The Sword Brothers (46 page)

Berthold looked at him
with heavy eyes. ‘Alas, my friend, they left their money to the
Holy Church and not Wenden. All donations are received by the
bishop’s palace in Riga.’

‘Then we must go and
collect what is rightfully ours,’ said Rudolf.

They set off the next
day, taking boat down the Gauja and then riding south the short
distance to Riga. The river was filled with boats taking supplies
and men to the garrisons at Wenden, Segewold and Kremon, other,
smaller vessels on the water containing fishermen casting their
nets to trap the large sturgeon that swam under the surface. War
and destruction seemed far away, the land was well tended and the
people well fed and seemingly prosperous. When they got nearer to
Riga, however, they passed burnt-out farmsteads and smashed fences
– evidence of the destruction the Kurs had visited on the area.

Riga itself was
bustling, its dirt streets heaving with carts, donkeys and people,
the shops full of wares and the markets teeming with livestock. The
harbour area had been rebuilt after the Kur incursion, great
warehouses set back from its extensive quay and jetties extending
out into the Dvina where a variety of different-sized vessels were
moored: cogs, hulks, keels, knarrs and river boats.

They made their way
through the thriving, disorganised streets to the castle to report
to Grand Master Volquin. They found him inspecting a line of
potential novices to the Sword Brothers who had just arrived from
Germany, most of them scrawny, half-starved teenagers who had no
doubt been saved from the gallows by the bishop’s court in Lübeck.
They looked relieved at having survived the journey to Riga, though
whether they would live through their fist Livonian winter remained
to be seen. Grand Master Volquin welcomed them to Riga and told
them that they would leave for Holm Castle in the morning, not that
any of them knew where that was. Volquin dismissed them and
instructed a sergeant to take them to the dining hall to get some
food into their malnourished bodies.

He stood in the castle
courtyard shaking his head as they trudged disconsolately into the
citadel. The rectangular courtyard stood in front of this
structure, with four rectangular towers in each corner of the
compound. He saw Berthold and Rudolf dismount from their horses and
walk over to him. They bowed their heads to him.

‘Welcome,’ said
Volquin. ‘I received the message that you would be arriving. All is
well, I hope.’

‘At the moment, grand
master,’ replied Berthold sternly, ‘though if matters are not
addressed then they will not remain so.’

Volquin tilted his
head towards the last of the boys entering the castle. ‘The bishop
believes it to be an act of charity to bring them here. Waifs and
strays, mostly. Most will not live to see next summer.’

‘A fate that might
befall Wenden as well,’ said Berthold dryly.

Volquin looked at him
with alarm. ‘Wenden is in danger?’

‘Not from the pagans,
grand master,’ replied Berthold. ‘Other threats present
themselves.’

After they had been
shown to their quarters in the north wing and had eaten a meal of
cooked herring Berthold and Rudolf sat in the grand master’s
office. The shutters on the windows were open and the rich aroma of
the town was drifting in on a northerly wind. They explained the
financial difficulties that would soon engulf Wenden.

Volquin nodded
solemnly. ‘I have received similar reports from the other masters
of our order, imploring me to send them more funds. The power to
distribute largess is, unfortunately, not mine to grant. Each
request must be laid before the bishop himself. You are fortunate
in that he is in situ at the moment, for otherwise the decision
would be left to the discretion of Archdeacon Stefan.’

‘The bishop’s puppy?’
sneered Berthold.

Volquin raised his
eyebrows at his subordinate. ‘You would do well to temper your
opinions when we see the bishop, Master Berthold. Our friend Stefan
has been created governor of Riga with all the responsibilities and
power that comes with that office. He also retains his clerical
powers.’

‘He rises in the
world,’ commented Rudolf.

‘His ambition has no
limits,’ remarked Volquin. ‘It is rumoured that he urged the bishop
to create Theodoric Bishop of Estonia.’

‘They are allies?’
said Rudolf.

‘On the contrary,
brother,’ replied Volquin. ‘They detest each other, so Stefan
agitated for Theodoric’s appointment to rule over the Estonians and
thus remove him from Riga. He is not to be underestimated.’

Berthold and Rudolf
discovered this for themselves when they met him and the bishop in
the latter’s palace the next morning. Half the building was covered
in wooden scaffolding, the archdeacon having authorised the
construction of more bedrooms and a second audience chamber. The
meeting was held in the original audience chamber, which had been
refurbished with silk-covered chairs and a beautifully carved oak
table, behind which the bishop and his nephew sat.

Bishop Albert and
Stefan rose when the three Sword Brothers entered and Stefan
ordered wine to be served. The monks who poured it into silver
flagons were even younger than the ones who had attended him last
time, Rudolf thought. The day was warm but the atmosphere in the
room soon turned cool.

‘Grand Master Volquin
has alerted me to your financial difficulties,’ the bishop said to
Master Berthold, ‘and we are most sympathetic to your plight.
However, I have to tell you that the flow of funds from Germany is
not as generous as I would like. Though there are many knights who
are willing to take the cross to support our crusade, the German
kings and princes are less willing to support our cause
financially.’

Rudolf looked at the
rich white dalmatic being worn by Stefan and his gold pectoral
cross hanging around his neck. Clearly Riga did not suffer from
financial difficulties.

Master Berthold nodded
and smiled. ‘Of course, bishop, we understand. But there is the
matter of the donations promised to Wenden by our newest brother
knight, Walter, and Sir Frederick who was martyred and now lies in
the castle’s cemetery.’

‘A brave servant of
God,’ said the bishop.

‘Indeed,’ added
Stefan. ‘But the fact is that all donations are sent to Riga where
they are distributed according to need. I am sorry to report that
the recent assault on this town has necessitated the strengthening
of its defences and an increase in the size of the garrison. I am
afraid that just as your treasury is empty, Master Berthold, so our
exchequer is poorly stocked.’

Stefan smiled slyly
and brought his hands together in front of his chest. What a
contrast he presented to the bishop, the latter with his stern,
chiselled features and determined personality, the archdeacon with
his flabby, effeminate features and delicate fingers. Every year
the bishop led a crusader army to war. Rudolf doubted if Stefan had
ever stepped foot beyond the comfortable confines of this
palace.

But Berthold was not
so easily deflected. ‘If you cannot spare any funds, lord bishop,
then perhaps Riga could release some of the troops of its garrison
to me. In that way I could dismiss some of my mercenaries and thus
save expenditure.’

Stefan blanched. ‘The
garrison of Riga? Out of the question! Have you forgotten so soon
the attack of the Kurs, the assault on Kokenhusen by the
Lithuanians and Estonian raiders who recently invaded the kingdom?
Lord bishop, it is out of the question that the garrison of Riga
should be weakened.’

‘I have to concur with
my governor,’ said the bishop. ‘That said, I am willing to cede
control of all the territory around Wenden to the Sword Brothers if
this would help. You would not have to send any yearly tribute to
Riga.’

This was a hollow
victory because Wenden had never sent any tribute to Riga, as the
bishop well knew. In theory Livonia was a crusader kingdom in which
those who owned land, including the Sword Brothers, paid dues to
the bishop’s palace in Riga. The reality was that each castle was
barely able to support itself and had no spare monies to lavish on
the clothing of the town governor.

‘Perhaps Wenden could
make more use of the local population,’ offered Stefan.

‘The local
population?’ said Berthold.

Stefan smiled at him,
turning the gold ring on his finger as he did so. ‘The Livs who
populate Wenden’s lands. Surely they can be recruited to your
cause.’

Berthold shook his
head. ‘They already pay rents to the order and work in the
quarry.’

‘You pay those who
work wages?’ asked Stefan.

Berthold frowned. ‘Of
course.’

Rudolf knew where this
was leading. ‘Thalibald and his people are valuable allies. It
would be unwise to make them enemies by making unreasonable demands
upon them.’

Stefan spread his
hands. ‘Is God’s work unreasonable, brother? We build a new
Jerusalem here and just as our Lord suffered hardship and hostility
so should we expect to be subjected to trials in our mission.’

Stefan took a sip of
his wine. Rudolf sniffed contemptuously. ‘We need money, lord
bishop, otherwise the work on Wenden will cease.’

‘It is as Brother
Rudolf says, lord bishop,’ confirmed Berthold.

‘Wenden is your most
northerly stronghold, lord bishop,’ continued Rudolf. ‘It is also
the most exposed and will be the first target should Lembit once
again bring his warriors south. Perhaps we might have a temporary
share of the profits from the Dvina trade.’

Stefan was appalled.
‘The Dvina trade?’

It was common
knowledge that the trade in fur, flax, timber, tar, corns and hides
along the Dvina was very lucrative. Many of the goods were sold in
the markets of Riga, which were taxed by the bishop.

‘Out of the question,’
snapped Stefan. ‘All taxes raised from trade are directed to the
upkeep of the castle and walls, the bishop’s palace and the
cathedral.’

Berthold leaned back
in his chair. ‘Cathedral, Archdeacon Stefan?’

‘The design is still
being finalised but we expect to begin this most worthy project in
two or three years.’

‘Let us hope that
there is still a Riga left in which to build it,’ said Rudolf.

Stefan was about to
rise to the bait when the bishop raised a hand to still him. ‘I
sympathise with your position, Master Berthold, but at the moment I
cannot release any funds to you. However, you may be fortified by
the knowledge that, following the capture of Fellin earlier this
year, I have decided to launch another winter campaign against the
Estonians. Once Lembit has been destroyed the whole of Estonia will
become a Christian land and Wenden will share in its riches.’

Rudolf was about to
say what riches but thought better of it. Thus did the meeting come
to an end and the Sword Brothers walked back to the castle.

‘The bishop
exaggerates the wealth of Estonia, I fear,’ remarked Berthold.

‘Even if it can be
conquered in one campaign, which I doubt,’ added Rudolf.

‘The bishop returns to
Lübeck soon,’ said Volquin. ‘I will go with him to endeavour to
raise funds from the merchants of the city. I will prevail upon him
to earmark these funds for Wenden. I should be away no longer than
three months.’

Berthold and Rudolf
went back to Wenden in a boat containing helmets and mail armour
for the garrison, which had arrived from Germany on a cog four days
earlier. They were a gift from the richest citizens of
Magdeburg.

‘At least we don’t
have to pay for them,’ sniffed Rudolf.

‘Perhaps the grand
master’s trip will reap a rich harvest,’ remarked Berthold.

They were both sitting
on chests as the rowers pulled on their oars and the boat glided
across the smooth surface of the Gauja.

‘Perhaps,’ said
Rudolf. ‘There is another way of raising money.’

Berthold stared at the
water in the bottom of the boat. ‘That is our last recourse,
Rudolf. The bishop would not approve.’

Rudolf laughed. ‘No, I
don’t suppose he would.’

*****

Not all those
Oeselians who accompanied Eric to Treiden died. A riverboat full of
wounded warriors, the last one to push off from the shore, followed
the others downstream. When the crusader pontoon bridge was spotted
an order was transmitted to them from Eric to turn around and row
upriver to Estonia. He probably realised that the battle at the
bridge would be futile and so wanted to save those whose bodies
were already wounded and bleeding. Thirty men were in that boat.
They rowed up the Gauja and then walked north once they believed
they were out of enemy territory. They walked for days, drinking
from lakes and streams, stumbling through peat bogs and forests,
eating wild berries and occasionally the odd hare they trapped.
They lost ten of their number in the first week and another six in
the week following. The rest, emaciated and half-dead, eventually
stumbled upon an Estonian village where they were disarmed and
thrown into a hut. They explained to the village elder that they
had fought beside an Estonian leader named Lembit at a place called
Treiden. They were lucky: they had wandered into Saccalia –
Lembit’s own kingdom – and so their wounds were tended. After a few
days they were escorted west to the coast where they took boat back
to Oesel. But not before another five had succumbed to their
wounds.

The surviving nine
stood before Olaf in his great oak hall, the king seated on his
wooden throne flanked by his remaining sons, his ashen-faced queen
beside him. The heavy doors had been closed and guards stood on
either side of them and behind the thrones, more guards lining the
walls, light provided by small stone lamps hanging from the
ceiling, filled with fish liver oil with a lighted wick of
cottonweed. The oppressive silence in the hall was broken by the
sound of scurrying mice.