by Peter Darman
‘The Sword Brothers are not Estonians,’ Lukas told them all. ‘We exist to protect native and pilgrim alike in this land. You should all remember that.’
Henke shook his head and smiled wryly but Conrad was impressed. He liked the idea of being a member of an organisation that protected the weak, just as Rudolf and Henke had protected him and his sister in their hour of need.
‘Besides,’ said Lukas, ‘on a more practical level we are ensuring that our investment has been used wisely.’
Conrad was confused. ‘Investment, Brother Lukas?’
‘Seed, ploughs and oxen,’ answered Lukas. ‘All gifts from the Sword Brothers to help seal our bond with Thalibald’s people.’
‘A people who are our allies, Anton,’ said Rudolf, ‘not our slaves.’
‘A farmer’s life is a hard one,’ said Lukas, ‘so it is only right that we lend a hand when we can.’
He was certainly right about that.
The ploughing usually began in April when the soil was soft enough to turn easily by the heavy ploughs supplied by the Sword Brothers. The team of oxen that pulled the ploughs had also been a gift from the order, as were the seed for the crops: barley, oats, peas, beans and vetches. And in April the cows came back into full milk as they grazed in the meadows rather than on sparse winter fodder. Between May and the end of September each year every cow was expected to produce enough milk to make nearly a hundred pounds of cheese and fifteen pounds of butter. That Lembit and his warriors had not stolen or slaughtered the cows of Thalibald’s people had been a minor miracle and was the subject of a service of thanksgiving in Wenden’s chapel in the days after his attack.
In June haymaking was the main activity of the villagers. The meadows were scythed to collect hay, which was vital as it provided the main winter fodder for animals. Lambs were weaned as early as possible because sheep’s milk was rich and highly prized. Shearing usually began late in the month.
In July, while Conrad and his companions had been learning to wield their swords, the villagers had been pulling up flax and hemp. The plants were laid out in the sun to dry before being retted: placed in a stream to rot away their fleshy parts. Once the fibres were clean they were then beaten to separate them and then hung up to dry. Afterwards the hemp could be wound into rope or cord. Flax was placed on a distaff to be spun into yarn.
The harvest began in August, the winter crops – wheat and rye – being harvested first followed by the spring grains: barley and oats. The wheat was harvested with a sickle, which Conrad now swung to slice right through an ear of wheat.
‘Not like that,’ said Lukas, ‘cut it two hands breadths below the ear to leave the long stubble still standing. Not too high, not too low.’
Hans sweating beside him grinned. ‘I bet you wish you were killing Estonians rather than doing this.’
‘I never realised it was so hard,’ Conrad replied, standing up to stretch his back. They had been bent over for an hour now and the muscles in his lower back ached like fury. As he stopped and looked around, to his consternation he saw that the local men and women were scything with aplomb, cutting through the wheat with gusto. The progress of Conrad and the other boys was dire by contrast.
‘Pitiful,’ said Rudolf as Conrad leaned against the wheel of a cart heaped high with harvested crops, beads of sweat on his forehead. The other boys were likewise sweating profusely.
‘I hope you perform better when you face an enemy,’ Rudolf teased them.
Conrad was tempted to ask when he and the other two brother knights were going to lend a hand but thought better of it. In any case he liked them, even the fierce Henke, and saw no purpose in provoking them. Nevertheless, their short stint in the fields had been a stark introduction to the hard life of a farmer. He peered into the sky to see if any clouds were forming that might offer some relief from the sun. Nothing! Hans nudged him in the ribs and pointed to a line of teenage girls approaching, each one with a wooden yoke across her shoulders, from which hung two buckets. By the girls’ laboured movements Conrad judged them to be full.
‘Refreshments,’ announced Rudolf, looking at his exhausted charges, ‘not that you deserve any.’
He grinned at Lukas who smiled and shook his head. The boys all stood as the girls approached, making their way along the track that led from Thalibald’s village to the field. The other villagers in the fields stopped, looked at the girls and went back to their scything.
Conrad was in awe of their stamina. ‘I did not know farmers and their wives had so much strength,’ he said to Rudolf.
‘It is a strength born of desperation,’ he replied.
Conrad looked at him in confusion.
‘They have to harvest the crops as quickly as possible. If the rains come they can ruin the crops and that means starvation. We are at war with the pagans but the war these people fight against nature is constant and unyielding. That is why we help them.’
Conrad began to see the villagers in a different light and bent down to pick up his scythe. He heard a shout and saw that one of the girls had tripped and was on her knees, though she had managed to sit the buckets down on the track before she tumbled. Conrad dropped his scythe and ran over to her, helping her to her feet.
‘Thank you,’ she said in German, smiling at him.
Conrad smiled back, still holding her arm. ‘You speak our language.’
‘My father taught me,’ she replied, her green eyes sparkling.
Conrad admired her as she adjusted the yoke and lifted the buckets holding water off the ground. She was a striking girl with an oval face, narrow nose with a pointed tip, high cheekbones and full lips.
‘Can I carry those for you?’ he asked, blushing slightly.
‘No, thank you,’ she replied, ‘though you can let go of me now.’
He blushed some more as he realised that his hand was still on her arm. He snapped his arm back and mumbled an apology as she giggled at the other girls. He trailed after her like a puppy as she and they went to the wagons. Conrad estimated her to be about his age, perhaps two inches shorter, with shoulder-length light brown hair. She and the other four girls, who paled somewhat beside her, put down their buckets in front of the now standing boys and offered ladles of water, serving Rudolf, Henke and Lukas first.
Rudolf took the ladle off the brown-haired beauty and drank. ‘Thank you, Daina,’ he said. So her name was Daina.
Conrad waited eagerly behind him as the mail-clad knights took their fill before moving aside to let him drink. He smiled sheepishly as Daina handed him some water. Though her body was wrapped in a white linen shift beneath a sleeveless blue dress that was fastened at the front by laces, he could see that she had a slim frame, unlike two of her friends who were rather plump in appearance.
Conrad downed his drink and was about to say something to the dazzler that had stirred his boyhood feelings, but then Rudolf slapped him on the back.
‘Say goodbye to Daina, Conrad. Time to get back to work.’
Conrad half-smiled at her, blushed, mumbled something under his breath and then picked up his scythe and followed the others back to the field. He glanced over his shoulder to catch a last sight of her. Daina tilted her head and smiled at him before hoisting the buckets back on her shoulders and returning with the other girls back to the village. Conrad’s mind was filled with images of her for the rest of the day and he forgot entirely about his aching back and tired limbs.
He and the others spent three days helping to harvest the crops. Though it was a break from their instruction in the martial arts, Lukas and Rudolf thought it an invaluable lesson in how their fate was bound up with the locals and what they produced. At night they slept in one of the huts that Thalibald made available in his village, which was filled with a hall, huts, barns and animals pens. It stank of the latter but was located near a fast-flowing stream filled with cool water where they could wash the aroma of animals and straw from their bodies every morning. A timber wall ringed the village itself wit
h a ditch in front of it, a wooden bridge over the ditch and a single gate giving access to the settlement. Rudolf told the boys that it had a palisade because it was where Thalibald lived but the other villages had no defences.
When the August harvest had been collected the chief gave a feast in his hall to celebrate, which was attended by the whole village. Men and boys occupied long benches while the womenfolk served the food before sitting with their families to share in the meal. Thalibald sat on the top table with his fair-haired wife Helena and flanked by his two sons, Rameke and Waribule. The latter was older and more severe looking than his younger sibling, but both had inherited their father’s stocky frame. Rudolf, Henke and Lukas also sat at the top table, Conrad and the others sitting on a bench at right angles directly in front of Rudolf.
The kitchens were attached to the side of the hall, but before the women served the food everyone stood in silence while Thalibald offered a prayer of thanks to God for the good weather that had ripened the crops and allowed them to be harvested. Then the men and boys took their seats while the women ferried the food from the kitchens. Despite the tangible air of happiness and relief in the air the feast was remarkably quiet and restrained. Rudolf told Conrad afterwards that this was because before Christianity came to this land the locals had viewed sitting down to a meal to be a serious business that demanded calmness and decorum.
Notwithstanding the earnestness of the occasion the food was excellent both in terms of quality and quantity. Hans was like a fox that had got into a chicken coop as he held out his bowl to be filled with roasted boar, duck and chicken, all flavoured with caraway seeds, onions, garlic and white mustard.
There was also a plentiful supply of a drink called kvass that was made from rye bread and flavoured with strawberries. It was thirst quenching but non-intoxicating, thus ensuring that the feast did not descend into raucousness.
Johann sat opposite Hans watching him stuff some piragi – bread filled with diced, fatty bacon and onion – into his mouth.
‘I have thought of a way of defeating the Estonians.’
Conrad and the others looked at him.
‘It is true,’ he continued. ‘All we have to do is send Hans into their territory to eat up all their food supplies and they will starve to death.’
They laughed as Hans finished his piragi and reached for another. Conrad sensed a presence beside him and turned to see Daina standing holding a wooden plate, upon which was a loaf of bread. The room was hot and stuffy and Conrad felt sweat trickle down his neck as his heart raced at the sight of her.
She looked at him with her bright green eyes. ‘My people believe that bread baked from the first harvest has special powers.’
She offered Conrad a slice of the bread. He took it eagerly, Hans and the others staring at Daina.
‘They believe,’ she continued, ‘that if you make a wish when eating this bread the wish will be granted.’
Conrad said nothing as he stuffed the bread into his mouth and swallowed it, wishing that he could see more of this delightful girl. Daina smiled at him. ‘That is what my people believe.’
Then she turned and went to another table to serve others. His companions laughed and pointed at him as they made fun of him. He picked up his cup and drank some kvass, then turned to see Rudolf studying him. Conrad felt embarrassed and knew that it was wrong to believe in pagan superstition. But Rudolf smiled and raised his cup to him. Conrad did not see Daina the next morning as they saddled their ponies prior to riding back to Wenden but he left Thalibald’s village with a happy heart. It was now early September and the rich shades of green were slowly turning into hues of yellow and brown as the leaves changed colour before they fell to the ground. The days were still warm and sunny though the nights were now cool and the sky was filled with flocks of migratory birds heading to warmer climes, the white stork being the first to leave Livonia.
*****
He had been hunting the boar all morning, following its trail through the tunnels made by the animals among the thickets and trees that filled this part of Oesel. He had caught only fleeting glimpses of the beast but enough to know it had powerful shoulders and massive jaws, its four tusks being able to inflict terrible injuries. It was also big, perhaps weighing around three hundred pounds. Eric crept forward slowly, being careful not to step on any twigs that might snap and give him away. He looked behind him at his hunting party – men armed with spears and bows – and waved them back. He did not want them blundering forward and making a noise that would scare off his prey. Not that ‘scare’ was an appropriate word to use when talking about a wild boar. Every Oeselian knew them to be notoriously bad tempered and territorial, aggressive when threatened and generally preferring fight to flight when boxed into a corner.
Eric moved forward once more, skirting a thicket and stepping into the muddy water of a small stream. He knew this was ideal boar terrain: moist with dense cover and near water. Boars love water. They cannot sweat and so wallowing in a stream cools them down and also protects them from insects and parasites. And after a good wallowing came a vigorous rub, usually against a tree.
Eric moved slowly through the ankle-deep water, keeping a tight grip on his boar spear. He wore no armour on his body or head and carried only a knife as a backup, preferring to be as lightly equipped as possible to spring into the attack and move speedily out of the way of a charging boar. His spear comprised a six-foot shaft with a broad steel tip and two lugs on the spear socket, behind the blade. These lugs prevented a raging boar working its way up the spear shaft towards the hunter once impaled.
Crouching low, Eric emerged from the stream and stepped gingerly forward. He heard grunts and peered around a thicket to see his prey rubbing his great body against a tree. It was a large male with a red coat, so totally engrossed in his scratching that he was unaware of Eric’s presence. He smiled. A startled boar was a very dangerous creature and not to be underestimated. He knew this as he moved beyond the thicket to stand out in the open around ten paces from the boar. He roared a challenge and then levelled his spear.
The boar turned in an instant and charged. It covered the ground between them in no time, squealing in rage as it ran at Eric’s legs to slash and rip his muscles, tendons and arteries with its tusks. He knew that a spear thrust into the animal’s heart from the front would kill it quickly, but the red monster had his head down as he charged so Eric shifted the weight onto his left foot as he leaped aside and plunged the spear into the boar’s side, right behind its front legs. The animal squealed in pain and anger and twisted right with all its strength. Eric’s legs gave way and he fell to the wet earth with three hundred pounds of enraged boar on top of him. He could smell its rancid breath, his face covered with foam coming from the animal’s mouth as it tried to gouge him with its tusks, the spear sticking in its right side pumping blood on his shirt and leggings. He heard shouts as his men rushed to assist him but the enraged boar was thrashing around violently, its tusks ripping his shirt and cutting his arm. A boar’s upper jaw carries stumpy tusks called ‘whetters’ that are razor sharp. Eric cried out in pain as these sliced the flesh on his arm. With his right arm he pulled the dagger from the sheath on his belt and rammed the long blade into the boar’s side, forcing the point down. It stopped thrashing as the point of the weapon found its heart and killed it.
His men appeared, crashing through the undergrowth.
‘Get this stinking thing off me,’ he shouted as the boar’s bladder involuntarily opened and it pissed all over him.
It took three men to haul the beast off their lord while another pulled him to his feet. He was covered in mud, blood – his own and the animal’s – and urine but he threw his head back and roared with laughter and triumph at his victory. He looked at the boar.
‘A fine kill, lord,’ said his deputy.
Eric slapped him on the arm and then grimaced as the blood-rush of victory subsided and pain began to lance through his injured left arm. He also rubbed his ri
bs.
‘The monster nearly crushed me to death,’ he grinned.
He heard horn blasts and horses’ hooves and cries of ‘make way for the king’ and then his father and brothers were in front of him, the men of the royal bodyguard behind them. His father brought his light brown mare to a halt a few paces from him, the hunting party bowing their heads at him as he looked at his eldest son and then at the dead boar.
‘You will soon have more challenging foes to kill, Eric. The Estonians have provisionally agreed to an alliance with us.’
Eric signalled to one of his party to bandage his arm as he slid his knife back into its sheath.
‘So we are servants of the Estonians now?’
‘Allies, Eric,’ said Sigurd next to Olaf, ‘with whom we shall destroy the Christian settlers and take their lands.’
The man finished bandaging Eric’s arm and another handed him his spear that had been lodged in the boar’s side.
‘The Estonians are weak,’ he sneered, ‘that is why they agree to our friendship.’
‘Not so weak that they cannot strike at the enemy’s strongholds,’ said Sigurd smugly.
‘Word has reached us that Lembit attacked the crusader castle at Wenden,’ said Olaf, ‘one of their strongest citadels.’
Eric was unconvinced. ‘Did he take it?’
Sigurd shook his head. Eric laughed.
‘That rather proves my point. The Estonians are a weak people.’
Olaf frowned. ‘That may be, but combined we stand a better chance of defeating the crusaders than fighting alone. Next year we will act in unison with Lembit to strike a fatal blow against the Christians.’
‘Why not now?’ asked Eric, a glint in his eye.
Olaf shook his head. ‘It is too late in the year. The rivers will soon be iced over and too dangerous for our boats.’
He nodded approvingly at the dead boar. ‘Taarapita has smiled on you, my son.’
Taarapita was the god of the Oeselians, the God of Thunder and War.