The petitioners were allowed into the hall where their cases were put before Riki. Mostly they concerned disputes over land and livestock, but increasingly young women arrived with members of the ‘bishop’s bastards’ asking permission to marry the foreign men. The latter, being recruited from the lower orders of German society, were only too glad to have attractive, voluptuous, blonde-haired girls requesting to be their wives. It was the same today as a striking girl in a blue linen skirt and white woollen tunic walked up to Riki arm-in-arm with a man in a gambeson who appeared to be twice her age.
‘We wish to be married, lord,’ she declared in Estonian.
Riki pointed at her husband-to-be. ‘To him?’
‘Yes, lord.’
Riki looked at the bishop who spoke to the soldier in German.
‘Marriage is not to be entered into lightly, my son. I hope your intentions to this young woman are honourable.’
‘Yes, lord bishop,’ he smiled, revealing at least two missing front teeth.
‘And what if you marry this girl,’ said Conrad, ‘and then decide to return to Germany after having taken her virtue?’
The man looked horrified. ‘Return to Germany, lord? Not a chance in hell, begging your pardon, lord bishop. I was a labourer in Saxony, lord, and every winter I nearly starved. I slept in ditches, under bridges and sometimes had to beg for food in towns. But here there is plenty of land, the forests and rivers are full of game and fish, so I can grow and hunt my own food.’
He slapped the girl on the backside. ‘And feed a family if we are so blessed.’
‘Poor girl,’ mumbled Conrad.
‘Lord?’ the soldier asked.
‘Nothing,’ replied Conrad.
Riki turned to Conrad. ‘Years of warfare have emptied many villages of young men,
Susi
. If I am to rebuild this kingdom then the young women must have husbands.’
‘You are still a soldier,’ said Bernhard sternly, ‘and there is a chance that you may not return from the forthcoming campaign against Dorpat.’
The man nodded solemnly. ‘I know that, lord bishop, and so does she. But God willing I will live to see my old age and watch my children grow up.’
Riki looked at Conrad who shrugged his shoulders. Bishop Bernhard seemed pleased by his reply and so the Harrien leader gave his consent, to the delight of both mismatched parties. But Riki seemed pleased that Harrien women would be giving birth to future warriors and the bishop was delighted because he knew that any such marriages would be conducted according to the Christian practice.
For his part Conrad had more pressing matters to attend to and three days later rode beside his two friends and Andres at the head of four hundred Jerwen warriors mounted on ponies. Scouts rode ahead and on the flanks to guard against being surprised by the Danes or any of Kristjan’s men. Andres discounted the idea.
‘The Danes hide behind their walls at Reval,
Susi
, that is the rumour that reaches my ears.’
‘And what of Jerwen?’ asked Hans, ‘is it still an ally of Kristjan?’
‘Kristjan has been very generous with Jerwen lives,’ Andres told him, ‘he is no friend of my people.’
They were striking east, towards the ancient capital of the Jerwen people, the hill fort of Kassinurme. The site had reportedly been occupied for seven thousand years and was believed to have magical powers. Conrad was worried that it would be heavily defended.
‘We cannot storm Kassinurme,
Susi
,’ Andres told him. ‘For a Jerwen to attack our most sacred site would be sacrilege.’
‘Then how do we take it?’ asked Hans.
‘We do not,’ answered Andres.
The three Sword Brothers were confused but five days out from Varbola, in a rolling plain flanked by thick spruce forests, the scouts returned with news that a sizeable force of warriors was approaching on foot. Estimated to be around two hundred, they carried many symbols on their shields and were led by an ugly fat man dressed in rags.
Hans laughed. ‘This should be easy enough. We can match their shield wall and then use the wings to envelop them.’
‘Another victory for you, Conrad.’
Andres turned in the saddle. ‘There will be no battle. Will you accompany me,
Susi
, to speak to their leader?’
‘Are you mad?’ Anton said to him. ‘They will cut you down, especially Conrad when they see the insignia on his surcoat and shield.’
‘I ask
Susi
to trust me in this matter,’ replied Andres as dark shapes appeared a quarter of a mile or so ahead.
The day was warm and the air sweet with the aroma of meadow grass and buttercups. The standard of Andres held by a warrior behind them hung limply in the still air, the tails of ponies swishing away the army of midges that always plagued the lush summer landscape.
‘Very well,’ said Conrad, ‘let us go and try to win with words instead of swords.’
He dug his spurs into his horse’s sides and the caparison-covered beast walked forward. Andres did the same and the pair headed towards the warriors who were now deploying from column into line as they formed a shield wall. Behind them they left four hundred confused and worried men.
‘This leader,’ said Conrad, ‘you have fought beside him before?’
Andres shook his head. ‘He is not a warlord,
Susi
, he is a holy man like Bishop Bernhard.’
‘A spiritual leader, then?’
Andres nodded and then fell into silence. The horses walked on and the gap between them and the now formed shield wall got shorter. Conrad noticed that there were no birds in the sky as they approached the line of warriors drawn up three or four deep. Andres’ men sported the bear symbol of Jerwen on their round shields but the warriors that faced the pair carried shields that bore more ancient insignia: the sun cross, pentagram, plaited lattice, elk antlers, eight-pointed star and sunflower. Standing a few paces in front, armed only with a staff, was a rotund man in rags who watched the riders with a disinterested air.
‘His name is Rustic,’ said Andres quietly, ‘and he wields great power.’
Conrad raised an eyebrow in surprise. During his childhood he had seen beggars in Lübeck better dressed. But he knew that many holy men of the pagan religion lived as hermits in the forests and looked like vagabonds so he said nothing. Andres halted half a dozen paces from the mystic and dismounted. Conrad did the same. Rustic said nothing while behind him the warriors stood silent in their ranks. The Jerwen leader and Sword Brother faced the forest dweller.
‘I received your message, Andres son on Paavu, saying that you wished to put an end to the suffering of your people,’ said Rustic, ignoring Conrad. ‘And yet you come with an army at your back.’
‘An army of Jerwen, Rustic,’ replied Andres, ‘men who wish to return to their villages and homes to work the land once more.’
‘There are many who have promised such things,’ remarked Rustic derisively, ‘only to drench the land in more blood. Why should you be any different to them?’
Andres held out a hand to Conrad. ‘This is Brother Conrad of the Sword Brothers, the man called
Susi
among the Estonian people, who has brought peace to Rotalia and now restored a leader of the Harrien in Varbola. With his help I intend to restore peace and prosperity to Jerwen, my homeland.’
Rustic tilted his head at Conrad. ‘Even though you wear the uniform of our enemies I salute you,
Susi
, for in our culture when a wolf is encountered he should always be greeted with kind words. The more so if he is the physical embodiment of the spirit wolf of the forest.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ replied Conrad, bowing his head in return, ‘I sincerely hope we can agree on a settlement that is beneficial to us all and avoids unnecessary bloodshed.’
Rustic peered into his eyes. ‘Others may call you
Susi
but I see a
toonehundid
, a wolf sent by the gods to protect their people. The gods work their magic in strange ways.’
He turned back to Andres. ‘South of the Mother of Waters is Kristjan, who has taken the name Murk in honour of Taara. He believes that Jerwen is his domain.’
‘He is deluded, Rustic,’ said Andres. ‘I have witnessed the cruelty he has inflicted on the people of Saccalia and Harrien, and he has wasted the lives of many Estonian warriors at Reval for no purpose save his own vanity.’
Behind Rustic the warriors banged their spear shafts against the inside of their shields to indicate their support of his words.
‘Fine words,’ admitted Rustic, ‘though I learned long ago that talk is cheap and actions speak louder than words.’
‘With your blessing,’ said Andres, ‘we would like to travel through Jerwen.’
‘To make war on Ungannia?’ asked Rustic.
Andres nodded.
‘Kristjan has declared war upon my order,’ said Conrad, ‘and has killed many innocents. He cannot be allowed to continue his depredations.’
‘Dorpat is very strong,’ said Rustic.
‘It will not survive our assault,’ stated Conrad. ‘A great army gathers to the west that will sweep Kristjan away.’
‘And after that, wolf spirit?’ asked Rustic.
‘After that another kingdom of Estonia will be free from tyranny.’
‘But not foreign occupation. The religion of the men of iron spreads like a dark shadow over this land. Once Ungannia has been conquered it will be subjected to the will of the new religion that seeks to crush the ancient ways of this land.’
‘With all due respect, sir,’ replied Conrad, ‘I think you are misguided.’
Andres looked alarmed but Conrad continued.
‘My order has not desecrated the ancient groves and sacred places of your people. And if I had done so then I would not have hundreds of Estonian warriors under my command, men who serve me of their own free will and not because they are forced to do so. You are free to go to Varbola and Leal, sir, to speak to the leaders of the people of Rotalia and Harrien if you do not believe me. I cannot answer for all the men of iron, but I was appointed by Bishop Albert to be Marshal of Estonia and I say to you that I have no intention of replacing one tyranny with another.’
Once again the warriors rapped their hafts against their shields. Rustic waited for the noise to die down before speaking to Andres.
‘To you, Andres, son of Paavu, I say this. You may lead your men through Jerwen south to Ungannia. There the gods will decide your fate and that of Kristjan. Afterwards the one favoured by the gods shall take up residence in Kassinurme as the true ruler of the Jerwen people. This is my decision.’
He looked at Conrad. ‘Even though you have won great victories and fame, your time of trial is yet to come, wolf brother.’
With that he turned, pointed his staff to the east and walked through the shield wall. His men promptly about-faced and followed him, leaving Conrad and Andres alone, their animals munching the grass.
‘You will soon be sitting in the hall of that hill fort,’ Conrad told him, ‘for as night follows day Kristjan will not be able to withstand the army that he will be facing at Dorpat.’
Andres watched the warriors becoming smaller as they marched east.
‘I wonder how many of my people are still with Kristjan?’
*****
‘Deserted?’
Kristjan threw his dagger on the table and touched his silver torc. He shrugged at Indrek.
‘No great loss. The Jerwen are women when it comes to fighting. We still have enough men to man the walls and the fort.’
Indrek did not bother to protest. For weeks he had been organising the defence of Dorpat, the great trading centre of Ungannia beside the Emajogi River, the ancient Mother of Waters that was a major trade route with Novgorod via Lake Peipus to the east. He had given orders that deer, elk and boar were to be hunted, their carcasses butchered and the meat smoked to provide the garrison with food during a siege. He had worked tirelessly to strengthen the earth and timber rampart that surrounded the town and Toome Hill, atop of which stood the hill fort. But as he was doing so Kristjan’s disastrous campaign in the north had cost him hundreds of men. Worse, his volatile and cruel nature had mostly destroyed any loyalty the other Estonian tribes had towards Ungannia. The trickle of deserters from among the Jerwen and Wierlanders had turned into a flood, made worse by the news brought by merchants that Bishop Albert had landed at Riga with a large crusader army. The result was that Kristjan’s foreign volunteers now consisted solely of the mad, religious fanatics, criminals and those without a home.
Kristjan drank from his cup of beer. ‘In the coming fight I want only men who are beloved of the gods and who believe in our cause.’
‘Beloved of the gods, of course, lord,’ said Indrek listlessly, his eyes surrounded by black rings.
He spent his time among the people of Dorpat, many of whom feared for their lives as the inevitable clash with Bishop Albert got nearer. Indrek had wanted to evacuate the women and children before the siege commenced but Kristjan would have none of it. He told his deputy that men fight better when they are defending their families.