The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  ‘It has been a year since Nigul was killed,’ reported the king, ‘and I hear that Rotalia has been wholly taken over by the Oeselians.’

  Count Albert, perplexed, leaned over to speak to Sir Helmold who explained to him who Nigul was and where Rotalia was located.

  ‘Doubtless,’ continued Caupo, ‘when we march against Lembit we will also have to fight his pirate allies.’

  ‘But not the Russians,’ interrupted Volquin, ‘thanks to Bishop Theodoric.’

  ‘Still held captive in Novgorod?’ asked Stefan, examining his fingernails.

  ‘Still conducting negotiations,’ insisted Volquin. ‘He is quite safe, the Russian commander gave his word.’

  Rudolf raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  ‘Do we believe the word of an Orthodox,’ remarked Stefan, ‘a man who follows a false religion?’

  Volquin was nearing the end of his patience. ‘It was the bishop himself who volunteered to travel to Novgorod. The prince of that city has no wish to see his fur trade interrupted or harmed. And if I may add, lord bishop, we have also gained the allegiance of Chief Kalju and his Ungannians.’

  ‘A pagan and his log fort. Riches indeed,’ sneered Stefan.

  ‘King Caupo,’ said the bishop to halt the verbal duel between Stefan and Volquin, ‘do you think that the Oeselians will fight beside Lembit this year?’

  Caupo’s brow creased. ‘It seems highly likely, lord bishop.’

  The bishop smiled at the king as he sat down. ‘In two months’ time, then, we will march against Lembit to put an end to his rebellion once and for all. I will write to the Prince of Novgorod requesting that he escort Bishop Theodoric back to Livonia, otherwise I will halt all Russian trade on the Dvina.

  ‘Our aim is the subjugation of all Estonia to the Holy Church so that Theodoric may practise in his bishopric. Let us pray for God’s help in this great enterprise.’

  ‘Before we end the meeting, lord bishop,’ interrupted Stefan. ‘I have something else to say.’

  There was a groan from the Sword Brothers and Volquin steeled himself for another bout of verbal jousting. Stefan picked up a parchment and held it towards Volquin.

  ‘This is the list of supplies that you submitted to the bishop’s office two weeks ago, grand master. I am happy to report that within six weeks a flotilla of ships will be arriving at Riga carrying all that is on this list. A token of appreciation from the citizens of Riga to the Order of Sword Brothers.’

  Volquin was stunned into silence, his mouth opening and closing but no words coming out. The other masters were likewise taken aback. Until now the grand master had had to wage a constant battle with the archdeacon’s clerks to release funds from the treasury to supply his garrisons. Indeed, Stefan seemed to have taken a perverse delight in obstructing every urgent request. But now, before the war council itself, he was promising everything Volquin had asked for.

  ‘You should have doubled the quantity of everything on your list,’ said Rudolf under his breath.

  ‘He’s up to something,’ whispered Master Aldous.

  ‘A word of appreciation is in order, I think, grand master,’ said the bishop.

  ‘Yes, well, I am indeed grateful, archdeacon,’ stuttered Volquin. ‘As are my masters.’

  Stefan spread his arms magnanimously. ‘It is the least I could do, grand master, seeing as you lost all your equipment during the winter.’

  *****

  Olaf stood on the shingle beach and admired the carpenters working on the new longship. Like most Oeselian vessels it had been constructed during the winter after the crops had been gathered during the autumn. Whenever possible vessels were made of oak, the shipbuilders being fortunate that Oesel produced enough tall oaks trees to provide the keels for the king’s longships. The shipwrights did sometimes use other materials – ash, birch, alder, linden and willow – for various parts of a ship, but oak was the desired material. And no ship put to sea without an ‘old woman’ – the timber block on which the base of the mast rested – fashioned from oak.

  Olaf looked to his right where two other ships were nearing the end of their construction, carpenters working furiously with chisels and hammers to carve the serpent heads that would be mounted on the prows.

  He heard the rustle of mail armour behind him and footsteps on the pebbles. He looked round to see his three sons approaching.

  Olaf continued to admire the work of his craftsmen. ‘It must be important if all three of you have come to see me.’

  ‘Lembit gathers his forces, father,’ said Sigurd, ‘and requests my presence by his side once more.’

  ‘I wish to accompany Sigurd, father, to fight the crusaders,’ stated Stark.

  Kalf was similarly bullish. ‘As do I, father, to take my place in the shield wall beside my brothers to avenge Eric.’

  Olaf sighed. ‘It is time to end our cooperation with Lembit. His wars have cost too many Oeselian sons.’

  ‘We do have an alliance with the Estonians, father,’ said Sigurd.

  Olaf turned to face his sons. ‘And I now choose to end that alliance. Lembit uses us to further his own ends.’

  ‘He gave us Rotalia, father,’ said Kalf.

  Olaf smiled at his eager young pup. ‘Only because its leader was dead at the hands of the crusaders. Rotalia is an empty husk. No, we are done with Lembit.’

  ‘You said that we would be stronger allied with the Estonians rather than standing alone, father,’ said Sigurd, disappointment in his voice.

  ‘You did well forging an alliance with Lembit, my son,’ agreed Olaf, ‘but times have changed. The Estonians are being slowly crushed between the crusaders from the south and the Russians from the east. Even his chiefs are deserting him, those that are not dead, that is.’

  He looked at their eager faces. ‘You have all heard the reports of our captains. Every month more and more ships dock at Riga full of warriors and supplies. You think that Lembit will be able to withstand such an onslaught?’

  ‘With our help he could, father,’ boasted Kalf.

  Olaf saw Eric in his youngest son more and more.

  ‘No,’ said the king firmly, ‘it shall not be.’

  ‘Then what shall I inform the courier who waits for a reply to take back to Lembit?’ asked Sigurd.

  Olaf turned and looked at a carpenter fitting pivoted shutters to oar-holes to the topmost strake of the nearest ship. These shutters prevented water from coming through when the ship was at sea.

  ‘Tell him that a thousand Oeselian warriors will march to fight by his side against the crusaders.’

  Sigurd looked at his siblings in confusion. ‘I do not understand, father.’

  ‘You will command the warriors, Sigurd,’ said Olaf. ‘You will march at their head across Rotalia at a very slow pace, so slow in fact that you will reach Lembit only after he has fought the crusaders. His scouts will see your army and will report back to their leader that Oeselian warriors are on their way, thus fulfilling their terms of the alliance.’

  ‘But father,’ said Stark, ‘we will not share in the victory over the crusaders.’

  Lembit went to his son’s side and place an arm round his shoulder. He pointed at the ships under construction on the beach and others moored in the bay.

  ‘The gods gave us this island, Stark. They bestowed it with iron so that we could forge ploughs to grow our crops and make weapons and armour to defend ourselves. They covered it in forests so we would always have enough timber to build ships and they filled the seas around it with fish so we would not starve.’

  He looked at the others. ‘We have strayed from what the gods desire, which is to protect this island, and have suffered as a consequence. The death of your brother, the defeats at Riga and Odenpah; these things were divine retribution for ignoring the gods. I will not make the same mistake again.’

  ‘But we now occupy Rotalia, father,’ said Kalf. ‘Perhaps we may march east and occupy other Estonian lands.’

  ‘No,’ said
Olaf. ‘If we were meant to live in Estonia we would be called Estonians. Sigurd, tell the courier what I have instructed and make your preparations to lead the thousand men.’

  ‘I ask to accompany Sigurd, father?’ asked Stark eagerly.

  Olaf shook his head. ‘You will stay here to conduct sea trials for the new ships when they are finished.’ He glanced at Kalf. ‘As will you.’

  *****

  At the beginning of August a great army began to assemble at Wenden. Ships from Germany brought a large quantity of horses and military supplies for the Sword Brothers and Archdeacon Stefan and Bishop Albert escorted Grand Master Volquin to Riga’s docks to observe their unloading. True to his word the archdeacon signed them over to the grand master, who was forced to apologise for doubting him and then, to add insult to injury, was required to kiss his ring of authority as a sign of his piousness. Volquin seethed silently but the bishop was delighted to see his two senior subordinates being reconciled. Albert declared that he would not be accompanying the army north into Estonia as he had no wish to lay eyes on the heretic Lembit, and in any case he was still engaged in negotiations with the Novgorodians regarding trade and trying to secure the return of Bishop Theodoric.

  The river was alive with merchant vessels bringing their wares to Riga and the town’s treasury was filling with money. Volquin was still concerned about the Lithuanians but Stefan assured him that matters were in hand to neutralise the threat from across the Dvina. Once again the grand master queried the prelate on what actions he was taking to ensure security along the river, only to be informed that matters were on-going and it would be futile to elaborate further. The grand master, contemptuous of the archdeacon but delighted over the arrival of such a sizeable consignment of supplies, asked no more questions. But he would ensure that the order’s castles along the Dvina were strong enough to repel a Lithuanian attack if it came.

  In his office in the castle Volquin sent out a command that every order castle was to send ten brother knights, twenty sergeants, a score of crossbowmen and the same number of spearmen to Wenden, together with enough food and supplies to keep the men and horses fed for a month. In this way the garrisons of Wenden, Holm, Kremon, Uexkull, Segewold, Lennewarden, Kokenhusen and the newly established garrison at Gerzika would contribute a combined total of eighty brother knights, a hundred and sixty sergeants, a hundred and sixty crossbowmen and the same number of spearmen. A small cadre of the order’s soldiers would be left at each castle, the strongholds along the Dvina being reinforced by the prospective brother knights and sergeants who had arrived with the bishop at the end of May, together with the mercenaries that had been hired by Albert and had also sailed to Riga with him. As the sun warmed Livonia and ripened the crops in the fields the various contingents made their way to Wenden.

  Master Rudolf’s castle was a hive of activity and just as he had done at Odenpah, the newly returned Master Thaddeus took charge of the logistical arrangements, reducing the garrison’s brother knights and sergeants to couriers as he despatched orders on a daily basis. He had been given a small office in the master’s hall where Conrad made his way one afternoon after a young novice had searched him out on the training field jousting with Walter.

  ‘Saved in the nick of time, Conrad,’ said Walter, staring down at the brother knight on the ground after being unhorsed by a well-aimed strike on his shield.

  ‘I always make allowances for your senior position, Walter,’ said Conrad as Hans helped him to his feet and handed him his sword belt.

  Conrad turned to the novice, a boy no older than eleven or twelve who had arrived that spring. ‘What does Master Thaddeus want with me?’

  ‘Not to teach him how to joust, I’ll warrant,’ quipped Anton.

  ‘How to fall off a horse graciously, perhaps,’ suggested Johann.

  ‘Go and fetch my horse,’ Conrad said to the novice, pointing at his mount that was munching on grass.

  Conrad dusted himself off and buckled his belt, Walter nudging his horse forward.

  ‘I hope you did not make allowances for my rank, Conrad,’ he said earnestly, ‘that would not be right, not at all.’

  The novice brought Conrad’s horse to him and he lifted himself into the saddle.

  ‘It was a jest, Walter.’

  Walter still looked perturbed. ‘Ah, I see. Brother Anton, perhaps you would like to tilt your lance.’

  ‘It would be my pleasure,’ grinned Anton, walking over to where the horses were tethered to a rack of lances.

  Walter replaced his helmet on his head and rode away to the far end of the jousting range.

  ‘Do you think Walter ever had a sense of humour?’ Conrad asked Hans.

  Hans puffed out his cheeks. ‘Doubt it.’

  ‘Come,’ Conrad said to the novice, ‘let us see what Master Thaddeus wants.’

  He walked his horse up the track leading to the castle, the inner perimeter crowded with freshly made wagons, barrels of wine under canvas covers, tents that held the soldiers commanded by Sir Richard and animals pens filled with chickens, goats, sheep and cows. The stink made him turn up his nose as he rode across the bridge, through the half-finished gatehouse and into the courtyard. He dismounted and handed the reins of the horse to the novice.

  ‘Stay here,’ he ordered, ‘I will probably need my horse after I have spoken to Master Thaddeus.’

  ‘Yes, brother.’

  Conrad heard Thaddeus before he saw him, his deep voice resonating through the master’s hall as he barked orders at a pair of sergeants who emerged from his office with harassed expressions. They nodded to him as he knocked at the open door.

  ‘Yes? Ah, Conrad, come in, come in. Take a seat.’

  The office had rows of wooden pigeonholes on two of its walls, a desk in the centre of the room facing the door, behind which sat Thaddeus. Behind him was an iron candle holder with light, a small, square window set high in the wall and a wooden chest on the floor. There were parchments stuffed in all the pigeonholes, on the two chairs on the other side of the desk and on the floor. Conrad began moving the documents on one of the chairs.

  ‘Please do not touch them,’ snapped Thaddeus. ‘I know where everything is and if you move them then you will ruin my timetable.’

  He pointed at a large map spread out on the table, candle holders on two of its corners and iron paperweights on the other two. Thaddeus swept an arm over it.

  ‘This is a map of Wenden and the areas designated for the different contingents that are gathering here, such as Sir Helmold, Count Albert and King Caupo. Do you see the problem?’

  Conrad stared at the map. He recognised the shape of Wenden and its outer perimeter but did not know what the strange scribbles and symbols marked around the castle were.

  ‘I cannot read,’ said Conrad, slightly ashamed.

  ‘Cannot read?’

  Conrad shrugged. ‘I have no need of it.’

  Thaddeus looked shocked. ‘No need of it? Would you not like to be able to read the classics, Conrad? Vegetius, Marcus Aurelius, Ovis, Horace and Virgil?’

  The names meant nothing to Conrad. ‘I am a soldier, Master Thaddeus, not a scholar.’

  Thaddeus shook his head. ‘That much is true.’

  He picked up a parchment. ‘Now, what we need to do is to ask Count Albert to move his men and horses to the south of the castle.’

  He handed Conrad the now rolled-up parchment, fastened with a red ribbon. ‘Please take this to the count. It is a sketch map of where he should be. These lords just turn up and pitch their camps where they wish. I have spent a considerable amount of time designating streams for watering holes for soldiers, lakes to water animals and meadows where they can graze them. The count’s men are in the area allocated to Caupo and his Livs when they arrive.’

  Conrad thought of Rameke and hoped he would see his friend and brother again.

  ‘When will the Livs arrive?’

  Thaddeus scratched his head. ‘They should have been here yesterday. My it
ineraries are being ruined.’

  He frowned at Conrad. ‘Today would be a good time to speak to Count Albert.’

  Conrad smiled at Thaddeus and left the office, walking through the hall and into the courtyard.

  ‘Get yourself a horse from the stables,’ he said to the novice, ‘it will be instructive to see a crusader camp at close quarters.’

  Five minutes later they were riding down to the gatehouse in the outer perimeter wall, making way for carts filled with weapons and supplies that had been ferried up the Gauja by riverboat. The armoury was being steadily filled with weapons, armour and crossbow bolts in preparation for the coming campaign.

  Count Albert had brought six hundred men with him from Lauenburg and they were spread over a wide area to the west of the castle. Dozens of different-sized tents filled the grassland between the perimeter and the woods that bordered the river, the sound of men chopping wood greeting Conrad as he and his young companion rode into the crusader camp. To the east of the castle were pitched Sir Helmold’s men and the Sword Brothers from the garrisons along the Dvina. The men from Kremon and Segewold had yet to arrive and were probably accompanying Caupo.

  They rode through the perimeter guards and between a host of tents and temporary stables made of wooden poles and canvas sheets to the centre of the camp and the pavilion of Count Albert.

  ‘Stay here,’ Conrad said to the novice as they dismounted and he handed the boy the reins of his horse.

  From the pavilion flew the flag of Lauenburg and the spearmen who guarded its entrance also carried the white horse motif on their shields. Two barred his way with their spears as he neared the entrance.

  ‘State your business.’

  ‘I am Brother Conrad from Wenden to see Count Albert on behalf of Master Thaddeus,’ said Conrad.