The Sword Brothers (10 page)

More Oeselians came on
board as the crossbowman on the far right of the line spotted a man
hauling himself over the gunwale and shot him in the chest, causing
him to collapse back onto his comrades. At the stern the captain
and his men were also hacking with their swords and thrusting with
their spears, keeping the Oeselians at bay but at a price.

An Oeselian armed with
sword and shield jumped on deck and approached the line of spearmen
and crossbowmen that were still keeping the crew of the first
longship at bay. He drew back his sword to despatch the mercenary
who had killed his comrade and was shot by a quarrel as Anton
released the trigger on his crossbow. The boys cheered and
congratulated him as the mercenary turned and raised his hand in
acknowledgement. But the battle was becoming fiercer as more and
more Oeselians came aboard. Rudolf, Henke and Walter fought with a
grim determination, deftly wielding their swords to fend off
attackers and cut faces and legs. Conrad noticed that their strikes
were concentrated against enemy faces and necks mostly, with low
blows being directed against unprotected thighs and calves. He also
saw the brute with the two-handed axe bring the massive iron head
of his weapon down on Rudolf’s shield, splintering it and forcing
the Sword Brother on to his knees. The man tried frantically to
wrench the metal free of the shield as Rudolf desperately jabbed
his sword at him, for he knew that if the Oeselian freed his weapon
the next blow would split his skull. And then Conrad charged.

He did not know why he
did so. Perhaps it was because God had infused him with courage. Or
maybe it was the reaction akin to a cornered animal that fights out
of fear and desperation. But more likely it was because he had had
been witnesses to his parents’ deaths and had been unable to do
anything. And now Rudolf, the man who had shown him and his sister
mercy and kindness, was helpless just like his parents had been.
Only this time Conrad had a weapon in his hands and somewhere
within him came the urge to use it. So he ran forward, screaming at
the top of his voice, and stabbed the spearhead into the axe man’s
mail corselet. The latter was well made and thick and the point
hardly pierced it, but the attack was totally unexpected and the
Oeselian stopped trying to free his weapon from Rudolf’s shield and
looked down at his pierced armour. He released his axe and angrily
grabbed Conrad’s spear blade and threw it aside, then drew his
sword and raised it to spilt Conrad’s skull, just as Hans shoved
his spear through the man’s throat.

Rudolf threw aside his
shield, jumped up and swung his sword at the man’s head, the edge
cutting deep into the Oeselian’s skull and knocking him to the
ground.

‘God with us!’ he
shouted and then attacked the enemy warriors grouped behind the
dead axe man. He was their chief, their captain, and seeing him
felled made their attack falter. They began to lose heart when
horns were sounded from the first longship whose crew had been
unable to board the cog, signalling a retreat. Walter killed a man
with a thrust into his armpit and then cut down another who was
attempting to leave the boat, while Henke barged over a warrior and
then rammed his sword into the man’s chest as he lay helpless on
the deck.

Bruno and Johann were
attempting to battle an Oeselian armed with a sword and shield but
their efforts were being soundly defeated. The warrior lopped off
the head of Bruno’s spear and then barged him with his shield,
knocking him down. Johann tried to stab the warrior with his spear
but the Oeselian was too quick and spun round to face the now very
nervous youth quivering behind his shield. Conrad saw his
predicament, picked up his spear and threw it at the Oeselian,
hitting him in the lower left leg. The man grunted in pain and
turned to glare at Conrad. But the strike had the desired effect
for the man yanked out the spear point from his leg and limped to
the gunwale, sheathed his sword, threw his shield on his back and
disappeared down the rope to his longship.

The fighting was over
now, the deck littered with half a dozen Oeselians that had been
killed. The longships disengaged from the cog as their oarsmen
rowed backwards to pull away. Rudolf ran to the opposite gunwale
and leapt onto the other cog. But happily that had not been boarded
and the extra spearmen and crossbowmen he had assigned to its
defence had beaten off the other two longships with ease. The
civilian workers and their families emerged from the hold shaken
but unharmed. When he returned to Conrad’s ship Walter had taken
off his helmet and was already on his knees giving thanks for their
salvation. Conrad was hugging and congratulating the other boys and
thought it the greatest victory the world had ever seen.

Rudolf, now
helmetless, came over to them as they were basking in their mutual
admiration.

‘They might come
back,’ he warned, instantly deflating their spirits. He pointed at
the mercenaries standing at the gunwale.

‘Those men are
professional soldiers. They will not let down their guard until the
enemy has disappeared from view. You all should join them.’

And so Conrad and his
companions stood beside the mercenaries and watched the longships
disappear into the north, back to the island of Oesel, their lair.
Walter finished his prayers and came to Conrad’s side.

‘Well done,’ he said,
the first words he had spoken to him during the voyage.

‘Well done, indeed,’
agreed Rudolf, slapping Conrad on the shoulder, ‘and well done to
all of you boys. You will make fine soldiers.’

They grinned coyly as
the Oeselians disappeared from view and the mercenaries stood down
and rested their weapons and shields against the gunwale. Henke was
already assisting the sailors throwing the dead Oeselians
overboard, having stripped them of anything useful first.

As the captain ordered
an issue of ale to be made to everyone Rudolf pulled Conrad
aside.

‘You saved my life,
Conrad. I thank you.’

Conrad could feel his
cheeks blush.

‘But never throw your
only weapon away. If your spear had missed him or if you had been
attacked by another enemy soldier afterwards what would you have
done? In battle the man who keeps his wits about him stays alive,
remember that. All the same, I am in your debt.’

That afternoon
everyone assembled on deck to witness the burial at sea of three of
the cog’s sailors who had been killed in the fighting, two more on
the other ship also being consigned to the sea.

The experience of
combat, albeit brief, had forged a bond between the boys and
afterwards they became much more relaxed in each other’s company.
Anton, who was from a wealthy family and who had been somewhat
aloof and disparaging towards the others, especially Hans, was now
much more agreeable and forthcoming. Rudolf encouraged their bond,
knowing that it would serve them well when they faced even greater
dangers. He had been greatly impressed with Walter who, despite his
piety, had shown himself to be an accomplished killer like Henke.
The latter thought it hilarious that his friend had nearly been cut
in two by an Oeselian axe. But Rudolf was most pleased that his
civilian workers had been unharmed in the fight. They would be
worth their weight in gold when it came to establishing Christian
rule among the heathens.

Two days later they
landed at Riga.

*****

Olaf heard the shouts
from inside his longhouse, stopped sharpening his sword and slid it
back in its scabbard. The increasing noise could only mean one
thing: the return of his son Eric. He buckled his sword belt round
his waist and went outside to see men, women and children running
to the shoreline to greet his oldest child.

‘Eric is back?’

He turned to see
Dalla, his wife, wearing a smile, her blue eyes sparkling with
excitement. She loved all her four boys but Eric was her favourite;
indeed, Eric was everyone’s favourite. The handsome warrior who
would be the future king of his people, if he did not get himself
killed first.

He nodded to her. ‘So
it would seem.’

They walked together
towards the gently sloping beach where three more newly built
longships stood on wooden frames, carpenters working on their
hulls. They had been laid down during the winter and were now
nearing completion. Three more ships to add to Olaf’s fleet. Three
other longships stood moored in the water and there were more in
the other settlements that dotted Oesel’s coastline, the great
island that was positioned off the western coast of Estonia. But
this was Kuressaare, the king’s capital and the largest community
on the island. Nestled at the end of a bay and thus blessed with
calm, deep waters, the settlement contained a great many longhouses
along with forges, animal pens and a large meeting house in its
centre. Beyond the wooden palisade that surrounded the whole town
were farms that grew rye and barley, the land having first been
cleared of the trees that covered half the island. Oesel was an
island rich in oak that provided timber to build homes and ships.
Elk, roe deer and wild boar were hunted to provide meat, and
pastures provided grazing for herds of cows. Oesel was blessed by
the gods, of that Olaf was convinced.

When they reached the
shore the beach was filled with cheering people, many waving at the
four approaching longships. Two of Olaf’s sons had left earlier as
part of a hunting party but his youngest, Kalf, now came running up
to them.

‘Eric has returned,’
he beamed.

Olaf stood with his
arms folded across his thick chest, attempting to count the number
of oars on each ship. His wide forehead creased as they got nearer
and he saw that not all the rowing stations were manned. The
longships slowed to a halt as they ran aground on the sand and a
figure appeared at the prow of the leading boat. Tall, handsome
with long blonde hair, beard and moustache, his eyes blue like his
mother’s and his body powerful like his father’s, Eric spread his
arms wide to milk the rapturous welcome he was receiving. He then
jumped down into the water and waded ashore, followed by the crews
of the other longships. Women and children rushed forward to
welcome their returning husbands and fathers as Eric gladly
received the kisses of young women who threw themselves at him as
he walked towards his parents and brother. He really was the
returning hero.

Dalla beamed with
delight and Kalf grinned with pride, dreaming of the day when he
would be like his eldest brother, but Olaf looked past his son to
where some women were shaking their heads and weeping as they were
told by those who had returned with Eric that their loved ones had
been killed.

Eric winked at his
mother and bowed to his father. ‘Hail Olaf, King of Oesel and Lord
of all the oceans.’

Olaf nodded at his
son. ‘Your sword has been bloodied judging by the tears that are
falling from the eyes of my womenfolk to fill the bay.’

Eric twisted his mouth
to indicate indifference. ‘All warriors desire death in
battle.’

Olaf stepped forward
and placed an arm round his son’s broad shoulders.

‘Come, let us speak in
private away from your adoring women.’

Eric grinned as his
mother kissed him on the cheek and Kalf shook his hand vigorously
as he strolled with his father back to the royal longhouse. In
truth it was nothing special, aside from being longer and slightly
taller than the others. Its roof was thatched like the rest and its
walls were made of logs hewn from the great oak forests that
covered the island.

‘I would speak to Eric
alone,’ said Olaf to his wife and Kalf when they reach the
longhouse.

The crowd had followed
them to the king’s residence and so Eric turned and raised his arms
to them once more, receiving loud cheers in return. He dazzled them
with a smile as his father held open the door for him and the
islanders’ favourite son gave one more wave before disappearing
inside.

Olaf closed the door
and bolted it and then slapped Eric’s face hard with the back of
his hand. Momentarily stunned, Eric turned to face his father, his
nostrils flared, his eyes filled with fury and a hand went to the
hilt of his sword. Olaf said nothing and made no movements with his
hands but Eric thought twice before drawing his blade. His father
may have been older and shorter than he but even at the age of
fifty Olaf was a fearsome warrior known throughout the Baltic for
his skill with a sword.

‘You are an idiot,
Eric,’ spat Olaf. ‘How many men did you lose during your little
expedition?’

Eric, still bristling
with anger, turned away from his father. He could taste blood in
his mouth from the king’s blow. ‘An insignificant number.’

‘I asked how many,’
growled Olaf.

Eric turned to face
him. The interior of the longhouse was dim, the only light coming
in from the holes in the roof that allowed the smoke from the fire
that burned in a stone fire pit to escape the dwelling, but he
could see the deadly serious expression on his father’s face
clearly enough.

‘Thirty men killed. We
came across two ships carrying Germans to Riga and intercepted
them.’

Two rows of wooden
posts ran down the length of the longhouse supporting the roof
beams. These columns divided the interior into three long aisles,
the central one having a packed dirt floor, the two outer ones
containing benches for sitting or sleeping on and covered in furs
for warmth and comfort. The king and queen slept in a bed in a room
at the far end of the longhouse. Olaf rested a hand on one of the
posts.

‘And where are these
German ships?’

Eric scraped at the
floor with the heel of his boot. ‘They escaped.’

‘So thirty men died
for nothing,’ snarled Olaf.

Eric smiled, blood
showing in his teeth. ‘An insignificant number compared to the
thousands of warriors who serve you, father.’