The Sword Brothers (125 page)

Salvation had arrived
in the shape of Sir Helmold and Sir Richard.

The two lords
commanded only just over five hundred horsemen but they struck the
right flank of Alva’s warriors just as the Harrien were about to
overrun the Sword Brothers. Immediately the chief issued orders to
reform a shield wall to repel the riders, but not before the lords
and their men had cut down two hundred of his warriors. Alva
managed to rally his men and place them in all-round defence but
the Sword Brothers, having suffered dozens of casualties, had
survived. The Christian horsemen lapped round the Harrien, who
threw a deluge of spears and axes at the mailed riders, unhorsing
at least fifty and killing a score more. Sir Richard and Sir
Helmold led charge after charge at the Harrien, spearing some in
the front ranks but being unable to break their shield wall.

The battle was now
fragmenting into isolated pockets of combat. Alva and his warriors
fought Sir Richard and Sir Helmold, Lembit was trying to slaughter
the Livs and on the right, near the lake, Count Albert was engaged
in his own private war with fifteen hundred Wierlanders. The latter
had butchered the count’s foot soldiers and all his priests,
plundering and mutilating the bodies and ignoring the horsemen
extricating themselves from the bog. By the time they heard the
furious horn calls they were scattered over a wide area and had no
time to rally round their chiefs as four hundred horsemen hit them.
The charge had been disciplined and methodical, the long line of
horsemen literally riding through small groups of Wierlanders,
killing them with lances and swords. But the core of Edvin’s forces
was a band of five hundred warriors who now closed ranks round
their lord and began shuffling east. There were fifty archers among
these men and they commenced shooting at the knights, aimed shots
that killed a score of the count’s men and wounded a score more.
And all the time Edvin marched towards the southern shore of the
lake. The chief knew that he could not defeat mailed horsemen,
hundred of whom were now riding round his men. He also knew that
Lembit’s great gamble had failed. He cared not. His only concern
now was to get as many of his men back to Wierland as possible.

Conrad’s eyes were
stinging as sweat ran into them. He stopped an Estonian sword on
his axe and thrust his own blade over the top of a shield and into
a man’s face. He caught sight of the design on the shield as the
warrior tumbled backwards. Wolf shield.

Then he saw him,
standing beside the great brute he had encountered before, his wolf
banner being held behind him. Lembit, the murderer of his wife and
child and the instigator of all the misery that had been inflicted
upon Livonia. Ever since he had come to Wenden Lembit had been a
thorn in the side of the order, Bishop Albert and the population of
the crusader kingdom.

‘Death to Lembit,’ he
shouted, though he doubted anyone heard him in his helmet.

But before he had even
moved he saw the big warrior lift up a spear and hurl it forward.
He swung his axe to the right to smash the blade into the side of
the head of a warrior who was attacking Hans and looked back to see
Caupo slump in the saddle as the spear went into his belly. He was
wearing mail armour but the throw had been strong enough to pierce
the iron links. There was a great groan among the Livs as they saw
their king fall from the saddle. The Sword Brothers had reached
their allies but now the Saccalians were filled with renewed
vigour.

Masters Aldous and
Gerhard were dead. Cut down as they tried to protect the grand
master, who himself was wounded in the shoulder. As the Sword
Brothers linked up with what was left of the Livs the wounded were
dragged into the centre of the circle that was surrounded by the
Saccalians. They included Lukas who had been speared in the leg and
Walter, whose helmet had been knocked off and subsequently rendered
unconscious by a blow to the head. It was chaos, a swirling mass of
men trying to cut each other to pieces in the frenzy of combat.

Conrad saw Lukas being
dragged inside the circle and saw two sergeants become separated
and hacked to death by half a dozen wolf shields. He saw Lembit
again, barely fifty paces away, perhaps less, urging his men on.
But even the Saccalians were tiring, groups of them withdrawing to
catch their breath and drink from their wooden water bottles. Many
were wounded, even among the wolf shields, but the Livs and Sword
Brothers were in a worse state. The fight lessened in intensity as
a sort of mutual parley broke out all around the circle.

Rudolf, his surcoat
torn and his mail armour ripped, came to Conrad’s side. He lifted
his helmet. His face was streaked with sweat.

He pointed at Lembit.
‘You want that bastard?’

‘With every bone in my
body.’

He nodded. ‘Very well.
The only way to win this battle is to kill him and that means
taking the fight to him.’

‘Sword Brothers!’
shouted Rudolf. ‘Follow me. Kill Lembit.’

He pulled the helmet
back over his face and ran forward, shield held in front on him,
sword in hand, Henke on his left side. Conrad heard the shout ‘kill
Lembit’ as he forgot his tired limbs and raced forward beside
Rudolf, his mind possessed by a burning desire for vengeance. The
depleted garrison of Wenden formed the vanguard of the desperate
assault, the wolf shields who surrounded Lembit being taken
completely by surprise by this daring move. Within seconds Rudolf,
Henke and Conrad were among them, cutting down warriors attempting
to protect their chief. Conrad, now free to duck and move as he
pleased, feinted right with his sword before whipping back the
blade and thrusting it into the belly of a wolf shield. Half the
blade disappeared into the enemy warrior before Conrad yanked it
back. The wolf shield fell to the ground and then he was face to
face with Lembit himself. Henke and the brute that was Lembit’s
shadow were locked in their own fight to the death as the Saccalian
leader came at him.

He was shorter than
Conrad, broader and surprisingly light on his feet, weaving left
and right to avoid his blows as the brother knight directed a
series of rapid sword strikes against him. Lembit moved around him,
probing for weaknesses but keeping his shield tight to his body. He
thrust, hacked and swung his sword, moving it with great agility as
though it was a feather. Conrad fended off the blows but Lembit
kept circling and attacking, darting in and out like a wasp
delivering a sting. He cut the mail on Conrad’s left arm and dented
the side of his helmet, Conrad splintering the wood of Lembit’s
shield with an overhead axe swing. They forgot about the battle,
the dead bodies at their feet and the screams of men being sliced
open as they continued their personal duel. Conrad screamed and
attacked Lembit with a succession of sword and axe strikes,
crouching and lunging as he sought to find a way through Lembit’s
defences, to no avail.

Lembit’s eyes were
full of hate as Conrad leaned back and then lunged forward to graze
the Estonian’s right arm. But the pagan barged his shield into the
brother knight and swung low with his sword, slicing open the mail
chausses covering his left leg and cutting the flesh beneath.
Lembit grinned when he saw the blood.

‘Come on, Christian,’
he shouted, ‘where is your god now?’

They circled each
other once more, jabbing with their swords, looking for any
openings in their opponent’s defence. It was as if they were the
only two people in the world as they exchanged another series of
blows and strikes, Lembit’s shield almost disintegrating as Conrad
swung his axe at the Estonian’s head again and again.

Lembit delivered a
side swing that sliced open the mail covering Conrad’s belly and
grazed his flesh. He was breathing heavily now and it felt as
though his head was being roasted inside his helmet. His arms and
legs ached and his sword felt heavy. But he suddenly thought of
Daina and Dietmar and ran at Lembit, brushing aside his battered
shield and locking cross-guards as their swords came together. He
swung his axe to the right and struck the side of Lembit’s helmet,
sending the Saccalian crashing to the ground.

Disorientated, Lembit
staggered to his feet and pulled the dented helmet off his head. He
faced Conrad and held his sword unsteadily. The Sword Brother could
not breath inside his helmet. It felt as though his lungs were on
fire. He pulled off his helmet, threw it aside and faced Lembit.
The Saccalian recognised his attacker; the boy whom he believed had
been killed long ago, the youth whom Rusticus had told him was a
bad omen. His face registered shock and surprise and he
hesitated.

‘You?’

Conrad dropped his
sword, gripped his axe with both hands and screamed as he swung it.
And lopped Lembit’s head clean off.

The headless body
stood for what seemed like an eternity before collapsing to the
ground. Conrad shouted in triumph and hurled himself at Lembit’s
standard bearer holding the wolf banner, grabbing the warrior’s
neck and wrenching off his helmet. Like a wild beast he then
proceeded to sink his teeth into the man’s nose and bit down hard.
The man screamed as he tumbled to the ground with Conrad on top of
him, the brother knight tearing at his nose in an effort to tear it
from his face. As he did so he slipped his dagger out of its sheath
and plunged it into the man’s neck. He was covered in blood as the
wound sheeted liquid and the standard bearer gurgled, gasped and
then went limp. Conrad stopped biting his nose and started to stab
at the neck wound frantically, plunging the narrow blade into the
torn flesh again and again.

He felt a hand on his
shoulder. ‘He’s dead, Conrad.’

In a rage he rolled
off the corpse, spun round and faced the owner of the voice, ready
to attack. It was a helmetless and bloody Hans. Conrad regained a
semblance of composure and nodded at his friend, who offered him a
hand and hauled him to his feet. At that moment there was a loud
shriek and they turned to see the brute that had been Lembit’s
closest companion die.

Rusticus had been more
than holding his own against Henke until he had seen his master
fall, killed by his nemesis seemingly returned from the dead. He
had looked on helplessly as the youth decapitated his lord and
cried out in anguish. And that few seconds allowed Henke to deliver
a crushing blow with his mace that split his helmet. It would have
floored an ordinary man but Rusticus stayed on his feet, only to be
run through by Rudolf, Johann and Anton who sprang at him. Three
swords stabbed him repeatedly but he still managed to stay on his
feet until Rudolf raised his sword above his head with both hands
and plunged it into Rusticus’ heart. Thus did he join his master in
the afterlife.

Like a plague sweeping
through a city the news of Lembit’s death spread quickly among his
Saccalians and soon they were fleeing for the safety of the forest.
The wolf shields were the last to leave, the survivors forming a
shield wall that shuffled back to the sanctuary of the trees as
they stayed in their ranks and prepared to meet an attack that
never came.

Brother knights and
sergeants removed their helmets and gasped for air, some with hands
on their knees as fatigue suddenly gripped them. Others shook
uncontrollably as after-battle nerves took possession of them. A
few sank to their knees and thanked God for their safe
deliverance.

Conrad and Hans looked
down at the head of Lembit.

‘He looks small,
insignificant,’ said Conrad.

‘He was big enough,’
replied Hans.

Johann and Anton came
over and all four embraced each other. Their surcoats were ripped
and splattered with blood, their mail armour was cut and all had
been wounded. But they were alive and the air they breathed in was
the sweetest they had ever tasted.

‘The bastard’s dead,
then,’ remarked Henke as he jabbed the head with his bloody sword.
He looked at Conrad and grinned. ‘You got your revenge.’ He patted
him on he shoulder. ‘Well done.’

Seeing the Saccalians
leaving the battlefield, Alva had given orders for his men to do
the same, the men from Harrien making a desperate run for the trees
to reach safety. And on the other side of the battlefield Edvin had
managed to withdraw with his Wierlanders, though Count Albert’s
horsemen had killed around five hundred of his warriors before he
did so. It would have been more but the count gave orders to ride
to the relief of those Christians still in peril. And beyond Wolf
Rock Jaak was already leading his men back to Jerwen.

‘What now, lord?’

Vetseke had led his
men into the forest in the wake of the Saccalians who were now
splintering into small groups as they fled in every direction
through the green wood. He and his men had been with a group of a
hundred Saccalians that had been battling the Livs, though such was
the press of men that they had seen no actual combat.

‘North,’ replied
Vetseke. ‘There is nothing left for us in Estonia. Novgorod will
offer us a home. Give the order to move out.’

Scattered groups of
Estonians were still making their way off the battlefield as
Volquin gave the order to collect the warhorses that had made their
way to the edge of the bog and had their heads down, grazing. But
first everyone knelt as Otto said prayers and gave thanks to God
for their great victory. When he rose to his feet Conrad saw
Rameke, pale and grief stricken but unharmed. He embraced his
brother.

‘The king is dead,’
said Rameke flatly.

‘He will be missed.
What will you do now?’

Rameke looked around
at the corpse-strewn ground. ‘I do not know.’

‘Come back to Wenden.
You can rebuild your father’s village.’

‘First I have to
travel back to Treiden to bury the king. After that?’ He shrugged
indifferently. ‘And you?’