The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  The two lords commanded only just over five hundred horsemen but they struck the right flank of Alva’s warriors just as the Harrien were about to overrun the Sword Brothers. Immediately the chief issued orders to reform a shield wall to repel the riders, but not before the lords and their men had cut down two hundred of his warriors. Alva managed to rally his men and place them in all-round defence but the Sword Brothers, having suffered dozens of casualties, had survived. The Christian horsemen lapped round the Harrien, who threw a deluge of spears and axes at the mailed riders, unhorsing at least fifty and killing a score more. Sir Richard and Sir Helmold led charge after charge at the Harrien, spearing some in the front ranks but being unable to break their shield wall.

  The battle was now fragmenting into isolated pockets of combat. Alva and his warriors fought Sir Richard and Sir Helmold, Lembit was trying to slaughter the Livs and on the right, near the lake, Count Albert was engaged in his own private war with fifteen hundred Wierlanders. The latter had butchered the count’s foot soldiers and all his priests, plundering and mutilating the bodies and ignoring the horsemen extricating themselves from the bog. By the time they heard the furious horn calls they were scattered over a wide area and had no time to rally round their chiefs as four hundred horsemen hit them. The charge had been disciplined and methodical, the long line of horsemen literally riding through small groups of Wierlanders, killing them with lances and swords. But the core of Edvin’s forces was a band of five hundred warriors who now closed ranks round their lord and began shuffling east. There were fifty archers among these men and they commenced shooting at the knights, aimed shots that killed a score of the count’s men and wounded a score more. And all the time Edvin marched towards the southern shore of the lake. The chief knew that he could not defeat mailed horsemen, hundred of whom were now riding round his men. He also knew that Lembit’s great gamble had failed. He cared not. His only concern now was to get as many of his men back to Wierland as possible.

  Conrad’s eyes were stinging as sweat ran into them. He stopped an Estonian sword on his axe and thrust his own blade over the top of a shield and into a man’s face. He caught sight of the design on the shield as the warrior tumbled backwards. Wolf shield.

  Then he saw him, standing beside the great brute he had encountered before, his wolf banner being held behind him. Lembit, the murderer of his wife and child and the instigator of all the misery that had been inflicted upon Livonia. Ever since he had come to Wenden Lembit had been a thorn in the side of the order, Bishop Albert and the population of the crusader kingdom.

  ‘Death to Lembit,’ he shouted, though he doubted anyone heard him in his helmet.

  But before he had even moved he saw the big warrior lift up a spear and hurl it forward. He swung his axe to the right to smash the blade into the side of the head of a warrior who was attacking Hans and looked back to see Caupo slump in the saddle as the spear went into his belly. He was wearing mail armour but the throw had been strong enough to pierce the iron links. There was a great groan among the Livs as they saw their king fall from the saddle. The Sword Brothers had reached their allies but now the Saccalians were filled with renewed vigour.

  Masters Aldous and Gerhard were dead. Cut down as they tried to protect the grand master, who himself was wounded in the shoulder. As the Sword Brothers linked up with what was left of the Livs the wounded were dragged into the centre of the circle that was surrounded by the Saccalians. They included Lukas who had been speared in the leg and Walter, whose helmet had been knocked off and subsequently rendered unconscious by a blow to the head. It was chaos, a swirling mass of men trying to cut each other to pieces in the frenzy of combat.

  Conrad saw Lukas being dragged inside the circle and saw two sergeants become separated and hacked to death by half a dozen wolf shields. He saw Lembit again, barely fifty paces away, perhaps less, urging his men on. But even the Saccalians were tiring, groups of them withdrawing to catch their breath and drink from their wooden water bottles. Many were wounded, even among the wolf shields, but the Livs and Sword Brothers were in a worse state. The fight lessened in intensity as a sort of mutual parley broke out all around the circle.

  Rudolf, his surcoat torn and his mail armour ripped, came to Conrad’s side. He lifted his helmet. His face was streaked with sweat.

  He pointed at Lembit. ‘You want that bastard?’

  ‘With every bone in my body.’

  He nodded. ‘Very well. The only way to win this battle is to kill him and that means taking the fight to him.’

  ‘Sword Brothers!’ shouted Rudolf. ‘Follow me. Kill Lembit.’

  He pulled the helmet back over his face and ran forward, shield held in front on him, sword in hand, Henke on his left side. Conrad heard the shout ‘kill Lembit’ as he forgot his tired limbs and raced forward beside Rudolf, his mind possessed by a burning desire for vengeance. The depleted garrison of Wenden formed the vanguard of the desperate assault, the wolf shields who surrounded Lembit being taken completely by surprise by this daring move. Within seconds Rudolf, Henke and Conrad were among them, cutting down warriors attempting to protect their chief. Conrad, now free to duck and move as he pleased, feinted right with his sword before whipping back the blade and thrusting it into the belly of a wolf shield. Half the blade disappeared into the enemy warrior before Conrad yanked it back. The wolf shield fell to the ground and then he was face to face with Lembit himself. Henke and the brute that was Lembit’s shadow were locked in their own fight to the death as the Saccalian leader came at him.

  He was shorter than Conrad, broader and surprisingly light on his feet, weaving left and right to avoid his blows as the brother knight directed a series of rapid sword strikes against him. Lembit moved around him, probing for weaknesses but keeping his shield tight to his body. He thrust, hacked and swung his sword, moving it with great agility as though it was a feather. Conrad fended off the blows but Lembit kept circling and attacking, darting in and out like a wasp delivering a sting. He cut the mail on Conrad’s left arm and dented the side of his helmet, Conrad splintering the wood of Lembit’s shield with an overhead axe swing. They forgot about the battle, the dead bodies at their feet and the screams of men being sliced open as they continued their personal duel. Conrad screamed and attacked Lembit with a succession of sword and axe strikes, crouching and lunging as he sought to find a way through Lembit’s defences, to no avail.

  Lembit’s eyes were full of hate as Conrad leaned back and then lunged forward to graze the Estonian’s right arm. But the pagan barged his shield into the brother knight and swung low with his sword, slicing open the mail chausses covering his left leg and cutting the flesh beneath. Lembit grinned when he saw the blood.

  ‘Come on, Christian,’ he shouted, ‘where is your god now?’

  They circled each other once more, jabbing with their swords, looking for any openings in their opponent’s defence. It was as if they were the only two people in the world as they exchanged another series of blows and strikes, Lembit’s shield almost disintegrating as Conrad swung his axe at the Estonian’s head again and again.

  Lembit delivered a side swing that sliced open the mail covering Conrad’s belly and grazed his flesh. He was breathing heavily now and it felt as though his head was being roasted inside his helmet. His arms and legs ached and his sword felt heavy. But he suddenly thought of Daina and Dietmar and ran at Lembit, brushing aside his battered shield and locking cross-guards as their swords came together. He swung his axe to the right and struck the side of Lembit’s helmet, sending the Saccalian crashing to the ground.

  Disorientated, Lembit staggered to his feet and pulled the dented helmet off his head. He faced Conrad and held his sword unsteadily. The Sword Brother could not breath inside his helmet. It felt as though his lungs were on fire. He pulled off his helmet, threw it aside and faced Lembit. The Saccalian recognised his attacker; the boy whom he believed had been killed long ago, the youth whom Rusticus had told him was a bad omen. His face r
egistered shock and surprise and he hesitated.

  ‘You?’

  Conrad dropped his sword, gripped his axe with both hands and screamed as he swung it. And lopped Lembit’s head clean off.

  The headless body stood for what seemed like an eternity before collapsing to the ground. Conrad shouted in triumph and hurled himself at Lembit’s standard bearer holding the wolf banner, grabbing the warrior’s neck and wrenching off his helmet. Like a wild beast he then proceeded to sink his teeth into the man’s nose and bit down hard. The man screamed as he tumbled to the ground with Conrad on top of him, the brother knight tearing at his nose in an effort to tear it from his face. As he did so he slipped his dagger out of its sheath and plunged it into the man’s neck. He was covered in blood as the wound sheeted liquid and the standard bearer gurgled, gasped and then went limp. Conrad stopped biting his nose and started to stab at the neck wound frantically, plunging the narrow blade into the torn flesh again and again.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder. ‘He’s dead, Conrad.’

  In a rage he rolled off the corpse, spun round and faced the owner of the voice, ready to attack. It was a helmetless and bloody Hans. Conrad regained a semblance of composure and nodded at his friend, who offered him a hand and hauled him to his feet. At that moment there was a loud shriek and they turned to see the brute that had been Lembit’s closest companion die.

  Rusticus had been more than holding his own against Henke until he had seen his master fall, killed by his nemesis seemingly returned from the dead. He had looked on helplessly as the youth decapitated his lord and cried out in anguish. And that few seconds allowed Henke to deliver a crushing blow with his mace that split his helmet. It would have floored an ordinary man but Rusticus stayed on his feet, only to be run through by Rudolf, Johann and Anton who sprang at him. Three swords stabbed him repeatedly but he still managed to stay on his feet until Rudolf raised his sword above his head with both hands and plunged it into Rusticus’ heart. Thus did he join his master in the afterlife.

  Like a plague sweeping through a city the news of Lembit’s death spread quickly among his Saccalians and soon they were fleeing for the safety of the forest. The wolf shields were the last to leave, the survivors forming a shield wall that shuffled back to the sanctuary of the trees as they stayed in their ranks and prepared to meet an attack that never came.

  Brother knights and sergeants removed their helmets and gasped for air, some with hands on their knees as fatigue suddenly gripped them. Others shook uncontrollably as after-battle nerves took possession of them. A few sank to their knees and thanked God for their safe deliverance.

  Conrad and Hans looked down at the head of Lembit.

  ‘He looks small, insignificant,’ said Conrad.

  ‘He was big enough,’ replied Hans.

  Johann and Anton came over and all four embraced each other. Their surcoats were ripped and splattered with blood, their mail armour was cut and all had been wounded. But they were alive and the air they breathed in was the sweetest they had ever tasted.

  ‘The bastard’s dead, then,’ remarked Henke as he jabbed the head with his bloody sword. He looked at Conrad and grinned. ‘You got your revenge.’ He patted him on he shoulder. ‘Well done.’

  Seeing the Saccalians leaving the battlefield, Alva had given orders for his men to do the same, the men from Harrien making a desperate run for the trees to reach safety. And on the other side of the battlefield Edvin had managed to withdraw with his Wierlanders, though Count Albert’s horsemen had killed around five hundred of his warriors before he did so. It would have been more but the count gave orders to ride to the relief of those Christians still in peril. And beyond Wolf Rock Jaak was already leading his men back to Jerwen.

  ‘What now, lord?’

  Vetseke had led his men into the forest in the wake of the Saccalians who were now splintering into small groups as they fled in every direction through the green wood. He and his men had been with a group of a hundred Saccalians that had been battling the Livs, though such was the press of men that they had seen no actual combat.

  ‘North,’ replied Vetseke. ‘There is nothing left for us in Estonia. Novgorod will offer us a home. Give the order to move out.’

  Scattered groups of Estonians were still making their way off the battlefield as Volquin gave the order to collect the warhorses that had made their way to the edge of the bog and had their heads down, grazing. But first everyone knelt as Otto said prayers and gave thanks to God for their great victory. When he rose to his feet Conrad saw Rameke, pale and grief stricken but unharmed. He embraced his brother.

  ‘The king is dead,’ said Rameke flatly.

  ‘He will be missed. What will you do now?’

  Rameke looked around at the corpse-strewn ground. ‘I do not know.’

  ‘Come back to Wenden. You can rebuild your father’s village.’

  ‘First I have to travel back to Treiden to bury the king. After that?’ He shrugged indifferently. ‘And you?’

  Conrad looked at the groups of Estonians disappearing in the distance.

  ‘This war is only half won. There is a lot of fighting left to do.’

  Epilogue

  To His Holiness Pope Honorius III from Brother Albert, Bishop of Riga, and your humble servant, with due and devoted respect.

  ‘Holy Father, I am glad to report that the army of the Lord has recently triumphed over the Estonian pagans led by the servant of Satan himself, Lembit. The noble crusaders from Germany, combined with your servant King Caupo and the Order of Sword Brothers, did battle with the enemies of the Holy Church on the Feast of Matthew’s Day and scattered the enemy as Samson slew the Philistines. Though they be outnumbered and sorely tested by the trickery and deceit of the enemy, the Lord saw fit to reward His humble servants with a great victory. The triumph was not bought cheaply and it saddens me to report, Holy Father, that King Caupo and Sir Helmold, along with many score of other brave men, have joined those others who have been martyred during the holy crusade in Livonia.

  ‘I am happy to report to Your Holiness that southern Estonian has now been subdued and that the Sword Brothers are poised to spread the word of God north to the waters of the Gulf of the Finns. I am currently eagerly waiting for the return of the Bishop of Estonia from the Principality of Novgorod, who has these last few months been concluding a treaty with the prince of that city. His return is greatly anticipated by the people of Livonia.

  ‘One matter I must bring to Your Holiness’ attention, and that is the conduct of one Conrad Wolff, a Sword Brother from the garrison of Wenden. In the recent battle it was his weapon that struck down the heathen Lembit, just as David cut down Goliath. This brother knight saved my own life a number of years ago and I can only conclude that God has marked out this holy warrior to be the instrument of His will in Livonia.

  ‘It just remains for me to say that the Holy Church in Livonia stands strong and resolute in its aim to carry the word of God to the pagans and convert them to His ways.

  ‘Given this twenty-ninth day of September in the year of our Lord one thousand, two hundred and seventeen and the second year of your pontificate.’