The Sword Brothers (120 page)

‘Are you
unharmed?’

‘Yes, brother,’ the
boy said falteringly.

‘Brother? So in
addition to sodomy you are guilty of incest,’ shouted the leader
with the waster.

There was uproarious
laughter from the others.

Conrad turned to face
the leader, pointing at the waster. ‘That is not yours, I
believe.’

The man slashed the
air with the waster, only inches from Conrad’s face. ‘I have heard
many things about the Sword Brothers, how they are the finest
soldiers in all Christendom. But what I have seen so far has left
me sorely disappointed.’

The others nodded and
shouted their agreement.

‘A wooden sword for
wooden soldiers,’ sneered the leader. ‘It’s easy to butcher
ill-armed savages and burn their wooden huts. You want to know
about soldiering?’

He jabbed the point of
the waster into Conrad’s chest. ‘Two days fighting the Danes on the
Elbe. That’s soldiering. Three campaigns in Franconia. That’s
soldiering. Holding the line against French horsemen in a field in
Thuringia. That’s soldiering.’

Conrad held his stare
and said nothing. He was now surrounded by the lowly knights, their
confrontation having aroused the interests of others nearby who
began to drift over.

The leader smiled at
the others and jabbed the wooden point again into Conrad’s
chest.

‘What’s the matter,
cat got your tongue, I…’

In a lightning-fast
movement Conrad grabbed the waster with his left hand, stepped back
and smashed his elbow into the man standing directly behind him.
There was a loud crack as the man’s nose was broken and he was
knocked over. Conrad transferred the waster to his right hand and
swung it right to strike the side of the man’s head to his right.
The knight groaned in pain as his head took the full force of the
blow and he staggered away, semi-conscious. The man on Conrad’s
left drew his sword and thrust it forward but the brother knight
had anticipated his move and jumped back. The sword lunge missed
but Conrad grabbed the man’s right wrist before he could withdraw
it, yanked him forward and smashed the wooden pommel down hard on
the back of his head. The man fell like a dead weight,
unconscious.

The other three had
also drawn their swords but Conrad was too quick for them, leaping
forward to parry the strike delivered by the man standing to the
right of the leader and head-butting him in the face twice in quick
succession. He moaned in pain as Conrad grabbed him and shoved him
at the leader who was forced to bundle him out of the way. This
gave Conrad time to deal with the other man who raced forward,
gripping his sword with both hands and swinging it wildly at him.
Conrad ducked to avoid the blow, turned the waster in his hand and
swung it to the left so the man’s face connected with the flat of
his blade. His nose was squashed against the hard wood and he
collapsed to his knees, Conrad delivering a fearsome blow with the
edge against the side of his skull that knocked him unconscious.
Now only the leader remained.

This idiot was more
cautious than the rest, though whether as a result of him seeing
what had happened to his rash comrades or because he was a more
accomplished swordsman Conrad did not know. But he allowed himself
a tiny smirk as he saw a trace of alarm in the man’s eyes. Focus!
As his comrades groaned and bled the leader came at Conrad with a
series of great scything strikes that looked impressive but which
were easy to dodge. And as his blows failed to connect he became
more frustrated and enraged, screaming as he swung left and right
to slice the impudent brother knight in half. But after at least a
score of these grandiloquent strikes Conrad was unharmed and the
knight was breathing heavily.

Brother Lukas would
not have approved but as the man screamed once more and came
charging at him like a man possessed, Conrad jumped to the right,
spun on his left foot and swept the man’s feet from under him with
his right leg. He fell to the ground and Conrad was on him, raining
a succession of blows on the back of his head with the waster’s
pommel.

‘Respecting your
allies. That’s soldiering.’

Thud.

‘Treating the young,
old and vulnerable with respect. That’s soldiering.’

Thud.

‘Saving the fight for
the enemy. That’s soldiering.’

Thud.

He heard the alarm
being sounded and rose to his feet, the man on the ground
unconscious. A ring of guards closed round him, spears levelled as
he calmly rested the waster on his right shoulder. Hearing uproar,
Count Albert and Sir Helmold came from the pavilion, four guards
forming round them.

‘Hold!’ shouted the
count, shoving his way through the gathering crowd. He saw the men
on the ground and others rubbing their bloody heads and being
assisted to their feet, then saw Conrad with his wooden sword.

‘What is going on
here?’ he demanded.

One of the knights,
his nose a bloody pulp, pointed at Conrad. ‘He started it, lord,
attacked us he did.’

The count’s eyes
narrowed. ‘Attacked all six of you?’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘With a wooden
sword?’

‘Yes, lord.’

‘They stole the sword,
lord,’ said Conrad.

Sir Helmold grinned.
‘I told you he was good, count.’

‘Back to your duties,’
shouted the count to the spectators. He walked over to Conrad as
the six assailants were helped away, the unconscious ones being
awakened by buckets of water. Conrad handed the waster back to its
wide-eyed owner.

‘I apologise for the
conduct of my soldiers,’ said the count. ‘I shall have them
hanged.’

‘There is no need for
that, lord,’ said Conrad, waving forward the novice, ‘not on my
account. Some sword practice would be more useful. They
underestimate the enemy and that is dangerous.’

‘I will not make that
mistake,’ said Count Albert.

Conrad mounted his
horse and raised his hand to the lords as he and the novice rode
from the camp.

‘Were you afraid,
Brother Conrad?’ said the novice, glad to be away from the
barbarians.

‘Afraid, why should I
have been afraid?’

‘There were six of
them and only one of you and they had real swords.’

Conrad halted his
horse and looked at the fresh-faced youth.

‘What is your
name?’

‘Franz, Brother
Conrad.’

‘Well, Franz, you are
lucky to have Brother Lukas as your instructor, just as I did. And
you will soon learn that in a fight it is quality that mostly
decides the outcome, not quantity.’

‘Some say you are the
best fighter in the Sword Brothers,’ said Franz.

Conrad nudged his
horse forward. ‘Idle gossip is a sin, young Franz.’

‘Yes, brother. But is
it true?’

‘I have no idea,’
replied Conrad. ‘As I said, it is nothing more than idle
speculation.’

‘Others say that
Brother Henke is the best.’

Conrad did not reply
but had to admit that it was a question he had often posed himself.
Who was better: he or Henke?

Three days later Caupo
and his Livs arrived.

Aside from a
contingent of a hundred mounted warriors of his bodyguard, the
king’s army comprised the men raised from the villages around his
stronghold of Treiden. Every man of the bodyguard was equipped with
mail armour, a helmet and a large round shield but Caupo’s foot
soldiers were variously armed and furnished. Around half had
armour, mostly mail though a few had leather breastplates, helmets,
spears and axes. The rest had no armour to protect their bodies,
though each man did have a helmet and a large shield. Weapons for
these villagers turned temporary warriors comprised mostly spears,
axes and knives, only the village elders having swords. Caupo also
brought a hundred archers who wore no armour on their bodies or
heads and carried long knives for their secondary weapons.

Conrad was standing in
front of his wife’s and child’s grave the day they arrived. As
usual freshly laid flowers adorned the mound of earth. Next to the
grave were the final resting places of Thalibald and Waribule,
their graves like the others well tended by Wenden’s gardener.
Despite the hundreds of soldiers around the castle and the bustle
of their camps the cemetery was quiet and calm. Conrad liked coming
here, not only to be near his family but also because it was a
place where he could collect his thoughts. He stared at the words
on the headstone even though he could not read them.

‘We shall be marching
north again soon.’

He turned the ring on
his finger.

‘So I will not be able
to visit you as often as I would like. I pray that I will fall in
the coming war so that I may be with you both. Hans has promised
that if God decrees it so then I will be buried with you. I would
like that.

‘I miss you, Daina. I
miss your smile and the days of happiness we shared together. The
world is cold without your love to warm it.’

He choked back the
tears as he saw his wife’s green eyes and her smile.

‘I hear that it has
been a good year for the harvest, though no crops grow in the
fields where we first met.’

He knelt down and
placed a hand on the grave.

‘I love you both.’

There was no wind and
there was silence in the cemetery; even the birds had seemingly
disappeared. He heard no sound but knew that he was not alone. He
felt his heart beat in his chest and the hairs on the back of his
neck stand up. He stood and turned, and saw Rameke pacing towards
him.

They were the same age
as near as damn it but Daina’s brother looked careworn, his thick
hair long and ragged and his eyes mournful. He was still stocky,
though, and his heavy mail armour made him appear more so. He
stopped when Conrad turned, his demeanour hesitant, uncertain of
his reception. Conrad stepped forward and offered his hand.

‘Brother.’

The doubts disappeared
as Rameke took his hand and they embraced.

‘Your family is
waiting,’ said Conrad.

They stood before the
graves and Rameke read the inscriptions, Conrad then informing him
of events at Wenden. At last Rameke spoke, his voice low.

‘I was ashamed that I
had lived and they had died, Conrad, so I took refuge with the king
and rode north with his men. Then I was more ashamed that I had
left you and so stayed away, and would still be away had it not
have been for the gathering at Wenden. I ask your forgiveness,
brother.’

‘You should feel no
guilt, my brother,’ replied Conrad, ‘what happened was God’s will,
of that I am certain.’

‘And now we go to
fight Lembit once more.’

Conrad smiled. ‘This
time he will not wriggle free. Rudolf has told me that the bishop
wants him dead.’

Rameke laid a hand on
his shoulder. ‘Then we must do our utmost to ensure his wishes are
fulfilled.’

Chapter 25

Seven days after the
arrival of Caupo and the soldiers from Kremon and Segewold the army
left Wenden. Volquin was eager for the march to begin as soon as
possible, not least because the area around Wenden was quickly
being covered with the filth and waste produced by hundreds of men
and thousands of animals. The smoke of hundreds of campfires mixed
with the sickly aroma of thousands of tons of horse dung hung in
the summer air like a thick pall of nausea. The commanders knew
that the lakes and ponds in the vicinity would soon be awash with
piss and dung and the flies and fleas that were the faithful
travelling companions of an army would soon create sickness among
both men and animals. In addition, though Livonia in summer was
lush, fifteen hundred horses, a thousand ponies and fifty oxen were
stripping the land bare. On average twenty-five horses required an
acre of grassland to graze upon each day and Master Thaddeus was
losing what little hair he had trying to accommodate the insatiable
demands of the crusader forces.

As a reward for his
sterling service at Lehola and Odenpah, as well as the years spent
at Wenden, Bishop Albert created Thaddeus quartermaster general for
the campaign against Lembit. He sent him a special commission that
the engineer had mounted on the wall of his cluttered office. The
bishop also sent him a rather elegant red sleeveless tunic that
bore the insignia of Riga on the chest. Thaddeus did not see the
humour in Henke’s remark that he should be dressed handsomely to
receive the young virgins that were surely on their way from
Kalju.

For weeks the kitchens
and forges at Wenden had been hard at work producing supplies for
the campaign, the former churning out thousands of hard biscuits
that could be eaten, used as patches for shields or, in
emergencies, hurled from siege engines against the enemy. Thaddeus’
engineers had overseen the construction of six new mangonels to
replace those lost at Odenpah to add to the brace of trebuchets
that the army would be taking north. The woodworkers and carpenters
of Riga had also been busy and as the spring gave way to summer a
steady stream of carts had been ferried to the castle, to be stored
inside the outer perimeter wall. On a daily basis riverboats plied
the Gauja to ferry supplies to Wenden, and when Count Albert
arrived they were used to transport his men, horses and a vast
amount of armour, weapons, tents, canvas, tent poles and crossbow
bolts. The armouries at Wenden had also been producing the latter
to replace the prodigious expenditure at Odenpah, so that when the
end of August approached the order’s crossbowmen had enough bolts
to fight the Estonians.

The riverboats brought
barrels full of wine, mead and beer, Caupo also bringing with him
ample supplies of
kvass
for his own warriors. The rivers and
lakes were fished and the catch salted; Wenden’s kitchens also
producing cured meat for the order’s soldiers. They would fare
better than the crusader foot soldiers whose main diet would
consist of pottage made from beans, peas and oatmeal. The knights,
of course, would supplement their rations with whatever they
managed to hunt, though when they reached Saccalia their hunting
activities would be curtailed by the threat of ambush in the
heavily wooded terrain.