The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  Just as they did when mounted on the battlefield the brethren formed into line, the brother knights in the first rank, the sergeants behind and in the rear the novices, much to their consternation. Only half the brother knights wore their mail armour and less than that had helmets, so great had been the rush to the chapel tent. But all had their shields and swords, though most preferred maces or axes for close-quarter work on foot. The sergeants were in a similar state, some being bare footed but all having one or more weapons. Conrad and the other novices had strapped on their sword belts but like the others preferred bludgeoning weapons for the fight with the night raiders.

  Rudolf raised his mace and the whole formation moved forward at speed, crossing the hundred paces of open ground between the two camps in less than a minute. Small groups of crusaders and their squires were attempting to fend off black-clad warriors armed with axes and spears and carrying square-like shields. The raiders did not stop to fight but threw their spears and then moved past the Christian knights, cutting down individuals they came across and throwing burning firewood into tents and on carts.

  The Sword Brothers moved as one through the camp, parting to sweep around any tents in their way, reforming their line and then continuing the advance into the heart of the camp. Men screamed as they ran from burning tents with their clothes on fire and others, severely wounded by axe blows and spear thrusts, crawled on the ground as their lifeblood seeped from their bodies. On either flank of the Sword Brothers men had to fend off darting attacks by raiders who ran at them screaming their war cries and attempting to cave in their skulls with axes. The pace slowed as these irritant attacks came from all directions.

  ‘Look to the sides and rear!’ screamed Rudolf.

  Conrad and the other novices turned and began walking backwards, as did sergeants in the second line, who pulled the boys back into their ranks. A spear came from nowhere to land in the chest of the sergeant next to Conrad. He groaned and fell forward on the ground. Conrad knelt down to tend to him but then heard Hans’ voice.

  ‘Conrad!’

  He leapt up to see a black-faced demon coming at him with a spear levelled at his belly. He could not duck out of the way for that would mean the brother knight in the front rank behind him would be skewered in the back, so he jumped forward and caught the spear point on his shield, the iron head going through the wood and leather and stopping a few inches from his body. In a split-second he turned the axe in his hand and swung down on the helmet of the enemy warrior. He thought the man was wearing a helmet but it turned out he wore only leather on his head and so the spike easily went through the covering and deep into his skull. In fact it went so deep that when he crumpled in a heap on the ground Conrad could not pull the spike out of the man’s head. And to make matters worse the warrior’s spear was still embedded in his shield.

  ‘Hans,’ he called, ‘hack his head off.’

  Hans next to him looked at his predicament and began chopping at the dead man’s neck with his own axe. After half a dozen blows he had severed the head to allow Conrad to retrieve his axe.

  ‘And the spear shaft,’ Conrad requested.

  Hans cut through the haft with a single blow and they continued their advance to the Sir Helmold’s pavilion, Conrad having a spear point lodged in his shield and an enemy head impaled on his axe.

  They stepped over dead knights and squires, avoiding maddened, wounded horses that galloped past them as they finally closed upon the great pavilion. They gave a great cheer as they discovered that Sir Helmold was still alive, fighting sword in hand beside Thalibald, the latter’s two sons also standing beside their father outside the tent. At least fifty other knights were also standing with their lord, dead enemy warriors at their feet along with a score of crusaders who had also been slain. And also there were masters Berthold, Bertram and Mathias, bloodied but unbowed as they stood with eyes full of fire and swords dipped in the blood of the enemy. They smiled when they saw the phalanx of Sword Brothers arrive.

  Horns were sounding to signal the withdrawal of the raiders, who melted back into the forest.

  Sir Helmold, still roaring drunk, was enraged at their cowardice. ‘Rally to me, warriors of Christ! We will chase these devils back to hell where they belong.’

  With that he bent down, picked up a large silver goblet, drained it and threw it aside. He then rested his sword on his shoulder and began walking from the tent’s entrance in a westerly direction towards the forest. The crusaders, equally drunk with both drink and bloodlust, cheered and followed him. Berthold looked alarmed and chased after Sir Helmold, followed by Bertram, Mathias and Thalibald. A great argument ensued in which Thalibald prevailed upon his friend not to lead an expedition into the forest at night, the result of which would be more crusader casualties. He was advised by the castellans to secure the camp first and wait for the dawn when a more sober assessment of the situation could be made.

  While this was going on Rameke joined Conrad and the other novices and told them what had happened.

  ‘The raiders tried to kill us all but Sir Helmold’s knights rallied to their lord and fought them off. The rest of the camp was not so lucky, it seems.

  He saw Conrad holding down the severed head with one foot while he tugged at his axe to remove the spike from its bloody holder.

  ‘A souvenir, Conrad?’

  ‘He’s going to take it back to Wenden to give it as a present to Daina,’ said Hans, grinning.

  ‘A betrothal gift,’ added Anton.

  ‘Meet your new brother,’ said Johann.

  Conrad blushed. ‘Shut up.’

  Rameke shook his head. ‘I don’t think my sister would appreciate such a gift, Conrad.’

  Conrad gave one great tug and freed his axe spike. ‘Just ignore them, Rameke.’

  ‘Everyone knows that Conrad loves your sister, Rameke,’ said Hans, ‘though Conrad thinks that it is a great secret.’

  Rameke looked at Conrad. ‘Really? You love my sister? Most odd. My father will be delighted.’

  ‘You must not say anything to him,’ said Conrad in alarm, forgetting that Daina had already informed her father of her love for the novice. ‘It will lead to much trouble.’

  ‘Much merriment, more like,’ quipped Anton.

  Conrad kicked away the bloody head, which landed at Henke’s feet.

  ‘A gift, for me, you are too kind?’ He pointed at Conrad and the others. ‘No sleep for you four. Scour the camp to see if there are any wounded. Take the Christians to the surgeon’s tent and bring any pagans here.’

  Parties of sergeants and crusaders were already conducting a search of the ransacked camp, while the squires attended to the burning tents and carts and tried to round up the horses and mules. In the dark it was a hopeless task but the coming of the dawn made their work easier. It also revealed the extent of the damage and loss of life.

  Sir Helmold’s face was purple with fury as his commanders reported the casualties: ten knights, twenty-three of their men-at-arms and fifty squires slain and sixty others wounded. Fifty tents, a score of carts and twelve wagons wrecked and thirty mules killed. It was a miracle that the main stabling area had been positioned to the west of the camp and had thus escaped any loss. Nevertheless, the raiders had inflicted much damage, not least to Sir Helmold’s reputation. He bristled with rage and he and his fellow knights thirsted for revenge.

  The first to feel their wrath were the ten wounded pagans who were found in the camp. Over forty of their companions had been killed, most around Sir Helmold’s pavilion, and now their bodies were collected and hurled onto a funeral pyre that the squires built south of the camp. Prisoners were usually given the opportunity to recant their pagan faith and accept baptism into the Holy Church before being incinerated if they refused, but Sir Helmold was adamant that they should die. So he ate a breakfast of fruit and meat broth washed down by wine as the prisoners, chained to stakes sunk into the ground in front of his pavilion with piles of burning brushwood up to their
chests, writhed and screamed in agony as their flesh melted from their bones.

  Conrad was one of the onlookers who were assembled around the execution site to witness the deaths but he turned away from the horror. When he witnessed executions all he saw was his pale-faced father being led to his death. Afterwards, when the charred, blackened corpses hung from the stakes and the air was heavy with the aroma of roasted human flesh, he made his way back to the Sword Brother camp alone, his still bloody axe tucked in his belt. Later that day he assisted in washing the bodies of three sergeants from Wenden who had been killed during the night. They would be transported back to the castle where they would be buried in the cemetery. The garrisons of Segewold and Kremon had also suffered a small number of slain and so a column of two-wheeled carts borrowed from the crusaders left the camp just after midday, a score of sergeants detailed to escort the bodies back to their last resting places. They would return to camp after they had completed their mission.

  Security was increased in the days afterwards as everyone waited for news of the bishop’s army. At night they all stood to arms in expectation of another pagan assault but none came. Ten days after the raid a party of Liv horsemen arrived with news that Caupo had ridden south to join the bishop whose army had relieved Kokenhusen. Sir Helmold was ‘invited’ to join him and the other lords at the river directly south of his position in order to cross the Dvina and launch the campaign in Lithuania. The riders also brought a message from Grand Master Volquin ordering the Sword Brothers to march with all haste to the Dvina. The crusaders and brethren struck camp and marched south on the track towards the Lithuanian bridgehead in high spirits.

  But unknown to them and the bishop three thousand warriors had crossed over the river the day before to reinforce those soldiers under Prince Stecse who held the northern end of the pontoon bridge.

  There was great rejoicing at Kokenhusen where Thalibald was united with his king. The bishop and Grand Master Volquin also warmly embraced the Liv chief and his eldest son. A service of thanksgiving was held in the castle chapel for their safe deliverance and the relief of all the Sword Brother castles along the Dvina. All that remained was the destruction of the Lithuanian bridgehead on the northern riverbank of the Dvina, which was the main topic of conversation at a council of war held the next day.

  The crusader army was camped to the north of the castle, the views from which provided an excellent observation point over the river to the east and the Lithuanian bridgehead in particular. The bishop, grand master, his castellans, Caupo, Thalibald and the crusader commanders stood on the castle’s eastern wall and looked towards the enemy position. It was a beautiful summer’s day and the lush green of the land contrasted sharply with the deep blue waters of the Dvina as it disappeared towards the east.

  Master Griswold pointed at the pontoon bridge that spanned the river. ‘The Lithuanians brought over a great many soldiers a week ago and have strengthened their defences this side of the river.’

  ‘They mean to stay, then,’ remarked Sir Helmold, whose humour had improved since the arrival of the bishop, though he still thirsted for revenge over those who had had the impertinence to raid his camp.

  ‘What defences?’ queried Volquin.

  ‘My scouts report that they have dug a ditch around the whole of their camp next to the river,’ said Griswold, ‘the earth dug from which they have used to form a rampart behind it. They have also placed sharpened stakes on the slope of the rampart that faces outwards, though as yet have not erected a timber wall upon the rampart.’

  ‘A few sticks will avail them not,’ sneered Sir Helmold to murmurs of agreement from the other three German lords present.

  Volquin was not so sure. He pointed to the northern riverbank. ‘You see how the land is flat and largely devoid of trees around the bridgehead, lord bishop. This would make a frontal assault against the enemy defences costly, I fear. And we will not be able to make use of our horsemen against the Lithuanians, thus negating our greatest asset. A frontal assault may lead to high casualties.’

  The bishop toyed with the plain silver pectoral cross hanging around his neck. ‘What would you suggest, grand master?’

  ‘The Lithuanians must know by now that Daugerutis is dead and his army destroyed. I believe they can be persuaded to leave Livonia and return to Lithuania.’

  ‘I must protest, lord bishop,’ said Sir Helmold. ‘We cannot allow these pagans, who have despoiled this land and your own reputation, to escape.’

  The other lords nodded in agreement.

  ‘I would agree with Sir Helmold,’ said Caupo. ‘Many of my people and members of your flock, lord bishop, have died at the hands of the Lithuanians these past few weeks. To let them go will make us and you look weak.’

  ‘And let us not forget, lord bishop,’ said Thalibald, ‘that events in Livonia will be known to Lembit and his chiefs in Estonia, to say nothing of the Russians further to the east. If we show any weakness we may unwittingly invite them all to attack us.’

  The bishop continued to rub his cross as he stared at the bridge of boats across the Dvina.

  ‘Good faith,’ he said at last.

  ‘Bishop?’ said a confused Volquin next to him.

  ‘In good faith,’ continued the bishop, ‘we entered into a treaty with the Lithuanians and our reward was to see Livonia ravaged by their treachery. In good faith we paid Grand Duke Daugerutis a king’s ransom to get back those who had been stolen from their families and homes, and our reward was to witness the slaughter of a great many of King Caupo’s people. In good faith the Governor of Riga trusted Prince Vsevolod to be sincere and truthful in his relations with us, and our reward has been Vsevolod’s silence while a hostile army has crossed over the Dvina to strike at our hearts.

  ‘Grand Master Volquin, there is no man I esteem more in this kingdom than you, but in this matter I must agree with the opinion of Sir Helmold. The Lithuanians must be expelled from Livonia and their bridge of boats destroyed. It is like a dagger pointed at the heart of Christ’s kingdom and cannot be tolerated.’

  ‘Might not the preservation of the bridge be to our advantage, lord bishop?’ said Sir Helmold casually.

  The bishop looked at him quizzically. ‘To our advantage in what way?’

  ‘For our campaign in Lithuania,’ answered Sir Helmold.

  Volquin looked at him in alarm, as did his castellans. They knew as well as he that Livonia did not have the resources to fight a war in Lithuania in addition to the inevitable conflict with the Estonians that would break out sooner or later.

  ‘There will be no campaign in Lithuania,’ said the bishop firmly. He pointed at the pontoon bridge. ‘That bridge has prevented trade along the Dvina and must be destroyed as quickly as possible, otherwise the merchants in Riga will starve and my treasury will empty.

  ‘I give my blessing for the destruction of the abominable pagan bridgehead you see before you, but I forbid any crossing of the river. The Lithuanians will have to wait.’

  ‘I must protest, lord bishop,’ said Sir Helmold. The bishop froze him with a stare.

  ‘You will have your revenge against the pagans, Sir Helmold, but be wary of allowing personal vanity to cloud your judgement. I would rather see you unsheathe your sword against the Estonians than the Lithuanians.’

  Sir Helmold guffawed. ‘Have no fear, lord bishop, after we have butchered the Lithuanians we can deal with the Estonians.’

  The other crusaders grunted their approval but the bishop shook his head.

  ‘One of the obligations of being a servant of Christ, Sir Helmold, is that once you have given your word you are forced to keep it. We have an agreement with the Estonians and cannot break it.’

  ‘Does breaking an oath to pagans count, lord bishop?’ queried one of the crusader lords, a barrel-chested individual who obviously disliked being shorter than either Caupo or Thalibald by the scornful looks he gave them.

  ‘It is an interesting theoretical question, Count Horton,’ rep
lied the bishop, ‘though one for a gathering of cardinals, I think, rather than to be debated on the eve of battle. My decision is final. We destroy the pagans on this side of the river and burn their accursed bridge. May God be with you all.’

  *****

  Stecse stood on the earth bank and looked west towards the rising ramparts of Kokenhusen Castle, the banners of the Sword Brothers flying from its towers. He had left two hundred men at the castle to continue the semblance of a siege but had withdrawn them when his scouts had reported the approach of the bishop’s army. Now they and the eight hundred men who had also been committed to the siege were in the great camp that guarded the northern end of the bridge of boats that spanned the Dvina. Together with the three thousand he had ordered to cross the river he had more than four thousand men to defend the bridgehead against the crusaders. The great semi-circular earth rampart that surrounded the camp, together with the ditch in front of it, was enough to negate the crusaders using their mailed horsemen in an assault, and that gave him hope that he could beat off a Christian attack.

  Vetseke standing beside must have been reading his thoughts.

  ‘The Christians will be attacking this camp soon, prince. I would advise getting your men back across the river before then.’

  ‘I cannot do that before I give the crusaders a bloody nose,’ replied Stecse, still observing Kokenhusen. He noticed that Vetseke did not look at his former home once. Perhaps the memory of its loss was still too raw.

  ‘The grand duke is dead and his army destroyed. If I retreat across the river with my tail between my legs then the campaign will have been a complete waste. I can at least save some honour by defeating the Christians.’

  ‘You will fail,’ said Vetseke flatly. ‘Even if you beat off one attack the bishop will summon his engines of war to hurl fire and stone against you. And all the while you stand here the other dukes will make war on your lands in Lithuania.’