Castellan
Castellan
Peter Darman
Copyright © 2014 Pete Darman
All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.
Formatted by
Jo Harrison
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Those marked with an asterisk * are known to history.
Commanders in the Army of the Wolf
Andres: Jerwen
Hillar: Rotalian
Kaja: Saccalian
Riki: Harrien
Tonis: Saccalian
Danes
Albert: Count of Orlamunde and Holstein, nephew of King Valdemar
Rolf: Count of Roskilde and Governor of Reval
*Valdemar: King of Denmark
Englishman
Sir Richard Bruffingham: Count of Saccalia
Estonians
Indrek: Ungannian, deputy to Kristjan
Kristjan: son of Kalju, Chief of the Ungannians
Peeter: Duke of Fellin
Rustic: mystic and follower of the old religion
Germans
*Albert: Bishop of Riga
*Bernhard: Bishop of Semgallia
*Gunzelin: brother of the Count of Schwerin, ally of the King of Denmark
*Henry: Count of Schwerin, ally of the King of Denmark
Manfred Nordheim: commander of the garrison of Riga
Stefan: Archdeacon, Governor of Riga and nephew of the Bishop of Riga
Lithuanians
Aras: Selonian warlord
Arturus: Duke of the Kurs
Butantas: Duke of the Samogitians
Kitenis: Duke of the Aukstaitijans
*Lamekins: Kur prince, deputy to Duke Arturus
*Mindaugas: son-in-law of Prince Vsevolod
Rasa: wife of Prince Vsevolod
Torolf: ambassador of Duke Arturus
*Viesthard: Duke of Semgallia
*Ykintas: prince, son of Duke Butantas
Livs
Fricis: leader of all the Livs
*Rameke: warlord and brother-in-law of Conrad Wolff
*Vetseke: prince, former ruler of Kokenhusen
Oeselians
Bothvar: earl
Kalf: son of Olaf
Olaf: King of Oesel
Sigurd: son of Olaf
Stark: son of Olaf
Swein: earl
Order of Sword Brothers
Anton: brother knight at Wenden Castle
Arnold: Master of Lennewarden Castle
Bertram: Master of Segewold Castle
Conrad Wolff: brother knight at Wenden Castle, commander of the Army of the Wolf and Marshal of Estonia
Friedhelm: Master of Uexkull Castle
Godfrey: Master of Holm Castle
Griswold: Master of Kokenhusen Castle
Hans: brother knight at Wenden Castle
Henke: brother knight at Wenden Castle
Jacob: Master of Gerzika Castle
Lukas: brother knight at Wenden Castle
Mathias: Master of Kremon Castle
*Rudolf: Master of Wenden Castle and deputy commander of the Order of Sword Brothers
Thaddeus: chief engineer at Wenden Castle and Quartermaster General of Livonia
*Volquin: Grand Master of the Order of Sword Brothers
Walter: brother knight at Wenden Castle
Russians
*Domash Tverdislavich: Mayor of Pskov
Gleb: Skomorokh, follower of the old religion
*Mitrofan: Archbishop of Novgorod
*Mstislav: Prince of Novgorod
*Vsevolod: former ruler of Gerzika
*Yaroslav Nevsky: boyar of Novgorod, son of Yuri Nevsky
Yuri Nevsky: boyar of Novgorod
Maps relating to the lands and peoples described in ‘Castellan’ can be found on the maps page on my website:
Livonia 1222
The winter ice had disappeared from the Dvina at last; the mighty river now at its peak as melt water surged towards the sea. The formerly barren pastures and meadows sprang back to life to be carpeted with pale flowers. In the forests reindeer moss filled pine groves, lichens and mosses flourished and fungi wreathed tree trunks. Through the woods ran effervescent rivers and streams where otters hunted along their banks. Away from the water wild boar, roe deer and elk roamed among the trees. And in the sky above them black storks, lesser spotted eagles, grouse, white-backed woodpeckers and pygmy owls replaced the wintry silence with their calls. Visually life was returning to Livonia but away from nature the province was dying.
The large, deep harbour at Riga should have been filling with boats carrying furs, flax, timber, tar and hides to be sold in the city markets or purchased by merchants for onward shipment to the towns and cities of Germany and Denmark. Exotically dressed traders from the Russian kingdoms of Polotsk and Novgorod should have been bartering with city officials over prices for the grey squirrel pelts that were so desired by the nobility of Europe. But instead the harbour was empty and no boats came from the Russian principalities to the east. No ships came from the west either for Valdemar, King of the Danes and Master of the Baltic, had placed a blockade upon Livonia. On his orders no ships left Lübeck carrying crusaders to fight on behalf of the Bishop of Riga against the pagans and ships were prevented from leaving Riga itself carrying goods for sale in German and Danish cities. Valdemar was strangling Livonia and God seemed intent on adding to the kingdom’s woes, for the pox had broken out in Riga.
The first signs of the dreadful pestilence had showed themselves at the end of winter in the cramped, foetid backstreets of Riga. At first only one street near the harbour had been affected but then it had spread at an alarming rate, whole families struck down by high fevers, chills, severe headaches, backaches and a general malaise. Soon the men of the city militia, those who had not themselves been struck down, were hacking at the hard earth beyond the city walls to create common graves where the dead were to be interred. Work ceased on the Bishop of Riga’s cathedral as he went among his flock, holding open-air masses to implore God to spare His city on the Dvina. But Albert’s prayers went unanswered as the graves began to fill and the pox spread to outlying villages. Soon a quarantine had been established around Riga in an effort to stop the dreadful disease spreading east and north. Everyone prayed but God was not listening.
‘My uncle’s prayers are wasted. Until the source of God’s displeasure is dealt with Livonia will continue to suffer. At this rate we will all end up as destitute beggars among the heathens.’
Archdeacon Stefan took another sip of wine from the silver chalice and dabbed his lips with a cloth. He shook his head, causing his double chin to wobble. Manfred Nordheim raised an eyebrow. His master was still putting on weight, notwithstanding the plight of the kingdom. The archdeacon waved over the young novice who had been ordered by the Dean of Dünamünde to attend him during his stay. Manfred walked over to the window to look at the well-tended fields surrounding the monastery.
‘What source would that be, archdeacon?’
The novice refilled Stefan’s chalice and withdrew to his position beside the door.
‘Conrad Wolff, of course. I would have thought that was obvious.’
Manfred stroked his neatly cropped beard and turned back to the archdeacon, who was now shaking his head.
‘The Sword Brothers have become a monster that now bites the hand that feeds them. They were created to serve my uncle and now their insolence and arrogance has led to Livonia being blockaded by the Danes.’
Manfred noticed beads of sweat on the archdeacon’s lily-white forehead as the latter continued complaining.
‘I cannot believe that this Conrad Wolff, this baker’s son, has been allowed to bring the whole kingdom to its present dire predicament. I have a mind to send you to Wenden to arrest him so he can either be sent to Reval or be burned in the central marketplace in Riga.’
There was a sharp intake of breath from the commander of Riga’s garrison. Stefan’s sweating forehead creased into a frown.
‘You disagree, Manfred?’
‘The Marshal of Estonia has many warriors, archdeacon, not to mention the support of the Sword Brothers. The garrison of Riga is not large enough, I fear, to seize the Marshal of Estonia at Wenden.’
Stefan wagged a finger at his subordinate. ‘The Sword Brothers would not raise a hand against the commander of the garrison of Riga.’
Manfred walked over to the table and tore off a chunk of bread that had been made that morning. It was delicious. The monks of Dünamünde lived a good life.
‘Last year, at Reval, when the pagans and Sword Brothers decided to fight the Danes instead of handing over the Marshal of Estonia,’ he said, ‘the grand master himself threatened me when I tried to point out the error of his order’s ways.’
Stefan cast his head down. ‘Such is the corruption of the Sword Brothers that they think nothing of issuing threats against the servants of the bishop, my uncle. Their greed for power has poisoned their minds against Bishop Albert.’
‘Perhaps the pox will wipe them out and the bishop can raise a new, more obedient order,’ offered Nordheim.
‘I pray that it might happen so, Manfred. But for the moment we need Volquin and his army of miscreants. With no crusaders arriving this year Livonia will be at the mercy of the Lithuanians, Russians, Danes, Oeselians and the thousands of pagans who inhabit Livonia.’
Manfred stopped himself from laughing. He liked the archdeacon, not least because he had a high opinion of his own importance, which meant that when danger, real or imagined, presented itself Stefan could be relied upon to seek out the safest place. Thus when the pox broke out in Riga he had taken himself to Dünamünde, thirty miles southwest of the city, along with the commander of the garrison and fifty of his men.
‘No army will attack Livonia, archdeacon, not while it is being ravaged by the pox. But some might flee it and seek sanctuary beyond its borders.’
‘Who?’ asked Stefan.
Manfred finished eating his bread and picked up an empty silver chalice.
‘The Livs, possibly.’
‘No great loss,’ sniffed Stefan.
Manfred pointed at the novice and then at the empty chalice. The young boy walked over and filled it. Stefan ordered him to leave the room and close the door behind him.
‘Please sit down, Manfred,’ he said, ‘your continual pacing is tiresome.’
The commander did as he was ordered. Stefan leaned forward.
‘I have a small task for you.’
Manfred took a sip of the wine. Like the bread it was most appetising.
‘I remember reading of the pox ravaging some north German province, the name of which escapes me. Apparently a whole village was wiped out when a chest containing a consignment of clothes from a neighbouring village was unwittingly sent there.’
Manfred nodded. ‘It is common practice to burn all the clothes and linens of those who contract the pox, as a precaution against it spreading.’
Stefan’s eyes glinted with malice. ‘I want you to arrange a consignment of infected clothing to be sent to Kalju, the leader of the Ungannians.’
Manfred was confused. ‘Why?’
Now it was Stefan’s turn to rise from his well-upholstered chair and begin pacing.
‘Do you know what the role of an archdeacon is, Manfred?’
‘To govern Riga?’ suggested Nordheim.
‘That is one of my duties, yes. But my main purpose is to be the Bishop of Riga’s assistant, specifically to take care of business that my uncle does not have time for.’
Manfred sipped again at his wine. ‘The bishop wishes to kill Kalju?’
‘My uncle,’ replied Stefan, still pacing, ‘is currently praying for the welfare of Livonia and does not have time to consider pagans. But this Kalju is clearly an agent of Satan and needs to be dealt with. You said yourself that his appearance at Reval led to the outbreak of violence between the Sword Brothers and the Danes.’
Manfred nodded.
‘Then by his actions did this pagan leader declare himself an enemy of both God and my uncle.’
Stefan suddenly stopped and looked earnestly at his subordinate. ‘And you and I both know what the penalty for heresy is.’
‘I do not wish to pour cold water on your plan, archdeacon,’ said Manfred, ‘but even if the consignment of clothes reaches Kalju, and even if it infects and kills him, how does his death help Livonia?’
Stefan walked back to his chair and retook it.
‘First of all it will be a clear sign that God has struck down this pagan leader. Secondly, it will deprive the baker’s son of an ally. He and this Kalju are close, I believe.’
Nordheim nodded.
‘Good, it is fitting that the former Marshal of Estonia should know loss, for his very existence results in mounting losses for Livonia. Ensure that whoever delivers the consignment impresses upon this Kalju that it is a gift from the Sword Brothers. Time to drive a wedge between Volquin’s order and his pagan allies, I think.’
Manfred finished his wine and ran a finger around the top of the chalice.
‘Speaking of which, whoever delivers this package is risking his life. It will be a suicide mission, most likely.’
Stefan waved a hand dismissively at him. ‘I’m sure you will be able to find someone for the right price, though only pay half the amount up front. The rest can be collected after the completion of the delivery.’
‘The courier will likely de dead by then, archdeacon.’
Stefan laughed. ‘Thus benefiting the city treasury.’
Nordheim looked up. ‘Livonia would be better served if Conrad Wolff was dead, archdeacon.’
‘I am apt to agree with you. But the bishop, virtuous man that he is, seems to be fond of him, no doubt because the baker’s son saved his life outside Riga during Vetseke’s rebellion some years ago. It took all my time and effort to persuade him to revoke his post of Marshal of Estonia. Loyalty can be a double-edged sword, Manfred.’
But not for the archdeacon mused Nordheim. He was a good paymaster and gave his commander much latitude but he knew that when he was no longer useful the governor would quickly dispense of his services. His task was to ensure that those services were always required.
‘If the worst comes to the worst, archdeacon, I can always get you and the bishop out of Livonia.’
‘Oh? It may have escaped your attention, Manfred, but Danish ships currently patrol the Gulf of Riga. Nothing escapes them.’
Nordheim smiled. ‘I am used to slipping past ships unseen, archdeacon. You have no need to worry on that account.’
‘Ah, yes, I forgot you were once a pirate. Well, I’m sure it won’t come to that, not if we appease the Danes, at least. Which is why I am determined to rid the world of this Kalju, after which I will send word to King Valdemar that his mortal enemy has been dealt with. I will also invite him to seize Ungannia, which may lessen his animosity towards Livonia.’
Nordheim was unconvinced that Valdemar would even read a letter sent to him by a relation of the Bishop of Riga, but the archdeacon appeared content with his plan so he said no more. Stefan looked around the well-appointed room.
‘I like Dünamünde.’
Nordheim had to agree that the monastery was a most auspicious place. It had been built seventeen years earlier and from the beginning had been designed as a citadel as well as a place of orderliness and solitude. Like all Cistercian monasteries it had a cruciform-shaped church, adjacent to which was a cloister: a rectangular covered walkway built around a central garden. The east range was a two-storey building, opposite of which was the range where visitors would be greeted and where guests were lodged. But the archdeacon had his own rooms in the strong tower next to the church. Three such towers had been built at Dünamünde, along with a perimeter wall and wide moat to strengthen the whole monastery’s defences.
When it had first been built the monastery had been subjected to numerous Kur raids that had resulted in loss of life and livestock. Now the perimeter wall, moat and towers ensured that the monks who lived at Dünamünde could hold out long enough in the event of a siege until relief arrived from Riga, though the Kurs usually restricted themselves to raids only. The man responsible for improving the monastery’s defences had been Abbot Bernhard, formerly the soldier and noble Bernhard von Lippe, who had been abbot for seven years before being created Bishop of Semgallia. The effort to install him in his bishopric had ended in disaster south of the Dvina and now he resided in Riga with Bishop Albert. Just one more reason for Stefan to seek sanctuary at Dünamünde.
‘It is a pleasant place,’ agreed Manfred.
‘And profitable,’ added Stefan. ‘The flocks of sheep, fields and orchards are very productive. Do you know why, Manfred?’
Nordheim was not really bothered and felt another of the archdeacon’s interminable lectures was at hand, but he smiled politely.
‘No, archdeacon.’
‘Because matters at Dünamünde are ordered according to God’s law, that is why. The monks who live and pray here are of noble birth whereas the lay brothers, the secular members of the monastery who carry out the day-to-day tasks such as working in the fields and the outlying farmsteads, are drawn from the lower classes and, worse, local Livs.’
