Schism Read online

  Schism

  Peter Darman

  Copyright © 2015 Pete Darman

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author.

  Formatted by Jo Harrison

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  List of principal characters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  List of principal characters

  Those marked with an asterisk * are known to history.

  Belgian

  *Baldwin of Alna: papal legate

  Commanders in the Army of the Wolf

  Andres: Duke of Jerwen

  Hillar: Duke of Rotalia

  Riki: Duke of Harrien

  Tonis: Count of Fellin

  Englishman

  Sir Richard Bruffingham: Duke of Saccalia

  Estonians

  Kristjan: Ungannian, son of Kalju, an exile at Novgorod

  Kaja: Saccalian, wife of Prince Rameke

  Maarja: Ungannian, sister of Kristjan and resident of Odenpah

  Mikk: Ungannian, steward of Odenpah Castle

  Germans

  Dietrich von Kivel: Duke of Narva

  *Hermann: Bishop of Dorpat

  Leatherface: commander of the Army of the Wolf’s crossbowmen

  Magnus Glueck: Duke of Riga, Higher Burgomaster of Riga and commander of the Livonian Militia

  Manfred Nordheim: commander of the garrison of Riga

  Stefan: Archdeacon, Governor of Riga

  Italians

  Falcone: commander of Conrad’s Genoese crossbowmen

  *Gregory IX: Pope 1227–41

  *William of Modena: papal legate

  Lithuanians

  Aras: Selonian, general of Prince Vsevolod’s army

  Arturus: Duke of Kurland

  Erdvilas: son of Duke Viesthard

  Kitenis: Duke of Aukstaitija

  Kriviu Krivaitis: high priest

  *Lamekins: Kur prince, deputy to Duke Arturus

  *Mindaugas: son-in-law of Prince Vsevolod

  Rasa: wife of Prince Vsevolod

  Torolf: ambassador of Duke Arturus

  *Viesthard: Duke of Semgallia

  *Ykintas: Duke of Samogitia

  Livs

  Fricis: king of all the Livs

  *Rameke: prince and brother-in-law of Conrad Wolff

  Oeselians

  Bothvar: earl

  Kalf: prince, brother of Sigurd

  Sigurd: King of Oesel

  Stark: prince, brother of Sigurd

  Order of Sword Brothers

  Anton: deputy of Odenpah Castle

  Arnold: Master of Lennewarden Castle

  Bertram: Master of Segewold Castle

  Conrad Wolff: Master of Odenpah Castle, commander of the Army of the Wolf and Marshal of Estonia

  Franz: Master of Narva Castle

  Friedhelm: Master of Uexkull Castle

  Godfrey: Master of Holm Castle

  Griswold: Master of Kokenhusen Castle

  Hans: deputy of Odenpah Castle

  Henke: brother knight at Wenden Castle

  Jacob: Master of Gerzika Castle

  Lukas: Master of Reval Castle and Governor of Reval

  Mathias: Master of Kremon Castle

  Ortwin: Master of Mesoten Castle

  *Rudolf: Master of Wenden Castle and deputy commander of the Order of Sword Brothers

  Thaddeus: chief engineer at Wenden Castle and Quartermaster General of Livonia

  *Volquin: Grand Master of the Order of Sword Brothers

  Walter: Master of Dorpat Castle

  Russians

  Dmitriy Hoidja: business partner of Kristjan

  *Vsevolod: former ruler of Gerzika, ruler of Selonia and Nalsen, Lithuania

  *Yaroslav Nevsky: Thousandman of Novgorod

  Chapter 1

  Riga, spring 1229

  The Bishop’s Palace was in many ways the heart of the city on the River Dvina, a place where the bishop maintained a strict rule over his household, ensuring that it was ordered and its members led good Christian lives. It was a place where piety and simplicity existed alongside rich trappings for the palace was the physical embodiment of the crusader state of Livonia: its power, wealth and religion. Constructed entirely of stone, its large windows were softened with cushions and fabrics. The great audience chamber had oak panelling around the walls. When the bishop entertained his guests sat on silk-covered seats, ate from silver bowls and drank from silver wine flagons with swan handles.

  The audience chamber was a grand affair but the two withdrawing chambers in the palace were more sumptuous, both being comfortable, well-lit rooms with grand stone fireplaces and rich tapestries depicting biblical scenes. Each tapestry was made from wool from England or Spain and incorporated silk from Italy and silver- and gilt-metal-wrapped silk thread from Cyprus. Such materials were ruinously expensive but guests marvelled at their intricacy and they too became powerful symbols of the Bishop of Riga’s wealth. The palace itself was also an indicator of the potency and wealth of the church, employing as it did dozens of individuals to service the prelate’s residency. The steward ran the household, which included a cellarer who was responsible for wine, a chandler who was responsible for candles, a financial clerk to manage the bishop’s considerable finances and treasure, plus butlers, grooms, pages, stable hands and kitchen staff. And because it was an episcopal household there were also monks and priests to maintain its standards and discipline. But there were no women.

  The sprawling palace grounds contained a small barracks housing soldiers seconded from the city garrison, stables, chapel, servants’ quarters, blacksmith’s forge, armoury, storerooms and kennels for guard dogs, all surrounded by a high, stout stone wall. Inside the walls it was a male domain, the exception being the occasional female laundress who lived outside the palace when not attending to her duties. The absence of women reflected a desire to avoid any hint of impropriety. Priests were meant to be celibate and the best way to ensure that was to avoid all contact with the opposite sex.

  The Bishop’s Palace was a magnificent residence but there was no longer a bishop to head it. Bishop Albert had died in January and had been buried with great pomp in the city’s cathedral. He had never recovered from the paralysis that had possessed his body in the aftermath of the abortive winter crusade against the Oeselians. His loss was much lamented throughout Livonia and Estonia. As soon as the winter snow and ice had melted Archdeacon Stefan, who had assumed the duties of bishop on a temporary basis, had sent letters to the Curia and the Buxhoeveden family alerting them to the demise of a lion of Christendom. It took two months for a reply to come from the Buxhoeveden family, which was ill received by the archdeacon when it arrived.

  On a bright May morning, in one of the palace's withdrawing chambers, he was sitting tonsured, clean-shaven and attired entirely in silk robes. He had a letter in his hand that he tossed on the floor.

  ‘That’s all the thanks I get for giving my life to this miserable land. A cursory note to inform me that my dear family have selected another to be Bishop of Riga.’

  Manfred Nordheim, former pirate, thief and smuggler but now comm
ander of the city garrison, said nothing as his master fumed. He merely smiled sympathetically and remained at attention. He had learnt long ago his master’s whims and moods and knew that Stefan wanted to vent his spleen rather than engage in conversation. The prelate raised his portly body from the chair and walked over to the table holding a silver wine jug, upon which was carved the cross keys symbol of the city.

  ‘Wine?’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ smiled Nordheim, his red surcoat also bearing the city’s coat of arms.

  ‘Ingratitude, Manfred,’ spat Stefan, ‘that’s what it is, pure and simple.’

  He poured himself some wine, filled another silver chalice and handed it to Nordheim.

  ‘And do you know who is to be the new bishop?’

  ‘No, sir,’ answered Nordheim.

  ‘Some toady canon of Bremen Cathedral by the name of Albert Suebeer, no doubt selected because he was suggested by the Archbishop of Bremen, a powerful prelate that my family is allied to. It reeks of nepotism and corruption.’

  Nordheim kept a straight face. The archdeacon had been appointed to his position only because he had been the nephew of Bishop Albert and he had used his position to accumulate great power and wealth. Stefan was Riga’s governor and Nordheim’s superior and as such had control over the two hundred and fifty soldiers of the garrison, not to mention the city’s militia. Still, a new bishop might clip the archdeacon’s wings, which meant that Nordheim’s own position and power might come under threat.

  ‘I should be Bishop of Riga,’ spat Stefan.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ agreed Nordheim. ‘What of your other uncle, sir, Bishop Hermann?’

  Stefan waved a ring-adorned hand at him.

  ‘What of him? My dear Uncle Hermann is concerned only with aggrandising himself at Dorpat. It is no secret that he wishes his bishopric to be grander and wealthier than Riga. He has no time for the less fortunate members of his family, such as myself. Like a beggar I have been cast out into the wilderness.’

  He threw up his hands. ‘What is to become of me?’

  ‘What of the Curia, sir?’ enquired Nordheim.

  Stefan slumped back in his chair. ‘I have received no letter from Rome as yet but have no doubt that His Holiness the Pope will endorse my family’s decision. He might be the Holy Father but he will have no desire to alienate Saxony’s most powerful clan.’

  ‘Perhaps the new bishop will be a gracious and accommodating individual, sir,’ suggested Nordheim hopefully.

  Stefan was not persuaded. ‘There is no guarantee that he will not bring with him his own archdeacon, Manfred. And then what?’

  The archdeacon was quickly sinking into depression, and no wonder. During the many years Bishop Albert had been the de facto ruler of Livonia Stefan had been granted great licence, not least because the bishop was often away in Germany raising crusaders or, when he returned, leading them on crusade against the pagans. The result was that Stefan was left to rule Riga untroubled by anyone. As long as the city and Livonia were prospering Bishop Albert was content to leave the day-to-day running of the kingdom to his nephew. It was an arrangement much to the archdeacon’s liking.

  ‘Anyway, sir,’ said Nordheim, ‘you will be pleased to know that nothing untoward has occurred in the city or Livonia in the past week, and that the garrison is up to strength and awaits your inspection.’

  But Stefan was not listening, instead rubbing a podgy finger around the rim of his chalice as he pondered the coming months.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Uh? Thank you, Manfred, but I have no enthusiasm for inspecting your men. Perhaps next week.’

  He waved a hand lazily at the commander of the garrison who saluted smartly and left the chamber. Stefan sighed and closed his eyes. What had he done to deserve this? He opened his eyes when there was a knock at the door.

  ‘What?’

  A servant nervously entered the chamber and bowed his head.

  ‘Novice Aldo is here, archdeacon.’

  One of Stefan’s eyebrows rose to register his interest. There were no women in the episcopal household but there was always a plentiful supply of boys. They were sent by the abbot of Dünamünde Monastery to receive tuition in the bishop’s household, though the ‘tuition’ of the most attractive novices was the preserve of the archdeacon. Aldo was one such novice, a boy no more than fifteen whose skin was like marble and whose eyes were blue pools of enticement. He was ushered into the chamber and the door closed behind him. Aldo, his hair tonsured, dressed in a simple white habit, stared at the floor as he waited for the archdeacon to make his approach.

  ‘Alas, Aldo, not even your perfect flesh can lift me from the gloom that envelops me at this juncture.’

  Aldo said nothing as the eyes of the archdeacon journeyed over the young man’s body, finally resting on a large bruise on the boy’s neck. He stood and walked over to him, tracing a finger over the bruise. Aldo was shaking. Stefan said nothing at first, merely smiling and offering him a chalice of wine. He had little interest in seducing the boy, such was his dejection at receiving the letter from Germany, but he was aroused in a different way by the bruising on the boy’s neck. It was a diversion at least. So he plied him with wine to loosen Aldo’s tongue so the sorry tale could be told.

  The responsible party was Abbot Nicholas, the man in charge of Dünamünde who it appeared had an appetite for young male flesh. Stefan was disgusted and appalled, seeing no hypocrisy in his reaction to the violation of the young novice. He himself was above all discreet and in any case never inflicted violence on those he took a special interest in. Aldo was sent to the novices’ quarters in the palace and a courier despatched to Dünamünde with a demand that Abbot Nicholas attend the archdeacon immediately. That night Stefan questioned Aldo closely into the early hours.

  The next day Manfred Nordheim found his master in a much happier mood. The change was remarkable. While he waited the arrival of Abbot Nicholas he explained to the commander the gift that God had granted him. He ordered Nordheim to increase the number of guards in and around the palace and stressed the importance of maintaining a martial demeanour in the presence of Nicholas. The abbot arrived in the afternoon, his carriage having taken an age to traverse the rutted track between Riga and Dünamünde.

  Stefan kept him waiting in one of the withdrawing chambers, choosing to meet him in a dimly lit room near the kitchens in the early evening. The room was small, musty and illuminated by a few candles that created a sombre atmosphere. The archdeacon sat behind a desk that was deliberately too large for the room to make the interior cramped and oppressive. Manfred Nordheim stood behind the churchman, his mail coif over his head to increase his military bearing. The corridor outside the room was lined with Nordheim’s guards when Abbot Nicholas was shown into the archdeacon’s presence.

  Stefan pointed to a stool on the other side of the desk. ‘Please be seated, abbot.’

  It was cool in the room but Nicholas was already sweating. He had noticed the guards, the presence of the archdeacon’s enforcer Nordheim and the lack of manners on the part of Stefan himself. He feared the worst and was right to do so. The abbot had always been a lean individual but in recent years his frame had looked decidedly emaciated, which was accentuated by his oblong-shaped face and large ears. He was still relatively young but his thinning hair and pale, unhealthy skin made him look old. He seemed to visibly age before the archdeacon’s eyes as Stefan pushed a piece of parchment across the table towards him.

  ‘I wish I could say that this meeting concerned agreeable matters, Nicholas, but alas it does not.’

  The abbot gulped. ‘Archdeacon?’

  Stefan pointed at the parchment. ‘This is a document signed by one of your own novices, a boy named Aldo that you have performed unnatural acts on, and forced to commit obscene acts on you. These are very serious accusations, Nicholas, which I now have the unpleasant task of investigating.’

  The abbot, his eyes widening in horror and alarm, shook his head.

&nb
sp; ‘It, it is a lie, archdeacon.’

  ‘If it is then why did novice Aldo risk his immortal soul by putting his mark on this document, which is a very detailed list of the perversions you and he have enjoyed together?’

  Nicholas glanced at the imposing figure of Nordheim who was staring at the abbot with unconcealed revulsion. The abbot began biting his lip and his breathing became heavy. The archdeacon let his mind run riot before speaking slowly and purposefully.

  ‘Manfred, please enlighten me. What is the punishment for sodomy?’

  ‘To be burnt at the stake,’ growled Nordheim, ‘but not before the condemned is flayed and has his privy member cut off.’

  A whimper came from the abbot’s lips.

  ‘To say nothing of the condemned man’s soul burning in hell for all eternity,’ added Stefan.

  He held up the parchment. ‘This condemns you, Nicholas. You and Aldo who at this very moment is confined within the walls of this palace.’

  The abbot looked with pleading eyes at the archdeacon. ‘I am a weak man, archdeacon.’

  ‘That won’t save you,’ hissed Nordheim.

  Stefan held up a hand to his subordinate. ‘Manfred, please, can’t you see that Abbot Nicholas is in torment. Have you no pity?’

  ‘Not much.’

  Stefan leaned forward. ‘Soldiers, such base fellows. What do to, Nicholas, what to do?’

  ‘I will leave my position and retreat to a hermitage should you grant me mercy,’ said the abbot softly.

  ‘So you admit the charges listed on this parchment?’ queried Stefan.

  Nicholas nodded.

  ‘What was that?’ shot Stefan.

  ‘I do, archdeacon,’ muttered the abbot.

  Stefan closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.

  ‘This is a sorry affair, Nicholas. I cannot allow you to retreat to a hermitage. By rights I should convene a formal trial so you can be judged by the officials of the Holy Church, with all the terrible consequences that would surely follow.’

  The abbot, overcome with fear, covered his face with his hands, his gaunt frame quaking with terror as he sobbed. Nordheim took a step forward to escort the miscreant to a storeroom but Stefan stayed him with a raised finger. The archdeacon rose from his chair, walked around the table and laid a hand on the abbot’s shoulder.