The Sword Brothers (121 page)

On the last day of
August every brother knight, sergeant and novice drawn from the
eight garrisons of the Sword Brothers assembled in the courtyard of
Wenden to ask for the blessing of God in their forthcoming crusade.
Out of courtesy Grand Master Volquin directed that Otto, Wenden’s
resident priest, say prayers before the congregation. It was a
beautiful summer’s day, white puffy clouds filling the sky and a
gentle easterly breeze blowing the stench of man and beast beyond
the walls away from the castle. Otto commanded everyone to kneel as
he said the Lord’s Prayer, every man and boy repeating his words.
They stayed on their knees with their heads bowed as Otto’s deep,
booming voice filled the courtyard.

‘Lord, look favourably
upon these, your beloved sons, the brethren of the Sword Brothers,
who have renounced secular desires and surrendered their
possessions to take up the cross. They are the ones who are
striving to free this land of Lembit, the scourge of Livonia, and
to expel the enemies of the Christian name. Give them strength,
Almighty Lord, that they may smite Your enemies and cleanse this
land with pagan blood. Let their armour be invincible and their
lances as lightning bolts to scatter Your enemies. Amen.’

As one the
congregation said ‘amen’ and Otto commanded them to rise to their
feet. He held his arms aloft and commended them to draw their
swords, looking up to the heavens.

‘God with us!’

Conrad gripped his
sword and raised it aloft, shouting ‘God with us’ along with the
other brother knights, sergeants and novices. Walter, his face
flush with religious fervour, was in a trance as he shouted the
order’s war cry again and again, his sword and shield held high in
submission to the Almighty. Henke’s face was filled with eager
anticipation as he repeated the cry, bloodlust in his eyes, his
tongue licking his lips like a wolf anticipating a meal of tender
young lambs.

The next morning the
Warriors of Christ led the army north towards Saccalia. The army
moved slowly, all the foot soldiers fully armed and staying close
to the wagons that carried a month’s worth of food and supplies.
The lords, grand master and his masters travelled near the head of
the column of wagons that spread over three miles, the rate of
advance being restricted by the lumbering oxen that pulled the
carts containing the siege engines and their ammunition. The first
target would be Fellin, around seventy-miles away, and after that
Lehola a further twelve miles north. This time Lembit would be
given no opportunity to surrender. Each fort would be stormed and
their defenders put to the sword. Count Albert was desperate to
engage Lembit in battle but Volquin informed him that the Estonian
leader was no fool and preferred to avoid open combat, knowing the
advantages crossbowmen and mailed horsemen gave the Christians. The
grand master also knew that the Estonians had a detailed knowledge
of their own land, which is why he insisted on the foot soldiers
marching in formation fully armed, with knights riding in their
armour. The latter would ride palfreys on the march, leading their
warhorses behind them, but they would still be able to fight off
any assault against the column. Security was heightened when the
camp was pitched and dismantled – ideal times to spring an ambush
when men’s minds were more concerned with loading wagons and
saddling horses than keeping watch for the enemy.

The Sword Brothers
were in the van of the army, sending out mounted patrols ahead to
scout the route and keep a lookout for the enemy. But the latter
was conspicuous by their absence.

‘Lembit will be hiding
behind the walls of Lehola,’ said Anton as he and his comrades
trotted past a small lake in southern Saccalia.

The army was around
five miles to the south and they had been scouting all day, Rameke
joining his old friends on his hardy pony as they travelled through
Lembit’s kingdom. They had come across a small village on the other
side of the lake but it had been abandoned, the huts and animal
pens empty, the inhabitants having fled deep into the forest.

‘There is no point in
taking Fellin,’ said Hans, ‘we might as well march straight to
Lehola and take it.’

Johann shook his head.
‘The grand master would never leave an enemy stronghold along our
line of march.’

‘You should have
burned the village,’ remarked Rameke.

‘This land belongs to
the Bishop of Estonia now,’ said Conrad. ‘It is up to him what
happens within its borders.’

‘When Lembit is dead,’
Rameke corrected him.

‘That will be soon
enough,’ boasted Anton. ‘He could not hold Lehola two years ago and
then he was much stronger.’

‘Do not underestimate
him,’ warned Rameke, ‘he will surprise you yet.’

Conrad had noticed
that Rameke was no longer the cheerful young man he had known
before that terrible night at Thalibald’s village. Now he was full
of anger and possessed of a grim determination. But it was still
good to be riding beside the only surviving member of his
family.

They left the village
behind and continued their journey north, passing fields that had
been harvested of their crops and meadows bursting with colour, and
never once did they see anyone.

On the tenth day out
from Wenden Conrad and the others were again scouting ahead of the
army, riding through a familiar landscape of forest, gently rolling
hills and deserted villages. He was beginning to think that the
whole of Estonia had been abandoned and they would be able to ride
unhindered to the Gulf of the Finns when Hans called out.

‘Look, on the
hill.’

Framed in the sunlight
were six figures on ponies on the top of a hill around three
hundred paces away. Conrad saw they were all armed with spears and
had round shields, though they made no attempt to flee as they sat
on their mounts observing the four Sword Brothers and one Liv
below. One appeared to be pointing down at them.

‘The enemy shows his
face at last,’ said Rameke, drawing his sword.

Conrad clutched his
lance as the six figures on the hill suddenly rode down the slope
towards them.

‘Brave,’ remarked
Johann, nudging his horse forward as the others deployed into line
beside him, Rameke taking up position next to Conrad on the extreme
left. They spurred their horses forward into a canter as the enemy
riders continued to close on them, though curiously their spears
were held upright. One was shouting at the brother knights.

‘This will be easy,’
smirked Hans as he donned his helmet, the others following suit.
Conrad was just about to put on his helm when he shouted at the
others.

‘Stop, stand
down.’

He tugged on the reins
to halt his horse as Rameke pulled up his mount and the other three
did the same.

‘They are friends,’ he
shouted, pointing at the warriors who were now walking their ponies
towards them.

‘We are from Odenpah,
Lord Kalju sent us,’ shouted their leader.

Hans, Anton and Johann
halted their horses and removed their helmets as the Ungannians
stopped a few paces from them. In appearance they were not so
different from the Livs with their green cloaks and brown tunics
and leggings, though these men carried Kalju’s golden eagle symbol
on their shields.

‘Greetings,’ said
their leader, who like Rameke had a thick beard, ‘my name is Andrus
and I bring news for Master Thaddeus.’

Conrad translated the
words for the others. Hans laughed.

‘Master Thaddeus
should have stayed at Odenpah, he would have been a king by
now.’

‘I am Conrad Wolff and
I am friends with your lord and his wife Eha.’

Andrus recognised the
name. ‘I know you. You were the crusader who spoke the words for
Master Thaddeus at Odenpah.’

Conrad nodded.

‘He is well?’ enquired
Andrus.

‘He is,’ answered
Conrad, ‘and is with the army not five miles from this spot. What
is your message, Andrus?’

‘Lembit has abandoned
Fellin. His warriors and their families have left the fort and
trekked north to Lehola. There are no Estonians between here and
Lembit’s stronghold.

‘You believe him?’
snarled Rameke, looking contemptuously at Andrus.

‘An Estonian’s word is
his bond,’ Andrus shot back.

Rameke laughed.
‘Really? Do you include Lembit in that, your overlord, who embraced
the Holy Church and then reneged on his pledge to the bishop?’

Andrus bristled at the
insult and his men sniffed contemptuously at the impudent Liv in
their midst.

‘I fought beside
Andrus at Odenpah, Rameke,’ said Conrad curtly. ‘I trust him with
my life. This is no time for petty squabbles.’

Rameke looked away.
‘If you say so.’

‘Will you accompany us
back to the army, Andrus, to relay your news to Master
Thaddeus?’

Andrus looked at
Rameke. ‘If we are welcome.’

Conrad convinced him
that he and his men would be more than welcome and so they agreed
to ride back to the army with them. Rameke said nothing during the
journey as he sank into a sullen mood. Conrad thought that it would
be a long time before Liv and Estonian trusted each other, and
perhaps Rameke would always bare a grudge against the northern
people. But in the short term the news that the Estonians had
brought meant that the campaign had suddenly got a lot easier.

*****

‘He’s here, sir.’

Stefan looked up from
his dish of apple slices. He dabbed his mouth with a cloth and
waved it towards one of the young monks standing by the wall of the
withdrawing chamber.

‘Excellent, show him
in.’

‘He has come with four
of his men, sir,’ said the commander of the garrison. ‘He will want
them to be present also.’

Stefan sighed. ‘Very
well, very well. Make sure you and some of your soldiers remain,
though. I don’t trust these barbarians.’

Manfred smiled and
bowed his head. It was just as well that the archdeacon did not
speak Lithuanian else he might insult his guests and end the
meeting before it began. He exited the room and moments later
returned with half a dozen guards that were ordered to stand either
side of the archdeacon to reassure the governor. Then he brought in
the guests. Stefan tried not to show his repugnance as the five
bearded men entered the chamber and were introduced to the
archdeacon, who remained seated in his chair. Not a good start.

The Lithuanians were
all dressed in green tunics, baggy tan leggings and leather boots.
They had been required to surrender their swords at the entrance to
the bishop’s palace, being reassured by the commander that they
were in no danger. He had made several trips across the Dvina to
convince the Duke of the Semgallians that it would be within his
interests to accept the invitation to Riga to meet with Archdeacon
Stefan.

Manfred Nordheim,
sometime mercenary, pirate and smuggler, had not been born into
privilege or had the patronage of a rich lord. He did, however,
have the ability to make himself useful and that had endeared him
to the archdeacon, especially when he had displayed that talent
when the Northern Kurs and Oeselians had assaulted Riga. As the
garrison had grown so had his authority until he had been appointed
by Stefan to be commander of the town guards. Now he acted as
translator for Duke Vincentas as the Lithuanian leader studied the
effeminate-looking man in women’s clothing sitting before him.

‘Why did you wish to
see me?’ asked Vincentas bluntly, unhappy that he stood without
weapons in this foreign fortress.

Stefan had beckoned
forward a young novice holding a tray of wine but now waved him
away.

Stefan smiled. ‘The
Kingdom of Livonia wishes to be friends with the Duke of the
Semgallians.’

Vincentas was
unimpressed. ‘Why?’

‘Because your enemies
are our enemies and your battles are our battles,’ replied Stefan.
‘Perhaps you would like some wine?’

He waved forward the
novice who proffered the tray to the duke. He took one of the
silver goblets and handed it to one of his men behind. The man took
a sip as Vincentas watched him closely. Stefan, bemused, looked at
Manfred who nodded. The taster thought the wine delicious and told
his lord so, and as he had showed no signs of being poisoned the
duke took the goblet and drank from it. The nervous novice offered
goblets to the other Lithuanians and then to the archdeacon.

Stefan smiled. ‘It is
well known that Grand Duke Daugerutis was a tyrant who deceived the
other dukes into a ruinous war in Livonia, in which your valiant
father, Duke Ykintas, fell.’

‘You know much about
Lithuanian affairs,’ remarked Vincentas.

‘Events south of the
Dvina affect Livonia, duke,’ said Stefan. ‘I was saddened to hear
that Prince Vsevolod, now leader of the Selonian and Nalsen
peoples, wages war against you and we wish to assist you in your
fight.’

Vincentas drained his
goblet. ‘Why?’

Stefan smiled again.
This barbarian really was most taxing. ‘Because if Vsevolod
triumphs then he will make war upon Livonia, just as he did before
we captured Gerzika.’

‘Semgallia does not
need any help to defeat its enemies,’ sniffed Vincentas.

‘Of course not,’ said
Stefan, ‘but perhaps you will accept a present from your
allies.’

He pointed at a novice
holding a small casket, who walked forward to stand in front of the
duke, opening the lid and taking out a solid gold crossbow bolt,
which he offered the duke. The duke’s companions gasped when they
saw it and even he was impressed.

‘A most generous
gift.’

Stefan nodded at
Manfred who walked over behind the archdeacon’s chair and picked up
a crossbow. He held it out for Vincentas as he translated the
archdeacon’s words.

‘Livonia would like
you to have two hundred of these, together with ammunition, to aid
you in your war against Vsevolod. If you agree we will also provide
you with soldiers to train your men in their use.’