The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  The soldier with the aventail suddenly appeared and Conrad stepped away a few more paces. He looked left and right to ensure there were no more Lithuanians approaching and prepared to fight the well-armoured man before him. But the Lithuanian merely raised his sword and stood still, the boy and the old man helping the wounded man to the horses. When they reached them and gained their saddles the Lithuanian backed away and joined them. Conrad watched as rain coursed off his helmet and the Lithuanians rode away, their horses threading their way through the mud and filth.

  He heard Hans’ voice. ‘Conrad.’

  He saw his friend and the others making their way towards him as the Lithuanians disappeared in the rain.

  ‘Are you all right, Conrad?’

  He slammed his sword back into its scabbard. ‘Fine, thank you. I saw a boy helping a badly wounded man to his horse. I could have killed them easily but I didn’t. I let them go.’

  ‘I would have done the same,’ said Anton.

  ‘Me too,’ agreed Johann. He slapped Hans on the arm. ‘Whereas Hans would have killed them and searched their bodies for food.’

  ‘Better not tell Henke,’ warned Anton.

  ‘Tell Henke what?’ sounded a voice from behind.

  They turned to see Henke, Rudolf, Lukas and Walter a few feet away, helmets shoved on top of their heads.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Conrad, ‘it was nothing, Brother Henke.’

  Henke spat on the ground. ‘And nothing is what we’ve found. I’m going to die of the chills and I haven’t killed anyone for at least an hour. Complete waste of time. Where is the enemy?’

  Conrad and Hans shook their heads.

  ‘After we’ve cleared the camp we’ll burn some of these huts, Henke,’ said Rudolf. ‘That should improve your humour.’

  ‘Come on,’ said Lukas, ‘let’s try and find him someone to kill to cheer him up.’

  Henke was not amused but Rudolf and Lukas thought it hilarious while Walter frowned. He disapproved of frivolity on the battlefield. Killing in God’s name was a serious business where mirth had no place.

  ‘You boys keep checking the camp,’ said Lukas. ‘And watch yourselves. The enemy might have fled but there still might be a few stragglers lurking.’

  He slapped Henke and on the arm and both of them pulled down their helmets and together with Walter went in search of the enemy. The boys did the same, though Conrad stopped and turned around.

  ‘I need to retrieve my axe,’ he shouted. ‘I will catch you up.’

  He trudged through the mud to where the dead Lithuanian he had killed lay face up, lifeless eyes staring up to the heavens, the puddle around him stained with his blood. He placed a foot on the shield and worked the axe up and down before extracting it from the wood. He slung his shield on his back and tucked the axe in his belt, turned and saw Rudolf, arms folded, looking at him.

  ‘Brother Rudolf.’

  ‘I knew from the beginning that you would be a good soldier, perhaps even a great one. And you keep proving me right.’

  The rain was now abating once more though the wind was still blowing and the southern sky was filled with dark, threatening clouds.

  ‘You are too kind,’ said Conrad, smiling in self-satisfaction.

  ‘Walk with me,’ said Rudolf.

  They waded through the mud; the only sounds the squelching made by their feet. The Lithuanians were now pouring back across the pontoon bridge and the Christian army was reluctant to pursue them. It had been a hard, bloody fight to win possession of the rampart and the crusaders had suffered many losses, as had the Livs who were stalking the Lithuanians towards the river. Thalibald thought to trap them against the riverbank and either slaughter them there or force them into the water where they would drown. But the Lithuanians on the other side of the river had despatched boats to evacuate their comrades, and in the boats were archers to keep the Livs at bay while they did so.

  ‘Why did you let those Lithuanians go?’ asked Rudolf suddenly.

  ‘Lithuanians?’

  Rudolf sighed. ‘I saw with my own eyes so do not insult me by pretending otherwise.’

  Conrad felt his cheeks flush. ‘It was a boy helping a wounded man who looked close to death. There was an old man too. There was no honour in murdering them.’

  ‘Let us hope that your noble decision will not have serious repercussions in the future.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Conrad casually, ‘the wounded man had a crossbow bolt in his belly. I doubt he will live.’

  ‘There is an old saying, Conrad. Better to kill an enemy today than let him live so that he may kill you tomorrow. Or worse, he may kill one of your comrades. Compassion on the battlefield is often purchased at a very high price, Conrad. Remember that.’

  *****

  Three thousand Lithuanians made it across the river to their homeland, five hundred taken off by boats while archers kept the pursuing Livs at bay. The latter had suffered nearly three hundred casualties in the battle and the crusaders had suffered a further seven hundred killed and wounded. The bishop’s soldiers were wet, tired and many were wounded and for these reasons there was no pursuit over the pontoon bridge. The Sword Brothers had lost only fifteen men.

  When the rain finally stopped and the wind dropped the bishop, Caupo and Sir Helmold stood at one end of the pontoon bridge and peered across the river at the locked shields of Lithuanian warriors who held the other end. The Christian end soon became wreathed in smoke as soldiers began using the two-man shelters as firewood, the soaking fuel producing copious amounts of thick white smoke.

  The healer knelt beside the bed Stecse had been placed on in the first village they had come across, located two miles inland of the river. He examined the wound as the village headman, a Selonian, looked on, waving his wife and daughters away who had been standing in the doorway. Stecse’s breathing was shallow and laboured. He looked up and shook his head at Mindaugas. The boy pushed past the headman and went outside where the commander of his bodyguard was standing next to his horse. He saw Mindaugas.

  ‘The prince needs to make a decision about the bridge, young sir.’

  ‘He is unconscious,’ said Mindaugas softly.

  ‘Sorry to hear that. But a decision has to be made nevertheless,’ pressed the commander, ‘otherwise the Christians will be flooding across it after they have rested.’

  ‘Burn it,’ said Mindaugas.

  The commander smiled. ‘Good decision.’

  He called over one of his men and gave him the order to ride back to the bridge and torch it.

  ‘Why did he let us go?’ said Mindaugas.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘That crusader with a red cross and sword on his shield. He could have cut me and my father down easily but he just stood there and let us go.’

  The commander was uninterested. ‘He was a Sword Brother, sir, and they usually like to kill first and ask questions later.’

  ‘I am going to destroy the Sword Brothers one day,’ vowed Mindaugas.

  The commander started eating an apple and pointed it at the hut. ‘Looks like your father has woken up.’

  Mindaugas turned and saw the healer in the doorway. He went to enter the longhouse but the healer grabbed his arm.

  ‘The wound is too deep and your father has lost too much blood. I am sorry.’

  Mindaugas pulled his arm away and went back to the bedroom, ordering the headman to leave. He knelt by his father and held his hand. Stecse looked at him.

  ‘I go to Perkunas, my son. Pray that he welcomes me into his great hall.’

  Mindaugas tried not to cry but tears came to his eyes.

  ‘You will sit beside him, father.’

  Stecse’s lips curled into a thin smile. ‘You will rule the Lithuanian tribes, Mindaugas, but you must tread carefully. Trust no one, least of all Vsevolod. He shifts only for himself.’

  His voice was very faint now. ‘The daughter of the grand duke is your ally, though. Lithuanian blood flows in her veins. Serve you
r people and they will serve you, my son.’

  Mindaugas felt his father’s grip weaken and then his eyes closed. He wiped away his tears and kissed him on the forehead. Then he held his head in his hands and wept.

  Chapter 18

  The harvest at Wenden was bountiful that year. The peace with the Estonians held and so the crops were undisturbed by raiders and gathered in. As usual members of the garrison assisted in their collection and Conrad took the opportunity to be as near to Daina as was allowable. There was great rejoicing at the return of Thalibald and Waribule to their village, which meant that Rameke’s brief reign as chief was at an end. Trade along the Dvina returned to normal and the merchants of Riga continued to prosper. Ships took furs and wax to Germany and others returned with people who wished to settle in Livonia. More mercenaries arrived at Wenden to strengthen the garrison but also farmers who had been promised virgin land and crops to plant on it. Thus did a small number of huts and animal pens appear to the north of the castle – the beginnings of the first settler village at Wenden.

  Master Berthold was very enthusiastic about their presence, as a portion of the crops they produced would be given to the castle as rent. And more food meant more soldiers and civilian families could be fed.

  ‘The problem is not food, master,’ said Rudolf at the weekly gathering of the brother knights in the master’s hall. ‘The problem is, as ever, money. This land is rich in everything apart from gold. Without money we will not be able to pay the mercenaries or workers, or purchase weapons, armour and horses from Germany.’

  ‘It is as Brother Rudolf says,’ added Lukas. ‘This castle is to be one of the strongest of the order in Livonia and yet we are starved of funds by Riga.’

  ‘We were promised the funds bequeathed to us by Sir Frederick but they never materialised,’ complained Rudolf. ‘If the bishop wishes his garrisons to be strong then he needs to release funds from his treasury.’

  Berthold frowned. ‘Alas, Archdeacon Stefan has control over the treasury and Grand Master Volquin has informed me that he is most reluctant to release any monies until Riga’s security is assured. He uses the Lithuanian threat as an excuse to strengthen the city’s garrison at the expense of the order.’

  ‘Without the order’s castles there would be no Riga,’ growled Henke. ‘We should look to the north to satisfy our needs, there are plenty of Estonian women and girls who would fetch a handsome price in gold.’

  ‘The Sword Brothers are not slave traders,’ protested Walter. ‘It is a sin and against God’s law.’

  Henke sniffed in disapproval but Berthold was in agreement. ‘I was severely reprimanded by the bishop and the grand master for trading slaves to the Russians and will not authorise another similar mission.’

  Henke shook his head in disgust but Walter was delighted. Holy warriors did not sully their hands by dealing in slaves, even if it meant starving.

  ‘Henke is right about one thing,’ said Rudolf, ‘we should look to the north.’

  Berthold looked at him with a bewildered expression. ‘Please enlighten us, Rudolf.’

  ‘We all know,’ continued Rudolf, ‘that war with Lembit is inevitable. When it comes the Sword Brothers must seize all the land it takes from the Estonians. If the bishop will not pay us from his treasury then we must have our own lands to service our needs. What we conquer we keep.’

  ‘Makes sense,’ said Henke.

  ‘The bishop will never agree to that,’ said Berthold.

  ‘He will,’ remarked Rudolf, ‘when we withhold sending food supplies to Riga. Let’s see how our friend Stefan likes having a starving population hammering at his door. Riga’s population grows every year but Livonia’s hinterland provides the food for its teeming masses. I’m sure that the other masters, and Volquin himself, will agree that the city treasury should make the strengthening of the order and its castles a priority over cushions for the bishop’s palace.’

  The other brother knights were nodding in agreement, even Walter, but Berthold was frowning. He held up a hand. ‘I will write to the grand master requesting money to pay for our immediate needs. Brother Rudolf, you will draw up an inventory of our wants. As for the matter of Estonian lands, that can be put aside for the moment as Lembit has kept the peace and shows no sign of breaking it.’

  But little did they know that the arrival at Wenden of a small group of missionaries would be the spark that would set the north aflame.

  It was an overcast autumn afternoon when they arrived, three Cistercian monks led by a very tall abbot with a lean, severe face and white hair. Lukas had been tutoring the novices in swordsmanship, though by now most of the training classes became opportunities for the young men to show off their skills. All four were battle hardened and proficient in the use of weapons on foot and on horseback. Lukas was proud of them but frowned upon their increasing cockiness. They were training as matched pairs with swords, moving agilely around each other just as he had taught them. But his satisfaction turned to anger when he saw Conrad throw his sword from his right hand to his left, laughing at Hans, his opponent, as he did so.

  ‘Stop!’ shouted Lukas, marching over to Conrad.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he snapped.

  ‘Practising with my left hand, Brother Lukas.’

  Anton and Johann stopped and grinned at each other.

  ‘Are you left handed?’ asked Lukas.

  Conrad shook his head. ‘No, Brother Lukas.’

  ‘Then don’t let your sword out of your right hand,’ said Lukas, ‘and don’t throw it around like it is a toy. That sort of idiotic trick will get you killed on the battlefield.’

  Conrad slashed the air with his sword. ‘You have trained us well, Brother Lukas.’

  ‘Next year we will be brother knights like you,’ said Johann.

  ‘If you live that long,’ said Lukas, raising an eyebrow at them. ‘Now get back to your training. And anyone who tries any tricks will be spending the evening mucking out the stables.’

  They laughed and went back to their training, only to stop when the white-haired abbot and his threadbare companions walked from the gatehouse along the track and diverted off it when they saw Brother Lukas. Conrad and the others stopped and stared as the tall man leading cleared his throat behind Lukas.

  ‘Excuse me, brother, I am looking for Master Berthold.’

  Lukas turned and looked up at the thin man who like his companions wore a habit of undyed wool. A smile creased his gaunt face.

  ‘I am Abbot Hylas from the monastery at Zinna and these are some of my monks.’

  ‘I am Brother Lukas of the Order of Sword Brothers, abbot.’

  ‘I am pleased to meet one of our brave warriors of Christ,’ said Hylas, ‘perhaps you would be so kind as to direct me to Master Berthold.’

  Lukas beckoned one of the spearmen at the gates to come over.

  Hylas looked beyond him to the strapping novices in their leggings and gambesons. ‘Are these some of your fellow knights?’

  Lukas laughed. ‘No, abbot, these are novices. Insolent novices at that who stop their work on the flimsiest pretext.’

  Conrad and the others recommenced their training as the spearman arrived and Lukas told him to take the abbot and his monks to the master’s hall. Hylas thanked him.

  ‘What brings you to Wenden, abbot?’

  Hylas followed the spearman, his tonsured monks following. ‘We go to bring the word of God to the Estonians.’

  Lukas scratched his head as they walked up the track that led to the castle.

  ‘What did he mean, Brother Lukas?’ enquired Conrad as the others stopped when they heard these words and gathered round.

  ‘The White Monks they call the members of the order of Cistercians, on account of them wearing habits of undyed wool,’ said Lukas. ‘They only wear trousers when travelling, leading many to ridicule them for their bare-bottomed piety. Poverty and simplicity, that’s what they live for. And a desire for a slow death, it seems.’

&n
bsp; ‘I do not understand,’ said Hans.

  Lukas shook his head. ‘Let me put this to you, Hans. Would you like to go into Estonia unarmed and few in number?’

  ‘No, Brother Lukas,’ replied Hans.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Lukas.

  ‘Because the Estonians would kill me.’

  ‘Exactly,’ mused Lukas, ‘exactly.’

  He looked at Hans. ‘You wouldn’t like being a White Monk, Hans. Most of the time they eat only coarse bread, vegetables, herbs and beans. Not like at Wenden where you get lots of eggs, fish and meat to keep you fit and strong.’

  ‘They aren’t really going to Estonia are they, Brother Lukas?’ asked Johann.

  ‘I have a dreadful fear that they might be,’ said Lukas.

  And so it was. Despite the remonstrations of Berthold, Rudolf and even Walter, Abbot Hylas and his monks left Wenden the next day. Henke was on the top of the completed second story of the north tower as he watched them go, four ragged individuals leading a mule loaded with a few meagre rations and a small tent that Berthold had insisted they take with them, Conrad having shown them how to erect it that morning.

  ‘That’s the last we will see of them,’ said Henke dismissively.

  ‘I fear you may be right,’ agreed Rudolf.

  ‘They must be mad.’

  ‘Apparently,’ said Rudolf, ‘the abbot told Berthold that he had a vision that he was converting the Estonians who were falling to their knees at his beckoning. He walked all the way across Germany, took ship from Lübeck and found his way here, with no money or food. Imagine that. He and his monks relied on charity to get here, nothing more. Now that, my friend, is faith.’

  ‘They will find Lembit less charitable,’ sneered Henke.

  *****

  After the death of Daugerutis and Stecse Prince Vsevolod sent his wife and daughters to Panemunis. He did so because he wished Rasa to be at her father’s capital to ensure her and their daughters’ safety, since now the Lithuanian invasion had been crushed he feared that the bishop would turn his attention to Gerzika. And though he was now the heir to the Lithuanian throne, or at least those territories still controlled by what was left of the grand duke’s army, the other dukes would no doubt try to increase their own territory at the expense of the Selonians and Nalsen. And if civil war broke out in Lithuania then there would be no soldiers to spare to send across the river to support Gerzika.