by Peter Darman
As the fire crackled and spat in the hall the priest at last spoke, his voice deep and severe.
‘Great Dievas who created the world and all that is in it, look upon these, your most devout servants and bless them.
‘The fire is burning.
‘Shine as light.
‘We are your children.
‘Shine as light.
‘Smoulder as covered.
‘Give us strength.
‘Unite us.
‘Help us prosper.
‘Bless us.’
The others murmured ‘bless us’ as the priest let his arms fall to his side and sat down in a chair next to the grand duke’s. Daugerutis remained standing. Vsevolod was readmitted as the others retook their seats. After they had done so a detachment of guards entered carrying four wooden chests, which were placed on the floor in front of the dukes. Daugerutis dismissed the guards and went to each chest, lifting the lid to reveal a hoard of gold and silver plate.
‘A chest for each of you. I appreciate you dragging yourselves here through snow and ice. You have my gratitude.’
Butantas’ eyes opened wide as he stood and began rifling through his chest, picking up gold coins and biting them to ensure they were the real things. Ykintas laughed at him but he too perused the contents of his chest to make certain his was as well stocked as that of the Duke of the Samogitians.
‘Most generous, lord,’ beamed Gedvilas, grinning to reveal a row of white teeth.
Vsevolod looked most surprised and wondered why his father-in-law was giving away the ransom that the Bishop of Riga had given him for the release of the Liv slaves. For his part Kitenis merely regarded his chest with indifference before looking at Daugerutis.
‘What do you want?’
The grand duke laughed. ‘Honest and to the point. I like that.’
Daugerutis sat in his chair next to the high priest. ‘Last year, as you all know, I crossed the Dvina to lead an expedition against my enemy the Prince of Novgorod. On the return journey I helped myself to a few slaves.’
The others laughed. The grand duke held up his hands to still them.
‘You can imagine my surprise when the Bishop of Riga sent a request via my son-in-law to purchase the slaves back. The treasure you see before you is the sum the Christians paid to get back their worthless Liv subjects.
‘You asked me what I wanted, Duke Kitenis. I will tell you. Last year I led a raid across the Dvina; this year I will lead a campaign of conquest. I intend to seize all the Christian lands north of the river, and after that all of Estonia and the Principality of Novgorod. And I want your help to do it.’
Kitenis nodded approvingly and Gedvilas smiled once more. Butantas rubbed his beard thoughtfully and Ykintas gestured to a slave for his cup to be refilled.
Only Vsevolod was alarmed. He had thought that his role as a mediator between Daugerutis and the Bishop of Riga would strengthen his position at Gerzika by being the ally of both the Lithuanians and the crusaders. But now he could be crushed between two mighty powers.
‘Two thousand men,’ said Daugerutis. ‘That is what I require of each of you. I intend to take twenty thousand men across the river. More than enough to sweep the Christians from Livonia.’
‘Ever since they arrived north of the Dvina the Christians have expanded their power,’ remarked Butantas. ‘Why are you so certain that they can be so easily defeated?’
Daugerutis smiled. ‘Because they are weak.’ He pointed at the chests. ‘Why else would they allow me to march through their territory with armed men, to bleat like women when I took their subjects and pay me this great sum instead of sending an army to punish me?’
The grand duke continued. ‘My son-in-law informed me that the Christians begged the leader of the Estonians for peace and that their much-vaunted army was ravaged by plague and was barely able to crush a Liv rebellion. Livonia stands like ripe fruit for picking.’
He stood. ‘Just as Perkunas, the Heavenly Smith, created the sun and moon and hammered them into existence, so shall I forge the lands north and south of the Dvina into one kingdom and that realm will be Lithuanian.’
‘The gods approve of such a venture,’ announced Kriviu Krivaitis solemnly.
The others looked at each other for a few seconds and then shouted their approval. Vsevolod’s heart sank as he cursed his own tongue for divulging to the grand duke what Archdeacon Stefan had told him in his letters. He smiled at his father-in-law politely as his mind began frantically searching for a way out of the calamity that was about to envelop him and his kingdom.
Things darkened the next day when a gloating Prince Stecse stood beside the grand duke in his hall while the latter explained to Vsevolod what his role would be in the forthcoming war.
‘While I roast the Christians in Livonia,’ said the grand duke, chewing on a great piece of wild boar and sitting in his chair, ‘I grant you the privilege of taking your army, my son, to ravage the land of the Novgorodians.’
Vsevolod’s heart sank. ‘Novgorod, lord?’
Daugerutis spat a chunk of gristle on the floor. ‘Yes! The Christians will fall to us as stubble to our swords but do not think that I have forgotten the Prince of Novgorod.’
‘The enemy of our people,’ said Stecse, fixing his eyes upon Vsevolod, who had to think fast.
‘The army of Gerzika, small and ill equipped though it is,’ said Vsevolod, ‘will of course be at your disposal, father. Though I shall have to retain some soldiers in my city to safeguard against an attack from the east.’
Daugerutis looked at him in confusion and then at Stecse. ‘From the east?’
‘The Principality of Polotsk, lord,’ answered Vsevolod.
Stecse was unimpressed. ‘Polotsk lies over a hundred miles from Gerzika and you are of the same blood as its rulers.’
Vsevolod glared at Stecse. ‘I am fully aware of the geography of my kingdom, prince. If I am seen aiding the enemies of Mother Russia I may incur the wrath of both Novgorod and Polotsk.’
‘Mother Russia?’ sneered Daugerutis. ‘Who is this whore you speak of?’
‘The rallying cry of all Russians, lord,’ replied Vsevolod. ‘You must understand, lord, that my position is most invidious. Many lords north of the Dvina mistrust me.’
‘Not just north of the river,’ remarked Stecse.
Vsevolod had had enough of this upstart who whispered poison into his father-in-law’s ear. A task, after all, that he was far more suited to.
‘How dare you!’
Daugerutis held up a hand to Stecse.
‘You exceed yourself.’
Stecse bowed his head. ‘My apologies, lord, I meant no offence.’
Daugerutis looked at Vsevolod. ‘Now is the time to stand by your family, Vsevolod. You may be a Russian but you are united to the Lithuanian people through your marriage to my daughter, my only heir. It may fortify your courage to know that I have informed my lords that you will rule them should anything befall me during the coming war.’
Vsevolod was taken aback by this and was momentarily speechless. He had always assumed that because Rasa was a woman she would not inherit her father’s kingdom, and as a Russian he had always believed that Daugerutis would never contemplate him becoming a Lithuanian ruler. He regained his composure and looked at Stecse in triumph. If anything happened to the grand duke one of his first acts as Lithuanian leader would be to have the upstart executed.
Daugerutis saw Vsevolod’s look of triumph. ‘There is more. I know that many among my people will not agree with my decision, the more so because my daughter is married to a foreigner who has sired no sons.’
Vsevolod bristled at this. ‘Only God determines what children a man may or may not have, lord.’
Daugerutis held up a hand to still him. ‘I attach no blame to you, my son, even if your god turned a deaf ear to your pleas. But the fact is that if you and my daughter are to rule from this hall then your reign will need legitimacy. That is why the son of Prince Ste
cse will be your heir, Vsevolod.
‘I do not understand,’ said the latter.
‘It is quite simple,’ said the grand duke irritably. ‘Stecse is the most valiant and able among my lords and is accepted by all of them as such. He is in the fortunate position of having enemies that are either dead or banished. That being the case his son, Mindaugas, will be acceptable as your heir, my son. It will also consolidate your rule after my death.’
‘Which I hope is many years away,’ said Vsevolod. Daugerutis waved away his flattery.
‘You honour me greatly, lord,’ said a dumfounded Stecse.
‘Honour has nothing to do with it,’ replied the grand duke. ‘I wish to see my daughter be accorded her position as my only surviving child but I am also mindful that my successors must have the loyalty of my princes. I like your son, Stecse, he will make a fine ruler one day.’
Stecse bowed his head and Vsevolod smiled perfunctorily at the grand duke. He did not like the idea that a son of Stecse would be his heir. Still, that he might be made the heir of Daugerutis had not even crossed his mind. How strange was fate. Then again it did not solve the immediate problem of how he was going to extricate himself from the forthcoming war with the Bishop of Riga. Ideally he would have liked to sit it out but this was not an option, not least because it would jeopardise his new role as the grand duke’s heir. With these thoughts swirling in his mind he left his father-in-law to inform his wife of this new development.
*****
The air was still cool and there was frost in the mornings when Grand Duke Daugerutis invaded Livonia. He knew that in the spring the bishop would arrive back from Germany accompanied by hundreds, perhaps thousands, of crusaders with their warhorses and crossbowmen. But he would return to a blackened wasteland where there were no crusaders or pliant Livs, just a mighty Lithuania that straddled the Dvina like a colossus. His army – twenty thousand men – crossed the river just below the Castle of Kokenhusen, his men building a bridge of boats on the icy water so that the Christians could see his warriors cross. At dawn he and Stecse had boarded a small riverboat that had been rowed near to the opposite bank where the Sword Brother castle stood. He had brandished a spear and shouted up at the battlements that the hour of their doom had come, before hurling the spear into the black waters to signal that he was at war with the Christians.
It took all morning to build the bridge of boats, the grand duke sending over a thousand men in boats to secure the northern riverbank and ensure the crusaders at Kokenhusen did not interfere with his arrangements. The southern bank of the river was filled with men and horses that quickly turned the ground to mud as they waited to cross. Everyone was wrapped in cloaks for the morning was overcast and the air dank, an easterly wind pinching flesh and watering eyes.
When the bridge had been completed and planks nailed in place to allow men and beasts to cross, the austere and severe Kriviu Krivaitis walked across followed by the Vaidilutes, the virgins who guarded the sacred Eternal Flame. The high priest’s face was white from the cold and his eyes red from the wind as he strode across the bridge, but the young women who followed him must have been numb with cold in their flimsy long white dresses, bare arms and light shoes. The grand duke had arranged for them to be wrapped in furs and given hot mead when they reached the northern riverbank, but the symbolism of their presence was immense as they carried lighted torches that had been lit by the Sacred Flame over the river to plant in Christian territory. The thousands of men watched in silence as the tall, white-clothed priest and his virgins walked across the river, a scene also observed by the Sword Brothers and crusaders on Kokenhusen’s battlements, before cheering wildly as the torches were taken from the frozen virgins and used to light great bonfires on the far bank. Then the army crossed.
The other dukes, seduced by the lure of more gold and easy conquest, had brought their men and they now rode across the Dvina in the company of Daugerutis. In the biting wind their colourful banners fluttered behind the huge red banner sporting a black bear. There was the iron wolf of Duke Ykintas, the elk antlers of Duke Butantas, the black axe of Duke Kitenis and the golden eagle of Duke Gedvilas. And behind them came rank upon rank of horsemen in armour, cloaks wrapped around them and helmeted heads covered in hoods. Each rider carried two spisas in addition to his pavise-like shield, sword and axe, occasionally a mace.
The largest contingent was the grand duke’s: four thousand horsemen and eight thousand foot. Of the other dukes, Ykintas brought five hundred horsemen and fifteen hundred warriors on foot. Butantas mustered a thousand horsemen and the same number of foot soldiers, while six hundred horsemen and fourteen hundred foot accompanied Kitenis. Duke Gedvilas, being the ruler of the poorest kingdom, brought only two hundred horsemen along with eighteen hundred foot.
Daugerutis could have mustered twenty thousand warriors on his own but he wanted the other dukes to be a part of his war, not least because if they were creating havoc in Livonia it meant that his own borders were secure. As he and they stood watching the unending line of horsemen file across the river he looked behind him at the white walls of Kokenhusen in the distance. How accommodating of their bishop to give him the funds that had allowed him to bribe them. Perkunas was surely smiling on him and his venture.
He looked at the young man with a long face sitting beside Stecse.
‘You are a lucky boy, Mindaugas,’ he said to him. ‘To be alive at this auspicious time.’
‘Yes, lord. Thank you,’ replied Mindaugas nervously. He was overawed at being in the company of Lithuania’s great warlords. For their part they were bored and cold.
‘I need one of those virgins to warm me up,’ remarked Kitenis irreverently.
Gedvilas laughed. ‘They are sacred, you old goat. You will have to settle for a Liv slave to keep the cold away from your old bones.’
‘Perhaps the Bishop of Riga will buy them back a second time,’ remarked Butantas.
‘There will be no Livonia,’ stated Daugerutis. ‘We are here to stay.’
To bring his plan to fruition he had prepared the campaign carefully and had stationed an additional three thousand men to the south of the river, in his own territory, to safeguard the crossing point over the Dvina. He knew that he and the other dukes had no siege equipment with which to take the castles of the crusaders. But he gambled that he could besiege those along the Dvina with foot soldiers while his horsemen ravaged the countryside. With the bishop in Germany and with no hope of relief, they would have no alternative but to surrender.
When the six thousand, three hundred horsemen had passed over and were led by the grand duke towards Kokenhusen to begin the investment of that place, the other dukes in attendance, Stecse remained at the river to oversee the crossing of over thirteen and half thousand foot soldiers. They wore fur-lined leather caps for both warmth and protection and kaftans over long tunics. The bottoms of their leggings were secured by leather thongs, their feet already soaked due to hours of trudging through mud. The lucky ones, those who could afford them, wore leather boots and mail armour and might even have a sword. But the vast majority of these warrior farmers were armed only with a spear and an axe tucked in their belts. A small number, professional huntsmen, carried bows and quivers full of arrows and others shouldered clubs and maces, including a variety of the latter named kistien: a ball-and-chain weapon that without training could be just as lethal to its owner as well as an opponent.
The army camped around Kokenhusen the first night, Daugerutis and the other dukes taking shelter in the village nearest the castle, the inhabitants having fled to the fortress upon hearing of the approach of the Lithuanians. The grand duke was pleased. The more Livs who flocked to the castles of the Sword Brother the quicker their food supplies would be exhausted.
The next day, after leaving five hundred of his own men to besiege Kokenhusen, under strict orders not to launch an assault, the grand duke rode west with the other dukes to besiege the other Christian castles long the Dvina: Lennewar
den, Uexkull and Holm. Seven days after crossing the river he had those places and Kokenhusen besieged and led the other dukes and his horsemen for an attack north against Caupo.
*****
The Lithuanian invasion had produced a flurry of messages between the castles of the Sword Brothers and Riga. Archdeacon Stefan ordered the immediate closing of the town gates, much to the alarm of those German settlers and Livs who lived beyond Riga’s walls.
Soon there was a great crowd clamouring to be let into the town, mothers holding up weeping infants, imploring the bishop’s guards on the walls to at least save their children. It was a pitiful spectacle that moved even the hardest hearts but Stefan would not relent and so the crowd increased in size and the wailing below them moved the guards to tears. In the end Grand Master Volquin stormed from his office in the castle and gave the order to open the gates, an action that earned him an immediate summons to the bishop’s palace.
Stefan was in an agitated state as he paced up and down in front of the grand master in the audience chamber of the bishop’s residence, fidgeting nervously with his pectoral cross. Volquin stood before him with his arms folded. He noticed that the archdeacon’s pectoral cross was now solid gold, as was the chain. Stefan had no time for the virtue of poverty, it seemed.
‘You should not have opened the gates, grand master, not at all.’
Volquin raised an eyebrow. ‘The Lithuanians are not upon us yet, archdeacon, so there was no danger.’
Stefan’s eyes opened wide. ‘No danger? May I remind you that the town’s food supplies are low after the winter and can hardly support the influx of a great number of civilians.’
‘They have brought what food they had with them,’ stated Volquin.
Stefan walked back to his chair and began fidgeting with the silk-covered arms. ‘Food that will be consumed soon enough.’
Volquin moved closer to him. ‘Archdeacon, it would be bad for morale if, when, the Lithuanians arrive the garrison was forced to watch civilians being butchered by them. You have to remember that people who live in Riga have relatives beyond the walls. We cannot abandon them.’