The Sword Brothers (90 page)

‘Are you sure?’ asked
Hans.

Conrad smiled. ‘Oh,
yes, I am sure.’

Hans, his arm around
Ilona’s shoulders, led her from the trees to the cart.

‘God bless you,
Conrad,’ she called to him.

‘Are you going to use
that sword or are we both going to die of old age?’ he said to the
chubby man.

The man said nothing
but kept glancing at his whimpering comrade on his knees clutching
his bloody wrist and at the trees to his left and right.

‘If you run I will
catch you,’ Conrad told him, walking towards him. ‘You are too fat
to get away.’

The man suddenly
lunged forward, swinging his sword at Conrad’s head. The latter
ducked to avoid the blow and then jabbed the point of his sword
into the man’s right thigh before springing back out of range. The
man yelped in pain and hobbled backwards.

‘Interesting things,
swords,’ remarked Conrad, circling the fat man like a wolf
observing its prey. ‘Did you know, for example, that a fighter
should never parry a sword blow with the cutting edge of his own
sword?’

Conrad sprang forward,
made to swing at the man’s head, causing him to bring his sword up
to block the blow, before whipping the blade back, crouching low
and stabbing the point into his left thigh. He jumped back as the
podgy man cried out in pain and dropped his sword.

‘It’s true,’ continued
Conrad. ‘Meeting a blow with a sword’s edge results in chips and
heavy gouges and will eventually fracture and split it. Imagine
that.’

The portly man’s sword
was now lying on the ground in front of him, Conrad standing some
five paces away.

‘What do you want?’ he
said.

Conrad stepped away
from him and struck the man whose hand he had severed across the
face with the back of his left fist. The man had been attempting to
stagger to his feet.

‘Stay on your
knees.’

He turned back to face
the chubby man. ‘What do I want? Firewood, that is what I am here
for.’

He pointed at the
man’s sword. ‘That is a nice sword. You should treat such a weapon
with respect. Pick it up.’

The man hesitated.

‘Pick it up!’ shouted
Conrad.

The man stooped down
to retrieve his weapon and in a flash Conrad lunged forward to
drive the point of his sword through the man’s outstretched hand,
pinning it to the ground. The man screamed in pain and stared
wide-eyed at the sword blade embedded in his hand. Conrad stepped
on his fingers and slowly withdrew his blade, the victim screaming
again as pain shot through his arm. He fell to the ground and held
his wounded hand to his chest in a futile attempt to comfort the
injured limb. Then he began to sob, rocking to and fro like an old
woman.

Conrad heard horses’
hooves and turned to face what he thought were more attackers. He
smiled when he saw Rudolf, Henke and Lukas walk from the meadow
into the trees, all carrying swords and shields. Behind them came
Hans and Ilona, the latter with a face like thunder when she saw
her attackers.

‘These are the ones,’
she said, pointing at the dead bodies and the two wounded men.

She smiled at Conrad
and linked arms with Hans. ‘Two gallant knights came to my
rescue.’

‘So it would seem,’
said Rudolf. ‘You can put your sword away now, Conrad.’

Conrad wiped his blade
on the brigandine of one of the dead men and slid it back in its
scabbard. Henke stood over the man with the severed hand.

‘Do you want me to
kill them, Rudolf?’

Rudolf shook his head.
‘No, we take them back to Wenden. They must be tried and convicted
before a court.’

Henke was
disappointed. ‘They are going to be hanged so what is the
difference?’

‘The difference, my
friend, is that justice must be seen to be done. Hans, go and fetch
the cart.’

‘This one might bleed
to death first,’ said Henke, looking at the severed hand.

Lukas went over to one
of the corpses, removed the belt around its waist and used it as a
tourniquet to staunch the loss of blood from the arm that no longer
had a hand.

Henke looked around
and nodded. ‘You did well, Conrad.’

‘Thank you, Brother
Henke,’ said Conrad.

‘You taught him well,
Lukas,’ said Ilona as Henke hauled the two wounded men to their
feet and bundled them towards the meadow.

‘I’ve never seen his
trick before.’

Lukas raised an
eyebrow. ‘Trick?’

‘Yes. Swapping his
sword from one hand to the next and throwing his dagger at one of
my attackers. Look, the dagger is still in him. Such skill.’

Lukas folded his arms
and Rudolf shook his head.

‘Did I teach you to
throw your weapons away or treat them like juggling balls?’ said
Lukas calmly.

Conrad’s cheeks became
red with embarrassment. ‘No, Brother Lukas.’

Lukas wagged a finger
at him. ‘No I did not.’ He looked at the corpse with the dagger in
its throat.

‘You had better
retrieve your dagger, unless you have learnt a trick to make it
jump back into its sheath.’

Conrad looked down and
shuffled over to the dead man, pulling his dagger from his neck,
wiping it and slipping it back into its sheath.

‘You can put the dead
bodies on the back of the cart when it arrives,’ said Lukas curtly.
‘If I find out about any more tricks your sword will be
confiscated. Is that understood?’

Conrad was
crestfallen. ‘Yes, Brother Lukas.’

However, Rudolf
slapped him on the arm and thanked him and Ilona kissed him on the
cheek as they went back to their horses, and back at the castle
Lukas had nothing but praise for him and Hans and commended their
actions to Master Berthold. The two surviving attackers were hanged
the next day in the middle of the Lübeck camp alongside the two
corpses. Bishop Albert, who was appalled when he heard of the
incident, ordered that the bodies were to be left hanging until
they rotted. He assembled the great lords in the master’s hall and
impressed upon them that the aim of the forthcoming campaign was to
liberate the Estonians from their wicked ways and to lead them to
Christ’s teachings. Theodoric had been created Bishop of Estonia
and it was their solemn duty to make the bishopric a reality.

It was mid-May when
the army marched from Wenden on a sunny spring morning. The meadows
were filled with buttercups, ivy and blackthorns and hares peeked
above the long grass to observe the great column of horsemen, men
on foot, carts and wagons that wound its way northeast towards
Estonia.

Caupo and Thalibald,
together with the latter’s two sons, rode with the two bishops,
Count Horton, Grand Master Volquin, Sir Helmold and Sir Jordan, the
latter leading the newly arrived crusaders from Germany. Caupo
provided the forward screen for the army, two hundred of his men on
ponies scouting ahead to guard against Estonian attacks. Two score
of Liv warriors from Thalibald’s village were moved into Wenden to
garrison the castle in the absence of the Sword Brothers and
mercenaries. The latter were in a good mood at the prospect of
plunder.

‘They say that this
Lembit is king of all the Estonians,’ said leather face, crossbow
over his shoulder as he walked beside the wagon that held spare
bolts, spare crossbows and the tents and supplies for his men.

‘Really?’ remarked
Conrad walking beside him after having helped him and the other
crossbowmen load it after striking camp, his boots splattered with
mud. Livonia in spring had beautiful fresh mornings but it
invariably rained in the afternoon and that meant the track along
which the army travelled quickly became muddy and rutted, slowing
the rate of advance to five miles a day at best.

Leather face grinned
wickedly. ‘And you know what kings have, don’t you?’

‘Crowns?’ offered
Conrad.

‘Treasuries filled
with gold.’

Conrad saw the
mischievous glint in his eyes. ‘There are many fine lords in this
army. They will have first call on any treasure, will they
not?’

Leather face tapped
his nose with a finger. ‘Rules of war, boy. Any plunder taken must
be divided up, the great and the good getting the largest share,
the rest divided up among the common soldiery. But taking a king’s
palace means that there will be a nice share for everyone. Master
Berthold will take care of us.’

‘Then you will be able
to go back to Germany and buy your alehouse,’ said Conrad, stepping
over a muddy puddle.

‘Perhaps.’ He looked
at Conrad. ‘What about you?’

‘My life is here, in
Livonia,’ he answered, saying nothing of his desire to marry
Daina.

‘A life of poverty and
loneliness,’ sniffed leather face.

‘Loneliness?’

‘No women. Once you
take the vows of a brother knight that’s it, no women for you.’

Conrad shrugged. ‘The
Sword Brothers have been good to me.’

‘Ha! You’ll think
differently when you are old and shivering to death in some
draughty castle with no woman to warm your bed.’

‘If we survive this
campaign,’ remarked Conrad.

‘No reason why we
shouldn’t, not with so many knights and crossbowmen with us. The
heathens will either be cut to pieces or shot down where they
stand. Should be over in no time at all.’

But he was entirely
wrong concerning the tactics that would be employed by the
crusaders.

When Fellin had been
attacked and captured three years before the Bishop of Riga had led
just over four hundred men in the siege. Now he sent the four
hundred lesser knights that had sailed with Sir Jordan from
Germany, together with the entire complement of Lübeck’s foot
soldiers, to besiege Fellin. They were accompanied by a hundred of
Caupo’s Livs who were to act as scouts to warn of the approach of
any Estonian relief force. Should such a relief force approach the
fort the crusaders were ordered to immediately march the few miles
north to Lehola where the main crusader army was located.

*****

‘They will be here in
two days, perhaps three.’

Lembit leaned on the
timber walls of Lehola and stared south, across the endless expanse
of forest, lakes, rivers and meadows that filled Saccalia. The land
looked so peaceful, the sky filled with white clouds and the
occasional flock of corncrakes.

‘Send orders to the
local headmen to bring their warriors here,’ he told Rusticus,
‘together with what food they can carry, their livestock as well.
Tell them to burn their villages after they have escorted the
women, young and old to their forest hiding places.’

Rusticus was
surprised. ‘Burn the villages?’

Lembit continued to
stare south. ‘The crusaders will either use them as stables for
their horses or barracks for their soldiers. I see no reason to
furnish them with accommodation.’

The crusaders were
moving slowly north, guarding their multitude of wagons that
contained their infernal machines that could batter down timber
walls that had stood for centuries. Their Liv allies scouted far
ahead of the bishop’s army, making it almost impossible to mount a
surprise attack against the men of iron.

With the advent of
spring Lembit had sent word to the other chiefs but only the Jerwen
and Wierlanders had pledged troops, and his riders had informed him
that they were still many miles away. Kalju of the Ungannians,
alarmed that his land was between the crusaders in the west and the
Novgorodians in the east, had refused to send any warriors,
informing him that he needed every man to defend his own lands. The
Rotalians had been attacked during the winter and their villages
raided, thus Nigul refused to leave his kingdom or allow any of his
warriors to fight beside Lembit.

‘Where was Saccalia
when my people were being raped and murdered and their homes
torched?’ Nigul had written in his letter.

For his part Alva,
leader of the Harrien, sat in Varbola and trembled at the thought
of the crusaders raiding his territory as they had done to
Rotalia.

Rusticus articulated
his thoughts. ‘They will not arrive in time.’

‘I assume you mean our
allies, Edvin and Jaak?’

Rusticus spat over the
ramparts. ‘If they come at all.’

Lembit turned away
from the south and walked to the steps that led to the ground level
of his stronghold. ‘You should have more faith in the other
tribes.’

Rusticus trailed after
him. ‘Why?’

Lembit stopped halfway
down the wooden steps and faced his deputy. ‘Because they all know
that if Saccalia falls then so do they.’

He continued down the
steps and walked briskly to his hall, Rusticus following. Already
Lehola was a hive if activity, his wolf shields manning the walls
and towers and smiths hammering on anvils in the forge as they
mended helmets and fashioned blades. The armoury was well stocked
with spears, axes, shields and arrows. The menfolk of the villages
would bring their own weapons and food, and together with the
supplies held in the fort’s storerooms Lembit hoped that he would
be able to hold out until his allies relieved him. Even though only
two of the tribes were coming to his aid he reckoned on each chief
marching with at least a thousand warriors. His wolf shields
numbered five hundred men and he could muster at least fifteen
hundred warriors from the surrounding villages. And the fort of
Fellin was also manned by two hundred of his men who would be a
thorn in the side of the crusaders when they came. The Christians
would not be able to besiege Lehola and fight off a relief force.
They would eventually be forced to retire and when that happened he
would follow and harry them every step of the way back to
Livonia.

His plan rested on the
crusaders’ inability to take Lehola, the strongest fortress in all
Saccalia. Built on a great mound that had a dry moat surrounding
its entirety, it was three times the size of Fellin. Rectangular in
shape, it measured four hundred yards in length and was two hundred
yards wide. Its timber walls contained thirteen towers, two of
which flanked the main gates positioned in the middle of the
southern wall. Inside the perimeter were storerooms, a forge,
stables and huts that provided living quarters for the garrison. In
the northern sector of the fortress was an inner citadel – the
original stronghold – that had its own timber wall, towers in all
four corners and which contained Lembit’s great hall, more
storerooms, huts, stables and the armoury. No enemy had ever
breached Lehola’s high walls since the first chief of the
Saccalians had built it hundreds of years before.