‘And the Kurs, holy one?’ Ykintas called after him.

  ‘They will not be troubling you,’ the priest answered before walking from the hall.

  Ykintas rolled his eyes and looked kindly at Elze. ‘Would you and your sister leave us for a few moments, my love?’

  Elze looked at Morta and shrugged. She bowed to her husband and Morta kissed and hugged Mindaugas before they both followed the Kriviu Krivaitis.

  ‘Out,’ Ykintas commanded the guards and slaves, ‘all of you out.’

  He waited until they left the hall and the doors were closed. Guards and slaves gossiped and he did not want his words to be conveyed to the hundreds of people in the fort. He poured himself and Mindaugas more kvass. He raised his cup to his brother.

  ‘Tomorrow or the day after Arturus and his army will surround this fort.’

  ‘Medvegalis has never been taken,’ said Mindaugas with conviction.

  ‘The Kurs do not need to assault its walls, they can just besiege us and starve us out.’

  ‘Are there no more warriors in Samogitia?’ asked Mindaugas.

  Ykintas shrugged. ‘A few hundred, perhaps. But there is no one to lead them and they are scattered throughout what is left of my kingdom.’

  Mindaugas could hear the demoralisation in his voice.

  ‘Perhaps more of our men will rally to us tomorrow.’

  Ykintas smiled grimly. ‘Only if the Kriviu Krivaitis can raise the dead. I fear Samogitia is finished, Mindaugas. You and Morta should look to your own safety.’

  Mindaugas shook his head. ‘We will not abandon you, my brother. We stand or fall together. Besides, we should not disregard the Kriviu Krivaitis’ words. He told me that the gods are still with us.’

  ‘I think today’s events have rather disproved that. I have sent a message to Duke Kitenis asking for more assistance.’

  ‘Two thousand of his men fell today,’ said Mindaugas, ‘I doubt he will be inclined to send us more.’

  Ykintas smirked. ‘It will not be lost on our dear Kitenis that if Samogitia falls then Aukstaitija will be next on the Kurs’ list of targets. I have also sent a plea to your father-in-law for soldiers.’

  Mindaugas laughed. ‘That will fall on deaf ears.’

  Ykintas placed his cup on the table. ‘It does not matter. If the Kurs arrive before these walls in the next few days it will all be over. Our fate now depends on the actions of Duke Arturus.’

  *****

  Riga was basking not only in the summer sun but also in newfound wealth. The death of Bishop Albert had saddened all and some believed that with his passing Riga would wither with its spiritual and temporal leader gone. But Albert had established a city that had strong foundations and it continued to flourish. The emasculation of Danish power in the Baltic and the pacification of Livonia and Estonia by the Sword Brothers had made the River Dvina and the Baltic safe routes for commerce between Riga and Lübeck. And now the burgomasters of Riga had achieved a signal success that rivalled all the victories of the Sword Brothers combined. For they had secured a trade treaty with the princes of Smolensk, Polotsk and Vitebsk, which meant their goods would now be sold throughout all Russia. They already traded with Novgorod, of course, but this new treaty meant a massive expansion of their commercial interests, which in turn meant Riga’s richest citizens would grow even richer. And none more so than Magnus Glueck, Duke of Narva, Higher Burgomaster of Riga and Commander of the Livonian Militia.

  Everything about Magnus Glueck was large: his girth, his house in the city, his head, his vulgarity but most of all his wealth. The owner of an increasing number of cogs that plied the route between Riga and Lübeck and riverboats that travelled up and down the Dvina, he rented out the space in his ships and boats to merchants who exported and imported all manner of goods. Vicious rumours circulated that his boats carried slaves from upriver to be sold as playthings for rich lords in Germany. But spreading such gossip risked having one’s tongue bored or worse if Archdeacon Stefan got wind of it.

  But no one had a bad word to say about the Duke of Riga as a multitude of rich merchants, priests, city officials and Sword Brothers gathered under a warm summer sun in Riga’s grandiose merchant hall to witness the signature of the trade treaty. The merchant hall was actually a series of buildings surrounding a rectangular courtyard. It had been designed to facilitate trade and so the ground floor halls with their vaulted stone ceilings were used for the sale and storage of goods and produce. The upper storey was topped by a roof supported by huge wooden beams, beneath which were several large rooms used for banquets and meetings. There was also a chapel and the richly decorated Higher Burgomaster's office, near which were much smaller offices for clerks and the storing of records.

  It was in the main meeting room that the dignitaries gathered for the signing of the treaty. Clerks and Catholic priests glanced nervously at the representatives of Prince Davidovitch of Smolensk, Prince Sviatoslav of Polotsk and Prince Briachislav of Vitebsk. All were richly attired in crimson, purple and azure tunics with narrow, wrist-length sleeves and high-cut necklines. Over the tunics they wore brightly coloured dalmatics with wide, straight sleeves shorter than the tunic beneath and belted at the waist. According to their custom they wore no swords, which was a relief to the Rigans. They also sported brightly coloured boots and full beards contrasting markedly to the neatly cropped facial hair of the Catholics.

  ‘They present a wild appearance,’ remarked Glueck as a servant in the livery of the Duke of Riga, a silver griffin on a blue background, served him wine.

  Stefan took a silver chalice engraved with a griffin symbol.

  ‘Apostates, they resemble a band of travelling performers.’

  Glueck smiled. ‘The world changes, Stefan, and we must change with it. The Russians are too valuable as customers and too troublesome as enemies to be provoked unnecessarily. Besides, my sources inform me their rulers are more concerned with pursuing their own internal quarrels than making war on Riga. This treaty signals that Livonia and this city are entering a new, prosperous age, Stefan, one that the church will also benefit from.’

  ‘As long as it does not herald an invasion of Riga by Russians then as the representative of the Holy Church I welcome this trade agreement. By the way, I trust your wife is well?’

  Glueck’s ugly face twisted into an evil leer. ‘Young, fertile and obedient, Stefan, like all wives should be.’

  He had recently married a young woman thirty years his junior, the daughter of a north German noble who wished to be tied to the rising fortunes of the Duke of Riga. Glueck dressed her in the finest clothes and treated her with great respect while showing her off in public. He was less chivalrous when they were alone together. Her maidservants reported that the Duchess of Riga wept much.

  ‘And you, Stefan, how long must you wait for your elevation to Bishop of Riga?’

  The archdeacon smiled. ‘I have recommended to the Holy Father that he award the mitre to another.’

  Glueck was shocked. ‘Who?’

  ‘Abbot Nicholas of Dünamünde Monastery.’

  Glueck moved closer to Stefan and spoke in a hushed tone.

  ‘The burgomasters and governor of Riga have a mutually beneficial relationship, Stefan. I would hate anything or anyone to spoil that relationship.’

  ‘I can guarantee, Magnus, that Abbot Nicholas will do nothing to interfere with our long-term interests. He concerns himself with spiritual matters and will leave the day-to-day functioning of Livonia to me.’

  Glueck nodded. ‘Your humility does you credit, Stefan.’

  The archdeacon toyed with the solid gold cross hanging around his neck.

  ‘What does it profit a man who gains the whole world but loses his soul?’

  Glueck pointed to Manfred Nordheim conversing with the black-clad General Aras.

  ‘I was surprised that you requested that Prince Vsevolod be a signatory to the treaty, Stefan. Trade with the pagans south of the Dvina is almost non-existent.’

  Stefan sipped lightly at his wine. ‘For the moment, Magnus, but the treaty will tie Prince Vsevolod more closely to Riga and alienate him from the pagan Lithuanian dukes. He readily accepted my invitation, sending General Aras to sign on his behalf.

  ‘But your surprise at the presence of Vsevolod’s representative pales beside my own astonishment that you should invite the Sword Brothers to this meeting. Was it to overawe the Russians?’

  Grand Master Volquin, tall and imposing, stood to one side with the castellans of Holm, Uexkull, Lennewarden, Kokenhusen and Gerzika: Masters Gerhard, Friedhelm, Arnold, Griswold and Jacob respectively. Like the Russians they too wore no swords, though only because Glueck had pleaded with Volquin that he and his men should leave their weapons outside the room. He feared a bloodbath when the Russian emissaries arrived and doubted that Nordheim and his men would be able to handle the Sword Brothers if their passions were inflamed.

  ‘They do not belong among polite company,’ sniffed Stefan.

  ‘That is undoubtedly true, Stefan,’ reflected Glueck, ‘but it is also true that there are five Sword Brother castles along the Dvina, each one capable of interfering with trade along the waterway. Volquin’s signature on the treaty seems a small price to pay to keep his dogs on a tight leash.’

  Volquin must have suspected that Riga’s most powerful men were talking about him because he muttered something to his men and walked over to the pair. Stefan managed a fake smile while Glueck dabbed a cloth on his sweating forehead.

  ‘The only drawback to this building, grand master,’ said the Duke of Riga, ‘is that in summer the upper storey often becomes insufferably hot.’

  Despite wearing mail armour the grand master was not perspiring, but then he was not obese. He tilted his head at the archdeacon.

  ‘Indeed, your grace. I thank you for inviting the Sword Brothers to sign your treaty. I have to confess that it was unexpected.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Glueck, ‘now that the Sword Brothers rule from the Dvina to the Gulf of the Finns they should be represented in Riga’s affairs.’

  The sharp tapping of a staff striking the floor made Stefan jump, much to the amusement of the grand master.

  ‘It would appear that the papers are ready to be signed,’ said Glueck.

  ‘But you are mistaken about my order controlling the lands between Riga and Reval, your grace,’ said Volquin as the dignitaries moved towards the table where two copies of the treaty, one in Latin, the other in Russian, lay side by side.

  ‘King Fricis and his lords rule much of Livonia and most of Estonia is controlled by the warlords of its marshal.’

  ‘And where is the Marshal of Estonia?’ asked Stefan with disdain in his voice.

  ‘Protecting Riga’s interests,’ replied Volquin.

  Chapter 2

  The Baltic was really a large lake that had mild currents and was thus ideal for seafaring. In winter it was often lashed by high winds and suffered rough seas, though gales could occur at any time of the year. But in summer the winds were moderate and the temperatures warm, making conditions ideal for sea travel. The longships cut through the calm blue water with ease, their sails filled with a westerly wind that would quickly take them to Kurland’s long coastline. The ships had congregated in a bay in southwest Oesel before striking south and then west to take them away from the Kur coastline. They had set off in the early morning when the Baltic breezes were almost non-existent, merely faint winds that barely ruffled a man’s hair let alone a longship’s square sail.

  Oars had powered the ships in the morning, half their crews taking turns to row at a steady pace before the other half took over after an hour. In this way the ships had been manoeuvred into position to take advantage of the westerly wind that picked up after midday, the boats shipping oars as the wind filled their sails to take them to the coast. And as the fleet headed east the ships fanned out into a long line – sixty longships widely spaced and all filled with heavily armed warriors.

  ‘I would have thought you would be used to travelling on these boats after our success at Reval,’ said Conrad as he stood beside Hans who was holding on to the vessel’s mast.

  ‘I don’t like being at sea,’ grumbled Hans, ‘especially in a vessel that sits so low in the water.’

  ‘Oeselian ships do not sink, Sword Brother, that is why we are masters of the sea.’

  Sigurd, King of the Oeselians, slapped Hans hard on the back and grinned at Conrad.

  Just turned forty, he had faced much criticism from his earls and freedmen when he had agreed to a peace treaty with the Sword Brothers. Many believed that it was an affront to the gods to even talk with the Christian barbarians. But the criticism had ebbed away when the people of Oesel realised that the treaty meant crusaders would no longer attack the Blessed Isle, leaving them free to work the land in peace and raid other territories. Under the terms of the treaty they were not allowed to raid Estonia or Livonia but there were plenty of other lands to plunder, such as Sweden, Norway and the domain of the Finns. His earls had jumped at the chance to raid another tempting target, despite the idea coming from the ‘barbarian’ Marshal of Estonia.

  ‘How long will it be before we reach land, majesty?’ asked Conrad.

  Sigurd looked up at the billowing sail. ‘An hour at most, probably less.’

  ‘You see, Hans,’ said Conrad, ‘not long to go now.’

  Sigurd smiled. ‘The Baltic is a mere lake. I have heard tales of our predecessors crossing a mighty ocean to the west where the waves were three times the height of the mast you are clinging to.’

  ‘That does not give me any comfort,’ complained Hans.

  But the treaty with the Sword Brothers had given Conrad much comfort and had been welcomed by Grand Master Volquin and his masters. The death of Bishop Albert had been a huge shock to the members of the order the churchman had created. Archdeacon Stefan and Magnus Glueck had at first been most vociferous in their criticism of the treaty with heathens, especially the Duke of Riga, one of whose cogs had been burnt by the Oeselians. However, their animosity had lessened when it became clear that King Sigurd’s ships would not attack vessels sailing between Riga and Lübeck and would not be raiding Riga or the Dvina. This had increased Livonia’s security and had allowed Riga’s council to concentrate on expanding its commercial interests. But the Sword Brothers had more pressing concerns to address.

  Around Conrad blonde-haired Oeselians were checking their weapons and armour. They were the king’s bodyguard and every one of them was armed to the teeth with hand axes, swords and spears. Their shields, all painted red to signal hostile intent and sealed with oil to be water resistant, were stored in racks along the gunwales, outboard of the ship. Like Liv and Estonian shields they were round with a hole in the centre, across which was a wooden handgrip running along the inside diameter of the shield. To protect the hand holding it, an outward-facing iron boss was positioned over the handgrip.

  Anton came to the mast, threading his way through a deck crammed with warriors, chests the rowers sat on, water butts and buckets.

  ‘Let us hope Duke Arturus is not waiting for us, Conrad.’

  ‘Word from Master Ortwin at Mesoten is that the Kurs are fighting the Samogitians,’ replied Conrad. ‘Besides, not even Arturus can be in two places at once.’

  Sigurd was handed a piece of cheese by one of his men who also offered a piece to Hans.

  ‘Sixty ships spread across fifty miles of coastline,’ said the king, ‘makes it impossible for Duke Arturus to beat off our attack. If he is waiting he might defeat a few of our ships but not the majority. We have fine weather, fair winds and the element of surprise. This day belongs to us, Sword Brothers.’

  Hans pointed to the king’s mail armour.

  ‘You grease your armour, majesty?’

  ‘An old Oeselian trick, Sword Brother. Seawater rusts iron quicker than rain so we grease our armour and weapons to prevent them rusting. Even on calm days like today sea spray can cover a man in a fine layer of salt.’

  ‘Far better to wear a gambeson,’ grinned Leatherface appearing from the stern of the vessel.

  ‘Cloth don’t rust, is lighter and gives good protection from weapons.’

  Sigurd looked at the linen-covered, thickly quilted gambeson covering the mercenary’s body down to his knees and his arms.

  ‘One of our broadaxes could cut you in two.’

  Leatherface winked at the king. ‘Only if I miss its owner with my crossbow. Besides, it is the task of these fine fellows to protect me.’

  The commander of Conrad’s crossbowmen had become a firm favourite among the Oeselian warriors, not least because they liked his coarse tongue and rude humour. Their language was very similar to Estonian, a tongue he was well used to, so he and they had no trouble conversing with each other.

  Sigurd looked at the mercenary’s crossbow. ‘Our bows can shoot farther than your weapon.’

  ‘That’s true, your lordship,’ agreed Leatherface, ‘but my crossbow is more accurate and deadly at shorter ranges as you yourself know.’

  Conrad’s gave a sharp intake of breath as Leatherface reminded the king of past defeats at the hands of the Sword Brothers but Sigurd merely laughed.

  ‘Let us hope, then, that the Kurs are not equipped with crossbowmen. I must speak to my steersman.’

  When he had walked to the stern Conrad rebuked the mercenary.

  ‘It is not wise to upset the king of our hosts, especially when we are in the middle of the Baltic, not unless you want a long swim.’

  But Leatherface dismissed Conrad’s concern. ‘Sigurd is a good king, wise and forward thinking, not like most of his warriors. He knows this little trip is designed to help the Sword Brothers.’

  ‘He told you that?’ said Conrad.

  ‘He didn’t have to but he knows you didn’t suggest this little expedition just so his men could indulge in their favourite sport.’

  ‘If it is all for our benefit,’ said Conrad irritably, ‘then why did he agree to it?’