The Sword Brothers (17 page)

‘Get up.’

Rusticus struggled to
keep up with his commander as the latter frowned and shook his head
at the open gates of the fort and the lack of guards on the
battlement above them.

‘Have you ever
thought, Rusticus, what would happen if an enemy attacked us during
the mid-summer festival.’

Rusticus coughed and
spat the foul-tasting phlegm from his mouth. ‘Attack? During
ligo
? No one would dare.’

Lembit stopped and
faced him. ‘Oh? And why is that?’

Rusticus was unsure
why because the question was absurd. Everyone was always drunk or
making babies during
ligo
. ‘Because the gods would be
angered and no one would dare anger them.’

‘None of our people,
certainly,’ said Lembit, ‘but what of the crusaders? They do not
worship our gods. There is nothing to stop them launching an attack
during the festival.’

Rusticus belched, the
foul odour making Lembit recoil. ‘With you and the gods on our side
we have nothing to fear from them.’

Lembit looked at his
deputy. For raw courage and brute strength there were few men like
Rusticus in all Estonia, but he had the brains of a bull and a not
very bright one at that. But then perhaps it was better to have a
blindly loyal subordinate rather than a scheming and cunning
one.

‘Come on,’ Lembit said
to him, ‘let us rouse everyone from his or her happy slumbers.’

It took two hours
before any semblance of normality had returned to the fort. In that
time warriors woke up with burning headaches and had stumbled
around as though their wits had deserted them, vomiting in every
corner and filling the stronghold with a disgusting aroma, the more
so when others voided their bowels into their leggings. Lembit
ordered them all to immerse themselves in the nearby lake and burn
their soiled clothing before allowing them to return, the slaves
being detailed to clean the fort and its compound while it was
empty. He then held an inspection of the garrison in the courtyard.
The hundred warriors armed with spears, swords and carrying shields
bearing Lembit’s wolf symbol were made to stand for an hour before
they were dismissed. Each of them was informed that they were to
drink no alcohol for the next seven days.

‘And that includes
you, Rusticus,’ the chief said as he passed his deputy to go back
into his reeking main hall after the inspection.

Lehola, like other
great Estonian forts, was sited on a hill and was a very solid
stockade with high walls. It was constructed using massive tree
trunks buried deep in the ground as vertical supports, around which
a framework of interlocking horizontal timbers was laid. Square
towers were sited at regular intervals along the walls, each one
having a protective roof of shingles. And from every one flew a
wolf banner. How he would like to fly his banner from the walls of
the crusader capital at Riga. Lembit was determined that his people
would not suffer the same fate as the Livs.

‘There’s a man outside
who wants to see you,’ said Rusticus as Lembit was sitting in his
chair pondering the coming weeks, the slaves having at last
exorcised some of the pungent smells from the hall.

‘Send him away,’
replied Lembit, ‘I am not receiving visitors today.’

‘You might want to see
this one.’

Lembit sighed and
looked at his deputy, who appeared to have regained some of his
colour after having immersed himself in the lake.

‘Why? Is it a
messenger with news that the crusaders have boarded their ships and
departed, never to come back?’

Rusticus looked
confused. ‘No. It is Sigurd, one of Olaf’s sons.’

For a few seconds the
significance of what the big oaf had announced did not sink in, but
then Lembit jumped to his feet.

‘Sigurd? Of the
Oeselians?’

Rusticus nodded.

‘What does he
want?’

‘To speak to you,’
answered Rusticus.

Lembit jabbed a finger
in his deputy’s broad chest. ‘Send out patrols to scour the
countryside to ensure there are no Oeselian war parties in the
vicinity. Get every man of the garrison to his post.’

Rusticus nodded and
turned to go but then stopped.

‘What about Olaf’s
son?’

Lembit sat back down
in his chair. ‘Send him in.’

Rusticus strode
towards the door.

‘And shut the gates,’
Lembit called after him.

He called over the
head of the hall, a wiry man in his sixties, and ordered him to
bring beer for him and his guest. The man bowed and then scuttled
away. Moments later four wolf shields escorted the son of Olaf into
the hall, each of them clad in mail shirts and wearing helmets.
They were heavily armed with short spears, swords and daggers, the
man they flanked having had his weapons taken from him before
entering the hall. He would also have been searched to ensure he
carried no hidden weapons. When the party halted a few paces from
Lembit two of the guards walked forward to stand either side of
their chief, leaving the other two to guard the son of Olaf. The
latter was a tall, slim man in his twenties, blonde haired with a
round, clean-shaven face, which was unusual for an Oeselian. He
bowed his head at Lembit.

‘Greetings Lembit,
Grand Warlord of the Saccalian people. My name is Sigurd, second
son of Olaf, King of the Oeselians.’

The head of the hall
returned with a female slave carrying a tray holding two wooden
cups of beer. Lembit waved her forward to offer one to Sigurd. He
took it and then she proffered the tray to Lembit, who took the
remaining cup. Without taking his eyes off Olaf’s son he lifted the
cup to his mouth and took a sip of beer, Sigurd toasting his host
before also tasting the liquid.

‘My father sends his
greetings to you also,’ said Sigurd, not knowing quite what to make
of the Estonian leader sitting before him.

Lembit smiled wryly.
‘That would be the same King Olaf who has spent most of his reign
raiding the shores of Estonia, killing, burning and taking away
women and children to be his slaves.’

Sigurd looked
decidedly uneasy as he took another sip of beer, the unblinking
eyes of Lembit upon him, while from behind the great figure of
Rusticus entered the hall and sauntered over to stand behind
Lembit. With a hand on the hilt of his large sword, he curled his
lip at the young man squirming before him.

‘What you say is true,
lord,’ replied Sigurd. ‘The Oeselians and Estonians have always
fought each other. It is the way of things. But now my father seeks
to put aside our enmity so that we may forge an alliance.’

Rusticus laughed
derisively but Lembit said nothing as he studied the young man
before him.

‘Why should I listen
to you?’ he said at length. ‘You state correctly that Estonians and
Oeselians have always fought each other. Why should I not kill you
now without a second thought?’

‘If you did then my
father would still have three sons and many longships with which to
carry on the war between our two peoples that seemingly has no end.
But while we slaughter each other a greater enemy threatens the
very existence of our two peoples.’

‘What enemy?’ asked
Lembit, already knowing the answer.

Sigurd kept his eyes
fixed on Lembit and ignored the brute standing behind him. ‘The
crusaders. How long will it be before they are standing outside the
walls of this very hall or landing their ships on my father’s
island?’

‘The crusaders may
take your island and butcher its inhabitants,’ sneered Rusticus,
‘but they will never take this fort. Are you so ignorant that you
have not heard of Grand Warlord Lembit’s great victory over the
crusaders? They shit their leggings at the mere mention of his
name.’

Lembit held up a hand
to silence his deputy and continued to observe Sigurd, who turned
up the corner of his mouth at the outburst of Rusticus.

‘We have all heard of
Lord Lembit’s victory and the inspiration it gives to all those
fighting the crusaders. But the truth is that every year more and
more of them land at Riga and soon more ships will bring this
year’s crusader army to once more wage war against your
people.’

‘More victims for our
swords and spears,’ boasted Rusticus.

‘I am sure that is
what the Livs believed when the crusaders invaded their lands,’
replied Sigurd sarcastically.

Rusticus stepped
forward menacingly. ‘I will send your head back to your
father.’

‘Enough!’ snapped
Lembit, stopping Rusticus in his tracks and pointing behind him to
indicate that his deputy should take up his original position. He
then stood up.

‘Prince Sigurd, you
have come here with a bold offer and one that deserves
consideration. On the matter of an alliance with your father I will
give you my answer after I have had time to deliberate. Before then
please avail yourself of my hospitality.’

He waved forward the
head of the hall. ‘Show the prince to his quarters.’

His servant bowed and
then held out a hand to Sigurd, who bowed to Lembit and then
followed the old man out of the hall, the guards once more flanking
the Oeselian. The doors were closed behind them.

‘Do you want me to
kill him?’ asked Rusticus enthusiastically.

Lembit sat back down
and rubbed his beard with his hand. He felt tired after a night
without sleep.

‘Certainly not. I like
him. He has spirit.’

‘He’s an Oeselian,’
growled Rusticus.

‘I am aware of that,’
replied Lembit. ‘But his father is no fool and knows that there is
unity in numbers. Whatever the merits of an alliance with our old
enemies, there is certainly nothing to be gained from continuing to
fight each other while the crusaders consolidate their strength to
the south.’

‘You are not thinking
of an alliance with them, are you?’ asked Rusticus
incredulously.

‘I am not thinking of
anything at this precise moment, mainly because your incessant
interruptions are giving me a headache. Did you send out those
patrols?’

Rusticus nodded.

‘Good,’ said Lembit.
‘We must not trust our young visitor too much. You may go. And
close the doors behind you.’

Left alone with the
fire illuminating the gloomy interior of his hall, Lembit pondered
the course of action he should take during the coming weeks. He
knew that a new crusader army would be landing in Livonia soon and
would be marching north to avenge the defeat he had inflicted on
the Sword Brothers. He also knew that to meet them in open battle
would be to invite certain defeat. He knew his warriors armed with
their spears and swords were no match for the men of iron on their
mighty horses and their accompanying crossbowmen. And they had
machines, terrible instruments capable of hurling great stones
against timber walls and shattering them. Waging war against the
crusaders required cunning not brute strength. He smiled to
himself. But not even the mighty crusaders could be in two places
at once.

He began tapping his
fingers on the arm of his chair. The unexpected visit of Prince
Sigurd would not interrupt his plans but might in fact aid them. If
the Oeselians stopped raiding Estonia then that would make
available more warriors to fight the crusaders. The Rotalians, the
tribe that occupied the coastal lands and who suffered most at the
hands of Olaf’s deprivations, would be especially grateful and
would surely be more amenable to increase their aid to him. But the
Oeselians would have to earn his trust. His mind was made up.

That evening he asked
Sigurd to dine with him. The meal was a modest and sober affair
compared to the previous night’s festivities. Lembit sat on the top
table flanked by Rusticus, who for once refrained from assaulting
his innards with vast quantities of beer and food, and Sigurd. His
warriors sat at benches that had been arranged at right angles to
the top table. Slaves placed large pieces of roasted pork and
mutton on platters on the tables along with loaves of rye bread and
bowls of salted herring. Others served water and milk from great
earthenware jugs. Only Sigurd and his escort were offered beer.

‘I have given your
father’s offer great consideration, Prince Sigurd,’ said Lembit,
‘and have concluded that it would be prudent to agree upon a
cessation of hostilities before we can think of an alliance. If
your father keeps his longships away from the coast and rivers of
Estonia for six months then I see no reason why an alliance cannot
be forged thereafter.’

‘I can tell my father
that you are agreeable to an alliance, lord?’ asked Sigurd.

‘You may tell him that
if he suspends his raiding against Estonia for a period of six
months, prince, then afterwards you may return and we will discuss
things further. Let us walk before we attempt to run.’

Sigurd toasted his
host with his cup. He seemed pleased with the outcome. At the very
least he would keep his head if nothing else. Lembit was doubtful
whether Olaf would be able to keep his men from the women and
children who inhabited the villages along the Baltic coast. Pillage
and rape was in Oeselian blood. Still, better to try than to do
nothing.

Sigurd left the next
day and once he was far away from Lehola, Lembit and Rusticus rode
to the hill fort of Fellin, located ten miles south. A score of
warriors accompanied them, all riding ponies. These hardy beasts
with their low-lying withers, wide, straight backs, muscular
croups, short ears and necks had been bred in Estonia for
generations. Their hardy nature and great endurance meant they
could live out of doors in the summer and could survive on the
minimum of fodder during the long winters.

Lembit’s party reached
Fellin in two hours and was greeted by the foreign ambassador who
had been alerted to the approach of the horsemen by the wolf
shields on watch in the towers. Lembit dismounted and clasped the
forearm of a tall man in a black tunic, tan leggings and gaiters.
He had a red beard and hair that had been shaved from above the
ears and was plaited from the crown to the back of his neck. The
four men behind him, his escort, all wore helmets, mail armour and
carried round shields and spears. Their shields carried the
insignia of a black seagull.