The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  Grand Master Volquin commanded the foot soldiers: eight hundred brought by the crusaders, three hundred Livs, Riga’s militia, the Bishop’s guards and the order’s mercenaries.

  Before the expected arrival of Vetseke the bishop, Count Walram and Grand Master Volquin finalised their battle plan. The rebels had no siege engines, no horsemen, or at least no heavily armoured knights, and comprised in the main farmers armed with spears and axes. The Christian army would march out of Riga and do battle with Vetseke on the flat ground east of the town where the trees had long since been cleared and replaced by fields and villages. The foot would be drawn up in the centre with the horsemen on the flanks. Crossbowmen would be arrayed in front of the spearmen and would shoot the Livs to pieces before the horsemen charged to finish them off.

  It was the middle of August when scouts rode to Riga’s castle to report that Vetseke and his army were two days’ march from the town. Volquin alerted the bishop and Count Walram, the latter giving orders to his knights to prepare for the coming battle. The days were warm now and though the pestilence had abated the stench of human dung still hung over the crusader camp and the town. The burial pits north of Riga had been covered with earth and the death rate had dropped precipitously, though infants were still succumbing to the flux. On the day that Vetseke and his rebels finally appeared the Sword Brothers and crusaders, notwithstanding their depleted numbers, were supremely confident that the Livs would be crushed with ease.

  *****

  Vetseke knew that to offer battle to the crusaders was madness, yet to avoid doing so would mean his insurrection would come to nothing. He had no machines with which to batter the walls of the Christian castles and so the only way to demonstrate the validity of his cause was to defeat the crusaders in battle. As soon as he had heard that a great pestilence had broken our among the crusader army at Riga he knew he had to seize his chance. The river gossip along the Dvina had told of death and demoralisation at Riga, of ships taking crusaders back across the water and great pits being dug outside the town to accommodate the dead. When he saw the walls of Riga on a bright, windless summer morning he had over four thousand men. He had raised nearly a thousand from among the villages of his former kingdom and had collected many more recruits as he neared Riga. They were mostly young men eager for vengeance and battle. They were disaffected and resentful at their treatment at the hands of the arrogant and haughty Christian crusaders, who destroyed the sacred forest groves where their people had worshipped for generations. They resented having to grow crops then having to give a portion to the Sword Brothers who sat in their castles and demanded allegiance. When Prince Vetseke appeared among them they interpreted it as a sign from the gods that they should take up arms to banish the crusaders and return to the old ways.

  Vetseke knew that ordinarily he could not defeat the crusaders in open battle. But these were not ordinary circumstances. As his men walked from the trees into the fields filled with ripening crops he peered at the gaudy flags and banners of the crusader army. He could see men on horseback, both riders and horses wearing red, purple, blue, yellow, green, orange and combinations of these colours. If there had been any wind he would also have seen Count Walram’s huge lion banner, the flag of Grand Master Volquin and the cross keys insignia of the Bishop of Riga. But there was no wind and even though it was still early morning he could feel sweat running down his neck. It would be a long, hot day. He smiled. Long may the sun shine down from a cloudless sky.

  *****

  The trumpets sounded assembly just as the first rays of dawn were lancing the eastern sky, hundreds of spearmen putting on their quilted aketons, then their mail hauberks, helmets and sword belts. They hoisted up their shields, grabbed their spears and filed out of camp to form up in their companies. Crossbowmen in gambesons waited at wagons to be issued with quivers of quarrels and squires rushed around saddling their masters’ horses before their own. Many of the men were pale and gaunt after suffering the effects of the bloody flux, while dozens wore nothing below their waists save a loincloth and boots as they still had little control over their bowels. It was already stiflingly hot and men in full armour were beginning to feel drained.

  The bishop rode from Riga in the company of Grand Master Volquin and Count Walram, who had black bags under his sunken eyes and was sweating profusely. He looked very ill but his companions were too polite to say anything. But the bishop was not so reticent when it came to Vetseke’s army.

  ‘There are very many of them,’ he sighed. ‘It saddens me to think that so many Livs hate us so much.’

  ‘I would not take it personally, lord bishop,’ said Volquin, trying to reassure him, ‘young heads are easily turned. We beat Vetseke today and any rebelliousness within Liv hearts will quickly wither and die.’

  Count Walram pointed at the block of Liv warriors forming up beside his own crusader foot soldiers. ‘What about them?’

  ‘They can be trusted, my lord,’ said Volquin. ‘Have no fear.’

  ‘I have no fear in the face of godless pagans,’ sniffed the count, before a fit of coughing gripped him. He was really not well at all.

  Already Bishop Theodoric and the monks from his monastery were standing in front of the foot soldiers administering prayers, while other priests from Riga and those from Germany were similarly going among the crusaders to strengthen their resolve with prayers. Soldiers went down on their knees before the priests, reciting prayers and asking God to preserve them in the coming fight. Some did not rise, pitching forward as they passed out from exhaustion. Their comrades took them to the rear where they were ferried back to camp on the backs of carts. Weeks of extreme diarrhoea and vomiting had weakened bodies to such an extent that they were unfit for duty, even more so under a hot sun in full equipment. Spearmen used their shafts for support as the time passed slowly and the armies did not move.

  It was now mid-morning and the sun was roasting hundreds of men encased in mail armour and helmets.

  The two armies presented a contrasting sight as they stared at each other across the quarter-mile space that constituted no-man’s land. On the left flank of the bishop’s army were Count Walram’s mounted crusaders with their profusion of differently coloured surcoats, pennants and caparisons. The sun glinted off whetted lance points and full-face helmets, horses scraping at the ground and swatting away the hordes of flies with their tails. This was a great block of six hundred horsemen, an irresistible hammer of mail and horseflesh that could batter its way through pagan foot soldiers with ease.

  Next to the crusader horsemen stood the one hundred men of the bishop’s garrison of Riga, men fully equipped in helmets, mail hauberks, shields and armed with spears, swords and daggers. In front of them stood the twenty-five crossbowmen of the Rigan militia, the spearmen of the latter providing a reserve behind the bishop’s guards. Moving south towards the River Dvina, and deployed on the right flank of the Rigan forces, was grouped the crusader foot: eight hundred men in four groups and including a screen of crossbowmen. Many of the latter were lying on the ground resting until the fighting began.

  The last group of foot soldiers in the crusader battle line comprised the Liv warriors – three hundred men – and the Sword Brother mercenaries on the end of the line: ninety battle-hardened soldiers. The right flank of the crusader army was made up of the horsemen from the castles at Uexkull and Holm: twenty-four brother knights with forty-five sergeants mounted behind them. The crusader line was thin in order to match the frontage of the four thousand Liv warriors opposite. The latter stood silently in their ranks, as did the crusaders, an eerie stillness hanging over the two armies.

  *****

  ‘Send forward a delegation requesting a parley,’ said Vetseke to the commander of his Russians, a man wearing a mail hauberk, leggings, aventail and gilded helmet with a brass nasal guard.

  ‘A parley, highness? I do not understand.’

  ‘Anything to waste time,’ replied the prince. He looked into the cloudless sky. ‘
This heat is insufferable. Ask the bishop if he would be so kind as to surrender.’

  The Russian’s eyes widened with surprise but he did as he was ordered, walking forward with two of his men and holding aloft a sprig of fir to show he came in peace.

  Vetseke smiled as he saw a party of horsemen leave the crusader ranks and trot into no-man’s land. There was then a short meeting out of earshot, the outcome of which he already knew. His commander returned with confirmation.

  ‘The bishop refused your offer, highness. One of the crusader lords became very angry and…’

  ‘And?’ said Vetseke.

  ‘He insulted you, highness, his words are not fit for your ears.’

  Vetseke laughed. ‘Give the order to begin. Your men have fully briefed the Livs?’

  ‘Yes, highness.’

  Vetseke drew his sword. ‘Then let us shake up these haughty crusaders.’

  *****

  Count Walram drank from his water bottle, replaced the cork and tossed it to his squire mounted behind him.

  ‘Arrogant bastards. Time to ride them down.’

  The bishop blanched at his intemperate words as the count signalled his trumpeters to sound the advance, just at the moment when a great cheer came from the Liv army opposite and the green- and brown-clad warriors began walking forward.

  ‘It would appear that they too are eager to get to grips with you, count,’ said the bishop.

  ‘God be with you, bishop,’ said Walram before putting on his helmet.

  ‘And with you, my son,’ replied Albert.

  ‘With your permission, lord bishop,’ said Volquin, as he nodded and wheeled his horse away to take command of the foot soldiers, his small bodyguard of two brother knights and five sergeants cantering after him.

  The Livs were banging their spear shafts against the insides of their large round shields, the thumping sound echoing across the battlefield. The Christian crossbowmen rose to their feet and loaded their weapons, while behind them a spearman collapsed from exhaustion every thirty seconds. Dozens had already been transported to the rear and not a few had died of their exertions, leaving the crusader line even thinner. The Livs were hurling insults as they closed to within four hundred paces of the bishop’s army, the crossbowmen loosing bolts as they got closer. Livs were hit and disappeared among the crops as trumpet blasts on the Christian right wing signalled the advance of Count Walram and his crusader horsemen.

  A succession of horn blasts from within the Liv ranks brought their advance to a halt and then they began to fall back. Count Walram saw the pagans beginning to retreat from behind the vision slits in his helmet and grinned. Slaughtering heathens would make him feel much better. He raised his lance and dug his spurs into his warhorse, which broke into a gallop and the ground shook as the hooves of six hundred horses pounded the earth. Following the lead of the horsemen, Grand Master Volquin gave the order for the spearmen to advance. They did so through the screen of crossbowmen in front of them, the latter reloading their weapons and following behind the spearmen. And on the right flank the small number of mounted Sword Brothers likewise trotted forward to follow the Liv rebels who were falling back.

  Count Walram felt alive for the first time in weeks, the dreadful effects of the bloody flux finally being exorcised by the exhilaration of battle. He lowered his lance and then his horse reared up and groaned in pain before crashing to the ground and throwing him from the saddle. Other riders were likewise thrown as their mounts stumbled and collapsed on the ground, breaking legs and thrashing around in pain to crush their riders underneath their great bulks. Where moments before there had been an irresistible torrent of men of iron on horseback there was now bloody chaos. For among the crops had been spread a deadly crop.

  They had originally been called ‘star thistles’ but most people knew them as caltrops. They were simple enough – two double-pointed strips of iron cold hammered together to resemble a ground thistle – but when they were scattered on the ground the four spikes were twisted in such a way that one always pointed upwards. And when stepped on by a man or horse they inflicted grave, sometimes, fatal wounds. Polotsk’s smiths had spent many weeks producing hundreds of caltrops that the retreating Livs had scattered on the ground as they fell back.

  The charge of the crusader horsemen was halted as the front ranks stepped on the deadly iron spikes, those behind careering into them and adding to the chaos. Horses reared up on their hind legs and threw their riders, some bolted away from the confusion, many with empty saddles. And then there was a great blast of horns and the Livs stopped retreating. Just as they had been instructed and just as they had practised on their march, they rushed forward a few paces and hurled their javelins at the now stationary crusader horsemen. Dozens of javelins were hurled at the Christians, volley after volley as nearly a thousand men threw their missiles over the carpet of caltrops at the mass of disorganised horsemen. After bringing the men of iron to an ignominious stop the Livs raised their shields in the air and cheered loudly. Never a thing had happened before and they revelled in their triumph.

  On the other wing it was a similar story, though as soon as the first riders had fallen Gerhard and Friedhelm had recalled their men and sent an urgent summons to the Sword Brother mercenary foot deployed on their left flank to assist them. Seeing the Sword Brother horsemen retreat, the thousand Liv warriors on Vetseke’s left wing halted their withdrawal and then advanced to hurl their javelins. But the Sword Brothers had also retreated and the Livs could not pursue them over the strip of caltrops they had sown. They therefore stood and began to whistle and jeer at the crusaders, until the crossbowmen from Holm and Uexkull began shooting at them. They numbered only thirty but they each shot four quarrels a minute and after five minutes had killed or wounded nearly three hundred Livs. The latter began to edge back and the right flank of the bishop’s army had been saved. But in the centre a catastrophe was unfolding.

  As soon as his wings had halted the crusader horsemen Vetseke gave the order for the two blocks of warriors that had been withdrawing before the Christian foot – each numbering a thousand men – to halt and then launch a counterattack. It took several minutes for the signallers to relay the command among the warriors. They may have been farmers but they were they were young, eager and strong and now they gripped their axes and spears and followed their prince as he charged at the head of his Russians.

  Vetseke had no horsemen, no archers and only a hundred professional soldiers, but he had two thousand Liv warriors at his back as he ran at the crusader foot. He had studied the tactics and weapons of the crusaders closely and knew that to achieve any success he had to defeat their horsemen. He had done that and now he led a charge against their weakened centre. He knew it was weakened because the mail-clad men who formed it had been ravaged by a terrible pestilence that had killed many of their comrades. They had been standing in the sun for hours now and instead of an easy victory they were about to be engulfed by a pagan tide.

  He ran ahead of that tide, shield grasped tightly to his body, his sword held high, and launched himself at a spearman with his spear levelled. The spear point glanced off his shield as he emitted a feral scream and plunged his sword into the man’s neck, his death groan drowned out by a loud scraping sound as the two lines collided. The Russians behind the prince began to cut their way through the Christian foot easily enough, forming a compact wedge with Vetseke at its apex, thrusting their spears forward like a giant steel-hedgehog. The first rank of Livs mostly died when they smashed into the Christian line, their spear and axe thrusts being defeated by seasoned professionals who used their shields to ward off blows and then plunged their own spears into unarmoured torsos. But they then faced a deluge of attackers as more and more Livs hurled themselves at the crusader line, hacking with their axes and jabbing with their spears. The crusader line momentarily held, buckled and then gave way under the sheer weight of the attack.

  Hundreds of Livs died in that mêlée and hundreds more were w
ounded, but they killed dozens of crusader spearmen and pushed the survivors back. And from the wings came dozens more Livs who were eager to share in the victory that was unfolding in the centre.

  *****

  Grand Master Volquin watched as the mass of green- and brown-clad warriors in front of him charged the lines of advancing Christian spearmen and then forced them back. The foot had been spread thinly enough but now they risked being literally swamped by the pagan mass. On the right the Sword Brothers appeared to have stabilised the situation, while on the left flank Count Walram’s riders resembled a herd of spooked horses. There were frantic trumpet calls as some knights tried to establish a semblance of order, but the crusader horsemen fought as individuals not as a disciplined body under a single commander, so Volquin doubted that the horsemen would be able to intervene in the battle quickly. The crossbowmen that had been deployed in front of the spearmen had been rendered useless when the latter had advanced through them to pursue the Livs. Volquin also noticed that a battle within a battle was taking place on the right flank of his centre where the three hundred loyal Livs were engaged in a particularly vicious fight with Vetseke’s men. It was apparent that the centre was about to break and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.

  Bishop Albert had also seen the confusion within Count Walram’s horsemen and the misfortune that had beset his foot soldiers. The commander of his guards had urged him to leave the field and retreat back to Riga. He waved the man away. Now he sat on his horse in front of his standard bearer as his guards left the crusader foot to their fate and closed around him, the men of Riga’s militia also forming up around their bishop. Noble as this might have been it robbed Grand Master Volquin of what few reserves he could call on to reverse the disaster that was unfolding in the centre. He rode over to the bishop, bringing his attendant brother knights, sergeants and foot soldiers with him.