The Sword Brothers (65 page)

It felt as though his
legs had been pulled from under him. ‘Your father is choosing you a
husband?’ He wanted his life to end.

She toyed with the
ends of her long hair. ‘I told him that my heart belongs to only
one man.’

‘Oh?’

She smiled that most
beautiful of smiles. ‘He asked me who it was and I told him and he
was happy.’

He felt deflated. ‘He
must be a worthy man to have your father’s approval.’

‘Very worthy,’ she
agreed.

‘A chief’s daughter
should have a chief’s son for a husband,’ he said.

‘He is not the son of
a chief.’

Conrad felt his heart
stir. ‘Not a chief’s son?’

She smiled at him
knowingly. ‘He is not even of my people.’

His heart felt as
though it would burst from his chest. ‘And your father will allow
this?’

She moved closer so no
one else would hear. ‘For the one who saved his daughter he would
deny nothing.’

‘Right. Back to work,’
barked Lukas as a wave of exhilaration surged through Conrad like
floodwater after a thunderstorm. Hans looked at him.

‘Are you all right,
Conrad?’

He slapped Hans on the
back and picked up his sickle. ‘Never better, my friend, never
better.’

Daina picked up the
yoke and said goodbye to them all, then skipped away to join the
other girls from the village who had brought water to those toiling
in the fields.

‘Who do you think is
the best?’ said Anton, pointing his sickle at Rudolf and Henke
swinging their tools.

‘Rudolf,’ answered
Hans.

‘Henke,’ said Conrad.
‘He’s a cold killer.’

‘It has to be Rudolf,’
suggested Johann. ‘He’s quicker.’

‘What about Walter?’
said Lukas as he listened to the conversation.

Hans laughed.

‘Walter?’ said Conrad
dismissively.

‘A good knight,
Walter,’ said Lukas. ‘Remorse, if channelled correctly, can be the
making of an excellent soldier.’

The weather remained
fine as the sheaves were collected and taken back to Thalibald’s
village, the tithe portion being loaded onto carts to be ferried
back to Wenden. Once safely under cover the grain was processed by
being threshed with a flail to separate the individual grains from
the ear. On average one man could thresh up to seven bushels of
wheat a day. After threshing the grain was winnowed to remove the
chaff and straw, which was collected for use as animal fodder.

The men from Wenden
returned to the castle with their share of the crops following a
great feast in Thalibald’s hall at which Daina promised Conrad that
she would marry no man aside from him. This made him deliriously
happy and led to him drinking too much
medalus
and passing
out. Hans and Anton carried him back to their hut and in the
morning he was forced to walk beside the cart as the others sat in
it as it travelled back to Wenden.

*****

Lembit stood on the
sand and watched as the longships ran aground and men jumped from
their decks. It was cold and he drew his fur-lined cloak around
him. A dozen of his wolf shields rested on their spears and pulled
the hoods of their cloaks over their helmets. Only Rusticus
appeared not to be feeling the cold as he stood beside his master
and eyed warily the four great ships that silently slid onto the
brown sand. Parnu Bay was an inlet of the Gulf of Riga that was
shallow and sheltered from the Baltic. As such it was a haven for
shipping with its calm waters and mild climate, though today the
wind was brisk and the sea grey and forbidding. Lembit hoped that
the conditions were not an omen for his meeting with the king of
the Oeselians.

He watched as the
boats furled their great sails and the rowers shipped their oars,
the crews expertly going about their business just as their fathers
and forefathers had done. He smiled. These men were the last
remnants of the once all-conquering Vikings who had spread terror
throughout the Baltic and beyond. And now the Oeselians, formerly
known as the Eastern Vikings, were the only ones left. He looked at
the great carved dragon heads at the prow of each longship. Once
they had raided along the length of the coast of the Estonians and
the Livs, sailing up the Gauja and Dvina with impunity, to raid and
burn but also to trade. Now the crusaders had closed these two
great waterways to them. How long would it be before the Bishop of
Riga besieged Oesel itself, and the days of the longships and tall
men came to an end?

‘We should have
brought more men,’ growled Rusticus, looking with alarm at the
warriors jumping from each vessel and wading through the
wind-flecked water.

Lembit snapped out of
his melancholy thoughts. ‘We are here to talk, not fight.’

There were now at
least fifty warriors grouped around a squat figure in full mail
armour heading towards them. Olaf was bare headed, his white hair
and beard standing out against the grey of his surroundings. Lembit
felt a spit of rain on his face and looked up at the grey clouds
that filled the sky. He hoped the meeting would not last for long
otherwise they would get soaked.

‘Talk is for women,’
mumbled Rusticus. ‘Men fight.’

‘But not today,
Rusticus, not today.’

Lembit walked towards
Olaf, the cold seawater lapping round his boots. He extended his
arm.

‘Greetings Olaf, King
of the Oeselians. Welcome to Estonia.’

Olaf grasped his
forearm and held it in an iron embrace for a few seconds.

‘Hail Lembit, King of
the Estonians.’

Lembit laughed, the
first time he had done so in a while.

‘There is no King of
all the Estonians, just a collection of chiefs.’

Olaf screwed up his
face at the cool wind. ‘Walk with me.’

He waved his men away
and they ambled onto the sand while Lembit indicated to Rusticus
that he should stay with the wolf shields.

‘A cold winter is
coming,’ said Olaf whose forearms were bare, though Lembit did not
see any sign of goose bumps.

He had requested this
meeting alone with Olaf and had not informed the other chiefs. He
had learned long ago that the smaller the gathering the more could
be achieved. Large meetings resulted in a lot of noise and little
result. He wanted to see Olaf to explain the peace he had agreed
with the bishop.

‘You think it will
hold?’ said Olaf.

‘Until each side has
rebuilt its strength. It is a truce only but at least it gives me
time to organise.’

He glanced at Olaf. ‘I
am sorry for your son.’

‘He died a warrior’s
death,’ replied Olaf without emotion. ‘It is all we can hope for.
He wished to lead the expedition. I have other sons.’

He stopped and peered
at the long, flat beach.

‘The world changes.
When my father was king these shores were his playground and your
people his prey. Now we are allies and face a greater enemy that
threatens our very way of life.’

‘There is more than
one danger,’ said Lembit glumly.

Olaf looked at him,
his blue eyes widening in surprise.

‘The Russians stir in
the east,’ continued Lembit, twisting the sole of his boot in the
sand. ‘They seek to expand their territory at my expense while I
fight the crusaders.’

‘Men are like wolves,’
said Olaf. ‘They circle their prey waiting for him to weaken.’

Lembit nodded. ‘I
dealt with the Russians on Lake Pskov, and we heard that the bishop
allowed the Lithuanians to pass through his territory to attack
them.’

‘The bishop and the
Lithuanians are allies?’ said Olaf in alarm.

Lembit shook his head.
‘I do not know why the crusaders allowed the Lithuanians into their
territory but it was not for friendship. The Lithuanians do not
worship the god of the crusaders.’

‘Then the game is
still finely poised,’ said Olaf.

More spits of rain
began hitting Lembit’s face and the sky grew darker.

‘A game with high
stakes, I fear,’ offered Lembit. ‘And yet I feel that one great
battle will decide all our fates, lord king.’

He looked at the squat
Oeselian. ‘I hope I can stand beside you when that day comes.’

‘Our alliance still
holds, Lembit, as long as I remain king. But my warriors crave
revenge against the crusaders for the death of my son.’

Lembit squinted into
the bitter, rain-filled wind. ‘And you, lord king, do you seek
vengeance against your son’s killers?’

Olaf rubbed his
forearms. So he was human after all.

‘His mother bickers me
incessantly to lead my ships against Riga and my lords thirst for
Christian blood. But a king must know when to strike. Having lost a
good many men at Treiden I have no desire to repeat the experience.
I agree with you that one battle will decide things. The question
is, my Estonian friend, can the crusaders be engaged at a time and
place that is advantageous to us and the opposite for them?’

They walked on for a
few yards in silence, the wind blowing in from the sea and the
spits of rain slowly turning into drops.

‘The crusaders
seemingly have everything in their advantage,’ said Lembit. ‘Their
stone castles grow from the ground as impregnable citadels and
every year more and more iron-clad horsemen arrive at Riga to make
war against us. And yet there is a chink in their armour, one thing
that may undo all their work and yet give us victory.’

Olaf stopped and
looked up at him, wracking his brains to think what it could be. He
shrugged his shoulders to signal his ignorance.

‘Their arrogance,’
said Lembit. ‘Their unshakable belief that the world belongs to
their Christian god and that all other peoples are destined to
kneel before it.’

Olaf was unimpressed.
‘Every king and chief is arrogant, Lembit. How else can he lead his
people if not possessed of the conviction that he alone has the
courage and skills to do so?’

Lembit began wagging
his finger at the king. ‘Quite right, lord king. But the crusaders
who arrive every year at Riga thirst for battle and conquest and
their bishop encourages their desires. Eventually they will
over-extend themselves and find themselves deep in enemy territory
surrounded by enemies. Then, my lord, then we will offer battle and
defeat them.’

‘You think they will
just walk into a trap?’ asked Olaf.

‘They view us as
savages, lord, fit only to serve them as slaves. To them we are
incapable of formulating tactics and strategy. We do not have to
deceive them; they deceive themselves.

‘Did you know that the
Bishop of Riga has a brother bishop, my lord?’

‘I did not,’ said
Olaf.

‘His name is Theodoric
and he has already been made Bishop of Estonia, as if the crusaders
have already conquered my people. So you see, my lord, they give us
scarcely a thought. We are just chaff to be swept away.’

Olaf twisted his face
against the rain that now filled the air.

‘Then I will keep my
longships ready until I hear word from you, Lembit. Time to get out
of this wretched weather, I think. It will be a harsh winter.’

They walked back to
where their men waited with hunched shoulders and backs to the wind
and rain. For Olaf the journey back to Oesel would be a short one,
the island lying only sixty miles to the west of Parnu Bay. He and
his men would lie up under canvas covers until the wind and rain
abated, rowing out to sea once the conditions were more favourable.
Lembit would retire to the nearest village to partake of its
hospitality and assure the inhabitants that there was nothing to
fear from the four longships that were moored just a short distance
away. How right Olaf was: the world was changing.

*****

Olaf was right about
the winter: its icy grip extended over the land in early December
and did not let up until March. And yet for Conrad the snow,
never-ending religious services, duties, weapons training and
numbing cold were hardly noticeable as his thoughts were filled
with Daina. After the crops were gathered in there had been a great
festival of thanksgiving in Thalibald’s village to which he and the
other novices were invited. His knowledge of the Liv language had
expanded apace thanks to the diligent efforts of Ilona and he was
now able to have simple conversations with Daina in her own
language. She laughed and tossed her long hair back when he became
confused and said something ridiculous, her green eyes sparkling
with mischief as she trapped him with words.

When the birth of
Christ was celebrated she came to Wenden in the company of her
father, mother and brothers, wrapped in furs, her cheeks rosy in
the cold air. As before he and the others served them during the
Christmas feast and gave up their quarters so they could stay at
the castle for a few days. Master Berthold and Rudolf entertained
Thalibald and his sons in the days following by organising hunts in
the surrounding forests. They returned each afternoon with sleighs
stacked with dead wolves, elk and wild boar, the cooks skinning the
corpses so the hides could be presented to the chief as gifts. The
meat was cooked and eaten in the dining hall in the evening, Daina
and her parents and siblings sitting at the top table with the
master and Rudolf.

As the new year began
the ice was thick on the Gauja and the many lakes that dotted the
landscape around Wenden. Though the stores were well stocked with
food and fuel, parties were sent out every day to hunt game and
fish in the lakes through holes cut in the ice. Winters were long
in Livonia and Wenden was now like a village complete with women
and children that had to be clothed, fed and kept warm. As Master
Berthold was always reminding the garrison during his long sermons,
the Lord had stocked the land and waterways with an abundance of
living things that could be caught and eaten. It was therefore a
sin to ignore this bounty that God had provided.