The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  ‘Note how the space you have created is open in the direction you want the tree to fall,’ he said. ‘Now, take the saw out and begin to saw on the other side of the tree, level with your first cut.’

  Hans and Bruno took the saw and began moving it back and forth until the teeth were inches from the first horizontal cut on the other side.

  ‘Stop!’ said Lukas. ‘Have a care!’ he shouted and then looked at the tree. There was a creaking sound and then a splintering noise and the trunk began to tilt in the direction where Anton had been standing. There was a loud crack and then the tree crashed to the ground. Lukas told Conrad, Johann and Anton to use their axes to cut it into manageable pieces while Hans and Bruno rested.

  They spent the whole morning felling trees while Thaddeus and his engineers assembled their machines covered by a screen of spearmen. The small number of Estonians manning the walls watched in silence as three mangonels were sited against the fort’s western wall and the other three were placed to face the southern wall. After a midday meal Lukas took his young charges back to see Thaddeus who was setting up his trebuchet.

  The camp behind them was filled with feverish activity as the crossbowmen completed their mantlets and positioned them in front of the siege engines. The trebuchet was a wondrous thing: a long beam that pivoted around an axle positioned on a wooden structure. The axle divided the beam into a long and short arm. At the end of the short arm hung a hinged counterweight; at the end of the long arm a sling. Conrad and the others stood admiring this machine, not really understanding how it worked. Some two hundred paces behind the trebuchet stood the assembled siege tower: three storeys high and open at the rear where there was a climbing frame to allow access to the top platform. A drawbridge mounted at the top of the tower gave access to enemy battlements when lowered. The other three sides were protected by wooden planks covered with animal hides as a precaution against the threat of fire.

  ‘We will soon be ready, Brother Lukas,’ said Thaddeus, his face framed by his fox-fur hat with earflaps that he had tied under his chin. ‘Will there be an assault today?’

  Lukas looked at the sun that was now descending in the west. ‘Not today, Master Thaddeus.’

  There were now more Estonian warriors on the battlements, some of them wearing the helmets they had taken from the corpses of the dead crusaders hanging from the assault ladders that still leaned against the walls.

  ‘Why does the enemy not attack to destroy the siege engines?’ asked Conrad.

  ‘Because they have never seen them before,’ remarked Thaddeus, ‘and though they may guess at their purpose they cannot be sure.’

  He pointed at the siege tower. ‘Now they have probably guessed that the tower is designed to be placed against their wall, what with its wheels and top platform. But they believe that their moat will keep it away from their ramparts.’

  ‘Which it will,’ said Anton, thinking out loud.

  Thaddeus tapped his beak-like nose and smiled. ‘Not if we fill it in.’

  ‘How can it be filled in?’ said Bruno.

  ‘Some of those logs you cut this morning,’ said Lukas, ‘will be used to fill in the moat and create a bridge, over which the tower will be pushed.’

  ‘Won’t the pagans launch their missiles at it when it gets near?’ asked Conrad.

  Thaddeus brought his hands together. ‘What inquiring minds they have, Brother Lukas.’

  ‘Indeed, if a little over-active at times.’

  After assisting the mucking out and feeding of the horses and ponies and cleaning the brother knights’ weapons and armour, that night the boys stood outside their tent warming their hands at the fire. They were all tired from their exertions but the prospect of the next day’s assault against the fort filled them with excitement and blocked out all thoughts of sleep.

  ‘How long do you think it will take to storm the fort?’ said Anton.

  ‘With all the machines we have it will fall in less than a day,’ offered Johann.

  ‘Perhaps the defenders will surrender tomorrow,’ said Bruno.

  ‘No they won’t,’ said Conrad, ‘they will fight.’

  ‘Of course they will,’ Henke appeared from between the tents, wrapped in a great white cloak sporting a red cross and sword, a hood pulled over his head. He walked up to the fire and warmed his hands on the flames. Hans placed more logs on it.

  Henke pulled the hood off his head, his eyes black and cold in the glow of the fire. ‘The Estonians are good fighters and the ones in Fellin are Lembit’s men. It will be a hard fight.’

  ‘Is this Lembit a king?’ asked Hans.

  Henke rubbed his hands. ‘He is a chief who leads a tribe called the Saccalians. We are standing on part of his land. He has managed to unite all the other Estonian tribes against us by swearing to kill all the Christians in Livonia and destroy their towns and castles.’

  ‘Is he in the fort?’ asked Conrad.

  Henke shook his head. ‘No. He would have showed his face on the battlements yesterday if he was. Pity you didn’t kill him at Wenden, Conrad, because that is the only way this war is going to end – with his death.’

  ‘Won’t the Estonians find another leader after his death?’ said Anton.

  ‘Not if we defeat his army at the same time we kill him,’ replied Henke. ‘That will break the fighting spirit of the Estonians and will leave us as masters of their lands.’

  ‘If he is not in the fort why then are we here?’ asked Johann.

  Henke smiled mischievously. ‘To goad him and to show his people that we can enter his land and burn his villages at will. He will have no choice but to retaliate and lead his army south, and then we can engage him in battle and destroy him.’

  He slapped Conrad on the arm. ‘Who knows, perhaps young Conrad here will put a bolt into his brain next time. Now you should all get some sleep. It will be a long day tomorrow.’

  But though they retired to their tent Conrad could not sleep. He lay awake thinking about Lembit and the day he had faced him at Wenden. Perhaps he would be given a crossbow tomorrow with which to shoot at the enemy. His last thoughts before dozing off were of his family and the sweet smiling face of Daina.

  The new day dawned icy and misty. A great fog hung over the frozen lake and crept over the crusader camp to make everyone feel cold and miserable. Conrad shivered as he pulled on his cool boots then put on his padded gambeson over his shirt and tunic. Everything felt cold and damp and in the half-light of the tent and no one spoke as they dressed and then stumbled out into the freezing early morning gloom. Mist hung all around, visibility was less than fifty feet and the only sounds were men coughing, spitting and complaining.

  The boys hurried to the centre of the camp to attend mass at the chapel tent, which was full of brother knights plus Sir Frederick and his knights, and so Conrad and the others knelt on the cold, damp ground as the priests recited prayers and asked God to bless the forthcoming attack on the fort. They then reported to Lukas who informed them of their duties to be performed before breakfast: help muck out, groom and feed the horses and ponies and cut down fresh fir boughs for the beasts to sleep on. The ponies were doing well but another warhorse and three packhorses had died during the night. It looked as though Rudolf’s prediction would come true. They also heard that another squire had been found dead that morning, curled up in a ball by the side of a sleigh, his body frozen solid.

  Conrad felt sorry for the squires. They shivered in inadequate clothing and ran around after their masters all day long. Lukas said each one served a master for seven years in the hope that they too would become knights. But they were treated more like slaves than apprentices and some did not even become knights, accepting the life of a squire into their adult years. Not to say that the daily routine in the Sword Brothers was not onerous; it was. But the boys had ample clothing and the food was filling and plentiful. Lukas had informed Conrad that the Sword Brothers had been founded by Bishop Albert to resemble another religious order called th
e Templars that fought the infidels in the Holy Land. Hans had been appalled when Lukas had also told them that the brother knights in the Templars often fasted to purify their bodies and bring them closer to God.

  ‘Do not worry, Hans,’ Lukas had told him, ‘the Templars fight in a land that is always hot and so they do not need as much food as you. In the cold of Livonia Grand Master Volquin is of the opinion that his fighters need ample food so they can battle the pagans to maximum effect, thereby spreading the word of God more quickly among the unbelievers.’

  Hans loved his life in the Sword Brothers, even on this chilly, misty morning in the depths of an Estonian winter. He sat opposite Conrad at breakfast shovelling heaped spoonfuls of hot porridge into his mouth into the cavernous hole that was his stomach. For someone whose only friend had been starvation the regular meals of the order were worth the minor discomfort of sleeping in a freezing tent, shovelling horse dung and cleaning the weapons and armour of the brother knights.

  Lukas collected them after they had filled their bellies and took them to where Thaddeus was overseeing the operation of his trebuchet.

  ‘You are all under the command of Master Thaddeus today,’ he told them, ‘I have more important matters to attend to.’

  ‘You will take part in the assault, Brother Lukas?’ Conrad asked him.

  Lukas nodded. ‘After Master Thaddeus’ machines have softened up the enemy first.’

  ‘May God go with you, brother,’ said Thaddeus.

  ‘And you,’ replied Lukas. ‘And don’t cause any trouble,’ he told the boys, raising his hand and then walking forward to where the army was assembling before the fort.

  The crusaders and Sword Brother knights and sergeants formed up in groups behind the lines of spearmen that faced the southern and western ramparts of the fort. The crossbowmen inched forward under cover of their mantlets, two men taking position behind each sloping wood shelter, until they were within one hundred paces of the moat. But the freezing fog was refusing to dissipate and was covering everything with a thin coating of ice. Visibility was poor and Conrad could barely see the fort’s southern side, but he could hear it. The warriors were shouting, whistling and jeering at the crusaders, taunting them to launch another attack. But their noise abated as the prisoners that had been taken in the raids on the villages were shoved forward towards the moat. They were cold and filthy, several of them glancing left and right at the soldiers arrayed before the fort.

  Conrad saw Rudolf, Henke and a score of sergeants from Wenden herding the prisoners forward, using the points of their swords to keep them moving as they stood behind them. Eventually they formed the prisoners into a line in front of the moat and Rudolf began shouting up at the now silent warriors lining the battlements. He was speaking a coarse language that Conrad did not understand.

  ‘He is requesting the garrison’s surrender,’ said Thaddeus.

  Rudolf finished shouting and waited for an answer. It came when at least a dozen warriors pulled down their leggings and showed their bare arses to him, followed by jeers and catcalls as others pissed over the battlements. Rudolf smiled, raised his sword to them and barked an order. Seconds later the brother knights and sergeants standing behind the prisoners thrust their swords into the captives’ backs and threw their corpses into the moat. They then raced back to the safety of the Christian lines as the garrison shot arrows at them.

  ‘Negotiations have failed, it seems,’ remarked Thaddeus dryly.

  The Estonians began singing another of their awful songs, which sounded to Conrad like a constipated elk. It served only to add to the overall misery of the morning. After ten minutes he heard a succession of thwacks and thought he discerned one or two screams coming from the fort.

  ‘The crossbowmen have begun to pick off the Estonians,’ said Thaddeus, turning to one of his men at the trebuchet and nodding to him.

  ‘Stand back, please,’ he said to the boys.

  They watched as a stone was placed in the trebuchet’s leather sling. Conrad felt a tingle of excitement as the machine was readied for use.

  ‘The trebuchet is a simple machine,’ Thaddeus said to them, ‘but the key is in the correct use of materials for its construction. For example, the base and framework must be heavy enough to support the throwing arm and counterweight. For this reason a heavier wood such as oak is preferred for the framing whereas the throwing arm is made of a lighter wood, fir in this case.’

  The singing from the fort had ceased abruptly when crossbow bolts had begun to strike faces and shoulders and sent the Estonians scurrying for cover. Thaddeus nodded to the man next to the machine who pulled back the release pin to drop the hinged counterweight and throw the stone in the sling towards the fort. Conrad was captivated as he saw it fly through the air and strike the roof of one of the end towers, sending tiles in all directions as it tore it off. Then the mangonels commenced shooting, sending stones crashing against the walls and towers, splintering wood and crushing the skulls of those in the path of the missiles.

  ‘When does the assault begin?’ asked Anton excitedly.

  ‘Not until the ditch is filled in,’ said Thaddeus, ‘so that the siege tower can approach the walls.’

  The mangonels and trebuchet maintained a steady rate of operation as the crossbowmen on the fort’s southern side directed their shooting at any enemy bowmen who showed themselves on the walls. Sir Frederick and his knights grew restless when Master Berthold informed them that there would be no assault this day, which would be given over to filling the ditch with the tree trunks that had been felled the day before. Mantlets were pushed closer to the moat as the spearmen left their ranks to haul the logs that had been stacked to the rear of the mangonels. The Estonians had few archers so the risk of being shot by an arrow was small, even more so with the crossbowmen and stones keeping their heads down.

  They worked at a frantic pace, bringing the logs forward and hurling them into the moat. Conrad saw their efforts and felt helpless. A hundred spearmen were using ropes to pull the logs to the moat. Occasionally one would fall after being hit by an arrow, to be either helped back to the surgeons’ tent or, if dead, placed on the ground to be later buried.

  ‘Come on,’ he shouted at the others, ‘we cut down some of those trees so we should help to fill the moat.’

  Hans looked at him. ‘I’m with you.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Anton. Bruno and Johann nodded their agreement and so all five of them ran over to the piles of logs. Sweating soldiers working in teams of four picked up a log, two on each side, and then ran the short distance to the moat, stones and crossbow bolts flying above them against the fort’s timber wall.

  Conrad and the others stood over a trunk, bent down and lifted it up. They were surprised by its weight and their legs almost buckled as they lifted it to waist height.

  ‘Hold it!’ hissed Anton.

  They tried to run but could only manage a brisk walk as they took the trunk towards the moat. Conrad’s heart began to pound in his chest as he passed crossbowmen crouching behind mantlets and saw an arrow slam into the turf a few feet from him. He also saw leather face who grinned and gave him the thumbs up. His breathing became heavier as they neared the moat. They had to turn the log to roll it into the depression on top of the others.

  Conrad stopped and called behind him as a rock deflected off the top of the battlements and crushed the face of an Estonian. The corpse was flipped over the wall and thudded into the ground at the base of the wall.

  ‘Turn the log!’ shouted Conrad, who felt as though every member of the garrison was looking at him.

  They tossed the log on top of the others and then sprinted back out of range of enemy arrows as more logs were carried forward in an unending relay. They transported four more logs before an angry Lukas stopped their activities and ordered them back to their tent. By the time night had fallen a bridge of logs had been created in the moat on the fort’s southern side. The cost had been five spearmen killed and a further ten i
njured. Conrad and the others spent the night holding torches and cutting down trees in the forest as a punishment for disobeying orders. They were also denied an evening meal and breakfast the next day. Hans was close to despair.

  One bright spot amidst their misery was that Walter the Penitent joined them in the forest during the evening to share their punishment. He too denied himself an evening meal and breakfast but appeared to be remarkably fresh as the others stood shivering in the pre-dawn gloom, their eyes red and puffy and their teeth chattering. Lukas came to collect them for morning mass, inspecting their pile of logs before they departed. Walter shook his hand and then marched off to don his armour and weapons to partake in the coming day’s siege.

  Lukas watched him go. ‘Piety and discipline. A powerful combination. You could all learn a lot by studying Walter’s behaviour. He has turned his back on a life of luxury and high living to fight in this wasteland against the pagans. To be a warrior of Christ and live a life of poverty, chastity and obedience.’

  He turned to face them, their young faces pale; their fingers cold and chapped. ‘Obedience. You need to learn the meaning of that word. All of you have the makings of fine soldiers, and in time one or two of you may even enter the ranks of the brother knights of the Sword Brothers. But you will come to nothing if you do not learn to obey orders. You disobey me again and you will be flogged. Now go and report to the farrier. You can spend the day shovelling dung.’

  They trooped off with heads bowed to the stabling area as Thalibald and his warriors once more headed north to form a defensive screen around the army and keep watch for any relief force. As the Livs marched in a long file armed with spears and swords and carrying large round shields, Conrad looked at their painted shields bearing ancient Latvian symbols. Most sported the Sign of the Moon, the symbol of warriors that resembled the letter ‘c’. Other shields were decorated with the Cross of Crosses, a combination of four pagan crosses, the Sign of the Thunder God, the symbol of fire, thunder, health and prosperity, or the Sign of Mara – a zigzag line. Rameke came over to him as the boys trudged the other way, Conrad looking enviously at the spear he clutched and the sword that hung at his left hip.