Castellan (22 page)

‘Let her go.’

The man with the broken nose was lying on the ground clutching his wounded face, groaning as pain shot through his skull.

‘You have no right to interfere in church business, heretic,’ shouted the priest. He pointed at Conrad and looked at the villagers.

‘Seize him.’

They suddenly stopped shouting and looked at each other nervously, wondering what to do and hoping that someone would try to restrain the tall, strapping knight standing before them. No one did.

‘I do not fear you,’ said Father Arnulf defiantly.

‘I do not want you to fear me, father,’ replied Conrad, ‘I just want an explanation as to why you accuse this girl of witchcraft.’

The man on the other side of her released his grip and retreated as the girl looked at Conrad. She had the fair hair and blue eyes of her race in stark contrast to the more swarthy features of the German settlers around her. Conrad asked her what she had done to provoke them so and she replied that she lived in a nearby Liv village but had often visited this settlement to administer cures.

‘I make ointments and potions from herbs and flowers,’ she said in her own language.

‘You are a healer?’ said Conrad.

She nodded. ‘I cured a baby of a fever, that is all. Their headman said that I was a servant of the devil but I do not know him.’

Hans began munching on an apple as Conrad turned back to the priest.

‘She saves a child’s life and you accuse her of witchcraft?’

The man glared at Conrad. ‘The child was dying and had been given the last rights. And then suddenly it lived. It was the devil’s work.’

The villagers voiced their support for the priest’s opinion.

‘In addition,’ said Father Arnulf loudly, ‘we found proof that she is a servant of the Devil. She has a witch’s mark.’

A gasp of horror came from the villagers. Father Arnulf held up his hands.

‘A mole on her inner thigh,’ he announced.

Conrad looked at him with disgust. ‘I warrant you had fun searching for that.’

‘You mock the Lord’s work?’ the priest shot back.

‘I mock your pious sanctity,’ replied Conrad. Behind him Anton looked at Hans, shook his head and rolled his eyes. Hans continued munching on his apple.

‘It is written in Exodus,’ the priest suddenly shouted, ‘thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.’

‘Burn her, burn her’ shouted the villagers and the girl began to sob. He walked forward, placed an arm around her shoulder and led her away.

‘No one is burning anyone today,’ he said firmly.

The men in the crowd wanted to stop him but they saw his powerful frame, the dagger now back in its sheath on his hip, the sword on the other side and the axe tucked into the back of his belt. They insulted him and shook their fists but did not move.

‘I will take her back to her village,’ Conrad announced. ‘You had better pray that the chief does not send a war party to exact vengeance.’

‘This is our land,’ shouted a villager.

‘There is no room for pagans in Livonia,’ cried another.

‘Conrad,’ said Hans, tossing away the apple core, ‘have you heard of the phrase “biting off more than you can chew” by any chance?’

Conrad led the girl towards his horse. ‘Of course.’

Hans pointed ahead. ‘Well you are about to learn if there’s any truth in it.’

Conrad looked to where he was pointing and saw at least half a dozen riders approaching, men in mail and red surcoats bearing the cross keys insignia of Riga. Father Arnulf suddenly ran towards the horsemen, waving his arms in the air as he did so.

‘Save us, good Christian knights. Deliver us from pagans and heretics. They have saved a witch from justice.’

The horsemen spurred their horses forward into the village, passing the priest to halt next to the villagers, who began pointing at Conrad.

‘He saved the witch and threatened Father Arnulf. Kill him.’

The girl began shaking as two of the riders, both wearing kettle helmets, dismounted and marched towards Conrad. Hans and Anton left their saddles and drew their swords. The commander of the Rigan horsemen, a square-faced fellow with an open-faced helmet, pointed at Conrad.

‘The Sword Brothers have no jurisdiction here. Hand her over and be on your way.’

‘I cannot do that,’ replied Conrad.

The commander nodded to the two sergeants as the other four horsemen arrived behind him. Conrad noticed that one was dressed in a red mantle and had a mitre on his head but he had other things to worry about as the sergeants drew their swords and came at him. They shifted their shields to cover their torsos as Conrad jumped forward, pulled his sword, ducked to the left, thrust the blade forward and then whipped it back to slice the hamstring of the sergeant on the right of the pair. Both wore mail hauberks but their legs were unprotected and thus an easy target. The man gave a sharp yelp and went down on one knee, his face contorted in pain.

The second sergeant spun to his right to face Conrad who pulled the shield off his back and thrust his left forearm through the straps on its inside. The commander shouted at his other men to dismount as Hans and Anton sprang forward to assist their friend.

The second sergeant attempted a vertical cut to Conrad’s head but the brother knight jumped back so the blow sliced only air. He then sprang forward and used his shield like a battering ram to knock the sergeant off his feet. The sergeant stumbled rearwards and fell on his back, Conrad ramming his left foot down onto his groin. The man emitted a high-pitched scream as a voice thundered a command.

‘Enough!’

Conrad kept pressing his foot into the man’s groin as the individual in the red mantle and mitre jumped from his horse and strode over to him. He was perhaps in his late fifties or early sixties, of solid build with a round face. With his mitre he was well over six foot and appeared to have a solid frame. He pointed at the man groaning at Conrad’s feet.

‘Release him.’

Conrad did not recognise the individual, though the gold pectoral cross that dangled from a gold chain around his neck indicated that he was a man of some importance in the Holy Church. The other soldiers had now dismounted and drawn their swords but Hans and Anton had likewise unsheathed their blades and were standing beside their friend.

The churchman looked at them and then at the soldiers of the Riga garrison.

‘All of you will place your swords back in their scabbards or will face severe punishment. Do not think that because my brother Albert is in Germany I will allow Livonia to become a domain of bandits.’

Conrad removed his foot from the man’s genitals. ‘You are the brother of the Bishop Albert?’

‘I am Bishop Hermann of Buxhoeveden, formerly of Germany but now a resident of Livonia.’

He looked at his guards who slid their swords back in their scabbards. Hans and Anton did the same, leaving Conrad the only one with a weapon in his hand.

‘And now,’ said Hermann, ‘as I have introduced myself to you, brother knight, perhaps you would afford me the same courtesy. Unless you propose to martyr me.’

‘Lord bishop?’ said Conrad, who suddenly remembered he had a blade in his hand. He hastily put it back in its scabbard. ‘I am Brother Conrad of the garrison of Wenden and Marshal of Estonia and I apologise for my ill manners. These are my friends and fellow members of my order: Brother Hans and Brother Anton.’

They both bowed their heads to Hermann.

‘So you are Conrad Wolff,’ said the bishop. ‘My brother has talked much of you, of how you saved his life and killed the pagan leader Lembit. And here you are, standing before me.’

The officer of the open helmet stormed over to the bishop.

‘The Sword Brothers should be arrested, sir. They have wounded two of my men.’

Conrad looked at the soldier hobbling back to his horse with a sliced hamstring and the other being helped to his feet.

‘They will live.’

The officer glared at him. ‘You have shown disrespect to the soldiers of the garrison of Riga, for which you will be punished.’

Conrad laughed. ‘Are they soldiers? I thought they were overdressed bodyguards of Archdeacon Stefan, fit only for frightening children or raping young maidens.’

The officer went to draw his sword again.

‘Think carefully,’ Conrad warned him. ‘Draw that sword and only one of us will be alive afterwards.’

The bishop, far from intervening, was watching the unfolding drama with interest. On one side was the angry officer in a fine surcoat but who was already running to fat, on the other the sturdy killing machine that was Conrad Wolff. He did not intervene because he was a good judge of men and knew that the officer treasured his own life above that of the reputation of the garrison of Riga, such as it was. He fumed for a few seconds, gave Conrad a hateful look and then stormed off to assist his man with the sore testicles.

‘Take your men back to the city,’ the bishop called after him. ‘I will make my own way there.’

‘It is not safe for you to ride alone, lord bishop,’ the officer replied.

‘We are travelling to Riga, lord bishop,’ said Conrad, ‘and would be honoured to be your escort.’

The bishop clapped his hands together. ‘The Lord provides. Excellent.’

The officer sniffed and assisted his soldiers into the saddle, then gave the order for the others to mount up. With a curt salute he bid farewell to the bishop and led his men away from the village.

‘So,’ said Hermann, looking at the Liv girl, ‘what is happening here?’

‘A familiar tale, lord bishop,’ Conrad told him. ‘A lecherous priest and a pretty young girl who found his advances repugnant.’

Hermann walked over to Father Arnulf and extended his right hand, on which was his bishop’s ring with its large amethyst. Father Arnulf fell to his knees and kissed the stone, his parishioners also kneeling.

‘Welcome, lord bishop,’ said Father Arnulf.

‘I will be taking the girl,’ stated Hermann.

The priest looked up. ‘She is a witch, lord bishop, and should be burnt for her sins.’

‘That will be decided by a church court in Riga,’ said Hermann sharply, ‘it is not a matter for a lowly priest to decide.’

The bishop looked at the villagers. ‘Go back to your work, all of you. Do you not know that the devil makes work for idle hands?’

The villagers sheepishly rose to their feet and shuffled away, some muttering as they did so. Conrad placed his cloak around the girl’s shoulders as Hans and Anton regained their saddles. Father Arnulf made to rise.

‘Did I tell you to get off your knees?’ asked Hermann.

‘No, lord bishop,’ answered the priest, who resumed his position. ‘Forgive me.’

‘You have no authority to execute people, Father Arnulf,’ stated the bishop, who saw the bruises on the girl’s face, ‘or torture them. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, lord bishop,’ came the mumbled reply.

‘Well,’ smiled Hermann, ‘let us be on our way, Conrad.’

He walked back to his horse and regained his saddle. Conrad helped the girl onto his horse so she could sit behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist and clung on for dear life, not saying a word as they trotted from the village. Behind them Father Arnulf stood up and dusted himself down.

The bishop riding beside Conrad took a cloth from his sleeve and carefully wiped the amethyst.

‘Do you know why amethyst is chosen to be the stone of a bishop’s ring, Conrad?’

‘No, lord bishop.’

‘It is because the purplish colour is supposed to prevent drunkenness and bring a sense of peace and devotion. The gem’s colour resembles wine, you see, and is a reminder not to succumb to the temptation of drink. It also reminds the wearer not to become drunk with power but to focus on more spiritual matters.’

‘Most interesting, lord bishop,’ said Conrad, in truth not at all interested.

Hermann noted the indifference in his voice. ‘Something troubles you?’

‘Forgive me, lord bishop, but is this girl, having been saved from being burnt at the stake, now going to be taken to Riga where she will most likely suffer a similar death?’

Hermann smiled. ‘Of course not. I said that to appease Father Arnulf, deluded fool that he is. We will take her to her home, if she has one.’

A relieved Conrad conveyed this happy news to the Liv who gave him a broad smile. They rode to the outskirts of her village that was around three miles from the Christian settlement. He told her that she should avoid it in future and warn the other residents of the settlement to do likewise. They then resumed their journey to Riga.

‘Where is your army, Conrad,’ enquired the bishop, ‘your Army of the Wolf?’

‘Part is at Wenden,’ answered Conrad, ‘the greater part is in Rotalia.’

Hermann, fascinated, asked him questions concerning Wenden, the Oeselians, Danes and affairs in Ungannia.

‘So you believe this Kristjan will prove an implacable enemy?’ asked Hermann.

‘I met him only once, lord bishop,’ said Conrad. ‘He has an unforgiving nature. Apparently he believes that the Sword Brothers killed his parents and has sworn revenge. He also has the support of the Russians, which means that Saccalia will be very vulnerable, as will be Livonia.’