Castellan (53 page)

It was late afternoon by the time they reached the crusader camp, a vast sprawl of tents, temporary stables, campfires, wagons and carts that circled Dorpat. Actually that was incorrect. The town had originally been a small settlement built on Toome Hill next to a great bend of the Emajogi. The hill fort was a thousand feet from the river and as decades passed buildings were erected between the hill extending east to the river, eventually the whole was surrounded by a ditch, behind which was an earth rampart topped by a timber wall. Gates were sited in the southern and northern walls and the docks fronted the river at the eastern end of the town.

The horsemen were stopped by a mounted patrol of Sword Brother sergeants who escorted them to the bishop’s pavilion directly west of the hill fort on Toome Hill. Already teams of engineers were directing parties of workmen to assemble the siege engines that would batter the walls, two large trebuchets being sited to hurl rocks at the hill fort itself. More parties were ferrying wood from the great pine and spruce forest surrounding Dorpat, resembling lines of ants as they brought firewood, building material for mantlets and a siege tower into the camp. The warm summer air mingled with wood smoke, the smell of horses and animal and human dung to produce an aroma that was unique to a besieging army.

The sergeants left Conrad and his companions outside the bishop’s pavilion where servants dressed in the red and gold livery of Riga took their horses and a steward went inside the large canvas structure to announce their arrival. As they waited for the man to return Conrad noticed that the merlon that was attached to the top of the sidewalls was decorated with dozens of cross keys insignia. The steward returned and invited the Sword Brothers and Bishop Bernhard inside where Bishop Albert and his brother waited in the reception area.

There was a warm reunion between Albert, Hermann and Bernhard, the first two dressed in mail armour and red surcoats emblazoned with gold cross keys and edged with gold. For his part Bernhard was dressed in a simple grey tunic, leather cuirass and brown leggings.

‘It is good to see you, my friend,’ said Albert, smiling when he saw the sword strapped to Bernhard’s waist. ‘I trust you have enjoyed the hospitality of the Marshal of Estonia?’

Bernhard jerked a thumb at Conrad. ‘He’s a great commander but fusses over me like a mother hen. Thinks I’m going to keel over at any time.’

‘Quite right, too,’ said Albert as Conrad, Hans and Anton bowed their heads to him.

‘Your army is near, lord marshal?’ asked Albert.

‘Five miles to the north, lord bishop. Fourteen hundred men ready to assist your crusade against Dorpat.’

The bishop smiled. ‘Excellent. Tonight I want you to attend a banquet so that all the army’s commanders can be gathered together.’

Bernhard stayed with his two fellow prelates while Conrad and his friends rode to the Sword Brother camp north of Dorpat. The quarters of Grand Master Volquin and the chapel tent were in the centre, circled by the tents of the masters, brother knights, sergeants and mercenaries. After leaving their horses at the stables they immediately sought out Master Rudolf, who conveniently was in the grand master’s tent partaking of some fine German wine.

‘Well,’ said Rudolf, ‘the wanderers return.’

They saluted Volquin who ordered them to pour themselves some wine. It was among the best that Conrad had tasted.

‘A gift from Duke Fredhelm,’ said Volquin to Conrad. The latter stared blankly back at him.

‘The commander of those who have taken the cross in Livonia, Conrad,’ continued the grand master. ‘He is a friend of Rudolf’s father and Bishop Albert has made him general of all those who came from Germany.’

‘Two thousand, seven hundred soldiers,’ said Rudolf, ‘including three hundred Flemish crossbowmen, which must have cost someone a lot of money if the gold required to keep our mercenaries happy is anything to go by. How is the commander of my crossbowmen, by the way, still alive?’

‘And prospering, master,’ Conrad told him. ‘He and Bishop Bernhard have become firm friends.’

‘A bishop and a godless dog of war,’ remarked Rudolf, ‘who would have thought it.’

‘Refill your cups,’ Volquin told Hans and Anton, ‘you have all done well these past twelve months, ridding Estonia of that bastard Kristjan.’

‘Estonia is not yet free of him, grand master,’ cautioned Conrad, ‘he is in Dorpat.’

‘And will be squealing on the end of a lance within the week,’ promised Volquin. ‘What have you heard of the Russians, Conrad?’

‘The Russians, grand master?’

‘Only Novgorod can save Dorpat now,’ said Volquin.

Conrad looked at his friends. ‘We have heard no reports of Russian soldiers near Dorpat, grand master.’

Volquin smiled. ‘Then Kristjan is finished. Bishop Hermann intends to live there after Dorpat has fallen. His brother has made him Bishop of Dorpat, subject to confirmation by His Holiness the Pope, which means there will be a Sword Brother garrison in that hill fort, which means I will need a new master to command it.’

He looked at Conrad. ‘Would you be interested in such a position, Conrad?’

Conrad was momentarily speechless. ‘You flatter me, grand master.’

He thought of commanding a garrison of the order but then remembered he had matters to attend to in Estonia.

‘But I must humbly decline.’

‘You aim higher, Conrad?’ probed Rudolf.

‘No, master, but there is unfinished business in Estonia.’

‘What unfinished business?’ asked Volquin.

‘Wierland still remains under Danish tyranny, grand master,’ replied Conrad. ‘Bishop Albert made me Marshal of Estonia and I will not abandon my duties. No offence, grand master.’

‘Well,’ said Volquin, draining his cup, ‘it looks as though I will have to find myself another candidate for master of Dorpat.’

He looked at Hans. ‘What about you, Brother Hans?’

Hans, appalled at the idea of leaving his friends, came up with the perfect excuse. ‘I cannot read or write, grand master.’

Volquin walked over to the table on which the jug sat. ‘And you, Brother Anton?’

‘Neither can I, grand master.’

Volquin refilled his cup. ‘I did not know, Rudolf, that Wenden is full of illiterates.’

He raised his cup to Conrad. ‘To you, Conrad, Marshal of Estonia and lion of the north. You have been invited to the banquet tonight?’

Conrad nodded, as did Hans and Anton.

‘Well don’t drink too much and kill Nordheim with your sword. I received a grave admonishment from Bishop Albert concerning your altercation with the garrison of Riga and the subsequent bloodbath at Wenden.’

Conrad made to protest but Volquin held up a hand to him.

‘Just be thankful that you do not have to live in Riga and put up with the pomposity of Archdeacon Stefan and his nefarious schemes.’

The banquet was excellent and, notwithstanding the presence of Nordheim who sat next to Bishop Albert and ignored all the Sword Brothers present, the fine wine and generous amounts of food made for a most pleasant evening. Conrad and his friends had laughed with Sir Richard, Fricis and Rameke and expressed disappointment that the latter had not brought Kaja.

‘She wanted to come,’ he told them, ‘but I could not bear the thought of her being placed in danger. So I left a very unhappy wife at Treiden.’

Conrad smiled to himself as he remembered a time when Kaja had saved his life by spearing an enemy soldier in battle. She must have been fuming at having been left with the other women.

Conrad and his friends slept among the Sword Brothers, attending Prime Mass before eating breakfast with the other brother knights. It had been good to see Lukas and Walter again, not so good clapping eyes on Henke, who was as provocative as ever. He was nearly forty now and if anything more brutish and opinionated than ever. He planted himself opposite Conrad and his friends.

‘So,’ he said to Conrad, ‘I hear your army of heathens has taken most of Harrien and Jerwen.’

‘That is correct, brother.’

‘You’ll be fancying a crack at Reval, no doubt,’ Henke grinned.

‘Reval is Danish,’ replied Conrad guardedly.

But Henke would not let it go. ‘I heard you turned down becoming Master of Dorpat after it has fallen. So that leaves me to believe that you have bigger fish to catch.’

‘I am a simple brother knight of our order, Henke,’ replied Conrad. ‘One who obeys orders.’

‘Simple, yes, but I know you have the favour of Bishop Albert and that old fool Bernhard. In any case you three will have to shift for yourselves soon. There are a dozen novices at Wenden who are soon to become brother knights and they will be filling your places.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Anton.

Henke grinned maliciously. ‘Is it? You’ve all been away for so long that everyone thinks you are dead.’

He rose from his bench. ‘Perhaps you soon will be when we attack the fort. I thought the Ungannians were your allies,’ he said to Conrad.

‘It is difficult to believe,’ replied Conrad.

Henke looked confused. ‘What is?’

‘That you think,’ sniffed Conrad.

Henke curled his lip at him and walked away.

‘Oaf,’ said Conrad.

‘What if he’s right?’ asked a concerned Hans. ‘About us losing our place at Wenden.’

‘Perhaps you should have accepted the bishop’s offer of Dorpat, Conrad,’ mused Anton.

‘Henke is just trying to cause trouble,’ insisted Conrad. ‘Just concentrate on the coming battle and worry about trivia afterwards.’

The next day a council of war was held in Bishop Albert’s pavilion. The area where they held it still stank of sweat, wine and roasted meat as servants hurriedly arranged trestle tables side by side, over which they spread white linen cloths. On the way to the council of war Conrad ran into Master Thaddeus, as usual appearing deathly pale but at the same time resplendent in his red surcoat.

‘Ah, Conrad, you have returned from your northern adventures. We have all been enthralled at Wenden by your progress against the enemy. You remind me of Saladin, though of course he was a Saracen.’

‘Who?’

Thaddeus rolled his eyes. ‘A great Saracen warlord who captured Jerusalem and whom I encountered at Acre, though not on the battlefield I am glad to say.’

‘Your siege engines are nearly ready?’ enquired Conrad.

‘They
are
ready,’ declared Thaddeus, ‘though Lord knows my patience has been sorely tested getting them here and assembled in time. It is my destiny to be constantly surrounded by fools. And I have been put in charge of all the non-combatants, which is enough to test the tolerance of a saint.’

He went on to explain that Bishop Albert had marched to Dorpat with a total of nearly five thousand fighting men. But there was an additional eight hundred non-combatants that were essential to the functioning of an army. They included engineers, pioneers, miners, smiths, carpenters, novices, armourers, wagon drivers, veterinaries, surgeons, priests, monks, hawkers, cooks, pages, servants and whores.

‘Whores?’ queried Conrad.

‘They are good for maintaining the morale of the baser sort of soldiery,’ he answered.

Conrad noticed that he had a leather tube tucked under his arm, the contents of which were revealed when they reached the bishop’s pavilion. Servants at the entrance offered the pair wine in silver chalices, Conrad bowing his head to the three bishops and Grand Master Volquin as he walked to the table. Thaddeus ignored everyone, tapped the end of the leather tube and unrolled the piece of parchment that fell out. He huffed and puffed as he attempted to flatten it out. There was a map of Dorpat sketched on it.

‘I need paperweights,’ said Thaddeus as he failed to prevent the ends of the parchment rolling up. He pointed to the pectoral crosses around the necks of bishops Albert and Hermann.

‘They will do; if I may borrow them.’

Duke Fredhelm handed over his dagger and Sir Richard did the same, so all four corners of the vellum were pinned to the table top.

‘Excellent,’ said Bishop Albert. ‘My lords, if you will step up to the table.

Conrad stood beside Rameke and stared at the map.

‘Later today,’ said Albert, ‘Master Thaddeus’ engines will commence their work, the trebuchets shooting at the hill fort on Toome Hill. The mangonels and crossbowmen will shoot at members of the garrison on the walls around the town. Tomorrow the general assault will begin.’

Volquin was surprised. ‘Should not the siege engines be allowed to work longer, lord bishop?’

Albert shook his head. ‘I wish Dorpat to be stormed quickly as a demonstration of God’s power against the pagans. I do not want to be here for weeks, especially if the Russians are tempted to assist the Ungannians.’

He pointed to the south of the town and smiled at the Liv leader. ‘King Fricis’ brave Livs will assault the southern wall and our valiant crusaders,’ he smiled at Duke Fredhelm, ‘will attack in the west and north. In the north the attack will also be supported by the Sword Brothers.’

Volquin pointed at the river that bordered the east of the town. ‘And in the east?’