Rudolf opened his hands. ‘He is. So?’
‘Do you think Wenden is an appropriate place for him? His outbursts alarm people.’
Rudolf placed his elbows on the table and rested his chin on his clenched hands. ‘He is harmless enough and I would not want to see him reduced to begging on the streets of Riga. Just because he annoys you is not enough reason to throw him out of here. Besides, many believe him to be favoured by God.’
Conrad was astounded. ‘Really?’
‘They view his return from the pagans as a minor miracle, especially with regard to the tortures that were inflicted on him.’
‘The only miracle I saw was the healing arts of Ilona who brought him back from the dead,’ scoffed Conrad.
Rudolf examined the young brother knight for a moment. ‘Otto would say that God worked through Ilona to bring Hylas back to the land of the living and I would not disagree with him on that view.’
‘The abbot still upsets people.’
‘You mean he upsets you,’ said Rudolf. ‘Have you thought that you might upset him? He seems calm enough until he spots you. Perhaps it is you I should eject from Wenden, Brother Conrad. Perhaps a spell on garrison duty along the Dvina might be in order.’
Conrad was appalled. ‘Leave Wenden, master?’
Rudolf pointed at him. ‘If you, who have all your faculties, are alarmed at the prospect of being forced to leave Wenden, then think of the terror that will engulf Abbot Hylas if I eject him from the place that has been his home. I will not do such base a thing, Conrad.’
‘No, master,’ said Conrad sheepishly.
He bowed his head and walked to the door to the office.
‘And, Conrad,’ Rudolf called after him.
‘Master?’
‘Remember, Conrad, we are a religious order dedicated to defending Christians and Christian lands. A brother knight should have charity within his heart, Conrad. Remember that.’
The mounted party returned from the quarry with the workers and guards, having encountered no enemy parties. The Livs who were hired to work in the quarry could not be persuaded to seek sanctuary within the castle, preferring to go back to their villages nearby and there seek refuge in the ancient sanctuaries deep in the forest that had been their traditional hiding places when raiders approached. Master Rudolf was frustrated that he could not provide soldiers to reinforce the warriors of each village nearby, but realised that to do so would reduce Wenden’s garrison to a dangerously low level. And an hour after the quarry relief party had returned it became evident that the garrison would need every man who could carry a weapon when the Cuman horde appeared.
They came from the north, hundreds and then thousands of horsemen dressed in yellow, white, brown, red, grey and blue calf-length topcoats and similarly brightly coloured baggy trousers. The head of the clans and their families and bodyguards wore mail or lamellar armour, though the poorer members of the horde were attired in sheepskin garments for armour protection. The commanders and richest among the clans sported gilded pointed helmets, mail aventails and moulded metal face masks, though the majority wore conical fur-edged felt hats on their heads.
Soon the grassland to the south and east of the castle was filled with thousands of Cumans who rode their lithe horses to within fifty paces of the outer perimeter defences before loosing arrows at the timber walls with their recurve bows. They then whooped with joy and returned to the great swirling mass of a seemingly disorganised host to allow others among their ranks to dart forward and loose arrows at the walls, which either embedded themselves in the wood or bounced off the dry, seasoned timber to fall on the earth berm at the foot of the walls or into the stake-filled ditch. The Cumans did not bother to mass to the west or north of the escarpment where the slope was vertical.
In the great swarm of ill-disciplined Cumans was a compact group of horsemen in mail and helmets armed with lances and arranged in ordered ranks. In the front rank was a standard bearer carrying a huge banner that fluttered in the easterly breeze that had picked up as the afternoon waned. It showed a golden snow leopard on a blue background – the emblem of Pskov.
Conrad looked intently out of the shooting loophole in the timber wall and stared at the flag.
‘That’s the banner of Pskov, I recognise it from when we fought the Russians at Odenpah,’ he said to Hans.
Both of them had collected crossbows and three quivers holding twenty quarrels each from the armoury and now stood with the rest of the garrison on the walls of the outer defences. Master Thaddeus had strengthened the latter and the high timber wall contained ‘cells’ on top of the rampart along the entire length of the perimeter. The cells had three sides and were open at the rear to allow members of the garrison to enter and exit. Finally, a shingle roof to give protection against the weather and enemy projectiles topped the rampart.
‘I thought we had a peace treaty with the Russians,’ said Hans, resting the metal stirrup on the front of his crossbow in one of shooting loops in the timber wall.
‘We did, until Henke decided to rip it up at Dorpat,’ replied Conrad.
‘I wonder if Kalju and his family are still alive?’ said Hans.
Conrad thought of the Ungannian leader and his wife and prayed they were safe behind the thick walls of Odenpah.
‘I hope so,’ he replied, secretly cursing Henke.
‘Looks like the Russians want to talk,’ said Hans, peering through the loophole.
Conrad did likewise and saw a rider approaching the closed perimeter gates. He carried a sprig of fir in his right hand and held it aloft to symbolise that he came in peace, notwithstanding the thousands of horsemen that ringed the castle. He walked his horse to the end of the bridge that led to the gates but halted his mount when Rudolf called to him.
‘That is close enough. State your business.’
The rider looked baffled as he looked up at the two towers either side of the gates and the timber wall with loopholes above them. He knew he was being watched but he could see no faces.
‘Soldiers of Wenden,’ he called in a heavy Russian accent, ‘my commander, Lord Yaroslav, and the leader of the Cuman horde wish to speak to Master Rudolf of the Order of Sword Brothers.’
‘He is well informed,’ remarked Conrad.
He and Hans were positioned near the gates and could hear what was being relayed by the Russian clearly enough.
‘Why should I talk to men who have violated the holy soil of Livonia?’ answered Rudolf.
‘Lord Yaroslav desires a parley so that all grievances can be settled,’ replied the rider, who was still holding the sprig aloft.
‘I will give my answer in one hour,’ shouted Rudolf.
The Russian let his arm drop, wheeled his horse around and trotted back to his master. Minutes later Conrad heard Rudolf’s voice coming from behind the cell he was occupying with Hans.
‘Brother Conrad, get down here.’ The tone was sharp.
Conrad placed his crossbow against the wall, ambled over to the walkway in the rear of the cell that linked all the other compartments along the perimeter wall and then descended the log steps that led to the top of the earth rampart. He saw Rudolf standing in the company of Walter and Henke at the base of the slope, a look of fury on the master’s face. Conrad went on down the log steps in the rampart and joined them.
Rudolf turned on his heels and began striding towards the castle. ‘You are all with me,’ he snapped.
He did not speak further until he reached the master’s hall, ordering everyone to assemble in his office while he disappeared into one of the other offices. Henke looked his usual nonchalant self while Walter wore a frown. Conrad shuffled uneasily on his feet. They were standing in a line in front of the master’s desk when Rudolf entered the room and tossed the flag that Henke had captured at Dorpat on the table.
‘This is what they have come for,’ said Rudolf, taking his seat on the opposite side of the desk.
‘You should burn it in front of them,’ said Henke.
‘That would lead to war,’ commented Walter.
‘We already have a war,’ sniffed Henke.
‘Yes, we do,’ said Rudolf, pointing to him and then Conrad. ‘Thanks to you two.’
Henke shrugged. ‘They will never breach the outer perimeter.’
Rudolf shook his head. ‘But they can plunder and burn at will, Henke, have you considered that? They have already burned their way west and there is nothing to stop them plundering all the way to Riga itself.’
Henke was totally unconcerned. ‘If they do the garrison of Riga will have something to do, at last.’
Rudolf stood up slowly. ‘It is all a great game to you, Henke, isn’t it? Well unfortunately your episode at Dorpat threatens the whole of Livonia.’
He looked at the folded flag on the table. ‘I am mindful to give it back.’
Walter looked most concerned. ‘I think that would be unwise, master.’
Rudolf looked at his deputy. ‘Oh?’
‘A Christian kingdom cannot come to an accommodation with barbarian invaders who kill and burn God’s children.’
Conrad could see that Rudolf was weighing up his options as he sat back down and began drumming his fingers on the table. On the one hand Walter was right but the realist in Rudolf realised that if he defied the invaders then it might drag Livonia into an unwanted war.
‘I will meet with this Yaroslav to see what he has to say for himself,’ announced Rudolf at length. ‘You three will attend me.’ He jabbed a finger at Henke and Conrad. ‘But you two will keep your helmets on your heads and your mouths shut. Now get out.’
Conrad went to the armoury to exchange his kettle helmet for a full-face helm. The thickset armourer who had issued him with his weapons earlier stood with his arms folded on the other side of the counter.
‘You want a full-face helmet now?’
‘And a lance,’ said Conrad.
‘Where is your spear?’
‘My spear?’
‘You took a spear from the armoury earlier,’ gloated the armourer, ‘have you lost it, Brother Conrad?’
Conrad remembered that he had left it at the perimeter wall. ‘I left it at the outer wall.’
The armourer began to shake his head. ‘Weapons are expensive, Brother Conrad, and have to be accounted for.’
‘I will send a novice to get it,’ replied Conrad, ‘now kindly give me a lance. There are thousands of Cuman heathens in front of the walls and I don’t want to be late for my appointment with them.’
The armourer disappeared into the dim interior of the building and returned with a lance that he passed to Conrad.
‘Try not to lose it.’
Conrad went to the stables where young novices were saddling four warhorses for the meeting with Yaroslav.
He told one to go to the outer perimeter to fetch his spear and return it to the armoury while he finished saddling the horse. It had already been fitted with its white padded caparison that covered its body, neck and head, the insignia of the Sword Brothers emblazoned on each side. He finished tightening the saddle straps and examined the horse’s hooves and shoes. There was no need, but that was as he had been taught and so he went through the pre-battle drill methodically. The horse turned its head and grunted.
‘You kick me and I’ll run you through,’ he threatened.
Destriers they called them, the great warhorses that were purchased in Germany and shipped to Livonia so the brother knights could ride them in battle and smite the heathen. Each of the order’s garrisons had twelve of these magnificent, pampered creatures, all of them well-bred, highly trained stallions that weighed over a thousand pounds and stood up to sixty-nine inches tall. Only brother knights rode warhorses, the theory being that the front rank of a mounted charge should comprise large horses because their weight gave greater force to the impact of the rider’s lance. In addition, current wisdom held that only a physically capable, mentally stable mount that a rider could count on could face the challenges of combat that average horses might find overwhelming. Conrad agreed that the warhorses were big and intimidating but they required a small army of farriers, stable hands and veterinaries to keep them in fighting order, which meant they consumed a vast amount of resources. Conrad preferred the local ponies and in truth they and the less expensive horses were used for day-to-day duties, but the order’s commanders insisted that great stallions were priceless when it came to winning battles.
Rudolf and Walter were leading their horses from the great stables into the courtyard when Conrad’s horse resisted as he tugged on its reins to get it out of its stall. Stallions were used for warhorses because of their natural aggression and hot-blooded tendencies, but they could also be stubborn.
‘Perhaps you should saddle a pony,’ quipped Henke, curling his lip at Conrad’s difficulties.
‘Perhaps you should hold your tongue.’
Henke released his reins and stomped over to him. The latter likewise let go of his horse’s reins to confront the older knight.
‘Why don’t you make me,’ Henke challenged him.
Conrad stepped back as alarmed novices and stable hands retreated in panic. His hand went to the hilt of his sword as Henke stood before him, wearing a stupid grin.