The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  ‘The forts of the grand duke are strong and well sited,’ replied Stecse defensively, ‘and they are well manned. But I cannot withdraw without inflicting a defeat upon the Christians. I owe that to the grand duke at least.’

  Vetseke smiled faintly. It all came down to honour and vengeance. Stecse would fight a battle to salve his conscience and redeem Lithuanian honour for a dead grand duke. It was all so ridiculous, but then perhaps he was no better. He was, after all, standing on this bank of earth instead of accepting reality and availing himself of the hospitality of Vladimir of Polotsk. What made him keep returning to Livonia? The vain hope that he would once again sit in the great hall of Kokenhusen? But this was his home and he was loath to leave it.

  ‘And you?’ said Stecse.

  ‘I will take my men out of camp tonight, to seek the sanctuary of the forest.’

  ‘A precarious existence,’ remarked Stecse, ‘you would be welcome to join me in Lithuania.’

  ‘I thank you for your kind offer, prince,’ said Vetseke, ‘but I prefer to stay in my homeland.’

  ‘Even though it is occupied by the enemy?’

  ‘I hope it will not always be so.’

  The sound of horses’ hooves made them turn around as thirty or more mail-clad riders halted at the foot of the rampart. One of them dismounted and made his way up the bank and removed his helmet. Vetseke was surprised: he was no more than a boy. Is this what the Lithuanians were reduced to?

  ‘I thought I asked you to stay on the other side of the river,’ snapped Stecse irritably.

  ‘I could not remain idle while you fought the heathens, father.’

  Stecse shook his head and looked at Vetseke. ‘This is my son Mindaugas, lord prince. And this is Prince Vetseke, Mindaugas, an ally who fights by our side.’

  The boy with the long face bowed his head to Vetseke. ‘An honour, sir.’

  Vetseke smiled. Honour. There was that word again.

  Mindaugas looked beyond the camp to the area of flat land that had been cleared of trees for hundreds of yards to provide building material for shelters, firewood and stakes that had been hammered into the outward-facing side of the rampart where they had been sharpened.

  ‘Any sign of the enemy, father?’ he asked excitedly.

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Perhaps they will not show their faces, these Christians. I have heard that they are frightened to fight.’

  ‘Oh, they will fight,’ said Stecse.

  Mindaugas grinned. ‘Good.’

  ‘What of Prince Vsevolod?’ asked Vetseke.

  ‘What of him?’ sneered Stecse.

  ‘Will he not come to assist you in your hour of need?’ pressed Vetseke.

  ‘Vsevolod looks to his own interests,’ spat Stecse, ‘we do not need him.’

  He placed a hand on his son’s shoulders. ‘Mindaugas wishes to fight in his first battle, is that not so?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ beamed Mindaugas.

  ‘You are to be granted your wish,’ said Vetseke, ‘for surely as day follows night the Christians will be here soon enough.’

  Mindaugas looked at the ditch. ‘This ditch can be used to bury them after the battle.’

  Vetseke smiled politely but said nothing. More likely the ditch, and the camp for that matter, would be full of Lithuanian dead after the fighting was over. He had seen what damage the crossbowmen of the crusaders could cause, to say nothing of their machines that had battered down the defences of his own stronghold. And yet he liked Stecse and thought him an intelligent individual who did not underestimate his enemy. That was good, for he would need all his wits to battle the bishop’s army when it arrived.

  When darkness came he took his leave of Stecse and slipped out of camp with his men, striking towards the northeast to avoid any crusader outposts that might have been established around the bridgehead. He had become accustomed to travelling at night, like a spirit condemned to wander the earth for all eternity. His men were the remnants of those who had taken part in the rebellion the previous year, individuals who, like him, had no homes or families, or any future. He told them that one day they would return to their villages when the Christians had been defeated and the old ways had been restored. But he no longer believed his own words. Probably neither did they. But they stayed with him because they had nowhere else to go.

  *****

  The bishop’s army left camp at dawn, long files of knights on horseback carrying maces, short spears and axes, riding with their bodyguards, retainers and personal companions. Normally these soldiers, the flower of north German chivalry, fought on horseback but today would battle on foot to take the pagan camp and plant the banner of the Bishop of Riga among their corpses. Then came the squires of the knights armed with maces and axes and wearing the surcoats of their masters. Finally there were the foot soldiers, a mixture of professional crossbowmen and spearmen plus the retainers of the knights. Three thousand crusaders in total, all intent on wiping out the Lithuanian bridgehead.

  The bishop once again had his own mounted bodyguard, a score of mail-clad soldiers wearing Riga’s coat of arms on their shields and surcoats and carrying a great banner bearing the cross keys of the city. He also had his own foot guards, of course, but they had been left behind in the city along with the militia after Archdeacon Stefan had protested that if they left Riga it would be as naked and defenceless as a newborn lamb.

  King Caupo, Thalibald, Waribule and Rameke rode with the bishop and Bishop Theodoric, a hundred mounted Livs accompanying their king while the other eight hundred of his warriors tramped behind on foot.

  In the vanguard of the army were the Sword Brothers: seventy-three brother knights and one hundred and eighty sergeants. Tiny in comparison to the number of crusaders, they were the most disciplined soldiers in all Livonia. The Sword Brothers had never been defeated in battle, the enemy had captured none of their castles and men spoke in hushed tones of reverence whenever they passed by. They were God’s holy warriors, men pure of heart and spirit, and wherever they went victory surely followed.

  ‘It’s going to piss down with rain,’ said Henke, looking up at the sky heaped with grey clouds. ‘I hate fighting in the rain.’

  ‘I thought you loved fighting, whatever the weather conditions,’ commented Rudolf.

  The masters rode at the head of the order with Volquin but the brother knights and sergeants of the garrisons stayed together. Though they had almost completed their training Lukas insisted that Conrad, Anton, Johann and Hans kept close to him on the march. They did so today, which had dawned overcast and cool, with a slight southerly breeze ruffling the dozens of standards that flew among the army behind them. Lukas and the novices rode behind Rudolf and Henke, the latter being in an irritable mood.

  ‘Not when it means wading through mud to get to grips with the enemy,’ complained Henke. ‘We should leave it to those who have come for the summer from Germany.’

  ‘That would not be charitable,’ said Lukas.

  ‘Nor very commendable,’ added Rudolf.

  ‘You can forget taking any prisoners,’ moaned Henke. ‘Any that try to give themselves up will have their throats slit.’

  ‘I’m sure that will alleviate your reluctance to fight in the rain,’ said Rudolf.

  ‘Killing prisoners is a sin,’ said Walter from behind Johann and Anton.

  Henke rolled his eyes. ‘Killing pagans is not a sin, brother.’

  ‘Prisoners,’ replied Walter, ‘whatever their religion, must be given the opportunity to be baptised into the Holy Church before their fate is decided.’

  ‘I leave that decision to God,’ said Henke. ‘I kill them and He decides what to do with their souls. Saves a lot of time and effort.’

  Walter was not amused but Rudolf and Lukas laughed. Conrad felt the first spots of rain on his face and so did Henke.

  ‘And so it begins,’ he complained. ‘By midday we will all be soaked and covered in mud.’ He pulled his cloak around him.

  ‘No
t if the Lithuanians retreat or surrender,’ said Lukas.

  A pained expression crept over Henke’s face. ‘That would be the final straw: marching out to get soaked and covered in filth and we don’t even get to fight.’

  Rudolf shook his head. ‘Sometimes life can be so very cruel, Henke.’

  But the Lithuanians did not retreat or surrender and after they had marched the short distance from Kokenhusen to the enemy bridgehead the crusaders began deploying for battle. The horses were gathered and taken to the rear, the younger squires being responsible for their safekeeping. Conrad had noticed that there were other novices among the Sword Brothers now, boys younger than himself who accompanied the garrisons of the order’s other castles. They led the horses to the rear while he and Wenden’s other three novices took their place in the battle line.

  ‘Keep your eyes peeled and your shields tight to your bodies,’ Lukas instructed them as they walked across the flat, open ground towards the Lithuanian defences. ‘The enemy will have archers behind that rampart.’

  Conrad could not see anyone on the enemy rampart. ‘Perhaps they have all fled, Brother Lukas.’

  ‘They are there,’ replied Lukas, ‘they just aren’t showing their faces.’

  ‘They are not stupid,’ said Rudolf, ‘they don’t want to get a crossbow bolt in their face.’

  ‘Pity we left all our crossbowmen behind,’ remarked Henke.

  The Sword Brothers had brought only their brother knights, sergeants and novices into the field, leaving their mercenaries to guard the castles, which still might be attacked by Lithuanians attempting to recross the Dvina. And as no one trusted the Estonians the castles along the Gauja had to be manned at all times.

  ‘Caupo will lend us a few archers,’ said Rudolf.

  The mood was relaxed and confident as the army deployed into its assault positions. It assumed a concave shape as it formed up around four hundred paces from the earth rampart that surrounded the enemy camp. There was an entrance cut in the centre of the rampart that was blocked by a pile of tree trunks festooned with iron spikes. The only way to get into the camp was over the rampart.

  It took an hour for the army to get into its assault positions, eventually forming five separate ‘battles.’ The bishop bestowed the place of honour – the right wing – to Count Horton and a thousand crusaders, and to their left was a similar-sized division of crusaders under Sir Helmold. In the centre of the line stood the bishop with his bodyguard and a thousand crusaders. On the left flank of these men was the small ‘battle’ of Sword Brothers, while Caupo and his nine hundred Livs formed the army’s left wing that extended almost to the river.

  The king sent a number of scouts to reconnoitre the enemy’s position while the army arranged itself, the men riding their ponies to within a few yards of the rampart. As they neared the Lithuanian defences a number of warriors appeared on top of the rampart to launch spears at the riders, two being struck and killed before the others retired.

  ‘You see, I told you they were there,’ said Lukas.

  The Sword Brothers deployed on foot just as they would on horseback, with the brother knights in the front rank and the sergeants behind in two ranks. Thus within their division the white-clad soldiers of the various garrisons of the order formed seven separate groups, each one of three lines, standing side by side. The wind had increased now and the drizzle had turned into a light rain that blew into the crusaders’ faces.

  Caupo sent riders to the other divisions to inform them that there was a wide, deep ditch in front of the rampart, the latter also being decorated with sharpened stakes. It was Rameke who rode to report to the Sword Brothers. He nodded to Conrad as he spoke to Rudolf.

  ‘My father is sending archers to support your attack, Brother Rudolf.’

  ‘Thank him from me,’ said Rudolf, ‘they will be most useful.’

  ‘When do we attack?’

  Rudolf looked up at the dark grey clouds. ‘Soon, otherwise we will sink into the mud and won’t be able to move. Isn’t that right, Henke?’

  Henke said nothing but merely stared defiantly at the enemy rampart as the raindrops hit him.

  ‘God be with you, Rameke,’ said Rudolf.

  Rameke smiled. ‘And with you.’

  He raised his hand to Conrad and then rode back to the left where his father stood in front of hundreds of Liv warriors. On the way he passed fifty archers that Thalibald had sent to support the order’s assault. They were armed with bows made from yew that could shoot an arrow up to a range of two hundred and fifty paces. The archers wore no armour or helmets and so were placed behind the Sword Brothers, from where they could shoot their missiles over their heads towards the enemy. The archers with Thalibald adopted a similar tactic. In contrast, the crossbowmen accompanying the crusader ‘battles’ deployed in front of their divisions, a line of spearmen walking a few paces ahead of them to provide protection.

  Conrad gripped the handle of his axe as the rain became heavier. There was a blast of trumpets from where the bishop sat on his horse beside Caupo in front of his and the king’s mounted bodyguards. Trumpets coming from the divisions of Sir Helmold and Count Horton answered the call, and on the left the Livs began banging the shafts of their spears on the insides of their shields.

  Rudolf turned and raised his mace. ‘God with us!’

  The Sword Brothers answered ‘God with us!’ and began walking forward, the brother knights putting on their full-face helmets. Conrad felt a tingle of excitement course through him and momentarily forgot the rain that was striking his face. The visibility was beginning to diminish as the rain got heavier but he could still see no enemy troops on the rampart.

  *****

  The earth rampart was slippery now as Stecse scrambled up it with his son by his side. He had been observing the crusader army all morning, watching them as they formed into five divisions to surround his encampment. And now they were attacking at last. At the foot of the whole length of the rampart stood his warriors, the majority equipped with shields, helmets or leather caps, spears and leather armour, a few wearing mail but only the chiefs armed with swords. The majority had axes and knives tucked in their belts or carried the fearsome kistien. His few archers stood fifty paces back from the rampart, ready to shoot their arrows in a high trajectory onto the heads of the crusaders. He pointed to the left.

  ‘Those are the soldiers that the Bishop of Riga brings with him every year from the lands over the sea, my son.’

  They both heard the symphony of trumpets and saw the divisions begin to move forward.

  ‘You see those men in front, Mindaugas?’ said Stecse, pointing at the vanguard of the crusader divisions. His son nodded.

  ‘They are the crossbowmen whose bolts can go through shields and armour. But their weapons cannot shoot through banks of earth.’

  Mindaugas looked to the right, at the white-clad soldiers moving steadily towards them and the much larger brown block of warriors to their left.

  ‘There are few Sword Brothers, father.’

  ‘Quantity does not always equate to quality, my son.’

  ‘Can we hold them?’ asked Mindaugas, his father noting concern in his voice.

  Stecse smiled at him. ‘They do not outnumber us and we have the advantage of fighting behind a ditch and rampart, which also prevents them from using their crossbows. We can hold them.’

  But even if they could not he had given orders that a party of horsemen was to get Mindaugas back to the other side of the river in the event of a disaster.

  ‘To your position,’ Stecse ordered.

  Mindaugas’ position was with the reserve – five hundred men deployed near the bridge of boats, well to the rear.

  ‘I would prefer to stay with you, father.’

  ‘Do as you are told!’ barked Stecse. ‘I have no time to babysit you and fight a battle at the same time.’

  Mindaugas slunk away, humbled, while his father continued to observe the oncoming enemy.

  ****
*

  It was raining heavily now, the sturdy leather soles on the feet of Conrad’s mail chausses sinking into the sodden ground and slowing his pace. Everyone else was having the same difficulty and in front of him he could hear Henke’s voice coming from within his helmet.

  ‘Bastard rain. I hate the rain.’

  And still he could see no enemy on the rampart. They were around two hundred paces from the earth bank now and behind him came a series of twangs as the Liv archers stood and released their bowstrings, sending a volley or arrows arching into the rain-filled sky to drop behind the Lithuanian fortification.

  ‘Keep your shields up,’ bellowed Lukas as they continued to walk forward. Seconds later a volley of Lithuanian arrows came hurtling towards them. They immediately halted and crouched under their shields, the arrows either thumping into them or slamming into the wet earth. The Livs shot another volley and the Sword Brothers continued their advance. They were now less than a hundred paces from the ditch. To their left the Livs gave a great cheer and charged forward as another volley of enemy arrows was shot into the sky. Once more the order’s soldiers stopped and sheltered under their shields, as Thalibald’s warriors were hit and felled by missiles.

  The Livs swarmed into the ditch and hacked their way through the wooden stakes as the top of the rampart was suddenly filled with Lithuanians, who hurled a torrent of spears at them before charging at the attackers.

  There was a loud clap of thunder and the heavens opened.

  The raindrops battered the two sides as the Lithuanians ascended the inside of the rampart to meet the Christian soldiers who were now swarming into the ditch on the other side. They reached the muddy top of the bank and hurled their spears at the enemy below, dozens being cut down as the crossbowmen in the front ranks of the crusader divisions were at last presented with targets.

  The heavy rain loosened the stakes that were meant to stop any attack and soon Livs and crusaders were knocking them aside and scrambling up the rampart, before being swept back by a Lithuanian tide as Stecse’s men hurled themselves at their opponents. The ditch was soon filled with men fighting with weapons and fists as the rain pelted them from above and liquid mud sloshed around their feet and ankles.