Castellan (60 page)

‘You are here to see Archdeacon Stefan?’ probed Nordheim.

‘Yes, commander.’

‘Not Bishop Albert?’

‘My lord felt that because he has had previous dealings with the archdeacon,’ replied Aras, ‘it would be better if he did so this time. He esteems the archdeacon a friend and ally.’

Nordheim remained expressionless. He doubted that the archdeacon had any friends and certainly not any pagan ones. But the fact that Vsevolod, whose duplicity was well known in Riga, had sent his general to the city meant that whatever message was in the leather bag that Aras carried must be of the utmost importance.

‘We are very pleased to see you, general,’ smiled Stefan obsequiously.

The archdeacon was dressed in a magnificent red dalmatica that had gold decorative trim around the hem, sleeves and neckline. A solid gold cross hung from a golden chain around the portly churchman’s neck and there were gold rings on his fingers. Those fingers were holding Vsevolod’s letter, which the archdeacon proceeded to read, occasionally nodding his head as he did so.

They were in the ordered calm of one of the palace’s withdrawing chambers, its walls covered with oak panelling, a fire burning in the great stone fireplace. Attractive young boys in red livery served the archdeacon, Aras and Nordheim with fine wine, fruit, cheese and freshly baked bread. Candles on silver stands illuminated the room as the autumn light faded outside the windows.

Stefan finished reading the letter. ‘I hope you and your men will stay in the palace tonight, general.’

‘You are most kind,’ smiled Aras. ‘When will you inform Bishop Albert of my lord’s suggestion?’

‘He is out of the city at the moment,’ said Stefan, ‘but I assure you that he will be informed the moment he returns.’

Nordheim was most courteous to Aras during his brief stay at Riga, showing him around the city and the castle where he had the garrison drawn up on parade for the Lithuanian’s inspection. The commander of the garrison was not present at the meeting where Bishops Albert and Hermann were informed of Prince Vsevolod’s invitation to cross the Dvina and seize Semgallia and Kurland.

‘The last time we crossed the Dvina,’ said Albert looking at his nephew, ‘we were basely betrayed. Why should I take heed of this Russian prince who wants us to fight his battles for him?’

‘We should not, uncle,’ answered Stefan, ‘but in his letter Vsevolod makes a pertinent point.’

‘Which is?’ asked Hermann.

Stefan handed Bishop Albert the letter and replied to Bishop Hermann.

‘That if this Duke Arturus conquers all of Lithuania he will cross the Dvina to invade Livonia, just as the other pagan Daugerutis did eleven years ago.’

‘Is that likely?’ said Hermann. ‘The Lithuanians were defeated then and Livonia is much stronger now.’

‘These pagans are not rational beings, uncle,’ replied Stefan. ‘They are not far removed from animals and have retained the base instincts of four-legged creatures. They exist only to fight and procreate.’

Albert waved a hand at him.

‘You are both wrong. Now that Livonia and Estonia are watered by the holy word I would be failing in my duty to God not to bring the teachings of the Holy Church to the pagans south of the Dvina. It was always a matter of when, not if, we would again crusade in Lithuania.’

He held up the letter. ‘This may aid us in our holy mission. That said, I will give the matter more consideration in the coming weeks. Winter will soon be upon us, so let us look forward to celebrating the birth of Christ. And let us also give thanks that Estonia is finally at peace.’

*****

Conrad saw the figure appear in the distance, a black shape plodding through the snow.

‘He’s here,’ he said to Hans and Anton.

They stayed crouching among the trees to ensure that the approaching individual was alone and was not being followed or indeed the vanguard of an enemy patrol. But after a few minutes he could see that it was the Jerwen warrior that had volunteered to reconnoitre the ground ahead and so he stood and walked towards him. The man raised his hand to him as he continued to walk through the snow that lay thick on the ground. When Conrad reached him the warrior was sweating and panting.

‘The position is very strong,
Susi
. The river runs by the eastern side of the settlement. The garrison is housed in a timber enclosure atop a bluff on the western bank of the river.’

‘Is there a wall around the settlement itself?’ asked Conrad.

‘Yes,
Susi
.’

Conrad patted him on the arm. ‘Get yourself some hot porridge and rest. You have done well.’

He walked back to the trees with the tired warrior where Hans and Anton waited. Two Jerwen warriors escorted the man back to the camp in the forest, leaving the three friends behind.

‘Well?’ said Anton.

‘It’s a strong position, as we suspected.’

‘You will stick to your plan, Conrad?’ enquired Hans.

Conrad nodded. ‘I will. We have marched this far through the snow to get here and I do not intend to abandon the prize just because it is well defended.’

The prize he was speaking of was the settlement of Narva, a collection of huts and barns on the west bank of the river of the same name. Originally a Wierland fishing village, it lay six miles from the coast and around thirty miles northeast of the northern shore of Lake Peipus. The Narva River flowed from the lake to the Baltic and marked the frontier with Novgorod. When Wierland was a pagan kingdom Novgorod hardly bothered with the village of Narva, which hugged the high bluff on the western side of the river. This river was a formidable barrier, being between two and three hundred yards wide along its course, in parts almost double that width. As well as being a natural barrier the river was rich in aquatic life, including loach, grayling, salmon, lamprey, sturgeon and bream. This in turn spawned dozens of villages along its length and around the settlement of Narva itself.

Occasionally Novgorod would send raiding parties across the Narva to collect captives – women and children – to ship south for sale in the slave markets of Constantinople. Or sometimes just to kill and plunder. But mostly the pagan Wierlanders were left alone to live out their lives. Then everything changed with the arrival of the Danes who created the stronghold of Reval, but who also sent their soldiers east to seize the strategically important settlement of Narva, which was the gateway to Danish Estonia.

During his disastrous campaign against Reval Prince Mstislav had ignored Narva believing, quite rightly, that if the former fell then it would be easy to seize the much smaller and weaker Narva. But now the Sword Brothers were waging a campaign against Reval’s outposts, capturing them one by one to isolate the Danish port. And Conrad was determined that the Army of the Wolf would seize Narva. For one thing it was the strongest outpost of the Danes in Wierland. If he took it then the Wierlanders would be free from Danish oppression and would most likely flock to his banner. And Wierland was the last Estonian kingdom that was not controlled by his warlords.

Those warlords now stood warming themselves around a campfire as Conrad explained to them and Sir Richard his intent to capture Narva. The air reeked of horseflesh, or more specifically ponies, a thousand of the beasts having carried the five hundred and fifty men to Wierland and another five hundred having transported their tents, spare clothing and weapons, fodder and food.

‘We know that Narva has not only a Danish garrison,’ said Conrad, ‘but also that the commander, a rogue by the name of Dietrich von Kivel, has a large number of German mercenaries in and around Narva.’

‘How many?’ asked Sir Richard, a fur cap covering his bald scalp.

‘At least as many as we have brought to this place, perhaps more, your grace.’

Leatherface spat into the fire. ‘If they get wind of us and retreat inside the palisade then with their numbers we’ll never be able storm the place.’

‘He is right,
Susi
,’ said Andres. ‘We have no siege engines and we will lose many men if we have to assault Narva.’

Conrad looked at their faces illuminated by the flames of the fire. He suddenly realised that if he ordered it they would fling themselves against Narva’s defences leading their men, such was their loyalty to him. In that moment he felt like a king who could save or waste men’s lives on a whim. Then he remembered that he was merely a simple brother knight, albeit one recently promoted to castellan.

‘My friends, I have no intention of attacking Narva,’ he assured them. ‘I intend to fight the enemy in the open.’

‘Why should they leave their fort,
Susi
?’ asked Riki.

‘I was wondering that,’ added Anton. ‘Only an idiot would leave a strong position to fight a battle in the snow.’

‘An idiot or a tyrant,’ replied Conrad. ‘I have taken a keen interest in our friend Commander Kivel. I asked Andres and Riki to send scouts into Wierland to not only reconnoitre the kingdom but also discover more about the Duke of Narva.’

‘Is that his title?’ said Hans, holding his hands to the flames.

‘He is, by all accounts,’ continued Conrad, ‘a favourite of King Valdemar who bestowed the title on him before his departure for Denmark and subsequent imprisonment. He has taken advantage of the king’s absence to aggrandise himself at the expense of the Wierlanders. But more importantly, he believes himself to be a great general, which we will use to our advantage.’

‘You are confident that if we manage to lure this Kivel out of Narva we can defeat him, Conrad?’ asked Sir Richard.

‘With your help, your grace, I am certain of it,’ smiled Conrad. He looked at the others. ‘It might fortify your confidence to know that we will not be alone in our fight, if everything works out the way I hope it does.’

He was met by a circle of confused and quizzical expressions.

‘Have you been at the ale?’ teased Leatherface.

‘Conrad has a secret that has been impossible to tease out of him,’ said Anton, ‘but his general air of smugness suggests that he is confident of victory.’

‘All I will say is this,’ said Conrad. ‘It is my intention to free Wierland from the Danes and I will offer battle to this Kivel in the full confidence that we can defeat him on our own. If not then we will withdraw and wait until the spring when we will return with a larger army.’

After the impromptu gathering the leaders returned to their men and Hans and Anton went in search of food. The camp had been established in a large pine forest just north of Lake Peipus and southwest of Narva. The trees afforded shelter from the harsh winds that often whipped up the lake and also provided firewood and materials for stables and lean-tos. Guards patrolled the perimeter and scouts were sent out every day to ensure the garrison of Narva did not venture from its warm stronghold until provoked. All the men who had marched to Wierland were volunteers, veterans of previous campaigns; men who were well armed and equipped and who could be relied upon in battle. Even Ulric’s one hundred soldiers were now warmly clad and appropriately armed, a far cry from the miserable wretches that had journeyed from Germany in the company of Bishop Bernhard.

Conrad walked among them after the meeting, sharing jokes and listening to them reminiscing about Varbola and Dorpat. Their mood was relaxed and confident, sentiments shared by the other contingents in camp. Even Ulric seemed less morose than usual. Conrad shared some soup with ‘the bastards’ and then continued on his tour of the camp, stopping when he sensed he was being followed. He spun round and saw Leatherface holding up his hands.

‘Don’t run me through, Master Conrad, I was only seeking a bit of company.’

‘You should take care,’ Conrad admonished him, ‘creeping around camp might get you shot by one of your own men.

The mercenary drew his cape around himself and quickened his pace to walk alongside Conrad.

‘My boys are too well trained to shoot their commander. So, you reckon you can beat this Danish lord.’

‘He’s German, but yes, we can beat him.’

Leatherface chuckled.

‘What’s so funny?’ asked Conrad.

‘I was just thinking about the first time you were given a command, when Sir Richard was besieged by the Cumans.’

‘I remember.’

‘So do I,’ smiled the mercenary. ‘You could not come up with a plan and did not think much of the Saccalian rabble that you were leading. But you managed to forge them into a force that defeated the Cumans and relieved Sir Richard.’

Now Conrad smiled. ‘I was lucky.’

‘No, you had the ability; it just had to be teased out of you. You’ve come a long way since then, Master Conrad, Marshal of Estonia.’

Conrad stopped and looked around at the tents, groups clustered around campfires and the rows of ponies under temporary shelters.

‘In the spring it will be fifteen years since I first stepped foot in this land. I sometimes wonder where those years went.’

‘Easy,’ said Leatherface. ‘Fighting wars and killing enemies.’

Conrad walked on. ‘And now we are close to bringing the war to an end. Estonia is almost ours and next year the bishop will look to the conquest of Oesel.’