“Next time, you will be dead before you finish your threat,” Feronantus barked, driving Kristaps to silence with the veritable thunder of his voice.
The Livonian snapped his mouth shut, and his lips stretched across his teeth in a grimace. With a jerk of his head, he gave his men the signal to retreat. They milled about, uncertain if they should turn and flee or simply back slowly from the mounted Shield-Brethren. The two men who had fallen were left behind momentarily until Kristaps gestured angrily that they should be collected. Once the Livonians were all moving—the dazed pair being dragged by their arms—they appeared to remember how to conduct themselves and formed a more orderly procession up the slope.
Kristaps lingered, glowering at Feronantus, but when Yasper could no longer hold his amusement in check and let loose a great peal of laughter, the Livonian hurled a final curse at the company and stormed away.
R?dwulf lowered his bow and joined Yasper and Eleázar in boisterous and polyphonic revelry. Istvan stood in his stirrups and mocked the retreating knights loudly, shouting at them as if they were a herd of frightened sheep.
Feronantus did not join in the persiflage of the fleeing Livonians. He watched the retreating knights with a calm intensity, as if there were clues to some mystery that could be gleaned from their departure.
“Who are they?” Cnán asked. Now that the threat of violence was passed, all that remained was a lingering apprehension. How could they expect to undo the might of the Mongolian Horde if the Shield-Brethren’s old enemies were sprouting from the earth wherever they traveled?
“The Livonian Brothers of the Sword,” Feronantus answered softly. “Though they have not worn that sigil for more than five years. Most of their number were killed in a battle—at a place called Schaulen. A battle that could have been avoided. The pitiful few who survived were taken in by the Teutonic Knights, where they adopted a different livery.”
“Were you there?” Cnán asked, surprised by her own curiosity.
Feronantus gave her no answer.
“I know him,” Eleázar said, joining their vigil. “Years ago I was witness to the aftermath of his butchery.” He leaned over and spat noisily. “What are they doing here? The Livonians tried once before to conquer the northern lands and failed. And they had many more men than now.”
“I do not know,” Feronantus replied. “This bunch, though they dress like the Brothers of the Sword, have not worn the red long…”
The two senseless Livonians had been revived, and the armed party had managed to form a unit as they snaked up the narrow path. When they reached the gate, they stumbled to a clumsy halt, as if they were not quite sure what came next. Faintly Cnán heard Kristaps’s voice, and while he was too distant for her to understand the individual words, it sounded as if he were announcing his presence and not presenting a challenge to those who resided within the walls.
In response to his cry, the gate shuddered and then opened. Keeping their formation, the Livonians proceeded, disappearing through the gate, which promptly closed once more behind them.
“I…I thought they were chasing those men,” Cnán said, trying to make sense of what she had seen.
“Apparently not,” Yasper offered, scratching his chin.
“Cnán…” Feronantus turned to her. “You are the softest of foot amongst us, as well as the lightest. You and Finn.” He nodded toward the buildings at the peak of the hill. “Set your eyes upon the interior of that wall and tell us what the Livonians are doing.
“I was the one who suggested they were chasing those beggars, and in doing so, I betrayed our ignorance as to the Livonians’ true mission. As much as Kristaps desired to engage us, he had a more urgent matter to contend with. A holy mission, he claimed, and I fear he was not speaking lightly.” He waved his hand. “Quickly. We must discern what they are about.”
CHAPTER 31:
DANGEROUS BEAUTY