The Sword Brothers (104 page)

*****

That summer war was
visited upon the Estonian people. Bishop Albert was delayed in his
journey back to Riga, but when he did land at the head of a great
flotilla of cogs he was possessed of a great fury when Archdeacon
Stefan and Grand Master Volquin informed him that Lembit had
treacherously renounced the Christian faith and returned to his
pagan ways. In a surprising move he had ejected the priests who had
gone into Saccalia to preach the word of God rather than having
them executed. Perhaps he thought that by doing so he would win the
bishop’s forgiveness but in this he was wrong. Lembit gathered his
forces at Lehola and called upon the other chiefs to rally to him
there. But Grand Master Volquin was above all a strategist and
counselled deception against Lembit the deceiver. Troops were sent
to Wenden and patrols were despatched from the castle north to give
the illusion of a gathering army, but the real army was forming at
Treiden. Reinforced by Caupo’s warriors, the bishop and grand
master marched directly north into western Saccalia, Rotalia and
then into Harrien, plundering the countryside of its supplies and
livestock. Alva and his warriors, gathered at Lehola, found out too
late that their homes were being destroyed and by the time they
returned home Harrien had been devastated. Nigul had not even
bothered to acknowledge Lembit’s summons but had instead mustered
his warriors to meet the bishop. It did him little good, he and his
men being brushed aside with ease by the men of iron and Nigul and
half his men falling in battle. Afterwards Rotalia ceased to exist
as an independent kingdom.

To the west Kalju and
his people felt the full wrath of the Novgorodians as ten thousand
Russians marching from Pskov assaulted Ungannia. They swept through
Ungannia like a plague of rats, torching villages and crops in the
fields, carrying off women and children and butchering livestock.
To Domash it was like his raids of plunder years before when he and
his horsemen had ridden through the lands of the Estonians and Livs
at will, spreading terror and misery over the land, even crossing
the Dvina to butcher Lithuanians. Then he had led but two hundred
men at most but this time he commanded ten thousand. He cut a
swathe of destruction through Kalju’s kingdom but when he finally
came before the great timber walls of Odenpah he found its
battlements crowded with warriors and the banner of the golden
eagle flying from its towers.

He rode up and down in
front of the walls as his horsemen surrounded the fort in an
impressive display of strength. But he had no siege engines to
batter the Ungannians into submission and his men had destroyed all
the food supplies and livestock in the area instead of capturing
them. After a week of surrounding the fort he was forced to send
foraging parties far and wide so he could feed his men. After three
weeks his men grew mutinous at having to live off berries and what
they could catch in the rivers and lakes or hunt in the woods, and
so he gave the order to withdraw back to Pskov. He felt satisfied
that he had cowered the Ungannians but Mstislav was furious at his
mishandling of the campaign.

The Prince of Novgorod
had achieved far more with but a tenth of the number of men under
Domash’s command. He had ridden west from the city to raid
Wierland, the purpose of his expedition being to distract the
Estonians and make Domash’s capture of Odenpah easier. In the event
Domash failed and Mstislav retreated but his incursion did cause
Edvin to abandon Lembit at Lehola and take his warriors back to
Wierland. As autumn approached Saccalia was largely undisturbed but
at Lehola only Jaak’s warriors still remained camped outside its
walls, though a few others did appear at the end of September.

The ‘rock’ was tired
and irritable when he slid off his pony in front of Lembit’s great
hall at Lehola. It had been a long ride and his pony cast its head
down as it was led away to the stables, the beasts of his bodyguard
similarly being led away.

‘Treat them well,’ he
called after the stable hands, ‘they’ve earned it.’

‘Greetings, brother.’
He turned to see Lembit, Rusticus and Jaak walk from the hall,
their tidy, clean appearance contrasting to the dirt that covered
his cloak, smeared his face and caked his boots.

‘A hard ride?’ asked
Jaak.

‘Hard enough,’ snapped
Kalju.

He looked at Lembit.
‘I need warriors to ride back with me to Odenpah.’

Lembit smiled and
placed an arm around his shoulder. ‘Come, take refreshment with
me.’

He led Kalju back into
the hall, ordering Rusticus to see to the needs of the fifteen
Ungannian warriors who had accompanied their leader. But a wash and
a hearty meal did nothing to sweeten Kalju’s mood as he paced up
and down in front of Lembit as the latter sat in his chair
listening to his words.

‘Ungannia is a
wasteland, Lembit, laid low by the Russians while I sat on my arse
here waiting for an attack that never came.’

He stopped pacing and
faced Lembit. ‘They will return, of that I am certain. Therefore I
ask you for a thousand men so I can strengthen my border forts to
meet the next assault from Pskov.’

‘A thousand men?’
scoffed Rusticus. ‘Do you think that we grow warriors in the
fields?’

Kalju looked at
Lembit’s hefty subordinate. ‘I think that the warriors of Saccalia
drink and eat well while others battle Estonia’s foes.’

Rusticus’ nostrils
flared at the insult but Lembit waved him away.

‘I sympathise with
your predicament, Kalju, but you must understand that Saccalia is
also in peril. My scouts report a great army mustering at Wenden. I
need every warrior here.’

‘What of you, Jaak,’
said Kalju, ‘will you lend me some of your men?’

‘Jerwen must stand
with Saccalia,’ the chief replied, his sly eyes narrowing.

‘And who will stand
with Ungannia?’ said Kalju.

He received no reply
to his question. Lembit continued to profess sympathy but reminded
Kalju that the Russians had also attacked Wierland and that the
Bishop of Riga had killed Nigul, scattered his army and had also
ravaged Harrien and Rotalia. Kalju pointed out that not even the
bishop could be in two places at once and the fact that he had
campaigned in the west indicated that the forces at Wenden would
probably not march against him, especially since autumn was
here.

At this Lembit let his
calm demeanour slip. ‘Autumn? My fort at Fellin was assaulted by
the crusaders in the depth of winter. And do you not remember that
we battled the Russians with snow on our boots? It is a risk I
cannot take.’

‘And that is your
final word on the subject?’ fumed Kalju.

‘It is.’

‘Then there is nothing
left to say.’

The Ungannian chief
left the next morning, a keen easterly wind ruffling his cloak as
he mounted his pony and trotted from the compound, his men
following. He did not bother looking back to acknowledge Lembit and
Jaak standing in the doors of the great hall.

‘What will he do now?’
asked a concerned Jaak.

‘What can he do?’
replied Lembit. ‘He will sit and sulk in his hall and in the spring
will bring his warriors to fight by our side, as will the other
chiefs.’

Chapter 22

The days were getting
cooler and the sky was filled with migratory birds flocking
together as they embarked on their quest for warmer places to see
out the winter. The leaves were turning pink and yellow and falling
from the trees, the forests resounding to the mating calls of elk
and red deer. Conrad pulled up his horse and surveyed the scene. It
was quiet and peaceful – not the ideal conditions for a knight of
the Sword Brothers who thirsted for Estonian blood.

‘What is the matter?’
asked Hans beside him who also halted his horse, the four sergeants
behind doing likewise.

‘Nothing,’ said
Conrad.

‘Then why have you
stopped, we still have two more miles to go before we head
back?’

‘Every day we go out
on patrol and every day we see nothing except trees and lakes.
Autumn is here and all we have done this year is wear out horse
shoes.’

Hans shrugged. ‘We
obey orders, my friend.’

‘And Lembit still
lives,’ hissed Conrad.

Hans said nothing. He
and the others had been delighted when Conrad had decided to become
a brother knight, but he never spoke of Daina or Dietmar and they
never raised the subject. They knew he tended to their grave and
laid fresh flowers upon it but he never mentioned it to anyone and
his friends respected his privacy. They also knew that he longed to
exact revenge on Lembit, even though Master Berthold and Walter
told him that only God could decide who was worthy of life and
death.

Because they were on
patrol their horses were not wearing caparisons and Conrad and Hans
were wearing kettle helmets instead of the fully enclosed helms
traditionally worn by brother knights. Vital in battle, both found
them restrictive and uncomfortable for patrolling. They did,
however, wear full mail armour and white surcoats and cloaks
bearing the insignia of the Sword Brothers, the pennants on their
lances and those of the sergeants also sporting the symbol of the
order.

‘The sooner we finish
our patrol the sooner I can get some food inside me,’ said Hans. ‘I
feel hungry.’

Conrad smiled and
shook his head. ‘You’re always hungry.’ He nudged his horse forward
and signalled to the sergeants behind to follow.

‘So would you be if
you had spent your childhood starving.’

‘You were not a very
good thief, then?’

‘I only stole to stay
alive,’ said Hans, ‘bread, mostly. They were going to hang me for a
loaf of bread.’

‘I know.’

‘They hanged some of
my beggar friends. I watched them standing around, the fine people
of Lübeck, stuffing their fat faces with food and expensive wine as
my friend was hoisted up and dangled in front of them.’

He turned to look at
Conrad, his eyes moist. ‘He was eight years old, Conrad.’

‘There are many wrongs
committed in this world, my friend. But it is my belief that the
Sword Brothers exist to create justice and peace in Livonia. There
are still many good men in the world, Hans.’

‘I never want to go
back,’ said Hans.

‘Where?’

He spat to the side.
‘Lübeck.’

‘Brothers!’

Conrad heard the call
of the commanding sergeant and then saw them: a group of riders
approaching, around four hundred paces away. Their round shields,
green cloaks, brown leggings, helmets and spears told him they were
not crusaders. They were now around seven miles east of Wenden and
there were no Liv settlements nearby, certainly not one large
enough to support a dozen or more heavily armed warriors.

‘Ready,’ ordered
Conrad, lowering his lance and halting his horse. They had been
riding through a long, thin strip of land between two great forests
that was around fifty paces wide. The sergeants moved right and
left to form line either side of Conrad and Hans. The warriors in
front of them slowed but remained in their column formation as the
sergeants closed in so as to present a solid wall of horseflesh
when they charged. Conrad gripped the strap on the inside of his
shield as one of the warriors broke ranks and began riding towards
them.

‘He must be tired of
living,’ opined Hans.

Conrad was about to
signal the charge when he noticed that the warrior riding towards
them was not holding a spear but a piece of evergreen. He was also
shouting. Conrad heard the words; they were Estonian.

‘We come in peace,’
the man was shouting.

He was now two hundred
paces away.

‘That is far enough,’
shouted Conrad in the warrior’s native tongue.

He turned to Hans.
‘Stay here. If he tries to kill me charge them.’

Conrad spurred his
horse forward.

‘Make sure you kill
him first,’ Hans called after him.

The warrior waited as
Conrad approached, the sprig of evergreen still in his right hand.
Conrad brought his horse to a halt ten paces in front of the
warrior, who threw the sprig away and removed his helmet to reveal
a middle-aged man with a hard expression, brown beard and long,
thick hair. He wore a mail shirt, sword at his hip with a shield
hanging from his saddle, upon which was painted an eagle
insignia.

‘You speak our
language, crusader,’ said the warrior.

‘State your business,’
snapped Conrad, looking behind the warrior to see if he and his men
were but the vanguard of an army.

‘I wish to see Master
Berthold, commander at Wenden.’

‘Why?’

‘Among my people,’
said the warrior, ‘it is polite for each party to introduce
themselves when they have a conversation.’

This took Conrad
aback. Until now he was used to killing Estonians rather than
engaging them in discourse. For a moment he was lost for words. He
cleared his throat.

‘My name is Conrad
Wolff, knight of the Order of Sword Brothers.’

The warrior tilted his
head. ‘I am Kalju, chief of the Ungannian people and I have an
offer for your master, so I would be grateful if you would escort
me to him.’

During the ride back
to Wenden Kalju did not reveal the nature of his mission nor why he
was riding in enemy territory with so few warriors. But Conrad did
probe him about Lembit.

‘Have you seen him
lately, lord?’ said Conrad casually.

‘Only a few days ago,’
replied Kalju.

‘At Lehola?’

‘At Lehola, yes. You
have been there?’

‘Two years ago, when
Lembit submitted to the bishop, accepted baptism and professed
friendship to the Holy Church.’

Kalju chuckled.
‘Warlords have no friends, boy.’

‘My name is Brother
Conrad,’ said Conrad sternly.