The Sword Brothers

by Peter Darman

  On the last day of August every brother knight, sergeant and novice drawn from the eight garrisons of the Sword Brothers assembled in the courtyard of Wenden to ask for the blessing of God in their forthcoming crusade. Out of courtesy Grand Master Volquin directed that Otto, Wenden’s resident priest, say prayers before the congregation. It was a beautiful summer’s day, white puffy clouds filling the sky and a gentle easterly breeze blowing the stench of man and beast beyond the walls away from the castle. Otto commanded everyone to kneel as he said the Lord’s Prayer, every man and boy repeating his words. They stayed on their knees with their heads bowed as Otto’s deep, booming voice filled the courtyard.

  ‘Lord, look favourably upon these, your beloved sons, the brethren of the Sword Brothers, who have renounced secular desires and surrendered their possessions to take up the cross. They are the ones who are striving to free this land of Lembit, the scourge of Livonia, and to expel the enemies of the Christian name. Give them strength, Almighty Lord, that they may smite Your enemies and cleanse this land with pagan blood. Let their armour be invincible and their lances as lightning bolts to scatter Your enemies. Amen.’

  As one the congregation said ‘amen’ and Otto commanded them to rise to their feet. He held his arms aloft and commended them to draw their swords, looking up to the heavens.

  ‘God with us!’

  Conrad gripped his sword and raised it aloft, shouting ‘God with us’ along with the other brother knights, sergeants and novices. Walter, his face flush with religious fervour, was in a trance as he shouted the order’s war cry again and again, his sword and shield held high in submission to the Almighty. Henke’s face was filled with eager anticipation as he repeated the cry, bloodlust in his eyes, his tongue licking his lips like a wolf anticipating a meal of tender young lambs.

  The next morning the Warriors of Christ led the army north towards Saccalia. The army moved slowly, all the foot soldiers fully armed and staying close to the wagons that carried a month’s worth of food and supplies. The lords, grand master and his masters travelled near the head of the column of wagons that spread over three miles, the rate of advance being restricted by the lumbering oxen that pulled the carts containing the siege engines and their ammunition. The first target would be Fellin, around seventy-miles away, and after that Lehola a further twelve miles north. This time Lembit would be given no opportunity to surrender. Each fort would be stormed and their defenders put to the sword. Count Albert was desperate to engage Lembit in battle but Volquin informed him that the Estonian leader was no fool and preferred to avoid open combat, knowing the advantages crossbowmen and mailed horsemen gave the Christians. The grand master also knew that the Estonians had a detailed knowledge of their own land, which is why he insisted on the foot soldiers marching in formation fully armed, with knights riding in their armour. The latter would ride palfreys on the march, leading their warhorses behind them, but they would still be able to fight off any assault against the column. Security was heightened when the camp was pitched and dismantled – ideal times to spring an ambush when men’s minds were more concerned with loading wagons and saddling horses than keeping watch for the enemy.

  The Sword Brothers were in the van of the army, sending out mounted patrols ahead to scout the route and keep a lookout for the enemy. But the latter was conspicuous by their absence.

  ‘Lembit will be hiding behind the walls of Lehola,’ said Anton as he and his comrades trotted past a small lake in southern Saccalia.

  The army was around five miles to the south and they had been scouting all day, Rameke joining his old friends on his hardy pony as they travelled through Lembit’s kingdom. They had come across a small village on the other side of the lake but it had been abandoned, the huts and animal pens empty, the inhabitants having fled deep into the forest.

  ‘There is no point in taking Fellin,’ said Hans, ‘we might as well march straight to Lehola and take it.’

  Johann shook his head. ‘The grand master would never leave an enemy stronghold along our line of march.’

  ‘You should have burned the village,’ remarked Rameke.

  ‘This land belongs to the Bishop of Estonia now,’ said Conrad. ‘It is up to him what happens within its borders.’

  ‘When Lembit is dead,’ Rameke corrected him.

  ‘That will be soon enough,’ boasted Anton. ‘He could not hold Lehola two years ago and then he was much stronger.’

  ‘Do not underestimate him,’ warned Rameke, ‘he will surprise you yet.’

  Conrad had noticed that Rameke was no longer the cheerful young man he had known before that terrible night at Thalibald’s village. Now he was full of anger and possessed of a grim determination. But it was still good to be riding beside the only surviving member of his family.

  They left the village behind and continued their journey north, passing fields that had been harvested of their crops and meadows bursting with colour, and never once did they see anyone.

  On the tenth day out from Wenden Conrad and the others were again scouting ahead of the army, riding through a familiar landscape of forest, gently rolling hills and deserted villages. He was beginning to think that the whole of Estonia had been abandoned and they would be able to ride unhindered to the Gulf of the Finns when Hans called out.

  ‘Look, on the hill.’

  Framed in the sunlight were six figures on ponies on the top of a hill around three hundred paces away. Conrad saw they were all armed with spears and had round shields, though they made no attempt to flee as they sat on their mounts observing the four Sword Brothers and one Liv below. One appeared to be pointing down at them.

  ‘The enemy shows his face at last,’ said Rameke, drawing his sword.

  Conrad clutched his lance as the six figures on the hill suddenly rode down the slope towards them.

  ‘Brave,’ remarked Johann, nudging his horse forward as the others deployed into line beside him, Rameke taking up position next to Conrad on the extreme left. They spurred their horses forward into a canter as the enemy riders continued to close on them, though curiously their spears were held upright. One was shouting at the brother knights.

  ‘This will be easy,’ smirked Hans as he donned his helmet, the others following suit. Conrad was just about to put on his helm when he shouted at the others.

  ‘Stop, stand down.’

  He tugged on the reins to halt his horse as Rameke pulled up his mount and the other three did the same.

  ‘They are friends,’ he shouted, pointing at the warriors who were now walking their ponies towards them.

  ‘We are from Odenpah, Lord Kalju sent us,’ shouted their leader.

  Hans, Anton and Johann halted their horses and removed their helmets as the Ungannians stopped a few paces from them. In appearance they were not so different from the Livs with their green cloaks and brown tunics and leggings, though these men carried Kalju’s golden eagle symbol on their shields.

  ‘Greetings,’ said their leader, who like Rameke had a thick beard, ‘my name is Andrus and I bring news for Master Thaddeus.’

  Conrad translated the words for the others. Hans laughed.

  ‘Master Thaddeus should have stayed at Odenpah, he would have been a king by now.’

  ‘I am Conrad Wolff and I am friends with your lord and his wife Eha.’

  Andrus recognised the name. ‘I know you. You were the crusader who spoke the words for Master Thaddeus at Odenpah.’

  Conrad nodded.

  ‘He is well?’ enquired Andrus.

  ‘He is,’ answered Conrad, ‘and is with the army not five miles from this spot. What is your message, Andrus?’

  ‘Lembit has abandoned Fellin. His warriors and their families have left the fort and trekked north to Lehola. There are no Estonians between here and Lembit’s stronghold.

  ‘You believe him?’ snarled Rameke, looking contemptuously at Andrus.

  ‘An Estonian’s word is his bond,’ Andrus shot back.

  Rameke laughed
. ‘Really? Do you include Lembit in that, your overlord, who embraced the Holy Church and then reneged on his pledge to the bishop?’

  Andrus bristled at the insult and his men sniffed contemptuously at the impudent Liv in their midst.

  ‘I fought beside Andrus at Odenpah, Rameke,’ said Conrad curtly. ‘I trust him with my life. This is no time for petty squabbles.’

  Rameke looked away. ‘If you say so.’

  ‘Will you accompany us back to the army, Andrus, to relay your news to Master Thaddeus?’

  Andrus looked at Rameke. ‘If we are welcome.’

  Conrad convinced him that he and his men would be more than welcome and so they agreed to ride back to the army with them. Rameke said nothing during the journey as he sank into a sullen mood. Conrad thought that it would be a long time before Liv and Estonian trusted each other, and perhaps Rameke would always bare a grudge against the northern people. But in the short term the news that the Estonians had brought meant that the campaign had suddenly got a lot easier.

  *****

  ‘He’s here, sir.’

  Stefan looked up from his dish of apple slices. He dabbed his mouth with a cloth and waved it towards one of the young monks standing by the wall of the withdrawing chamber.

  ‘Excellent, show him in.’

  ‘He has come with four of his men, sir,’ said the commander of the garrison. ‘He will want them to be present also.’

  Stefan sighed. ‘Very well, very well. Make sure you and some of your soldiers remain, though. I don’t trust these barbarians.’

  Manfred smiled and bowed his head. It was just as well that the archdeacon did not speak Lithuanian else he might insult his guests and end the meeting before it began. He exited the room and moments later returned with half a dozen guards that were ordered to stand either side of the archdeacon to reassure the governor. Then he brought in the guests. Stefan tried not to show his repugnance as the five bearded men entered the chamber and were introduced to the archdeacon, who remained seated in his chair. Not a good start.

  The Lithuanians were all dressed in green tunics, baggy tan leggings and leather boots. They had been required to surrender their swords at the entrance to the bishop’s palace, being reassured by the commander that they were in no danger. He had made several trips across the Dvina to convince the Duke of the Semgallians that it would be within his interests to accept the invitation to Riga to meet with Archdeacon Stefan.

  Manfred Nordheim, sometime mercenary, pirate and smuggler, had not been born into privilege or had the patronage of a rich lord. He did, however, have the ability to make himself useful and that had endeared him to the archdeacon, especially when he had displayed that talent when the Northern Kurs and Oeselians had assaulted Riga. As the garrison had grown so had his authority until he had been appointed by Stefan to be commander of the town guards. Now he acted as translator for Duke Vincentas as the Lithuanian leader studied the effeminate-looking man in women’s clothing sitting before him.

  ‘Why did you wish to see me?’ asked Vincentas bluntly, unhappy that he stood without weapons in this foreign fortress.

  Stefan had beckoned forward a young novice holding a tray of wine but now waved him away.

  Stefan smiled. ‘The Kingdom of Livonia wishes to be friends with the Duke of the Semgallians.’

  Vincentas was unimpressed. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because your enemies are our enemies and your battles are our battles,’ replied Stefan. ‘Perhaps you would like some wine?’

  He waved forward the novice who proffered the tray to the duke. He took one of the silver goblets and handed it to one of his men behind. The man took a sip as Vincentas watched him closely. Stefan, bemused, looked at Manfred who nodded. The taster thought the wine delicious and told his lord so, and as he had showed no signs of being poisoned the duke took the goblet and drank from it. The nervous novice offered goblets to the other Lithuanians and then to the archdeacon.

  Stefan smiled. ‘It is well known that Grand Duke Daugerutis was a tyrant who deceived the other dukes into a ruinous war in Livonia, in which your valiant father, Duke Ykintas, fell.’

  ‘You know much about Lithuanian affairs,’ remarked Vincentas.

  ‘Events south of the Dvina affect Livonia, duke,’ said Stefan. ‘I was saddened to hear that Prince Vsevolod, now leader of the Selonian and Nalsen peoples, wages war against you and we wish to assist you in your fight.’

  Vincentas drained his goblet. ‘Why?’

  Stefan smiled again. This barbarian really was most taxing. ‘Because if Vsevolod triumphs then he will make war upon Livonia, just as he did before we captured Gerzika.’

  ‘Semgallia does not need any help to defeat its enemies,’ sniffed Vincentas.

  ‘Of course not,’ said Stefan, ‘but perhaps you will accept a present from your allies.’

  He pointed at a novice holding a small casket, who walked forward to stand in front of the duke, opening the lid and taking out a solid gold crossbow bolt, which he offered the duke. The duke’s companions gasped when they saw it and even he was impressed.

  ‘A most generous gift.’

  Stefan nodded at Manfred who walked over behind the archdeacon’s chair and picked up a crossbow. He held it out for Vincentas as he translated the archdeacon’s words.

  ‘Livonia would like you to have two hundred of these, together with ammunition, to aid you in your war against Vsevolod. If you agree we will also provide you with soldiers to train your men in their use.’

  Vincentas handed the golden bolt to one of his wide-eyed soldiers and took the crossbow, admiring its craftsmanship and power.

  ‘Why should Semgallia, a kingdom that has co-existed peacefully alongside Livonia,’ continued Stefan, ‘become a slave state under the tyrant Vsevolod.

  Vincentas looked at Stefan. ‘You will give me two hundred of these?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What do you want in return?’

  ‘Nothing,’ replied Stefan.

  Vincentas’ boyish features cracked a smile. ‘I am not such a fool to believe that the Bishop of Riga gives away the contents of his armoury freely.’

  ‘Naturally,’ said Stefan. ‘The price is friendship between Semgallia and Livonia.’

  Vincentas handed the crossbow back to Manfred. He scratched his head and turned to his companions, talking in hushed tones to them. Stefan sighed and looked at his commander who gave him a reassuring nod. The duke at length turned back to face Stefan.

  ‘I accept your offer. When can I have the crossbows?’

  Stefan thought him an impudent wretch. ‘As soon as my commander can arrange their passage across the river, duke.’

  Stefan rose and offered his hand to Vincentas but the duke stepped forward and embraced him, much to the horror of the archdeacon. Manfred ushered them out of the room and returned to the withdrawing chamber after the Lithuanians had been escorted back to their boat at the docks. When he arrived Stefan was ordering incense to be brought to purify the air.

  ‘Did you smell their breath? Unbearable.’

  ‘I will arrange for the crossbows and instructors to be sent across the river tomorrow, archdeacon,’ reported Manfred.

  Stefan had a cloth to his nose. ‘Excellent. Let us hope that the brutes do not waste them.’

  ‘If Vsevolod discovers that you are aiding Duke Vincentas he might send raiding parties across the Dvina.’

  Stefan removed the cloth and smiled. ‘That will be for the Sword Brothers to deal with, not the garrison of Riga.’

  ‘Why do you wish to aid the Semgallians, sir?’

  ‘To prevent them from uniting under a single ruler, to gain influence across the river and to annoy the Sword Brothers,’ replied Stefan. ‘Our warriors of Christ grow too lofty in their ambitions and forget that they are mere servants of the church. When the bishop learns that Riga has influence among the Lithuanians he will begin to rely less on the Sword Brothers.’

  ‘And more on you,’ suggested Manfr
ed.

  Stefan held his gold cross. ‘I am just a humble servant of the church.’

  *****

  The city was heaving with people, the guards having difficulty forcing a passage through them as they escorted the mayor and the leading boyars of Pskov to Trinity Cathedral to celebrate the Dormition of the Mother of God, the ‘falling asleep’ of Mary, the mother of Jesus. Pskov was glorious that summer; the people filled its white stone churches. A rich harvest of flax had been gathered from around its strong ramparts and its markets heaved with goods. The dreadful losses of the winter had been largely forgotten and Yaroslav had escorted Bishop Theodoric to Novgorod where Prince Mstislav was entertaining him. The latter, delighted that such an important figure of the Roman Church was in his city, had forgiven Domash for not taking Odenpah, viewing the prospect of a new trade route down the Gauja far more important. The air was fresh, the sun shone and the people were happy.

  ‘I hate these occasions,’ complained Domash as the guards halted when the crowd surged and blocked their progress.

  Gleb smiled and touched a baby that was held up by its mother. ‘You should thank your god that the people have forgiven you for leading them on a merry dance in Ungannia.’

  ‘God has nothing to do with it,’ replied Domash, ‘it was the prince that ordered the campaign in Ungannia. But I will thank God for sending me Bishop Theodoric. He saved my neck.’ He looked at Gleb. ‘And yours.’

  Gleb clutched the hands of citizens who were desperate to receive his blessing. ‘I wouldn’t be too quick to thank him. He and his crusaders will soon be knocking on the door of the prince’s kingdom.’

  Domash waved politely at the crowds and ordered the guards to use their spear shafts to increase the rate of advance.