The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  Rudolf, Henke and Lukas bowed their heads.

  ‘Lord bishop,’ said Rudolf, ‘it is an honour to see you.’ He saw Theodoric beside him. ‘And you, Bishop Theodoric.’

  Now nearly fifty, Bishop Albert’s eyes were still alert but there were flecks of grey in his hair and he looked tired. Clearly the years spent travelling to and from Germany had taken their toll. His brother bishop had a similar lean, severe appearance but seemed less drawn.

  ‘Master Thaddeus assures me that the fort will fall imminently,’ said Bishop Albert as another stone launched from a mangonel crashed into Lehola. ‘How are my brave brother knights from Wenden?’

  ‘We are well, lord bishop,’ answered Rudolf.

  The bishop stared at Conrad for a moment and then recognised him. ‘Conrad Wolff.’ He turned to Theodoric. ‘This is the young man who saved me at Riga two years ago. A most valiant individual.’

  Theodoric examined Conrad. ‘The church is in your debt, young man.’

  ‘He is to be a brother knight, I seem to remember,’ Bishop Albert said to Rudolf.

  ‘He is, lord bishop, if he lives that long.’

  Albert placed a hand on Conrad’s arm. ‘See that you do, young man. Livonia needs people like you to safeguard its Holy Church.’

  ‘Thank you, lord bishop,’ said Conrad, slightly overawed by the two bishops’ presence.

  ‘Well, I will leave you to your work,’ said Albert. ‘God be with you all.’

  The two bishops continued on their tour of the outer works, accompanied by half a dozen of Riga’s spearmen, Grand Master Volquin chatting to Rudolf before he too departed. Master Thaddeus spoke to Henke and Lukas before he left.

  He pointed his cane to the freshly made tree stumps in front of the ditch.

  ‘You need to cut down some trees so that they fall parallel to the ditch.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Henke.

  ‘Because, Brother Henke, felled trees will impede the advance of an enemy towards these defences.’

  ‘The tree stumps will do that,’ sniffed Henke.

  ‘They will,’ agreed Thaddeus, ‘but having to scramble over felled trees will further discomfort the enemy and impede his advance, giving your crossbowmen more time to shoot them down.’

  ‘If they come at all,’ remarked Lukas.

  Thaddeus looked back at the fort and smiled when he saw another stone arching into the sky before falling inside Lembit’s stronghold.

  ‘They will come, for the other chiefs know that if Lehola, one of the greatest forts in all Estonia, falls then so will their own kingdoms.’

  ‘Rameke has seen no sign of the enemy,’ said Conrad.

  ‘Neither did he when Lembit slipped by his men and nearly cut you into small pieces,’ replied Henke. ‘This is his land, not Rameke’s, or Caupo’s for that matter. He and his people know it and all its secret paths. Why do you think we’ve found no women and children?’

  ‘They must be in the fort,’ said Conrad.

  Henke scoffed at the notion. ‘No they ain’t. Do you know what they call women and children caught inside a stronghold during a siege?’

  Conrad shook his head.

  ‘Useless eaters,’ said Henke. ‘Lembit is not stupid. He would have sent all those who can’t hold a spear or axe away from the fort into the forest to hide until the fighting’s done. There are only warriors inside Lehola.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Thaddeus.

  ‘You find the idea of the stones from your machines mangling women and little ones disagreeable, Master Thaddeus?’ teased Henke.

  ‘I deplore the killing of any innocents,’ said Thaddeus gravely.

  Henke roared with laughter. ‘There are no innocents. Women bear children who grow up to become soldiers and children learn to wield a sword soon enough. Better to kill them all before they breed more of the enemy.’

  ‘That’s enough, Henke,’ said Rudolf. ‘Go and chop down some trees as Master Thaddeus has instructed.’

  Henke winked at Thaddeus, picked up a two-handed axe and pointed at Conrad. ‘Come on, otherwise your companions will die of thirst.’

  Conrad picked up his axe and followed Henke, who called back to Master Thaddeus.

  ‘When do your trebuchets begin their work again?’

  ‘As soon as night falls, Brother Henke,’ replied Thaddeus.

  ‘The old fool thinks he can batter Lembit into submission,’ Henke said to Conrad, ‘but it would be better to build siege towers with all the wood we have cut and then we can launch an assault and kill all those inside the fort.’

  ‘What if Lembit surrenders?’

  Henke shrugged. ‘Then we can chop off his head in front of his fort, it makes no difference.’

  Conrad was surprised. ‘Even if he has given himself up?’

  ‘The bishop wants to make Estonia kneel to the church, but as long as Lembit is still alive the Estonians will not renounce their pagan religion or their allegiance to him. The sooner Bishop Albert realises that the better for all of us. If Bishop Albert wants Estonia then he will have to kill Lembit.’

  *****

  But Master Thaddeus was not a fool and inside the fort a crisis was unfolding. There were two thousand warriors in Lehola and they were discovering that there were few places to hide within its spacious confines. The first night of the crusader siege had resulted in fifty killed and nearly sixty wounded as a result of the barrels of burning pitch that had landed among the huts and other wooden structures. A stable had been hit and set alight, the ponies inside being overcome by smoke and flames before they could be evacuated. Then a dozen huts had been set on fire as the garrison was stood to arms to extinguish the flames when the barrels hit anything solid and split apart, their contents spilling out and igniting as they did so. Warriors tried to stamp out the flames but discovered to their horror that to do so was to get the sticky, flaming liquid on their boots and leggings, which then consumed the material and then their flesh.

  Some barrels hit the ground and showered men with their burning contents, resulting in horrific, sometimes fatal, burns. Because the trebuchets had been positioned to the south of the fort’s main gates Lembit’s great hall had escaped the dreadful night of fireballs, the wounded being brought and laid out in rows on its floor, seemingly safe from the crusaders’ machines.

  The new dawn came and the trebuchets stopped and men, their eyes red, their faces unwashed and dirty and their clothes stinking of smoke, congratulated each other and thanked the gods for their salvation. Then the first stones fell from the sky. They were only small, weighing perhaps ten pounds or less, but they fell into the fort silently and with lethal forces, splitting skulls or smashing bones to pulp. Men fled for cover and soon discovered that the best place to hide was near the main gates or in the extreme north of the compound, between the wall that enclosed the great hall and the outer wall.

  After a sparse meal of nuts and milk Lembit walked from his hall to speak to the men huddled at the foot of the northern perimeter wall, many of them sleeping under their cloaks as they attempted to grab some rest after the night of fire. But their sleep was fitful and interrupted by the stones that fell on the roofs of huts, storerooms and stables, the beasts inside screaming in fear, though in truth the thick thatch acted as an effective shield against the stones. Nevertheless, it all contributed to the general unease that permeated the fort as everyone’s nerves were frayed further.

  Lembit went among the men and casually chatted and reassured them, announcing that a relief force was nearing the fort. He then walked slowly through the centre of the fort to the main gates to show he had no fear of the crusaders or their machines. Rusticus walked beside him.

  ‘The men’s morale is fragile,’ said Lembit.

  ‘They need a victory to put some iron back in them,’ remarked his deputy.

  A stone suddenly smashed into the ground a few feet ahead of them. Rusticus looked up at the sky but Lembit, unconcerned, continued his stroll.

  ‘I am ope
n to ideas, Rusticus, what do you suggest?’

  ‘We could raid the enemy camp tonight, send a party of wolf shields out of the gates to kill a few crusaders.’

  They continued past the still smouldering ruins of huts that had been destroyed during the night.

  ‘They would have to cut their way through the line of defences the enemy has erected around the fort,’ said Lembit without enthusiasm. ‘There are many enemy soldiers guarding the machines that throw the fireballs, which are unfortunately positioned directly south of the gates. If the crusaders became aware of any troops leaving the fort they would commit those guards.’

  ‘What then?’ said Rusticus.

  ‘Our fate lies in the hands of the other chiefs.’

  Rusticus spat on the ground. ‘Saccalians do not rely on others to save their honour.’

  Lembit stopped and looked at him. ‘Saccalia is here, Rusticus, in this fort. If the men within its walls perish then there will be no more Saccalia. It will become the northern part of Livonia.’

  ‘How do you know that the others will come to our aid?’

  ‘Because they know,’ replied Lembit, ‘that if we fall then so do they.’

  But that night no relief came and as darkness fell the infernal trebuchets once again began their deadly work, sending flaming barrels into the fort. This time the garrison knew the trajectory they would take and largely escaped injury, but the showers of burning liquid set alight more buildings that were allowed to burn. Lembit sent parties into the stables to slaughter the ponies and others to kill the pigs and fowl in their pens to stifle their awful screams and squeals that shredded men’s nerves.

  When morning came the fort was filled with more smoking ruins and men’s mouths tasted of smoke and their eyes smarted. Rusticus came to the hall to find his master, shaking him awake in his chair.

  ‘The gods are smiling on us,’ beamed his hulking deputy. ‘You had better come and see.’

  Lembit rubbed his eyes and stood. His neck and back ached and his mouth felt dry and stale. He filled a metal bowl on a table with water from a jug and washed his face, then threaded his way through the moaning and sleeping sea of injured on the floor to follow Rusticus. They walked through the gates that led from the inner compound, both of them choking on the smoke that hung in the air, hastening to a ladder that led to the first floor of the tower in the northeast corner of the outer wall. They then ascended a second ladder that gave access to the tower’s fighting platform.

  ‘Keep your head down, lord,’ Rusticus warned Lembit, ‘the crusaders have some accomplished crossbowmen.’

  On the platform Lembit crouched low as he shuffled to the wall and rested a hand on one of the great logs that had been used to build it. A warrior in a helmet beside him gave him a slight nod and then turned back to look towards the north.

  ‘There, lord,’ he said, pointing at a great column of dark smoke rising on the horizon.

  Lembit clenched his fist. He slapped the man on the back and turned to Rusticus. His deputy nodded and leered. The signal was clear enough. His allies had answered his call and were nearing Lehola.

  Salvation was at hand.

  *****

  Conrad sat on the ground cleaning the blade of his sword when the alarm was sounded. There was soon a great commotion in the crusader camp, near panic among those who were newly arrived from Germany, quiet determination among the Sword Brothers. Johann ran into the tent and threw kettle helmets to Conrad, Hans and Anton, all of them buckling on their sword belts and grabbing their other close weapons of choice as they slung their shields on their backs and made their way to the chapel tent. The brother knights and sergeants were likewise making their way there and soon the area around the temporary chapel was filled with men in white surcoats bearing the red cross and sword insignia. In other parts of the camp trumpets were blaring and men were already in the saddle and heading towards the siege works.

  Conrad stood beside Hans, checking his belt was buckled and his dagger secure in its sheath. His sword hung on his left hip and his axe was tucked into his belt. He saw Rameke and called to him. The Liv came over and they shook hands, Thalibald’s son also greeting the other novices.

  ‘An Estonian army approaches,’ he said. ‘Our scouts ran into them earlier.’

  ‘How many?’ asked Conrad.

  ‘Hundreds,’ answered Rameke. ‘They come to relieve the fort.’

  Conrad slapped Hans on the arm. ‘Chopping off Estonian heads is better than chopping down trees.’

  ‘I must go and join my father. Take care that it is not your head that is lopped off, my friend,’ said Rameke, bidding them all farewell as he took his leave.

  Moments later Lukas appeared.

  ‘You four are with me. An enemy relief force approaches and it is our task to ensure they do not break through our defences.’

  Around them the brother knights and sergeants were being informed of their tasks by their masters who had come from the chapel where Grand Master Volquin had issued his orders. The mercenaries of each garrison followed their paymasters as the order made its way to the outer works in the northern sector, files of men following the banner of each garrison. By popular choice Brother Walter had been asked to carry Wenden’s flag, which was a red cross over a red sword on a white background with the letter ‘W’ in the top corner next to the flagpole.

  Conrad was in a confident mood for he knew, as did everyone else, that if this battle was won then Lembit would be defeated and Estonia would fall to the Bishop of Riga. He pulled the axe from his belt and tossed it up into the air, catching its handle as it fell to earth.

  ‘No tricks today, Conrad,’ said Lukas behind him.

  ‘Tricks, Brother Lukas?’

  ‘Don’t get clever. You’ve done well so far. How many battles have you fought in?’

  Conrad flashed a smile. ‘Three, Brother Lukas.’

  ‘Three?’

  ‘If you count Fellin.’

  ‘And not a scratch on you,’ said Lukas. ‘You’ve been lucky but luck doesn’t last forever. What you were taught in training does, however, and if you cast your mind back you will recall that I did not teach you any tricks.’

  ‘We do not need luck, Brother Lukas,’ boasted Conrad, ‘we have God on our side.’

  ‘God doesn’t like cocky young men, Conrad, always remember that.’

  Grand Master Volquin had briefed the commanders of the army on his plan the day they had arrived at Lehola. Count Horton and Sir Jordan wanted nothing more than to lead a great charge against the enemy but Volquin knew that it would require more subtle tactics to defeat the enemy. Thus far his plan had worked perfectly but he had fulfilled but part of his scheme. For victory to be achieved everyone had to perform the tasks allotted to them. The crusader lords had at first bristled at being told what to do but the grand master was backed up by Bishop Albert and also by Sir Helmold, the latter now a veteran of campaigning in Livonia. And so they grumbled but acquiesced in Volquin’s plan.

  As Conrad trotted to the northern lines of contravallation Sir Helmold took his knights and squires to the outer defence lines to the east of the fort, where he was joined by Thalibald and five hundred Liv warriors. He was also reinforced by the hundred crossbowmen from Riga. All these men – Livs, knights, squires and crossbowmen – were on foot, their horses left in camp.

  To the west of the fort, between the inner and outer siege works, were the knights, squires and retainers commanded by Count Horton. These troops were all mounted and formed the reserve, to be committed to any part of the field of battle where the pagans threatened a breakthrough. To the south where Master Thaddeus had placed his trebuchets, stood Bishop Albert and Bishop Theodoric surrounded by the horsemen and spearmen of Riga, Caupo and his remaining Livs and the crusaders led by Sir Jordan – nearly a thousand men. Their first duty was to haul back the wheeled trebuchets two hundred paces, so that their projectiles would fall in and around Lehola’s gates when Lembit made his expected sally from
the fort.

  The Sword Brother crossbowmen who had been manning the mantlets that faced the fort were withdrawn and sent to the earth rampart to the north of Lehola manned by the sergeants and brother knights. This sector would bear the brunt of the Estonian attack as the enemy advanced south, intent on smashing through the crusader lines to relieve Lembit. This part of the outer siege works was around four hundred paces in length and was held by a paltry three hundred and seventy men in total. Of these, one hundred and ten were crossbowmen expected to inflict heavy losses on the enemy before they reached the ditch. If they failed then the spearmen and members of the Sword Brothers would try to prevent the enemy breaching the rampart, which was nothing more than a few stakes hammered into the top of an earth wall. Conrad looked up and down the line and behind him. It was a very thin white line.

  He shook the hands of Hans, Johann and Anton in what had become a pre-battle ritual, each wishing the other good luck. Though they had lost Bruno in combat all of them had come to believe themselves if not invincible then at least difficult to kill.

  ‘We win this one,’ announced Anton, ‘and the war is over.’

  ‘Then there will be no one left to fight,’ said Johann.

  Henke overheard their conversation. ‘Don’t you worry about that. There’s always someone left to fight.’

  Walter planted Wenden’s banner in the earth beside him and then knelt and began to pray, his eyes closed and his mouth reciting a private devotion. It was most strange. Brother Walter was as kind and considerate as the most pious monk, a gentle lamb, but in battle was a remorseless killer who believed salvation could only be achieved by washing his sword in the blood of God’s enemies. Walter finished his prayers and rose to his feet. He caught Conrad’s eye.

  ‘God with be with, Conrad.’

  ‘And with you, Brother Walter.’

  Conrad stood at the log fence and stared at the tree stumps in front of the ditch and the felled trees lying parallel to the rampart.

  ‘Remember what I told you,’ Lukas appeared beside him. ‘No tricks.’