The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  In the northern sector of the wall Rameke and his Liv warriors held the defences. Armed with bows instead of crossbows, they found it easy enough to shoot down the Samogitian horsemen, the wiry Butantas quickly realising that he had been foolish to attempt an assault against the walls. He gave the order to withdraw out of range of the defenders but not before two hundred of his men had been killed or wounded by Liv arrows.

  Unfortunately neither Kitenis nor Gedvilas retained a cool head when their horsemen began falling to enemy missiles. Kitenis in particular was gripped by a mighty rage and he jumped from his horse, took an axe, ran into the ditch and stepped on the bodies of dead Semgallians to cross it, bellowing at his men to follow him. He gave no thought to his own safety or how he would scale the wall as he hastened up the slope and reached the berm below it. He then began hacking at the timbers with his axe, the weapon looking puny in his paw-like hands as he chopped at the defences. He used so much force swinging the axe that its handle splintered after a dozen blows. He howled in frustration and cast it aside, screaming for another to be brought to him, oblivious to the hisses of crossbow bolts flying through the air before hitting his men. Nearly two and half thousand men took part in this second attack against Wenden’s perimeter and had Daugerutis committed more men to it he might just have succeeded in taking the castle. For unknown to him a crisis was unfolding behind its stout defences.

  *****

  ‘I’m running out of ammunition,’ shouted Hans, loading another quarrel in the groove of the crossbow’s stock.

  Conrad released his trigger and hit a horseman in the belly, causing him to slump in the saddle and then fall to the ground. He and his friend had been alarmed when the Lithuanians had launched a second attack, but relieved when they saw that it was led by men on horses. What were the Lithuanians thinking? To throw horsemen against defences? Madness. They waited until the riders were at the ditch and then began shooting at them as those who had not fallen into the ditch milled around just beyond it. They made easy targets and he and Hans emptied many saddles. They were euphoric, until they realised that empty quivers lay at their feet.

  ‘That was my last bolt,’ said Conrad with alarm.

  He put down his weapon and ran to the edge of the rampart.

  ‘More ammunition, we need more ammunition,’ he shouted, a call that was soon being repeated by others as the defenders began to run out of crossbow bolts.

  Anton peered round the wall of his ‘cell’. ‘Conrad, we have no bolts either.’

  They looked at each other as the Lithuanians began hacking at the logs that made up the walls. They looked up at the castle and saw figures running across the bridge over the moat. Then they saw Rudolf below them.

  ‘Keep calm,’ he shouted up at them. ‘Fresh ammunition is on its way.’

  Conrad heard a succession of loud cracks and saw the mangonel crews lowering the throwing arms of their machines after they had launched another volley of stones. Rudolf pointed at Conrad.

  ‘Get down here.’

  He climbed down the ladder and ran down the sloping earth rampart to reach Wenden’s deputy commander.

  ‘If they keep this pressure up,’ said Rudolf, ‘we will abandon the perimeter and withdraw to the castle.’

  Conrad was shocked. ‘Abandon the walls?’

  Panting spearmen arrived with quivers slung over their shoulders, their comrades running towards various parts of the walls where men waited to be re-supplied. One gave Rudolf two quivers and then ran over to where a brother knight stood waiting. Rudolf handed them to Conrad.

  ‘Two quivers?’

  ‘Listen for the signal, Conrad. And when you do get your arse to the castle as quickly as you can.’

  Rudolf slapped him on the arm and then was gone. Conrad walked up the slope and climbed the ladder to where Hans was waiting. He reached the wall walk and handed one quiver to Anton in the next compartment.

  ‘Is that all you have?’

  Conrad shrugged. ‘That’s all there is. Rudolf says we may have to abandon the wall and to listen for the signal.’

  By now some of the Lithuanians had picked up the ladders that had been carried to the walls by the Semgallians and were climbing them to scale the walls. The horsemen beyond the ditch shouted their encouragement as the shooting from the defenders suddenly ceased and it appeared that the walls had been abandoned. Then the horsemen looked on in horror as bolts suddenly spat from loopholes to knock men off the ladders. In half a minute a hundred and forty men were shot off the ladders; a minute later a further hundred Lithuanians had been killed and the morale of the attackers collapsed. Like the warriors of Duke Ykintas they began fleeing back towards their own lines, despite the threats and implorings of their chiefs. Kitenis had to be physically pulled back by four of his chiefs, spitting obscenities at them and the defenders as he was dragged back over the ditch and placed on a horse.

  Conrad released his trigger and hit a warrior wearing a fur-trimmed leather cap in the chest. The man staggered for a few seconds and then his legs buckled from under him. He looked down at the quiver. Empty! He looked through a peephole and saw the Lithuanians falling back and heaved a huge sigh of relief. He smiled at Hans and they embraced. They had fought off the enemy by the skin of their teeth. Suddenly exhausted and thirsty, they slumped down against the wall and thanked God for their deliverance.

  *****

  Kitenis’ anger did not diminish; rather, it swelled in direct proportion to the amount of beer that he drank in the aftermath of his attack. As his men, those who still lived, licked their wounds in camp he was joined by an equally irate Gedvilas and Butantas, who also consumed a monumental amount of alcohol in a very short space of time. They all witnessed the body of Ykintas being carried through the sprawling multitude of two-man tents that had been pitched to the west of the castle and their patience, such as it was, snapped.

  Kitenis, still in his helmet and armour, his beard soaked with beer, paced over to the tent of the grand duke where Daugerutis and Stecse were deep in conversation.

  ‘I am returning back to my homeland,’ shouted Kitenis loudly enough for everyone around to hear. ‘I have seen my men slaughtered for no result and now I will take what remains of them back to Aukstaitija. You can have your gold back. The purchase price is too high.’

  Stecse moved to place himself between the grand duke and the drunken Kitenis. The latter pulled his sword from its scabbard.

  ‘Stand aside, puppy, unless you wish to feel the bite of my sword.’

  ‘Stecse,’ said Daugerutis as his guards closed around the grand duke, ‘let him through.’

  Kitenis strode forward before stopping as the guards lowered their spears.

  ‘Would you fight all my men alone, Duke Kitenis?’ remarked Daugerutis casually.

  ‘Not alone,’ said Butantas appearing behind Kitenis, ‘the Duke of Samogitia and his warriors stand beside their brothers from Aukstaitija.’

  ‘As do the Kurs,’ said Gedvilas, standing beside Butantas.

  Daugerutis assessed the situation carefully before replying.

  ‘Let us discuss things in my tent rather than out in the open.’

  He ordered his men to lower their spears and held open the flap of the tent to invite the others inside. He momentarily thought of ordering their deaths but dismissed it from his mind. He did not wish the Christians to be spectators to a bloody fight between the various Lithuanian tribes before their walls.

  ‘Duke Ykintas insisted on leading an attack,’ said Daugerutis calmly, ‘despite my protestations.’

  ‘We nearly broke them,’ lamented Kitenis, not really listening to the grand duke’s words. ‘All it would have taken is for you to have committed your men.’

  Daugerutis sighed. ‘Before we began this campaign I explained what our strategy would be: surround the crusader castles and starve them into submission.’

  ‘It was a misguided strategy,’ said Butantas, ‘all we have done is to disperse our forces and sca
tter them throughout Livonia.’

  Daugerutis’ patience was being sorely tested. ‘How short is your memory, Butantas? Did we not surround the crusader castles with ease? Did we not destroy Caupo and his army? And now you wish to return home with victory within our grasp?’

  ‘What victory?’ bellowed Kitenis, spittle shooting from his mouth. ‘You call butchering a few Livs victory?’

  ‘Have a care, my lord,’ Daugerutis warned him, ‘your tongue may yet talk your head off its shoulders.’

  Kitenis drew his sword once more and before Stecse could draw his had turned it in his hand to hold out the hilt to Daugerutis.

  ‘Then do it. And if not do not stand in my way when I lead my men south in the morning.’

  Daugerutis could have killed him with ease at that moment, but to do so would be futile. He had three thousand men across the river that could be brought into Livonia to replace those soldiers of the other dukes who now sat before Lennewarden, Holm and Uexkull. And he still had nearly ten thousand of his own men here, at Wenden, the majority of whom could be used for an attack against Riga. He did not need them.

  He waved his hand at Kitenis. ‘Go then. I do not need you.’

  He looked beyond him to Butantas and Gedvilas. ‘Any of you.’

  Kitenis sneered at him, turned and pushed past the other two dukes and stormed from the tent. Butantas and Gedvilas looked awkward for a few seconds before nodding half-heartedly and leaving.

  ‘My lord,’ said Stecse with concern, ‘can we afford to lose so many warriors?’

  ‘We do not need them,’ replied Daugerutis.

  ‘But…’

  The grand duke held up a hand to silence him. ‘Send riders immediately to the besiegers of Lennewarden, Holm and Uexkull. Inform the commanders that the castle of Wenden has fallen and they are to launch their own assaults immediately.’

  ‘I do not understand,’ said Stecse.

  The duke smiled. ‘It is quite simple. By the time our former allies have slept off their night of drinking and organised what is left of their soldiers, your couriers will be well on their way to their destinations. By the time the dukes link up with their men conducting siege operations they will find their numbers sorely depleted.’

  ‘To what end?’ queried Stecse.

  ‘To emphasise to my fellow dukes that insolence incurs a heavy price and to weaken them so they will not be tempted to attack my strongholds when they cross over the Dvina.’

  ‘They might do that anyway, lord.’

  ‘Not with you at Panemunis, they won’t. Take five hundred horsemen and get yourself back to my capital as quickly as possible. Take Thalibald and his son with you. They might prove useful in the future. And if not I can always kill them.’

  ‘I would rather stay here with you, lord.’

  Daugerutis frowned at him. ‘And I would rather you obeyed orders. Before you despatch the couriers, speak to the chiefs of the Semgallians. They might be tempted to follow the other dukes. Offer them and their men gold to stay.’

  The next morning Kitenis, Butantas and Gedvilas left the army without paying their respects to the grand duke. Despite his protestations Stecse also left that morning, taking Thalibald and Waribule with him. Happily the Semgallians had accepted the offer of gold and now mustered in their ranks as the grand duke’s army arrayed itself before Wenden, at a safe distance from the walls.

  The bodies of those slain the previous day littered the ground in front of the ditch, the latter also filled with the corpses of men and horses. The weather was warm now as spring at last came to Livonia and already flies were buzzing around dead flesh. Soon the foul stench of rotting gore would become unbearable for those manning the perimeter wall. In life the soldiers of the other dukes had failed to take Wenden; in death they would add to the general misery of a garrison under siege.

  Daugerutis arrayed his army partly to awe the defenders but also to mask the departure of just over two thousand men. It would have been three thousand but over nine hundred warriors of the departing three dukes lay rotting on the ground in front of the castle. An additional three hundred had been slain during Duke Ykintas’ abortive attack. Fortunately a pleasant breeze was currently blowing from the west so the odour of death was not in the faces of the army as it stood in silence facing the castle. The standard of the black bear flew proudly among the ranks of the six thousand foot soldiers the grand duke had brought to this place.

  *****

  ‘When they launch another assault how do we stop them?’ queried Conrad as he rested his shield against the timber wall and observed the Lithuanian army through a peephole.

  ‘We don’t,’ answered Rudolf. ‘The perimeter will be abandoned and we will make our stand in the castle itself.’

  The deputy commander of the garrison had been visiting his soldiers on the walls, giving instructions on what to do in the event of an assault. Throughout the night Master Thaddeus had overseen the dismantling of the mangonels and their relocation to the castle courtyard. No one wanted them to fall into the hands of the enemy when the inevitable assault and breach of the perimeter occurred. As a result no one had had more than two hours of sleep. Conrad had black rings round his eyes and his mouth tasted dry.

  ‘How is Rameke?’ he asked.

  ‘As well as can be expected in the circumstances,’ answered Rudolf. ‘He and his men are out of arrows just as we are out of crossbow bolts.’

  ‘And Daina?’ said Conrad casually.

  ‘She grieves for her father,’ replied Rudolf, ‘as do we all. Thalibald was a good man.’

  Conrad was sure he had seen him among the ranks of the enemy but said nothing. Perhaps it was in his imagination.

  Rudolf went to a peephole and looked down. ‘These bodies will soon start rotting. The stench will be awful.’

  ‘Will not the Lithuanians collect their dead for burial?’ enquired Hans who looked pale and tired.

  Rudolf shook his head. ‘Not without a parley and Master Berthold is not mindful to grant such a courtesy to pagans. Besides, if the enemy attacks and takes these walls then the dead will be their problem.’

  But the Lithuanians did not attack and after an hour they dispersed back to camp, which now extended all round the castle. As the breeze slackened and the sun peeped out from behind huge white puffy clouds the exhausted garrison took the opportunity to snatch some well-earned sleep. Those Lithuanians who did not have tents cut down trees to fashion makeshift shelters and soon the air echoed with the sound of hundreds of men chopping wood.

  Master Berthold called a council of war at which Rudolf conveyed the happy news that the garrison had suffered only one casualty during the previous day’s fighting: one of the crossbowmen had broken an ankle after falling from a ladder. It had been a remarkably one-sided battle and the master personally thanked Master Thaddeus for his skill in strengthening the perimeter wall. Rudolf then dampened spirits by reporting that the armoury had been emptied of crossbow bolts and Rameke stated that he and his warriors were similarly out of arrows. Nevertheless, Berthold was optimistic that the castle could hold out in the face of the Lithuanians, notwithstanding that it was crammed with dozens of women and children in addition to the soldiers of the garrison, horses and ponies and half a dozen cows that had been brought in from the fields before the enemy had arrived, plus the livestock the Livs had brought with them. Food supplies were adequate for the time being and fortunately the well in the courtyard was a reliable source of fresh water. Once the animal fodder was exhausted the cows, ponies and then the horses would be slaughtered for meat. For the moment the garrison would sleep in the civilian huts in front of the castle, but once the perimeter was breached the huts would be fired and everyone would retreat up the hill and into the castle itself. Everyone prayed that the bishop would arrive from Germany before that happened.

  As the days passed the Lithuanians made no attempt to storm the perimeter, being content to ring the fortress and starve the occupants into surrender. The sten
ch of rotting flesh became unbearable but Master Berthold would not relent on his determination not to ask the pagans for a parley. And so those on guard duty wore face masks as rats and flies feasted on bloated corpses in and around the ditch.

  The only thing of note was the stench that permeated the air around the perimeter, those in the castle higher up fortunately being saved from the worst of the nauseous aroma. It was May now and the days were getting longer and warmer but no messages reached the garrison, and Lithuanian hawks brought down every pigeon sent out. After the enemy assault Conrad had managed to see Daina and Rameke, who had been given the master’s hall for their quarters. Their mother, overcome with grief, had locked herself away in the master’s bedroom and would see no one. Berthold had been a friend of Thalibald and said that he was not too grand to sleep in a wooden hut, and in any case he thought it more fitting that a Liv chief should have lodgings appropriate to his rank.

  ‘I do not feel like a chief,’ said Rameke morosely, ‘my village and lands are occupied by the enemy.’

  ‘It is only temporary,’ said Conrad, trying to cheer him up, though he had no idea whether Wenden would be relieved or whether they would all be killed that very day. He had spent the night on guard duty and, following early morning mass, had eaten a sparse breakfast of biscuit and water before having two hours of sleep. He felt dirty and tired but Lukas had given him permission to visit the Liv chief and his sister.

  Daina smiled wanly at him. Even in mourning she looked perfect, her pale face only accentuating her green eyes and full lips.

  ‘You are very kind, Conrad.’

  ‘The enemy will never take this castle,’ he said grandly.

  ‘As long as I die fighting with a sword in my hand I do not care,’ said Rameke.

  ‘You are a chief now, Rameke,’ Daina reprehended him, ‘and should think of your people rather than yourself.’

  Rameke laughed bitterly. ‘My people? A score of warriors and a few dozen women and children?’