The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  Lembit did not hear them but he saw the crusaders in front of him raise their weapons and give a mighty cheer and felt a chill run down his spine. He heard shouts of alarm to his right and saw the warriors from the village begin to pull back.

  He raised his arm. ‘Halt!’

  Rusticus glowered at him. ‘On! They are beaten.’

  ‘No, something is wrong.’

  Then he too heard a blast of trumpets coming from the rear and knew that he was beaten. The men from his villages instinctively grouped around their chiefs who rallied their men around their banners: crude carved wolf heads on the ends of poles. Their warriors thrust the blunt ends of their spears into the earth, locked shields and awaited the crusader horsemen who were cantering towards them.

  The rear ranks of the wolf shields turned to face the approaching horsemen, pointing their spears at the riders as the archers also turned and nocked arrows in their bowstrings. Count Horton led his men to within two hundred paces of the pagans and then halted and formed a long line of horsemen, sending riders to the bishop to present his compliments. No one noticed Volquin leading a party of knights through the open gates of Lehola in the rear.

  Lembit shoved his way through his men behind him to gaze at the line of knights who sat on their horses to the rear of his men, then came back to stand beside Rusticus.

  ‘We can fight our way back to the fort,’ spat his deputy.

  Lembit shook his head. ‘There are too many of them.’

  He sheathed his sword and unbuckled his sword belt.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said an incredulous Rusticus.

  Lembit handed the belt to him. ‘Saving my people.’

  He walked from the ranks as the two sides eyed each other warily. Injured horses lay on the ground grunting and wounded men groaned as Lembit spread his arms and called to Bishop Albert.

  He spoke in perfect German. ‘Bishop Albert, if your soldiers will leave my lands then I will embrace your faith, for is it not better to live in peace than butcher each other?’

  Sir Jordan removed his helmet and burst out laughing. ‘A cornered rat will say anything to save his hide, it would appear.’

  But the bishop was not laughing and neither was Caupo. Albert had been charged by the pope with the holy task of converting the pagans to the true faith. Caupo, formerly a foe, was now a servant of the Holy Church and had brought his people into the fold. Now Lembit, his most intractable foe, was standing before him offering to accept baptism. If Caupo’s conversion was remarkable enough, this was nothing short of a miracle. The bishop closed his eyes and thanked God, for surely it was His hand that was at work here. He opened his eyes and nudged his horse forward.

  ‘My lord bishop,’ protested Sir Jordan but the bishop raised a hand to still him.

  He rode through the horses of his bodyguard and dismounted, Lembit standing but ten paces away.

  ‘You will travel with me to Riga and accept baptism into the Holy Church?’ said the bishop.

  Lembit nodded. ‘I will.’

  ‘Your chiefs must provide me with hostages as a sign of good faith,’ continued the bishop.

  ‘I will order it, bishop.’

  ‘And you must permit my priests to travel freely through your lands to preach the word of God.’

  Lembit swallowed and hesitated but then smiled. ‘It shall be so.’

  The bishop could not continue to hold the mask of severity he wore. He stepped forward and embraced a somewhat surprised Lembit.

  ‘Then let us put away our swords,’ said the bishop, ‘and treat each other as brothers.’

  Thus did Saccalia, most powerful among the Estonian kingdoms, accept the word of God and become an ally of the Bishop of Riga. The Estonians stared at each other and the crusaders in confusion, the latter also unsure what to make of it. But the bishop was seized with joy and ordered riders to be sent to all parts of the battlefield to announce that Estonian and Christian were now brothers and brothers did not harm each other.

  While this outbreak of peace was occurring Grand Master Volquin calmly rode into Lehola and ordered the knights with him to scale the tower and cut down the wolf banners flying from them. This act had a demoralising effect on the Jerwen and Wierlanders battling to the north and east of the fort. Edvin and Jaak both saw the banners fall from the ramparts and assumed that it had fallen, which in reality it had. Soon horns were being sounded and bands of warriors were falling back to seek the sanctuary of the forest.

  Saccalia had fallen and southern Estonia was at the mercy of the crusaders.

  Chapter 20

  Wenden’s garrison had lost three brother knights wounded, five sergeants killed and a further two wounded. Among the mercenaries a dozen crossbowmen and six spearmen had been killed, most by Estonian arrows. The other garrisons had suffered similar losses, though the enemy had incurred many more casualties. Fresh water bottles were brought from camp to quench the raging thirst everyone was experiencing in the aftermath of the battle.

  Walter, his helmet dented and his mail armour pierced in numerous places, took off his headwear and knelt beside a wounded enemy warrior who had been knocked unconscious when he had lost his helmet. He lay on the ground concussed, fear in his eyes and expecting to be killed by the Christians but grateful when Walter gently lifted his head and placed the water bottle at his lips. Everyone just stood and admired his piety and graciousness in victory.

  ‘I truly hope that if the roles are reversed and Walter finds himself at the mercy of the enemy,’ remarked Rudolf in admiration, ‘that the foe will show him the same grace. But I fear it will not be so.’

  He looked at Conrad. ‘Not a scratch on you. You live a charmed life, Conrad.’

  ‘Johann’s ankle is broken.’

  ‘He’ll soon recover.’

  Rudolf looked at the twisted and lacerated bodies that decorated the fence, ditch and tree stumps beyond. ‘A grim harvest. Still, this battle should settle things. Lembit won’t escape now. And with his death the other Estonian chiefs will no doubt submit.’

  More carts were now arriving from camp to take away the dead and wounded and a herald arrived from the bishop. He saw Wenden’s standard planted in the ground and rode over to it, Master Berthold standing beside it. The herald spoke to him and then wheeled away to report to the other castellans.

  ‘To me,’ called Berthold, ‘all Wenden’s brother knights and sergeants to me.’

  ‘You three as well,’ said Rudolf to Conrad, Hans and Anton.

  The members of the order gathered round their master as the crossbowmen and spearmen remained at their posts at the fence.

  ‘Lembit has surrendered to Bishop Albert,’ said Berthold. The others cheered but the master raised his hands.

  ‘There’s more. Lembit has also agreed to be baptised. He will travel to Riga for the ceremony. It would appear that he is now our brother and ally.’

  The brother knights and sergeants stood stony faced and silent at this news. Henke put their thoughts into words.

  ‘So all this has been for nothing?’

  ‘Not for nothing, Brother Henke,’ said Berthold, ‘for the bishop has secured the allegiance of the Saccalians and where they lead the other tribes will follow.’

  But no one believed his words. They had spent years fighting Lembit and the other Estonian chiefs and felt cheated of victory. Henke was most aggrieved and mumbled to himself as the assembly dispersed. Another who was less than happy on receiving news of Lembit’s decision was leather face. He stood at the fence, his crossbow resting on the back of the corpse of an Estonian hanging like carrion on the logs.

  He spat towards the ditch. ‘No plunder. Looks like another year of fighting for me at least, then.’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ grinned Conrad, his strength returning after taking water.

  ‘For a young pup like you, nothing,’ replied leather face, ‘but I’m not getting any younger and the cold and the wet of Livonia are beginning to take their toll. You’
ve got a life of fighting to look forward to but I’m thinking about my retirement.’

  He looked behind at the dead crossbowmen being thrown into the back of a cart.

  ‘The thing about being a mercenary is that you can be killed at any time, and the longer you do it the more the odds lengthen against you staying alive.

  ‘That Lembit’s a slippery bastard, though. Just when you think you have him he escapes the noose. Now he would make a good mercenary. Knows when to call it a day and save his neck.’

  ‘He is to accept baptism,’ said Conrad sternly.

  ‘I doubt that means much to him,’ scoffed the grizzled dog of war. ‘Just a way of buying more time. What do you think, Brother Henke?’

  Conrad turned to see the brooding figure of Henke approaching, a face like thunder and still muttering to himself. He stopped and looked at leather face.

  ‘What are you smiling about, you bag of old bones?’

  Leather face grinned some more to reveal his broken, black teeth. ‘I was just mentioning to the lad, here, that Lembit is a clever bastard.’

  ‘I’m seriously considering going into that fort and slitting his throat myself,’ snarled Henke.

  ‘The bishop would burn you for that,’ said Rudolf behind him.

  ‘It would be worth it,’ said an unrepentant Henke.

  Rudolf put an arm around his shoulder. ‘And I would lose a good friend and the order would lose a fine knight. Can’t allow that to happen. Come on, let’s go and find some of the badly wounded and slit their throats. You’ll feel better afterwards.’

  Henke was still grumbling as he followed Rudolf over the fence, down to the ditch and into the corpse-filled field of tree stumps. Already parties were going among the Estonian bodies to put those still living out of their misery. Better that than lying in agony staring at your guts that had been ripped open by a sword or axe, or waiting with smashed limbs for birds to come and peck your eyes out. Every soldier, pagan and Christian alike, prayed that they would be spared such horrors.

  That night the bishop gave a great feast in his tent to celebrate Lembit’s decision to embrace the Holy Church, though Count Horton, Sir Jordan and most of the crusader leaders sat in sullen silence, believing that they had been robbed of victory. Bishop Albert upbraided them for their uncharitable attitude, reminding them that they were in Christ’s service and not in Livonia for personal gain or profit. He was delighted that Theodoric’s title of Bishop of Estonia finally had substance.

  Grand Master Volquin noticed the scowling faces of the crusaders, including Sir Helmold who was usually more sanguine than most, having known the mores of Livonia for some time now. For his part Caupo was also downcast, believing that Lembit had out-foxed Bishop Albert, but such was his love and respect for the prelate he kept his opinions to himself. Volquin understood the air of frustration that permeated the crusader army but believed that it could be banished by a symbolic victory. Not in Estonia, that much was certain. As he sipped at his wine the castle of Gerzika came into his mind.

  Two days later the army began its slow crawl back to Livonia. The Christian dead were buried in what had been the crusader camp, the ground being consecrated by the bishop. Albert also insisted on the erection of a monument outside Lehola’s gates where the monks of Abbot Hylas had been brutally murdered. Lembit sent back his warriors to their villages and ordered the chiefs to return, each with one of their sons. These would serve as hostages and would live in Riga until such time as the bishop thought fit to return them to their homes. In return the bishop agreed that no Christian soldiers would remain in Saccalia but Lembit agreed that missionaries would be allowed to travel freely throughout his land to live among his people and preach the word of God. The Estonian chief had no choice but to agree.

  *****

  Lembit stood before the doors of his hall in Lehola before the wolf shields drawn up in their ranks. A slight smell of smoke and charred wood still hung in the air and wolf banners no longer flew from the fort’s towers. To one side stood a group of long-haired chiefs in full war gear with their sons who would accompany Lembit to Riga. The Estonian leader wore mail armour over a red tunic and a gilded helmet. He also carried a shield bearing his wolf insignia. The silence in the open space was deafening. He waved over Rusticus who stood in front of his men.

  ‘You are in command in my absence,’ he told him. ‘The Christians will send their priests to spread their religion. See to it that they are not harmed, that is my command.’

  ‘You killed the other priests to prevent them spreading their poison,’ said Rusticus, ‘and now you welcome them?’

  ‘As long as there are no Christian castles or soldiers in Saccalia then there is still a chance to achieve final victory, Rusticus. We have suffered a temporary defeat but I am still hopeful that we might win the war.’

  He walked over to his pony and hoisted himself into the saddle, pointing at the sons of his chiefs to do likewise.

  Lembit smiled at the chiefs. ‘If any of their fathers are mindful to rebel against my rule in my absence, kill them.’

  A dozen of his wolf shields had been killed in the battle and a further twenty-five wounded, but that still left over four hundred and fifty of the best warriors in all Estonia, and they would make short work of any rebellion in Saccalia.

  Lembit was about to ride from the compound when he had an afterthought.

  ‘And Rusticus.’

  ‘My lord?’

  ‘I will return so please try to curb your more violent tendencies. Your task is to rule not terrorise. Work with the village chiefs and they will be your loyal servants, unless of course they step out of line.’

  Rusticus nodded. ‘What about the other tribes?’

  ‘I will write to them explaining the situation.’

  Rusticus was surprised. ‘The Christians will allow you writing materials?’

  Lembit smiled. ‘Of course, they put great store in trust and forgiveness.’

  ‘They betrayed us, all of them,’ sneered Rusticus.

  ‘Not all of them,’ said Lembit, ‘Jaak and Edvin came if none of the others did. For that they deserve our thanks not condemnation.’

  He spurred his pony forward.

  ‘Farewell, Rusticus. I will return.’

  ‘The gods be with you, lord.’

  He trotted from the compound with the hostages following, their heads down and one or two of the younger ones weeping. Outside Lehola’s gates the Bishop of Riga and his bodyguard were waiting, along with Sir Helmold, Sir Jordan, Count Horton, Grand Master Volquin and fifty fully armed and armoured knights. It was an impressive show of strength, though the bishop was all smiles and courtesy as Lembit fell in beside him and the nervous hostages were escorted to the rear. Then the whole entourage trotted south to join the rest of the army on its way back to Livonia.

  Though they had horses of their own Conrad, Hans and Anton held their reins as they walked behind the cart that held the injured Johann, his ankle now re-set and held in place by two wooden splints strapped to his leg. It was hot and humid and the air smelt of leather and horse dung, copious quantities of the latter being deposited along the churned-up track they had advanced upon and which they now used for their return journey.

  Though peace had been agreed between the bishop and Lembit everyone still marched in their armour as a precaution against an assault by the Estonians who had attempted to relieve Lehola. Caupo himself organised the army’s rearguard, had mounted patrols out every day to ensure security and the knights and brother knights remained fully armoured and mounted throughout the march. But there was no attack and the journey consisted solely of the monotony of everyday campaigning: digging latrines, cleaning weapons and equipment, cooking meals, grooming and mucking out horses and setting up and dismantling tents. At least in the order the sergeants and brother knights assisted with these chores; in the rest of the army the squires and foot soldiers were tasked with camp duties. The great lords and knights viewed such work as beneat
h them.

  It was now approaching the longest day of the year and Conrad was daydreaming about Daina when there were shouts behind him.

  ‘Make way for the bishop, make way for the bishop.’

  He stopped and pulled his horse to the side as a great number of horsemen approached, pennants fluttering from lances with the bishop’s great banner among them. Two heralds trotted past issuing their demands for wagons and men to get out of the way and then the bishop himself approached, wearing his priestly robes and accompanying a figure in a rich helmet, mail armour and a red cloak. Conrad looked admiringly at the bishop but then his jaw dropped as he recognised Lembit and the scar that he had inflicted on the pagan leader. The latter also identified him and brought his horse to a halt. There was a brief commotion as those following the bishop had to speedily stop their horses to prevent a collision.

  Lembit turned his horse ninety degrees to face Conrad. The bishop, having discovered that his guest was no longer next to him, turned his horse around and retraced his steps. Lukas, Henke and Rudolf, who had been riding ahead of the cart that held Johann, placed their steeds between it and Lembit, the latter unconcerned by their presence. He leaned forward.

  ‘Conrad Wolff.’

  ‘You know this young man?’ said the bishop, slightly perturbed by the unintended halt.

  ‘Oh, yes, I know him,’ said Lembit. ‘We are old friends.’

  The bishop looked quizzically at Conrad and then at Lembit.

  ‘Young Master Wolff has distinguished himself since his arrival in Livonia. He is to be a brother knight in the Order of Sword Brothers.’

  ‘I am well acquainted with his prowess in battle,’ said Lembit.

  ‘He was not proficient when he gave you that scar on your cheek,’ said Henke loudly. ‘He is much better with a crossbow now.’

  Lembit glared at Henke who stared back unconcerned.

  ‘Well,’ said the bishop, ‘pleasant though this interlude has been I think we should be on our way.’

  ‘I told you we would meet again, Conrad Wolff,’ said Lembit.

  He leaned closer to Conrad. ‘I have a debt to settle with you, boy.’