The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  ‘Very well, you are dismissed. And congratulations.’ He waved them away and Rudolf escorted them from the room and then went to find Henke.

  Three days later a message arrived from Lembit saying that he would meet with the bishop to discuss peace. The Estonian leader said that he would not come to Wenden but suggested a meeting on the southern shore of Lake Aster, the waterway that marked the ancient border between the Livs and the Saccalians. This great lake, some eight miles long and nearly four miles wide, was located thirty miles north of Wenden. The bishop agreed and gave orders for the knights and their squires to accompany him on his journey, together with the brother knights and sergeants from Wenden, Segewold and Kremon. He also instructed that Conrad and his companions join the expedition as a further reward for their heroism at Riga.

  Caupo also accompanied the bishop, his warriors walking behind their king who rode beside the bishop. The show of strength was designed to awe Lembit and make him more amenable to choose peace rather than war, which Caupo believed would be the case.

  ‘He has been weakened by his failure at Treiden and the recent assault on his people by the Russians.’

  ‘As we have been weakened by the pestilence and our losses at Riga, lord king’ said the bishop. ‘We thus appear evenly matched in our vulnerability.’

  ‘Many of my elders are unhappy that the Lithuanians have been allowed to cross the Dvina,’ said Caupo.

  ‘I accept that the agreement with Grand Duke Daugerutis was a little unusual,’ said the bishop solemnly, ‘and perhaps if I had been in Riga at the time I would not have consented to it. On the other hand, it has led to peace along the Dvina, which we must thank God for.’

  ‘When the peace with the Lithuanians ends they will cross the river to attack your castles, lord bishop.’

  ‘You do not believe that grand Duke Daugerutis desires peace?’

  Caupo looked ahead. ‘I do not. The ties that unite the Lithuanian tribes are soaked in blood. They will think that you are weak for letting them cross your territory, lord bishop. They only respect strength.’

  Bishop Albert smiled. ‘We are weak, my friend, at the moment. But what is today may not be tomorrow. God has set us a great task in bringing His word to the godless, one that will not be achieved in a day, a week or a year. But it will be achieved, have no fear of that.’

  ‘What if Lembit rejects your offer of peace?’

  The bishop shrugged. ‘Then we will fortify our strongholds and pray for next summer when a new army of crusaders will arrive from Germany.’

  But Lembit did not reject the bishop’s offer. In fact he was only too pleased to accept a cessation of hostilities. Though the raid by the Novgorodians had been repelled the other tribal chiefs had been unnerved by Mstislav’s aggression. Kalju in particular had complained bitterly to Lembit that he should be safeguarding Estonian territory rather than making alliances with the Oeselians and launching attacks into Livonia. It had been his kingdom that the Russians had invaded and he wanted revenge. Lembit had wanted to bring all the tribal chiefs to the meeting with Bishop Albert but thought that Kalju might refuse to come. In the end the Ungannian did consent to attend the meeting, bringing a hundred of his warriors with him.

  The sky was overcast when the Estonians made their camp on the eastern shore of Lake Aster, its grey waters rippled by an easterly wind that swayed the reeds surrounding its edges. The lake not only marked the border between Estonia and Livonia, it also marked the boundary between the Ungannians and Lembit’s Saccalians, the largest of the Estonian tribes. South of the lake there was nothing but forests, marshes and meadows: no villages or hill forts. This strip of territory had for centuries been used by raiders to strike north or south in search of pillage, plunder and slaves. It was far too dangerous to live there, except if you were a bandit, mad or an outcast.

  But now it was filled by a great expanse of tents of different shapes and sizes as the bishop and his entourage filled the meadows to the south of the lake, the banners of the knights of northern Germany fluttering in the stiff breeze. Conrad, Hans, Johann and Anton were given the task of erecting a tent two miles from the Christian camp that would be the venue for the meeting between the bishop and Lembit. A delegation of the latter’s wolf shields had arrived bearing small branches as a sign of peace and had been escorted to the bishop’s tent where he sat with Caupo, Thalibald, Grand Master Volquin and Sir Rudolf von Jerichow from Kokenhusen. The latter was now the most senior crusader lord and had been requested to attend by the bishop.

  The Estonians were led by a large, coarse man with a thick beard whose bulk made his shield look like a child’s toy. He walked with an arrogant swagger and in addition to the sword that hung from his hip he had an axe tucked into his belt. He told the bishop that his name was Rusticus and that he was Lembit’s deputy. He ignored Caupo and Thalibald and drank greedily from a cup of wine that was offered him. He told the bishop that all the Estonian tribal leaders would be attending the meeting. When the bishop enquired if any Oeselians would be attending Rusticus feigned puzzlement as to why he would ask such a question. The large Estonian brute drank two more cups of wine before taking his leave, unconcerned that he was in the midst of a crusader army with but a handful of warriors. The bishop hoped that his rudeness did not presage a fruitless meeting with Lembit.

  Conrad was leading the pony hitched to the cart that had carried the tent to the pre-arranged venue for the conference, Hans walking beside him and Anton and Johann on the other side of the draught animal. Rudolf, Henke and Lukas had accompanied the boys to ensure that nothing went awry and also to safeguard against the Estonians taking them as slaves.

  ‘I thought we were here to discuss peace,’ said Anton, swatting away a midge from his face.

  ‘The bishop is here to talk of peace,’ said Rudolf, ‘the Estonians might have other ideas.’

  ‘You think they will attack us?’ said Hans, looking around the flat landscape for any sign of the enemy.

  ‘I hope so,’ remarked Henke casually, holding the reins of his horse, ‘then we can finally kill Lembit and have an end to the whole sorry business.’

  ‘It must be agonising for you, Henke,’ said Lukas, who also held his horse’s reins as he walked behind Conrad, ‘to be so near to Lembit and not be able to run him through.’

  Henke smiled grimly. ‘I live in hope that the talks will fail.’

  Rudolf was walking a few paces ahead of the pony and saw the group of Estonians ambling towards them.

  ‘Look sharp,’ he called, placing his foot in a stirrup and hauling himself into the saddle. Henke and Lukas did likewise.

  ‘What’s this?’ said Henke, wrapping the reins round his left wrist.

  ‘Some sort of Estonian delegation, I assume,’ said Lukas, ‘judging by the shields.’

  ‘I have seen those shields before,’ said Conrad with alarm.

  ‘So have I,’ snarled Henke.

  Conrad saw the leering wolf insignia on the shields as the dozen warriors came closer, each of them clutching a small branch to show they came in peace.

  ‘No trouble,’ ordered Rudolf. ‘Keep your swords in their scabbards.’

  He urged his horse ahead as the Estonians slowed and then halted, instinctively clutching their shields closer to their bodies. Conrad halted the pony as the two sides eyed each other warily. Rudolf raised his right arm as he brought his horse to a halt in front of Rusticus. They exchanged a few terse words and then the Estonians continued on their journey.

  Conrad led the pony and Henke and Lukas spurred their horses forward. The two groups were about five paces apart when they passed each other, Hans, Johann and Anton gawping at the mail-clad warriors armed with swords and axes and wearing gaiters around their lower legs. Henke and Lukas ignored them but Conrad fixed his eyes on the big leader of the Estonians, who likewise stared at the youth. They both knew they had encountered each other before but for a moment neither could place the other. Then Rusticus realised where he had
last seen the tall, imposing youth with the expensive sword at his hip. He sneered and spat on the ground before looking away from Conrad.

  ‘You were the one who tried to take Daina,’ Conrad said aloud.

  ‘What?’ queried Hans.

  Conrad let go of the pony and turned around, without thinking drawing his sword. ‘Coward!’ he called out.

  Hans also drew his sword and stood beside his friend, Henke and Lukas turning in their saddles as Rusticus nodded, grinned and spun round. The other warriors stopped as their leader walked back towards the boy.

  Conrad had not only been learning Daina’s language but also some Estonian under the expert tutelage of Ilona, and though his pronunciation may have been poor Rusticus would have understood what had been thrown at him well enough.

  The brute now drew his own sword as the weapons of Anton and Johann also came out of their scabbards. The pony grunted nervously as Rusticus halted a few feet from Conrad.

  ‘You have something to say to me, boy?’

  Rudolf had wheeled his horse around and now manoeuvred it between Conrad and Rusticus.

  ‘What is going on here?’ he demanded in perfect Estonian.

  Rusticus tilted his head at Conrad. ‘This brat insulted me.’

  ‘Is it possible to insult an Estonian?’ asked Henke, walking his horse to stand opposite Rudolf’s. By now the other Estonians had drawn their weapons to stand behind their leader, who was staring unblinking at Conrad.

  ‘Put your sword away, Conrad,’ ordered Rudolf.

  Conrad pointed it at Rusticus. ‘But he was the one who attacked Wenden and kidnapped Daina.’

  ‘Now!’ bellowed Rudolf, causing his horse to lift its head in alarm.

  Rusticus leered at Conrad. ‘That’s right, put it away before you cut yourself with it, boy.’

  Lukas had drawn his own sword and now rested the blade on his right shoulder as he walked his horse forward to face the Estonian warriors, some of whom repositioned themselves to meet any charge he might make.

  ‘Be gone, Estonian,’ snapped Rudolf, ‘and take your heathens with you.’

  Rusticus still fixed Conrad with his stare, while the latter for his part met the bigger man’s black eyes. He carefully and slowly slid his sword back in its scabbard and looked up at Rudolf and then Henke.

  ‘I will buy this boy from you. How much? I will give you a good price.’

  Conrad looked at Hans, his mouth open in shock.

  ‘He’s not for sale,’ said Rudolf.

  ‘Course he is,’ said Rusticus. ‘I’ve heard that the Sword Brothers are proficient slave traders.’

  ‘You heard wrongly,’ snapped Rudolf. ‘You have out-stayed your welcome.’

  Rusticus waved a hand at his men, indicating they were to resume their march north. He looked at Conrad.

  ‘Maybe I will visit Wenden again and take him myself.’

  ‘You know where it is,’ said Henke. ‘We will be waiting.’

  ‘You understand our language,’ Rusticus said to Conrad, ‘that is good. Slaves should know the language of their masters.’

  Conrad’s hand went to the hilt of his sword. How he wanted to kill this foul brute who insulted him.

  ‘Attend to your duties, Conrad,’ ordered Rudolf. ‘And you other boys put away your weapons. You don’t want to risk ruining the blades with Estonian blood.’

  Rusticus grinned. ‘I look forward to meeting you all again tomorrow. Think on my offer of selling me the slave.’

  Conrad was fuming as he led the pony back to camp. All he could think about was the oaf who had nearly taken Daina away from him. He wished that the bishop had not come to make peace with the Estonians; then he could kill that ugly brute and take his hideous head back to her as a trophy.

  Henke thought the whole business hilarious. ‘You should have lopped his head off, Conrad. You made a mistake back there.’

  ‘Conrad nearly killed him when we rescued the women from Thalibald’s village,’ said Hans with pride.

  ‘Nearly killing someone isn’t good enough,’ remarked Henke. ‘What have you been teaching these lads, Lukas?’

  ‘To obey orders,’ replied Lukas flatly.

  ‘Yes, orders,’ said Rudolf. He halted his horse to face the boys. ‘You are brave enough but you must curb your rashness, especially you, Conrad.’

  That night Lukas ordered Conrad to groom his own, Rudolf and Henke’s horse and wax the saddles as a punishment for drawing his sword.

  ‘I was provoked,’ pleaded Conrad.

  ‘You must learn to follow the example of our Lord and turn the other cheek until you are ordered otherwise. You are being punished for your indiscipline, Conrad. No one doubts your courage but you are like a sword blade that has yet to be tempered. You understand?’

  He didn’t at all. ‘Yes, brother.’

  The next day the meeting took place against a backdrop of a sky heaped with grey clouds and a continuing easterly wind that whipped the banners of the Estonians and crusaders alike. As the bishop wanted the meeting to be short and to the point there were no tables or chairs inside the oblong tent that Conrad and his comrades had erected the day before, though at least it provided shelter from the rain that began to fall after the dignitaries had arrived. The banner men of Lembit, Alva, Edvin, Jaak, Kalju and Nigul stood outside one entrance getting progressively wetter while their chiefs discussed matters of import inside. Outside the opposite entrance a group of Sword Brothers and crusaders were also getting soaked. Happily for Conrad he was ordered to attend the bishop personally inside the tent, Albert considering his presence a lucky mascot for the meeting.

  The air inside the tent stank of stale ale and sweat emanating from the Estonians who had feasted and drank to excess the night before. The bishop recoiled from the powerful odour but maintained a dignified air as the tribal chiefs belched and scratched their groins in a boorish display of masculine prowess. In contrast Lembit stood rock-like, alert and calculating, studying the Christian delegation opposite. They were Bishop Albert, Caupo, Thalibald, Grand Master Volquin, Sir Rudolf and a youth. His eyes narrowed as they settled on Conrad, then opened wide as he recognised him as the one who had given him the scar that now decorated his left cheek. He wondered if his presence was just coincidence or a carefully designed insult on the part of the bishop.

  ‘You requested this meeting, bishop,’ he said. ‘State your terms so that we, the free peoples of Estonia, may consider them.’

  Lembit’s German was excellent, though his condescending tone made Volquin and Sir Rudolf bristle.

  ‘A two-year cessation of hostilities, to begin immediately’ answered the bishop curtly.

  ‘Why?’ probed Lembit. ‘Why would you wish to halt your crusade against us?’

  ‘I am not here to answer to you,’ snapped the bishop.

  Lembit smiled. ‘Then I will tell you. Your kingdom of the false god lies broken and weakened by the plague and an internal rebellion. You offer peace like a slave whines for mercy.’

  ‘Enough Lembit,’ said Volquin. ‘We are not here to be lectured.’

  Lembit spread his arms. ‘I do not lecture but state the truth, Grand Master Volquin. What if I and my brothers decide to reject your overtures, to raise a great army of Estonians and march south to finish the war that you have started?’

  ‘That is your prerogative,’ the bishop answered. ‘But would you leave your lands undefended while an army of Lithuanians is on your border.’

  Lembit’s calculating demeanour slipped, albeit momentarily. ‘Lithuanians?’

  The bishop nodded knowingly. ‘Even as we stand here Grand Duke Daugerutis leads his army against the Principality of Novgorod. I do not believe that he wishes to make war upon the Estonians, but who knows what will happen if he discovers that your people are defenceless when their warriors are away?’

  Lembit turned and spoke quietly to his fellow chiefs. None had knowledge of German and so did not understand the bishop’s words, but they became agit
ated when Lembit informed them of what he had said. Kalju in particular was most disturbed and for good reason. Having experienced a Russian invasion in the winter the last thing he desired was a Lithuanian incursion. Conrad, who was holding the bishop’s cloak, stood behind the prelate and saw Lembit arguing with the chief of the Ungannians. He saw the scar on the former’s cheek and basked in pride that he had inflicted the wound on the greatest enemy of the Sword Brothers. Eventually Lembit cajoled Kalju into silence and retuned to his conversation with the bishop.

  ‘Why should we believe you?’

  The bishop sighed. ‘It does not matter if you believe me or not, Lembit. My words will not alter the fact that the Lithuanians are marching to attack the Russians.’

  Lembit looked behind him to see a fuming Kalju, the veins in his neck bulging.

  ‘Do we have peace or not?’ demanded Volquin.

  Lembit looked at the grand master, then back at his chiefs. Alva and Edvin nodded while Jaak and Nigul looked bored and disinterested.

  ‘You have your peace,’ said Lembit tersely. ‘I pledge not to lead my warriors into Livonia for the duration of the peace.’

  ‘And no Christian soldiers will set foot on Estonian territory,’ said the bishop, smiling and bringing his hands together. ‘Praise God.’

  ‘Our business here is done,’ said Volquin, pointing at the cloak held by Conrad. The latter stepped forward and draped it around the bishop’s shoulders.

  ‘Thank you, Conrad.’

  Lembit’s ears pricked up as behind him his chiefs filed out of the tent.

  ‘Conrad?’

  The bishop looked at him in surprise, then at Conrad. ‘You know this young man?’

  Lembit rubbed a thumb along his scar. ‘We have met before, I think, but have not been formally introduced.’

  ‘This is Conrad Wolff, a most promising novice of the Sword Brothers.’