The Sword Brothers (23 page)

Word soon spread of
Conrad’s exploits in saving Hans and nearly killing Lembit and
after the service women kissed him on the cheek and gruff
mercenaries offered him their congratulations. His nausea had
disappeared and he felt ten feet tall, an emotion soon dispelled
when Rudolf ordered him and the other boys to take their crossbows,
quivers and gambesons back to the armoury, telling Conrad to also
hand in the sword he had taken off the dead pagan.

‘God has a purpose for
you, Conrad, of that I am sure,’ said Rudolf, ‘but not with a
heathen sword in your hand. When the time comes you will be given
your own sword with which to smite the enemies of our Lord.’

‘Not until he learns
to shoot a crossbow accurately,’ remarked Lukas behind them.
‘You’re lucky Lembit didn’t cut you in half. You might not be so
lucky next time so it’s back to the training fields for you and
your companions.’

And so it was: back to
the endless hours of learning to wield a sword, spear and shoot a
crossbow, intermingled with instruction on the many and varied ways
to kill an enemy with a dagger. But in the aftermath of the battle
Conrad and the others helped to collect the enemy dead outside and
inside the perimeter. They had recoiled in horror when tasked with
heaping onto the backs of carts men whose heads had been smashed in
when hit by a rock from a mangonel, or a warrior whose skull had
been split in two by a knight on horseback. But Lukas told them
that it was good for them to get used to seeing death and horror,
as the war in Livonia would go on for many years to come.

Those score of
Estonians who had been wounded and left behind by their comrades
were herded into a pigpen where Master Berthold visited them. They
were given a stark choice: baptism or death. Conrad watched as the
twelve who had refused the offer to become Christians were burned
to death outside the perimeter wall. All the mercenaries, sergeants
and brother knights were witnesses to their execution as the flames
licked around their feet and they began screaming and calling to
their gods as the fire ate away their legs and then their torsos.
Walter was as usual kneeling, his hands clasped together in
worship, his lips reciting a prayer and his eyes closed.

Conrad thought it a
cruel death and his face must have registered disapproval, which
was noticed by Rudolf standing beside him as the air was filled
with the pagans’ ghastly screams.

‘You find the
judgement of Master Berthold disagreeable, Conrad?’

‘No, sir, but I think
that there are quicker ways to execute people rather than roasting
them to death.’

The brushwood that had
been piled high around the feet of the Estonians who had been
chained to wooden posts was blazing with a fury now, incinerating
their bodies. Though two unfortunates still appeared to be alive
judging by the way their heads were thrashing about, mercifully
there were no more screams. Hans beside him was looking decidedly
ashen and Anton appeared to be on the verge of throwing up.

‘Burning is the
punishment for heresy, Conrad. It is Church law.’

‘I have little regard
for the law, sir,’ replied Conrad, anger in his voice. ‘It was the
law that failed to protect my family and unjustly condemned my
father to death.’

He glanced at Rudolf
and blushed, for he had spoken out of turn to his superior. Rudolf
looked at the roaring fires that had finally consumed the bodies of
the Estonians.

‘There is the law of
men, Conrad, and the law of God. You must have faith that you will
see justice done, though you must learn patience to see it so. You
must also have faith, Conrad, for if you do then you will be
rewarded.’

Conrad thought Rudolf
spoke in riddles but said nothing further on the matter. He noticed
Thalibald and his warriors grouped behind him, all staring
impassively at the fire. The chief was dressed in simple grey
leggings fixed at the calves with gaiters, a mail tunic and a sword
in a scabbard at his waist. He held an iron helmet in the crook of
his right arm and wore a red cloak around his shoulders. He was of
medium height with a stocky frame, brown beard and shoulder-length
hair.

His men looked similar
to the Estonians who had attacked the castle, most of them wearing
iron helmets, round wooden shields slung on their backs and spears
in their hands. The warriors grouped immediately behind the chief
were clad in mail and were armed with swords, while those behind
wore no armour and had axes tucked into their belts instead of
swords. They looked a rough lot.

‘They are allies?’
asked Conrad, looking at Thalibald with distaste.

‘They are,’ replied
Rudolf. ‘Chief Thalibald is a servant of the church but, more
importantly, an enemy of the Estonians, especially Lembit who
frequently sent his warriors south to raid these lands before the
time of the Sword Brothers. He knows that when this castle is
finished his lands will be more secure and his womenfolk and
children will not be murdered or taken as slaves by the
heathens.’

‘But
they
are
heathens,’ said Conrad dismissively.

‘Remember our
conversation on the tower? Rome was not built in a day, Conrad. Do
you know what that means?’

Conrad shook his head.
‘No, sir.’

‘It means that it
takes time for great schemes to come to fruition.’

When the fire had died
down Master Berthold dismissed the assembly and walked with
Thalibald back to the castle. Conrad walked behind Lukas, Henke and
Rudolf in the company of the other boys as they headed towards the
chapel for midday mass. He looked behind him as Thalibald’s
warriors filed through the open gates into the compound, which had
now been cleared of dead Estonians.

‘Do you think we will
get our swords now?’ said Anton.

‘I am sure we will,’
said Bruno with certainty, who walked forward and slapped Conrad on
the back, ‘especially after Conrad’s heroics.’

‘I had to give up the
sword I took,’ said Conrad despondently.

‘That is because you
will be given a better one,’ announced Johann.

Ilona came to the side
of Rudolf who put his hand around her waist. She giggled and tossed
back her long black hair. Rudolf said something to her and she
turned to look at Conrad and then walked over to him. It was the
first time he had been this close to her, though he had seen her
often. She parted her full lips to smile at him and then leaned
forward to kiss him gently on the cheek.

‘A reward for the hero
of the hour.’ Her accent was strange, her voice sultry. Conrad
blushed and looked down at the ground. Ilona laughed and then went
back to Rudolf’s side. Hans dug a finger into Conrad’s ribs and
Bruno slapped him on the back again.

After mass Conrad and
the others reported to the armoury to be given armour to repair.
Then they would eat lunch before their afternoon training
session.

‘Well, young Conrad,
it looks like we were right to save your skin that night outside
the cathedral.’

He snapped out of his
daydream to see the powerful figure of Henke beside him as he left
the armoury.

‘Gave that bastard
Lembit a present, I hear.’

‘Yes, sir,’ said
Conrad proudly. He made to speak but stopped himself.

‘If you have something
to say spit it out,’ said Henke tersely.

‘Brother knights and
sergeants of the Sword Brothers are forbidden to marry,’ said
Conrad, avoiding Henke’s cold eyes.

‘That is true.’

‘But is Ilona Brother
Rudolf’s wife?’

Henke grinned. ‘Not
exactly. As a brother knight Rudolf cannot marry. Poverty,
chastity, obedience, that is what we all swore when we agreed to
fight in this land of heathens, forests and lakes. But Ilona is
special.’

Conrad was perplexed.
‘How so?’

‘You are a curious
little wretch,’ sad Henke, ‘but seeing as you did well in the
battle I will tell you instead of giving you a good beating.

‘Ilona was the one who
pulled Rudolf out of the burning stables at Holm when the Russians
raided it. And for that she earned Rudolf’s eternal gratitude. Mine
too.’

Holm on the Dvina,
near Riga, was one of the first stone castles in Livonia.

‘Attacked by the
Russians it was,’ continued Henke, ‘led by a bastard named Domash
Tverdislavich. That’s a mouthful, ain’t it?’

‘What happened to
him?’ asked Conrad.

Henke spat on the
ground. ‘Hopefully he died a horrible death but I suspect he
crawled back to Novgorod.’

He saw Conrad’s blank
look. ‘It’s a Russian city many miles from here. Hopefully one day
we will catch up with him and then Rudolf can repay him for trying
to roast him to death. Now, I’ve wasted enough time gossiping to
you. Haven’t you got weapons training to attend to?’

Conrad scurried off,
having not been fully satisfied by Henke’s answer. But at least he
now knew where Rudolf had got his scars.

*****

Lembit sat beside the
fire as the healer applied powder derived from dried yarrow onto
his cut face. He did not flinch as the powder entered the wound and
pain shot through his cheek. Yarrow was well known for its healing
qualities and when dried and ground into powder it would staunch
the flow of blood.

The healer then placed
a bandage against the wound and asked Lembit to hold it in
place.

‘How long for?’ he
snapped.

‘Half an hour should
suffice, lord, unless you require a more permanent dressing.’

Lembit shook his
head.

‘Of course,’ continued
the healer, a wiry man with thinning hair and bony fingers. ‘There
will be a scar.’

Lembit waved him away
and was left alone with his thoughts. Victory had been so close he
could have touched it. And then it was cruelly snatched away by
that traitor Thalibald. There was a time when he had accorded his
rival the title ‘valiant foe’ but now he was nothing more than a
crusader lackey, a man who had discarded his roots to suck at the
teat of Bishop Albert and his revolting religion. He was beyond
contempt. Lembit growled with anger.

‘Are you all right,
lord?’ Rusticus crouched by his side.

‘I am very far from
all right,’ Lembit hissed.

‘The wound is deeper
than you thought?’

Lembit looked at him
with confusion. ‘What? No, no. I was referring to the affair at
Wenden.’

‘We could go back,
lord,’ smiled Rusticus, who relished nothing more than the thought
of more slaughter.

After retreating from
Wenden they had moved north at speed, continuing their march
through the forest during the night and only halting in the
pre-dawn light of the next morning. Fortunately there was no
pursuit and so they had made camp, dressed their wounds and filled
their bellies. He estimated they were at least fifteen miles north
of the castle, having suffered seventy dead and forty-five wounded,
a dozen of them seriously. He had brought four hundred warriors
with him and now over a quarter was either dead or wounded.

‘No, we go back to
Lehola and await the crusaders’ next move. I have a debt to settle
with Thalibald, though.’

‘Do you wish me to go
back and kill him, lord?’ said Rusticus, a glint in his eye.

Lembit was tempted but
decided his deputy was too valuable to be put at risk for the sake
of a personal grudge.

‘No. Thalibald can
wait. Send a courier to the Oeselians, though, with a message for
King Olaf.’

‘What message?’

Lembit smiled
savagely. ‘That I accept his offer of an alliance.’

Rusticus raised his
hand in acknowledgement and went to organise a party to journey to
Oesel. It was a curious thing. Though Thalibald had robbed him of
victory Lembit’s thoughts were not about him but rather the boy who
had nearly killed him. He saw his determined face, his eyes full of
hatred and his youthful frame. If Rusticus had not appeared when he
did then he would have killed the boy and made him pay for his
inaccurate shooting. He held the bandage against his wounded cheek,
which was now throbbing. The boy lived and that was unforgivable.
He comforted himself with the thought that he might get another
opportunity to assault Wenden next year when he would have the
Oeselians by his side. Perhaps there would be no need. Perhaps the
Kurs had defeated the crusader army, burned Riga to the ground and
thrown the bishop and his pale-skinned priests on a fire. That
would be a spectacle worth witnessing. And without their crusader
allies there would be no place to hide for men such as Caupo and
Thalibald.

*****

A pall of gloom hung
over the bishop’s palace in Riga, not only in a physical sense with
regard to the dozens of funeral pyres that had been lit to cremate
the bodies of dead Kurs who had been killed during the battle with
the returning crusader army, but also metaphorically because the
attack of the Kurs had come close to capturing the town itself.
Archdeacon Stefan was still visibly shaken by the whole experience
and had hidden in the castle while the Kurs had been attempting to
scale its walls. He may have been a man of God but he had no desire
to meet his maker just yet. Only the return of the bishop and his
army had saved the town and defeated the pagans, who had suffered
great losses at the hands of the mounted knights.

Archdeacon Stefan
poured more wine into his cup and drank it greedily. ‘The garrison
must be strengthened, lord bishop,’ he said. ‘The Kurs may return
and next time they may succeed.’

Bishop Albert frowned
at his nephew who was usually a model of composure. ‘The danger has
passed, Stefan, there is no cause for alarm.’

They were sitting on
chairs covered with silk around a large oak table in the palace’s
withdrawing chamber; a linen cover laid over its surface.

‘And the Lithuanians
crossed the Dvina to attack Kokenhusen,’ continued Stefan, drinking
more wine. ‘It is as if all the demons of hell have been unleashed
against us.’