‘He has been fully briefed as to what is expected of him, sir. I believe that he will prove a useful ally against the Sword Brothers.’

  Stefan waved the parchment in the air. ‘An expensive one, most certainly. I assume you desire my seal on this?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Very well, but I hold you personally responsible, Manfred. Riga’s treasury is not inexhaustible and might be emptying faster than I anticipated if Brother Baldwin has his way.’

  ‘I would not worry about the vice-legate, sir, he will soon have more than enough to concentrate on without bothering the good burghers of Riga.’

  But Stefan was not listening as self-pity engulfed him and he brushed past Nordheim.

  *****

  ‘Gone?’

  ‘Vanished like spring mist,’ replied Paul.

  He had ridden from his fort at Laiuse with the happy news that the followers of King Kalev, the bandits that had occupied the forests of the Alutaguse, were no more.

  ‘Did you kill them all?’ asked Conrad.

  Paul shook his head. ‘We killed a few but not enough to wipe out the entire band.’

  ‘So where are they?’ asked Hans.

  They had both returned from Wenden with heavy hearts but found the company and atmosphere at Odenpah lifted their spirits a little. As summer turned to autumn the fort was untroubled by events at Riga where a new papal vice-legate was, by all accounts, ruffling many feathers. Werner continued to train and keep an eye on the novices, all of whom were in early manhood and yearning for the day when they could wear the white surcoats of the Sword Brothers. That day was near but not near enough for men such as Arri and Jaan who trained twice as hard, thinking that their extra efforts would make the time pass more quickly.

  Paul shrugged. ‘You know as much as I do.’

  ‘I had better send word to Franz at Narva and Walter at Dorpat that they might have unwelcome guests soon,’ said Conrad.

  He saw a black shape pass the doors of the hall.

  ‘Will you do the honour of joining us, Lady Maarja?’ he called.

  They all stood when she entered the hall, her small feet treading on the freshly laid rushes as Mikk rushed to pull out a chair so she could sit at the table. When she had done so the men sat back down and were offered kvass by one of Maarja’s female servants.

  ‘Here is a riddle for you, lady,’ said Conrad. ‘A band of robbers and thieves have for several months been terrorising western Wierland, in response to which Sir Paul and his valiant horseman,’ he tipped his cup to the Englishman, ‘were sent to defend the vulnerable people of the region.

  ‘But now the robbers have seemingly vanished into thin air. Not a trace of them can be found anywhere.’

  ‘Perhaps they have melted into the foul depths they came from in the face of Sir Paul’s courage and resolution.’

  Paul smiled at her. ‘You are too kind, lady.’

  ‘Or perhaps they were not of this world,’ offered Maarja, ‘but were demons from the underworld sent to torment the people.’

  ‘That’s as good a reason as any I’ve heard,’ said Paul. He looked around. ‘Talking of demons, where are your two infidel crossbowmen?’

  ‘On a hunting trip,’ replied Hans, ‘after killing many Lithuanians they are determined to empty the whole of Ungannia of deer and elk.’

  Paul swallowed some kvass. ‘I heard about Mesoten. I am sorry about Anton.’

  Conrad put his cup on the table. ‘You think you have spent the last few weeks chasing shadows, Paul? Let me tell you about true futility. Trying to conquer Lithuania by killing every one of its inhabitants, that is true futility.’

  Paul looked at Hans who shrugged.

  ‘Ten years ago Hans and I were part of a crusade to Mesoten,’ continued Conrad. ‘We took the hill fort and burned it to the ground. Five years later Bishop Albert returned to the site and started the process of rebuilding the fort. Five years after that it was nearly torched again, this time by the pagans. Lithuania is like an open sore refusing to heal, made worse now that Bishop Albert is no longer among us.’

  ‘You do not put much faith in Bishop Hermann?’ asked Paul.

  Conrad sniggered. ‘Bishop Albert was a godly man whereas Bishop Hermann is a man of God.’

  Hans looked in confusion at his friend. ‘Meaning?’

  Conrad held up a cup to the female servant for it to be refilled.

  ‘Meaning, my friend, that Bishop Hermann likes being a prince-bishop of the church very much but is less inclined to lead a crusade to spread the word of God. And a prince must have a palace and a city to call his own.’

  He looked at Maarja. ‘The devils that occupied the “bear’s den”, if they were devils, were nothing compared to the demons that sent the winter to freeze the sea allowing Bishop Albert to cross to Muhu. That was the beginning of his demise and was a cruel blow to Livonia and the Sword Brothers.’

  The servant refilled his cup.

  ‘You and your men will stay with us I hope, Paul, so you and they can help to eat all the venison that my crossbowmen will be returning with.’

  The feast was pleasant enough, Leatherface and Falcone returning with ample deer and elk carcasses to be skinned and gutted before cooking. Odenpah’s great hall was filled with laughter and chatter as Paul and his escort swapped stories with Genoese crossbowmen by using sign language and a smattering of Estonian spoken with an Italian accent to make each other understood. Maarja was always delighted when the hall once more reverberated with the sounds of men making merry, which no doubt took her back to the carefree, happy days of her childhood. Conrad, distant, pre-occupied with his thoughts, ate sparingly and drank even less.

  The next morning was unusually cold for autumn, the air filled with specks of cool rain giving Odenpah a forlorn appearance. The wind was blowing from the north, dropping the temperature further. After prayers and breakfast Werner marched the novices from the inner stronghold to the outer gates prior to a long route march to test their stamina. They marched in full armour and carried shields, spears and, much to their delight, had been issued with swords instead of wasters to hang from their belts. This delighted them and it never crossed their minds the only reason they had been issued with real swords was to raise their spirits to they could march for longer and quicker. They marched in two files from the inner compound, down the steps to the outer compound and out of the fort’s gates where Werner quickened the pace.

  Conrad was talking to one of the blacksmiths about the problems of mending a full-face helm when a guard, one of Maarja’s Estonians, approached and bowed his head.

  ‘Sentry on the outer wall reports riders approaching, Susi, men in armour.’

  Across from the forge Paul was conversing with Leatherface.

  ‘Paul, are you expecting more of your men today?’

  The knight had no time to answer before the alarm bell began ringing on the outer wall. Leatherface sprinted as fast as his old legs would carry him to the armoury as the gate to the inner compound was shut. Hans came hurrying from the hall, strapping on his sword belt. Conrad told the Ungannian to open the gate.

  ‘Hans, you are with me.’

  Paul rushed over to accompany them both to the outer wall. In the outer compound his men were assembling outside one of the large huts that had been their quarters for the night.

  ‘Stop that racket,’ Conrad called up to the sentry in one of the towers flanking the outer gates.

  Leatherface, Falcone and his men came scurrying down the steps and ran to the wooden stairs leading up to the outer ramparts. Those who worked in the fort, men, women and children, were going the other way, into the inner compound set higher on Odenpah’s mound. They and the garrison had practised the drill a number of times but this was the first occasion it had been real and there was a palpable sense of alarm in the air.

  Conrad stood beside the Ungannian who had been ringing the bell. He pointed at a small group of riders approaching the fort, behind them a large mass of horsemen, individuals on foot and wagons. Conrad searched for Werner and the novices but they had left the great meadow in front of the fort and were now marching through the forest ringing Odenpah. At least they were out of danger, for the moment.

  ‘An army approaches Odenpah, Susi,’ said the sentry.

  ‘So it would seem,’ replied Conrad.

  Maarja’s half a dozen guards were all middle aged now, men who had fought with her father when they had been young men. According to the rules of the order a Sword Brother castle should not have pagans among the garrison, but Maarja trusted them and the novices viewed them as father figures who had taught them all about hunting and living off the land. Conrad not only liked them but also trusted them implicitly and for that reason they stayed and guarded their mistress and the fort. When Maarja’s leper house was finished they would follow her there, of course. Conrad gazed at the less than half-finished building on the far side of the meadow, now devoid of workers as they had been recently requisitioned by Bishop Hermann to work on his great building projects at Dorpat. It would be an age before it was finished. Conrad smiled. His smile disappeared when the vanguard of riders reached the wooden drawbridge across the moat leading to the gates. There were three of them, two men in mail armour wearing kettle helmets and carrying lances, the third holding a brass trumpet some fifty inches in length, from which hung a long banner bearing an eagle on a red and white background. The herald placed the instrument to his lips and blew it to sound a fanfare. Falcone’s men lined the walls either side of the gates and placed their loaded crossbows on the timber wall.

  ‘Open the gates in the name of Vice-Legate Baldwin, personal envoy of His Holiness Pope Gregory, Bishop of Rome and God’s representative on earth.’

  ‘Who?’ asked the Ungannian.

  Conrad stared at the herald and the main body of horsemen nearing the fort. At the head of the column he saw men wearing the livery of the garrison of Riga and the white mantle of Grand Master Volquin, his banner of the Sword Brothers fluttering alongside two others behind him.

  ‘Open the gates,’ commanded Conrad.

  He hurried down the steps as the gates were swung open and the herald and his guards retreated.

  ‘Colour party,’ shouted Conrad as Hans rushed to his side.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  Conrad nodded at the riders walking their horses towards the drawbridge.

  ‘A papal legate comes to Odenpah, Hans, along with Grand Master Volquin.’

  ‘Why weren’t we alerted?’ queried Hans.

  ‘Why indeed?’

  The riders halted and dismounted, soldiers wearing the same insignia as the herald gathering round a tall monk in a greyish habit. Conrad looked for the vice-legate as the monk approached him, Volquin hastening to his side. Falcone and his crossbowmen formed a colour party lining the drawbridge, the Ungannian sentries peering down at the scene below.

  ‘I seek Master Conrad,’ said the monk.

  ‘You have found him,’ replied Conrad, still looking round for the vice-legate and wondering who this deranged-looking monk was.

  ‘Arrest him,’ ordered Baldwin.

  Volquin looked horrified. ‘I must protest, your eminence.’

  Baldwin held up a hand to him. ‘I speak with the authority of the Pope, grand master. Master Conrad is to be taken to Riga to face charges.’

  ‘What charges?’ demanded an angry Hans.

  The monk’s mad eyes stared at the lean brother knight.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘This is Brother Hans, your eminence,’ answered Volquin, ‘deputy commander of Odenpah.’

  Baldwin waved forward his guards. ‘You will remain silent and still, Brother Hans. This matter does not concern you.’

  Conrad, dumfounded, was also still as two soldiers of Riga’s garrison flanked him. Another man stood in front of him, an individual he had met before.

  ‘I’ll wager you never thought you would see me again,’ grinned Dietrich von Kivel.

  Despite Volquin’s protestations Conrad was relieved of his sword and escorted to a waiting horse. Hans thought about running Kivel through with his sword but Conrad shook his head when he saw his friend’s hand go to his sword hilt. Leatherface bundled Hans away and told Falcone to take his men back inside the fort. The vice-legate showed no interest in Odenpah as he mounted his horse on the drawbridge. He was going to wheel it around when he caught sight of a long-haired man in a helmet staring down at him, his eyes full of hate.

  ‘Grand master.’

  Volquin, having assured a remarkably calm and unconcerned Conrad, hurried over to the vice-legate, who pointed up at the Ungannian.

  ‘Is this a Sword Brother stronghold?’

  ‘It is.’

  Baldwin matched the Ungannian’s hateful stare.

  ‘That man in the tower would appear to be a pagan, not a Sword Brother.’

  ‘Master Conrad’s garrison as yet comprises mainly novices and mercenaries,’ explained Volquin.

  ‘That pagan is both loyal and brave,’ said Conrad within earshot, ‘which is more than can be said for the garrison of Riga.’

  Kivel, seated on the horse beside the one that carried Conrad, struck him across the face with the back of his hand.

  ‘Have some respect in the presence of the vice-legate.’

  In an instant the Ungannian raised his spear preparatory to throwing it at Kivel. Conrad raised his hand to stop him, blood forming at the side of his mouth.

  ‘We travel back to Riga,’ announced Baldwin, wheeling his horse about and trotting back over the drawbridge.

  ‘You command here until Conrad returns,’ Volquin told Hans.

  ‘He ain’t returning,’ said Kivel under his breath.

  *****

  ‘More wine for our guest.’

  Magnus Glueck was like a man who had just discovered a horde of gold under his floorboards. He kept rubbing his hands together and grinning maniacally, his large face resembling a leering gargoyle. His servant refilled Stefan’s silver goblet. The archdeacon drank the white wine greedily.

  ‘You are quite certain, Stefan?’

  The archdeacon licked his lips and grinned. ‘As soon as I heard I rushed over to share the news with you personally.’

  Glueck screwed up his face and emitted a high-pitched giggle.

  ‘To think, the Marshal of Estonia arrested by the papal vice-legate. It is almost too good to be true.’

  ‘It is both good and true,’ said Stefan, resting his hands on his large belly. ‘This day has been a long time coming. The trial of Master Conrad, jumped-up baker’s son, will not only rid us of a troublesome enemy, it will also clip the wings of the Sword Brothers who for too long have considered Livonia to be their personal domain.’

  An inebriated Glueck suddenly became serious. ‘And what of the vice-legate’s order that we cease trading with the Russians?’

  ‘What of it, my friend? It will be quietly forgotten. It is no small thing that the vice-legate has embarked upon – to confront the considerable power of the Sword Brothers. The impending trial will take up all of his time. Besides, even a vice-legate cannot afford to alienate everybody.’

  Glueck was confused. ‘He speaks on behalf of the Pope, does he not?’

  Stefan drank noisily from his goblet. ‘He does indeed, but I would suggest that the Pope will take a very dim view if Baldwin loses Livonia, which he will if you and the other leading merchants leave Riga.’

  ‘But what if the vice-legate continues to insist that we cease trading with the Russians?’ pressed Glueck.

  ‘Then we will appeal to the Papal Chancery,’ replied Stefan.

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The office in Rome where the Papacy’s judicial problems are settled, Magnus. If the Bishop of Riga makes an appeal to the Chancery then it must be heard, procedure you see.’

  ‘There is no Bishop of Riga.’

  Stefan finished his wine and pointed at the goblet to be refilled.

  ‘Baldwin has, after much deliberation, agreed that Abbot Nicholas is a suitable candidate to fill the post. And Nicholas will do whatever I ask of him, Magnus. So you see, your trading with the Russians is under little threat.’

  They spent the rest of the afternoon getting drunk, after which both men had to be carried to their carriages, a considerable feat that required eight men to manoeuvre their great bulk down the stairs of the merchant hall to the ground level where guards waited to take Stefan back to the Bishop’s Palace and servants to escort Glueck back to his palatial house in the city. The ground-floor halls were thronged with goods of all description being traded by a multitude of merchants drawn from Riga, Livonia, Russia, Selonia and even Kurland. The chief topic of conversation among the traders and Riga’s population as a whole was not the visit of the Papal vice-legate but the unusually cold weather they were experiencing. Everyone prayed that the coming winter would not be a harsh one.

  *****

  When Baldwin’s party reached Riga Conrad was locked in a cell in the castle, despite Grand Master Volquin’s protests. Manacles were placed around his ankles to prevent him escaping, Kivel emphasising to the Papal vice-legate that the Marshal of Estonia had many friends outside the city and it would be wise to secure his person. Once confined in a dark, dank cell in the basement of one of the castle’s towers Conrad’s armour and surcoat were taken from him. On the first night of his confinement Volquin visited him. The burly, stinking jailor insisted on remaining in the cell with the grand master.

  ‘I will speak to Master Conrad alone.’

  ‘Can’t do that,’ replied the jailor, ‘I have orders to report any conversations between the prisoner and any visitors he has.’

  ‘Orders from whom?’ demanded Volquin tersely.

  ‘The Duke of Narva.’

  ‘Get out,’ ordered Volquin.

  The fat gaoler hesitated but Volquin squared up to him.

  ‘Neither the Papal vice-legate nor the Duke of Narva will stay long at Riga,’ said Volquin calmly, ‘whereas I and my order of brother knights are permanent fixtures here. What do you think is the life expectancy of a man who becomes an enemy of the Sword Brothers?’