The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  ‘Let us hope He also blesses our alliance with the Estonians,’ replied Eric as his men fastened the boar’s carcass to a length of wood for transportation back to the island’s capital.

  *****

  As the autumn drew to a close Conrad and his companions continued to receive martial instruction from Lukas. As the days became cooler they were lashed by wind and rain and the trees turned brown and yellow. At Riga some of the crusaders returned home following the defeat of the Kurs, though Bishop Albert persuaded others to stay to provide security against further raids. He also sent messages of peace to the Lithuanians but received no reply and so soldiers had to be despatched to the castles along the Dvina to bolster Livonia’s southern defence line. At Wenden the mercenaries accompanied the sergeants and brother knights on great hunting trips to collect meat for the winter. Hundreds of crossbow bolts were used to slaughter dozens of elk, deer and wild boar, the carcasses being taken back to the castle to be skinned and gutted to produce cured meat for the winter. Conrad and his associates went on these trips but were not issued with crossbows; rather, they had the unsavoury task of assisting the crossbowmen in digging their bolts out of the carcasses of slaughtered animals.

  Conrad was kneeling beside the body of a large elk that had three quarrels lodged in its side. It was one of a dozen arranged on the ground in the camp, along with rows of dead deer and wild boars, all of which had been shot. The stench of blood was nauseating. Conrad turned up his nose as he dug a bolt out of the elk with his knife. He objected to being here when he could be sharpening his sword skills, albeit with a wooden waster. He yanked out the quarrel and handed it to a crossbowman kneeling beside another elk carcass. The man with his leathery face nodded in thanks, wiped the blood off the bolt and slipped it back into his quiver.

  ‘Waste of time,’ muttered Conrad.

  ‘When you’re shivering your balls off and your belly is aching because it’s empty you will think differently, boy.’

  Conrad, who had never been better fed, thought that unlikely. The man saw his sceptical expression.

  He grinned maliciously. ‘Winters are long and cold in this land, boy, and there are many mouths to feed at Wenden. It is good to collect as much food now rather than starve later.’

  ‘Are we going to eat the rabbits too?’ asked Conrad. For weeks traps had been laid around the castle to trap rabbits, squirrels, martens and foxes.

  ‘No, boy. The hides of all the small animals are shipped south to Riga for sale to fur merchants to raise money.’

  ‘Money for what?’ asked Conrad, handing him another bloody quarrel.

  The crossbowman laughed. ‘How do you think the Sword Brothers pay for me and my comrades, the stonemasons, carpenters and the others who live at Wenden? Wars and crusades don’t come cheap, boy, and so Master Berthold sells furs and timber to support his garrison and build his castle.’

  He wiped his nose on his bloody cloth. ‘Now, the pious knight who arrived at the same time as you.’

  ‘Walter,’ said Conrad.

  ‘Yes, that’s him. Now people like him come with a big donation to the holy crusade in Livonia, which is paid to the bishop in Riga but shared with whatever castle he ends up in. In his case Wenden. But there’s never enough money. Even salt has to be imported.’

  ‘Salt?’

  ‘To cure the meat from these beasts,’ he said. ‘There’s none of it here so it has to be imported.’

  Conrad was glad when the hunting trips ended and he could return to his training. He and the others were taught to ride holding a shield and lance, receiving instruction in how to jump into the saddle from the ground rather than using stirrups. They practised on the garrison’s ponies, not the expensive warhorses that were treated like equine kings. Lukas also took them on long-distance runs through the forest to improve their stamina.

  ‘You are all gaining in strength but there is no point in being able to wield a sword in battle if you are too exhausted to lift it.’

  Conrad tried to be clever. ‘I thought you told us to finish an opponent as quickly as possible, Brother Lukas.’

  ‘So I did, Conrad, but you may be surprised to know that in battle you will face more than one opponent. We are almost always outnumbered so we must have the stamina to stay on our feet to kill many opponents.’

  Even though the hours of daylight were shortening they trained until past dusk, honing their skills until they became second nature. They all asked when they would be issued with real swords and were given extra fatigue duties for their impudence. In the end they gave up asking but all of them looked forward to the day when they had their own swords.

  The regime they lived under was hard but fair and though the brother knights were a rough lot they were not cruel. Master Berthold was a wise old fox who tolerated no ill discipline among his subordinates. And he ruled with an iron fist. One day Conrad stood with his companions in a heavy rain as justice was meted out to one of the mercenaries who had attempted to rape the young daughter of a stonemason. The brother knights sat on their warhorses in their armour and helmets as Otto stood on the back of a cart saying prayers beside the ashen-faced prisoner who had a noose around his neck, his hands bound behind his back. He looked imploringly but forlornly at his fellow mercenaries who were arrayed before him in their ranks. But they had no sympathy for his plight: the Sword Brothers paid well for their services and they were unwilling to risk their livelihoods for the sake of a stupid man.

  The priest stopped reciting prayers and the prisoner looked at the stony faced civilians on one side of the three-sided square who had been assembled to witness justice being administered. He licked his lips and began shaking as Master Berthold nodded his head and one of the sergeants slapped the horse that was hitched to the cart. The beast walked forward and the prisoner was left dangling from the wooden crossbeam. His legs kicked frantically for perhaps a minute and his body twisted on the rope but then he was still. Master Berthold made everyone remain in their positions for at least ten minutes before dismissing the assembly. Conrad’s mind was filled with images of his father’s execution and he shuddered. He detested seeing people being put to death, whatever their crimes.

  As the days shortened Lukas introduced them to the quintain, a method of teaching a rider to charge carrying a lance. The device consisted of a shield fixed to the end of a swinging arm, with a sandbag attached to the arm’s other end. A rider rode at the shield and struck it with his lance, whereupon the arm would rotate and the sandbag would swing round. The rider’s task was therefore not only to strike the shield but also avoid being struck on the back by the sandbag and unhorsed. The quintain itself was a simple structure made from pine with a heavy base to prevent it being toppled over when it was struck.

  The boys’ first attempts at training with the quintain were lamentable, each of them being so intent on not being hit by the sandbag that they missed the shield altogether. Their lances had no metal points but rather blunt ends so as to minimise any chance of injury, which seemed highly unlike as Conrad and the others cantered at the targets and missed them.

  ‘You are thinking about the bag and not the target,’ Lukas shouted at them. ‘Go again.’

  Conrad wrapped the reins of his pony around his left hand and concentrated on the target a hundred yards in front of him. It had been rainy and the ground was already cutting up. His pony grunted as Conrad felt the stirrups beneath his feet and dug his spurs into its flanks.

  ‘Concentrate on the target, Conrad,’ Lukas bellowed as the pony trotted forward and then broke into a canter. He gripped the lance tucked under his right arm and brought up the blunt end as the shield came into view. This time he would not miss. He focused on the target as the distance between him and it shortened – fifty yards, thirty yards, ten yards – and then he struck it. He smiled as his lance hit the shield dead centre and shoved it aside. He gave out a triumphant shout and was knocked from the saddle as the wooden arm swung round and slammed the sandbag into his back.
He fell heavily, his padded gambeson preventing any serious injury, but he was still winded. He gasped for air as the other boys cheered and burst into laughter. Lukas ambled over and helped him to his feet.

  ‘Well done, Conrad. Try to remember the bag next time.’

  After a month he and the others had gained a certain amount of competency against the quintain and were introduced to ‘running at the rings’. For this they were given lances with steel tips and rode at a gallop against metal rings suspended on a cord from a beam, which they attempted to carry off on the tip of their lances. After several weeks they were all comfortable in the saddle and so Lukas took them out into the countryside to undertake mock patrols, armed with their wooden swords and shields. They learned to ride in column formation and deploy into line at a moment’s notice. They began to feel like real knights until their fantasy was dashed one afternoon when they were ‘attacked’ by Rudolf and Henke armed with blunted lances with padded ends. The brother knights knocked Conrad and the others out of their saddles and then scattered their ponies, providing a salutary lesson in the art of ambush. Their spirits were deflated further when Lukas told them that it would be three or four years before they would be judged capable of taking part in real raids and patrols.

  As the weeks passed the land changed as winter gripped Livonia. The pine and spruce trees retained their green foliage but as the temperature dropped the birch and oaks lost their leaves and became black shapes in a bleak landscape. The first snow fell in November, the flakes blanketing the land in a sea of white though it was not yet bitterly cold and so the rivers and streams were still ice-free. Travel via the waterways was still possible and at the end of the month Bishop Albert himself came to Wenden by riverboat, accompanied by Grand Master Volquin, Sir Frederick and a hundred knights and squires. Once more Conrad and the others were turfed out of the dormitory to accommodate the senior officers of the bishop’s retinue. On the first evening of the bishop’s visit Conrad and his companions were ordered to act as attendants as Master Berthold feasted his new arrivals in his hall that now had a completed vaulted roof.

  The kitchens prepared a meal of stew and roasted pork. Most of the animals had already been slaughtered and their meat cured but the garrison still retained a small number of cows and pigs, the latter being able to subsist on scraps that were fed to them. A fire raged in the hall to keep the guests warm as Conrad served mulled wine from a jug to those gathered round the table: the bishop, the bishop’s chaplain, Grand Master Volquin, Sir Frederick, Master Berthold and Brother Rudolf. The chaplain said prayers and then Hans, Bruno and Johann brought meat, stew and bread from the kitchens to the table. Anton and Conrad emptied their jugs as the guests drank their fill and then brought more mulled wine as the table was cleared. He and Anton remained in the hall, Conrad standing behind the bishop and Anton behind Master Berthold, while the rest were dismissed. Conrad smiled when he saw Hans picking up food from Sir Frederick’s half-empty plate and stuffing it into his mouth as he went back to the kitchens.

  The fire crackled and spat in the hearth as the light from the candles around the table cast the guests in an eerie pale yellow glow. The bishop ran a finger around the rim of his cup.

  ‘These are trying times, my friends. Though we defeated the Kurs the lands around Riga were laid waste, with the result that there is a food shortage in the town. I have made appeals for food through the churches in northern Germany to be sent to Riga but this winter will be a hard one.’

  Sir Frederick drained his cup and held it out for Anton to refill it.

  ‘I have, through Prince Vsevolod, made appeals to the Lithuanians for talks so that we can reconcile our differences and halt their raids across the Dvina.’

  ‘Do you think that is likely, lord bishop?’ asked Master Berthold.

  The bishop shrugged. ‘I believe that the Lithuanians may have been encouraged by the audacity of the Kur attack against Riga to cross the Dvina and test our defences along the river. The defeat of the Kurs, plus their own failure at Kokenhusen, will hopefully deter the Lithuanians from attempting any more river crossings. In any case I am confident that Prince Vsevolod will be a restraining influence on his father-in-law.’

  ‘Should this not be so,’ added Grand Master Volquin, ‘we have strengthened the garrison of Kokenhusen plus those of Holm, Uexkull and Lennewarden. As long as we control the river line the Lithuanians can be contained.’

  ‘Which leaves Lembit and his Estonians as the most pressing threat,’ said the bishop. He looked at Master Berthold. ‘What news do you have of him?’

  Berthold scratched his beard. ‘That he sits in his stronghold at Lehola boasting of how he nearly took Wenden.’

  The bishop wore a worried look. ‘That he felt confident to venture this far south and assault this stronghold is bad enough, but his audacity gives hope to the pagan cause and is an affront to the Holy Church.’

  ‘He will be brought to heel next year easily enough,’ boasted Sir Frederick, wiping his wine-soaked beard on his sleeve.

  ‘That may be,’ replied the bishop, ‘but the spectre of Lembit casts a log shadow over this land. Caupo fears that his exploits make our cause look weak, which in turn might fan the flames of rebellion in our own lands.’

  The room smelt of wood smoke and Conrad’s eyes smarted a little as the wind outside blew down the chimney. He saw Berthold look at Rudolf, who nodded.

  ‘Lord bishop,’ said the master, ‘my deputy, Brother Rudolf, has an audacious plan that I think you should consider. One that may exorcise the spectre of Lembit.’

  The mask of doom disappeared from the bishop’s face. ‘Let us hear this most wondrous scheme.’

  Rudolf took a sip of his wine. ‘It is quite simple, lord bishop, we strike at Lembit before he can strike at us, thereby illustrating that our cause is the stronger.’

  Sir Frederick was unimpressed. ‘Of course we are going to attack. Next spring we will be marching north with all our strength. Not much of a plan.’

  Rudolf continued. ‘I propose that we attack Lembit in two months’ time.’

  ‘In January?’ said the bishop with surprise.

  ‘Impossible,’ barked Sir Frederick, ‘the land is already covered in snow. In January there will be more.’

  ‘Precisely,’ said Rudolf triumphantly. ‘The land will be frozen solid, which means that we can use the lakes and rivers as roads with ease.’

  ‘Campaigning in winter is most unusual,’ cautioned Grand Master Volquin.

  ‘But audacious,’ said Master Berthold.

  ‘And Lembit will not be expecting an attack,’ added Rudolf. ‘It will be our turn to surprise him.’

  The bishop began to drum his fingers on the table as he pondered Rudolf’s suggestion. The latter looked at Conrad and then at the bishop to indicate that he should fill his cup. Conrad stepped forward and poured wine into the cup. The bishop stopped his drumming and half-smiled at Conrad.

  ‘You may be interested to know that during the recent assault upon Wenden, lord bishop,’ said Rudolf, ‘this novice, Conrad Wolff, fought a personal duel with Lembit and wounded him in the face.’

  The bishop looked up at Conrad, his square face highlighted by the glow of the fire. He nodded at Conrad.

  ‘Well done, young lad.’ The bishop studied Conrad for a few seconds, making the boy feel most uncomfortable. ‘Well, it would appear that God has a plan for you, Master Conrad, one that involves smiting the infidel.’

  Conrad bowed his head and Rudolf waved him back.

  ‘What about attacking Lembit?’ said Sir Frederick impatiently.

  The bishop was still unsure. ‘Fighting in winter carries grave risks, Brother Rudolf. If our forces were to get trapped in enemy territory we would have no way to reinforce them by river, or indeed evacuate them by water.’

  Rudolf shook his head. ‘The pagans will not be expecting an attack, lord bishop. As a result their warriors will be scattered among the villages of Estonia. We can raid those villa
ges, steal their winter supplies and burn them before we assault our objective.’

  ‘Which is?’ asked the bishop.

  ‘The fort of Fellin,’ answered Rudolf, located around seventy miles due north of this castle. It is located only ten miles south of Lembit’s own stronghold of Lehola.’

  ‘Can we take and hold a place so deep in enemy territory?’ queried the bishop.

  ‘We do not hold it,’ replied Master Berthold. ‘By taking it we demonstrate that Lembit is unable to protect his territory and people, unlike the garrison of Wenden, and in so doing prove that our cause is righteous.’

  Sir Frederick was nodding his approval and Grand Master Volquin was impressed by the idea of his subordinates. Now all their eyes turned to the bishop. He brought his hands together and rested his chin on his thumbs.

  ‘Very well. You have my blessing.’

  ‘More wine, Conrad,’ said Rudolf, a smile creeping across his face.

  Later, when the bishop and the other guests had retired to bed and the table had been cleared, Conrad lay in the hut that had been allocated to him and the other boys, unable to sleep. The others were deep in slumber wrapped in their blankets. The straw that had been laid on the earth floor was dry but cold and the door was rattling in the wind.

  ‘Hans,’ whispered Conrad.

  There was no reply from his friend sleeping beside him.

  ‘Hans,’ he hissed more loudly.

  The blanket next to him moved.

  ‘Mm?’

  Conrad propped himself up on one elbow. ‘We are going to war.’

  Hans was only half awake as he turned his head towards Conrad.

  ‘What war?’

  ‘We are going to fight the Estonians in two months, to attack a place called Fellin.’

  ‘Where is that?’ asked Hans.

  ‘I do not know. But it is a fortress of the enemy.’

  Hans had fallen back to sleep but Conrad lay on his back and thought of glory and slaying the enemy hordes. The idea that he and the others would not take part in the fighting did not cross his mind. He was going to war with Rudolf, Lukas and Walter to smite the enemies of the Lord.