The Sword Brothers (96 page)

He looked at Conrad.
‘Not a scratch on you. You live a charmed life, Conrad.’

‘Johann’s ankle is
broken.’

‘He’ll soon
recover.’

Rudolf looked at the
twisted and lacerated bodies that decorated the fence, ditch and
tree stumps beyond. ‘A grim harvest. Still, this battle should
settle things. Lembit won’t escape now. And with his death the
other Estonian chiefs will no doubt submit.’

More carts were now
arriving from camp to take away the dead and wounded and a herald
arrived from the bishop. He saw Wenden’s standard planted in the
ground and rode over to it, Master Berthold standing beside it. The
herald spoke to him and then wheeled away to report to the other
castellans.

‘To me,’ called
Berthold, ‘all Wenden’s brother knights and sergeants to me.’

‘You three as well,’
said Rudolf to Conrad, Hans and Anton.

The members of the
order gathered round their master as the crossbowmen and spearmen
remained at their posts at the fence.

‘Lembit has
surrendered to Bishop Albert,’ said Berthold. The others cheered
but the master raised his hands.

‘There’s more. Lembit
has also agreed to be baptised. He will travel to Riga for the
ceremony. It would appear that he is now our brother and ally.’

The brother knights
and sergeants stood stony faced and silent at this news. Henke put
their thoughts into words.

‘So all this has been
for nothing?’

‘Not for nothing,
Brother Henke,’ said Berthold, ‘for the bishop has secured the
allegiance of the Saccalians and where they lead the other tribes
will follow.’

But no one believed
his words. They had spent years fighting Lembit and the other
Estonian chiefs and felt cheated of victory. Henke was most
aggrieved and mumbled to himself as the assembly dispersed. Another
who was less than happy on receiving news of Lembit’s decision was
leather face. He stood at the fence, his crossbow resting on the
back of the corpse of an Estonian hanging like carrion on the
logs.

He spat towards the
ditch. ‘No plunder. Looks like another year of fighting for me at
least, then.’

‘What’s wrong with
that?’ grinned Conrad, his strength returning after taking
water.

‘For a young pup like
you, nothing,’ replied leather face, ‘but I’m not getting any
younger and the cold and the wet of Livonia are beginning to take
their toll. You’ve got a life of fighting to look forward to but
I’m thinking about my retirement.’

He looked behind at
the dead crossbowmen being thrown into the back of a cart.

‘The thing about being
a mercenary is that you can be killed at any time, and the longer
you do it the more the odds lengthen against you staying alive.

‘That Lembit’s a
slippery bastard, though. Just when you think you have him he
escapes the noose. Now he would make a good mercenary. Knows when
to call it a day and save his neck.’

‘He is to accept
baptism,’ said Conrad sternly.

‘I doubt that means
much to him,’ scoffed the grizzled dog of war. ‘Just a way of
buying more time. What do you think, Brother Henke?’

Conrad turned to see
the brooding figure of Henke approaching, a face like thunder and
still muttering to himself. He stopped and looked at leather
face.

‘What are you smiling
about, you bag of old bones?’

Leather face grinned
some more to reveal his broken, black teeth. ‘I was just mentioning
to the lad, here, that Lembit is a clever bastard.’

‘I’m seriously
considering going into that fort and slitting his throat myself,’
snarled Henke.

‘The bishop would burn
you for that,’ said Rudolf behind him.

‘It would be worth
it,’ said an unrepentant Henke.

Rudolf put an arm
around his shoulder. ‘And I would lose a good friend and the order
would lose a fine knight. Can’t allow that to happen. Come on,
let’s go and find some of the badly wounded and slit their throats.
You’ll feel better afterwards.’

Henke was still
grumbling as he followed Rudolf over the fence, down to the ditch
and into the corpse-filled field of tree stumps. Already parties
were going among the Estonian bodies to put those still living out
of their misery. Better that than lying in agony staring at your
guts that had been ripped open by a sword or axe, or waiting with
smashed limbs for birds to come and peck your eyes out. Every
soldier, pagan and Christian alike, prayed that they would be
spared such horrors.

That night the bishop
gave a great feast in his tent to celebrate Lembit’s decision to
embrace the Holy Church, though Count Horton, Sir Jordan and most
of the crusader leaders sat in sullen silence, believing that they
had been robbed of victory. Bishop Albert upbraided them for their
uncharitable attitude, reminding them that they were in Christ’s
service and not in Livonia for personal gain or profit. He was
delighted that Theodoric’s title of Bishop of Estonia finally had
substance.

Grand Master Volquin
noticed the scowling faces of the crusaders, including Sir Helmold
who was usually more sanguine than most, having known the mores of
Livonia for some time now. For his part Caupo was also downcast,
believing that Lembit had out-foxed Bishop Albert, but such was his
love and respect for the prelate he kept his opinions to himself.
Volquin understood the air of frustration that permeated the
crusader army but believed that it could be banished by a symbolic
victory. Not in Estonia, that much was certain. As he sipped at his
wine the castle of Gerzika came into his mind.

Two days later the
army began its slow crawl back to Livonia. The Christian dead were
buried in what had been the crusader camp, the ground being
consecrated by the bishop. Albert also insisted on the erection of
a monument outside Lehola’s gates where the monks of Abbot Hylas
had been brutally murdered. Lembit sent back his warriors to their
villages and ordered the chiefs to return, each with one of their
sons. These would serve as hostages and would live in Riga until
such time as the bishop thought fit to return them to their homes.
In return the bishop agreed that no Christian soldiers would remain
in Saccalia but Lembit agreed that missionaries would be allowed to
travel freely throughout his land to live among his people and
preach the word of God. The Estonian chief had no choice but to
agree.

*****

Lembit stood before
the doors of his hall in Lehola before the wolf shields drawn up in
their ranks. A slight smell of smoke and charred wood still hung in
the air and wolf banners no longer flew from the fort’s towers. To
one side stood a group of long-haired chiefs in full war gear with
their sons who would accompany Lembit to Riga. The Estonian leader
wore mail armour over a red tunic and a gilded helmet. He also
carried a shield bearing his wolf insignia. The silence in the open
space was deafening. He waved over Rusticus who stood in front of
his men.

‘You are in command in
my absence,’ he told him. ‘The Christians will send their priests
to spread their religion. See to it that they are not harmed, that
is my command.’

‘You killed the other
priests to prevent them spreading their poison,’ said Rusticus,
‘and now you welcome them?’

‘As long as there are
no Christian castles or soldiers in Saccalia then there is still a
chance to achieve final victory, Rusticus. We have suffered a
temporary defeat but I am still hopeful that we might win the
war.’

He walked over to his
pony and hoisted himself into the saddle, pointing at the sons of
his chiefs to do likewise.

Lembit smiled at the
chiefs. ‘If any of their fathers are mindful to rebel against my
rule in my absence, kill them.’

A dozen of his wolf
shields had been killed in the battle and a further twenty-five
wounded, but that still left over four hundred and fifty of the
best warriors in all Estonia, and they would make short work of any
rebellion in Saccalia.

Lembit was about to
ride from the compound when he had an afterthought.

‘And Rusticus.’

‘My lord?’

‘I will return so
please try to curb your more violent tendencies. Your task is to
rule not terrorise. Work with the village chiefs and they will be
your loyal servants, unless of course they step out of line.’

Rusticus nodded. ‘What
about the other tribes?’

‘I will write to them
explaining the situation.’

Rusticus was
surprised. ‘The Christians will allow you writing materials?’

Lembit smiled. ‘Of
course, they put great store in trust and forgiveness.’

‘They betrayed us, all
of them,’ sneered Rusticus.

‘Not all of them,’
said Lembit, ‘Jaak and Edvin came if none of the others did. For
that they deserve our thanks not condemnation.’

He spurred his pony
forward.

‘Farewell, Rusticus. I
will return.’

‘The gods be with you,
lord.’

He trotted from the
compound with the hostages following, their heads down and one or
two of the younger ones weeping. Outside Lehola’s gates the Bishop
of Riga and his bodyguard were waiting, along with Sir Helmold, Sir
Jordan, Count Horton, Grand Master Volquin and fifty fully armed
and armoured knights. It was an impressive show of strength, though
the bishop was all smiles and courtesy as Lembit fell in beside him
and the nervous hostages were escorted to the rear. Then the whole
entourage trotted south to join the rest of the army on its way
back to Livonia.

Though they had horses
of their own Conrad, Hans and Anton held their reins as they walked
behind the cart that held the injured Johann, his ankle now re-set
and held in place by two wooden splints strapped to his leg. It was
hot and humid and the air smelt of leather and horse dung, copious
quantities of the latter being deposited along the churned-up track
they had advanced upon and which they now used for their return
journey.

Though peace had been
agreed between the bishop and Lembit everyone still marched in
their armour as a precaution against an assault by the Estonians
who had attempted to relieve Lehola. Caupo himself organised the
army’s rearguard, had mounted patrols out every day to ensure
security and the knights and brother knights remained fully
armoured and mounted throughout the march. But there was no attack
and the journey consisted solely of the monotony of everyday
campaigning: digging latrines, cleaning weapons and equipment,
cooking meals, grooming and mucking out horses and setting up and
dismantling tents. At least in the order the sergeants and brother
knights assisted with these chores; in the rest of the army the
squires and foot soldiers were tasked with camp duties. The great
lords and knights viewed such work as beneath them.

It was now approaching
the longest day of the year and Conrad was daydreaming about Daina
when there were shouts behind him.

‘Make way for the
bishop, make way for the bishop.’

He stopped and pulled
his horse to the side as a great number of horsemen approached,
pennants fluttering from lances with the bishop’s great banner
among them. Two heralds trotted past issuing their demands for
wagons and men to get out of the way and then the bishop himself
approached, wearing his priestly robes and accompanying a figure in
a rich helmet, mail armour and a red cloak. Conrad looked
admiringly at the bishop but then his jaw dropped as he recognised
Lembit and the scar that he had inflicted on the pagan leader. The
latter also identified him and brought his horse to a halt. There
was a brief commotion as those following the bishop had to speedily
stop their horses to prevent a collision.

Lembit turned his
horse ninety degrees to face Conrad. The bishop, having discovered
that his guest was no longer next to him, turned his horse around
and retraced his steps. Lukas, Henke and Rudolf, who had been
riding ahead of the cart that held Johann, placed their steeds
between it and Lembit, the latter unconcerned by their presence. He
leaned forward.

‘Conrad Wolff.’

‘You know this young
man?’ said the bishop, slightly perturbed by the unintended
halt.

‘Oh, yes, I know him,’
said Lembit. ‘We are old friends.’

The bishop looked
quizzically at Conrad and then at Lembit.

‘Young Master Wolff
has distinguished himself since his arrival in Livonia. He is to be
a brother knight in the Order of Sword Brothers.’

‘I am well acquainted
with his prowess in battle,’ said Lembit.

‘He was not proficient
when he gave you that scar on your cheek,’ said Henke loudly. ‘He
is much better with a crossbow now.’

Lembit glared at Henke
who stared back unconcerned.

‘Well,’ said the
bishop, ‘pleasant though this interlude has been I think we should
be on our way.’

‘I told you we would
meet again, Conrad Wolff,’ said Lembit.

He leaned closer to
Conrad. ‘I have a debt to settle with you,
boy
.’

‘Feel free to collect
it any time,’ remarked Conrad.

Lembit tugged on his
reins to turn his horse. The bishop raised his hand to the brother
knights who bowed their heads and he and the pagan chief continued
their journey.

‘Arrogant bastard,’
spat Henke.

‘Who, the bishop?’
grinned Lukas.

‘No good will come
from letting Lembit live,’ said Henke.

Rudolf prodded his
horse forward and leaned over to speak to Conrad. ‘Lembit holds a
grudge against you, Conrad, you must take care.’

‘I thought he was our
ally now, Brother Rudolf.’

‘In this world allies
can turn into enemies in the blink of an eye. Watch yourself.’

But Conrad quickly
forgot his chance meeting with Lembit when the army reached Wenden
and the bishop and the pagan continued their journey on to Riga.
The rest of the army followed, Caupo leaving it to take his
warriors back to Treiden and Thalibald and his sons returning to
their village.