‘Which is what you are,’ responded Vsevolod, ‘having lost your army. Most careless.’

  ‘Your position as my father-in-law does not give you the right to insult me, sir,’ said Ykintas menacingly.

  For a moment Vsevolod lost his composure.

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Ykintas, any idiot can see that Samogitia is laid low. You have been given a reprieve with the death of Arturus but if you wish to take advantage of it then you must make overtures to Duke Lamekins.’

  ‘To grovel to him?’ sneered Mindaugas.

  ‘Why not if it secures you want you want.’

  Mindaugas could barely conceal his contempt.

  ‘Your ways are not our ways.’

  Vsevolod ignored him.

  ‘Let me ask you all a question. When a great army has been gathered at Mesoten and is busy storming that place, what is to prevent the Kurs raiding south as far as the walls of Medvegalis, or this citadel or indeed into your lands Duke Kitenis? Have you, Duke Ykintas, vast reserves of men that you can send one army to Mesoten and another to keep watch on the Kur border? And you, Duke Viesthard?’

  Kitenis stared into his tankard. Viesthard smiled.

  ‘You have a solution in mind, lord prince?’

  ‘I am prepared to meet with Duke Lamekins to broach the subject of a cessation of hostilities between Kurland and Samogitia if Ykintas will authorise me to do so.’

  Ykintas looked at Mindaugas.

  ‘It would be better if I made the approach,’ said Viesthard.

  ‘With respect, lord,’ replied Vsevolod, ‘that would be a mistake. I have found that negotiations proceed more favourably if they are conducted from a position of strength. It would be unseemly for one duke to beg for peace on behalf of another duke, and seeing as Ykintas has stated that he will not meet with the Kurs, which I believe is a mistake, then the only other option is for me to fulfil the role of ambassador.’

  ‘Why?’ demanded Mindaugas.

  Vsevolod sighed. ‘For one because I have had dealings with the Kurs before, specifically with their ambassador, Torolf. For another I am your father-in-law, and Ykintas’, which will lend credence to the idea that you have both asked me to approach Duke Lamekins, even if you have not. That at least should gain me an audience with him.’

  ‘And what will you say to him?’ asked Kitenis.

  ‘I will tell him that there is to be a great alliance of Lithuanians that will target the Sword Brother castle of Mesoten with the aim of expelling the hated Christians from Semgallia.’

  ‘You will reveal our plans?’ said an astounded Ykintas.

  Vsevolod was unruffled. ‘Of course. I have never underestimated the intelligence of my enemies. Besides, the Kurs are at war with the Sword Brothers so Duke Lamekins will be kindly disposed to those who are also battling the crusaders.’

  He smiled at Viesthard. ‘Arturus’ agreement with Duke Viesthard is proof of that.’

  ‘If, if I agree that you may act as the representative of me and Mindaugas,’ said Ykintas, ‘you will instruct Lamekins that I will never yield a foot of Samogitian territory to him.’

  Vsevolod finished his gira and ordered a slave to refill his tankard. The fire continued to spit and hiss, the hall slowly filling with smoke despite the vents in the ceiling, making his eyes and those of the others smart.

  ‘You can rest assured that I will not insult him,’ replied Vsevolod.

  ‘Meaning?’ spat Mindaugas.

  ‘Meaning that he can take as much of Samogitia as he wishes if the reports relating to the state of your army are to be believed. I will mention nothing of territory only a temporary cessation of hostilities to allow you and Ykintas to join with Duke Viesthard and Duke Kitenis for the attack against Mesoten. But shall I invite him to join said attack?’

  He held up a hand to Ykintas. ‘Don’t tell me, you won’t pitch your tent anywhere near his.’

  Kitenis gave a belly laugh and clapped his hands together, though this prompted another wracking cough that doubled him up. Ykintas was going to reply but realised he could not match the Russian’s witty words so sat and fumed in silence. Mindaugas retained his lofty disdain.

  ‘You will invite Lamekins to join us for the attack on Mesoten?’ enquired Viesthard.

  ‘Naturally, my lord,’ said Vsevolod. ‘The Kurs despise the Sword Brothers more than Mindaugas, and that is saying something. Furthermore, if Lamekins is amusing himself at Mesoten then he will not be attacking Samogitia, thus saving my daughters from rape and enslavement. It would also demonstrate the magnanimity of Ykintas and Mindaugas, even though they are devoid of said virtue.’

  ‘Well, then’ said Viesthard, ‘the only thing left is to put Prince Vsevolod’s scheme to the vote. All those in favour raise their hands.’

  He held up his right arm, wincing as the movement prompted a spasm of pain in his shoulder. Kitenis did likewise. Ykintas, still fuming, half-heartedly raised his limb, to be followed by Mindaugas. Vsevolod sat emotionless but inside he was delighted.

  Aras was less so when his lord informed him later that they would be remaining at Tervete until word came from the Kurs regarding the proposed meeting with Lamekins.

  ‘They will kill the courier, most like,’ said Aras.

  It was a bitterly cold day, both men wrapped in furs as they joined a boar hunt organised by Duke Viesthard in the Tervete Valley. The glittering blue lakes of summer were grey and cold in the autumn gloom and most mornings they were fringed by ice. The deciduous trees were now bare, black and stark, though at least the mass of evergreens added a glum green to the landscape. Vsevolod turned in the saddle to ensure his wife and daughters, all three dressed in padded tunics, thick leggings, leather boots and cloaks draped around their shoulders, were close.

  ‘Have a care for the safety of the women,’ he called to his bodyguard, ‘boars are a menace.’

  The twenty horsemen, all wearing helmets, aventails and iron lamellar armour and armed with lances, sword and daggers, closed around the women. Their oblong shields bore the prince’s symbol of a silver griffin on a blue background, which was also replicated on their lance pennants.

  ‘We have been on boar hunts before,’ Rasa called to her husband.

  ‘But not in Semgallia, my sweet.’

  Rasa looked at her confused daughters.

  ‘What is the difference?’

  ‘The boars in Selonia are better behaved, my sweet.’

  His daughters giggled and Rasa rolled her eyes. Despite the cold and the inconvenience of being dragged on a hunt Vsevolod was in good spirits. Mostly because he had been reunited with his daughters but also because he had managed to manipulate the other lords.

  ‘You are quite wrong, Aras,’ he said, ‘Lamekins will welcome the opportunity to take breath and organise his kingdom. He is not Arturus, thank God, and will be desirous of time to stamp his own authority on Kurland. Besides, we dangle the opportunity to expel the Sword Brothers from Semgallia, which the Kurs desire greatly.’

  Diplomacy was beyond Aras and he merely shrugged as packs of hunting dogs barked and yelped as they scoured the trees for their elusive prey. Ahead Ykintas and Mindaugas, bare headed and dressed in padded leather tunics and knee-length boots, shouted to the pack leaders to direct their dogs towards the long, thin meadow they were riding through. Viesthard was concerned with ensuring that Duke Kitenis, who looked pale and cold, did not fall off his horse.

  ‘It will mean meeting with the Kurs, of course,’ the prince told Aras, ‘though we have done that before.’

  ‘As I remember Duke Arturus thrust a knife through the high priest’s neck before riding from camp,’ retorted Aras. ‘We followed and were cut to pieces at the Abava River. Not a good omen, highness.’

  ‘We need to do something to halt the declining fortunes of Samogitia and with it the futures of Ykintas and Mindaugas, to say nothing of my daughters. If that kingdom falls then Aukstaitija will follow, if its leader does not fall dead first.’

  ‘I do not understand, highness.’

  ‘It is quite simple, Aras. The Kurs may have lost Arturus but in Lamekins they have a duke who is both wise and talented and that makes him far more dangerous than a maniac. We need to keep him amused with other things so the Samogitians can recover their strength. Keeping the Semgallians and Kurs occupied fighting the Sword Brothers will also ensure that the rest of us are not molested by the Kurs.’

  ‘If you think that, highness, then why not join with the other dukes against the Sword Brothers?’

  ‘Because I do not believe we can defeat the Sword Brothers. I prefer conferences and treaties to war and defeat.’

  A boar suddenly broke cover ahead, a huge brown snarling beast with vicious tusks crossing the ground in front of Mindaugas. In a shot he jumped from his horse as a pack of hunting dogs ran barking from the trees. Showing their teeth they ran at the boar that suddenly turned and attacked them. Vsevolod and Aras sat, transfixed as four hundred pounds of rage collided with the canines, flicking up its head at the last moment to drive his tusks into one of the dogs, tossing it into the air. The beast yelped and crashed to the ground, its side bleeding and its ribcage shattered. The male boar attacked again, shaking off a dog that tried to grab its neck and gashing another badly.

  Mindaugas, spear gripped with both hands, ran at the boar, the beast charging at him. Morta screamed with delight as her husband drove the spear point into the beast’s mouth, which slowed it dramatically as the metal head was thrust into its stomach. But it did not stop. It dug its hooves into the earth as dogs leaped on its back and began mauling its hide. It grunted in rage as it powered forward, the spear disappearing into its mouth like some magician’s trick. Mindaugas’ face was a mask of determination as the boar refused to die.

  Ykintas charged and drove his spear through one of the dogs and into the boar’s side, the blow finally halting the beast. Mindaugas released the spear, drew his dagger and grabbed one of the boar’s tusks, stabbing at its neck as the dogs became frenzied. One turned on Ykintas who was forced to draw his sword and hack its head off. Then it was over. The pack handler ran forward and began whipping his surviving dogs to get them off the dead beast and Mindaugas released his grip on the tusk and collapsed on the ground, thanking the gods for his life.

  Covered in blood, he rose and smiled as Morta jumped from the saddle and threw her arms around him. Elze did the same to Ykintas, the two men grinning like children at each other.

  ‘I will do to the Sword Brothers what I have done to this boar,’ proclaimed Mindaugas, to wild cheers from the Semgallian warriors.

  Vsevolod looked at Aras and shook his head.

  *****

  If he had been born a Christian Lamekins would have made the ideal knight. His handsome features, square jaw and athletic build fulfilled the criteria of the ideal chivalric noble. He was tall and possessed of a jovial nature that belied his immense talents as a warlord. Everyone in Kurland knew that it had been Lamekins who had made the army such a formidable instrument. He was like a master armourer who forged a mighty sword that had been wielded to great effect by Duke Arturus. But now Arturus was dead and Lamekins ruled the Kurs. The burden of such a responsibility was weighing heavily on his shoulders.

  The snow had begun to fall, thus far only a light dusting, but enough to darken the duke’s already sombre mood. He pulled up his horse in the centre of the village that was half a day’s ride from Talsi. Behind him his escort did the same. Valdas, his stick-thin commander of horsemen, beckoned over an equally lean elderly man from the group of shivering villagers standing amid the swirling snowflakes. He hurried forward and bowed to him.

  The assembled villagers looked nervously at the riders, all dressed in black tunics, leggings and leather boots. Their leather cuirasses were also black, as were the pteriges and the leather facings on their round shields. Lamekins had purposely given strict instructions that all his horsemen should be so attired to strike fear into their enemies, stipulating that they should also ride black horses equipped with black saddlery. The duke himself wore mail armour over his tunic.

  ‘This is the ruler of Kurland, Duke Lamekins,’ Valdas told the thin man, ‘tell him what you reported to Talsi.’

  The headman, pale with thinning shoulder-length hair, bowed to Lamekins.

  ‘Great lord, with winter upon us we are hard pressed to feed those whom we took in during the summer.’

  ‘The refugees from the coastal villages that were destroyed by the sea raiders?’ said Lamekins.

  The headman nodded. ‘The harvest was a good, high one, but our yield was sufficient only to feed our own people and send the regular tribute to Talsi.’

  Lamekins looked at the huddled villagers, young children with faces hidden in their mothers’ skirts, old men who had seen many summers with wizened arms around the waists of their wives. Among them broad-shouldered men who before the harvest had been shouldering axes instead of ploughs and scythes. The people of Kurland. His people.

  ‘If you did not have to send the annual tribute to Talsi would you be able to feed everyone through the winter?’

  The headman bit his lip and swallowed.

  ‘Speak freely,’ Lamekins told him.

  ‘No, high one. There are too many mouths to feed.’

  ‘I will send food from our stores at Talsi,’ smiled Lamekins.

  The man’s face lit up. ‘The gods bless you, high one.’

  He walked forward and kissed the duke’s boot, much to the embarrassment of Lamekins. He then turned and raised his arms.

  ‘The great Duke Lamekins will send food to see us through the winter.’

  The villagers cheered, women covered their faces with their hands and wept with joy and infants wailed at the noise. Lamekins wheeled his horse around and trotted from the village with the acclaim of grateful villagers ringing in his ears.

  The wind continued to blow, filling the grey banner carrying the black seagull motif. The number of snowflakes whirling in the air increased. Lamekins was lost in his thoughts as the party of horsemen rode through the hilly countryside. Like most of Kurland the area was covered in towering forests of pine and spruce with small villages sprinkled among them. And like much of Kurland those villages eked out a living by growing crops and tending livestock. But whereas the soil to the east, in Semgallia and Selonia, was rich and yielded bountiful harvests, in Kurland it was poorer and less suited to growing crops. The Oeselian raid had devastated the kingdom’s western districts: villages, food and fishing vessels being destroyed en masse. And the raiders had started forest fires that had raged and smouldered for weeks in the summer heat. The result had been a flood of refugees to the eastern part of the kingdom and the threat of starvation as villages became burdened with too many mouths to feed.

  ‘We cannot give every village food from the stores in Talsi, lord,’ said Valdas, his face pinched by the cold. ‘Who will feed the town and its fort if we do?’

  ‘Are all the villages in such a dire position?’

  ‘Most, lord. A few may have more food and less refugees but if the winter is a harsh one then they will lose just as many from starvation as the others.’

  Lamekins desperately searched his mind for ideas on how to alleviate this dire situation. A raid into Semgallia or Samogitia to plunder the food supplies of those kingdoms? He dismissed the idea. Their people would burn their own winter stores rather than see them fall into the hands of the hated Kurs. He pulled up his horse beside an old oak tree. This part of Kurland was littered with them – ancient oaks growing apart from other trees in lowland areas and river valleys. They were squat, unusually thick with short trunks and low but enormously wide branches. Because they grew apart from other trees they could spread their branches wide, just as Perkunas intended. The oak was the tree favoured by Perkunas, the God of War, who rode in a two-wheeled chariot armed with an axe and arrows. He was also the god of mountains, thunder, sky and oak trees. He closed his eyes and prayed to Perkunas. If ever the Kurs needed a miracle this was the time. He opened his eyes and saw the quizzical faces of his escort. He heard the mocking laughter of Arturus in his head but Perkunas heard his prayer.

  It was half an hour later, the breeze still full of flakes, when a courier intercepted the column of black riders. Both horse and rider were panting as the man made his report to Lamekins.

  ‘Lord Torolf sends his compliments, highness. Your presence at Talsi is urgently required.’

  It had stopped snowing when they reached the strongest hill fort in Kurland. The breeze had also dropped but so had the sun on the western horizon, the sky clearing to herald a freezing night. Talsi’s hall was warm, though, when slaves took the duke’s cloak and helmet and served him hot soup. Torolf, his ambassador and spymaster, approached the duke as he sat down near the fire in the centre of the hall.

  Lamekins often wondered if Torolf was a Kur with his red hair that he kept shaved above the ears and the remainder plaited from the crown to the back of his neck. His origins were a mystery, though he did know that he hailed from a village on Kurland’s Baltic coastline. Unkind voices said he was a Balt, the primitive people who lived far to the south, but the fact that he had risen high in Duke Arturus’ favour contradicted this. No Kur duke would have a Balt as his closest adviser. And the advice of the red-haired Torolf was usually worth listening to. It was so now as Lamekins consumed the hot broth.

  ‘Our friend Prince Vsevolod desires a meeting with you, lord.’

  Lamekins finished his broth.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The missive was brief but alluded to him acting as an ambassador between Kurland and his errant sons-in-law.'

  ‘He must be desperate if he is prepared to travel all the way from Panemunis to Kurland.’

  Torolf walked over to stand opposite the duke. ‘He is at Tervete, lord.’

  Lamekins looked up. ‘What business would bring him to Tervete, I wonder?’

  Torolf nodded. ‘My thoughts exactly.’

  ‘Vsevolod is a snake,’ said Lamekins, ‘a snake who uses others to do his dirty work. Has Viesthard made any approach?’