The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  Domash regarded the bishop for a moment. Was he pretending or making promises he could not keep? The fur trade with Riga alone was worth a fortune and had made Novgorod rich. If that trade was interrupted or halted then Mstislav’s wrath would be mighty indeed. But the prince wanted Odenpah. But at the expense of risking trade with Riga?

  ‘I will need a few moments with my officers,’ said Domash.

  ‘Of course,’ replied the bishop.

  The Russians retreated out of earshot. The bishop and Kalju had hatched their plan after Thaddeus had planted the seed of the idea in Theodoric’s mind. Kalju had agreed that he would allow Russian merchants to travel through his kingdom unmolested, in return for which the Novgorodians would agree to respect Ungannia’s borders, which meant no further raids. Ungannia would become an ally of Livonia, though the bishop avoided any discussion of Kalju marching against Lembit and the other Estonian chiefs when Bishop Albert returned from Germany in the spring. Of course the whole plan would disintegrate if the Russians rejected the proposal, attacked the fort and put all those inside to the sword. But if they were martyred, the bishop told Kalju, the Sword Brothers would halt all Russian trade along the Dvina and Gauja and wage unceasing war upon Novgorod. It was a daring plan, especially as the crossbowmen and archers had no more ammunition and there was only two days’ food left in the fort.

  After explaining what the bishop was proposing Domash asked Yaroslav and Gleb for their opinions.

  ‘Can we trust them?’ asked Yaroslav.

  ‘The bishop is a man of God,’ said Domash.

  ‘I wouldn’t put much stock in that,’ sneered Gleb.

  ‘The prince would not wish for Novgorod’s trade with the Catholics to be endangered,’ said Yaroslav, ‘not for the sake of a hill fort.’

  Domash nodded. ‘I am apt to agree with you. But we cannot retreat without the enemy making concessions also.’

  ‘What concessions?’ enquired Gleb.

  Domash tapped his nose. ‘Let’s see if this bishop has the courage of his convictions.’

  They returned to face the bishop, everyone in both parties pulling their cloaks about them as the wind picked up to increase the chill.

  ‘We will retreat from Ungannia,’ stated Domash, ‘on condition that the Sword Brothers also leave the kingdom.’

  Conrad translated the words and a look of triumph spread across the bishop’s face. Kalju sat expressionless and Volquin looked relieved.

  ‘In addition,’ continued Domash, looking at Theodoric, ‘you will accompany me back to Novgorod where you can pledge the agreement regarding the passage of trade through Ungannia and along the Gauja to Prince Mstislav himself.’

  ‘Impossible,’ spat Sir Richard, ‘tell this barbarian that we will fight him today, on this ground, rather than meekly submit to his outrageous demands.’

  Domash did not understand the words but he fathomed the raised voice and thunderous look from the mailed knight by the side of Kalju. Domash tilted his head towards Sir Richard.

  ‘What did he say?’ he asked Conrad.

  ‘Sir Richard believes that if the bishop goes with you his life will be in danger.’

  Domash looked hurt. He looked directly at the bishop. ‘We are not barbarians. You will be treated as an honoured guest and not as a condemned criminal. This I pledge as a member of the Tverdislavich family.’

  Volquin looked most alarmed. ‘I would advise against such a course of action, lord bishop.’

  ‘And if I accede to your demands,’ Theodoric said to Domash, ‘you and your army will leave Ungannia?’

  ‘I give you my word,’ stated Domash.

  ‘I believe that this is one of those moments in life that requires a leap of faith,’ said the bishop calmly. ‘Conrad, inform the mayor that I will travel with him to Novgorod to arrange terms with his prince.’

  Sir Richard was vehemently against the notion but his warnings were brushed away by the bishop. Theodoric knew that he ventured into the unknown but also knew that he had saved hundreds of souls inside Odenpah, and that alone was worth the sacrifice of his life if the Lord so decreed.

  ‘My life is in God’s hands,’ he told Sir Richard, ‘where it has always been.’

  The formalities over, the two parties left each other. On the ride back to camp Domash breathed a huge sigh of relief. He had snatched a victory of sorts from the jaws of defeat and could return to Novgorod with the promise of a new trade route to the west.

  Sir Richard was still grumbling when the bishop’s party dismounted inside the main gates. Rudolf, Bertram and Mathias were informed of the agreement that had been reached, all surprised and concerned about Theodoric’s impending journey. But the bishop waved away their worries. Kalju was all smiles. His great gamble had paid off: he had preserved his kingdom. Better still, his alliance with the Sword Brothers promised to halt Russian incursions into Ungannia.

  ‘I never thought he would do it,’ Thaddeus said to Rudolf as they stood watching the bishop trying to calm Sir Richard. He looked up at the battlements crowded with warriors and Christian soldiers, then at the walls of the inner stronghold thronged with women and children. ‘No ammunition left, almost no food left, half the garrison either sick, dead or wounded and he convinces the enemy to retreat. Some would say it’s a miracle.’

  Rudolf smiled. ‘Perhaps, Master Thaddeus, perhaps.’

  ‘Well,’ said Thaddeus, ‘I best start dismantling my machines for the journey back to Wenden.’

  He shook hands with Rudolf and ambled off to offer his congratulations to the bishop as a tangible wave of relief swept through the fort.

  ‘Brother Rudolf,’ Conrad called as he led his horse back to the stables.

  ‘Conrad?’

  ‘Master Rudolf, apologies,’ said Conrad.

  ‘I’m still getting used to the title myself. Congratulations, your translation skills have paid dividends, it seems.’

  ‘The commander of the Russian army,’ said Conrad, glancing at the new master.

  ‘What of him?’ queried Rudolf.

  Conrad looked at the burn scars on the older man’s neck. ‘His name is Domash Tverdislavich. I remember that name being mentioned a while ago.’

  Rudolf displayed no emotion. ‘So he is still spreading misery and death.’

  ‘He is the mayor of Pskov, so he said.’

  ‘He rises in the world,’ said Rudolf.

  ‘As do you,’ stated Conrad. ‘Perhaps you are both destined to meet again in battle, each leading his own army.’

  Rudolf laughed. ‘Perhaps you should write poetry instead of wielding a sword.’

  ‘Lembit has gone,’ said Conrad glumly.

  ‘Do not worry about that, brother. He owes Livonia a great debt and the Sword Brothers will collect it, that I promise.’

  Chapter 24

  It took three weeks to get back to Wenden, exhausted draught animals pulling wagons through deep snow and the occasional blizzard. Many collapsed and died, forcing the column to abandon valuable items such as Master Thaddeus’ mangonels, though the engineer himself had been persuaded to stay at Odenpah, the weather being considered too harsh for his elderly constitution. At one stage the rate of advance was a mere three miles a day, a consequence of the inclement weather and the need to scour the forests for anything to eat, for the garrison of Odenpah could spare no supplies for the journey.

  At the end of the first week Conrad’s horse collapsed from under him and died. As it lay in the snow he called to the other brother knights within earshot and began hacking at the beast with his axe, chopping off its limbs and head. Soon others joined him and began slicing off pieces of still-warm flesh, handing it out to individuals who gathered round the carcass. In this way men could fill their bellies and stave off the hunger that had begun plaguing them even before they left Odenpah. Eating raw flesh was an abomination but a necessary one to preserve life.

  Pitching tents in snow and ice further taxed the crusaders’ strength but was better than
no shelter at all and so at the end of every march camp was established and men huddled around fires, over which pots filled with horse blood boiled. Among Sir Richard’s command the young squires were the first to succumb to fatigue, aside from squire Paul who was as strong as an ox. The Sword Brothers were fortunate in having Liv ponies to pull the majority of their wagons. These beasts, like the Russian panjes, were remarkably hardy and better suited to the climate than horses brought from Germany. But as the horses of the Sword Brothers and crusaders died a constant guard had to be placed around the ponies to prevent them being slaughtered and torn to pieces for food.

  The crusaders were fortunate that they were accompanied by the Sword Brothers, whose knowledge of local conditions had resulted in them bringing along large quantities of additional clothing. The brother knights and sergeants wore woollen underwear, woollen leg wraps beneath their leggings and thick leather boots on their feet, over which they wore felt overboots to prevent the leather uppers of their boots from freezing. They retained their helmets but to save weight removed their mail armour and loaded it on the carts. By the end of the second week all of the crusader horses were dead and only the grand master, masters and a few brother knights still had mounts. But no one rode them so weakened were they.

  By this time the food had all gone and the carts carried only armour, spare weapons, the order’s dead to be buried in consecrated ground and the wounded. The felt capes kept the men of the order warm, their mercenary spearmen and crossbowmen also having been issued with them, but the crossbowmen who had travelled from Germany had no cloaks or caps and they suffered terribly from the cold. Their toes and fingers became blue and blotchy and hard to the touch. Those who could no longer walk rode on the wagons, which became increasingly heavy as more weight was loaded on them.

  Grand Master Volquin, his beard frozen solid, ordered that those still capable of walking should assist in pushing the wagons through the snow to save the strength of the ponies. Conrad noticed that Hans shivered constantly. They were all cold, notwithstanding their layers of clothing, but his friend felt the conditions the most. Despite the years of eating like a fighting cock at Wenden he had never lost the lean, hungry look that Conrad remembered when he had first set eyes on him.

  His teeth chattered as he sat in the tent vigorously rubbing pig grease into his boots to prevent them becoming brittle.

  ‘Do you think we shall see Wenden again?’

  Johann looked at him with bloodshot eyes. ‘One of the Liv guards told me that we should be there within a week.’

  Hans stopped rubbing. ‘A week? I doubt if I can last another day.’

  Anton, his face deathly pale, smiled weakly. ‘You will make it, Hans. You are stronger than you look, which is just as well seeing as you look like a corpse.’

  ‘Unlike the sick,’ said Conrad, who had pins and needles in his face – a sure sign of frostnip. ‘Most of them will not survive another day.’

  Hans went back to his rubbing. ‘Poor bastards. They survive a siege only to die of cold.’

  ‘Master Berthold did not even survive the siege,’ remarked Conrad glumly. ‘I told you there would be a price to pay for slave trading.’

  ‘At least we all survived,’ said Anton.

  But in the next few days they thought they might not as they trudged through the snow, heads down against the biting wind, taking short steps but always moving. Volquin, in consultation with the other masters and Sir Richard, had taken the decision to strike for Wenden as quickly as possible rather that travelling short distances each day and spending the rest of the time ice fishing or setting traps to catch game. The crossbowmen had no missiles with which to hunt and in any case many of them had frostnip in their fingers, making it difficult to aim their weapons accurately. The Livs informed the grand master that they could reach Wenden in three days, though the pace would be cruel.

  The last of the fodder was given to the ponies and they were covered in caparisons as protection against the freezing wind. The scouts led them through trees covered in snow and in the lee of hillsides to protect the column from the merciless wind. At night they crammed bodies into tents so men could glean what warmth they could from their comrades. But in the morning there were always a few who did not open their eyes, having passed away during the night.

  Rudolf barked orders to the men of Wenden, walking among them to encourage them to keep going. One foot after the other, focus on staying alert, don’t daydream; a dull mind is your enemy. On the sixteenth day the wind dropped, the sun shone and men began to feel more optimistic. They were still tortured by hunger but at least their cold flesh was no longer being blasted by an icy wind.

  Johann developed a limp and had to ride on a cart for long periods, while Hans’ hands turned blue despite wearing two pairs of mittens. Conrad’s lips became chapped and painful, the pins and needles spread to his hands and the reflection of the sun on the snow hurt his eyes. He still wore his sword and dagger and his axe tucked in his belt but he barely had the strength to buckle it each morning.

  On the seventeenth day he had his arm round Hans’ shoulder to assist him as they plodded through the snow, each step taking a mighty effort. They helped to push a wagon loaded with sick squires, though how much they assisted was hard to tell. Conrad could not feel his hands as he placed them against the side of the cart and attempted to push it. His eyes were mostly cast down as he pushed for ten minutes or so, then stopped as a trumpet call signalled a halt. The column of ghost-like individuals and exhausted ponies halted for what seemed like seconds, before another trumpet communicated the advance. On they tramped, through a white wilderness of undulating hills, thick forests and frozen waterways. He looked up and saw pairs of listless eyes staring at him from a gap in the canvas cover over the back of the cart.

  On the eighteenth day Hans collapsed in the snow.

  ‘Help me,’ called Conrad as he struggled to lift his friend.

  Hans was a dead weight and he had trouble raising him up. Then Henke and leather face appeared, grabbed one of Hans’ arms each and dragged him towards the wagon.

  ‘There is no room in there,’ said Conrad.

  Leather face, his visage barely visible under the huge fur-lined cap he was wearing, peered into the cart. He examined two of the squires and then pulled them off the cart, their frozen corpses falling into the snow with a dull thud.

  ‘Now there is.’

  ‘Quickly,’ said Henke, as he and Conrad lifted Hans onto the wagon.

  He looked at Hans’ face. ‘You’ll live.’

  Conrad nodded appreciatively at Henke and noticed that even Wenden’s most fearsome soldier looking gaunt, his face pinched with cold.

  That night another three quires and two knights died. The latter expired on guard duty, their reliefs discovering their frozen bodies in the snow. Like unthinking slaves the brother knights and sergeants attended prayers in the chapel tent before dismantling the ever-smaller camp and continuing the journey. The Livs scoured the forests for berries, sharing their meagre haul with the rest of the column, though it did nothing to dispel the hunger that tortured everyone.

  It was the last day of February and Conrad had now lost all feeling in his feet, shuffling forward and leaning against the wagon that held Hans. The later had fallen asleep, though Anton and Johann, the latter using the former as a crutch, kept shouting at him and prodding him to prevent him falling into a slumber that he would not awaken from. The cart was near the front of the column and Conrad could see the stooped shapes of Volquin, Rudolf, Bertram, Sir Richard, taller than them all, and Mathias as they led what was left of their commands.

  He put his shoulder to the wagon and attempted to lend his weight to the efforts of Walter, Lukas and Henke on the other side and Anton and Johann behind. The two ponies that were pulling it were almost spent, their heads cast down and their steps heavy and faltering. He looked up and saw the sun glint off something. He squinted and stared once more and saw helmets and lances ahead. He tri
ed to open his mouth and shout but his lips were blistered and painful and his throat sore. But others had seen them now: two brother knights and two sergeants on horses wearing white caparisons and the insignia of the Sword Brothers on their white flowing cloaks. He closed his eyes and said thanks to God. They had reached home.

  The last two miles of their journey was the hardest trek that Conrad had ever faced. Some were tempted to whip and beat the ponies to make the final leg of the ordeal pass as quickly as possible. They were severely rebuked by the masters and brother knights who knew that the animals were at the end of their physical limits. The scouting party from Wenden dismounted and hitched their animals to four of the wagons, those carrying the sick and injured, to ensure they at least reached the castle.

  Conrad stumbled along in the snow as the wagon carrying Hans inched ahead of him. He walked on the other side of Johann, assisting Anton in supporting their friend whose limp had got worse. He could now put no weight on his injured leg and Anton’s cough sounded dreadful.

  Conrad suddenly laughed out loud. Johann and Anton looked at him quizzically and Lukas and Henke in front of them stopped and turned.

  ‘What is so funny?’ said Lukas.

  Conrad looked at the thick woods to their right.

  ‘I was just thinking that if Lembit and a few of his wolf shields came out of those trees he could probably put all of us to the sword with ease.’

  Henke, his beard thick and frosted, shook his head. ‘Lembit will be warming himself beside a big fire in Lehola. Only we are stupid enough to go trekking through Estonia in the middle of winter.’

  ‘God would not allow Lembit to slaughter you, Conrad,’ said Walter. ‘He will ensure that when you do meet him to avenge the wrongs done to you, you will be both equally matched.’

  Henke rolled his eyes and turned to continue the march. The sun was dipping rapidly in the west when they spotted the castle’s northern tower at last. They skirted the eastern outer perimeter wall and walked through the gates, some falling to their knees and kissing the frozen track when they entered Wenden. Their ordeal was over.