by Peter Darman
‘Spears,’ he called, ‘they will not break us if we hold our nerve.’
His heart was pounding in his chest as the riders, who suddenly appeared huge men on even larger beasts, bore down on them. Helmet now pulled down over his face, he gripped the mid-point of the lance with his left hand, the metal end pointing at the horsemen, the other end shoved into the ground and held in place by his right foot. Hans and Anton did the same with their lances while Rameke’s men had their spears tucked beneath their right armpit.
The horsemen charged and made a lot of noise and for a moment Conrad thought they would ride right over them. But he was right: they reined in their mounts, slowed them and jabbed their spears forward. Their commander, a clean-shaven man with a green cloak around his shoulders, bellowed an order in Liv and they wheeled their horses away. Rameke now joined his brother, around forty of his men with him to extend the line of spears that defended the ford. Some of the horsemen were attempting to cross the river upstream, guiding their horses down the gently sloping riverbank and into the water.
‘Kill the women and children,’ shouted the man with the green cloak.
Conrad hoisted the lance to shoulder level and hurled it at him just at the moment another horsemen rode in front of the leader. He arched his back as the point of the lance went into the leather armour and he fell from his saddle. Conrad picked up his other lance as some of the horsemen trotted from the water to attack Rameke’s men from the rear. More were jumping from their horses to race at the spearmen and engage them in single combat. And all the time their leader rode up and down shouting orders.
A man on foot came at Conrad, using his axe to shatter the haft of his lance. Conrad let go of the shaft and drew his sword, dodging a swing of the man’s axe and pulling his own from his belt. He swung his axe at the man’s head and thrust his sword forward. The warrior avoided the axe but failed to see the sword strike until the point pierced his thigh. He groaned in pain and limped back but Conrad had no time to finish him off as another man came at him, swinging his axe and cutting the strap that held his shield in place on his back. It fell to the ground as Hans grabbed the rear of his surcoat and pulled him back.
‘Time to get across the river,’ he shouted, pointing his sword to dead Livs on the ground. The mounted and dismounted horsemen had attacked the flanks and rear of the line and had done much butchery.
He saw Rameke fighting beside Anton and then heard a horn sound behind him.
‘Again,’ Hans shouted at the signaller who blew his instrument once more.
Conrad picked up a spear lying beside a dead Liv and hurled it at a horsemen bearing down on him, the point going into the horse’s chest. The beast whinnied and crashed to the ground, pinning its rider underneath. Other horsemen splashed through the water, Conrad was helpless to prevent them crossing to the other side. He was losing the battle.
There were dead warriors floating in the water and other bodies around where Rameke and Anton were fighting with a cluster of men. There was a sudden blast of horns from among the enemy warriors still mounted and in seconds those on foot disengaged and withdrew. Conrad and Hans ran over to Rameke and Anton as the man with the green cloak barked orders at his men to mount their horses. Many among them wore lamellar armour, helmets with thick nasal guards and carried shields that were almond shaped. They were certainly not Livs.
‘Why are they falling back?’ queried Rameke as the enemy suddenly about faced and galloped away.
‘That’s’ why,’ said Anton, pointing upstream to a mass of riders approaching.
They were riding ponies and dressed in greens, blues and browns. Most were armed with spears and their shields bore the insignia of Harrien and Jerwen. Riki and Andres had arrived.
The two leaders splashed across the ford and dismounted in front of Conrad, who pulled off his helmet.
‘Your timing is most excellent,’ he told them.
‘We were almost a feast for crows,’ added Hans.
‘They were Livs,’ said Rameke angrily.
‘And Russians,’ commented Conrad.
‘Why are Livs fighting alongside Russians?’ asked Anton.
No one had an answer to his question so Conrad ordered the few enemy dead to be stripped of anything useful and the civilians to be moved south of the ford. The day was waning and he wanted to make camp away from the scene of carnage. Rameke embraced Kaja and then the three brother knights. Conrad was searching for his shield when a grim-faced Hans rode to him with a spare horse in tow.
‘The strap was cut and I swore it fell hereabouts,’ he said to his friend.
‘You had better see this, Conrad.’
He shook his head concerning the mystery of the shield and hoisted himself into the saddle. Hans galloped back to the ford, riding across it to where the ponies and carts carrying the civilians stood a couple of hundred yards back from the river.
‘What is it?’ asked Conrad, halting his horse next to where his friend and Anton stood staring at the ground.
His mouth fell open as he saw Hele and her family lying on the grass. He leapt from the saddle and knelt down beside the young girl who had been killed with a blow to the back of the head. He gently lifted her lifeless body and cradled it in his arms. He closed his eyes and held back his tears with an iron effort.
‘Some of the enemy got among the carts,’ said Anton, ‘they have killed upwards of fifty women and children.’
Conrad said nothing but he made a vow to find and kill the clean-shaven man who wore a green cloak.
Chapter 5
That summer was beautiful in Lithuania. The forests of pine, spruce and birch were full of elk, wild boars, deer and lynx. The glittering blue lakes were brimming with fish and the meadows were home to a multitude of hares and rabbits. Hillocks were covered in snowdrops and buttercups and the air was filled with scent of alder, bird cherry and hazel. Throughout the land herds of wild horses feasted on lush meadow grass, reed and bark, and the trees were teeming with woodpeckers, black terns, corncrakes and kestrels. Peace reigned in Lithuania and while the gods cursed Livonia with pestilence and war, they blessed the land south of the Dvina with prosperity and abundance.
In each of the kingdoms the priests and people tended and left tributes in the alkas, the holy places where perpetual sacred fires burned. They included groves that could not be cut, wells that could not be fished and fields that could not be ploughed. The farmers in particular were diligent in their respect of the gods and in the spring had taken their horses to the rivers to be bathed, their stalls and troughs being blessed with the blood of a black rooster. So pleased had Krumine, the Goddess of Agriculture, been with the farmers and their families that she had ordered the Dvynai Asvieniai, the twin white stallions that pulled the cart of the sun through the heavens, to work each day to warm the land and grow the crops. And they had done marvellous work for the fields were full of ripening rye, barley, oats, peas, hemp and flax. Of course the farmers helped in ensuring the harvest would be bountiful by observing age-old rituals, such as never going to the fields on an empty stomach, for to do so would make the ears of grain grow empty. Similarly, when preparing to sow barley they had always eaten a pig’s tail beforehand, thus ensuring that the barley ears would grow long like the swine’s tail.
The people gave homage to the gods; the gods smiled upon Lithuania and worked a miracle. For Duke Arturus, a man both loathed and feared in equal measure, had agreed to sheathe his sword and seek peace with the other dukes. After much negotiation the place assigned to be the venue for the historic meeting was Dobele, a small hill fort on the border with Semgallia and the newly created kingdom of Kurland. The discussions had taken place between Lord Torolf and his subordinates and the kriviai, the white-robed priests who were the intermediaries between mortal men and the gods. Normally there would have been no need for Lord Torolf to be involved in such negotiations, but Duke Arturus had killed all the kriviai in his domain and so there were none in the land of the Kurs. The
chief priest, the Kriviu Krivaitis, who lived in a sacred grove near to Panemunis, was now too old and frail to make the journey. But he had sent his chosen successor, a dour young man with skin as white as his robe.
For days beforehand soldiers and officials of Duke Viesthard prepared the ground and requisitioned food from nearby villages. Huntsmen were commissioned to shoot great quantities of wild boar, elk and deer to feed the retinues of the other dukes that would soon be arriving. It had been agreed that each duke should bring no more than a hundred men, in addition to slaves that would attend to duties such as pitching tents, cooking, serving meals and cleaning the campsite.
Duke Viesthard was already in residence when Prince Vsevolod and his entourage arrived, a great procession of the prince’s bodyguard carrying huge banners depicting the silver griffin of Gerzika and the black boar of the late Grand Duke Daugerutis. Slaves walked beside carts carrying clothing, tents, horse furniture and shoes, food and spare weapons and armour.
The day after Duke Butantas arrived with his retinue, which included his son Ykintas, the husband of Vsevolod’s daughter and good friend of Mindaugas. It had been the intention of Vsevolod to leave the latter at Panemunis but Aras had persuaded him to take the young prince along, believing it would be a good experience in politics to attend what promised to be a most unique occasion. So he and Ykintas embraced each other as the great elk antler banner of Duke Butantas was planted in the ground beside the black boar, the silver griffin and the iron wolf standard of Semgallia. Duke Kitenis of Aukstaitija, having asked permission of Butantas to travel through his kingdom, arrived after the other dukes. His banner of the black axe was placed alongside the others.
‘I wonder if we will see the black seagull beside them,’ remarked the wiry framed Butantas, looking up at the standards flapping in the wind.
Viesthard shrugged. ‘Arturus was the one who suggested the meeting. I see no reason why he should not come.’
‘He has the shortest distance to travel,’ said Kitenis, ‘and yet is the last to arrive. Some might consider that bad manners.’
Aras chuckled. ‘Perhaps you could tell him that when he arrives, my lord.’
Vsevolod said nothing but merely observed. As a Russian he would always be considered an outsider by the other dukes, but Aras had made his army a formidable instrument and the marriage of his daughter to Prince Ykintas had strengthened the ties with Samogitia. In addition, Morta was married to Mindaugas, the son of the late Stecse, a man whose memory was still respected throughout all Lithuania. He was determined that one day Mindaugas would be grand duke, to be manipulated to retrieve his lost home of Gerzika. But all that was in the future.
Of more immediate concern was the shape of the pavilion where the meeting would be held. The pale priest sent by the Kriviu Krivaitis advised that two rectangular benches should be placed one over the other at right angles to resemble a star cross, the emblem of Ausrine, the Goddess of the Sun. The tent housing such a table should be the same shape to bring the blessing of the goddess. When Viesthard asked him to elucidate on where everyone should sit around this strange-shaped table the priest shrugged and said he would consult the gods. Kitenis suggested a square table inside a square tent but Vsevolod said that there would be four dukes plus himself, so one would have to share one of the sides with another duke, thereby diluting the prestige of both of them. Butantas came up with a satisfactory proposal for a round table inside a round tent.
‘In this way no one will be offended or lose face,’ stated the Duke of Samogitia.
Butantas said that his son should attend the meeting. He would stand behind his father, Vsevolod stating that as his heir Mindaugas should also be present. The other dukes had not brought their sons but raised no objection to the young princes being in the tent. The pale-faced priest was asked by them all to be the master of ceremonies, subject to the approval of Duke Arturus. But as the days passed the Kur leader was conspicuous by his absence and everyone believed that he was not coming. Vsevolod was disappointed and Viesthard annoyed. But on a crystal-clear summer’s morning, the air sweet with the scent of meadow flowers, the dukes’ banners hanging limply undisturbed by any wind, horns blew to sound assembly with the news that a column of horsemen was approaching.
The dukes and their commanders gathered on horseback at the perimeter of the camp, their mail-clad soldiers in their brightly coloured tunics and burnished helmets behind them. From their spisas hung pennants indicating to which duke they owed allegiance. Aras seated behind Vsevolod and next to Mindaugas looked at the young prince.
‘So he came. Take a good look when he arrives. It’s not every day that you see a real life demon.’
‘Duke Arturus comes to secure the peace, general,’ replied Mindaugas.
‘We’ll see,’ sniffed Aras.
The horsemen of Kurland rode black beasts, their back and breastplates black leather with additional leather shoulder pieces and long pteriges – leather straps – protecting their thighs. On their left sides they carried round wooden shields faced with leather bearing the image of a black seagull, their helmets fitted with black horsehair plumes and a single nasal guard. Their tunics, leggings and boots were black, as were the bridles and saddles on their horses. Two men led the column of riders. Immediately behind them a standard bearer carried a great banner that would have shown a black seagull had there been any wind. Every rider aside from the two at the head of the column carried the long spisa favoured by Lithuanian horsemen. And at their hips they carried swords and axes.
The tension began to build as the Kur column slowly wound its way through a small stream and across a broad meadow to reach the campsite. The other dukes and Vsevolod sat in silence on their horses, occasionally glancing behind to reassure themselves that their soldiers were nearby to assist them if the Kurs suddenly attacked. A crow cawed overhead and some of the horses whinnied, bobbing their heads up and down. And still the Kurs came. Mindaugas looked at his friend and now brother-in-law Ykintas and smiled nervously. Ykintas moved his right hand to rest it on the pommel of his sword.
‘Steady,’ hissed his father, seeing the movement.
The Kurs walked their horses forward until one of the two men at the head of the column raised his hand to signal a halt. His men stopped but he carried on until he was but five paces from the other dukes. In appearance he was no different from his men in his black leather armour and simple iron helmet. But when he removed it he revealed a brooding, thoughtful, menacing face. Duke Arturus, unlike most Lithuanian men, had neatly cropped hair, beard and moustache. His round face was large and distinguished by a long, twisted scar that ran down its right side. His brown eyes scanned the line of horsemen before him and then he spoke.
‘Greetings, my lords. I thank you for your attendance.’
Aras raised an eyebrow. He was expecting a loud, brutish bully but instead Arturus was softly spoken. There was no threat in his voice.
‘I see that I am the last to arrive,’ he continued, ‘for which I convey my sincere apologies. The duties of a ruler are sometimes taxing and time consuming.’
‘No apology necessary, my lord,’ said Viesthard.
Arturus tilted his head at him. ‘Duke Viesthard, I am glad we are meeting as friends and not looking across at each other on the field of battle.’
Viesthard, remembering the deprivations his people had suffered at the hands of the Kurs, gave him a curt nod.
‘Perhaps you are tired from your journey, Duke Arturus,’ said Vsevolod, ‘and wish to refresh yourself before we sit down to talk.’
‘Prince Vsevolod,’ smiled Arturus, ‘we meet at long last. I trust the Princess Rasa is well and Morta and Elze.’
‘Well, thank you,’ replied Vsevolod, slightly discomfited by the duke’s knowledge of his family’s names.
Arturus shifted his gaze to Mindaugas. ‘Prince Mindaugas, your son-in-law and son of Prince Stecse.’ He looked at Ykintas. ‘Now brother to Prince Ykintas by virtue of his marriage to the yo
ungest daughter of Prince Vsevolod. Thus are the Nalsen and Selonians bound to the Samogitians. How clever you are, Prince Vsevolod.’
The Russian was feeling distinctly uncomfortable and was trying to think of an appropriate reply when Duke Kitenis spoke.
‘We are all impressed by your knowledge, Arturus, so let us get seated round a table and get to the kernel of the matter.’
Arturus smiled ruefully. ‘Blunt and to the point, like the black axe of Aukstaitija.’
Ten minutes later the dukes and Vsevolod were seated at the round table. Behind Arturus stood a tall, lean man with a square jaw beneath his black beard. He smiled a lot in contrast to his lord. Arturus introduced him as his deputy, Prince Lamekins. Mindaugas stood behind Vsevolod and Ykintas behind Butantas, two selected princes assuming positions behind Kitenis and Viesthard respectively. Those seated were offered beer to drink but Arturus declined and asked for gira instead, a non-alcoholic drink made from rye bread. As he brought his lips to the tankard the pale priest entered the tent and raised his arms.
‘Great Dievas, who created the world, look upon these…’
Arturus jumped up. ‘Who is this who interrupts us?’
The priest stopped his speech and gave Arturus a look of fury.
‘This is the chosen heir of the Kriviu Krivaitis,’ stated Prince Vsevolod solemnly.
‘The gods speak through him,’ added Kitenis.
Arturus sighed. ‘Very well. Call on your gods, priest.’
And so he did, asking Dievas, the chief god, to bless the meeting and guide the tongues of all those present. Vsevolod, being of the Russian Orthodox faith, nodded politely as the pagan’s voice thundered and called on his gods. But Arturus made no attempt to hide his boredom and contempt, examining his fingernails as the priest walked around the table imploring the gods to smile on Lithuania. When he had finished he retreated to stand by the tent’s entrance flaps, which he proceeded to tie together.