The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  Conrad was embarrassed and delighted in equal measure and the sergeants smiled at his discomfiture.

  ‘Daina will be enchanted that you take an interest in her ways.’

  Conrad tried to be clever. ‘Daina?’

  Ilona stopped and faced him. ‘If we are to get along then I think we should be honest with each other. You know Daina, do you not?’

  Conrad, crestfallen, nodded.

  ‘And you like her?’

  He nodded again.

  ‘And you thought it would be courteous to learn her language so that you may converse with her in her native tongue?’

  He nodded a third time.

  She resumed her walk. ‘There, that wasn’t so difficult, was it?’

  They went only a short distance from the castle, to the edge of the trees that filled the area from the banks of the Gauja extending east.

  ‘Wild raspberries,’ said Ilona, ‘that is what we are here to pick.’

  Two of the sergeants stood guard while Conrad and the other two helped her fill her basket with the black berries.

  ‘I shall be delighted to teach you,’ she said to Conrad. ‘Rudolf holds you in high regard.’

  She told him that the berries were used to make a drink that could cure colds, headaches and high fevers, telling him that the Liv word for raspberry was skaidrojumi. Thereafter Ilona taught Conrad the words for the things he saw every day: horse, wagon, hill, forest, meadow and so on. He found it difficult at first. He had never learned to read or write and so did not know how his own language was constructed. But as the weeks passed the constant repetition of words gradually implanted themselves in his mind and he found that he could repeat them with ease. The next phase was learning basic sentences, which again he first found difficult but with great patience and tenacity on the part of Ilona he began to master.

  The summer waned, the raiding parties that Lembit had sent south were either hunted down and destroyed or pursued back into their own lands where the crusaders laid waste a great number of villages. The knights who had journeyed from Germany prepared to spend a winter in Livonia. The bishop, encouraged by the earlier attack on Fellin, was determined to mount another winter campaign against the pagans. The walls of Wenden continued to slowly increase in height as stone was ferried from the quarry on a daily basis. The Sword Brothers were determined that the castle would be the strongest in all Livonia, a lasting testament to the power of the Holy Church and the might of the military order based there.

  ‘We are running short of funds,’ said Master Berthold, his swarthy features illuminated in the half-light of his hall’s candles.

  He sat opposite Rudolf in the dimness, a sheaf of parchments on the table between them. Berthold picked up one of the papers.

  ‘We are fortunate that this land is rich in wildlife and fish that we can eat, not to mention the fertile soil that allows us to grow our crops. Nevertheless, the costs of constructing the castle and maintaining the garrison are proving exorbitant.’

  ‘I did not realise things were that bad,’ said Rudolf.

  Berthold held up the parchment. ‘This is the list of costs pertaining to just one month of work carried out on the castle.’

  He handed it to Rudolf who perused it. There was a long list of artisans in the left-hand column and their respective wages in the right-hand column. There were carters – men who brought wood and stone to the castle from the quarry – carpenters who built flooring, roofing, furniture, panelling and scaffolding, masons who worked the stone and woodworkers who worked in the forest to cut the wood for joists and beams.

  Berthold picked up another parchment. ‘Wages for cooks, blacksmiths and clerks. The list is almost endless.’

  Rudolf also knew that mail armour, helmets, swords, maces, axes, daggers and horse furniture, as well as the horses themselves, had to be imported from Germany, adding a further drain on Wenden’s expenses. Then there were the armourers who maintained the weapons and armour, in addition to the atilliators – the skilled workers who made and maintained crossbows.

  Master Berthold picked up another parchment and shook his head, the weight of the world seemingly on his shoulders. ‘And lest we forget, the not inconsiderable sums paid to our resident mercenaries. Ruinous.’

  Rudolf studied the figures again, vainly thinking that if he stared at them hard enough they would seem less daunting.

  ‘By the end of the year the treasury will be empty and all work will grind to a halt,’ lamented Berthold.

  ‘Winter brings a halt to all construction anyway,’ said Rudolf.

  ‘Though not, alas, the need to pay those engaged in it,’ added Berthold.

  Rudolf put the parchment back on the table. ‘What is to be done?’

  Berthold ran a hand over his crown. ‘We will have to go to the bishop and beg for more money.’

  Rudolf toyed with the parchments in front of him. He knew that among the brother knights and sergeants only he and Master Berthold could read and write. And Brother Walter, of course.

  ‘Walter, yes,’ said Rudolf.

  ‘Walter?’ Berthold was perplexed.

  ‘Walter gave all his fortune to the Sword Brothers,’ said Rudolf, ‘as did Sir Frederick. Have we exhausted all those funds already?’

  Berthold looked at him with heavy eyes. ‘Alas, my friend, they left their money to the Holy Church and not Wenden. All donations are received by the bishop’s palace in Riga.’

  ‘Then we must go and collect what is rightfully ours,’ said Rudolf.

  They set off the next day, taking boat down the Gauja and then riding south the short distance to Riga. The river was filled with boats taking supplies and men to the garrisons at Wenden, Segewold and Kremon, other, smaller vessels on the water containing fishermen casting their nets to trap the large sturgeon that swam under the surface. War and destruction seemed far away, the land was well tended and the people well fed and seemingly prosperous. When they got nearer to Riga, however, they passed burnt-out farmsteads and smashed fences – evidence of the destruction the Kurs had visited on the area.

  Riga itself was bustling, its dirt streets heaving with carts, donkeys and people, the shops full of wares and the markets teeming with livestock. The harbour area had been rebuilt after the Kur incursion, great warehouses set back from its extensive quay and jetties extending out into the Dvina where a variety of different-sized vessels were moored: cogs, hulks, keels, knarrs and river boats.

  They made their way through the thriving, disorganised streets to the castle to report to Grand Master Volquin. They found him inspecting a line of potential novices to the Sword Brothers who had just arrived from Germany, most of them scrawny, half-starved teenagers who had no doubt been saved from the gallows by the bishop’s court in Lübeck. They looked relieved at having survived the journey to Riga, though whether they would live through their fist Livonian winter remained to be seen. Grand Master Volquin welcomed them to Riga and told them that they would leave for Holm Castle in the morning, not that any of them knew where that was. Volquin dismissed them and instructed a sergeant to take them to the dining hall to get some food into their malnourished bodies.

  He stood in the castle courtyard shaking his head as they trudged disconsolately into the citadel. The rectangular courtyard stood in front of this structure, with four rectangular towers in each corner of the compound. He saw Berthold and Rudolf dismount from their horses and walk over to him. They bowed their heads to him.

  ‘Welcome,’ said Volquin. ‘I received the message that you would be arriving. All is well, I hope.’

  ‘At the moment, grand master,’ replied Berthold sternly, ‘though if matters are not addressed then they will not remain so.’

  Volquin tilted his head towards the last of the boys entering the castle. ‘The bishop believes it to be an act of charity to bring them here. Waifs and strays, mostly. Most will not live to see next summer.’

  ‘A fate that might befall Wenden as well,’ said Berthold dryly.
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  Volquin looked at him with alarm. ‘Wenden is in danger?’

  ‘Not from the pagans, grand master,’ replied Berthold. ‘Other threats present themselves.’

  After they had been shown to their quarters in the north wing and had eaten a meal of cooked herring Berthold and Rudolf sat in the grand master’s office. The shutters on the windows were open and the rich aroma of the town was drifting in on a northerly wind. They explained the financial difficulties that would soon engulf Wenden.

  Volquin nodded solemnly. ‘I have received similar reports from the other masters of our order, imploring me to send them more funds. The power to distribute largess is, unfortunately, not mine to grant. Each request must be laid before the bishop himself. You are fortunate in that he is in situ at the moment, for otherwise the decision would be left to the discretion of Archdeacon Stefan.’

  ‘The bishop’s puppy?’ sneered Berthold.

  Volquin raised his eyebrows at his subordinate. ‘You would do well to temper your opinions when we see the bishop, Master Berthold. Our friend Stefan has been created governor of Riga with all the responsibilities and power that comes with that office. He also retains his clerical powers.’

  ‘He rises in the world,’ commented Rudolf.

  ‘His ambition has no limits,’ remarked Volquin. ‘It is rumoured that he urged the bishop to create Theodoric Bishop of Estonia.’

  ‘They are allies?’ said Rudolf.

  ‘On the contrary, brother,’ replied Volquin. ‘They detest each other, so Stefan agitated for Theodoric’s appointment to rule over the Estonians and thus remove him from Riga. He is not to be underestimated.’

  Berthold and Rudolf discovered this for themselves when they met him and the bishop in the latter’s palace the next morning. Half the building was covered in wooden scaffolding, the archdeacon having authorised the construction of more bedrooms and a second audience chamber. The meeting was held in the original audience chamber, which had been refurbished with silk-covered chairs and a beautifully carved oak table, behind which the bishop and his nephew sat.

  Bishop Albert and Stefan rose when the three Sword Brothers entered and Stefan ordered wine to be served. The monks who poured it into silver flagons were even younger than the ones who had attended him last time, Rudolf thought. The day was warm but the atmosphere in the room soon turned cool.

  ‘Grand Master Volquin has alerted me to your financial difficulties,’ the bishop said to Master Berthold, ‘and we are most sympathetic to your plight. However, I have to tell you that the flow of funds from Germany is not as generous as I would like. Though there are many knights who are willing to take the cross to support our crusade, the German kings and princes are less willing to support our cause financially.’

  Rudolf looked at the rich white dalmatic being worn by Stefan and his gold pectoral cross hanging around his neck. Clearly Riga did not suffer from financial difficulties.

  Master Berthold nodded and smiled. ‘Of course, bishop, we understand. But there is the matter of the donations promised to Wenden by our newest brother knight, Walter, and Sir Frederick who was martyred and now lies in the castle’s cemetery.’

  ‘A brave servant of God,’ said the bishop.

  ‘Indeed,’ added Stefan. ‘But the fact is that all donations are sent to Riga where they are distributed according to need. I am sorry to report that the recent assault on this town has necessitated the strengthening of its defences and an increase in the size of the garrison. I am afraid that just as your treasury is empty, Master Berthold, so our exchequer is poorly stocked.’

  Stefan smiled slyly and brought his hands together in front of his chest. What a contrast he presented to the bishop, the latter with his stern, chiselled features and determined personality, the archdeacon with his flabby, effeminate features and delicate fingers. Every year the bishop led a crusader army to war. Rudolf doubted if Stefan had ever stepped foot beyond the comfortable confines of this palace.

  But Berthold was not so easily deflected. ‘If you cannot spare any funds, lord bishop, then perhaps Riga could release some of the troops of its garrison to me. In that way I could dismiss some of my mercenaries and thus save expenditure.’

  Stefan blanched. ‘The garrison of Riga? Out of the question! Have you forgotten so soon the attack of the Kurs, the assault on Kokenhusen by the Lithuanians and Estonian raiders who recently invaded the kingdom? Lord bishop, it is out of the question that the garrison of Riga should be weakened.’

  ‘I have to concur with my governor,’ said the bishop. ‘That said, I am willing to cede control of all the territory around Wenden to the Sword Brothers if this would help. You would not have to send any yearly tribute to Riga.’

  This was a hollow victory because Wenden had never sent any tribute to Riga, as the bishop well knew. In theory Livonia was a crusader kingdom in which those who owned land, including the Sword Brothers, paid dues to the bishop’s palace in Riga. The reality was that each castle was barely able to support itself and had no spare monies to lavish on the clothing of the town governor.

  ‘Perhaps Wenden could make more use of the local population,’ offered Stefan.

  ‘The local population?’ said Berthold.

  Stefan smiled at him, turning the gold ring on his finger as he did so. ‘The Livs who populate Wenden’s lands. Surely they can be recruited to your cause.’

  Berthold shook his head. ‘They already pay rents to the order and work in the quarry.’

  ‘You pay those who work wages?’ asked Stefan.

  Berthold frowned. ‘Of course.’

  Rudolf knew where this was leading. ‘Thalibald and his people are valuable allies. It would be unwise to make them enemies by making unreasonable demands upon them.’

  Stefan spread his hands. ‘Is God’s work unreasonable, brother? We build a new Jerusalem here and just as our Lord suffered hardship and hostility so should we expect to be subjected to trials in our mission.’

  Stefan took a sip of his wine. Rudolf sniffed contemptuously. ‘We need money, lord bishop, otherwise the work on Wenden will cease.’

  ‘It is as Brother Rudolf says, lord bishop,’ confirmed Berthold.

  ‘Wenden is your most northerly stronghold, lord bishop,’ continued Rudolf. ‘It is also the most exposed and will be the first target should Lembit once again bring his warriors south. Perhaps we might have a temporary share of the profits from the Dvina trade.’

  Stefan was appalled. ‘The Dvina trade?’

  It was common knowledge that the trade in fur, flax, timber, tar, corns and hides along the Dvina was very lucrative. Many of the goods were sold in the markets of Riga, which were taxed by the bishop.

  ‘Out of the question,’ snapped Stefan. ‘All taxes raised from trade are directed to the upkeep of the castle and walls, the bishop’s palace and the cathedral.’

  Berthold leaned back in his chair. ‘Cathedral, Archdeacon Stefan?’

  ‘The design is still being finalised but we expect to begin this most worthy project in two or three years.’

  ‘Let us hope that there is still a Riga left in which to build it,’ said Rudolf.

  Stefan was about to rise to the bait when the bishop raised a hand to still him. ‘I sympathise with your position, Master Berthold, but at the moment I cannot release any funds to you. However, you may be fortified by the knowledge that, following the capture of Fellin earlier this year, I have decided to launch another winter campaign against the Estonians. Once Lembit has been destroyed the whole of Estonia will become a Christian land and Wenden will share in its riches.’

  Rudolf was about to say what riches but thought better of it. Thus did the meeting come to an end and the Sword Brothers walked back to the castle.

  ‘The bishop exaggerates the wealth of Estonia, I fear,’ remarked Berthold.

  ‘Even if it can be conquered in one campaign, which I doubt,’ added Rudolf.

  ‘The bishop returns to Lübeck soon,’ said Volquin. ‘I will go wi
th him to endeavour to raise funds from the merchants of the city. I will prevail upon him to earmark these funds for Wenden. I should be away no longer than three months.’

  Berthold and Rudolf went back to Wenden in a boat containing helmets and mail armour for the garrison, which had arrived from Germany on a cog four days earlier. They were a gift from the richest citizens of Magdeburg.

  ‘At least we don’t have to pay for them,’ sniffed Rudolf.

  ‘Perhaps the grand master’s trip will reap a rich harvest,’ remarked Berthold.

  They were both sitting on chests as the rowers pulled on their oars and the boat glided across the smooth surface of the Gauja.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Rudolf. ‘There is another way of raising money.’

  Berthold stared at the water in the bottom of the boat. ‘That is our last recourse, Rudolf. The bishop would not approve.’

  Rudolf laughed. ‘No, I don’t suppose he would.’

  *****

  Not all those Oeselians who accompanied Eric to Treiden died. A riverboat full of wounded warriors, the last one to push off from the shore, followed the others downstream. When the crusader pontoon bridge was spotted an order was transmitted to them from Eric to turn around and row upriver to Estonia. He probably realised that the battle at the bridge would be futile and so wanted to save those whose bodies were already wounded and bleeding. Thirty men were in that boat. They rowed up the Gauja and then walked north once they believed they were out of enemy territory. They walked for days, drinking from lakes and streams, stumbling through peat bogs and forests, eating wild berries and occasionally the odd hare they trapped. They lost ten of their number in the first week and another six in the week following. The rest, emaciated and half-dead, eventually stumbled upon an Estonian village where they were disarmed and thrown into a hut. They explained to the village elder that they had fought beside an Estonian leader named Lembit at a place called Treiden. They were lucky: they had wandered into Saccalia – Lembit’s own kingdom – and so their wounds were tended. After a few days they were escorted west to the coast where they took boat back to Oesel. But not before another five had succumbed to their wounds.