was surprised. ‘How is it that a young woman like that has a sword, for such items are expensive and she does not appear to be a queen?’
‘It is my sword, lord bishop,’ said Conrad. ‘Kaja, come here please.’
She sauntered over with his sword in hand, grinning at Hans and Anton and looking quizzically at the two bishops.
‘Kaja,’ said Conrad, ‘this is Bishop Albert of Riga and Bishop Bernhard.’
She bowed deeply to them both. ‘Majesties.’
They did not understand her words but seemed pleased with her respectful attitude. She handed Conrad his sword.
‘Kaja is a Saccalian,’ Conrad told them, ‘and has been with the army for a while now.’
‘And you are teaching her to fight?’ asked Bernhard.