The Sword Brothers (61 page)

‘I thought we were
here to discuss peace,’ said Anton, swatting away a midge from his
face.

‘The bishop is here to
talk of peace,’ said Rudolf, ‘the Estonians might have other
ideas.’

‘You think they will
attack us?’ said Hans, looking around the flat landscape for any
sign of the enemy.

‘I hope so,’ remarked
Henke casually, holding the reins of his horse, ‘then we can
finally kill Lembit and have an end to the whole sorry
business.’

‘It must be agonising
for you, Henke,’ said Lukas, who also held his horse’s reins as he
walked behind Conrad, ‘to be so near to Lembit and not be able to
run him through.’

Henke smiled grimly.
‘I live in hope that the talks will fail.’

Rudolf was walking a
few paces ahead of the pony and saw the group of Estonians ambling
towards them.

‘Look sharp,’ he
called, placing his foot in a stirrup and hauling himself into the
saddle. Henke and Lukas did likewise.

‘What’s this?’ said
Henke, wrapping the reins round his left wrist.

‘Some sort of Estonian
delegation, I assume,’ said Lukas, ‘judging by the shields.’

‘I have seen those
shields before,’ said Conrad with alarm.

‘So have I,’ snarled
Henke.

Conrad saw the leering
wolf insignia on the shields as the dozen warriors came closer,
each of them clutching a small branch to show they came in
peace.

‘No trouble,’ ordered
Rudolf. ‘Keep your swords in their scabbards.’

He urged his horse
ahead as the Estonians slowed and then halted, instinctively
clutching their shields closer to their bodies. Conrad halted the
pony as the two sides eyed each other warily. Rudolf raised his
right arm as he brought his horse to a halt in front of Rusticus.
They exchanged a few terse words and then the Estonians continued
on their journey.

Conrad led the pony
and Henke and Lukas spurred their horses forward. The two groups
were about five paces apart when they passed each other, Hans,
Johann and Anton gawping at the mail-clad warriors armed with
swords and axes and wearing gaiters around their lower legs. Henke
and Lukas ignored them but Conrad fixed his eyes on the big leader
of the Estonians, who likewise stared at the youth. They both knew
they had encountered each other before but for a moment neither
could place the other. Then Rusticus realised where he had last
seen the tall, imposing youth with the expensive sword at his hip.
He sneered and spat on the ground before looking away from
Conrad.

‘You were the one who
tried to take Daina,’ Conrad said aloud.

‘What?’ queried
Hans.

Conrad let go of the
pony and turned around, without thinking drawing his sword.
‘Coward!’ he called out.

Hans also drew his
sword and stood beside his friend, Henke and Lukas turning in their
saddles as Rusticus nodded, grinned and spun round. The other
warriors stopped as their leader walked back towards the boy.

Conrad had not only
been learning Daina’s language but also some Estonian under the
expert tutelage of Ilona, and though his pronunciation may have
been poor Rusticus would have understood what had been thrown at
him well enough.

The brute now drew his
own sword as the weapons of Anton and Johann also came out of their
scabbards. The pony grunted nervously as Rusticus halted a few feet
from Conrad.

‘You have something to
say to me,
boy
?’

Rudolf had wheeled his
horse around and now manoeuvred it between Conrad and Rusticus.

‘What is going on
here?’ he demanded in perfect Estonian.

Rusticus tilted his
head at Conrad. ‘This
brat
insulted me.’

‘Is it possible to
insult an Estonian?’ asked Henke, walking his horse to stand
opposite Rudolf’s. By now the other Estonians had drawn their
weapons to stand behind their leader, who was staring unblinking at
Conrad.

‘Put your sword away,
Conrad,’ ordered Rudolf.

Conrad pointed it at
Rusticus. ‘But he was the one who attacked Wenden and kidnapped
Daina.’

‘Now!’ bellowed
Rudolf, causing his horse to lift its head in alarm.

Rusticus leered at
Conrad. ‘That’s right, put it away before you cut yourself with it,
boy.’

Lukas had drawn his
own sword and now rested the blade on his right shoulder as he
walked his horse forward to face the Estonian warriors, some of
whom repositioned themselves to meet any charge he might make.

‘Be gone, Estonian,’
snapped Rudolf, ‘and take your heathens with you.’

Rusticus still fixed
Conrad with his stare, while the latter for his part met the bigger
man’s black eyes. He carefully and slowly slid his sword back in
its scabbard and looked up at Rudolf and then Henke.

‘I will buy this boy
from you. How much? I will give you a good price.’

Conrad looked at Hans,
his mouth open in shock.

‘He’s not for sale,’
said Rudolf.

‘Course he is,’ said
Rusticus. ‘I’ve heard that the Sword Brothers are proficient slave
traders.’

‘You heard wrongly,’
snapped Rudolf. ‘You have out-stayed your welcome.’

Rusticus waved a hand
at his men, indicating they were to resume their march north. He
looked at Conrad.

‘Maybe I will visit
Wenden again and take him myself.’

‘You know where it
is,’ said Henke. ‘We will be waiting.’

‘You understand our
language,’ Rusticus said to Conrad, ‘that is good. Slaves should
know the language of their masters.’

Conrad’s hand went to
the hilt of his sword. How he wanted to kill this foul brute who
insulted him.

‘Attend to your
duties, Conrad,’ ordered Rudolf. ‘And you other boys put away your
weapons. You don’t want to risk ruining the blades with Estonian
blood.’

Rusticus grinned. ‘I
look forward to meeting you all again tomorrow. Think on my offer
of selling me the slave.’

Conrad was fuming as
he led the pony back to camp. All he could think about was the oaf
who had nearly taken Daina away from him. He wished that the bishop
had not come to make peace with the Estonians; then he could kill
that ugly brute and take his hideous head back to her as a
trophy.

Henke thought the
whole business hilarious. ‘You should have lopped his head off,
Conrad. You made a mistake back there.’

‘Conrad nearly killed
him when we rescued the women from Thalibald’s village,’ said Hans
with pride.

‘Nearly killing
someone isn’t good enough,’ remarked Henke. ‘What have you been
teaching these lads, Lukas?’

‘To obey orders,’
replied Lukas flatly.

‘Yes, orders,’ said
Rudolf. He halted his horse to face the boys. ‘You are brave enough
but you must curb your rashness, especially you, Conrad.’

That night Lukas
ordered Conrad to groom his own, Rudolf and Henke’s horse and wax
the saddles as a punishment for drawing his sword.

‘I was provoked,’
pleaded Conrad.

‘You must learn to
follow the example of our Lord and turn the other cheek until you
are ordered otherwise. You are being punished for your
indiscipline, Conrad. No one doubts your courage but you are like a
sword blade that has yet to be tempered. You understand?’

He didn’t at all.
‘Yes, brother.’

The next day the
meeting took place against a backdrop of a sky heaped with grey
clouds and a continuing easterly wind that whipped the banners of
the Estonians and crusaders alike. As the bishop wanted the meeting
to be short and to the point there were no tables or chairs inside
the oblong tent that Conrad and his comrades had erected the day
before, though at least it provided shelter from the rain that
began to fall after the dignitaries had arrived. The banner men of
Lembit, Alva, Edvin, Jaak, Kalju and Nigul stood outside one
entrance getting progressively wetter while their chiefs discussed
matters of import inside. Outside the opposite entrance a group of
Sword Brothers and crusaders were also getting soaked. Happily for
Conrad he was ordered to attend the bishop personally inside the
tent, Albert considering his presence a lucky mascot for the
meeting.

The air inside the
tent stank of stale ale and sweat emanating from the Estonians who
had feasted and drank to excess the night before. The bishop
recoiled from the powerful odour but maintained a dignified air as
the tribal chiefs belched and scratched their groins in a boorish
display of masculine prowess. In contrast Lembit stood rock-like,
alert and calculating, studying the Christian delegation opposite.
They were Bishop Albert, Caupo, Thalibald, Grand Master Volquin,
Sir Rudolf and a youth. His eyes narrowed as they settled on
Conrad, then opened wide as he recognised him as the one who had
given him the scar that now decorated his left cheek. He wondered
if his presence was just coincidence or a carefully designed insult
on the part of the bishop.

‘You requested this
meeting, bishop,’ he said. ‘State your terms so that we, the free
peoples of Estonia, may consider them.’

Lembit’s German was
excellent, though his condescending tone made Volquin and Sir
Rudolf bristle.

‘A two-year cessation
of hostilities, to begin immediately’ answered the bishop
curtly.

‘Why?’ probed Lembit.
‘Why would you wish to halt your crusade against us?’

‘I am not here to
answer to you,’ snapped the bishop.

Lembit smiled. ‘Then I
will tell you. Your kingdom of the false god lies broken and
weakened by the plague and an internal rebellion. You offer peace
like a slave whines for mercy.’

‘Enough Lembit,’ said
Volquin. ‘We are not here to be lectured.’

Lembit spread his
arms. ‘I do not lecture but state the truth, Grand Master Volquin.
What if I and my brothers decide to reject your overtures, to raise
a great army of Estonians and march south to finish the war that
you have started?’

‘That is your
prerogative,’ the bishop answered. ‘But would you leave your lands
undefended while an army of Lithuanians is on your border.’

Lembit’s calculating
demeanour slipped, albeit momentarily. ‘Lithuanians?’

The bishop nodded
knowingly. ‘Even as we stand here Grand Duke Daugerutis leads his
army against the Principality of Novgorod. I do not believe that he
wishes to make war upon the Estonians, but who knows what will
happen if he discovers that your people are defenceless when their
warriors are away?’

Lembit turned and
spoke quietly to his fellow chiefs. None had knowledge of German
and so did not understand the bishop’s words, but they became
agitated when Lembit informed them of what he had said. Kalju in
particular was most disturbed and for good reason. Having
experienced a Russian invasion in the winter the last thing he
desired was a Lithuanian incursion. Conrad, who was holding the
bishop’s cloak, stood behind the prelate and saw Lembit arguing
with the chief of the Ungannians. He saw the scar on the former’s
cheek and basked in pride that he had inflicted the wound on the
greatest enemy of the Sword Brothers. Eventually Lembit cajoled
Kalju into silence and retuned to his conversation with the
bishop.

‘Why should we believe
you?’

The bishop sighed. ‘It
does not matter if you believe me or not, Lembit. My words will not
alter the fact that the Lithuanians are marching to attack the
Russians.’

Lembit looked behind
him to see a fuming Kalju, the veins in his neck bulging.

‘Do we have peace or
not?’ demanded Volquin.

Lembit looked at the
grand master, then back at his chiefs. Alva and Edvin nodded while
Jaak and Nigul looked bored and disinterested.

‘You have your peace,’
said Lembit tersely. ‘I pledge not to lead my warriors into Livonia
for the duration of the peace.’

‘And no Christian
soldiers will set foot on Estonian territory,’ said the bishop,
smiling and bringing his hands together. ‘Praise God.’

‘Our business here is
done,’ said Volquin, pointing at the cloak held by Conrad. The
latter stepped forward and draped it around the bishop’s
shoulders.

‘Thank you,
Conrad.’

Lembit’s ears pricked
up as behind him his chiefs filed out of the tent.

‘Conrad?’

The bishop looked at
him in surprise, then at Conrad. ‘You know this young man?’

Lembit rubbed a thumb
along his scar. ‘We have met before, I think, but have not been
formally introduced.’

‘This is Conrad Wolff,
a most promising novice of the Sword Brothers.’

‘From the garrison of
Wenden, I believe,’ said Lembit casually.

‘How well informed you
are,’ replied the bishop. ‘Well, I wish you good fortune on your
journey back to Lehola.’

The bishop turned and
left the tent in the company of Volquin and Sir Rudolf. Conrad made
to follow when Lembit called him back.

‘Conrad Wolff.’

Conrad turned to face
him. They were now alone in the tent.

‘I heard about the
incident yesterday on the road,’ remarked Lembit in German. ‘It
would appear that our destinies are linked in some strange
way.’

‘I do not know of such
things,’ said Conrad.

‘And yet,’ continued
Lembit, ‘every time I make war upon Livonia you appear as if by
magic.’

‘Perhaps you should
not make war upon Livonia, then.’

Lembit moved closer
until their faces were only inches apart. ‘I owe you a scar, young
pup. A man should always pay his debts, don’t you think?’

‘I do,’ replied
Conrad.

‘The next time I come
south I will exact payment from you.’

Conrad smiled. ‘To our
next meeting, then.’

The bishop called his
name. ‘Your master calls,’ said Lembit. ‘Go to him, little
dog.’

‘I will mark you well
for those words, pagan.’ Conrad turned and walked from the tent to
follow the bishop and his party back to camp.