The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  ‘How many guards did you see on the wall?’ asked Lembit.

  ‘Six or seven above and each side of the gates,’ replied a gangly, bearded man.

  ‘Perhaps another half dozen along the rest of the wall,’ added another, shorter one.

  ‘That few?’ said Rusticus dismissively, rubbing his hands. ‘This will be easy.’

  Lembit threw him an angry glance. ‘It will be easy only if we get over that wall quickly.’

  He dismissed the scouts and assembled his subordinates, who sat cross-legged in a circle in front of him. The light was fading fast now and their faces were difficult to make out in the dimness. The warm air was thick with the smell of pine needles and the aroma of sun-heated moss and russulas. He had brought only professional warriors with him, men whose lives were dedicated to the military arts, not farmers who played at being soldiers. He now addressed them.

  ‘We attack at dawn. Each of you will lead your men against a section of the wall. You must cross the ditch and get over the palisade as quickly as possible. The enemy are few and cannot defend all the perimeter.’

  ‘What about their men of iron on horseback?’ enquired one.

  The ironclad knights on horseback were feared throughout Estonia, and with good reason. They attacked in densely packed ranks – big men on huge warhorses whose charge was irresistible.

  ‘We will be over the walls before they can sally forth and get among us,’ said Lembit. ‘Once we are inside the perimeter our superiority in numbers will decide things in our favour.’

  The men moved out just after midnight, cloth wrapped around their boots to muffle the sound of their footsteps. They moved slowly in long files, each man trailing his spear so the warrior behind could hold the shaft and follow in his footsteps in the darkness. They sweated as they carried their weapons, the scaling ladders and the logs lashed together to be thrown across the ditch, their shields strapped to their backs. Excitement infused Lembit’s body. If he took the castle at Wenden it would be a devastating, perhaps fatal, blow to the crusader kingdom and would give heart to the oppressed people of Livonia. They would rally to his side instead of the traitor Caupo’s.

  *****

  Conrad was already awake when the bell began to ring. In his previous life he had been used to rising before dawn and so found the Sword Brothers’ hour of rising easy to get used to, unlike Hans, though now even his slim friend had grown accustomed to rising at an early hour. He heard the bell and rose from his bed, only this morning the sound was different. It was not a calm sequence of sounds to signal the new day’s beginning and the first set of prayers; rather, it was frantic ringing.

  Rudolf burst into the room, dressed in his mail armour and white surcoat and carrying his helmet.

  ‘Up, up!’ he shouted, ‘the castle is under attack.’

  The guards at the gates had first spotted the groups of warriors beyond the ditch and had rung the alarm bell on the perimeter wall, the bell in the castle responding in a similar fashion. Beyond the dry moat bleary eyed mercenaries were coming from their huts putting on their clothes, while from other cabins came crying children, frightened women in their bedclothes and their artisan husbands. Henke and Otto had rushed down to the dwellings and now stood, swords in hands, shouting at the workers and their families to get to the castle as quickly as possible.

  Conrad and the others hastily put on their clothes, pulled on their boots and rushed out of the dormitory into the courtyard to meet a scene of chaos. Sergeants in their gambesons and kettle helmets were shepherding the civilians running across the drawbridge towards the chapel. Master Berthold stood in the middle of the courtyard with his arms by his side calling for calm, his booming voice instructing people not to run and to trust in the protection of the Lord. Rudolf and Lucas were standing by the armoury as mercenaries came to collect quivers of bolts, weapons, shields and armour before making their way to the perimeter wall. Conrad and his companions remained outside their dormitory, unsure what to do. Lukas saw them and ordered them over to him. Conrad noticed that some of the brother knights were leading their horses from the stables, both rider and beast fully equipped for war.

  Lukas pointed at them. ‘Get yourselves in the chapel.’

  Hans looked at Conrad and then the others.

  ‘We want to fight,’ declared Conrad before blushing intensely and staring down at the ground, mortified that he had spoken so.

  He did not know why he had said the words and expected to be flogged for his insolence.

  ‘If we could, sir,’ said Anton. The others nodded their agreement at Lukas. Conrad looked at Hans who nodded at him determinedly. Lukas laughed and pointed towards the groups of men forming up beyond the perimeter wall in the post-dawn light.

  ‘Do you know what they are?’ he said. The youths looked at him blankly. ‘I will tell you,’ he continued. ‘They are Estonians and they want to get inside these walls, butcher all the men and carry off the women and children as slaves.’

  Conrad stared at the Estonians. He counted ten widely spread enemy groups moving towards the wall, which was now filling with spearmen and crossbowmen, though not along its entire length. He also saw the engineers who had arrived with the bishop’s army frantically assembling what looked like wooden frames on wheels.

  ‘What use is learning to use weapons if we are not allowed to fight with them to defend ourselves?’ said Conrad, who this time looked directly at Lukas.

  The instructor moved to stand before Conrad, his face inches from the boy’s. ‘You have a lot to say for yourself all of a sudden.’

  Conrad stepped back. ‘My apologies, Brother Lukas. I do not want to be a slave.’

  ‘Time is pressing, Lukas,’ said Rudolf as the last of the civilians scurried past to disappear into the now very crowded chapel. ‘Let them fight if they wish then we shall see how good an instructor you are.’

  Lukas turned and looked at Rudolf with concern. ‘They are not ready.’

  Rudolf smiled. ‘No, but they can still shoot a crossbow and we need every pair of hands.’

  Lukas shrugged and turned back to face Conrad. ‘Very well. You all want to fight?’

  He smiled and the others said they did. Lukas sighed.

  ‘Come with me.’

  Minutes later they were all eagerly following him across the drawbridge armed with crossbows. Attached to their belts were black leather quivers shaped like an hourglass with wooden backs and bottoms and that held twenty quarrels, points up. At the armoury they had been issued with gambesons that were white but carried no insignia. Conrad felt a surge of pride as he marched behind Lukas, who was carrying his helmet in the crook of his arm. The mercenaries were at the wall now and Conrad’s heart raced as he heard the snapping sound of crossbows being shot at the enemy. His mouth was dry and he suddenly felt afraid. All the bravado he had displayed at the castle had disappeared by the time Lukas called a halt and arranged him and the others in a line facing the gates. He glanced behind him, at the castle that seemed a hundred miles away.

  He had forgotten about the strange frames on wheels that he had spied earlier but now there was a loud bang to his left that made him jump.

  ‘Easy,’ said Lukas, ‘it is only a mangonel.’

  Conrad and his pale-faced companions glanced at the machine as it launched a rock that arched into the sky and disappeared on the other side of the wall. Then there was another bang, and another and another as the other mangonels launched their missiles. These one-armed throwing machines used a bundle of twisted hair or sinew called a skein that was strung across a frame. In the middle of the skein the wooden throwing arm was inserted upright. At the end of this arm was a sling.

  Conrad watched as the four-man crew lowered the arm and secured it in the horizontal position, then lifted one of the stones from the two-wheeled cart pulled by a horse positioned behind it and placed it in the sling. The chief engineer released a handle and the arm flew forward to release the stone, hitting a padded buffer attached to
an upright frame that acted as a stopper. The mangonels had been set up around fifty yards back from the perimeter ramparts, allowing their missiles to land some sixty yards beyond the wall.

  Arrows came from the ranks of the Estonians, most being shot at the defenders on the walls but a few arching high into the sky to land a few yards in front of Conrad and his companions.

  ‘Keep your eyes out for those arrows. Load!’ shouted Lukas, putting on his helmet and drawing his sword.

  Despite being frightened Conrad instinctively hooked the double-pronged metal claw that was attached to the front of his belt over the centre of the bowstring. He raised his right foot and placed it in the metal stirrup attached to the fore-end of the crossbow’s stock. He straightened his bent leg and in this way forced the crossbow downwards. The bowstring, attached to the claw, was restrained from following the movement of the weapon and was thus forcibly drawn along the stock of the crossbow until it slipped over the catch of the lock. His training was paying off.

  Ahead he could see spearmen fighting furiously with Estonians at the top of ladders. He then saw more enemy soldiers coming over a section of the timber wall that was not defended. His heart pounded in his chest as he pulled a quarrel from his quiver and placed it in the groove in the stock. Lukas shoved his helmet back on his head.

  ‘Don’t shoot our own men!’ he bellowed at them.

  Moments later the defenders, having failed to hold the wall, suddenly abandoned their positions and ran down the sloping earth bank on which the wall stood. Conrad was appalled – they were fleeing to leave him and his companions to face the enemy alone. But he was wrong and seemingly instantaneously the spearmen and sergeants formed a line in front of him with the crossbowmen standing directly behind. Lukas waved the boys forward to take up position behind a dozen spearmen standing with their weapons levelled and their shields locked.

  The Estonians flooded down the bank and formed up at the bottom, hurling insults and shouting obscenities at the Christians. Conrad saw a banner bearing a red wolf and saw warriors clustered around a man in a gilded helmet. Beside him, carrying a large round shield and armed with a vicious-looking axe, was a giant of a man. Conrad stared wide-eyed at the savage half-men who stood only a few yards away, shouting and banging their weapons on their shields.

  ‘Ready!’ shouted the commander of the mercenaries. The crossbowmen brought up their weapons.

  ‘Shoot!’ he bellowed and twenty crossbow bolts hissed through the air.

  Conrad pulled his trigger and was elated as the quarrel left his weapon. Seconds later there was another volley as the crossbowmen expertly reloaded and shot their missiles. Conrad likewise reloaded and released his trigger as Estonians screamed and fell to the ground, quarrels in their flesh.

  The crossbowmen got off two more volleys before the Estonians charged, yelling their war cries and raising their axes above their heads. Conrad reloaded again and shot another bolt that struck a man in the shoulder and pitched him onto the ground, two Estonians directly behind tripping over his prostrate body. But the rest smashed into the line of spearmen and began hacking at them with their axes and thrusting with their spears. Conrad saw Lukas thrust his sword forward into a man’s face, step back to avoid an axe being swung at his head and then bring his blade down on the arm holding the weapon, shattering the bone.

  Then the brother knights charged.

  They thundered down the track that led from the castle between the huts that housed the mercenaries and the civilian dwellings to the main gates in the outer perimeter. They numbered only eleven brother knights and Walter, all in a solid line with their lances couched, but their appearance tipped the scales of the battle. They did not scream war cries or hurl abuse at their foes as they rode towards where the spearmen and crossbowmen were being forced back by the great press of Estonians wielding their weapons. The unarmed engineers had fled back up the track to the castle, leaving their machines to the enemy. But now the knights charged straight into the midst of Lembit’s warriors.

  The fifty mercenaries and thirty sergeants had managed to retain their formation but had been pushed back towards the three mangonels that had been positioned directly in front of the civilian huts. But while Lembit and half of his warriors hacked and slashed at these soldiers, forcing them back, Rusticus had assembled another group on his chief’s left flank, ready to race up the track and storm the castle itself. It was this group that the knights struck.

  Eleven men against at least a hundred. But they were big men attired in mail and full-face helmets, riding big horses whose iron-shod hoofs pounded the ground and put the fear of God into the heathens. Rusticus screamed orders at his men to hold their ground and lock their shields. He knew that not even the horses of the iron men could break a solid shield wall. But his men did not have the brute courage he possessed and so they ran. They ran back towards the ramparts over which they had flooded, hoping to put as much distance between them and the accursed horsemen who were galloping towards them as possible. Rusticus hurried right to be with Lembit as the knights rode among their fleeing foes.

  They used their lances first, skewering Estonians in the back with ease, then drew their swords and slashed left and right to split helmets, skulls and shoulder blades. But as they scattered one half of the Estonians Lembit finally broke the resistance of the mercenary spearmen.

  Ten lay dead or wounded on the ground and although the crossbowmen had taken a heavy toll of the Estonians, their ammunition was now spent.

  ‘Back to the castle,’ ordered Lukas, his helmet shoved back on his head as he quickly appraised the situation. He saw the knights to his right riding among the enemy and dealing death with their swords. But in front of him the Estonians were literally hacking his men to pieces.

  The German crossbowmen did not need telling a second time: they turned tail and ran as fast as their legs would carry them. The sergeants and spearmen attempted a more disciplined withdrawal, for if they ran they would surely be cut down by a herd of feral Estonians. Horn calls came from the latter’s ranks and their rearmost warriors turned to see the knights hacking down the remnants of those men who had fled back over the ramparts. The presence of the iron men behind them resulted in their ferocious advance faltering, which was just as well for Conrad.

  He had been standing beside Hans shooting his crossbow, just behind a line of spearmen who had been forlornly attempting to stop the Estonians. Then Lukas had given the order to retreat and chaos had broken out. The spearmen and sergeants were still thrusting at the enemy with their spears as they shuffled back but the mercenary crossbowmen ran for their lives. Conrad, Hans and the others looked at each other, unsure what to do, just as the crusaders broke and Estonians came at them.

  ‘Run!’ shouted Conrad. Hans spun round and ran straight into a mangonel. He had not realised that as the spearmen in front were forced back they had got close to the machines. Hans sprawled on the ground and seconds later a great mail-clad Estonian was over him, raising his axe high in the air to split Hans’ skull. Conrad shot the man with a quarrel that went straight into his armpit, causing him to cry out in pain and collapse on the ground. He rushed over to Hans and hauled his friend to his feet.

  ‘Move, Hans,’ he said, his friend pointing past him, fear etched on his face.

  Conrad turned to see another Estonian running at him with an axe in his right hand. The man swung the weapon at Conrad, who ducked at the last moment and avoided the blade that embedded itself in the mangonel’s frame. Hans shot the man with a quarrel as he tried to yank the axe free. The youths withdrew a few paces as a series of individual duels between spearmen and Estonians erupted around them. Conrad reached into his quiver, extracted another bolt and reloaded his crossbow. The fear that he had felt earlier had now dissipated and a strange calm had taken possession of him. He reloaded with ease and then looked around, seeking targets. He gestured to Hans to stay close to him as he walked slowly backwards, ensuring there were no more machines on his line o
f retreat.

  They were among the civilian huts now, some of the Estonians darting inside to see if there were any women to be had to rape or loot. Then he saw Lukas to his right, surrounded by five enemy warriors who were swinging their axes at him. The brother knight was fighting with skill but would surely fall fighting such odds.

  ‘Hans,’ Conrad called, pointing at the outnumbered Lukas. Conrad brought up his crossbow and shot it, the quarrel slamming into the back of one of the Estonians. The man arched his back and pitched forward onto the ground, to be joined by a second as Hans shot his weapon and slew another Estonian. Conrad reloaded and ran over to where Lukas was fighting, the knight slicing the hamstring of an Estonian with a deft swing of his sword before retreating to face another of his attackers. Hans shot that man while the fifth, realising he was now outnumbered, backed away swiftly. The Estonian with the cut hamstring tried to hobble away but Lukas raced forward and killed him with a single thrust of his sword. He pointed the bloody weapon at Conrad and Hans.

  ‘You two back to the castle. Now!’

  Conrad nodded and raced off, Hans beside him. They rounded one of the huts and came face to face with half a dozen enemy warriors carrying shields bearing a wolf’s face, one of which was wearing a gilded helmet. They all turned as Conrad and Hans stopped and stared at them. For a few seconds nothing happened. And then two of the Estonians raced at them. Keep moving to stay alive. Conrad heard the words of Lukas in his head as he shot his crossbow to drop one of the warriors and then leapt aside as the other man swung his sword at him but cut only air. Hans’ shot hit the shield of the man with the gilded helmet, who now turned to face Conrad’s friend. The others made to attack Hans but the warrior with the quarrel lodged in his shield waved them back and calmly walked towards Hans. The latter frantically tried to reload his crossbow but in his panic he dropped his quarrel and then had his weapon knocked out of his hands before being barged to the ground.