The Sword Brothers (119 page)

The river was alive
with merchant vessels bringing their wares to Riga and the town’s
treasury was filling with money. Volquin was still concerned about
the Lithuanians but Stefan assured him that matters were in hand to
neutralise the threat from across the Dvina. Once again the grand
master queried the prelate on what actions he was taking to ensure
security along the river, only to be informed that matters were
on-going and it would be futile to elaborate further. The grand
master, contemptuous of the archdeacon but delighted over the
arrival of such a sizeable consignment of supplies, asked no more
questions. But he would ensure that the order’s castles along the
Dvina were strong enough to repel a Lithuanian attack if it
came.

In his office in the
castle Volquin sent out a command that every order castle was to
send ten brother knights, twenty sergeants, a score of crossbowmen
and the same number of spearmen to Wenden, together with enough
food and supplies to keep the men and horses fed for a month. In
this way the garrisons of Wenden, Holm, Kremon, Uexkull, Segewold,
Lennewarden, Kokenhusen and the newly established garrison at
Gerzika would contribute a combined total of eighty brother
knights, a hundred and sixty sergeants, a hundred and sixty
crossbowmen and the same number of spearmen. A small cadre of the
order’s soldiers would be left at each castle, the strongholds
along the Dvina being reinforced by the prospective brother knights
and sergeants who had arrived with the bishop at the end of May,
together with the mercenaries that had been hired by Albert and had
also sailed to Riga with him. As the sun warmed Livonia and ripened
the crops in the fields the various contingents made their way to
Wenden.

Master Rudolf’s castle
was a hive of activity and just as he had done at Odenpah, the
newly returned Master Thaddeus took charge of the logistical
arrangements, reducing the garrison’s brother knights and sergeants
to couriers as he despatched orders on a daily basis. He had been
given a small office in the master’s hall where Conrad made his way
one afternoon after a young novice had searched him out on the
training field jousting with Walter.

‘Saved in the nick of
time, Conrad,’ said Walter, staring down at the brother knight on
the ground after being unhorsed by a well-aimed strike on his
shield.

‘I always make
allowances for your senior position, Walter,’ said Conrad as Hans
helped him to his feet and handed him his sword belt.

Conrad turned to the
novice, a boy no older than eleven or twelve who had arrived that
spring. ‘What does Master Thaddeus want with me?’

‘Not to teach him how
to joust, I’ll warrant,’ quipped Anton.

‘How to fall off a
horse graciously, perhaps,’ suggested Johann.

‘Go and fetch my
horse,’ Conrad said to the novice, pointing at his mount that was
munching on grass.

Conrad dusted himself
off and buckled his belt, Walter nudging his horse forward.

‘I hope you did not
make allowances for my rank, Conrad,’ he said earnestly, ‘that
would not be right, not at all.’

The novice brought
Conrad’s horse to him and he lifted himself into the saddle.

‘It was a jest,
Walter.’

Walter still looked
perturbed. ‘Ah, I see. Brother Anton, perhaps you would like to
tilt your lance.’

‘It would be my
pleasure,’ grinned Anton, walking over to where the horses were
tethered to a rack of lances.

Walter replaced his
helmet on his head and rode away to the far end of the jousting
range.

‘Do you think Walter
ever had a sense of humour?’ Conrad asked Hans.

Hans puffed out his
cheeks. ‘Doubt it.’

‘Come,’ Conrad said to
the novice, ‘let us see what Master Thaddeus wants.’

He walked his horse up
the track leading to the castle, the inner perimeter crowded with
freshly made wagons, barrels of wine under canvas covers, tents
that held the soldiers commanded by Sir Richard and animals pens
filled with chickens, goats, sheep and cows. The stink made him
turn up his nose as he rode across the bridge, through the
half-finished gatehouse and into the courtyard. He dismounted and
handed the reins of the horse to the novice.

‘Stay here,’ he
ordered, ‘I will probably need my horse after I have spoken to
Master Thaddeus.’

‘Yes, brother.’

Conrad heard Thaddeus
before he saw him, his deep voice resonating through the master’s
hall as he barked orders at a pair of sergeants who emerged from
his office with harassed expressions. They nodded to him as he
knocked at the open door.

‘Yes? Ah, Conrad, come
in, come in. Take a seat.’

The office had rows of
wooden pigeonholes on two of its walls, a desk in the centre of the
room facing the door, behind which sat Thaddeus. Behind him was an
iron candle holder with light, a small, square window set high in
the wall and a wooden chest on the floor. There were parchments
stuffed in all the pigeonholes, on the two chairs on the other side
of the desk and on the floor. Conrad began moving the documents on
one of the chairs.

‘Please do not touch
them,’ snapped Thaddeus. ‘I know where everything is and if you
move them then you will ruin my timetable.’

He pointed at a large
map spread out on the table, candle holders on two of its corners
and iron paperweights on the other two. Thaddeus swept an arm over
it.

‘This is a map of
Wenden and the areas designated for the different contingents that
are gathering here, such as Sir Helmold, Count Albert and King
Caupo. Do you see the problem?’

Conrad stared at the
map. He recognised the shape of Wenden and its outer perimeter but
did not know what the strange scribbles and symbols marked around
the castle were.

‘I cannot read,’ said
Conrad, slightly ashamed.

‘Cannot read?’

Conrad shrugged. ‘I
have no need of it.’

Thaddeus looked
shocked. ‘No need of it? Would you not like to be able to read the
classics, Conrad? Vegetius, Marcus Aurelius, Ovis, Horace and
Virgil?’

The names meant
nothing to Conrad. ‘I am a soldier, Master Thaddeus, not a
scholar.’

Thaddeus shook his
head. ‘That much is true.’

He picked up a
parchment. ‘Now, what we need to do is to ask Count Albert to move
his men and horses to the south of the castle.’

He handed Conrad the
now rolled-up parchment, fastened with a red ribbon. ‘Please take
this to the count. It is a sketch map of where he should be. These
lords just turn up and pitch their camps where they wish. I have
spent a considerable amount of time designating streams for
watering holes for soldiers, lakes to water animals and meadows
where they can graze them. The count’s men are in the area
allocated to Caupo and his Livs when they arrive.’

Conrad thought of
Rameke and hoped he would see his friend and brother again.

‘When will the Livs
arrive?’

Thaddeus scratched his
head. ‘They should have been here yesterday. My itineraries are
being ruined.’

He frowned at Conrad.
‘Today would be a good time to speak to Count Albert.’

Conrad smiled at
Thaddeus and left the office, walking through the hall and into the
courtyard.

‘Get yourself a horse
from the stables,’ he said to the novice, ‘it will be instructive
to see a crusader camp at close quarters.’

Five minutes later
they were riding down to the gatehouse in the outer perimeter wall,
making way for carts filled with weapons and supplies that had been
ferried up the Gauja by riverboat. The armoury was being steadily
filled with weapons, armour and crossbow bolts in preparation for
the coming campaign.

Count Albert had
brought six hundred men with him from Lauenburg and they were
spread over a wide area to the west of the castle. Dozens of
different-sized tents filled the grassland between the perimeter
and the woods that bordered the river, the sound of men chopping
wood greeting Conrad as he and his young companion rode into the
crusader camp. To the east of the castle were pitched Sir Helmold’s
men and the Sword Brothers from the garrisons along the Dvina. The
men from Kremon and Segewold had yet to arrive and were probably
accompanying Caupo.

They rode through the
perimeter guards and between a host of tents and temporary stables
made of wooden poles and canvas sheets to the centre of the camp
and the pavilion of Count Albert.

‘Stay here,’ Conrad
said to the novice as they dismounted and he handed the boy the
reins of his horse.

From the pavilion flew
the flag of Lauenburg and the spearmen who guarded its entrance
also carried the white horse motif on their shields. Two barred his
way with their spears as he neared the entrance.

‘State your
business.’

‘I am Brother Conrad
from Wenden to see Count Albert on behalf of Master Thaddeus,’ said
Conrad.

‘Wait here.’

One of the guards
turned on his heels and disappeared into the tent, the other
staring impassively at Conrad, still barring his way. Half a minute
later the other guard came from the tent accompanied by a knight in
mail armour and a rich red surcoat sporting the white horse crest.
Whoever this knight was he had seen many battles for his face was
horribly scarred. The maimed face twisted into a smile.

‘I am Count Albert.
Welcome to my camp, Brother Conrad. It is an honour to meet a
member of the Sword Brothers.’

He did not know why
but he expected the famous count to be handsome and aloof, but he
bowed deeply to him nevertheless.

‘Lord.’

‘Come in, come in,’
ordered the count, holding the heavy flap open for Conrad.

The pavilion was
spartan but comfortable, with candle holders around the walls, a
table, well-appointed chairs and, curiously, a makeshift altar upon
which was a beautiful golden cross.

‘Brother Conrad.’

Conrad turned to see
Sir Helmold being served wine by a servant, a page in the livery of
the count.

‘Sir Helmold,’ said
Conrad, bowing his head, ‘it is good to see you.’

‘You know each other?’
asked the count, who was also served with wine.

‘Indeed, count. This
is Conrad Wolff, the man who wounded Lembit and who saved the life
of Bishop Albert in the great battle before Riga.’

‘Wine for our hero,’
ordered the count.

‘Hardly that, lord,’
said Conrad, embarrassed.

‘How may I be of
assistance?’ queried Albert.

Conrad became more
embarrassed. He handed the count the rolled parchment. ‘Apologies,
lord, but Master Thaddeus says that your camp is in the wrong
place.’

Albert was perplexed.
‘Master Thaddeus?’

‘Wenden’s chief
engineer and something of a genius by all accounts,’ reported Sir
Helmold. ‘It was he who masterminded the defence of Odenpah, I
believe. You were there, were you not?’

‘That is correct,
lord,’ said Conrad.

‘What was it like
fighting beside Estonians instead of fighting against them?’

‘We were glad to have
them by our side, lord,’ replied Conrad.

Albert took his wine.
‘I have heard of this place. A great Sword Brother victory.’

‘One of many,’ said
Sir Helmold admiringly.

The page offered
Conrad a silver goblet containing wine.

‘To the Sword
Brothers,’ said Count Albert, raising his goblet.

Sir Helmold stood.
‘The Sword Brothers.’

Albert looked at
Conrad. ‘Tell me, Brother Conrad, what is this Lembit like?’

Conrad sipped at his
wine, which was of excellent quality. He thought of the wolf
shields and the attack on Thalibald’s village.

‘Like a cockroach,
lord. Difficult to kill.’

‘And Conrad should
know,’ said Sir Helmold, ‘he is one of the order’s most
accomplished soldiers and Lembit has even slipped through his
fingers.’

‘Hardly that, lord,’
offered Conrad, his cheeks flushing.

The count untied the
ribbon on the parchment and unrolled it. He examined it and
smiled.

‘Master Thaddeus
clearly knows what he is about, Brother Conrad. Inform him that I
will obey his request.’

‘You are most
gracious, count,’ said Conrad.

He drained his goblet
and placed it back on the tray proffered by the page.

‘God be with you, my
lords.’

Sir Helmold raised his
goblet.

‘I hope to fight
beside you on the field of honour, Brother Conrad,’ said the
count.

Conrad smiled and
left. It never failed to amuse him how even hardened knights
referred to the battlefield as the field of honour. He himself had
never seen much honour in men having their skulls smashed in or
their bellies ripped open. The sight of dying men crawling on all
fours, their bodies cut to shreds, others fouling their breeches in
fear and sobbing uncontrollably had not invoked thoughts of honour,
more like horror and disgust.

‘What’s this?’

He had walked to where
his horse and the young novice were waiting, to discover the boy
surrounded by half a dozen rough-looking men. One had taken the
boy’s waster and was tossing it in the air. Conrad guessed by their
appearance – brigandines, poor quality leather belts and dirty
tunics – that they were poor knights, perhaps dispossessed or cast
out by their families and having to rely on their ill-maintained
swords to put food in their bellies. The boy was clearly alarmed at
being surrounded by these ruffians, all of them bare headed and
their faces grimy.

They turned when they
heard his voice, the one holding the waster grinning when he
spotted Conrad’s white surcoat and red insignia.

‘Well look who we have
here, boys, one of the famous Sword Brothers.’

He pointed the waster
at the novice. ‘Who’s this, a boy to warm your bed?’

The others laughed
mockingly as Conrad calmly walked up to the novice.