Castellan (56 page)

He ran at Vetseke and raised his axe to strike at the Liv’s neck. The latter instinctively raised his shield to deflect the blow as Conrad spun the axe in his hand to bring down the spike on the opposite side of the axe head on Vetseke’s shield. The metal embedded itself in the wood. Conrad yanked down his axe to wrench the shield away from its owner, who stumbled forward at the exact moment when the Sword Brother screamed in rage and plunged his sword into the mouth of Prince Vetseke. The point went through his mouth and exited the rear of his neck. Conrad collapsed on the ground as the dead Liv fell backwards and all around Vetseke’s men disappeared under a blur of axe and sword strikes.

‘That’s for you, Hele,’ whispered Conrad.

Conrad was sitting on a rung of an animal pen, the surviving cows still bellowing and snorting in alarm behind him, having his shoulder bandaged when a distraught Ulric found him.

‘
Susi
, that is lord marshal, you must come quickly.’

Hans and Anton, the former still dripping wet, the latter not a scratch on him, helped their friend to his feet. They walked to where the ‘bishop’s bastards’ were standing in groups, concern etched on their faces.

‘Get these men into a defensive posture,’ shouted Ulric at his commanders, angrily pushing his way through those standing around.

His commanders began issuing gruff orders to establish some sort of order. Conrad stepped over dead bodies, their faces and bodies pierced by arrows, until he came to a group of monks kneeling beside a body. He saw a priest clutching at the wooden crucifix around his neck, his eyes closed as he chanted prayers. He was rocking to and fro as he said the words.

‘Shut that blasted noise,’ he heard a weak voice order. ‘You’ve already given me the last rites so let a man die in peace.’

The pale-faced priest stopped rocking, opened his eyes and fell silent, his mouth opening and closing in helplessness. Conrad saw Bishop Bernhard on the ground, his head supported by one of the monks, an arrow lodged in his right shoulder, another in his left leg. By the large red patches surrounding the shafts it appeared the heads had penetrated deep into the bishop’s flesh. Conrad knelt beside the wan prelate. He took the old man’s hand. It was cold and bony.

‘Well, Conrad,’ his voice was getting fainter by the minute, ‘the battle is won?’

‘The battle is won, lord bishop.’

Bernhard gave him a thin smile. ‘I have a request of you.’

‘Name it,’ replied Conrad.

‘Look after my men after I have gone. They are mostly rascals and the like but they have stuck by me and I would not have them treated basely. With the right leadership they could become much better than they are. I would like them to be a part of your army.’

‘It shall be so, lord bishop,’ promised Conrad, ‘I will inform Bishop Albert of their bravery and steadfastness and they…’

‘He’s gone, lord,’ said the monk cradling the bishop’s head.

Conrad closed his eyes as Hans and Anton knelt beside the body and the priest began reciting a prayer for the deceased. Thus died Bernhard, Lord of Lippe and Bishop of Semgallia. They wrapped his body in Anton’s unblemished white cloak and his men carried him aloft outside the town to Bishop Albert’s pavilion where he was received with great ceremony and much mourning.

Dorpat had fallen. The cost in lives had been high, both among the attackers and defenders, almost the whole of the garrison being wiped out in the battle. The fort atop Toome Hill, emptied of its garrison by Indrek so he could launch his counterattack, fell without a fight, the Sword Brothers taking possession of it and flying the flag of their order from its ramparts to show the whole world that once more the Holy Church had triumphed over paganism. As a reward for their heroism Bishop Albert decreed that the town should be sacked for two days, which meant that the Ungannian women and children were raped and abused for a further forty-eight hours.

Conrad was glad he did not have to witness the depravity and abuse of a people he had once counted as allies. Instead, and after he had requisitioned a number of cattle and a pair of oxen and had the animals placed under guard, he and a small party of horsemen were sent south to reconnoitre the fort of Odenpah, which was rumoured to be well defended. If it was, then Bishop Albert would once again need his army and Thaddeus’ siege engines because the fort was a mighty stronghold.

He rode south in the company of Hans, Anton, Sir Richard and his knights – over a hundred men in mail armour riding horses protected by caparisons. The mood among the mounted party was sombre. Everyone had liked the plain-speaking Bernhard, especially Conrad. He would be sorely missed.

‘He had a long and interesting life,’ said Squire Paul behind his lord, ‘not many men in this world can say that.’

‘He should have been with bishops Albert and Hermann,’ said Conrad, ‘not taking part in the siege.’

‘It was what he wanted,’ Sir Richard stated, ‘you gave an old man his last wish. He had a good death.’

Conrad thought of the bishop lying on the ground with two arrows stuck in him, his lifeblood leaking into the dirt. He thought it a sordid, unworthy death. But then, all death suffered on the battlefield is brutal and bloody.

When they arrived at Odenpah they found a most strange scene. There were no travellers on the road that led to the fort’s outer gates, which were wide open. There were no herds of sheep grazing on the lush meadow grass either side of the road, no guards in the towers or at the gates. In fact no signs of life at all.

‘Odd,’ grunted Paul.

‘It might be a trap,’ warned Jaan behind Conrad. As he could ride Conrad had brought him along because he thought he should see the great stronghold of Odenpah, once home to Kalju and his wife Eha, former friends of Conrad.

‘Strange sort of trap,’ replied Paul. ‘I admit there could be dozens of archers hiding behind the walls and in the towers but why would they leave the gates open?’

‘Why indeed?’ said Conrad who spurred his horse forward. ‘Stay here,’ he ordered Jaan as Hans and Anton also rode towards the gates, as did Sir Richard.

‘If you all get killed,’ Paul shouted after them, ‘who will command all these fine knights?’

‘You will,’ Sir Richard called back. The knights laughed at this, earning them a rebuking stare from Sir Richard’s squire.

Odenpah had two walls, one surrounding the lower level, the second encompassing the upper plateau of the hill on which it sat. Beyond the outer northern wall was Lake Alevijärv, its waters blue and smooth. Normally small fishing vessels would be on the lake but today there were no boats.

The party rode to the outer gates and halted a few paces from the wooden bridge that spanned the water-filled moat, which had been constructed on the orders of Master Thaddeus when the Sword Brothers had helped to defend the fort. In a different time.

Sir Richard peered up at the towers either side of the gates.

‘It must be deserted,’ he said.

‘What do you want?

The voice above them gave them a start and all four drew their swords and placed their shields in front of them as a defence against arrows. Conrad winced as he did so; his shoulder still hurt.

‘Why do soldiers come to Odenpah?’ the faceless voice demanded.

‘We are here on the orders of Bishop Albert,’ Conrad shouted back, ‘to demand the surrender of this fort to him and the Holy Church.’

They sat motionless on their horses awaiting a reply. None came but then an individual, a stout elderly man wearing brown leggings and a green tunic appeared between the open gates. He carried no weapons and wore nothing on his balding head, his thinning hair hanging around his shoulders. He began chuckling.

‘The bishop might not wish to take possession of this place if he knew the truth.’

‘And what is the truth?’ asked Conrad.

‘That this place is cursed,’ answered the man. ‘It is home to no one except a small band of loyal followers who stayed when everyone else fled. No one comes to Odenpah anymore. People avoid it and with good reason. It is a place of pestilence and death.’

‘And yet we came,’ said Conrad, spurring his horse forward across the bridge. The others followed. He halted his mount a few paces from the man.

‘Dorpat has fallen and Kristjan is dead,’ Conrad announced. ‘The Bishop of Riga and his army are currently resting at Dorpat before marching to this place.’

The man peered at the insignia on Conrad’s surcoat. ‘So the Sword Brothers have killed Kristjan as well. Only one member of Lord Kalju’s family still lives. Have you come to kill her too, Sword Brother?’

‘I am here to kill no one,’ replied Conrad.

The man looked at the sword in his hand. ‘Your demeanour suggests otherwise.’

Conrad sheathed his sword. ‘I would like to speak to her.’

The man looked surprised. ‘The lady Maarja sees no visitors.’

‘Then please convey a message to her. Tell her that I was a guest of her parents once and she may remember me. My name is Brother Conrad, Marshal of Estonia, who some call
Susi
.’

The man’s eyes widened in recognition of the last name. ‘I will tell her.’

He turned about and marched off.

‘What’s happening, Conrad?’ called Sir Richard.

Conrad wheeled his horse around. ‘I am waiting to see if the mistress of the fort will see me.’

Sir Richard and his friends frowned in confusion but he turned his horse back to face the entrance and waited. The quiet began to unnerve him as he stared at the empty compound beyond the gates. But after what seemed like an eternity the man returned.

‘The lady will see you, Conrad Wolff, but you must leave your horse and weapons here.’

‘And my friends?’ asked Conrad.

‘They too must remain here.’

Hans and Anton were unhappy but Conrad did not sense any threat and so readily agreed. His guide said nothing as they walked through the outer compound to the steps cut in the hill leading to the higher, inner stronghold. When they had reached the small gate to the inner compound Conrad asked if he and Maarja were the only inhabitants of the fort.

‘There are a few others who elected to stay with our mistress, though she wanted us all to depart and leave her alone with her affliction.’

Conrad remembered the attractive young girls who were Kalju’s daughters.

‘Her affliction?’

But the man would say no more as they walked past the empty huts, stables, armoury and animal pens in the inner compound to the doors of the great hall. Inside the hall, once the home to Kalju and his family and bodyguard, the entrance hall was deserted and the feasting chamber dimly lit. Only a few torches flickered on the great oak pillars that supported the high roof and there was no fire in the great hearth at the far end of the hall near to where the dais was positioned. It took a few moments for Conrad’s eyes to adjust to the gloom as he followed his guide to the dais where a figure clothed in black was sitting, a black veil covering her face. The old man bowed his head and stepped aside. Conrad also noticed two guards armed with spears flanking the dais, each of which eyed Conrad cautiously.

‘It has been many years since you sat in this hall with my parents, Conrad Wolff.’

The voice was that of a teenage girl, slightly high pitched but soft and calming.

‘Many things have happened since then, lady,’ said Conrad. ‘It is my regret that you and your family have suffered so during that time.’

Maarja leaned forward slightly, the veil hiding her face. ‘I have been told that Dorpat has fallen and Kristjan is dead.’

‘It is so, lady,’ replied Conrad.

‘Alas for my brother, he was always filled with rage and hatred. Even before the Sword Brothers killed my parents and sisters he held a grudge against you, Conrad Wolff.’

‘Forgive me, lady, but I do not understand.’

‘Do you not remember the time at the feast when your actions angered Kristjan?’ asked Maarja.

‘Not that, lady,’ said Conrad. ‘Forgive me, but I know that the Sword Brothers did not kill your family.’

Maarja sighed gently. ‘When a gift arrived for my parents, a chest filled with expensive clothes for my mother and sisters and bearing the insignia of the Sword Brothers, they believed that it had been sent by you, Conrad Wolff. They remembered you with kindness, and even when their bodies were eaten away by a terrible affliction they did not believe that you were capable of such devilry.’

Conrad fell to his knees and clutched his hands together.

‘I swear, lady that I have no knowledge of this chest that was sent to your parents. This I swear on the souls of my dead wife and son. May I be struck dead in front of you now if my words are false.’

Maarja used a hand to indicate that he should rise. He noticed that it was covered with scars. A chill went down his spine – they were the marks of the pox.

‘I believe you, Conrad Wolff, because my mother believed you above all to be an honest person, devoid of malice and treachery.’

Overcome by pity, Conrad walked forward so he could take the unsightly hand and kiss it. But the guards levelled their spears to deter him. But as he withdrew he caught a brief glimpse of the girl’s face behind the veil. He wanted to sob as he realised that it too was covered in the unsightly scars of the pox.