The hubbub died down as the steward announced in a deep voice that the Holy Father’s representative would speak. Baldwin did not take a seat but instead stood in front of Bishop Albert’s old chair, his face wearing a serious countenance.

  ‘I stand before you as the eyes and ears of Pope Gregory himself,’ Baldwin’s voice was deep and foreboding.

  ‘The passing of Bishop Albert was greeted with much sorrow in Rome and throughout the civilised world. The Holy Father is most insistent that his legacy should not be damaged or defiled by those who have no knowledge of why Riga and Livonia were founded. Allow me to enlighten you all. Riga is derived from the Latin word rigare, meaning to water. Just as a farmer waters the land to grow crops so did Bishop Albert water this land with the teachings of the Holy Church to enable Christianity to take root. The very symbol of this city, the crossed keys adorning the uniforms and banners of its soldiers, indicates the patronage of His Holiness the Pope.

  ‘It is therefore with much regret that I stand here to inform you that the Holy Father is displeased with the news that reaches him concerning affairs in Livonia. Far from being a kingdom of God he has heard that it has become an abode of moneychangers and a den of robbers. To atone for your sins the Holy Father has instructed me to order the immediate cessation of trade with the apostate Russians.’

  There were gasps of astonishment from the merchants and burgomasters. Glueck nearly choked on his wine and Stefan’s eyes bulged wide. To say that commerce with Novgorod and the other Russian kingdoms was lucrative was an understatement. To suddenly stop trading with the Russians would bankrupt many of those present and impoverish Livonia.

  Baldwin looked at Volquin. ‘Livonia should be at war with the apostates not entering into treaties with them. I am here to rekindle the fire of crusade and to tell you that the Russians are the enemies of the Catholic faith. There can be no discourse with heretics on pain of excommuniction.’

  The scribes were frantically recording his every word as a stony silence filled the chamber. Glueck, dumbfounded, looked at his fellow burgomasters who were equally at a loss. For once the Duke of Riga’s bluster was notably absent.

  ‘I shall be telling Bishop Hermann the same,’ continued Baldwin, ‘when I visit him in his bishopric. But in the meantime you may leave and consider the error of your ways and how, through prayer and penance, you all may find a way back to God.’

  He nodded to his guards who walked forward to usher everyone from the chamber. Stefan, like a lost child among a crowd, looked around for a friendly face but saw none. Glueck, fuming, brushed past him, the other burgomasters following.

  The next day Baldwin decided to undertake a tour of the city, turning down Stefan’s offer to accompany him. The vice-legate informed him that he wanted to wander among the people, to discover if they were godly and to see for himself whether they had become infected with the poison of apostasy. He was glad to see the back of the vice-legate when he left the palace with only a stick for defence.

  Stefan slumped in his chair in one of the palace’s withdrawing chambers, waving away a novice who offered him a tray of pastries.

  ‘You see, Manfred, how the vice-legate has put me in an ill humour. Even a Spanish pastry holds no relish for me.’

  Nordheim looked at the almond roll. ‘You don’t mind if I partake, sir?’

  ‘What? No, be my guest.’

  The commander took the pastry and began nibbling it as Stefan vented his anguish.

  ‘I should have known by his threadbare appearance that we were in for trouble. I mean what of sort of vice-legate dresses like a beggar?’

  ‘A pious one,’ suggested Nordheim.

  ‘You are not helping, Manfred.’

  A knock on the door distracted the archdeacon from his self-pity. The steward entered.

  ‘Begging your pardon, archdeacon, there is a man outside the palace who is requesting an audience with you.’

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘I do not know, archdeacon, but he said that he was an old friend.’

  Stefan doubted that. After all, he had few friends. Still, any friendly face was at that moment welcome.

  ‘Very well, escort him to the audience chamber. Manfred, stay close just in case he is an assassin.’

  Nordheim finished the pastry and licked his fingers.

  ‘Who would want to assassinate you, sir?’

  ‘Probably a disgruntled city councillor the way my luck is going.’

  Two guards escorted the mystery visitor into the audience chamber. Around five and a half feet tall with a large head and broad chest, his clothes were dishevelled and his dark brown hair and beard could have done with a crop. But judging by his bearing and the sword he wore, which was taken off him when he entered the chamber, he was obviously a soldier of some sort. Stefan regarded him with mild interest.

  ‘I do not recall your face. Perhaps you would enlighten me regarding your name.’

  The man smiled.

  ‘Dietrich von Kivel, sir, at your service.’

  Stefan looked none the wiser but Nordheim recognised the German mercenary who had arrived at Riga in the company of Count Rolf of Roskilde, Governor of Reval, during the negotiations when Cardinal William of Modena called together the Danes and Sword Brothers to reconcile their difference.

  Nordheim leaned in to Stefan. ‘He used to serve the Danes at Reval, sir.’

  Stefan was mildly interested. ‘What brings you to Riga?’

  Kivel smiled. ‘You see before you a man destitute in everything save my title, which I have managed to retain even though the Sword Brothers stole my lands from me.’

  Stefan’s interest was aroused. ‘Oh, what title would that be?’

  Kivel bowed to the archdeacon, his right arm making an exaggerated sweeping movement.

  ‘The Duke of Narva at your service, archdeacon, formerly in the service of King Valdemar before fate dealt me a cruel hand, or should I say the Sword Brothers.

  ‘I fought beside Count Rolf at Reval but we were overwhelmed by the Sword Brothers and their heathen allies, the Oeselians. I escaped from Reval and headed to Narva but the locals, ungrateful wretches that they are, locked the gates and shot arrows at me.’

  He looked hurt. ‘At me! Their lord and master.’

  His head slumped. ‘After that I was reduced to a wandering beggar, forced to work for the Russians but I found their churches and manners not to my liking.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ said Stefan.

  Kivel looked up, a pitiful expression on his face. ‘So here I am, a beggar begging for passage back to Germany so I may at least earn a living as a good honest Christian.’

  Stefan placed his hands together. ‘You have no lands in Germany?’

  Kivel shook his head. ‘Nothing, archdeacon, sir. But with God’s help and my sword I may rise again.’

  He did not look like a duke, with his unkempt appearance and tatty clothes, but his sword was obviously a lord’s weapon and the silver-decorated scabbard testified to a time when Kivel had wealth. There was an awkward silence as Kivel looked expectantly at Stefan, no doubt for an assurance of a place aboard a cog back to Germany in accordance with his noble position.

  ‘He may be useful to us, sir,’ whispered Nordheim, ‘being an enemy of the Sword Brothers and a servant of King Valdemar. I have a feeling that this latest vice-legate may provoke trouble in Livonia.’

  Stefan rested his elbows on the arms of his chair.

  ‘Your grace must remain here so you may rest and regain your strength. Unlike the apostate Russians you will find the hospitality of Riga much more agreeable.’

  Kivel bowed his head. ‘You are most generous, archdeacon. But what of the Sword Brothers?’

  ‘What of them?’

  ‘I make no secret that there is no affection between them and me. If they discover I am here it may place you in a difficult position and I do not desire that.’

  Stefan flicked his right hand. ‘I can assure you, your grace, that the Sword Brothers will cause no difficulties. They are servants of the Holy Church and therefore obey the church’s orders. You need not concern yourself with the Sword Brothers.’

  Kivel bowed again and smiled. ‘As you wish, archdeacon.’

  ‘Manfred,’ said Stefan, ‘see that his grace is housed in the palace in lodgings appropriate to his rank. And see to it that the palace tailor attends to his needs.’

  Nordheim bowed his head and walked with Kivel from the chamber, the two of them chatting like old friends.

  Stefan wasted no time in exploiting the opportunity that had dropped into his lap. When Baldwin had returned from his tour of the city the archdeacon informed him that he had appointed the Duke of Narva as his personal guide, bodyguard and adviser, explaining that the German was a man who was intimately acquainted with the ways of Livonia and Estonia. After he had done so he summoned Kivel to his private office and asked the German if he would be interested in accompanying the Papal vice-legate during his stay in Livonia. He knew he would, of course, because the alternative was to crawl back to Germany, or perhaps prostrate himself before King Valdemar in Denmark. To sweeten the offer Stefan offered Kivel half the taxes raised from a weekly market held near Dünamünde Abbey. The market, one of the oldest in Livonia, was a profitable one and would allow Kivel to build himself a manor house on the church land nearby that Stefan also made part of the offer. It was a generous enticement and Kivel accepted it gladly. Stefan for his part thought it a small price to pay for a man who hated the Sword Brothers and would hopefully poison Vice-Legate Baldwin’s mind against Grand Master Volquin’s order.

  When Baldwin returned to the palace he subjected the archdeacon to a most uncomfortable grilling, the like of which Stefan had never encountered before. Bishop Albert had been well aware of his nephew’s shortcomings, though not his depravities, and had treated him with a degree of leniency on the understanding that he took his responsibilities as Governor of Riga seriously. Because Albert had spent so much time away from the city, either on crusade or in Germany raising recruits, Stefan had grown accustomed to ruling the city alone, which he had taken full advantage of. He prospered, the city prospered and affairs were as they should be. The arrival of Baldwin of Alna was akin to a large rock being tossed into a calm pond.

  ‘Riga is a den of vice,’ announced Baldwin, his eyes aflame with religious fervour. ‘Even a cursory tour of the city has revealed it to be a den of brothels, inns and gambling.’

  ‘Alas, ports are full of sailors, who in turn attract the base sort of individuals to serve their needs,’ said Stefan.

  ‘It will not do, archdeacon, not at all. Livonia is a kingdom of God. It cannot be allowed to become a modern-day Sodom and Gomorrah.’

  ‘I think you exaggerate,’ suggested Stefan.

  ‘Do I?’ hissed Baldwin, ‘then how can you explain pagans roaming the city’s streets, spreading their foul beliefs?’

  ‘Livonia is not Italy,’ replied an irritated Stefan. ‘Bishop Albert was quite clear that persuasion was better than coercion. Besides, the king of the Livs, Fricis, is a Christian and so are his leading warlords and village chiefs.

  ‘You have to remember that thirty years ago this land was full of pagans but now the Holy Church is in control of Livonia.’

  Baldwin raised an eyebrow. ‘And Estonia, is that also God’s kingdom?’

  ‘Estonia is another matter entirely,’ said Stefan.

  ‘Which brings me to the charges you have levelled against the marshal of that land, this Master Conrad whom you complained about to the Holy Father.’

  Baldwin reached into his habit, pulled out a parchment and unrolled it.

  ‘This is the letter you yourself sent to the Holy Father, archdeacon, in which you plea that the Sword Brothers and Master Conrad be “emasculated” so that holy justice can be imposed on them. You stand by these words?’

  ‘I do.’

  Baldwin rolled up the letter and placed it back in his habit.

  ‘Heresy and witchcraft are serious charges, archdeacon, though I have to say that your accusation of lawlessness is unlikely to stand up to scrutiny in a church court.’

  ‘Oh?’

  Baldwin stroked his beard. ‘I will be frank with you, archdeacon. The Curia has for some time been aware that the Sword Brothers have exceeded their authority regarding King Valdemar, the Danes in general and their alliances with heathens.’

  A broad grin spread across Stefan’s face but disappeared as Baldwin continued.

  ‘But the Holy Father has no wish to see the Sword Brothers disbanded. For one thing they are warriors of Christ and it is their swords that have created and defended this kingdom, albeit with help from north Germany’s nobility.’

  ‘So they go unpunished?’

  Baldwin raised hand to Stefan. ‘I did not say that. The Holy Father does not wish Livonia to fall prey to the apostate Russians or the godless pagans, which would happen if the Sword Brothers were disbanded. My mission is to impose the rule of God on them and Livonia and Estonia, which I intend to do.’

  Baldwin was delighted with Stefan’s suggestion that von Kivel accompany the vice-legate during his travels in Livonia, informing him that the Duke of Narva had a thorough knowledge of the workings of the Sword Brothers. But the vice-legate would say no more on matters pertaining to imposing the rule of God, leaving Stefan unhappy and frustrated.

  His frustration increased the next day when a request to attend Magnus Glueck reached him. The corpulent Duke of Riga was in a highly agitated state, his plump cheeks red, his forehead beaded with sweat when Stefan was shown into his expansive and richly decorated office on the first floor of Riga’s merchant hall. Instead of sitting at his solid pine desk Glueck paced up and down behind it, pointing at Stefan with each point he made.

  ‘The city council is unhappy, Stefan, most unhappy. A year ago we signed a trade treaty with the Russians that will make Riga more wealthy than it is now.’

  His large, fatty head began shaking.

  ‘If we do not trade with the Russians Riga will whither and die. And may I remind you that the church benefits greatly from the taxes it imposes on the profits of trade.’

  He thumped his podgy fist on the table. ‘You must convince this monk that what he is proposing will be the ruin not only of Riga but also of the Holy Church.’

  Stefan spread his arms. ‘What can I do, Magnus? This Baldwin is the representative of the Pope himself. To disobey him is to disobey Rome, with all the attendant grave consequences.’

  Glueck placed both hands on the table and leaned towards the archdeacon.

  ‘Let me tell you about grave consequences, Stefan. If we cease trading with the Russians there will no money to pay the garrison of Riga, which means that the city will be reliant for its safety on the Sword Brothers, who are no friends of Riga’s governor. I and the other burgomasters are resolved to leave Riga if the legate uses the threat of excommunication to impose his order regarding the halting of trade with the Russians.’

  Stefan was horrified. ‘Leave Riga?’

  Glueck stood and folded his arms. ‘I have offices in Lübeck and shipping interests in the western Baltic. It would be inconvenient to leave Riga but I will not stay here and watch my business die and neither will my colleagues.’

  ‘I ask for patience,’ pleaded Stefan, ‘the vice-legate has said no more on the matter of trade with the Russians. He is currently concentrating his efforts on the Sword Brothers.’

  Glueck smiled slyly. Stefan had confided in him that he had complained to the Curia about Grand Master Volquin’s castellans, and one in particular. He liked Stefan but sentiment had no place in business.

  ‘Well, Stefan, let us hope that his efforts are to your benefit because if they are not the Sword Brothers will not be disposed towards protecting you or your city. But be assured that I can always find room on one of my ships should you decide that Riga is no longer safe for you.’

  It was a dejected and demoralised archdeacon that rode back in his carriage to his palace. That he could go from being akin to a king to fleeing back to Germany to throw himself on the mercy of his detestable family was almost too much to bear. He sought sanctuary in the palace’s rose garden, a place of serenity and order that always provided him with comfort. Enclosed by a woven hazel fence it was divided into four large flowerbeds with narrow stone paths in a cruciform shape. In the centre was a water fountain, the symbolic fount of life. Gardeners who had been tending to the beds bowed their heads and retreated from the garden, as they all knew that the archdeacon liked to be alone with his thoughts when he took refuge in the garden. The red roses, the symbols of martyrdom, caught his eye and sent a chill down his spine. He had no desire to die in his prime. He heard footsteps on the paving and sighed.

  ‘Apologies for disturbing you, sir.’

  Stefan, pale and drawn, stared at Nordheim vacantly. The garrison commander clutched a parchment in his hand, which he held up to the archdeacon.

  ‘I wonder if you could authorise this, sir?’

  Stefan took it and read it, his disinterest turning to vexation. He waved it at Nordheim.

  ‘This is a very large sum of money. Do I not pay you enough, Manfred?’

  The ex-pirate smiled. ‘More than enough, sir, but it is not for me.’

  ‘Then who?’

  ‘Dietrich von Kivel, sir.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘He needs horses, servants, a pavilion and weapons commensurate with his rank, sir.’

  Stefan felt his pulse race. ‘He was penniless just a few days ago and now he wants to empty the treasury so he can parade around like a king?’

  ‘It will be worth it, sir.’

  ‘Will it indeed? Pray tell me how.’