The Sword Brothers (59 page)

‘Dead, Brother
Rudolf.’

‘I am sure that the
bishop will be able to find you a new one. Hans, give Conrad a
ride.’ Rudolf smiled at them. ‘You all fought well. I am glad to
see that you all remembered Lukas’ instruction.’

Conrad decided to walk
to Riga so the others dismounted and led their horses among the
battlefield dead. By now they had grown accustomed to the sight of
slaughter and hardly raised an eyebrow as they passed bodies with
crushed skulls and severed limbs. They did notice the swarms of
flies that were gorging on flesh and the odour of death that was
permeating the summer afternoon.

The battle had been
fought and won but at a heavy cost. Just over two thousand men had
marched out to face Prince Vetseke’s army and now over a quarter of
them lay dead in the fields to the east of Riga, among them Count
Walram. When his body was retrieved and conveyed back to camp it
was discovered there was not a mark on it, the physicians
concluding that he had died of exhaustion brought about by the bout
of flux he had suffered. Among the crusader foot casualties
totalled three hundred dead spearmen, most killed by the enemy but
a portion dying of the exertions inflicted upon their weakened
bodies after the flux. A hundred loyal Livs had died, together with
fifty of the bishop’s guards, a hundred mounted crusaders and
twenty fatalities among the Sword Brothers. And that night the
tents of the crusader camp were filled with hundreds more who had
been wounded in the battle. The bishop may have won the fight but
his army had been sorely depleted. For this reason alone he was
inclined to leniency and mercy when he gathered his commanders in
his palace two days afterwards.

The day was stifling
and though the windows were open the heat in the room was
oppressive, despite no one wearing armour. The Sword Brothers were
attired in the white mantles of their order. Bishop Albert was
poring over the casualty lists that had been drawn up, both for his
own forces and the enemy.

‘It is most important
that all the bodies are interred as quickly as possible,’ he
commented. ‘How many enemy dead?’

‘Over a thousand, lord
bishop,’ answered Volquin, ‘and another four hundred will most
likely die of their wounds before the week is out.’

The bishop shook his
head. ‘Captives?’

‘Two thousand held in
the castle courtyard,’ said Volquin.

‘Release them so they
can make their way home in time for the harvest.’

Berthold looked at
Gerhard and Friedhelm. ‘You would release them, lord bishop?’

‘What choice do I
have?’

Berthold smiled. ‘I
have often found that making an example of individuals has a
deterring effect.’

Albert froze him with
a glare. ‘There will be none of that. I would have the loyalty of
these people.’

‘There is the more
pressing matter of what to do with Vetseke, lord bishop,’ said
Volquin.

‘He must die,’
remarked Berthold.

‘And quickly,’ added
Friedhelm.

The bishop turned and
handed the sheets of parchment to a clerk. ‘I will banish him,
never to return to Livonia.’

Volquin sighed in
exasperation. ‘You cannot let him go, lord bishop. He has openly
rebelled against your rule and to let him go free will make you
look weak. When you go to make peace with Lembit it would be better
if the body of Vetseke was hanging from Riga’s walls.’

‘Lembit will be
impressed by such a gesture,’ agreed Gerhard.

Bishop Albert held up
his hands. ‘Brothers, Vetseke will be banished. That is my
decision. You all seem to forget that we are but servants of God
who has a plan for this land. It was He who gave us victory over
the pagans and it will be He who protects Livonia in the face of
their godlessness. I do not need to act cruelly in order to impress
heathens, not when God himself watches over us.’

And so Vetseke was
spared and the bishop prepared to meet Lembit to discuss a
temporary truce.

Chapter 13

It took two days for
the army of Grand Duke Daugerutis to cross over the Dvina to enter
Livonia. First came the élite horsemen: men wearing mail or
lamellar armour, helmets, aventails and mail on their legs and
arms. These were the personal guards and men of substance of the
princes who had come to march beside their duke. They wore leather
boots, carried pavise-like shields and wore rich, brightly coloured
cloaks around their shoulders. Prince Stecse was among them,
wearing a shining helmet and armed with a sword given to him by the
grand duke himself. All the élite Lithuanian horsemen wore swords
but also carried axes and maces dangling from their saddles. They
and the other horsemen were ferried over the river continuously
until there were eight thousand horsemen and double that number of
horses on the northern bank of the Dvina.

The grand duke brought
only horsemen into the land of the crusaders, his army’s supplies
being carried on a spare horse that followed each rider. The boats
were rowed across the river by the farmers that populated the area
immediately south of the Dvina: free men who were tied to their
local lord by oaths of loyalty, the lord in turn owing allegiance
to his prince, the latter paying homage to Grand Duke Daugerutis.
It was an ancient system that had kept the Lithuanian people strong
and free, able to defeat the aggression of the Russians, Kurs,
crusaders and, finally, pagan Prussian tribes that lived on their
southern borders.

The warlord of all the
Lithuanians sat on a stool outside his tent as his men cooked a roe
deer they had caught earlier, the rich aroma of roasting meat
filling the late afternoon air. Stecse sat next to his lord as his
son, a gangly youth of twelve summers with a long face, sat on the
ground nearby cleaning his father’s sword.

The ground was covered
with small two-man tents, groups of horses tethered in long lines
between them. Stacks of light spears called
spisas
stood
throughout the camp along with a multitude of campfires that
produced a pall of wispy smoke that hung still in the windless air.
In front of the grand duke four guards suddenly drew their swords
and stood in a line. Ahead of them a group of riders wearing white
surcoats was approaching, flanked by twice as many Lithuanian
horsemen. The grand duke stood and a hand went to his sword hilt
but as Stecse rose he reassured his lord.

‘It is Master Griswold
from Kokenhusen, my lord. Coming to pay his compliments, no
doubt.’

Griswold had thought
it prudent to let Daugerutis know that he and his army were being
observed as he made his way through Livonia to attack the
Novgorodians. He had disagreed with the treaty made between Riga
and the grand duke but had no option but to accept it. It was true
that there had been no hostilities along the river since the
agreement but he was still uneasy about letting thousands of pagans
traverse Livonia freely. Griswold had brought a brother knight and
two sergeants as an escort, more for company than security amid
such a host.

The Sword Brothers
dismounted as their mounted escort did likewise and walked
alongside the Christians as they ambled towards the grand duke. The
four guards barred their way and requested their weapons. Prince
Stecse, all smiles, pushed his way through the guards.

‘Greetings, Master
Griswold. The grand duke is most eager to meet you. Please
surrender your swords. A precaution, you understand.’

Griswold nodded at him
and instructed his men to stay where they were. He unbuckled his
belt, handed his sword to the guard in front of him and was allowed
to pass. The other Lithuanians observed the Sword Brothers warily
but the latter merely stood holding the reins of their horses while
their master conducted his business.

Stecse introduced the
grand duke and then addressed the boy cleaning his sword.

‘Mindaugas, a stool
for our guest.’

The boy jumped up and
disappeared into the tent to retrieve another stool. Daugerutis
held out his hand to it.

‘I am sorry my
hospitality is so austere, Master Griswold.’

Griswold smiled
politely and sat down on the stool. ‘The order of Sword Brothers
prefers austerity over extravagance, grand duke.’

Daugerutis sat beside
him. ‘So I have heard.’

Griswold decided to
get straight to the point. ‘You go to attack the Russians?’

‘I do.’

‘And how long will you
be this side of the river?’

Daugerutis smiled.
‘Abrupt and to the point. I like that.’

‘I am a soldier, grand
duke, not a diplomat.’

The boy offered
Griswold a full cup. He took it and was surprised that it was
water. The grand duke noticed his shock.

‘I am a soldier too,
master. I come to fight not to give banquets.’

The boy went back to
cleaning the sword.

‘You bring boys to
fight the Russians?’ he asked.

‘My son Mindaugas,’
said Stecse. ‘This is his first campaign.’

‘Let us hope that it
is not his last,’ remarked Griswold. He addressed the grand duke.
‘I must insist that your men do not molest the Livs as you pass
through their territory. It would be unfortunate if you were to
breach the terms of the agreement.’

Daugerutis noticed the
mild threat but did not rise to it. ‘My men are under strict orders
not to pillage the land, Master Griswold. But surely the Livs are
in open rebellion against the bishop?’

‘A number of misguided
individuals was seduced by Prince Vetseke, former ruler of
Kokenhusen, but they have been destroyed and the prince currently
languishes in chains to await the bishop’s judgement on him.’

‘Vetseke,’ said
Stecse. ‘I thought he was long dead.’

Griswold smiled. ‘He
soon will be. The bishop’s wrath, though slow to rise, can be swift
and terrible.’

Daugerutis nodded
approvingly. He liked this Christian warrior who did not mince his
words.

‘I will have a care
not to inflame the bishop’s passions, Master Griswold.’

The Sword Brother took
a sip of his water. ‘I have heard, grand duke, that the Russians
frequently raided your lands.’

Daugerutis stared into
the fire. ‘The Novgorodians, master, often raided as far as the
Dvina and sometimes even into Lithuania itself. They are of your
religion, I believe.’

‘They follow the
Orthodox religion,’ Griswold corrected him, ‘not the Holy Church of
Rome.’

The names meant
nothing to Daugerutis. ‘They are your enemies?’

‘At the moment the
Russians are content to trade with us. They covet Estonia.’

‘As does the bishop,’
said Stecse.

‘It is our duty to
bring the Estonians into the Christian faith,’ said Griswold, ‘just
as we have done with the Livs.’

Daugerutis continued
to stare at the deer roasting over the fire. ‘And after you have
subdued the Estonians, who will be next on the bishop’s list of
people to be enslaved?’

‘I am not privy to the
bishop’s decisions, grand duke,’ said Griswold. ‘As I said, I am
merely a soldier.’

Of course both he and
the grand duke knew that the pope had commanded that all the pagan
peoples in the Baltic should be brought under the rule of God,
which included the Lithuanians. But the grand duke also knew that
if he attacked Novgorod then the Russians would be enraged that the
Bishop of Riga had allowed him free passage through his territory.
This in turn might lead to the Russians waging war on Livonia,
which in turn would keep conflict away from his own lands. Vsevolod
had done him a great service to broker the treaty with the bishop.
He would ensure that his soldiers kept well away from Gerzika’s
lands so as not to embroil his son-in-law in the conflicts that
might arise in the near future.

*****

Conrad rode back to
Wenden in the company of the others of the garrison. Word of his
saving of the bishop, aided by his three companions, had spread and
he felt immensely happy. The bishop himself had given him a new
horse and had promised to mention him when he wrote to the pope
concerning the late battle against Prince Vetseke. The latter was
still confined in Riga’s castle, though in a well-appointed room
rather than a dungeon, and the Livs who had been captured during
the battle had all been released to make their way back to their
homes to take part in the harvest.

‘It was a bad
decision,’ complained Henke.

‘No doubt you would
have been more satisfied if he had been summarily executed,’ said
Master Berthold.

They were riding back
to Wenden along tracks that were bone dry, the air filled with the
scent of pine as they made their way through the forests adjacent
to the Gauja.

‘I would, master,’
replied Henke.

As a reward for their
conduct during the battle Conrad and the other boys had been
allowed to ride in the company of the master, his deputy, Henke and
Lukas on their return journey to Wenden. Everyone’s spirits were
high, not least because not one of the garrison had been killed
during the battle against Vetseke.

‘Henke believes that
there are only two types of people in the world,’ said Rudolf.
‘Those who are friends and those who are enemies, and the latter
should always be killed as quickly as possible.’

Lukas laughed as Henke
looked unconcerned.

‘Releasing Vetseke
will be a mistake,’ said Henke. ‘It merely postpones the
inevitable.’

‘Which is?’ enquired
Master Berthold.

‘That we will have to
kill him,’ replied Henke. ‘Better to kill him now before he can
cause any more trouble.’

‘What do you think,
Conrad?’ said Rudolf, turning in his saddle to look at him. ‘After
all, you currently have the ear of the bishop.’

‘I do not know,
brother,’ replied Conrad, embarrassed by the attention being given
him.