by Peter Darman
Master Berthold decreed that all the brother knights and half the sergeants from the castle should assist in the collection of the harvest, not only because the back-breaking work would be good for their souls but also because it was good politics. Because the Sword Brothers was an order of the Holy Church it collected one sheaf out of every ten in tithes and Berthold considered it only proper that the garrison assist in the collection of the crops that would help to feed it during the winter months. Individuals such as Vetseke tried to portray the bishop and the Sword Brothers as masters who treated the Livs as slaves but that was a lie. Thalibald doubted whether a ruler such as Vetseke would have bothered to get his daughter back if he had been lord at Wenden.
The first crops to be harvested were the wheat and rye, which ripened first, followed by the barley and oats. The wheat was harvested by men working in groups of five – four reapers and a binder – who could harvest around two acres of crops a day. Lukas oversaw Conrad, Hans, Johann and Anton as they went to work with their sickles, the wheat extending before them like a golden ocean. It was hot, dry and windless and soon they were stripped to the waist and sweating profusely.
To one side was another team composed of Rudolf, Henke, Walter and two other brother knights, who were swinging their sickles with gusto. The powerful, broad-shouldered Henke stood beside the slimmer Rudolf, the burn scars showing clearly on his neck and chest.
‘That must have been painful,’ remarked Hans as he nodded at Rudolf’s wounds.
‘I’m surprised he doesn’t hate the Russians for doing that to him,’ said Conrad, arching his back to relieve the ache at the base of his spine.
Johann was surprised. ‘The Russians?’
Lukas looked behind to see Daina and a dozen other young women with yokes over their shoulders hauling water buckets.
‘Hold your sickles. Yes, Johann, the Russians. Before the bishop came the Russians viewed Livonia as a large hunting ground to pillage and burn. Easy target, you see. They burnt Holm when it was just a timber fortress and Rudolf got caught inside. It was Ilona who dragged him out of the fire and tended his wounds. She’s been with us ever since, God bless her.’
‘Did the Russians escape?’ asked Anton, putting down his sickle and wiping his sweat-covered brow with a cloth.
‘Unfortunately,’ said Lukas, his voice laced with bitterness. ‘We gave chase but they slipped through our hands. They were led by a man named Domash Tverdislavich.’
‘What a ridiculous name,’ said Hans.
Conrad remembered the name from a conversation with Henke.
‘Do you think he will return to Livonia?’ enquired Anton.
Lukas shook his head. ‘Not now. The Sword Brothers are too well established in Livonia. There are no easy pickings for the Russians.’
‘What are they like?’ asked Johann.
‘The Russians? Like wolves. You don’t want to turn your back on them.’
‘And yet we trade with them,’ remarked Conrad casually.
‘Needs must, Conrad,’ replied Lukas. ‘Henke told me that you disagreed with the whole sorry business of the slaves. Is that not so?’
Conrad did not say anything but avoided Lukas’ eyes.
‘Speak freely,’ the instructor barked.
‘I did not hold with stealing defenceless women and children from their homes and selling them into slavery, no.’
The other boys looked at him wide eyed but Lukas merely nodded.
‘Neither did I or most of those who took part in the raid,’ he said softly. ‘Circumstances forced us to take a hateful decision. It will be for God to judge us.’
The melancholy air that suddenly enveloped them was swept aside by the appearance of the glowing Daina, who rested the buckets on the ground.
‘Water for the beasts of burden,’ she teased, grinning at Conrad.
She handed him and the others a cup and they dipped them in the water, gulping it down.
‘Slow down,’ ordered Lukas. ‘You drink too much too fast you will want to throw up and might even pass out.’
‘I hate the Russians,’ Conrad said suddenly. ‘And the Estonians.’
‘So do I,’ agreed Hans.
‘And I,’ added Johann.
‘Me too,’ said Anton.
‘You should never hate your enemies,’ Lukas admonished them. ‘Hate clouds a soldier’s judgement. What have I told you all?’
They looked at him with blank expressions. He raised his eyes to the heavens. ‘I despair. Control. Control at all times. Even in the fiercest fight when all are losing their minds to frenzy. The man who stays in control at all times has the edge. You start to hate your enemies then they have the edge over you. That is why Rudolf and Henke are so proficient in battle. And Thalibald. Is that not right, Daina?’
She flashed a smile at him. ‘I do not know of such things, Brother Lukas. Only that I am glad that you are here to help us gather the harvest.’
Lukas looked at her and then Conrad. ‘All of us or just one?’
She feigned innocence. ‘I do not know what you mean.’
He smiled at her. ‘Of course not.’
As they stood quenching their thirsts Daina sidled up to Conrad.
‘I heard that you saved the bishop.’
He shrugged. ‘It was nothing.’
‘My father says that you are already a great warrior and are destined for even greater things.’
He felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. ‘I got lucky.’
She sighed. ‘Perhaps I might get lucky when my father chooses a husband for me.’
It felt as though his legs had been pulled from under him. ‘Your father is choosing you a husband?’ He wanted his life to end.
She toyed with the ends of her long hair. ‘I told him that my heart belongs to only one man.’
‘Oh?’
She smiled that most beautiful of smiles. ‘He asked me who it was and I told him and he was happy.’
He felt deflated. ‘He must be a worthy man to have your father’s approval.’
‘Very worthy,’ she agreed.
‘A chief’s daughter should have a chief’s son for a husband,’ he said.
‘He is not the son of a chief.’
Conrad felt his heart stir. ‘Not a chief’s son?’
She smiled at him knowingly. ‘He is not even of my people.’
His heart felt as though it would burst from his chest. ‘And your father will allow this?’
She moved closer so no one else would hear. ‘For the one who saved his daughter he would deny nothing.’
‘Right. Back to work,’ barked Lukas as a wave of exhilaration surged through Conrad like floodwater after a thunderstorm. Hans looked at him.
‘Are you all right, Conrad?’
He slapped Hans on the back and picked up his sickle. ‘Never better, my friend, never better.’
Daina picked up the yoke and said goodbye to them all, then skipped away to join the other girls from the village who had brought water to those toiling in the fields.
‘Who do you think is the best?’ said Anton, pointing his sickle at Rudolf and Henke swinging their tools.
‘Rudolf,’ answered Hans.
‘Henke,’ said Conrad. ‘He’s a cold killer.’
‘It has to be Rudolf,’ suggested Johann. ‘He’s quicker.’
‘What about Walter?’ said Lukas as he listened to the conversation.
Hans laughed.
‘Walter?’ said Conrad dismissively.
‘A good knight, Walter,’ said Lukas. ‘Remorse, if channelled correctly, can be the making of an excellent soldier.’
The weather remained fine as the sheaves were collected and taken back to Thalibald’s village, the tithe portion being loaded onto carts to be ferried back to Wenden. Once safely under cover the grain was processed by being threshed with a flail to separate the individual grains from the ear. On average one man could thresh up to seven bushels of wheat a day. After threshing the grain was
winnowed to remove the chaff and straw, which was collected for use as animal fodder.
The men from Wenden returned to the castle with their share of the crops following a great feast in Thalibald’s hall at which Daina promised Conrad that she would marry no man aside from him. This made him deliriously happy and led to him drinking too much medalus and passing out. Hans and Anton carried him back to their hut and in the morning he was forced to walk beside the cart as the others sat in it as it travelled back to Wenden.
*****
Lembit stood on the sand and watched as the longships ran aground and men jumped from their decks. It was cold and he drew his fur-lined cloak around him. A dozen of his wolf shields rested on their spears and pulled the hoods of their cloaks over their helmets. Only Rusticus appeared not to be feeling the cold as he stood beside his master and eyed warily the four great ships that silently slid onto the brown sand. Parnu Bay was an inlet of the Gulf of Riga that was shallow and sheltered from the Baltic. As such it was a haven for shipping with its calm waters and mild climate, though today the wind was brisk and the sea grey and forbidding. Lembit hoped that the conditions were not an omen for his meeting with the king of the Oeselians.
He watched as the boats furled their great sails and the rowers shipped their oars, the crews expertly going about their business just as their fathers and forefathers had done. He smiled. These men were the last remnants of the once all-conquering Vikings who had spread terror throughout the Baltic and beyond. And now the Oeselians, formerly known as the Eastern Vikings, were the only ones left. He looked at the great carved dragon heads at the prow of each longship. Once they had raided along the length of the coast of the Estonians and the Livs, sailing up the Gauja and Dvina with impunity, to raid and burn but also to trade. Now the crusaders had closed these two great waterways to them. How long would it be before the Bishop of Riga besieged Oesel itself, and the days of the longships and tall men came to an end?
‘We should have brought more men,’ growled Rusticus, looking with alarm at the warriors jumping from each vessel and wading through the wind-flecked water.
Lembit snapped out of his melancholy thoughts. ‘We are here to talk, not fight.’
There were now at least fifty warriors grouped around a squat figure in full mail armour heading towards them. Olaf was bare headed, his white hair and beard standing out against the grey of his surroundings. Lembit felt a spit of rain on his face and looked up at the grey clouds that filled the sky. He hoped the meeting would not last for long otherwise they would get soaked.
‘Talk is for women,’ mumbled Rusticus. ‘Men fight.’
‘But not today, Rusticus, not today.’
Lembit walked towards Olaf, the cold seawater lapping round his boots. He extended his arm.
‘Greetings Olaf, King of the Oeselians. Welcome to Estonia.’
Olaf grasped his forearm and held it in an iron embrace for a few seconds.
‘Hail Lembit, King of the Estonians.’
Lembit laughed, the first time he had done so in a while.
‘There is no King of all the Estonians, just a collection of chiefs.’
Olaf screwed up his face at the cool wind. ‘Walk with me.’
He waved his men away and they ambled onto the sand while Lembit indicated to Rusticus that he should stay with the wolf shields.
‘A cold winter is coming,’ said Olaf whose forearms were bare, though Lembit did not see any sign of goose bumps.
He had requested this meeting alone with Olaf and had not informed the other chiefs. He had learned long ago that the smaller the gathering the more could be achieved. Large meetings resulted in a lot of noise and little result. He wanted to see Olaf to explain the peace he had agreed with the bishop.
‘You think it will hold?’ said Olaf.
‘Until each side has rebuilt its strength. It is a truce only but at least it gives me time to organise.’
He glanced at Olaf. ‘I am sorry for your son.’
‘He died a warrior’s death,’ replied Olaf without emotion. ‘It is all we can hope for. He wished to lead the expedition. I have other sons.’
He stopped and peered at the long, flat beach.
‘The world changes. When my father was king these shores were his playground and your people his prey. Now we are allies and face a greater enemy that threatens our very way of life.’
‘There is more than one danger,’ said Lembit glumly.
Olaf looked at him, his blue eyes widening in surprise.
‘The Russians stir in the east,’ continued Lembit, twisting the sole of his boot in the sand. ‘They seek to expand their territory at my expense while I fight the crusaders.’
‘Men are like wolves,’ said Olaf. ‘They circle their prey waiting for him to weaken.’
Lembit nodded. ‘I dealt with the Russians on Lake Pskov, and we heard that the bishop allowed the Lithuanians to pass through his territory to attack them.’
‘The bishop and the Lithuanians are allies?’ said Olaf in alarm.
Lembit shook his head. ‘I do not know why the crusaders allowed the Lithuanians into their territory but it was not for friendship. The Lithuanians do not worship the god of the crusaders.’
‘Then the game is still finely poised,’ said Olaf.
More spits of rain began hitting Lembit’s face and the sky grew darker.
‘A game with high stakes, I fear,’ offered Lembit. ‘And yet I feel that one great battle will decide all our fates, lord king.’
He looked at the squat Oeselian. ‘I hope I can stand beside you when that day comes.’
‘Our alliance still holds, Lembit, as long as I remain king. But my warriors crave revenge against the crusaders for the death of my son.’
Lembit squinted into the bitter, rain-filled wind. ‘And you, lord king, do you seek vengeance against your son’s killers?’
Olaf rubbed his forearms. So he was human after all.
‘His mother bickers me incessantly to lead my ships against Riga and my lords thirst for Christian blood. But a king must know when to strike. Having lost a good many men at Treiden I have no desire to repeat the experience. I agree with you that one battle will decide things. The question is, my Estonian friend, can the crusaders be engaged at a time and place that is advantageous to us and the opposite for them?’
They walked on for a few yards in silence, the wind blowing in from the sea and the spits of rain slowly turning into drops.
‘The crusaders seemingly have everything in their advantage,’ said Lembit. ‘Their stone castles grow from the ground as impregnable citadels and every year more and more iron-clad horsemen arrive at Riga to make war against us. And yet there is a chink in their armour, one thing that may undo all their work and yet give us victory.’
Olaf stopped and looked up at him, wracking his brains to think what it could be. He shrugged his shoulders to signal his ignorance.
‘Their arrogance,’ said Lembit. ‘Their unshakable belief that the world belongs to their Christian god and that all other peoples are destined to kneel before it.’
Olaf was unimpressed. ‘Every king and chief is arrogant, Lembit. How else can he lead his people if not possessed of the conviction that he alone has the courage and skills to do so?’
Lembit began wagging his finger at the king. ‘Quite right, lord king. But the crusaders who arrive every year at Riga thirst for battle and conquest and their bishop encourages their desires. Eventually they will over-extend themselves and find themselves deep in enemy territory surrounded by enemies. Then, my lord, then we will offer battle and defeat them.’
‘You think they will just walk into a trap?’ asked Olaf.
‘They view us as savages, lord, fit only to serve them as slaves. To them we are incapable of formulating tactics and strategy. We do not have to deceive them; they deceive themselves.
‘Did you know that the Bishop of Riga has a brother bishop, my lord?’
‘I did not,’ said Olaf.
Olaf twisted his face against the rain that now filled the air.
‘Then I will keep my longships ready until I hear word from you, Lembit. Time to get out of this wretched weather, I think. It will be a harsh winter.’
They walked back to where their men waited with hunched shoulders and backs to the wind and rain. For Olaf the journey back to Oesel would be a short one, the island lying only sixty miles to the west of Parnu Bay. He and his men would lie up under canvas covers until the wind and rain abated, rowing out to sea once the conditions were more favourable. Lembit would retire to the nearest village to partake of its hospitality and assure the inhabitants that there was nothing to fear from the four longships that were moored just a short distance away. How right Olaf was: the world was changing.
*****
Olaf was right about the winter: its icy grip extended over the land in early December and did not let up until March. And yet for Conrad the snow, never-ending religious services, duties, weapons training and numbing cold were hardly noticeable as his thoughts were filled with Daina. After the crops were gathered in there had been a great festival of thanksgiving in Thalibald’s village to which he and the other novices were invited. His knowledge of the Liv language had expanded apace thanks to the diligent efforts of Ilona and he was now able to have simple conversations with Daina in her own language. She laughed and tossed her long hair back when he became confused and said something ridiculous, her green eyes sparkling with mischief as she trapped him with words.
When the birth of Christ was celebrated she came to Wenden in the company of her father, mother and brothers, wrapped in furs, her cheeks rosy in the cold air. As before he and the others served them during the Christmas feast and gave up their quarters so they could stay at the castle for a few days. Master Berthold and Rudolf entertained Thalibald and his sons in the days following by organising hunts in the surrounding forests. They returned each afternoon with sleighs stacked with dead wolves, elk and wild boar, the cooks skinning the corpses so the hides could be presented to the chief as gifts. The meat was cooked and eaten in the dining hall in the evening, Daina and her parents and siblings sitting at the top table with the master and Rudolf.