The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  At Wenden the only indication that an army had been camped around its ramparts was a vast area of flattened grass and great piles of horse dung. The inhabitants of the local villages, who had made themselves scarce during the army’s presence, especially the attractive young wives and daughters, returned to tending to their animals, fields, beehives and apple orchards. Master Berthold had issued strict instructions, backed up by the bishop himself, that the crusaders and their attendants were to have no contact with the locals, were to keep their horses away from the fields full of ripening crops and on no account were to slaughter cows and pigs. To enforce this edict Rudolf organised joint patrols with Thalibald’s men while the army was around Wenden. But now the army was gone and life returned to normal. Conrad and his companions returned to their dormitory and continued with their weapons practice while the bishop hurried south to slay the Kurs.

  *****

  Prince Stecse knelt by the water and stared across its perfectly smooth surface at the enemy stronghold. Despite it being summer the nights were not hot, particularly tonight when there was a full moon in a cloudless sky. There was no wind and the stillness was oppressive, or perhaps it was the prospect of the coming assault that gripped his senses. He looked at the objective again; some two thousand feet away perched atop a steep mound of earth. Kokenhusen Castle still retained its original timber walls and towers, the Sword Brothers having taken possession of it less than a year before. Built at the spot where the River Perse entered the larger River Dvina, Kokenhusen had water on its western and southern sides, archers on the ramparts being able to cover the riverbanks in these directions with their missiles. Any attack would come from either the north or east, but on these sides of the castle a ditch had been dug in front of the earth mound on which Kokenhusen sat. It was a most impressive stronghold.

  Stecse tapped his lieutenant kneeling beside him on the arm and the man crept away to commence the attack. In the trees around him squatted six hundred of his warriors under strict orders to stay silent. An Ural owl gave two short hoots, indicating he was alarmed. Stecse’s blood ran cold. Had the garrison heard? To those who knew of such things it was a telltale sign that something foreign, alien, was moving through the forest. It did not matter: it was too late to call off the attack.

  Kokenhusen may have been a formidable fortress but its garrison was small. No more than a dozen Sword Brother knights, perhaps a score or more sergeants, a score more spearmen and perhaps the same number of crossbowmen. There might also be native warriors inside the castle, though the Sword Brothers usually kept the Livs outside their walls in surrounding villages. Whatever their numbers the crusaders were greatly outnumbered by his own men and the soldiers of Prince Vsevolod that were at this very moment approaching the castle from the east. Stecse disliked the prince. Disliked him for his effeminate appearance, cowardly ways and duplicitous nature. Were it not for the fact that he was the son-in-law of Grand Duke Daugerutis he would have nothing to do with him. Still, his five hundred Russian soldiers who would assault the castle from the east would add to the weight of the attack and spread the garrison even more thinly along the walls.

  His men had spent three days several miles south of the river, in the forest’s interior, felling trees and fashioning assault ladders. These were now loaded onto forty row boats, two in each vessel, that were positioned among the trees a hundred yards from the water. Each vessel resembled a miniature longship with pointed prow and stern, wide amidships, but having no mast. With six oars on each side they would be able to cross the wide stretch of water quickly and silently right under the noses of the garrison.

  He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer to Perkunas, the God of Thunder who was also the deity of warriors and the son of Dievas, the Chief God. He prayed that his efforts would be worthy of a Lithuanian prince and if not, that he would die from wounds in his chest and not in his back. Then he rose and walked over to the nearest boat, grabbed its prow and with the other warriors hauled it from the treeline to the water’s edge.

  The plan agreed with Vsevolod was that the Lithuanians would commence the attack and, once engaged against the enemy, the Russians would assault the east side of the castle where there would hopefully be few if any soldiers manning the defences. The boat moved effortlessly over the sand and then Stecse felt water around his lower legs as it entered the river and he and the others hauled themselves aboard. The oars were speedily shoved through the oar holes and their operators began to apply power to each stroke, propelling the boat through the water. He crouched at the prow as either side of him the other boats cut silently through the water.

  Stecse’s heart was pounding as the flotilla reached mid-stream and still there was no sound from the castle. He gripped the hilt of his sword and held the wooden handle behind the metal boss of his shield with his left hand. Then the sound of a bell being rung frantically suddenly sounded from inside the castle. They had been spotted. The clang of the bell grew louder as his men strained at their oars to close the gap between them and the opposite bank as quickly as possible. The plan was for half the boats to row into the mouth of the Perse and then veer sharply right to beach on the bank on the western side of the castle, while the rest rowed straight ahead to land on the bank directly beneath the castle’s southern ramparts.

  Stecse’s boat ran aground on the soft sand and he leapt from the vessel, as there was a thud and a low groan behind him. One of the rowers was slumped over his oar, a quarrel lodged in his back.

  ‘Move!’ shouted Stecse as there was a succession of phuts around him as crossbow bolts slammed into the ground.

  The rest of the boats ran aground as their occupants jumped from them. Stecse scrambled up the earth bank that led to the castle’s timber walls, his men following. They and he held their shields above their heads as from above the crossbowmen on the ramparts shot their bolts. The air was alive with deadly hisses as quarrels punched through helmets and splintered shields. Then spears were thrown at the Lithuanians, their points finding flesh as men screamed, clutched their wounds and tumbled back down the bank.

  But now the castle was being assaulted on two sides and forty ladders had been hauled up the earth bank and placed against the timber walls, and then like ants the warriors scrambled up them. The defenders managed to push half a dozen away from the walls, screams piercing the air as Lithuanians fell back down to earth, the fall smashing their bodies and sending slivers of broken bones into their hearts and lungs. The crossbowmen managed to slaughter those climbing a further five ladders, Lithuanian bodies hanging limply from the wooden frames. But the defenders were too few to be everywhere and other Lithuanians managed to reach the top of the walls.

  Stecse, his shield on his back held in place by a leather strap around his shoulders, clambered to the top of the ladder just at the moment a spearman thrust his weapon at him. He saw it at the last moment and instinctively swung away, holding the top rung of the ladder with his left hand. He grabbed the spear shaft and yanked it violently down. The spearman’s thrust meant his torso was hanging over the wall and so it was easy for him to be hauled down to his death. He screamed as he fell to the ground below and Stecse jumped onto the fighting platform and pulled the axe that was tucked in his belt. Another spearman came at him, his large, almond-shaped shield covering his body. Stecse pulled his own shield from his back, grasped its handle and threw the axe at the spearman’s head. The man instinctively ducked, giving Stecse time to draw his sword, dash forward and run the blade into the man’s guts.

  The warriors who had been following him up the ladder now came onto the battlements. He felt a surge of ecstasy flow through him. They were up and over the walls! Then he looked down and saw a line of crossbowmen pointing their weapons up at the walls. Pointing them at him and his men. He glanced over to where the Russians should be assaulting the eastern side of the castle walls but saw no activity. Where was Vsevolod? He saw the crossbowmen again.

  ‘Take cover!’ he screamed as a score of
quarrels lanced through the air and found their targets.

  He had managed to crouch down behind his shield but the others were not so quick thinking. There was another volley of crossbow bolts and at least a score of Lithuanians were killed, some of them toppling from the battlements onto the ground in front of the crossbowmen. The latter shot another volley and more Lithuanians were cut down. Stecse looked left and right and saw that although some of his men had reached the walls, they were being contained by a combination of spearmen and crossbowmen. And now, from below, they were being shot at by men who should have been fighting Russians on the eastern ramparts.

  A crossbow bolt slammed into the top of his shield, the point fracturing the wood. He looked left and saw a spearman charging at him. He jumped up and to the left and barged the shaft away with his shield, then thrust his sword over the top of the man’s shield and into his face, driving the point into his mouth and out through the back of his neck. He yanked the blade back as more crossbowmen formed up below to rake the battlements still occupied by Lithuanians with bolts.

  ‘We must fall back, lord,’ said his deputy beside him. ‘We are being slaughtered.

  Fresh groans and screams heralded another crop of Lithuanian dead as Stecse and his deputy once more crouched down behind their shields.

  ‘Give the order,’ said Stecse, his deputy turning to bellow a command at a man nearby, who blew a horn. He blew it again and thankful Lithuanians began scurrying back down ladders to their boats.

  Stecse was the last to leave, making sure there were no more live Lithuanians on the walls before holding what was left of his shield above him and climbing back down his ladder. Already boats were pushing off into the black waters as his men beat a hasty retreat. Quarrels kicked up sand at his feet as he ran to a boat that was now in the water and jumped aboard, the rowers groaning as they strained at their oars in order to propel the vessel as far from the crossbowmen as quickly as possible.

  *****

  In the woods to the east of Kokenhusen Prince Vsevolod sat on his horse and listened as the sounds of battle coming from the castle petered out. Around him his senior officers shifted uncomfortably in their saddles as they waited for him to give the order to attack. They had over five hundred soldiers in the woods, the vanguard equipped with scaling ladders, bows and ropes with which to storm the castle. But Vsevolod gave no command. He just sat on his horse impassively.

  Eventually he turned to his general. ‘Send some scouts ahead to see what is happening.’

  It was half an hour of more waiting before they returned with news that the Lithuanian attack had failed. There were angry murmurs among his officers.

  ‘Silence!’ snapped Vsevolod. He turned to his general. ‘We will advance to the castle walls.’

  He looked at his officers and then Vsevolod, confusion etched on his face. ‘I do not understand, highness. Should we not have coordinated our own attack with that of the Lithuanians?’

  ‘We are not going to attack,’ announced Vsevolod, digging his spurs into his horse’s sides. ‘Ensure that the assault parties are withdrawn and sent back to Gerzika forthwith.’

  ‘I do not understand, highness,’ said the general who followed his lord’s horse.

  ‘That is why I am a prince and you are not,’ replied Vsevolod condescendingly. ‘See to it that my orders are obeyed.’

  Vsevolod smiled to himself. What were the lives of a few Lithuanians to him? He had to tread carefully. If the Lithuanians had taken the castle then he would have thrown in his lot against the bishop’s forces. He knew that Lembit was going to attack south and if Kokenhusen had fallen then Daugerutis would have sent more soldiers over the Dvina to support him. But the attack had failed and once more he was in a vulnerable position: an isolated ruler on the northern bank of the river facing the bishop and his considerable forces. His defeat at the hands of the crusaders last year had illustrated the folly of confronting the Germans directly. It was not lost on him that the castles being built along the Dvina – at Holm, Uexkull, Lennewarden and Kokenhusen – had all formerly been the strongholds of pagan lords, now either dead, reduced to vassals or in exile. No, he would bide his time.

  He would ride to Kokenhusen and act the part of an ally bringing a relief force after having heard a rumour that the Lithuanians were going to attack the castle. This would endear him to the bishop at least and would lure him into believing that the Kingdom of Gerzika was loyal. And now that his honour had been affronted Grand Duke Daugerutis would undoubtedly wage more war against the bishop’s lands, and would perhaps even assault Riga itself. Whatever the outcome a war with Lithuania would drain the bishop’s resources, in addition to the not inconsiderable matter of the conflict with Lembit that he still had to resolve.

  Vsevolod forgot that he was sitting on an uncomfortable horse as he rode towards the castle with these happy thoughts swirling in his mind. Perhaps that oaf Stecse had been killed in the attack, a most pleasing thought. Vsevolod began to whistle to himself. This night was improving by the minute.

  *****

  Stecse stood on the riverbank and observed his men disembark from their boats and pull them up the bank and into the trees. The assault had been a disaster. He stood with his arms folded, staring at Kokenhusen across the river, while a roll call was taken. The plan had been simple enough: assault a small garrison on all sides under cover of night and capture it with speed and overwhelming numerical superiority. He had gone to Gerzika where details of the assault had been finalised. Vsevolod’s commanders had even built a model of Kokenhusen and the surrounding terrain to acquaint their soldiers with the local geography and its features. He himself had sent spies to the castle to collect information pertaining to the size of the garrison and the location of any forces in the local villages. It was all for nothing.

  His deputy cleared his throat behind him. Stecse snapped out of his staring and turned to face him.

  ‘Seventy-five dead and eighty wounded, twenty-five fatally, lord.’

  ‘We will rest for an hour and then row east to get well away from this place,’ said Stecse.

  ‘Where were the Russians, lord?’ asked his deputy.

  ‘Where indeed?’ replied Stecse.

  ‘Perhaps they were ambushed,’ suggested his deputy.

  Stecse shook his head. ‘There are no other crusader forces in this area aside from those in that castle across the water. There was no ambush.’

  He was going to say that treachery was a more likely explanation but stopped himself. He would wait until he was back at Grand Duke Daugerutis’ stronghold before giving his opinion on the matter.

  Chapter 5

  Lembit sat crouched beside an aged oak on the edge of the forest, observing the castle. Rusticus was kneeling beside him and behind him over fifty wolf shields crouched low among the foliage to prevent them being spotted. They were in the trees to the north of the castle and could see workmen on the scaffolding labouring on the castle’s towers. Lembit had never seen Wenden before; indeed had never been this far south outside of his own lands. The scouts that he had despatched to keep an eye on the crusaders’ movements had returned with news that the great army at Wenden had left to return south. The Kurs had kept their word, then, and had attacked Riga. His own army was camped ten miles to the north, well away from the eyes of the locals who were the slaves of the crusaders.

  Wenden was strong, that much was certain. The steep sides of the ground on its northern and western sides made an assault from those directions out of the question. Even the slope leading to its eastern ramparts was formidable. Any assault would have to be directed against its southern side.

  ‘What are we waiting for?’ complained Rusticus.

  ‘For the crusaders to depart the castle so we can take possession of it,’ Lembit replied.

  ‘Well they had better get a move on,’ said Rusticus, ‘my knees are aching.’

  Lembit looked at him in disbelief. The two were contrasting in appearance: Lembit short in stat
ure with quick reflexes, broad shouldered with long, thick hair; Rusticus large, lumbering with shorter hair and a great thick beard. In intellect they were opposites as well: Lembit cunning, intelligent and calculating; Rusticus stupid and cruel but very useful with a weapon in his hands.

  ‘I have seen enough,’ said Lembit, ‘let us return to camp.’

  He and his men moved slowly and stealthily among the trees until they were a safe distance from any of the villages that ringed Wenden. These were the original settlements that had been in existence when Wenden had been a hill fort of a pagan lord, but Lembit knew that the crusaders often sent their priests to live among the locals to poison their minds with their religion. He also knew that the presence of a large body of warriors, if spotted, would be immediately reported to the commander at Wenden.

  Camp was deep in the forest. On the way back Lembit walked in silence, deep in thought, his men in single file behind him and scouts ahead and on each flank. He had left nothing to chance. His men had crafted scaling ladders in Estonia and had brought them south with them so they did not have to cut down any trees and thus make a lot of noise. They had moved during the hours of darkness and in the pre-dawn light of the early morning before resting during the day so as to remain unobserved. Even so, despite the crusader army having moved back south, Wenden was still a formidable fortress notwithstanding that it had a small garrison and was only partially built. But if he and his men could breach the outer perimeter wall than surely it would fall.

  Later, when dusk was falling and he had rejoined his men at camp, the scouts reported to Lembit regarding the perimeter wall. No campfires were allowed so the men chewed on cured meat and salted fish and drank water. The scouts told him that a ditch surrounded the southern and eastern sides of the castle, behind which was an earth bank with a glacis slope, on top of which was a timber palisade of horizontally laid logs. There was one entrance, on the southern side, with a wooden bridge over the ditch leading to two wooden gates.