The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

Sir Richard looked perplexed and Bertram confused.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Kalju.

  ‘Exactly,’ smiled Thaddeus. ‘And that is what the enemy will see: nothing. They will deduce that if they mount a mass assault against the fort it will fall quickly. And that is what we want them to think for they will believe that victory is within their grasp. They will become over-confident and that will lead to their downfall.’

  Sir Richard looked at the now thousands of men moving into position around the fort.

  ‘Looks like they are preparing to attack.’

  Mathias shook his head. ‘Not today, lord. This display is purely for our benefit so we can behold their strength and dwell on it through the night. In this way the enemy hopes to demoralise us.’

  He pointed at a large group of soldiers directly ahead, facing the main gates. ‘There are no scaling ladders among their ranks, which indicates that they will not launch an attack today.’

  Kalju looked into the sky. ‘There are only two hours of daylight left.’

  But in that time the enemy put on an impressive display. As they made no attempt to approach the walls the commanders decided to take a tour of the ramparts to observe their opponents more closely. Kalju pointed to the west where the Saccalians stood between the men from Jerwen and Sigurd’s warriors.

  ‘You see the men with red painted on their shields? Those are Lembit’s wolf shields.’

  Conrad clenched his fist at the mention of Lembit’s name. Kalju pointed at the block of warriors standing to the right of the Saccalians.

  ‘They are Jaak’s warriors. The symbol painted on their shields is a bear.’

  ‘What about the warriors on the left flank of the Saccalians?’ asked Master Bertram.

  Kalju stared at the wall of locked shields painted red, yellow, orange and blue and the dragon standards within their ranks.

  ‘Oeselians?’

  Mathias was surprised. ‘Oeselians, here?’

  ‘Our list of enemies grows longer,’ remarked Bertram.

  They walked to the western ramparts where more Russians were deploying. Their ranks presented a stark contrast between poorly equipped foot soldiers armed with spears and axes but wearing no armour, and the superbly equipped boyars of the Druzhina in their shining helmets, aventails and mail hauberks. They carried large, brightly coloured shields. Among their ranks were dotted red and blue banners carrying images of Russian and Byzantine saints and the Virgin Mary. The cloaks of the armoured horsemen were likewise brightly coloured whereas those worn by the levy foot soldiers were mainly hues of green and brown. Sir Richard noticed that very few of the thousands of Russian foot soldiers wore helmets. The exception was around a thousand men standing in well-dressed ranks wearing helmets and mail armour, with a small number of attached horsemen carrying banners showing a golden snow leopard on a blue background – Pskov’s militia.

  For an hour they watched the enemy move into position to the accompaniment of a great din produced by horn trumpets, metal trumpets and frame drums scattered among the Estonian and Russian ranks. The Oeselians began singing a stirring war song, their ranks swaying as they belted out its words, the Ungannians responding with their own song of death and glory.

  ‘Brotherly business, killing each other,’ remarked Thaddeus dryly.

  As the light faded and dusk approached, the ranks in front of the fort thinned notably as parties were detached to pitch tents and organise the various camps. The singing and playing of instruments died away as campfires were lit, meals prepared and beasts of burden were fed, watered and quartered for the night. Kalju stood most of his men down, leaving guards in the towers and others to patrol the outer battlements. Inside the fort men were contemplative as they awaited the new day, one that they knew would be violent and bloody. Brother knights and sergeants went to the chapel tent to attend prayers, the crusaders filing into Sir Richard’s tent to receive the blessing of his personal priest who had accompanied him from England.

  Conrad slept little that night, the air outside his tent filled with the hushed conversations of men on the eve of battle. For some, the mercenaries of the order, it was but one of many engagements they had taken part in. As Hans and Anton snored around him he heard the distinctive voice of leather face, winning at gambling and seemingly unconcerned that the next night might see his head on an enemy spear. He got up, wrapped his cloak around him and went outside to warm himself at a brazier. His mail armour hung on a wooden frame next to the suits of the others with his full-face helmet perched on top. He buckled on his sword belt as he walked over to the brazier and held out his hands to the warmth.

  ‘Can’t sleep, Conrad?’

  He turned to see Rudolf with Henke, his faithful dog, by his side.

  ‘Guilty conscience?’ leered Henke. ‘Rudolf has a gift for you.’

  ‘The battle positions have been agreed for tomorrow. The garrison of Wenden will defend the western ramparts.’

  ‘Which means,’ said Henke, still smiling dumbly, ‘that we will face the Saccalians. So you might get your chance to kill Lembit.’

  ‘It means,’ said Rudolf, ‘that we will defend the western wall whatever foe we fight, that is all.’

  Henke held out his hand to the fire. ‘Just think, Conrad, Lembit is but a short distance away, over that wall. You could slip out of the fort, scamper across the snow, slit his throat and be back before breakfast. All it takes is a bit of courage.’

  Conrad looked at him. ‘Talk is easy, Henke. But I will gladly do as you advise if you will accompany me. And afterwards we can see who is the better with a sword.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ snapped Rudolf. ‘You two can focus on the task in hand. There will be more than enough enemy soldiers to keep you both amused tomorrow. Master Thaddeus has estimated that we are outnumbered ten to one.’

  ‘That’s about right, then,’ said Henke.

  ‘What is?’ asked Rudolf.

  Henke spat on the brazier. ‘One Sword Brother is worth ten Russians.’

  He watched as a group of Ungannians walked by. ‘And the same number of Estonians.’

  Conrad laughed and even Rudolf smiled. Henke was a violent, uncivilised cutthroat but in battle you wanted him to be fighting by your side. He slapped Conrad hard on the arm as he and Rudolf walked away.

  ‘Try not to let the wolf shields use your body for target practice. The last time that happened it took Ilona weeks to patch you up.’

  Conrad smiled. ‘Go with God, Henke, for surely no one else will.’

  He managed to grab a couple of hours’ sleep before the trumpet call for prayers woke him. Bleary eyed he and the others put on their fighting attire: quilted cotton-covered aketon, over which was worn a hauberk with integral mittens that had soft leather palms, and over the latter a quilted, sleeveless gambeson. A quilted linen coif was worn beneath the mail equivalent. A padded leather squab was worn on top of the mail coif to make wearing a helmet more comfortable. Conrad pulled on his mail chausses, beneath which was thick linen hose held up by leather laces to prevent his skin chafing on the metal and for warmth. The chausses also had thick leather soles. Then he put on his white surcoat and wrapped his cloak around his shoulders.

  He buckled his sword belt that also held a sheath for his dagger and slung his shield on his back, tucking his axe into his belt and cradling his helmet in his right arm.

  ‘Ready?’ he said to the others.

  He walked out into the freezing pre-dawn air, his breath misting in front of his face. He nodded to other brother knights and sergeants as they all made their way in silence to the chapel tent.

  After prayers and a frugal breakfast of bread, warm milk and salted meat Rudolf gathered the garrison of Wenden around him for a final conference. Despite the great disparity in numbers between the two sides the mood within the fort was relaxed and confident, not least because everyone had been thoroughly briefed on their mission. The crusaders and Sword Brothers were greatly cheered by the fact that the Ungannians would b
e fighting in the fort’s towers, and Kalju’s warriors were delighted that they would be fighting by the side of their friends and neighbours. And everyone was emboldened by the thoroughness of Master Thaddeus’ plans.

  ‘You all know the plan and your role in it,’ said Rudolf to the men standing in a semi-circle before him. ‘For it to work we need to keep our nerve and our discipline. Above all, we must hold the outer wall. If that falls then Odenpah falls.’

  He looked at the determined, hardened faces before him.

  ‘God be with you all.’

  Chapter 23

  As a grey half-light slowly crept over the frozen landscape movement was detected among the enemy camps, the Russians to the south and east, the Estonians and Oeselians to the west. The latter had pitched their two-man tents near the lake and the sentries in the fort’s northern towers reported that warriors were walking onto its frozen surface to test the thickness of the ice. This was merely a ruse, though, for already thousands of men were stamping their feet and shuffling into their battle positions to make their assault across the frozen ground in front of the fort.

  Once again the horn trumpets sounded and the drums were beaten as chiefs and officers bellowed at their men to dress their ranks. Kalju’s warriors embraced their families and made their way to the fighting platforms in the towers on the outer wall. The mercenaries, brother knights, sergeants and crusaders, meanwhile, climbed the ladders to the walkways behind the wall’s ramparts where they made their way on all fours to their designated fighting positions. They moved slowly and cautiously, not wanting to reveal their presence to an eagle-eyed enemy commander who might be riding near to the fort. In the towers, meanwhile, the Ungannians began shouting insults at the enemy to attract the latter’s attention as below them the battlements silently filled with soldiers.

  At approximately an hour after dawn, with a few snowflakes in the air and a mild easterly breeze blowing, a sudden roar of noise erupted from the Russian ranks and the entire Voi moved forward, the front ranks carrying crude scaling ladders to allow them to conquer Odenpah’s eastern wall. Pskov’s city militia, a row of archers standing ahead of the front ranks, moved forward towards the southern wall, while to the west Lembit gave the signal for the assault against the west wall to commence. Sigurd also sent his men forward, their large shields locked over their heads as a precaution against enemy missiles. He had seen the empty battlements but his Oeselian instincts had told him that something was wrong.

  The first to realise that the fort was going to be a tougher nut to crack than they had thought were the Russians, the undisciplined mass of Voi tramping through the snow towards the empty eastern wall. A few arrows were shot in their direction from the handful of archers in the towers but they killed only a tiny number before the Russians reached the slope of the hill, and fell headlong into the snow-filled moat. Instead of placing their ladders against the timber wall hundreds of men found themselves in head-high snow as hundreds more piled in on top and crushed them. There were frantic shouts and orders as the commanders realised that their men had encountered an unexpected obstacle, but they were too late to prevent the Voi’s assault degenerating into chaos.

  To the south of the fort it was the same, Pskov’s militia advancing in a more orderly fashion with its archers providing covering arrow support. But when the front ranks reached the unseen moat they too were thrown into disorder. Master Thaddeus had a bird’s-eye view of things from a tower in the inner perimeter wall, and when he saw that the Estonian attack to the west had also faltered he raised his hand.

  A young squire holding a trumpet had been studying the old man intently and when he saw his hand signal he raised the instrument to his lips and blew it. The squires to his left and right likewise blew their trumpets. Rudolf heard the sound, picked up his helmet and stood up.

  ‘God with us!’ he shouted, placing his helmet on his head.

  The battle cry was answered by the dozens of men who had been sitting on the walkways with their backs rested against the timber wall. They now stood up, turned and began raining death down on the hapless Estonians and Russians below.

  Conrad placed his shield on top of the timber logs as the brother knights, sergeants and spearmen did the same. And then the crossbowmen loaded their weapons and began shooting down at the enemy through the gaps between the shields. They shot quarrels that were a foot long, made of hardwood with four-sided iron bodkin points that could punch through mail and leather armour with ease. Leather face and the other mercenary crossbowmen had also smeared theirs with hellebore, a fatal poison that would ensure a slow and lingering death for those wounded by their bolts.

  There were forty crossbowmen on the west wall, the same number on the southern and eastern ramparts, and though those that had come with crusaders shot three or four bolts a minute, those in the pay of the Sword Brothers maintained a steady rate of two quarrels a minute. Partly to conserve ammunition, mostly to ensure every bolt struck a target.

  Leather face loaded another quarrel, grinned at Conrad and pointed his weapon at the press of Saccalians below. He released his trigger and another man went down. Conrad held his shield in place as leather face reloaded. He pointed his weapon down at the warriors scrambling around in the snow, tripping over scaling ladders and dead comrades. Chiefs desperately tried to restore order, bellowing commands at their men to rally round them. Leather face saw one of them, sword in hand and shield tucked into his left side, holding his blade aloft as he tried to restore order. He released his trigger and saw the bolt slam into his shoulder, smashing his collarbone. The chief stood still for a few seconds before collapsing. A subordinate went to his side and attempted to lift him to his feet, slinging his shield on his back as he tried to raise his lord up, as a bolt went through the top of his helmet into his brain. Leather face looked at the crossbowman next to him who had killed him.

  ‘Nice shot. You might be as good as me one day.’

  Frantic horn blasts among the Estonian ranks restored some semblance of order as the scaling ladders were abandoned and Lembit and Jaak hurriedly pulled their men back. But the crossbowmen men had maintained their steady rate of shooting: forty men loosing eighty bolts a minute. In the ten minutes they had been shooting they had killed or wounded five hundred of the enemy – the Estonians had lost a quarter of their strength.

  On the other side of the fort the Russians had fared far worse. Not only had they been subjected to a greater deluge of bolts from the crusader crossbowmen, once their attack had been halted many of the Voi stood still, unsure what to do. Mostly villagers led by their headmen, they instinctively clustered around their leaders and friends. They stood shoulder to shoulder with shields locked. But their enemy was not on the ground but above them, and shooting at densely packed groups of stationary men mostly devoid of helmets, the crossbowmen could not miss. Domash sent riders to the Voi to order them to fall back out of range, but not before over a thousand had been killed. Even the more disciplined soldiers of Pskov’s militia had been surprised by the expert shooting of Kremon’s crossbowmen, managing to retire in good order but not before three hundred of their number had been killed or wounded.

  In the space of a few minutes the formality of an easy conquest of Odenpah had turned into a bloody disaster.

  The only commander who had escaped the debacle was Sigurd, who had kept his men back and then diverted some of them onto the ice of the frozen lake when it became apparent that the walls were lined with crossbowmen. His men held their shields over their heads as they gingerly approached the fort’s northern walls, advancing almost to base of the sloping earth rampart until driven away by a handful of archers in the fort’s north-western tower.

  Conrad took off his helmet and rested his shield against the wall.

  ‘That was easy enough,’ said leather face, checking the number of bolts in his quiver. ‘Next time won’t be, though. The cat’s out of the bag now. They know the Sword Brothers are in the fort so that will make them more careful
.’

  ‘They might try to starve us out,’ said Conrad.

  Leather face screwed up his ugly features. ‘They might, although their food might run out before ours. No, they will try another assault, most likely.’

  He smiled at Conrad. ‘When our ammunition runs out it will be down to you and your brother knights to earn their pay.’

  ‘We don’t get paid,’ said Conrad.

  ‘Ah, yes, that poverty thing again. I forgot. Very strange.’

  *****

  Domash urgently requested the presence of Lembit, Sigurd and Jaak at his tent after his men had returned to camp. They arrived as it was getting dark, the Russian commander still pacing up and down as Gleb sat on a stool sipping ale. Domash knew that he had to take Odenpah if he was to keep his head, the chances of achieving both rapidly diminishing following the calamity that had occurred earlier.

  Lembit and Jaak wore dark expressions as a guard showed them into the tent, though Sigurd appeared relaxed as he took a stool and a guard offered him and the others ale.

  ‘You neglected to inform me that Kalju had allied himself with the Sword Brothers,’ said Domash to Lembit.

  ‘That is because I did not know,’ replied the Saccalian.

  Domash sat down on a stool and eyed Lembit. ‘This changes many things.’

  Lembit winced at the bitter-tasting liquid he had been given.

  ‘He thinks it is poison,’ remarked Gleb, noticing Lembit’s disparaging squint.

  ‘What did he say?’ asked Lembit, wondering who the strange figure always accompanying the Russian commander was. Domash shook his head. ‘Nothing. I must inform the prince that to proceed with the operation against Odenpah will result in open war between Novgorod and the Bishop of Riga.’

  ‘But you will still carry on with the siege?’ said Lembit. ‘That is, after all, what we are all here for.’

  ‘I lost nearly a thousand men today,’ snapped Domash. ‘All for nothing.’

  ‘We all lost men,’ said Jaak.

  Domash looked at Sigurd. ‘And you?’