The Sword Brothers (103 page)

The prince brought
Domash, five hundred horsemen and the same number of foot soldiers
to the meeting, the banners of Pskov and Novgorod fluttering behind
them as they rode south. Also accompanying them was the irksome
Gleb whose fame and influence had increased enormously after he had
saved Domash outside Pskov. Mstislav thought him amusing, if a
little seditious, but he recognised his influence among his common
soldiers and citizenry, the majority of which still clung to the
old beliefs as they gave lip service to the Orthodox religion.

Now in his sixties,
Mstislav had a beard streaked with grey and hair that was almost
white. But his wits and curiosity were as sharp as ever and the
prospect of gaining at the expense of Polotsk was too good to
miss.

‘How do you know you
will gain from our esteemed allies on the Dvina?’ posed Gleb
mischievously.

Mstislav did not rise
to the bait. ‘Because, my diabolical young demon, the Prince of
Polotsk normally would not piss on me to put me out if I was on
fire. Polotsk esteems itself the religious, learning and trading
centre of northern Russia. Why then would it denigrate itself to
seek an alliance with the barbarians of the north?’

‘To kill you,
perhaps?’ Gleb shot back.

‘And what good would
that do them?’ replied Mstislav smugly.

‘Remove you two and
the new ruler of Polotsk can march against both Pskov and
Novgorod,’ replied Gleb.

‘It is as well you are
a mystic and not a strategist, Gleb,’ said Domash. ‘If Novgorod is
attacked then the Cumans will ride to its aid.’

‘My wife, Princess
Maria, is the daughter of Khotyan, leader of the Cuman people,’
added Mstislav.

The Cumans were the
wild nomads who lived to the east of Novgorod. Famed for their
insatiable desire for rape and plunder, only a marriage alliance
could keep their horseman from a ruler’s borders.

‘Domash, you should
get yourself a wife,’ said the prince. ‘I’m sure my wife can find
you a nice Cuman princess to keep your bed warm.’

‘His bed is already
warm with a constant supply of Pskov’s most expensive whores,’
stated Gleb, ‘so you had better get him a bigger one to accompany
his new bride.’

‘One day, Gleb,’ said
Domash, ‘you will convince me that your head would look better on
the end of a spear instead of on your shoulders.’

Gleb grinned at
Mstislav. ‘Then I wouldn’t be able to save you when you got
yourself surrounded by the enemy. Like at Pskov. I remember it
well, a half-dead boyar comes riding into the city blubbing like a
small child, shouting “the mayor is dead, the mayor is dead”. I was
the only one to keep his head and organised a relief force, and
then…’

‘Shut up!’ roared
Domash.

Mstislav smiled. He
liked Domash and his impish companion, even if his priests said he
should be burnt at the stake for being a sorcerer.

‘Returning to my
original point,’ said Mstislav. ‘Polotsk is not interested in
conquest. Its prince and city merchants desire riches and influence
and they know that war can prove ruinous to both. No, they want my
help, of that I am certain.’

‘Perhaps they want to
purchase your kingdom, lord,’ offered Gleb.

‘Perhaps we should
sell them you, Gleb,’ suggested Domash, ‘though we may have to sell
you at a bargain price.’

Gleb was unimpressed.
‘Charming.’

But Mstislav was right
and when the Novgorodians arrived at the designated spot – a large
expanse of grassland by the gently flowing waters of the Ritupe –
they found the soldiers of Polotsk already camped there. Brightly
coloured tents of varying sizes dotted the grassland and men sat or
stood around a countless number of campfires.

‘You should have
brought more men,’ said Gleb as he surveyed the scene.

The prince saw a group
of horsemen approach, at which his bodyguard deployed into line
each side of him. He ordered them back into column.

‘We are here to talk,
not to fight.’

The Polotskian
horsemen were an impressive sight: at least a hundred soldiers in
lamellar armour, aventails, plumed helmets, almond-shaped shields
painted red, green tunics and knee-high leather boots. Each rider
carried a lance with a red pennant and at their head was a standard
bearer carrying the banner of Polotsk: a great ship sailing the
waters of the Dvina. The prince’s men deployed into battle array
behind him, the horsemen on the wings and the foot in the centre as
he and Domash watched the brightly coloured horsemen approach. The
banner of Novgorod flickered behind Mstislav, the golden snow
leopard of Pskov behind Domash.

‘Well, Gleb,’ said
Mstislav, ‘we are about to find out if Polotsk desires peace or our
heads.’

The column of riders
slowed and halted, four men at its head continuing to walk their
horses forward until they were around twenty paces from the ruler
of Novgorod. One raised his hand and spoke to the prince.

‘Greetings, Prince
Mstislav, Lord of Novgorod and Pskov and ruler of the northern
domains. I am Boris, prince of the city of Polotsk and I welcome
you.’

Boris was around half
the age of Mstislav and about half his weight, notwithstanding the
rich lamellar armour that covered his torso. His open-faced helmet
revealed a thoughtful visage with a long nose and pale brown eyes.
Despite his warlike uniform and the soldiers at his back Mstislav
could tell that the new ruler of Polotsk wanted to treat not
threaten or bully.

‘Greetings to you,
Prince Boris,’ replied Mstislav. ‘Novgorod grieved when it heard of
the premature death of your father and looks forward to amiable
relations with Polotsk.’

The formalities over
with, Boris invited Mstislav and his chief officers to a banquet in
his pavilion once they had set up their camp and refreshed
themselves.

The feast was a
sumptuous affair, Boris having brought with him his personal cooks
as well as his silver cutlery and bowls. Boris’ lords and priests
were richly attired in purple and white tunics worn beneath
embroidered dalmaticas, fine leather belts around their waists. As
was the custom no swords were worn in the pavilion, which made
Domash feel a trifle nervous. But as the evening wore on and the
wine flowed he relaxed and enjoyed the excellent hospitality of his
hosts, in addition to the much stronger
stavlenniy myod
.
Boris sat with Mstislav and talked about their two kingdoms. The
former found, much to his surprise, that Novgorod’s ruler was not
the unwashed brute that the city council had told him to be wary
of, and for his part Mstislav found Boris to be intelligent and
interesting.

The omens were
therefore propitious when formalities began the next morning, the
venue being a large, oblong-shaped tent that had been pitched near
the Ritupe on a stretch of lush grass. The weather was pleasant and
the flaps at each end of the tent had been tied back to allow air
to circulate within the tent, which unfortunately allowed a plague
of midges to enter as well. Two parallel trestle tables had been
arranged inside the tent to accommodate the rulers of Polotsk and
Novgorod. Boris sat at one with two of his commanders and a
stern-faced priest of the Orthodox Church. Opposite them were
Mstislav, Domash, Gleb and the general of Novgorod’s army.

Gleb looked bored as
everyone stood and the priest said a prayer, calling upon God to
bless the meeting, afterwards the priest giving him a hateful stare
as the attendees retook their seats. Boris looked determined as he
smiled at Mstislav and began proceedings.

‘I asked for this
meeting because both our kingdoms face a great peril. Every year
the Bishop of Riga brings more crusaders to Livonia and they
advance ever further east. Once the principalities of Kokenhusen
and Gerzika paid homage to Polotsk but now they are garrisoned by
the Sword Brothers. The banners of the church of Rome now fly less
than fifty miles from the walls of my city.’

‘What has this to do
with Novgorod?’ said Mstislav.

‘A great deal,’
replied Boris. ‘My spies inform me that Lembit raises the banner of
rebellion among the Estonian tribes and hopes to maintain the
independence of his people, while the Oeselians also fight the
crusaders.’

‘You wish to join
Lembit and the pirates against the bishop?’ asked Mstislav, unsure
of where the conversation was going.

Boris shook his head
and batted away a group of midges as a servant poured wine into
silver cups.

‘I propose that
Novgorod seizes Ungannia to halt the eastward expansion of the
crusaders. You have fought the Ungannians before, I believe.’

‘Many times,’ said
Domash, ‘they provide good targets for our spears.’

‘Why don’t you conquer
it?’ said Mstislav bluntly.

‘For one thing,’ said
Boris calmly, ‘it is over a hundred miles from Polotsk and to
conquer and hold it would require a great many soldiers. Soldiers
that I will need to face the crusaders when they continue their
march along the Dvina. But Ungannia lies next to Novgorod.’

He smiled at Domash.
‘Just a short distance from Pskov.’

‘I have no interest in
Ungannia,’ said Mstislav.

Boris swatted away
more midges that were entering the tent in greater numbers. ‘You
will when Lembit is crushed by the bishop and you discover the
Sword Brothers building stone castles on your border. Then, my
lord, it will be too late.’

‘The bishop would not
dare attack Novgorod,’ declared Domash, crushing a midge on the lip
of his cup.

‘They would not have
to,’ answered Boris. ‘If they control the Gauja and Dvina then they
also control the trade of both our kingdoms. In such circumstances
they could stop goods being transported along both rivers or impose
such heavy tolls upon them that Livonia would grow rich as we were
impoverished.’

Mstislav sat back in
his chair and looked at Boris. He may have been half his age and
slight of build but he obviously had a brain and had given this
matter a great deal of thought.

‘What you say is only
half true,’ said Mstislav at length. ‘You are right that if the
crusaders control both the Dvina and Gauja then they can impose
sanctions upon our goods. But you seem to forget that if they halt
trade then they too will suffer. Riga itself will wither and die
and in turn Livonia will be harmed.’

‘The bishop cares not
for riches or great cities,’ answered Boris. ‘He fights a religious
war, lord, against those that his church has deemed pagans and
heretics. The Orthodox Church that we love is viewed as heretical
by the bishop and the Sword Brothers. They will not rest until it
is erased from the earth.’

‘It is as my prince
states,’ said the priest, his brow creased into a frown.

‘And you would know
about erasing religions,’ Gleb shot at him.

‘Polotsk did away with
the
Skomorokhs
many years ago,’ sneered the priest. ‘They
are the servants of the devil.’

Gleb laughed. ‘And
when the crusaders do away with you I shall be in Polotsk’s city
square to see you burn.’

The two officers
seated either side of Boris jumped up and swore at Gleb,
threatening him with death. Domash also rose and looked at them
menacingly.

‘Gleb is under my
protection and I will have words with any man who threatens his
life.’

Boris ordered his two
officers to sit down as Mstislav indicated that Domash should do
likewise.

‘When you did away
with my kind did you also get rid of the man who knew where the
best place was to pitch tents?’ remarked Gleb mischievously. ‘I’m
being eaten alive by these midges.’

‘Silence, Gleb,’
barked Mstislav as the priest glared at the imp who toyed with his
golden moustache.

‘If I was the Bishop
of Riga,’ said Boris calmly, ‘I would be smiling at two of my
enemies squabbling like small children.’

‘Perhaps Lembit will
defeat the crusaders and save us all the trouble,’ suggested
Mstislav.

‘Do you really believe
that, lord?’ said Boris.

Mstislav did not, and
nor did he believe that the crusaders would stop with the conquest
of Estonia.

‘If Novgorod makes war
against Ungannia what will Polotsk do to support it?’

‘I will give you two
thousand horsemen as a sign of my goodwill, to serve under your
command as you see fit,’ said Boris.

Mstislav rubbed his
beard. ‘Five thousand.’

The two officers
flanking Boris protested but he waved their remonstrations
away.

‘Very well, five
thousand horsemen. When will you begin your campaign?’

‘In two months,’
answered Mstislav.

The journey back to
Pskov was uneventful, Mstislav and Domash making plans for the
forthcoming attack against the Estonians.

‘As soon as Boris’
horsemen reach Pskov,’ Mstislav said to Domash, ‘we will march
west. This time we go to conquer, not to raid. So no burning
villages. We will need the native population. Where is the
Ungannian stronghold?’

‘Odenpah,’ answered
Domash. ‘Take that and Ungannia will fall into our laps like a ripe
apple.’

‘He is clever,’
remarked Gleb idly.

‘Who?’ said
Domash.

‘The ruler of Polotsk.
He gets you two to fight his battles for him.’

‘I thought that at
first,’ replied Mstislav, ‘but what he said about the crusaders was
true. If we do nothing then they will be at Novgorod’s borders so
we might as well take the opportunity presented to us while the
bishop is preoccupied with Lembit.’

‘At least we will have
an additional five thousand horsemen to assist us,’ said
Domash.

‘You will need them,’
remarked Gleb casually. ‘The conquest of Ungannia will not be as
easy as you think.’

‘Did you see that in a
vision?’ enquired Mstislav.

Gleb cast him a sly
look. ‘Perhaps, perhaps not.’