The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  The horsemen swung left again as Volquin led them in a charge against the rear ranks of the Estonians, which had now become separated from those in front as terrified men turned around to face the iron men on their big horses who were bearing down on them. Men who had little or no armour and few weapons were traditionally placed in the rear of the shield wall whilst the most heavily armed and armoured fought in the front ranks. So now those Estonians who wore only leather coverings on their heads and carried only a spear and a knife, plus a shield, faced the full might of the crusaders’ heavy horsemen. The result was a foregone conclusion.

  The knights slowed their horses as they closed with the enemy, thrusting their lances through shields and into flesh as they skewered the rearmost ranks of the enemy. Then they went to work with their swords, axes and maces, standing up in their stirrups to hack left and right to rain blows down on heads and shoulders. The sergeants and squires behind them rode right to bring them alongside their masters in the mêlée, likewise thrusting first with their lances and then going to work with their close-quarter weapons. Within minutes the horsemen were cutting into the Estonian formation and bringing it to a halt.

  The frantic horn blasts brought the front ranks of Lembit’s men to a halt before they could get to grips with the Christian spearmen, who had continued to fall back methodically in the face of the pagan advance. Now the crossbowmen reappeared to begin shooting more volleys at the shield wall. Lembit turned and saw the helmets and slashing weapons of the knights behind him and knew that he faced defeat. The thuds and groans in front of him and screams and yelps behind foretold the destruction of his men so he made the only decision that made sense: he and his men would cut their way through the enemy to reach their ponies and then flee north, back to Estonia. Prince Eric was on his own.

  *****

  Eric thrust his sword forward into the belly of a Liv, who groaned and slumped to the ground. He stood on the man as another enemy directed a downward strike with an axe against his helmet. He stopped the blow with his shield, the weapon’s edge cutting through the leather covering and biting deep into the wood. Before the Liv could free his weapon Eric crouched low and drove his sword upwards into the man’s groin. He gave an ear-splitting scream and then toppled backwards.

  Eric lived for this. Lived for the close-quarter mêlée where a man’s courage and skill were tested to the full. He loved war and battle. Loved the intoxicating smell of piss, dung and blood that flooded the nostrils and bloodlust that infused the senses. He felt alive in the white heat of combat, his senses heightened to such an extent that the blows and strikes of the enemy seemed slow and cumbersome. He anticipated them with ease, ducking and parrying flailing weapons whilst striking himself with deadly accuracy. He saw the Liv spears and axes coming at him: slow, predictable and half-hearted, defeating them with ease. On the Oeselians pushed, cutting down the Livs as the latter gave ground, withdrawing as though they had already given up and were thinking of flight.

  Then fighting erupted on the right flank and behind the Oeselian line.

  Unknown to Eric and his men the Estonian shield wall had disintegrated as the horsemen cut deep into their ranks and Lembit simultaneously led a charge to the northeast to reach the ponies. The Christian spearmen and crossbowmen, now reinforced by an additional forty-five of the latter – a small reserve created by Volquin – left the fleeing Estonians to the horsemen and wheeled right towards the exposed right flank of the Oeselian warriors.

  And then the gates of Treiden hill fort swung open and Caupo led his warriors from the stronghold. They flooded down the hill and swung right when they reached the settlement, running between the huts to exit the village and bring them into the meadow where the battle was being fought, directly behind the Oeselians.

  Eric heard the horns and saw his men disengage from the battered line of Livs to withdraw a few paces as his warriors obeyed the signal. They closed up and locked shields as a succession of thwacks was heard to the north. Magnus pushed through the ranks, his sword smeared with blood, his helmet dented and his mail shirt missing links.

  ‘There are crusader foot soldiers on our right flank and Caupo has stopped hiding in his fort and forms up behind us.’

  Eric took off his helmet and wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his hand. ‘Where are the Estonians?’

  Magnus’ expression told him they had fled.

  ‘We should leave this place, Eric,’ said his subordinate.

  The crossbowmen fired another volley at the locked shields of the Oeselians, splintering shields and piercing mail armour.

  Eric shoved his helmet back on his head. ‘No! We stay and we fight.’

  He ordered his men to goad the Livs who faced their front and rear. They dropped their leggings to reveal their genitals and bent over to show the enemy their arses, calling them women and cowards who were unfit to carry weapons. Thalibald took the bait and ordered his men to break the enemy shield wall. He had seen his king issuing forth from the fort and knew that he was on the other side of the Oeselian formation. And so he raised his sword and ran at the shield wall flanked by his two sons. On the other side of the Oeselian shield wall Caupo also led his men forward. There was a horrible grinding sound as the Livs smashed into Eric’s men and a huge mêlée ensued.

  Sir Helmold and his sons had wanted to pursue the fleeing Estonians as they mounted their ponies and rode north through the forests that surrounded Treiden. But Grand Master Volquin asked him to remain on the field of battle, stating that the victory was only half won. He did, however, dispatch half his mounted sergeants to harry Lembit’s men, around four hundred of whom already lay dead among the long grass. He told them to kill as many as they could catch but to retreat if the enemy launched any counterattacks.

  ‘Lembit escapes our clutches,’ said Sir Helmold bitterly, his helmet in his hand and his sword sheathed. None of his sons had been hurt in the fight with the Estonians and now they wanted to go after the rest of the fleeing enemy.

  ‘It would be shameful to abandon our friend and ally who needs our help,’ Grand Master Volquin admonished them. ‘God will ensure that Lembit is smitten by our swords, though perhaps not today.’

  Sir Helmold gestured with his hand for his sons to hold their tongues as Theodoric, Master Berthold and Rudolf rode to the grand master’s side.

  ‘Losses?’ inquired Volquin.

  ‘Five dead, seven wounded, grand master,’ answered Berthold.

  Volquin crossed himself.

  ‘Thus do they become martyrs and enter the house of the Lord,’ said Theodoric.

  The others likewise crossed themselves.

  ‘Time to rid the land of the Oeselian pestilence,’ said Rudolf savagely, placing his helmet back on his head.

  ‘As you say brother,’ said Volquin.

  He still carried the order’s banner that now formed a rallying point as once more the knights formed into line with the squires and sergeants behind them. They trotted forward towards the slaughter that was taking place immediately west of the settlement.

  *****

  Eric’s men were tiring now. They had been standing in their ranks for over two hours in the spring heat, hacking at their enemies and forcing them back. Because his men were all well armed and armoured those in the front ranks could be replaced by fresher men standing behind them, but now they were fighting on two sides of the shield wall this was not possible. And on their right flank the Christian crossbows were exacting a steady toll on the Oeselians. Thalibald’s Livs were also tired and so the fighting on that side of the shield wall degenerated into a desultory, haphazard series of duels between small groups of warriors, who dashed forward, exchanged a few blows and then retreated back to their lines. On the other side of the formation, however, Caupo and his men were fighting with frenzy to exact revenge for their fallen wives and comrades.

  ‘We must leave,’ said a panting Magnus to Eric, his mail shirt now ripped at the right shoulder and left breast. ‘The crusader
horsemen are approaching.’

  Eric looked north to see the white surcoats and shields of the Sword Brothers, the sun flashing off helmets. He was loath to flee like the coward Lembit but what Magnus said made sense.

  ‘Back to the boats, then,’ he said through gritted teeth.

  Magnus shouted the order and the signallers blew their horns and as one the Oeselians began moving towards the river. Those who still held javelins threw them at the Livs before withdrawing. Thalibald’s battered and bleeding warriors did not give chase so exhausted were they. Instead they rested their shields on the ground and leaned on them. They were all possessed of a raging thirst but were glad to be alive.

  Caupo’s men followed the Oeselians as they fell back to the riverbank where their boats sat on the sand. They had suffered many casualties during the fighting, though, and so stood off as the invaders retained their formation and shuffled backwards. Volquin forbade his foot soldiers from pursuing the Oeselians, instead ordering them and his horseman back to the pontoon bridge they had used earlier.

  ‘I do not understand,’ said Sir Helmold.

  ‘If you will indulge me in this matter, my lord,’ said Volquin, his words muffled by his helmet, ‘we may yet reap a rich harvest.’

  His spearmen, having taken no part in the fighting, were relatively fresh and so they were able to trot back to the track that led to the river, the crossbowmen following. The latter, having begun the fighting with four full quivers per man, were each down to their last twenty quarrels.

  Grand Master Volquin rode with Sir Helmold, Berthold, Bertram, Rudolf and Henke to pay his compliments to Thalibald who had played a pivotal role in the battle.

  ‘Your king and I owe you a debt of gratitude, lord,’ said Volquin, who had now taken off his helmet and offered his hand to the Liv chief.

  Thalibald took his hand. ‘It has been an honour, grand master.’

  Rudolf nodded at a weary Rameke standing at his father’s side. ‘You are a great warrior, Rameke. You too, Waribule.’

  Rameke beamed with pride and Waribule raised his sword as Thalibald gave the order to his men to form ranks once more.

  ‘My king has need of me,’ he said to Volquin, raising his arm in salute and walking off to where Caupo was shepherding the Oeselians to the river.

  *****

  Only thirteen boats pushed off into the Gauja, though many were crammed full of warriors. The fact was, though, that the Oeselians had suffered a substantial number of casualties, especially at the hands of the crossbowmen as well as during the fighting with the Livs. The most savage combat had taken place just off the beach where the boats had been berthed. It was there that the rearguard had bought time for the vessels to be loaded and cast off, at a cost of their lives. Eric stood on the prow of the leading boat with a bleeding Magnus beside him as the oarsmen began powering the vessel downriver.

  ‘I am going to kill that bastard Lembit,’ he vowed, ‘and slaughter his people.’

  The boats were in midstream now, their tired crews pulling slowly on their oars to take them away from the Liv warriors who now lined the riverbank. Eric’s boat rounded a bend in the river to leave Treiden behind and the chief heard his deputy curse under his breath. He looked ahead and saw a bridge of boats barring his escape, and on that bridge stood dozens of enemy soldiers.

  *****

  Grand Master Volquin had ordered all the horses be taken across the river, to be tethered on the southern bank, while his brother knights and sergeants took up position on the bridge. Sir Helmold stood beside him with his sword drawn, waiting for the Oeselian boats. His sons, fellow Saxon knights and squires stood beside him, shouting insults at the approaching pagans and urging them to row faster so that they might meet their deaths quicker. The Sword Brothers stood in stoic silence as they awaited the enemy.

  ‘Will they attack?’ asked Sir Helmold.

  ‘They have no choice,’ said Volquin, ‘they have nowhere to go.’

  The crossbowmen ran from the northern end of the pontoon bridge and formed a line in front of the knights, loading their weapons as the boats got nearer. The Oeselians had slowed their speed when they had spotted the impediment that barred their way, forming into line as crossbow bolts hissed across the water to hit the boats and their crews. The latter frantically pulled in their oars so that more boats could be brought into the Oeselian battle line, for the river was narrow at this point and only nine boats could be accommodated side by side in the water at this spot.

  ‘Ready!’ shouted Volquin as the boats drifted on the current towards the bridge.

  The knights stopped their shouting and closed ranks, the spearmen on their flanks levelling their lances and the crossbowmen loosing one final volley as the riverboats nudged the pontoon bridge and the Oeselians leaped from their vessels.

  Rudolf hamstrung the first warrior who lunged at him with a downward cut of his sword, then used his shield to force him backwards into his companions following. Henke fought on the left side of his friend, thrusting his sword forward in lightning-fast movements aimed at enemy faces and necks. His strikes were controlled, carefully aimed and designed to kill immediately. Rudolf was a master with a sword whereas to Henke a sword was just another tool to kill opponents quickly.

  The crusaders stood firm on the bridge, killing or wounding the Oeselians as they tried to force their way onto the planks. The initial attack of the river raiders was fierce and desperate but its energy was soon spent as its force broke against an unyielding crusader wall of iron and steel. Magnus, already wounded, fell in the first rush when Sir Helmold drove the point of his sword through his neck. Eric killed two Sword Brothers with his sword and stood triumphant on the bridge, only to be struck in the back by two crossbow bolts shot from the riverbank. He fell on the planks and his body was unceremoniously thrown into the water, the mail armour dragging him down to the riverbed. The death of their leader extinguished the last vestiges of fight within the Oeselians and those still alive threw down their weapons and submitted to the mercy of the Sword Brothers.

  Afterwards Theodoric gathered the knights and Sword Brothers at Segewold and gave a service of thanksgiving for the great victory over the pagans. Caupo came to the castle the next day in the company of Thalibald and his sons. He had made Rameke’s father his chief warlord, a great honour that elevated Thalibald to the second-most important Liv in the kingdom. His new position had been bought at high cost, though, with two hundred Livs being killed in the battle and a further fifty injured. Both Rameke and Waribule were unhurt, for which their father gave thanks to God.

  He was kneeling in silence before the altar in the small chapel at Segewold – thus far the only stone building in the stronghold – when Sir Helmold entered. The knight was dressed in his mail armour and white surcoat emblazoned with a red cross but wore nothing on his head. Thalibald stood up when he heard footsteps. Sir Helmold looked at the great beard and long hair of the chief, so different from his own neatly cropped beard and short hair. A few days ago he looked down on these former heathens and their strange dress and language. But he had seen how Grand Master Volquin and the other Sword Brothers treated this Thalibald and his king as equals and trusted allies. He had also seen them fight side by side in the recent battle. It was most odd, though perhaps no stranger than the course that his own life had taken.

  ‘I did not mean to disturb you,’ he said to Thalibald. ‘I will leave if you wish.’

  ‘There is no need for that, lord. But you are welcome to join me in prayer.’

  Sir Helmold hesitated. He was used to praying in his own castle chapel when he could be bothered, alone and certainly not in the company of a foreigner. And yet…

  Thalibald saw the reluctance in his eyes and smiled. He knew that many of the crusaders who came from Germany looked down on his people and secretly despised them. A few made it plain that they came to rid Livonia of all natives, regardless of whether they followed Christ or not. Others came just to kill and plunder and were not
averse to slaughtering Livs if the opportunity arose.

  ‘I will leave, lord,’ Thalibald said, ‘so that you may pray in peace.’

  At that moment Sir Helmold thought of his wife, a poor Cistercian monk in sandals and his former life. ‘No. No, not at all. It is I who have disturbed you and will leave so that you may finish your prayers.’

  ‘Perhaps we might pray together,’ suggested Thalibald, ‘just as we fought together.’

  Sir Helmold smiled. ‘That would be most agreeable.’

  In the days afterwards the sergeants who had been detailed to pursue the Estonians returned with news that Lembit had escaped their clutches. The garrisons of Wenden and Holm returned to their castles, the men of the latter taking the German vassals who had been recruited from Riga back with them. Caupo ordered the rebuilding of his settlement and while the master of Kremon, whose besiegers had also fled north, rode to Segewold to pay his respects to Grand Master Volquin. The dead Sword Brothers were buried in the cemetery at Segewold and the enemy slain were cremated on great pyres that burned fiercely in the meadow where the battle had been fought. Another pyre was built below the ramparts of Segewold where the prisoners were assembled to hear their fate.

  Sir Helmold stood beside Thalibald as Grand Master Volquin informed the Oeselians, their hands tied behind their backs, bare footed, bare chested and their heads bowed, that they had a simple choice: receive baptism into the Holy Church or be consigned to the fires. It was a beautiful sunny day and the brother knights and crusader knights sweated in their mail armour as they stood in a long line in front of the prisoners, the sergeants forming two lines either side of the captives and the pyre, the Livs from Treiden standing behind the sergeants. Their king stood between Volquin and Theodoric, Caupo impassive as priests went among the Oeselians, calling for those who wished to serve God to step forward so they could be taken to the river to be baptised. About fifty did so, being spat on by their comrades and jeered at for their cowardice. These men were led away under armed guard, the priests singing hymns as they walked at the head of the column of half-naked men.