Castellan (50 page)

‘You are right, Ulric. Your men shall have a banner.’

Riki summoned the best seamstresses and weavers from the surrounding villages and put them to work creating a flag. There was no silk or gold edging available so the banner would be made of wool with the design on each side being sewn linen. Conrad thought it trivial at first, but as the days passed he became more interested in its design. Bishop Hermann, Ulric and the crusader commanders spent many hours in a hut in the fort’s compound thrashing out the details. And as they did so and then conveyed their instructions to the women who had been charged with creating the banner, the chief topic of conversation in Varbola was when it would be completed. Leatherface tried to get the bishop drunk so he would reveal its design to him and thus win the sizeable sum that had been wagered on the standard’s pattern. But the bishop had drunk the mercenary under the table, the latter having to be carried by Conrad and Hans back to his hut, unconscious.

It took a month to create the banner and when it was finished it was escorted under armed guard from the hut where it had been created to the fort’s main hall. There it was placed on a table in the centre of the chamber where Bishop Hermann blessed it. Those monks who had journeyed to Varbola with the crusaders were also in attendance, holding a vigil through the night over the sacred standard. No one was allowed into the hall while this was going on. After being thus consecrated the banner was then fixed to a staff with a traverse bar at the top so it would never hang limply and would be visible even when there was no wind.

Warriors filled the fort’s walls and towers when the bishop carried the banner from the hall to present it to his men. Riki’s signallers blew their horns as Ulric’s men, drawn up in a square, knelt and bowed their heads. Conrad, Hans and Anton stood with Leatherface in a tower overlooking the compound crammed with civilians. He smiled when he saw Jaan among the crowd, spade in hand, craning his neck trying to see what was going on.

Bishop Bernhard said a prayer, his words clear and loud in the warm morning air. Conrad and his friends bowed their heads as the bishop implored God to protect His banner and the men that carried it. He tapped Leatherface on the arm to indicate he should do likewise. After he had finished the bishop ordered his men to stand and he handed over the banner to Ulric, to loud cheers from the crusaders and accompanying acclaim from the assembled warriors and civilians.

The design showed a yellow bishop’s mitre on a white background, the mitre adorned with three blue crosses to symbolise the Holy Trinity. Beneath was a red rose, the symbol of the city of Lippe in honour of Bishop Bernhard. Beneath the mitre and rose was a scroll bearing the motto
episcopi spurii
.

‘What does that mean?’ asked the illiterate Hans.

Conrad had no idea, having no knowledge of Latin.

‘The bishop’s bastards,’ said Anton, who could not only read Latin but write it as well.

Thus did the bishop’s soldiers have their banner and, their morale high, prepared to march with the Army of the Wolf. Only one question remained: where would they march to?

Two weeks later Conrad called together the commanders of his army to inform them of his plans. They gathered in Varbola’s great hall, around an old oak table that had reputedly been made by the gods. The mood was relaxed and confident. Riki had settled into his new position and was becoming accustomed to settling disputes and giving his judgement to his people. Hillar was kept fully abreast of affairs in Rotalia by Koit, which continued to be free from Oeselian raids. Only the stout and courageous Andres appeared slightly glum, no doubt thinking about his homeland that was under the control of the tyrant Kristjan.

Hans was munching on a small pie filled with meat and herbs as the rest were served with beer and honey mead. Bishop Bernhard sat at one end of the table, Riki at the other, as Hans finished his pie and tore off a chunk of bread a servant had place before him.

Conrad banged the end of his dagger on the table to get everyone’s attention.

‘We have received news from Wenden that Bishop Albert has landed at Riga with an army. Master Rudolf has informed me that Dorpat will be the objective of the coming campaign.’

The others banged their fists on the table to show their support.

‘Ungannia will not be able to withstand the bishop’s army combined with the Sword Brothers,’ stated Conrad.

‘Or indeed your army, Conrad,’ said Bernhard, which resulted in more fists hitting the table top.

Conrad held up his hands to request quiet. ‘But first I intend to occupy Jerwen.’

Andres looked at him in surprise.

‘That’s right, Andres. You and your men have been away from their homeland for too long. The Army of the Wolf will therefore free Jerwen before it marches south to assist in the capture of Dorpat.’

Conrad thought he detected tears in Andres’ eyes but the big Jerwen raised his cup to Conrad and downed his beer in one gulp.

‘Go and tell your men, Andres, that they are marching to free their families, villages and farms. We leave in two days.’

*****

Novgorod’s
veche
was packed with the city’s finest as a grim-faced Mikhail Vsevolodovich stood before the assembled delegates. He had accepted their offer to be the new prince of Novgorod. He was a member of the ancient and prestigious Rurik dynasty, a descendant of the Varangian Prince Rurik who had been invited by the people of Novgorod to be the ruler of their city some three hundred and fifty years before. He had been away from the city for some months, having taken part in a great campaign against a cruel enemy from Asia. A coalition of Russian princes and Cumans had gathered in the Ukraine to stop these infidel raiders who some called Mongols. Rumours had reached northern Russia of subsequent events but now the
veche
was informed of what had happened by one who had been there.

‘Eighty thousand Russian soldiers were deployed in battle order near a river called the Kalka,’ said Mikhail. ‘We greatly outnumbered the eastern devils and were confident of victory. What followed I can only attribute to God deserting us for the enemy horsemen charged and unleashed deadly volleys of arrows. Hundreds were cut down before our own horsemen had a chance to reply.’

There was a collective groan as he continued his tale of woe.

‘When our horsemen charged the enemy retreated. But it was only a ruse to lure them away from the rest of the army. The enemy suddenly turned and engulfed our mounted warriors. None returned. And then the slaughter began. The enemy, all horsemen and armed with spears and bows, rode around our men and peppered them with arrows. For hours they shot at our men, gradually whittling down our numbers until the sons of Russia could take no more. They ran. We tried to rally them but to no avail. Only darkness saved the army from total annihilation.’

He cast his head down and spread his long arms.

‘How many men rallied after the battle, highness?’ enquired Yuri Nevsky.

‘Twenty thousand survived the battle,’ reported Mikhail, ‘though only because the Mongols did not follow up their victory.’

Sixty thousand men killed was almost an incomprehensible number. Men looked at each other in despair and alarm. What if these Mongols returned and headed north instead of west?

‘We must look to our own defences,’ said Mikhail. ‘The strength of Novgorod must be directed towards the defence of this kingdom. There can be no more expeditions against the Danes or Sword Brothers.’

This declaration was met with warm applause. Mikhail held up an arm and the hall fell silent.

‘The defences of this city are strong and the Mongols have no siege engines. They are raiders and plunderers so we should not be unduly alarmed.’

More applause greeted this declaration. Mikhail smiled, knowing that if the Asian horsemen returned they would probably overrun the Kingdom of Novgorod with ease. He had never seen such ferocious and, crucially, well-organised horsemen and he feared their return.

Afterwards Yuri Nevksy and his son accompanied the prince back to the kremlin. The members of the
veche
, glad to be rid of Mstislav and his expensive foreign wars, returned to their grand houses in a satisfied mood. They had been shocked by the news of the catastrophe at the Kalka but comforted themselves that the Ukraine was hundreds of miles away from Novgorod. Trade had been restored with Riga and Europe’s desire for squirrel pelts was as insatiable as ever. The party had an escort but there was no need: the people were delighted that Prince Mikhail now ruled over them. They crowded round but kept a respectful distance, bowing their heads to him as he passed.

Inside the kremlin they found Prince Vetseke waiting for them. When the commander of the guard informed Mikhail that the prince desired an audience he had no idea who he was.

‘A pagan, highness,’ Yuri Nevsky explained, ‘who was favoured by Prince Mstislav. He and his men were once employed by him in the northern regions to gather pelts. He has been fighting alongside the Ungannians against the Sword Brothers recently.’

Mikhail stopped and looked at the tall, clean-shaven individual who wore a green cloak and a sword in a red scabbard.

‘Prince Mstislav gave him some soldiers to aid him in his fight, highness,’ said Yaroslav Nevsky.

‘Did he indeed?’ uttered Mikhail thoughtfully. He waved Vetseke over.

‘He speaks Russian?’

‘He does, highness,’ replied Yuri, ‘after a fashion.’

Vetseke was escorted to the prince by a pair of guards, who used their spear shafts to prevent him getting within striking distance with his sword. The commander of the guard demanded the Liv’s weapon. Vetseke pulled the sword from its scabbard and handed it over. He bowed to Mikhail.

‘What brings you to Novgorod, Prince Vetseke?’ asked Mikhail.

‘I come with a request from Kristjan, the leader of the Ungannian people, lord,’ answered Vetseke. ‘He desires aid in his fight against the heretical Bishop of Riga and the Sword Brothers.’

‘You mean soldiers?’ said Mikhail.

Vetseke nodded. ‘Yes, lord.’

Mikhail stroked his brown curly beard. ‘And if Novgorod aids this Kristjan, will it help him defeat the servants of the Church of Rome?’

‘No, lord.’

They all looked at Vetseke in surprise.

‘Your answer does not aid your cause, prince,’ said Mikhail. ‘Why should I send Russians to aid a kingdom that according to you is already lost?’

‘Because it is better for Russian soldiers to be fighting the Sword Brothers in Ungannia rather than in their own territory, lord.’

Mikhail looked at Yuri who gently shook his head.

‘Come back to the palace tomorrow, Prince Vetseke,’ said Mikhail, ‘when I will give you my answer.’

Vetseke bowed his head and backed away. The commander of the guard gave him back his sword and his men escorted him towards the gates. Mikhail watched him go.

‘What is the news concerning the Bishop of Riga and the Sword Brothers?’ he asked Yuri Nevsky.

‘Our merchants report that the bishop has landed at Riga with a large army of crusaders, highness. In addition, the Marshal of Estonia has conquered a substantial area of that land.’

‘Who?’

‘A Sword Brother, highness,’ answered Yuri, ‘who leads an army of pagan Estonians. He reportedly has the favour of the Bishop of Riga.’

Mikhail considered for a moment. ‘I am apt to give our valiant Liv some assistance. He is right when he states that it is better for the bishop and his soldiers to be occupied in Ungannia rather than turning his gaze further east.’

He looked at Yaroslav. ‘Send word to the mayor of Pskov that he is to furnish Prince Vetseke with military aid. Emphasise that no members of the city’s
Druzhina
are to march west. I do not wish to alienate the city’s boyars as my predecessor did here. I will inform our valiant Liv of his good fortune tomorrow.’

*****

Conrad had Andres collect all his Jerwen warriors at Varbola prior to marching back into their homeland. As mid-summer came and passed four hundred men were assembled outside the fort, which despite its great size had become cramped with the Army of the Wolf, the ‘bishop’s bastards’ and many women and children. Riki issued orders that many of his own men were to relocate to nearby villages to alleviate the press of people. But that was but one of Riki’s worries as he sat in his hall listening to his people airing their grievances. The bishop, who seemed to be getting younger by the day so invigorating did he find the surroundings of Varbola, offered to be an adviser to the young warlord and now ruler of his people An offer that was gladly accepted. Riki also asked Conrad to be a part of these proceedings, feeling that the presence of
Susi
would expedite matters more speedily.

‘You mean make people less inclined to disagree with you if I am backing you up.’

Riki smiled. ‘Yes,
Susi
.’

The bishop, ensconced in a high-backed chair beside the blonde-haired Harrien leader, nodded approvingly.

‘You are learning how to be a courtier, Riki.’

‘I preferred him when he was a warlord,’ muttered Conrad.