The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  Lembit smiled triumphantly. ‘Of course, brother,’ he said, not knowing what Olaf would do following the defeat at Treiden.

  ‘Then I too grant you another year,’ replied Nigul.

  The journey back to Lehola was made through intermittent rain and drizzle but Lembit was more cheerful than he had been during the trip to Varbola. He had the continued support of the other tribes, albeit grudgingly, and his raiding parties had kept the crusaders occupied in their own kingdom, which had kept them away from Estonian lands. When he arrived at his stronghold he found a letter from Sigurd, Olaf’s son, waiting for him. In answer to his own missive the Oeselians pledged their continuing support in the war against the Bishop of Riga.

  The autumn was nearing its end and the first frosts were whitening the land. Lembit sat in his hall and contemplated the future. The beginning of the year had witnessed the fall of his fort at Fellin, and his venture against Caupo had come to naught. But the year was ending with the Estonian tribes still united under his leadership and the alliance with the Oeselians intact. He doubted whether the crusaders would attempt another winter assault upon Fellin, which he had anyway strengthened. For the first time in a while he was optimistic about the future.

  Chapter 11

  ‘You hair is like a goat.’

  Daina looked at Conrad and suppressed a laugh. When he had arrived at her father’s village following a hunting trip in the company of Thalibald and Rameke he had insisted on conversing in her native tongue. He had spent hours with Ilona learning words, sentences and phrases and now he was determined to put his learning into practice. The hunting trip had been a great success, Thalibald’s men laying out the game they had killed earlier in front of his hall for his villagers to admire. Ever since Conrad had assisted in the rescue of the women when the menfolk were away, he and the other boys had been held in high regard by the chief, his sons and their warriors. Thalibald had invited them to hunt and stay as his guests for the night, though to ensure they did not over-indulge in revelry Lukas and Rudolf had accompanied them.

  Now they stood with the Sword Brothers and admired their handiwork with the crossbow. Rameke had killed the most with his bow but Conrad reckoned his total of two roe deer was more than adequate to satisfy expectations. The Liv warriors arranged the day’s kills in a long line: boars, elk, deer, bears and lynx. It had been a wonderful day and now he conversed with his beloved Daina in her own language.

  ‘You have the eyes of a rat.’

  Daina scowled, Lukas looked at Conrad as though he was possessed by madness and Rudolf shook his head.

  Hans nudged Anton in the ribs. ‘Conrad has learnt to speak the language of the Livs.’

  Conrad grasped the hilt of his sword. ‘My sword is always at your lake.’

  ‘Perhaps it would be better if we spoke in your language,’ Daina said to him in flawless German.

  But Conrad was adamant. ‘No, no. I have learnt your forest especially.’

  Hans, Anton and Johann, not knowing what their companion was saying but being impressed nevertheless, stood in awed silence as Conrad spoke the strange words.

  Daina smiled at him. ‘I really think we should speak in your language, Conrad.’

  ‘Ilona has taught me many baskets,’ said Conrad with pride.

  ‘Which he has mostly forgotten,’ said Rudolf in excellent Liv. Daina put a finger to her mouth to hush him.

  ‘Speak German, Conrad,’ said Lukas. ‘You make a fool of yourself.’

  Conrad frowned but did as he was told as the dead animals were taken away to the kitchens where they would be prepared for the evening feast. As he said a temporary farewell to Daina and followed Hans and the others to the hut that had been set aside for them, he reflected on the strange turn his life had taken. Not so long ago he had been a poor orphan but now he had learnt to use a sword and was on his way to becoming a fully trained soldier. He had also learnt another language and had won the heart of a local beauty. Every day he prayed for his parents and his sister Marie and God had answered his prayers. He felt genuinely happy and looked forward to what the future held for him.

  *****

  The banks of the Dvina were now turning brown and red as the trees began to show their autumn colours. The days were shortening but it was still relatively warm, the harsh winter some time off yet. The surface of the river was like a black mirror, the current mild and the wind weak. Prince Vsevolod was glad for that at least as the rowers of his boat pulled on their oars to propel it through the smooth water. Behind were another two boats, one containing fifty of his bodyguard, his boat containing an additional score of warriors, the other a gift for the bishop. He might profess to be a friend of the bishop but he did not trust the Sword Brothers’ garrisons in the castles he had to pass on his way to Riga: Kokenhusen, Lennewarden, Uexkull and Holm. He also had men looking towards the southern shore where Prince Stecse and his Lithuanians might be tempted to attack his small flotilla. His nerves were frayed to say the least for the river was packed with other vessels carrying goods to the markets in Riga, and others returning to Gerzika and Polotsk with wares they had purchased in the crusader town: iron, salt, woollen cloth and wine. He thought every vessel was full of potential assassins but they turned out to contain nothing but goods and ugly, stinking sailors and traders. It was a most curious thing. Of all the things that roamed the Russian lands the Catholics coveted the fur of the grey squirrel most. Squirrel fur was inexpensive when compared to sable and marten and so was in great demand. Thus the princes of northern Russia became rich from harvesting the fur of the grey squirrel. They exported other commodities of course, such as fox fur, honey and wax, but squirrel fur was the jewel in their crown.

  It was the first time he had visited Riga and was surprised by the size of the harbour area with its great warehouses and long jetties and the height of the town’s walls. The crusaders liked to use stone to build their strongholds whereas the Livs, Estonians and Russians used timber for their fortresses. He had never seen Archdeacon Stefan, though the two had conversed with each other by letter on many occasions, but now the Catholic priest stood on a jetty as Vsevolod’s boat glided towards him, the prince shielding his eyes as the sun dipped in the west. Soldiers in mail and helmets flanked the priest, each one armed with a spear and sword and carrying long shields emblazoned with a cross keys symbol.

  Vsevolod’s rowers pulled in their oars as one of his bodyguard threw a rope to a soldier on the jetty who tied it around a wooden post. Another rope secured the stern of the boat as it was pulled alongside and Stefan stepped forward, a flattering smile on his face.

  ‘Greetings, Prince Vsevolod. Welcome to Riga.’

  The Russian smiled back and then two of his bodyguard assisted him onto the jetty. The other two boats had pulled in behind the jetty as Stefan and Vsevolod walked towards the town. When they reached one of the boats Vsevolod stopped and indicated to one of the crew to loosen the ropes that secured a canvas covering.

  ‘A gift for the bishop,’ said Vsevolod as the sailor removed the canvas to reveal two pallets heaped high with fox fur.

  Stefan’s eyes lit up. ‘A most lavish gift, prince. The bishop will be most pleased by your generosity.’ He had a feeling that he would get on with this richly attired Russian prince.

  Vsevolod was accommodated in the bishop’s palace, his men being allocated quarters in the castle where Grand Master Volquin raised an eyebrow at the sudden appearance of a host of bearded brutes clad in mail and all heavily armed. Stefan had not informed him of the invitation he had extended to Vsevolod. He found the Order of Sword Brothers irksome and coarse. The bishop had created them to butcher pagans not to indulge in matters of diplomacy. For this reason he did not invite Volquin to the meal that he shared with Vsevolod later that evening. He was rather perturbed that the prince insisted that four of his brutish soldiers stand behind him for the whole meal, but after a while forgot that they were there as the wine and conversation flowed.

  ‘The
bishop has returned to Germany for the winter,’ said Stefan, ‘leaving me in charge of his affairs.’

  Vsevolod raised his wine flagon. ‘He leaves his kingdom in most capable hands.’

  Stefan was warming to the Russian by the minute. ‘How can I be of assistance to you, lord prince?’

  ‘As you know I am married to the daughter of Grand Duke Daugerutis,’ said Vsevolod.

  ‘A mating of eagles,’ gushed Stefan.

  Vsevolod suddenly looked very serious. ‘I have to tell you that the grand duke is most unhappy concerning events north of the River Dvina.’

  Stefan gulped some wine. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Before the bishop came the grand duke waged war against the prince of Novgorod, the man who frequently raided Lithuanian lands. But now the crusaders bar his way and prevent him seeking rightful retribution against this plunderer. I have tried to temper his wrath and thirst for revenge, but have found it increasingly difficult of late. In addition, many of the grand duke’s more warlike and less intelligent chiefs strain at the leash to prove themselves against the crusaders. The assault upon Kokenhusen is but a foretaste of things to come, I fear.’

  Stefan looked alarmed. ‘Is there nothing to be done?’

  Vsevolod held up his hands. ‘Fear not. The grand duke is prepared to enter into a formal truce with the bishop.’

  Relief swept through Stefan. ‘Excellent.’

  Vsevolod held up one hand. ‘If he is allowed to cross the Dvina to make war upon Novgorod.’

  ‘The bishop would not tolerate a Lithuanian army marching through his territory,’ said Stefan glumly.

  ‘He has nothing to fear on that matter, archdeacon. The grand duke would cross at Gerzika and march through my own territory. His concern is that if he did so then the crusaders would ambush him during his return journey.’

  Stefan toyed with the gold cross hanging around his neck. ‘And the grand duke has no designs on the bishop’s lands?’

  ‘None at all. The assault against Kokenhusen was carried out by a troublesome chief name Stecse and was done so without the grand duke’s knowledge. As soon as I heard I marched my army to its relief so outraged was I.’

  Stefan toasted him. ‘The bishop is most grateful that he has such a brave and loyal ally.’

  Vsevolod leaned forward. ‘If I can have an official document stating that the bishop has no objection to my father-in-law crossing the Dvina to make war against Novgorod, then I can guarantee that your southern border will be peaceful and secure.’

  Vsevolod knew that he had cornered his prey. Now it was time to snare it.

  ‘As a sign of his goodwill, the grand duke is also prepared to send an expedition against the Kurs. He knows that they have proved troublesome to the bishop.’

  Stefan brought his hands together. ‘I think I can say that the bishop will find these terms acceptable.’

  ‘And I can tell the grand duke that when he returns he will draw up a document that will give his assent?’

  Stefan leaned back in his well-appointed chair. ‘You will be able to take said document with you tomorrow if you wish. I am the bishop’s deputy and have been entrusted with his seal.’

  This was better than Vsevolod could have hoped for. ‘Then I can say with certainty, my lord archdeacon, that you have achieved not only peace along the Dvina but also gained a new ally in Grand Duke Daugerutis.’

  Vsevolod left the next afternoon, in his hand a vellum document bearing the seal of Riga giving his father-in-law permission to cross the Dvina to attack Novgorod. It stipulated that the Lithuanians were to agree to a two-year peace with the bishop, in return for which the Kurs were to be punished by Grand Duke Daugerutis.

  It had been a most profitable journey. His new found friendship with Archdeacon Stefan meant he had influence with the Bishop of Riga, which also meant that he had leverage over his father-in-law. More importantly, if the Lithuanians attacked Novgorod then his powerful Russian northern neighbour might be weakened, allowing him to seize some of their territory. If God really looked on him favourably then the grand duke might even be killed fighting the Novgorodians, resulting in him gaining substantial territory to the south of the Dvina when his wife gained her inheritance. A most profitable journey indeed.

  *****

  Christmas at Wenden was a joyous affair. Thalibald and his family were invited to celebrate the birth of Christ at the castle. The beautiful Daina wrapped in furs arrived in a horse-drawn sledge. After a moving service in a packed chapel, the Sword Brothers gave a great feast in the dining hall at which the brother knights, sergeants and Conrad and the other boys served the civilian families their Christmas meal of cooked goose. The mercenaries manned the ramparts, Master Berthold having promised them double pay for doing so.

  Thalibald and his family sat on the top table in the dining hall, Master Berthold and Rudolf serving them their food. Conrad had begged Rudolf to be allowed to help him serve at the top table and he had assented. He thus became Daina’s personal servant, hovering over her like a mother hen as she ate her meal, giggled with her mother and smiled at Conrad. He brought a jug of hot wassail, a strong drink that was a mixture of ale, honey and spices, her cheeks becoming flushed as the alcohol took effect.

  Usually the dining hall was quiet when the brother knights and sergeants ate their meals but today it was turmoil as families chatted loudly and children squealed in delight as they were served with hot mince pies filled with shredded meat.

  Conrad placed one before Daina, who looked up at him with sparkling green eyes.

  ‘What is this?’

  ‘It is a mince pie,’ said Conrad. ‘They are filled with meat and cooked in oblong trays to represent Christ’s crib. The meat is spiced with cinnamon, cloves and nutmeg to represent the three gifts given to Christ by the Magi. The Magi are…’

  ‘The three kings from the East who came to pay homage to Christ after his birth. Yes, I know,’ replied Daina.

  She turned up her nose at the boar’s head that was served to her father by Master Berthold but otherwise had a delightful time and was enchanted by Conrad’s attentiveness.

  In the kitchens the boys took sips from the cauldrons where the cooks were preparing the wassail, and after a while all of them were quite merry. Conrad stood in the door that led to the kitchens, admiring Daina from afar.

  ‘Are you glad you came to Livonia, Conrad?’ asked Rudolf behind him.

  ‘Yes, Brother Rudolf,’ beamed Conrad.

  ‘I believe that God brought you here for a purpose, Conrad, though it might not be the one you currently believe it to be.’

  ‘Yes, Brother Rudolf,’ the boy replied.

  Rudolf shook his head and took the tray of cups he was holding into the hall. Conrad was not listening. He was dreaming of the life he would have with Daina, the chief’s daughter whom he was falling in love with. He imagined them living together in between his time when he was fighting the foes of the Sword Brothers. In his boyish innocence he imagined that he could have both Daina and wear the white mantle of the order. He did not realise that wanting and having were too entirely different things. But for the moment he stared and dreamed of things that might be.

  ‘Conrad Wolff, get your lazy arse here,’ shouted one of the cooks, a man who looked like an ogre and had a temper to match. Conrad smiled, turned and went back into the kitchens to continue his duties as a serving boy.

  Three weeks later he was sitting on a pony in the company of the other boys, ten brother knights, thirty sergeants and a dozen mounted crossbowmen, including leather face. Conrad and his companions wore their gambesons, kettle helmets and were fully armed with lances, swords and daggers, their shields slung over their backs. The latter were painted white but did not bear the insignia of the Sword Brothers, as they were not yet members of the order. They also wore white cloaks around their shoulders and mittens on their hands for it was bitterly cold. There was no wind and the sun in the cloudless sky made the snow-covered terrain around the castle
dazzlingly white, forcing Conrad to squint in the brightness when he peered between the gaps in the still-low-lying walls at the landscape beyond.

  They stood in the courtyard waiting for Rudolf to emerge from the master’s hall to lead them on their expedition, though no one knew precisely what is was. The week before a large force of crusaders had passed through Wenden on its way north into Estonia. They took with them no siege engines and carried supplies on packhorses. Master Thaddeus had told the boys that they were going solely to pillage and burn in retaliation for the previous year’s raids by Lembit’s forces, as well as his attack against Caupo. The latter had also appeared at Wenden, stopping only a day before similarly marching north with a horde of his warriors, including Thalibald and his men. Conrad was relieved to learn that Rameke had stayed behind with a contingent of warriors to guard the villages and womenfolk. Thus would Daina be out of harm’s way. But he was confused as to why the garrison of Wenden had not gone north with the crusaders and Sword Brothers from other castles.

  ‘Perhaps we are not going north,’ opined Hans sitting on the pony beside him.

  ‘Then where are we going?’ said Conrad.

  ‘Across the river,’ said Anton with conviction, not really knowing what lay in that direction.

  Henke turned in his saddle. ‘Quiet. Your incessant gossiping is getting on my nerves.’

  ‘We were just wondering where we are going, Brother Henke?’ said Johann.

  ‘You will know when we arrive,’ snapped Henke. ‘Now be silent.’

  ‘Definitely over the river,’ said Anton in a hushed voice.

  Each of them held the reins of a pony loaded with supplies for the journey, as did the sergeants – tents, food, spare clothing, medical supplies, crossbow bolts, spare lances and shields. Conrad began to feel his nose get cold as he sat in the saddle, his breath misting and his pony snorting in boredom. Eventually Master Berthold walked from his hall into the courtyard in the company of Rudolf and a man Conrad had never seen before. He was dressed in furs with a felt hat pulled down over his face to obscure his features. All three walked to their ponies and took to their saddles, then trotted over the cobbles to where the gatehouse would eventually stand, across the bridge and down into the compound. The brother knights followed them, after which came the sergeants, crossbowmen and Conrad and his companions.