by Peter Darman
Vetseke clenched his fists. ‘The Catholics wage crusade against heretics, my lord, and they view the Holy Church of Russia as a heresy. Each year a new army lands at Riga to wage the bishop’s crusade against paganism.’
‘We are not pagans,’ said Vladimir.
‘No, lord,’ replied Vetseke, ‘but to the crusaders we are the same as the Livs, Estonians, Oeselians and Lithuanians. Peoples to be subjugated or destroyed.’
Murmurs of anger greeted these words but Vladimir said nothing, placing his elbows on the table and resting his chin on his hands.
‘Would you give us a few minutes, Prince Vetseke?’
Vetseke rose, bowed his head and left the room, a guard closing the door behind him.
Vladimir played with a gold ring on his finger. ‘He is right.’
The others sighed and grunted their disagreement.
‘He has lost his crown and now he comes here thinking that we will give him an army to reclaim it,’ said a man at the end of the table. ‘It is out of the question.’
‘But he is right about the rising power and threat of the Catholic crusaders,’ replied Vladimir. ‘As Vetseke stated, twenty years ago Riga did not exist. But now the crusaders advance east along the Dvina. How long before they are knocking at our gates?’
‘Prince Vsevolod at Gerzika has reported no threat to his domain,’ said one of the council.
‘That is because he has the support of the Lithuanians,’ replied Vladimir. ‘But the Lithuanians were repulsed recently from Kokenhusen. Vetseke is correct in declaring that the power of the crusaders increases.’
‘Do you propose declaring war upon the Bishop of Riga?’ asked the thin-faced man.
Vladimir shook his head. ‘That would not serve our interests.’
‘Then what would?’ asked the man with the deep-set eyes.
‘Why are we wasting our time considering aiding a Liv?’ said the thin-faced man in exasperation. ‘He is not Russian.’
Vladimir smiled at him. ‘That is precisely why we should help him.’
The others stared at him in confusion.
‘There are no doubt others of his people who chafe at the yoke of Catholic rule,’ explained Vladimir. ‘That being the case it would make sense to send Vetseke back to his people to foment trouble. If the crusaders are fighting an internal revolt they will have no resources to devote to their eastward expansion.’
The others nodded in agreement. Vladimir raised a finger to the guard.
‘Show Prince Vetseke in.’
Moments later the former ruler of Kokenhusen entered and Vladimir explained to him that Polotsk would provide aid to enable him to win back his kingdom, though it would not involve the principality sending its own soldiers west to battle the crusaders.
‘Then how can I reclaim my kingdom?’ asked Vetseke.
‘The people of your race,’ said Vladimir, ‘who live under the tyranny of Catholicism may prove fiercer warriors than Russian soldiers. Word will be sent up the Dvina that those Livs who wish to regain their freedom can find sanctuary at Polotsk. Those who seek refuge here may be sympathetic to your cause, Prince Vetseke. We will furnish them with weapons so that you can take them west to lead them against their oppressors.’
The other council members nodded solemnly at Vladimir’s words. It was less than Vetseke had hoped for but perhaps more than he could have expected. He rose from his chair and bowed his head to Vladimir.
‘Your offer is most generous, lord prince, and I thank you. Once more you have proved that the nobility and hospitality of Polotsk has no equal among the Slav lands.’
The council was touched by these words and broke into polite applause. Vladimir smiled at Vetseke. This landless prince might yet prove useful to his kingdom.
*****
They had sailed across the black, wind-flecked Baltic with a biting wind stinging their faces. When they reached the Estonian coast they headed south. No longer could they run their boats up on the shore and disembark to attack undefended villages before returning to Oesel laden with slaves and booty, their savagery having been sated by rape, torture and murder. Now they had an alliance with the Estonians and so they sailed close to the shore but left the inhabitants alone. The warriors grumbled as they sat on the chests and pulled at the oars to increase their speed.
‘Silence!’ bellowed Eric, a great bearskin cloak wrapped around him. It might have been April but the air was still icy and the sea freezing to the touch.
‘Seems strange to be so near the coast and not dip our swords in Rotalian blood,’ said Magnus, Eric’s deputy on this voyage.
Eric stood at the prow of the fleet’s leading boat, the nineteen others grouped behind it. He turned and looked at Magnus. He was clearly unhappy.
‘Row, you worthless dogs,’ he shouted, ‘otherwise I will drop you off here and you can go and live with the worthless Estonians.’
‘You have not changed your opinion of our new allies, then?’ smirked Magnus as the boat cut through the saltwater.
Eric spat over the side. ‘Allies? They are lambs who were created so our swords could cut their throats. But my father in his dotage believes there is merit in forming an alliance with this Lembit and his people. I do not.’
The spring had brought an end to the ice and snow and had also brought Lembit to Oesel, who was accorded a reception more fitting to a king than a bandit. Eric had sat at his father’s table fuming as Olaf had indulged and flattered Lembit, aided by his brother Sigurd. Lembit and his father had agreed upon a plan to ravage the crusader kingdom with a two-pronged attack: the Estonians would advance from the north and the Oeselians would sail up the River Gauja. Both forces would unite at the hill fort of the traitorous King Caupo, which would be taken by assault. Thereafter the land would be laid waste and emptied of people before a new crusader army arrived at Riga. Eric had had no enthusiasm for the plan, much less cooperating with the Estonians, but his father was insistent and so he found himself leading a raiding expedition up the Gauja.
He would have preferred to have been leading a flotilla of longships, whose appearance was often enough to strike fear into enemies. But though the Gauja would be swollen by spring melt water longships were too large to navigate the waterway easily. So Eric commanded twenty riverboats, each one having a clinker-built hull of oak strakes. Nearly eighty feet long and seventeen feet wide, a single sail plus sixteen pairs of oars powered each vessel. Fifty warriors were carried in each boat – a thousand men to inflict death and destruction upon Caupo’s people. Eric comforted himself with the thought that even if the Estonians failed to appear his men would still be able to return home with slaves and plunder after their raid.
The voyage to the mouth of the Gauja was uneventful. The Oeselians ruled the eastern Baltic and their ships roamed the seas unmolested. Though the ships of the crusaders were tall and difficult to capture, they were slow and unwieldy and never instigated an attack. When the boats had entered the Gauja estuary Eric had seen a few small fishing vessels whose owners had frantically tried to avoid them. The Oeselians ignored them as they furled their sails to rely solely on the oarsmen for propulsion. The boats were slim and fast and even against the current achieved an average speed of two miles an hour. By the end of the first day of their journey along the river the Oeselians were ten miles upstream and two days’ journey away from their objective: Caupo’s stronghold at Treiden.
Eric’s guide was an old man who had once fought under his father when Olaf had been a young prince. They had raided up the Gauja many times before the crusaders had arrived to build their stone castles. Looking at his wizened face and frail body Eric found it hard to believe that he had once been a member of his father’s bodyguard. The man had told him that they should make camp on a long sandbank beside a high sandstone rock face.
‘We are near the crusader castle at Kremon,’ said the old man, ‘so no fires tonight, my lord.’
The boats had run aground on the sand and their sails had been u
sed to make tents over the hulls, in which the men could spend an uncomfortable night. Guards had been posted inland from the riverbank and Magnus had wanted to send raiding parties to sack any nearby villages but the old warrior urged against such a venture.
‘There are plenty of villages around Treiden to raid. The quieter we approach the more likely the inhabitants will be taken by surprise. Their king too.’
They sat shivering under the sail in the boat, Eric wrapped in his bearskin with his knees drawn up to his chin. He was not in a good mood. Skulking around like a thief in the night did not suit the heir of King Olaf.
‘You will have to watch for the crusaders, though,’ said the old man.
Eric looked up at him. ‘What crusaders?’
‘Caupo’s stronghold lies close to the crusader castle at Segewold, but on the other side of the river.’
‘We should leave some boats on the river to deter a river crossing,’ said Magnus, chewing on a piece of cured meat.
‘Caupo’s stronghold lies to the north of the river?’ asked Eric.
The old man nodded. ‘There is another crusader castle, at Kremon, and that is also north of the river, a short distance from Treiden.’
‘What is the size of its garrison?’ asked Eric.
The old man shrugged. ‘I have no idea but as far as I know it is still a small wooden hill fort. Around fifty men, maybe more.’
‘And what is the size of Caupo’s garrison?’ said Magnus.
The old man gave him a toothless grin. ‘No more than a hundred men, perhaps less. Most of the warriors will be scattered among his villages.’
‘We will attack Treiden tomorrow,’ declared Eric.
‘What about the Estonians?’ said Magnus.
Eric smiled. ‘What about them? We can accomplish our task without them. If they appear then so much the better. If not, then all the more plunder for us.’
*****
Lembit’s army contained warriors from all the Estonian tribes. Its core was the hundred wolf shields that acted as his bodyguard and best troops, but the force also contained Harrien, Wierlanders, Jerwen, Rotalians and Ungannians – two thousand men in all. They had gathered at Lehola when the snow had cleared and the spring mud had disappeared, or at least had dried enough to allow horsemen to travel along tracks and across meadows. He had left a sizeable number of his wolf shields behind at Lehola in case the crusaders attempted another assault against Fellin, also reinforcing the garrison at the latter fort. He thought another attack against it was unlikely, especially as he had planned a diversion to keep the garrison at Wenden occupied.
The men travelled light, the land was now blooming and green shoots were appearing on plants and trees. The ponies on which they rode could graze on the abundance of grass and the men could hunt the wildlife that was now appearing, or alternatively catch fish in Estonia’s hundreds of lakes and dozens of rivers. Now the land was no longer frozen the column had to use guides to plot a course around reed-filled marshlands and flooded meadows occupied by corncrakes and great snipes. A fourth of Estonia was covered by peatlands that were crisscrossed by tracks and paths, and it took the army many days to thread its way south across them. Even in the bog forests of pine men had to be wary, dismounting and leading their ponies along tracks flanked by bog mosses, cotton grasses and bog whortleberry. Occasionally they would disturb a black grouse or hear a flying squirrel in the trees above them, but mostly the only sounds were the jangling of pony bits and the curses of men who had strayed off the track and stepped into marsh, sinking up to their waists before they were hauled out.
Lembit rode at the head of the column, his standard of a red wolf on a black background held behind him. Beside him was Rusticus and ahead rode his Saccalian guides. These paths were hundreds of years old, used by tribes to raid the Livs to the south. Raids were designed to strike quickly to seize tools, weapons, jewellery, precious metals and women and children who could then be sold or kept as slaves. Men were invariably killed because they were too troublesome and likely to try to escape. But Lembit did not go to plunder; he went to kill Caupo and destroy his lands.
After ten days the army reached the southern shore of Lake Burtnieks, the great inland stretch of water a mere thirty miles directly north of Wenden. The Estonians were also north of the River Gauja and could march unimpeded towards Caupo’s stronghold at Treiden. Once they had left the wetlands of Estonia Lembit had sent out scouts to ensure no crusader patrols would intercept them, but he knew that last year’s German knights would have returned to their homeland and this year’s crop had yet to arrive.
As the warriors and their mounts rested along the lake’s southern shore and some of them waded into the shallow water to fish for salmon, chub and pike, Lembit summoned Rusticus to his tent. His wolf shields were camped around their chief, the felt tents organised in a haphazard fashion among tethered ponies and campfires. The warriors from the other tribes grouped their two-man tents around the dwelling of their warlords – men selected by their tribal elders to lead the various contingents that had been sent south with Lembit. Their shields sported the designs of Estonian mythology and identity – the lynx, oak leaf, spear, eight-heeled star, wolf and bear – and around their necks men wore the wheel cross and eight-pointed star for luck and protection. Others had necklaces bearing pendants engraved with the cornflower, the ancient symbol of vitality.
Lembit saw that his large deputy wore an unhappy expression.
‘As we agreed, then, Rusticus. You will take fifty men and a guide will take you to a shallow spot on the Gauja.’
‘I should be at your side,’ grumbled his subordinate.
‘We’ve talked about that and decided that you will be of more use gaining the attention of Wenden’s garrison.’
‘I do not trust the Oeselians,’ said Rusticus.
Lembit rolled his eyes. ‘It has nothing to do with trust, as I have told you.’
Rusticus was still far from convinced. ‘They might not even appear, then you will be isolated deep in enemy territory.’
‘If that is the case then I will withdraw. And if it is so you and fifty warriors will not make much of a difference. What will make a difference is if Wenden’s garrison is occupied rather than hunting for me if I am forced to beat a hasty retreat.’ He looked at Rusticus. ‘I am relying on you to do what you do best.’
Rusticus looked at him blankly.
‘To plunder and kill,’ continued Lembit.
Rusticus cheered up at this prospect. ‘Of course.’
‘And remember that you are to keep Wenden’s soldiers occupied. Do not assault the castle or get yourself caught. I need you.’
The next morning Lembit led his army south towards Treiden and Rusticus and fifty other warriors rode southeast towards the Gauja. Lembit hoped that Rusticus’ savage tendencies would not get the better of him and that he would remember his mission and not indulge in wanton rape and slaughter against the first village he came across. Thus far the guides had steered them away from settlements, but it was only a matter of time before the presence of such a large party of warriors was spotted and reported to Treiden. Lembit sent instructions ahead to increase the rate of march. Caupo’s stronghold was only forty miles away – two days’ ride.
*****
Conrad and the others were most excited. It had been a year since their arrival at Wenden and they now gathered in the castle’s round chapel to witness the induction of Walter the Penitent into the Sword Brothers. Their attendance at the ceremony was deemed most unusual but Walter had specifically requested it as he and they had travelled on board the same ship that had brought them all to Livonia and then to Wenden. All the chapels of the order were round in imitation of the rotunda of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem. Also present were Master Berthold, who would conduct the admission ceremony, Otto and the official witnesses: Rudolf and Henke.
Walter, dressed in a simple white shirt and brown leggings, was kneeling before Master Berthold. He ha
d been alone in the chapel all through the night, praying to God, and looked tired and a little apprehensive, this knight who was fearless on the battlefield yet as gentle as a lamb off it. The first rays of the sun were shining through the chapel’s windows for admission ceremonies were always conducted just after dawn. The master, Henke and Rudolf were attired in white woollen coats with hoods, over which they wore their white mantles bearing the insignia of the Sword Brothers on the left shoulder. Rudolf held a spare mantle in his arms, which would be placed around the shoulders of Walter after the ceremony had ended.
Conrad felt immensely proud of Walter as Master Berthold asked the young knight the questions that all applicants had to answer. Are you married? No. Do you owe anyone money? No. Are you anyone’s slave? No. Master Berthold then explained to Walter that the only reason for joining the order was to escape the sinful world, do God’s work and do penance for his sins.
‘You will become a slave of the Order, never to leave it without the permission of the Grand Master,’ Master Berthold announced. ‘You should always be prepared to shed your blood for Christ and to lay down your life for God with desire and the sword. What say you, Walter? Do you promise to live chastely and without personal property, and to keep the traditions and customs of the order? Do you promise to do all these things?’
Walter looked up at the master. ‘I promise the chastity of my body, and poverty and obedience to God, Holy Mary and to the Grand Master of the Sword Brothers, and his successors, according to the rules and practices of the order, obedience unto death.’
Otto said a prayer and then Master Berthold ordered Walter to rise, turning to Rudolf to receive the white mantle he held. He then placed the garment around Walter’s shoulders and welcomed him into the order, fastening the laces that secured it. Berthold also gave Walter a woollen cord to tie around his waist as a symbol of chastity and a soft cap usually worn by religious men. The master then embraced Walter, as did Rudolf and Henke, while the dour Otto offered him his hand. A beaming Walter then turned to Conrad and the other boys, who walked forward and embraced him. At that moment each of them was imagining their own admission ceremony into the order, when they too would be inducted into the Sword Brothers.