‘On a more cheerful note the army of Ykintas and Mindaugas has been annihilated so I do not anticipate any aggression from them for the remainder of the year. Lord Valdas, you will lead five hundred horsemen to our eastern frontier to keep watch on the Sword Brothers at Mesoten. But do not initiate any aggression. You will be our eyes and ears along the border. Lord Torolf, what do your spies tell of events at Riga?’

  ‘No crusader army has arrived there as yet,’ Torolf responded. ‘Livonia’s leaders are more concerned with expanding their trading interests rather than fighting us. They have just signed an agreement with the Russians to that end.’

  ‘That serves our interests,’ said Valdas.

  Lamekins was not so sure. ‘Though the death of Bishop Albert was welcomed throughout Kurland whoever replaces him will, I have no doubt, renew the barbarians’ crusade against the free Lithuanian peoples.’

  ‘Who will replace that bastard Albert?’ asked Tadas as slaves brought food and more beer from the kitchens.

  Lamekins looked expectantly at Torolf.

  ‘There is no news as to who will rule at Riga,’ said the spy. ‘I believe that according to the barbarians’ religion whoever is archdeacon at Riga should become bishop. At the moment that position is held by Archdeacon Stefan, a man of womanly emotions who rarely ventures from the city.’

  As far as the warlords gathered around the table were concerned Torolf might as well have been speaking a foreign language when he began discussing the offices of the Catholic Church.

  There was a glint in Gintaras’ eye. ‘Perhaps we could raid Riga again to roast the backside of this womanly creature.’

  ‘No,’ said Lamekins forcefully, ‘I do not wish to provoke a nest of hornets while our own situation is far from desirable. We will leave the crusaders to their trade treaties and let them concentrate on choosing a new bishop. In this way we gain valuable time to restore Kurland to a position of strength.’

  Lamekins ended what had become his first council of war. Afterwards, in the gathering gloom of a summer dusk, his commanders assembled their princes in the great hall and demanded to know whom they would have as their next duke. The riotous assembly was led by the fiery Tadas, now quite drunk, who shouted that Arturus had regarded Lamekins as a brother, and so the late duke’s ‘brother’ should now be elected as the new leader of the Kurs. He dared any man who disagreed with him to step forward and declare why this should not be so. None did and soon the hall’s ancient timbers were shaking as the dozens of warriors stamped their feet and chanted Lamekin’s name to the rafters.

  *****

  ‘Who will be Bishop of Riga?’

  The Pope’s question echoed around the apse of the Lateran Palace, the vast, opulent official Roman residence of the pontiff. Rome was no longer the great imperial capital of the Roman Empire. Political and economic power in Italy had shifted to the north of the country, and the city’s failing economy was made worse by the unending local feuds between leading families that terrorised and exasperated the population in equal measure. And which the clergy itself was not above participating in. But Rome was the capital of the Catholic world and the church controlled almost all aspects of social, religious, economic and political life in the city. The Pope himself had the power to choose the senator, the person who governed the city.

  But today it was not the administration of Rome that concerned the pontiff but the vacant bishop’s chair at Riga. Gregory IX looked like a jovial old uncle, a man just shy of his sixtieth year with rosy cheeks and white hair and beard. Unlike many popes before him he was a deeply religious man who had been a personal friend of Francis of Assisi, the most humble and godly man of his age, and Dominic of Osma who before his death had founded the Dominican Order that preached the Gospel and fought heresy.

  Gregory looked at the assembled cardinals, powerful men clothed in purple and gold, the scions of Italy’s most influential families, who made up the Curia, or Papal court.

  ‘There appears to be but one candidate, Your Holiness,’ said Cardinal Gabrielle, ‘that proposed by the Archbishop of Bremen.’

  The Pope drummed his fingers on the elaborate carved arm of his chair.

  ‘The canon of Bremen Cathedral, yes, I know. The canon who is the pupil of the archbishop who happens to be a close friend and ally of the Buxhoeveden family, the same family who has, through the late, great Bishop Albert ruled Livonia for the past thirty years. His brother, Bishop Hermann, rules in Estonia and now Saxony’s most powerful family wishes to make the Baltic their personal fiefdom.’

  Gregory rose slowly from his chair, priests rushing forward to assist him. He waved them away.

  ‘I know that powerful families expect rewards for their loyalty but if we are to purge the Holy Church of its corrupt practices then we must resist the urge to take the easy route.’

  He stared briefly at his chair, the cathedra that was the seat of the Bishop of Rome, and looked around the great palace. Rome itself may have been full of crumbling, semi-derelict buildings but the Lateran Palace was a powerful statement of the wealth of the church. The eastern façade of the basilica was topped with fifteen large statues, the central figure being Jesus flanked by John the Baptist and John the Evangelist. The northern façade, at the end of the transept, had a magnificent double gallery with a painted ceiling. Above it were two bell towers. The basilica had five naves divided by massive stone columns supporting large arches. The twelve niches in the columns of the main nave held imposing marble statues of the Apostles. In the middle of the transept was the altar that only the Pope was allowed to use. It incorporated wood that had been part of a wooden altar used by St Peter, Christ’s chief disciple. And above the altar were the church’s most prized possessions: two silver reliquaries holding the skulls of St Peter and St Paul.

  ‘Power breeds corruption,’ said Gregory, ‘and corruption is like a poison that pollutes the living body of the Holy Church. We must return to a form of faith that is pure and not dependent upon wealth and patronage.’

  He brought his hands together as if to pray and bowed his head. His cardinals looked at each other and then at the Pope. Like him, who was a scion of the Segni family that originated in Lazio, they were members of great and ancient families who had purchased their way to the purple. They saw little wrong in patronage, wealth or the exercising of power. Piety and purity were noble aims but not if they interfered with their duties. And the Pope was hardly a walking example of humility. He wore red and white because those colours denoted purity and supremacy. Thus under his white linen robe he wore red stockings and shoes and over the robe a red mantle. But on his head he wore a gold tiara and a solid-gold pectoral cross dangled from a gold chain hanging around his neck.

  Gregory opened his eyes and walked back to his chair.

  ‘We must look to the teachings of Christ for our inspiration and listen to the words of those who do not seek advancement or earthly reward.’

  As scribes sitting at desks behind the Pope recorded his every word Gregory pointed to one of his cardinals, a man of ancient appearance with long fingernails.

  ‘Cardinal Luigi, who is the individual who assumed responsibility in Livonia when Bishop Albert fell ill?’

  The stooped figure of the cardinal shuffled forward and bowed his head.

  ‘Archdeacon Stefan, most Holy Father, the late bishop’s nephew and therefore also a member of the Buxhoeveden family.’

  ‘And yet he does not seek the mitre himself,’ said the Pope, ‘but has petitioned for another to become Bishop of Riga, whose name escapes me.’

  ‘Abbot Nicholas, most holy father,’ stated Luigi.

  ‘What do we know of this Nicholas?’ asked the Pope.

  ‘Almost nothing, most holy father,’ replied Luigi.

  ‘Almost nothing,’ reflected the Pope, ‘a most sad state of affairs. For too long we here in Rome have been concerned with the trappings of power, which has resulted in us neglecting the outlying areas of Christendom.’

  He opened his arms. ‘And the result? Heresy has been allowed to flourish like weeds in an ill-maintained garden.’

  Gregory was obsessed with suppressing heresy and a year before had decreed that ‘hardened heretics’, happily a vague term, should be burnt at the stake. And only months before he had brought the Cathars, a heretical group in southern France that had not only ridiculed the Catholic Church but, far worse, had refused to pay the tithe tax, to heel after a bloody crusade. Thousands of Cathars had been burnt at the stake for their heresy and apostasy, the newly established Inquisition taking a leading role in the great purge.

  ‘I have, with great difficulty, suppressed the Cathar heresy,’ continued Gregory, ‘and indicated to the whole world that not even the highest prince is above the Holy Church.’

  The cardinals looked at each other and wore false smiles. The Pope was referring to the excommunication of Frederick II two years earlier. Young, brave and impetuous, he had been created Holy Roman Emperor and had promised to undertake a crusade to recover Jerusalem. But Frederick was wilful and did not take kindly to being told what to do.

  ‘The Holy Roman Empire is not the plaything of one man,’ said Gregory firmly, alluding to Frederick doing just that. ‘It is the unity of all Christians in Europe within a single entity and as such is the responsibility not only of the emperor but also the Holy Church.’

  The bickering between the Pope and the emperor had come to a head two years before, resulting in Gregory excommunicating Frederick for his refusal to lead a crusade to the holy land. Upon being excommunicated Frederick then took ship for the Holy Land with an army, further infuriating the Pope. The schism between the two showed no sign of healing.

  ‘If only the Holy Roman Emperor was of the same calibre as Bishop Albert,’ lamented the Pope, ‘may God bless his soul. We could all learn much from Bishop Albert, a man who created Livonia from nothing except his faith, which was rewarded by the Lord. I am determined that the next Bishop of Riga should carry on his divine work.’

  ‘Most holy father,’ said Cardinal Luigi, ‘may I remind you of the charges levelled at the Sword Brothers by Archdeacon Stefan.’

  He turned and held out his hand, into which a clerk pressed a parchment.

  ‘Witchcraft, heresy and sedition to name but three.’

  The cardinals shook their heads as Gregory leaned back in his chair.

  ‘Serious charges,’ he said. ‘But I am mindful that the Sword Brothers were created by Bishop Albert and have for over twenty years battled the pagans in Livonia. Clearly we need more information before I can make a decision on the Sword Brothers.’

  He smiled at a younger cardinal with a pale face and fair hair.

  ‘Cardinal Rufus, is your student here?’

  The cardinal bowed his head. ‘He is, most holy father.’

  ‘Then let him enter.’

  The cardinal instructed a clerk to fetch the tall, austere figure that had been pacing up and down in the basilica. When he was brought into the Pope’s presence he presented a radical departure from the rich apparel worn by the cardinals and priests of the Curia. He wore a simple white habit that was undyed because dyes were expensive and smacked of luxury. And like all Cistercians he was tonsured, his crown shaved with only a band of hair above the ears to symbolise Christ’s crown of thorns. But most noticeable was his wild eyes, which gave him a maniacal appearance.

  ‘Most Holy Father,’ said Cardinal Rufus, ‘this is Brother Baldwin from the monastery of Alna in Belgium, inquisitor during the late crusade against the Cathars.’

  Baldwin fell to his knees and then lay on the floor before the Pope, extending his arms outwards to prostrate himself before the Bishop of Rome.

  ‘Get up,’ commanded Gregory.

  Baldwin scrambled to his feet as the cardinals behind him smirked.

  ‘You come highly recommended, Baldwin of Alna.’

  ‘My only purpose is to serve God,’ stated Baldwin loudly.

  ‘You will go to Livonia in the capacity of my vice-legate, exercising full powers in accordance with that position. You will report back to me regarding Abbot Nicholas, Livonia and the Sword Brothers. The Curia’s Chancery will issue you with the requisite papers of authority.’

  ‘Yes, Most Holy Father,’ said Baldwin.

  ‘Most Holy Father,’ interrupted Cardinal Luigi, ‘you may be interested to know that the city fathers of Riga have recently agreed a trade treaty with numerous Russian princes that will greatly benefit church finances in Livonia.’

  The Pope tapped the arm of his chair. ‘Baldwin, you will go to Riga and remind the city fathers that the Russians are apostates and therefore the enemies of the Catholic Church. You will further remind them that Livonia exists only because a servant of the Holy Church planted the seed of faith among the heathens. It is God’s kingdom, not theirs. Inform them of that. You will depart Rome tonight and may God go with you.’

  Chapter 3

  It had been five years since Kristjan had fled Dorpat in the aftermath of his lost war against the Sword Brothers. After briefly visiting Odenpah to relieve it of the gold buried by his father behind the great hall he had ridden to Lake Peipus where he had taken boat to the lake’s eastern shore – the Kingdom of Novgorod. There the gods had supplied him with a guide and helper, a fisherman by the name of Dmitriy Hoidja, an honest, hard-working individual with a kindly face, full beard and the thick forearms that were a hallmark of his trade.

  They had formed a bond of mutual respect that had turned into friendship when they had travelled to Novgorod together, Hoidja convincing Kristjan that his gold would be better spent not on raising men to fight the Sword Brothers but establishing a business that would make the young firebrand wealthy enough to raise a small army should he wish to do so. That business was the trapping of animals for their fur, specifically the grey squirrel pelts the Catholics of Europe had an insatiable demand for and which commanded a high price. The pelts of ermine, sable, black fox, beaver and marten were also purchased but it was the pelts of the northern grey squirrel that fetched the highest prices.

  The partnership between Hoidja and Kristjan was based on mutual trust. Hoidja stayed in Novgorod to oversee the processing of the hundreds of pelts supplied by Kristjan during his hunting and trapping expeditions in the northern wastes of Karelia. After being dried and made pliable Hoidja organised the sale of the pelts to the many German merchants residing in Novgorod. Kristjan trusted Hoidja to sell the pelts he supplied at a reasonable price, though in truth he cared little for business and even less for profits.

  Hoidja picked up a list drawn up by one of his clerks and examined it. The document consisted of writing on a sheet of birch bark, which was widely used among the city’s scribes. He thanked God that his father had taught him the rudiments of reading, without which he would not have been able to understand the words on the bark. He had a few clerks of course but he liked to know the ins and outs of the business he was overseeing. And that business was expanding rapidly.

  Hoidja handed the bark to Kristjan seated on the other side of the table.

  ‘Another good year, my friend. At this rate we will be able to purchase a house within the Kremlin’s walls.’

  Kristjan gave the document a cursory glance before laying it on the table.

  ‘Who wants to live in the Kremlin?’

  ‘Prince Mikhail himself lives in the Kremlin,’ replied Hoidja. ‘It would be a sign that we have attained acceptance into Novgorod’s high society.’

  Kristjan sighed. ‘Who desires that?’

  Hoidja frowned at the powerfully built man opposite with the scarred cheek and silver torc around his neck. He worried that the winters spent in Karelia were turning his friend into a wild animal, not least because of the followers that Kristjan had gathered around him, which in his opinion were a bad lot. Some were lounging in the courtyard below: feral, merciless men who had a liking for weapons and violence and who were not afraid to indulge their vices on a whim.

  ‘You do not like these quarters?’ asked Kristjan.

  He looked around at the well-appointed office, on the first floor of a spacious two-storey house in one of the more desirable parts of the city. It was surrounded by a timber wall with a single gate giving entry to a courtyard enclosed by three sides of the house. On one side were stables and storerooms. Hoidja kept a small staff and as he had no family the house was really bigger than he needed.

  ‘I like them very much,’ smiled Hoidja.

  ‘You need a family to fill it,’ said Kristjan bluntly.

  Hoidja smiled politely but his eyes registered pain, albeit for a few seconds. He did not like to be reminded of his dead wife and child.

  ‘Perhaps you and Hella will make it your home, Kristjan, and fill it with children. Then I can become their old and doting uncle.’

  Kristjan gave him a faint smile. He had rescued Hella from a gang of ‘crows’ – bandits – in Karelia and since then she had been his lover, confidante and soul mate. Where he went she went, and he had no intention of settling down, least of all in Novgorod. Hella, which meant ‘gentle’, was anything but. She may have had long blonde locks and eyes as blue as any lake but she knew how to use a bow, knife and axe and was as fierce and proud as her people.

  ‘Perhaps you should live in Karelia,’ suggested Kristjan, ‘the air does not stink as it does here.’

  ‘Live in a tent in an endless frozen wasteland for months on end? I’m too old for that.’

  Raised voices came from the courtyard – mocking laughter and hoots of derision. Kristjan sprang from his chair and went to the shuttered window. He had heard those tones before. He stared down to see his men surrounding three others, one dressed in finery the other two wearing mail and armed with swords and shields. Kristjan’s men, all armed but with their weapons still in their scabbards or tucked in their belts, were prodding the finely dressed man and daring his guards to stop them.