The Sword Brothers (116 page)

More cheers.

‘But this time,’
continued Lembit, ‘this time the crusaders will not be able to use
those things that have given them the advantage in the past. They
will not be able to use their siege engines, their crossbows or
their warhorses. This time, my friends, we will have the advantage.
But before I put my plan into operation I have to ask you all
whether you still want me as your chief?’

He stood before them
with his head bowed as they gave a mighty cheer and began to chant
his name. The rafters of the hall reverberating with ‘Lembit,
Lembit’ as they came forward and all pledged their undying loyalty
to him.

Afterwards, as slaves
arranged benches and trestle tables in the halls in preparation for
a great feast, Lembit pulled Rusticus to one side.

‘That old idiot whom I
was forced to embrace,’ said the chief. ‘Ensure he has an accident
on the journey back to his flea-infested village.’

‘What sort of
accident?’

Lembit sighed. ‘The
fatal sort.’

‘Fine speech
earlier.’

‘Thank you, Rusticus.
People are like sheep, really. Tell them what they want to hear and
mostly they will follow you.’

‘Was that true about
Alva, Jaak and Edvin?’

Lembit shrugged his
shoulders. ‘It will be. Jaak sulks at the moment and Edvin and Alva
believe that they can sit out the coming war in the north, their
borders secure and their neighbours peaceful. I will disabuse them
of that notion.’

‘And the bit about
defeating the crusaders?’

Lembit’s eyes lit up.
‘That was true enough. I should have thought of it before but I was
too busy defending forts and thus playing into the crusaders’
hands. No more.’

He sniffed and turned
up his nose, looking disparagingly at the chiefs noisily taking
their places for the feast, a sea of thick beards and unruly
hair.

‘Leather and sweat,’
remarked Lembit.

‘Lord?’

‘Have you ever
noticed, Rusticus, that men stink? When they sit down together they
stink of leather and sweat, and when they fight each other that
odour is mixed with dung, piss and guts. But they still stink
nevertheless.’

Rusticus belched and
wiped his nose on his tunic. ‘Can’t say I’ve noticed.’

Lembit sighed again.
‘Of course not.’

*****

With the spring came a
resumption of building work at Wenden. The north tower was
finished: a great stone structure having three floors and a
fighting platform on top surrounded by crenellations. Work resumed
in the quarry and construction commenced on the other two towers.
Conrad had hoped that Rameke would return to the remains of his
father’s village but the settlement was left idle and nothing was
heard from the son of Thalibald.

Brother Walter was
chosen by Rudolf to be his deputy commander, an appointment that
occasioned Walter praying and fasting for a week to cleanse his
soul in preparation for his new role. Henke offered to be Walter’s
replacement when the brother knight collapsed and almost died from
his exertions. But Walter did not die and he applied himself to his
new duties diligently. Those duties included drawing up a list of
Wenden’s needs that would be submitted by Master Rudolf to the
office of the grand master in Riga, subject to the approval of the
garrison’s brother knights.

Now they had attained
that status Conrad, Hans, Anton and Johann were allowed to attend
the weekly meetings of the brother knights held in the master’s
hall. There were now more than twelve brother knights at Wenden but
Rudolf saw no reason to send any away to other garrisons, not with
the prospect of war with Lembit looming.

‘Not that this
garrison will be in a fit state to march when it breaks out,’ said
Rudolf, sitting at the head of four tables arranged in a square
formation, around which the brother knights sat. ‘Walter, perhaps
you could give the others an idea of our requirements.’

Walter picked up a
long parchment and began summarising its contents.

‘Horses, mules,
oxen.’

‘Oxen?’ said Henke,
‘have we been reduced to riding them to war instead of horses?’

Walter frowned. ‘The
oxen were all killed when Lembit raided Thalibald’s village. If we
are to plough and sow the fields around the village once more then
we need oxen.’

‘Who will sow and reap
the crops?’ asked Conrad.

‘We are hoping that
Rameke will return and rebuild his village,’ said Rudolf. ‘Have you
had word from him since…?’

‘Since the village was
destroyed?’ said Conrad. ‘No. The last I heard he was with Caupo
raiding Rotalia but that was months ago.’

Rudolf nodded. ‘Please
continue, Walter.’

His deputy read from
the list. ‘Long spears, short spears, four tons of iron for making
crossbow bolt heads, saddles, harnesses, mail caparisons, padded
caparisons, helmets, belts, boots, hauberks, chausses, mail coifs,
surcoats, lances, daggers, swords, maces, axes, tools, wagons and
so on. Not forgetting six new mangonels for Master Thaddeus.’

‘We can send out a
party to retrieve them now the snows have gone,’ said Rudolf.

‘The locals would have
broken them up for firewood or building materials by now,’ said
Lukas.

Rudolf pursed his
lips. ‘Then let us hope that Grand Master Volquin’s coffers are
well stocked.’

Unfortunately they
were not, at least not enough to fulfil the requirements of
Segewold, Kremon as well as Wenden, in addition to the needs of the
garrisons along the Dvina. The latter had briefly profited from
levying dues on merchant vessels plying the river until they had
been ordered to desist by Bishop Albert. Now the Sword Brothers
were in danger of being impoverished as a result of their
commitments and their recent campaign in Ungannia. And all the
while the treasury in Riga filled with the proceeds of trade along
the Dvina. The bitterness and resentment between the order and the
governor of the city increased markedly as spring gave way to
summer and both waited for the arrival of Bishop Albert to voice
their grievances.

With the permission of
Rudolf Conrad took one of the horses and rode south from Wenden,
following the track that he had travelled upon in happier times.
How long ago that all seemed now. He trotted across meadows and
through trees until at last he came to the blackened, charred
remains of Thalibald’s village. The ditch that had surrounded it
was now completely overgrown, as were the fields that circled it.
He walked his horse across the broken wooden bridge and into the
burnt-out settlement. He noticed there were no birds overhead and
only the barest amount of vegetation on the areas of blackened
earth where huts had once stood. He dismounted and led his horse
across the eerily quiet ground. He saw the remains of smashed
earthen pots, bleached animal bones and rusted spits and cauldrons.
He stood in the centre of the desolation where he had been cut down
by wolf shields while trying to protect his wife and child. He
heard their screams, saw their faces and remembered the horror of
that night. He suddenly felt vulnerable and totally alone, as he
did that dreadful night in Lübeck all those years ago. Then he held
his face in his hands and wept.

*****

Vsevolod held Rasa as
they watched the young newlyweds ride from Panemunis, a hundred
warriors grouped round them. His wife had been surprisingly
emotional during the week-long wedding ceremony, like most
Lithuanians believing that dead relatives and friends also joined
in the celebrations. No doubt she thought her father and brother
had been present to see the betrothal of her daughter to the son of
Stecse. The prince had been popular among the people and Rasa’s
idea of marrying his son to Morta had been an astute one.

‘You look ridiculous,’
she said as the couple disappeared through the gates on their
journey to a nearby hunting lodge in the hills.

As was tradition the
guests wore white and wreaths of straw around their heads, which
Vsevolod had found not only physically irritating but also
degrading. But Rasa had insisted that all the customs should be
observed, which meant the bride received presents of linen towels,
woven belts and spindle whorls. These items were also the
traditional gifts to Laima, the Goddess of Fate, Luck and Beauty,
and were intended to bring blessings on the marriage. Vsevolod
thought them fit only for throwing on a fire.

‘And you look
charming, my sweet.’ He replied, kissing her tenderly on the lips.
His white leggings and tunic made him resemble a scarecrow but her
white linen dress and long red hair made her most appealing.

‘Fine wedding,
lord.’

He turned to see Aras,
his usually tidy beard dishevelled and his tunic open to the waist.
He bowed his head to Rasa.

‘Lady.’

Vsevolod detected the
aroma of mead coming from the newly appointed general, whose usual
demeanour of calm seemed to have deserted him.

‘Now that the
newlyweds have departed,’ said Vsevolod, ‘get all these people out
of Panemunis. They make the place look untidy.’

Aras stifled a belch
and looked around at the dozens of individuals in various states of
inebriation in the courtyard in front of the great hall.

‘It’s tradition to
allow them to stay until they leave of their own free will.’

Vsevolod glared at
him. ‘Tradition? I have had a gutful of tradition. First of all
they turn up unannounced, hundreds of the stinking parasites,
before proceeding to help themselves to everything they can eat and
drink.’

He turned up his nose
in disgust at the piles of vomit that littered the courtyard.

‘And then they
commence turning my residence into a mirror image of their
flea-infested hovels.’

He jabbed a finger
into Aras’ chest. ‘Deal with them or I will order my guards to
clear away the filth with their spear points.’

They were called
Kriukininkai
, uninvited guests who appeared at weddings, in
this case a great crowd of them gathering at the gates of
Panemunis. When news spread of the upcoming marriage the tracks and
roads were filled with them, every man carrying a stick to
symbolise that he would cause trouble if he was not admitted to the
celebrations. It was a great Lithuanian tradition that the
Kriukininkai
were welcomed and feasted during the extent of
the festivities. Vsevolod had been appalled but Rasa was delighted
that the people had accepted the union of Mindaugas with a
half-Russian girl.

Aras scratched his
beard, his breath reeking of mead. ‘You’re sure you want to do
that, lord? It would be considered an insult.’

Vsevolod stared,
horrified, as a drunken man bent over and emptied the contents of
his stomach in a horse trough.

‘
That
is an
insult,’ said the prince loudly.

He then saw the
white-bearded
Kriviu Krivaitis
approach, accompanied by two
of his
Kriviai
. Even the most inebriated lowered their heads
and staggered aside when the vessels of the gods approached.

‘Marvellous,’ groaned
Vsevolod, ‘just when I thought it could not get any worse.’

‘Hail, Prince
Vsevolod,’ said the chief priest, opening his arms and embracing
Vsevolod, who looked mortified. The priest stepped back and offered
a hand to Rasa, who bowed her head, took it and kissed it.

‘There were many among
us who believed that your coming foretold misery for the late grand
duke’s people,’ said the
Kriviu Krivaitis
. ‘I am not too
proud to tell you that I was one such individual.

‘But you have
displayed wisdom, temperance and respect for our traditions and
religion since your arrival at Panemunis. I salute you. The Holy
Fire burned brightly when I spoke to Perkunas about you.’

‘You are most kind,’
said Vsevolod, oozing false modesty.

The chief priest
looked around at the clusters of people in the courtyard. ‘You have
embraced the people and they embrace you, Prince Vsevolod.’

Vsevolod smiled. ‘I
think it is important to respect people’s traditions.’

The priest smiled at
Rasa. ‘The marriage will be a good one, child. The tree will
flourish and Austeja will bless the union with a child.’

Rasa’s eyes misted
with tears. ‘Thank you, Revered One.’

After they had been
married by the
Kriviu Krivaitis
in the sacred grove, the
couple planted a linden tree inside its boundary. The tree was
traditionally associated with peace, truth and justice, qualities
that the couple hoped would characterise the marriage. At the feast
afterwards Morta had tossed her cup of mead upwards towards the
ceiling to pay her respects to Austeja, the Goddess of Fertility.
Most of the liquid had fallen on her father, which had done nothing
to improve his humour.

‘I will get on with
clearing the courtyard, lord,’ said Aras, clearly bored by it
all.

The chief priest
frowned at him and his two subordinates started to protest.

‘What are you talking
about, general?’ said Vsevolod. ‘Our guests must be allowed to
partake of my hospitality as long as they desire.’ He smiled at the
Kriviu Krivaitis
. ‘That is the custom, after all.’

Aras was confused.
‘But you said…’

Vsevolod raised a hand
to silence him. ‘Is there something you want, general?’

‘There is someone to
see you,’ replied Aras. ‘I kept him waiting until the couple had
left. He says he is an ambassador from Duke Arturus.’

Vsevolod’s eyes lit
up. ‘At last,’ he muttered. He smiled at the chief priest. ‘If you
will excuse me, I have urgent business to attend to. Please feel
free to treat my home as your own. My wife will accompany you.’

‘Of course,’ said
Rasa, all smiles and happiness.

Vsevolod bowed his
head to the priests and left them. ‘You are with me,’ he told
Aras.