They rode on in silence, the gentle undulating terrain filled with forests and meadows sweet with the scent of spring blossom. Paul returned with news that the land appeared bereft of people and Werner reported no activity on the flanks or at the rear of the column. The army was following an ancient track snaking southwest from Mesoten towards the Kur border and by midday it had covered at least ten miles. As the sky was largely devoid of clouds there appeared little possibility of rain so another ten miles was covered before halting for the night.

  ‘I would like to put your mind at ease, Master Conrad,’ said Torolf suddenly during the following day’s march.

  ‘About what?’ replied Conrad.

  ‘Organising the Oeselian raid on Kurland,’ said Torolf in a matter-of-fact fashion.

  Hans looked at Conrad, a worried look on his face.

  ‘My king understands that the Kurs and Sword Brothers were at war at the time and in war a leader does what he can to bring about victory. He bears no grudges.’

  ‘Your king is remarkably well informed,’ said Conrad.

  Torolf pointed to a large grassy mound nearby. ‘The other side of the hill.’

  Hans, Sir Richard, Hillar, Tonis, Andres and Riki drew their swords and pulled up their horses.

  ‘No, my lords,’ said Torolf hurriedly, ‘I did not mean there is danger nearby. I was speaking abstractedly.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Hans.

  ‘It means, Brother Hans,’ said Sir Richard, ‘that the ambassador was not referring to physical things.’

  ‘I think we can put our swords away,’ said Conrad. The others did so.

  ‘My king,’ carried on Torolf as they continued south, ‘has always believed that it is imperative to know as much about the enemy as possible, to know what lies on the other side of the hill, so to speak.’

  ‘You mean spies,’ said Sir Richard.

  Torolf appeared hurt. ‘A spy is a base creature, my lord, untrustworthy and bereft of morals. And in many ways unnecessary. For example, I did not need to employ a spy to discover that Master Conrad, Marshal of Estonia and commander of the Army of the Wolf is a step-brother of Prince Rameke of the Livs, that he killed Lembit and saved Bishop Albert’s life, that he agreed a truce with King Sigurd of the Oeselians and again saved Bishop Albert’s life, in addition to the crusader army trapped on Muhu. All these things are common knowledge if one has the desire to find them out.’

  ‘Which you obviously do,’ remarked Sir Richard.

  Torolf looked smug. ‘An ambassador by his very title is charged with discovering as much about potential friends and enemies as he can, otherwise he would fail his lord.’

  ‘And what are we?’ asked Conrad. ‘Friends or enemies?’

  ‘Friends, of course,’ answered Torolf.

  A group of riders approached the column from ahead, uniformed in red surcoats riding horses covered in caparisons of the same colour. Sir Paul pulled up his horse before Conrad and raised his hand.

  ‘Kur riders approaching, Conrad.’

  ‘My king is here,’ said Torolf.

  ‘Call back your scouts, Paul,’ ordered Conrad. He turned to his warlords. ‘Deploy your men.’

  Birds in nearby trees took to the air suddenly as trumpet blasts and horn calls suddenly filled the air and nearly eight hundred men deployed in battle array. Torolf protested that there was no need but Conrad had little enthusiasm for trusting this Kur ambassador who smiled too much for his liking. Besides, a show of strength was always useful when meeting a former enemy for the first time. Conrad withdrew his men to take up position in a meadow between a forest of pine and a large stream. The stream presented no great obstacle but would slow down an enemy attempting to cross it to outflank his men. The place of honour, the right flank, was given to Paul and his hundred horsemen, Conrad and his Sword Brothers and Sir Richard’s knights deploying on the left. The ‘bastards’ were placed in the middle of the centre, together with the crossbowmen of Falcone and Sir Richard. Either side of them stood the warriors of Tonis, Riki, Andres and Hillar, every tenth man being detailed to guard the carts and ponies immediately behind them. The warriors had performed this drill so many times that they were in position well before Lamekins and his men appeared.

  ‘There is no need, Master Conrad,’ said Torolf, sensing the heightened tension in the air.

  His stress increased when a mass of black riders appeared at the far end of the valley and horsemen levelled their lances.

  ‘I will ride to my king to assure him that you mean no harm,’ said the ambassador, spurring his horse away from Conrad.

  ‘So the Kurs knew that you were involved in the Oeselian raid on their coast, Conrad.’ Hans, his helmet resting on the front of his saddle, wore a stupid grin. ‘Has it occurred to you that we might have been lured here so this King Lamekins can have his revenge on you?’

  ‘It has occurred to me,’ replied his friend, ‘but before I am cut down I will announce that you were beside me on that Oeselian boat.’

  Hans beamed broadly. ‘Me? I was just obeying orders.’

  ‘I’m sure that King Lamekins will not differentiate between you,’ said Sir Richard who had nudged his horse forward.

  All three watched Torolf gallop to his king, whose soldiers were likewise deploying into line, a thin black strip of horsemen on the wings and foot in the middle to match the Army of the Wolf’s array. The Kurs came on at a steady pace, keeping their formation as they did so. Behind him Conrad heard movement and turned to see Odenpah’s brother knights move forward a few paces.

  ‘Easy,’ he heard the commanding voice of Werner come from the second rank.

  ‘There will be no fighting today,’ Conrad said loudly, ‘stand at ease.’

  He turned to Sir Richard. ‘Shall we go and greet the king, your grace? You are with us too, Hans. Werner, take command.’

  The three rode forward as Werner walked his horse around the front rank of brother knights, chastising Jaan and Arri for their over-exuberance. Conrad, Sir Richard and Hans left their lances impaled in the earth and rested their helms on the front of their saddles as they cantered towards the black-uniformed soldiers, a knot of horsemen leaving the ranks to intercept them, one carrying a banner showing a black seagull on a grey background.

  ‘Well, Hans,’ said Sir Richard, ‘we are about find out if your fears are justified.’

  The group of Kur horsemen halted and Torolf left them, his smug expression having returned. He raised his right hand.

  ‘Welcome, Master Conrad, please accompany me, and you Sir Richard and Brother Hans, so I may introduce you to my king.’

  Conrad slowed his horse and scanned the soldiers behind the king’s group. He saw horsemen carrying spisas on the flanks and in the centre a mixture of foot soldiers armed with spears and oblong shields and large men carrying two-handed battle-axes. He saw no archers. He pulled up his horse within ten paces of the king and dismounted. Sir Richard did the same and Hans hurriedly followed. Lamekins might have formerly been one of the Sword Brothers’ most formidable foes but now he was a Christian king and was to be treated accordingly. Conrad and the others went down on one knee and bowed their heads. Torolf for once was caught by surprise but Lamekins was delighted.

  ‘Rise, rise all of you, please.’

  He jumped down from his horse and walked up to Conrad. The Sword Brother thought the Kur king was younger than him by a year or two. They were both of the same height though Lamekins was leaner and his beard thicker and darker than Conrad’s and his hair hung to his shoulders. He was dressed in simple grey leggings and black tunic, over which he wore a mail corselet. His helmet was likewise a simple iron affair with a nasal guard. Conrad suspected there was little wealth in Kurland but much talent.

  Lamekins smiled. ‘Master Conrad, we meet at last. I think we have encountered each other before but on those occasions we were trying to kill each other.’

  Conrad bowed his head again. ‘Majesty.’

  Lamekins stepped in front of Sir Richard. ‘Sir Richard, Duke of Saccalia, I am pleased to meet such a formidable warrior. Kurland welcomes you.’

  Conrad wondered if they were actually in Kurland or whether Lamekins had surreptitiously annexed this part of Semgallia but said nothing. Sir Richard appeared pleased that Lamekins knew so much about him.

  The king next addressed Conrad’s friend. ‘Brother Hans, I have heard much about you.’

  ‘You have? I mean thank you, your majesty.’

  ‘Of course,’ smiled Lamekins, ‘the Marshal of Estonia’s right-hand man and a veteran of countless battles. Who has not heard of Brother Hans?’

  Hans was immensely appreciative of the king’s comments and bowed his head like an obedient dog. Lamekins insisted on inspecting the Army of the Wolf and so Conrad and Sir Richard escorted him to where it stood in its ranks. The king was very talkative and eager to put everyone at their ease but Conrad noticed his eyes missed nothing as he inspected Sir Richard’s knights and the mounted brother knights and sergeants of Odenpah. He moved on to the foot soldiers, the green and brown clothed warriors of Saccalia, Harrien, Rotalia and Jerwen flanking the yellow uniforms of ‘the bastards’, the maroon of Falcone’s men and the blue attire of Sir Richard’s crossbowmen. And on the right wing the red-covered horses and uniforms of Sir Paul’s knights. It was a colourful army in stark contrast to the Kurs. Its banners fluttered in the breeze stiffening as the day wore on. Lamekins halted in front of Leatherface, the scruffy crossbowman giving him a cursory glance as he caressed his crossbow. The old mercenary’s clothes and demeanour stuck out when compared to the tidy uniforms and quality of the arms and equipment of the rest of the army. Lamekins looked at him.

  ‘Master Conrad, I have heard that great lords in the land across the sea employ men called jesters to entertain them. Is he one such individual?’

  ‘What!’ Leatherface was not amused.

  Conrad gestured with his hand for him to calm down.

  ‘No, majesty, he is the commander of my crossbowmen.’

  A gust of wind caught the banner of ‘the bastards’. Lamekins saw the Latin text.

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘Episcopi Spurii, it is Latin for the “the Bishop’s Bastards”, majesty.’

  As they left a fuming Leatherface Conrad told the story of Bishop Bernhard and his crusaders, a tale that Lamekins found most cheering.

  ‘And this Bishop Bernhard,’ asked the king, ‘he was the same as Bishop Albert?’

  ‘Similar but different,’ answered Conrad. ‘Bishop Albert had always been a churchman whereas Bishop Bernhard had been a soldier before he entered the church, and a great soldier at that. But then he decided to give up his wealth and position to live the life of a simple monk, living like the poorest person.’

  ‘Why would he do such a thing?’ said Lamekins.

  ‘To serve God, majesty.’

  ‘Just as you do.’

  Conrad nodded.

  ‘And now I too am a servant of your Pope, though the priests who have come into my land inform me that he is the Lamb of God, whatever that means. They are strange individuals. They live lives of piety and poverty in the hope that the people will take pity on them, a tactic I have to confess that is both clever and cunning.’

  Clever and cunning, apt words to describe Lamekins himself, Conrad thought. After a somewhat quiet and awkward feast in Sir Richard’s pavilion that night the next day the king rode with Conrad as they carried on south with their combined forces. Torolf was despatched back to Kurland. Conrad’s Estonian warlords said little as they stared warily at the king’s mounted bodyguard, all of whom rode black horses and wore black tunics, black leggings, boots and black leather back and breast plates. Even the saddlery on their horses was black. The king asked endless questions, about Estonia, the Army of the Wolf, the Sword Brothers, Livonia and Riga. He was like a cup that could not be filled no matter how much was poured into it. But as they continued on their journey south in the days following it was Conrad who had the most pressing question.

  ‘What is our destination, majesty?’

  ‘Medvegalis,’ replied Lamekins.

  Conrad looked at him with a blank expression.

  ‘The capital of Samogitia,’ Lamekins told him, ‘the stronghold of Duke Ykintas.’

  Conrad was perplexed. ‘We have no siege engines to take a stronghold, majesty.’

  ‘And too few men,’ added Sir Richard.

  ‘Medvegalis,’ Lamekins told them, ‘is the highest hill in Samogitia. It has been sculptured for defensive purposes, with the top flattened and the natural slopes made steeper for defence. There are at least two lines of timber walls on the slopes and the wall of the stronghold itself that sits on top of the hill. So you are quite right, Sir Richard, we have neither the men nor your machines to mount an effective assault. But there will be no assault. We go to draw the duke from his lair.’

  Conrad was concerned. ‘I fought the Samogitians at Mesoten, we all did, they numbered thousands. Our force is paltry to engage such numbers in open battle.’

  Lamekins had fire in his eyes. ‘Caution never won anything, Master Conrad. You may be interested to know that Mindaugas, the brother of Ykintas, has gone with his followers and the head priest, the Kriviu Krivaitis, to claim the Kingdom of Aukstaitija. Now is the time to remind Duke Ykintas that Kurland is not his plaything.’

  Conrad was comforted that there was animosity among the Lithuanian kingdoms but was concerned that not only were they moving into Samogitia with a small force, well under two thousand men, but also that Lamekins seemed unconcerned. And it was getting cold.

  ‘That is because Samogitia is low lying,’ explained Lamekins on the fifth day of their journey together. ‘Indeed Samogitians are known as lowlanders.

  Conrad looked around at the hills covered with fir, birch and pine and others that had flickered with the fires on their summit – warning signals announcing the presence of invaders. Thus far the scouts had detected no signs of any enemy, the only living things encountered being elk, wild boar and squirrels. Leatherface had shot and killed a few elk that had been gutted, skinned and sent to Lamekins as gifts. They had skirted a few villages, either beside winding streams or near lakes, the low huts with roofs of boards or thatch all deserted. As they moved south the landscape became more open with wide expanses of grassland and many low-lying hills. The northern wind chilled men and beasts alike and carried rain most days, fortunately lashing the backs of soldiers marching south.

  The army never got close to Medvegalis. On a cold morning, after the Sword Brothers had attended Prime Mass in the chapel tent and filled their cold bodies with hot porridge, Lamekins sent word to Conrad that the enemy had been sighted. The rain had started early, light at first but bitterly cold.

  ‘It’s bloody snowing.’

  Leatherface, his head wrapped in a fur-lined cap and a cloak pulled around him, presented himself to Conrad.

  ‘The mad king has got his battle, then.’

  ‘It would appear so.’

  ‘I have heard that this Lamekins is regarded as having a flair for war.’

  The mercenary looked around at the frenzy of activity as men saddled horses and checked their weapons.

  ‘Though others might say marching into the heart of enemy territory with a small force smacks of arrogance. Just make sure that when we deploy we have the wind at our backs, Master Conrad.’

  He shivered. ‘Do they have spring in this land?’

  The rain turned to sleet as the Army of the Wolf formed into its ranks and awaited orders. Campfires hissed and died as the sleet drenched them. Conrad and the dukes walked to the Kur camp, to the tent of King Lamekins. Like him they were concerned that the conditions and their lack of numbers gave the enemy a great advantage.

  ‘It is we who have the advantage,’ said Lamekins with conviction as he addressed the assembled lords, a translator explaining to the Kur commanders what he was saying as he was speaking in German.

  ‘It has been raining for days,’ said Conrad, ‘which means that the ground is soft and will lessen the effectiveness of our mounted knights.’

  Lamekins turned to one of his commanders, a wiry, thin man wearing leather armour.

  ‘How many?’ he asked in his native tongue.

  ‘At least four times our number, lord.’

  Lamekins informed Conrad. ‘I think we should stand on the defensive to draw out their strength before we launch any horse charges, Master Conrad.’

  ‘Then we must seize any high ground and have the wind at our backs, Majesty,’ urged Conrad, ‘and may God give us the strength to endure.’

  There was no high ground, though there was a slight rise around half a mile from the camp standing between the advancing enemy and the tents and supplies of the Army of the Wolf and the Kurs. The rest of the terrain was a wide expanse of gently undulating grassland interspersed with copses. For Samogitia it was surprisingly open and Conrad could not hide his apprehension as he and Lamekins watched their respective forces trudge through the downpour to take possession of the rise, the hail of sleet almost horizontal in the driving wind.

  ‘Keep your bowstrings out of the wet,’ shouted Leatherface as he walked up and down the column of ‘the bastards’, the men carrying their crossbows beneath their voluminous cloaks.

  ‘Your jester is very animated,’ remarked Lamekins.

  ‘He is very good at his profession,’ said Conrad.

  ‘I will leave you my foot soldiers, Master Conrad,’ announced Lamekins suddenly. ‘I will take my horse and wait until the enemy has been exhausted.’

  ‘Majesty?’

  ‘As you rightly stated,’ said the king, ‘on this ground a charge of horse will not have the same effect as in dry conditions. It will be the same for the enemy. I know that your knights are trained to fight on foot as well as in the saddle and also know that you have brought crossbows with which to equip your Sword Brothers. After all, those were the tactics that won you the battle at Mesoten against the other dukes, was it not?’