The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  Two hours after arriving at the village the boats were pushed away from the quay with long poles into midstream where their oarsmen heaved at their stations. Each boat had a crew of six rowers – three on each side – plus a captain who stood at the rear holding the rudder. There were no seats or benches in the boat, just crates and chests that the rowers and everyone else sat on. Rudolf sat opposite Conrad and Hans near the prow as the rowers found their stroke and the boat eased its way upstream. There was no wind so there was no point in unfurling the sail. Rudolf was examining his dagger in between glancing at the crew and the passengers to ensure all was well. Conrad leaned forward and whispered to him.

  ‘Rudolf, that is Brother Rudolf, are the men rowing the boat Oeselians?’

  Rudolf smiled. ‘No, Conrad, though I dare say that their blood is mixed with the sea heathens if you dig deep enough. No, they are Livs.’

  Conrad and Hans stared at him with blank looks.

  ‘The people who have lived in these lands since earliest times,’ Rudolf continued. ‘Pagans whom we have rescued from their unholy ways.’

  ‘What ways?’ asked Conrad, casting a glance at the backs of the rowers heaving at their oars.

  ‘Human sacrifice to appease their false gods,’ answered Rudolf.

  ‘Barbarians,’ said Hans, disgusted.

  ‘What gods?’ asked Conrad further.

  Rudolf nodded at him. ‘You are curious about this land and its people. That is good, for the more you know the better your chances of surviving in this place of great beauty and great savagery. The Livs worship many gods but the chief among them are Mara, the Great Mother, the god who rules over all the others. Then there is Laima, the Goddess of Fate; Saule, the Sky God; and Jumis, God of the Land.

  ‘But now they worship the one true God, the Lord of all the earth and the heavens.’ Rudolf winked at them both. ‘Or at least they pretend they do.’

  Conrad was confused. ‘I do not understand.’

  Rudolf pointed at the rowers. ‘They have been baptised in the river, had their sins washed away and have accepted the love of Christ. But always remember, my young friends, that old ways cannot be erased in a short time. Their fathers, grandfathers and ancestors going back generations worshipped their gods before our holy crusade and old habits die hard.’

  ‘They do not follow God?’ asked Conrad.

  Rudolf reflected for a moment. ‘Some have embraced our religion wholeheartedly and can be counted as loyal. But the majority wait.’

  ‘For what?’ asked Hans.

  ‘To see who triumphs. Crusaders or pagans,’ answered Rudolf.

  Conrad did not really understand but was comforted by the fact that Rudolf was very knowledgeable about this land and its people. His commanding presence was a source of reassurance and Conrad, for the first time since the dreadful events that had brought him to this place, began to relax a little. The motion of the boat as it glided over the smooth surface of the river had a calming effect on him and he began to take an interest in the varied terrain they passed through. Rudolf informed them that this river, the Gauja, and the Dvina were the lifeblood of the crusade in Livonia. Most travel was conducted along these waterways and the Sword Brothers were building stone castles along the length of both rivers to consolidate and expand Christian control over Livonia.

  Conrad did not see the two castles they passed during their journey on the Gauja, Rudolf explaining that they were located some two miles inland rather than being on the actual riverbank. Their names were Kremon and Segewold but Rudolf’s castle was Wenden, some fifty miles from the village they had departed from. Along the Dvina four castles had been established – Holm, Uexkull, Lennewarden and Kokenhusen – all of them in various states of completion.

  ‘It will take years to finish them,’ said Rudolf, ‘but the important thing is that with every stone laid our rule in Livonia is strengthened. Stone castles cannot be burned to the ground and nor can they be pulled down. They are the invincible monuments to the power of God.’

  ‘Do not the Livs have castles?’ asked Conrad.

  ‘They have hill forts,’ answered Rudolf, ‘strongholds that have wooden walls and towers. But they have no knowledge of masonry and so their forts can be set on fire and stormed. Not that they fall easily. Much blood is spilt taking them.’

  Conrad was fortified by Rudolf’s words, thinking that he and his fellow Sword Brothers were more than a match for the local pagans. And they also had God on their side so they were invincible. His boyhood mind had yet to fathom that the world was a complex place that could be cruel and uncertain, but for the moment he felt secure. Rudolf’s authority and certainty made him believe that God had brought him to this land for a purpose, though what it was he knew not.

  They journeyed on the river for two days, following its course as it meandered through dense forests and lush meadows. They passed white sandstone crags topped by towering pines that looked down on the dark and brooding waters of the river. On occasion they threaded their way through sandbanks and negotiated small rapids of bubbling water. Then the river would widen to reveal steep sides of red sandstone that seemed to take an age to pass through. Conrad observed kestrels hovering above the riverbanks searching for prey and saw fallen trees lying in the water where they had toppled from a great height on the crag above. And stretching into the distance were trees, always trees: huge forests that seemed to have no end. Not only spruce and pine but also mighty oaks, aspen and ash. No wonder the pagans used wood to build their homes and strongholds – there was an endless supply of it.

  When they arrived at their destination the boats were run aground on a sandbank at the river’s edge and the crews unloaded the supplies and carried them onto the grass of a meadow that extended half a mile from the river. Beyond was the inevitable dark and imposing forest that blanketed most of Livonia. It was now midday and, as there were still eight hours of daylight left the crews opted to take their now empty and lighter vessels back to their poor village. Their enthusiasm rose markedly once the crusaders and German civilians were off their boats and they began to chatter among themselves in a language that Conrad could not understand. They became more excitable when an easterly wind picked up and they unfurled their sails and began their journey home.

  Henke stood on the sandbank next to Conrad and Hans and spat after them. ‘Heathens.’

  ‘Henke has a low opinion of our newest converts,’ grinned Rudolf.

  ‘Thieves and beggars the lot of them,’ spat Henke with contempt.

  Rudolf put an arm around the shoulder of a sheepish Hans. ‘Young Hans here was a beggar, and a thief, and yet you like him, do you not?’

  Henke looked at Rudolf and then at Hans and grunted. ‘He speaks the same language as me, comes from the same race as me and doesn’t want to stick a dagger in my guts. Of course I like him.’

  Rudolf asked Henke to walk to Wenden – two miles to the east – to bring back horses and wagons to transport the supplies, and also detailed half a dozen spearmen to go with him. While he was away he gave orders for the boys to serve a meal to the other mercenaries and the civilians. Despite the cool mornings the spring days were warm and long and the air was filled with the sweet aroma of blossom. Everyone was cheerful and some of the children were running around and screaming with delight. Conrad was warming to this land by the minute.

  Henke returned two hours later riding a horse that was attired in a caparison: a thickly padded and quilted long cloth robe that covered its body, neck, legs and head. It was white and carried the insignia of the Sword Brothers, as did the other horse that Henke was leading and the ten others carrying sergeants with their distinctive kettle helmets. They all dismounted and walked up to the waiting Rudolf, the sergeants saluting to their senior officer. Behind the horsemen came four-wheeled wagons pulled by horses that looked in far better condition than the ones that had ferried the supplies from Riga.

  Once more the children were allowed to ride on the wagons after the crate
s, chests and barrels had been loaded, Henke and Rudolf riding at the head of the column and Conrad and his companions walking at the rear. The track led from the river, through the forest and then came into a great open space devoid of trees. And directly ahead, sited on the top of a rising piece of ground that resembled a peninsula, was Wenden Castle. The steep slopes on its northern and western sides made an attack from those directions virtually impossible. The eastern and southern sides had less severe slopes but even so the castle was well sited. On the southern side of the stronghold was a perimeter wall comprising horizontally laid wooden logs on top of an earth rampart, with wooden towers at regular intervals. There was also a ditch in front of the rampart.

  The column entered this compound via its only entrance, located on the south side. Conrad walked across a wooden bridge over the ditch and through the two open gates. Once inside the compound he saw people – men, women and children – dressed like the civilians who had been in his party, with others in the robes of the native Livs.

  ‘It does not look like a castle,’ remarked Hans as they ascended the slope that led to the castle’s entrance in its southern wall. Except that there was no wall. There were the foundations of all four walls, the beginnings of three stone towers in the southeast, southwest and northwest corners, and a sizeable number of workers working on these structures, but no walls. There was a timber wall that encompassed empty spaces between the fledgling stonework and a great many pallets stacked with stone, but no stone wall. Conrad and Hans walked across the bridge that spanned the dry moat and entered what would eventually be Wenden Castle.

  ‘It looks as though it has just been started,’ remarked Conrad, who was underwhelmed by what he saw. What did impress him was the outlook that the castle’s position afforded: uninterrupted views in all directions of the surrounding countryside – forests, clearings and lakes.

  As he continued to look around he began to appreciate the extent of the castle’s area. On the western side stood a long stable block next to an even longer single-storey dormitory, each of them constructed of wood with thatched roofs. The northern end of the great courtyard area was open aside from the wooden wall and pallets holding stones. The only stone building was a chapel in the northeast corner, a cross mounted on its roof. The hall of the master, dining hall, armoury and smithy filled the rest of the eastern side of the cobbled courtyard. These buildings were also made of wood.

  Conrad saw Walter kneeling on the ground, gently elbowed Hans and pointed at the young knight deep in prayer, his eyes closed as he gave thanks for their safe deliverance after their journey. Conrad smiled and shook his head, then felt something sharp and cool against his neck. He froze as Hans’ eyes widened as he stared at the man holding the point of a sword against Conrad’s neck.

  ‘You think prayer is amusing, boy?’ said a deep voice beside him.

  Conrad turned his head ever so slightly, the steel point biting into his flesh as he attempted to get a glimpse of his assailant.

  ‘No, sir,’ he whispered.

  ‘Otto, leave the boy alone.’ Conrad felt relieved when he heard Rudolf’s voice and more so when the sword point was removed from his flesh.

  He nervously peered to his right to see a tall, thin man with cold, black eyes glaring at him, sword in hand. Conrad’s alarm returned when he saw that the man was completely bald, his skull covered in scars, a particularly deep one on his forehead above the right eye. Conrad shuddered. He may have worn the surcoat of the Sword Brothers but he looked like a monster.

  Rudolf was tall – at least six foot – but this beast was taller by six or seven inches. The former now stood in front of Conrad and Hans.

  ‘So, what have you two done to earn the displeasure of Brother Otto?’

  Hans looked at his feet and Conrad blushed.

  ‘They mock a noble knight for giving thanks to God,’ Otto answered for them and then nodded at the praying Walter. ‘They should be punished for their levity.’

  Rudolf pointed at Otto’s drawn sword. ‘Unless you are going to chop off their heads I think you should sheath your sword, brother.’

  Otto curled his lip at Hans and Conrad, slammed his sword back into its scabbard and stomped away. Conrad breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Brother Otto is a fine priest,’ said Rudolf, ‘though apt to be rash in his actions. He used to be a soldier and sometimes forgets that he is now a man of the cloth. As such he is not allowed to spill Christian blood, or carry a sword for that matter. But he is very forgetful. I would advise caution in your dealings with him.’

  Hans was nodding as though he was having a seizure and a pale Conrad was likewise agreeing to Rudolf’s suggestion. Rudolf turned but then was stopped by a woman who ran up and threw her arms around him, kissing him on the cheek. Tall like him, she had dark brown eyes, full lips and hair as black as a raven’s wing.

  ‘You return is most welcome, lord,’ she said, her eyes burning with happiness.

  ‘How is my forest princess?’ asked Rudolf, running a finger down her alluring face.

  ‘Filled with joy by your return,’ she replied.

  Rudolf ignored the boys as he walked away with the mysterious beauty just as a bell began ringing. The mercenaries, Sword Brothers and civilians stood and looked at each other as a stout middle-aged man with a great bushy beard wearing a white surcoat came from the master’s hall escorted by four mail-clad Sword Brothers. Walter halted his prayers and rose to his feet. The middle-aged man stepped onto a crate and then the back of a wagon to face the assembly, mothers hushing their children and ushering them to their sides. Conrad saw Rudolf and his black-haired companion with Henke standing nearby and then the fearsome Otto, who glowered at him before looking at the man on the cart. The individual with the thick beard raised his hands as the bell stopped ringing.

  ‘My name is Master Berthold, castellan of this, God’s fortress of Wenden,’ Conrad looked around at the lack of walls and barely established towers. ‘We have been tasked by the Holy Church to bring this wild land under control so that it may bear fruit to feed the word of God and spread His message. The Sword Brothers are the warriors of Christ and defenders of the true religion against heresy, blasphemy and false gods. All of you, soldiers and workers, are engaged upon holy work. So fight and work well and your place in Heaven will be assured, for God is at this moment looking into your souls to discover if you are worthy of the task He has set you.’

  The mercenaries stared dead-eyed at this bearded figure while the civilian workers appeared to have been impressed by his words. Walter wore an expression of saintly determination. He had at last found his true home. Conrad and the other youths glanced at each other, unsure what to do, until Henke came over and told them to start unloading the wagons as the mercenaries and civilians were shown to their accommodation. This was sited to the south of the castle, down the slope beyond the moat in the area encompassed by the wooden outer perimeter wall and earth rampart. The civilian workers and their families were located in the eastern part of the compound, the mercenaries in the west, all lodged in simple logs huts with thatched roofs. Despite their rudimentary nature the huts were remarkably snug. Constructed from logs laid horizontally and fastened together with notched ends, they were small, one-room dwellings with a stout roof, one entrance and no windows. A centrally placed fire was used for cooking and provided warmth, the spaces between the logs being packed with moss for insulation. And as the population of Wenden increased so did the number of cabins.

  With the arrival of Rudolf and Henke the number of brother knights of the Sword Brothers once more equalled twelve. This number was considered especially auspicious as it equated to the number of disciples that Christ had gathered around him. These holy knights were the most highly trained soldiers in Livonia and were equipped with the best armour and weapons that money could buy. In battle they rode stallions brought from Germany, horses selected for their weight, power and ability to carry a knight on their broad, flat backs. These and the hors
es used for hauling wagons were stabled inside the castle, as were the mules. Below the brother knights were the sergeants, soldiers who wore kettle helmets and mail coats without sleeves and gloves, over which they wore leather gambesons bearing the insignia of the Sword Brothers. Their clothing may have been inferior to the brother knights but the swords they wore at their hips were of the same standard. Otto the priest was also attached to the garrison but in theory was not trained to fight. There were now fifty mercenaries at Wenden divided equally between spearmen and crossbowmen, plus the civilian workers and their families. These included cooks, clerks, stonemasons, carpenters, blacksmiths and wagon masters – just over sixty individuals in total including their wives and children.

  The garrison of Wenden also included four hundred indigenous warriors commanded by a local chief named Thalibald who were raised from the settlements that dotted the area around the castle. These comprised in the main spearmen equipped with shields, no armour and few helmets. As most could use a bow for hunting they could also be used as missile troops but the fact that only a handful of locals were allowed to live within Wenden’s settlement indicated that Master Berthold did not trust them, perhaps. They might not have been trusted but all the natives, who now lived on land owned by the Sword Brothers, were taxed to feed Wenden’s garrison and its workers, the natives paying their rent in produce that they brought to the castle.

  The brother knights and sergeants slept in the dormitory on mattresses stuffed with straw, as did Conrad and his fellow youths who were allotted beds in one corner. Conrad, who had been used to rising at dawn, found the transition to life with the Sword Brothers relatively easy but Hans, who had lived a feckless existence, at first found it difficult to rouse himself in the morning, though the others usually turfed him out of his bed onto the floor. Then, in a semi-daze, he dressed and joined the others for mass in the chapel, after which his spirits were revived by breakfast.