The Sword Brothers (102 page)

Conrad, now utterly
calm and in control, kept hearing Lukas’ sage words in his mind:
better to avoid a blow entirely that to block it with your sword.
Henke was a big man and a fearsome fighter but he knew he had the
measure of him. The brother knight was no longer smirking as he
tried to finish the fight. But Conrad ducked, dodged and stepped
aside to avoid his blade and shield, in turn delivering a blow on
the latter that split it in two. He then launched a series of
counter-strikes that forced Henke back. Had he been looking he
would have seen Lukas smiling approvingly – his pupil was putting
into practice what he had taught him. The novices stood,
transfixed, as a master class in swordplay was enacted in front of
them.

The fight continued,
Henke brushing away Conrad’s attacks with downward cuts and
horizontal sideways blows. And all the time they moved around each
other like wary wolves. Then they would close in to suppress each
other’s strikes. Henke was all strength allied with lightning-fast
reflexes; Conrad’s ultimate skill matched with supreme calm, and it
would have been interesting to learn which combination was the
superior. But it was not to be.

The bout had not only
been seen by Lukas and his novices but also by nearby spearmen,
crossbowmen and Brother Walter practising with his lance on the
quintain. When he saw what was happening he immediately rode to the
castle to raise the alarm, and returned accompanied by Rudolf and
half a dozen mounted sergeants.

Rudolf placed his
horse between the two fighters and levelled his lance at Henke’s
chest, Walter doing likewise with Conrad.

‘Desist or die,’
Rudolf ordered, the sergeants surrounding Conrad and Henke also
pointing their lances at them. ‘Surrender your swords.’

Henke, totally
unconcerned, shrugged and handed his weapon to Rudolf, who swung in
the saddle and fixed Conrad with an angry stare. Conrad also gave
up his sword.

‘Report to the
master’s hall immediately,’ he commanded before wheeling away.

Henke said nothing as
he followed the horsemen, Conrad retrieving his waster and handing
it to Lukas before following. As he walked through the snow he
heard Lukas’s voice behind him.

‘If you boys pay
attention and practise diligently, one day you might be as good as
they are. Now back to training; tournament’s over.’

Conrad took in a deep
breath. The air was freezing and he felt it seep into his lungs.
And although he could have been killed fighting Henke he felt more
alive than ever.

He felt less exuberant
when he stood beside his nemesis in front of Berthold’s table in
the master’s hall, Rudolf standing behind them with his sword in
his hand.

‘I think we can
dispense with the sword, Brother Rudolf,’ said Berthold at last. He
looked up at the two miscreants.

‘Fighting in public,
with swords and in full view of novices and mercenaries. You bring
disgrace upon our order.’

‘We were not fighting,
master,’ said Henke calmly.

Berthold looked at him
in surprise. ‘Oh?’

‘We were practising
sword strokes, master,’ continued Henke, ‘so the young novices
could copy the moves.’

Rudolf walked slowly
from behind them to stand by the master’s table. ‘You will observe
Brother Henke’s ripped mail and novice Conrad’s torn gambeson,
master,’ he said. ‘Hardly indications of a practice bout.’

‘Training should be as
realistic as possible, brother,’ replied Henke, his face a mask of
sincerity.

‘What do you say on
this matter, novice Conrad?’ asked Berthold. ‘Is what Brother Henke
says correct?’

Conrad felt a great
pressure bear down on him. If he told the master that Henke was
telling lies then the brother knight could be dismissed from the
order. He himself would be flogged, though that was of little
consequence. He realised that he held Henke’s fate in his hands.
Why would he do such a thing? It made no sense. Henke had provoked
him and he had gladly risen to the bait, and in doing so had thrown
off the cloak of doom that had covered him since the murder of his
wife and child. He now realised that he had Henke to thank for
that. Surely the brother knight had not purposely instigated the
fight to shake him from his lethargy? Did the brutal Henke possess
such foresight?

‘I am waiting,’ said
Berthold impatiently.

‘It is as Brother
Henke says,’ answered Conrad.

Rudolf folded his arms
and stared at them both, a knowing look on his face. Conrad
expected him to declare that they were both liars but he didn’t,
though his gaze became uncomfortable after a while.

Berthold shook his
head. ‘I’ve always known it. Soldiers cooped up in a castle all
winter become bored and restless. What we need is a good, long
campaign against the pagans to sweep away all our ill humours.’

He clenched a fist.
‘To show them some Christian steel.’

‘Indeed, master,’ said
Rudolf. ‘But what are we to do with our master practitioners of the
sword?’

Berthold snapped out
of his vision of a mighty Christian army smiting the unbelievers.
‘Mm? Extra guard duties should temper their enthusiasm, I think.
See to it, Brother Rudolf.’

‘And what of novice
Conrad?’ queried Rudolf.

Berthold brought his
hands together and leaned back in his chair. ‘Yes, thank you,
Brother Rudolf. You have vexed myself and the brother knights of
this garrison, novice Conrad, as to what to do with you. You cannot
remain a novice forever so I must ask you what are your
intentions.’

That was easy, mused
Conrad: kill Lembit. He knew that the Sword Brothers did not
approve of the notion of vengeance; they preferred to slaughter
their enemies with no malice or impure thoughts in their hearts.
And he knew that in the coming year the bishop would be leading
them north against Lembit.

‘To enter the order as
a brother knight, master,’ said Conrad, ‘if you deem me worthy
enough.’

A broad grin crept
over Rudolf’s face as Henke stared impassively ahead. For his part
Berthold looked relieved.

‘Most excellent. The
ceremony will take place tomorrow morning. See to it, Brother
Rudolf.’

‘What about their
extra guard duties, master?’ queried Rudolf.

Berthold waved a hand
at him. ‘This is much more important. We must not keep God waiting
for the creation of one of His holy warriors.’

Rudolf tilted his head
towards the door. ‘You two get out. I will see you both after
prayers.’

Henke gave him an
impish smile and Conrad bowed his head solemnly to Rudolf and
Berthold.

As they left the
master’s hall and entered the courtyard Conrad breathed a sigh of
relief.

‘That was lucky.’

Henke nodded. ‘I
agree. If Walter and Rudolf had not appeared when they did your
guts would have been spread all over the training field. You had a
lucky escape.’

Conrad grabbed his
arm. ‘You don’t really think that, do you?’

Henke yanked his arm
free and sneered at him. ‘You and I aren’t finished.’

He marched away
towards the armoury. Conrad was mystified. He had thought Henke’s
actions earlier had been made out of consideration, compassion
even. But then he remembered that there was not a kind bone in
Henke’s body.

That evening, after
night prayers had been celebrated, Master Berthold and Brother
Rudolf escorted him to the chapel. There he was locked inside the
building so he could pray and contemplate his future as a brother
knight. At all times two sergeants would stand guard outside the
chapel to ensure he did not leave and no one entered. Peace and
solitude were essential in preparation for the solemn vows each
individual would take.

It was cold in the
stone building and Conrad shivered as he knelt before the altar and
prayed to God. The walls of the chapel were sumptuously decorated
with scenes from the life of the Blessed Virgin Mary, illuminated
by the dozens of candles that flickered on their stands. Because it
was still winter he was allowed to wear his felt boots, woollen leg
wraps beneath his leggings and a woollen shirt under his padded
jerkin. It was still bitterly cold, though, and after a while his
fingers and toes were frozen. He thought about his life, his youth
in Lübeck, and the terrible tragedy that had brought him to Livonia
where he had found bliss, only for it to be cruelly snatched away.
He subconsciously turned the ring on his finger that Daina had
given him. To become a brother knight meant renouncing all worldly
property but Rudolf had informed him that, notwithstanding Henke’s
declaration, he would be allowed to keep the sword bequeathed to
him by Sir Frederick and his ring.

He closed his eyes and
begged God to forgive him his sins but most of all to take care of
the souls of his parents, his wife and his son. He also prayed for
the safekeeping of his sister. For she was all alone in the world,
like he was again.

‘She is not alone,
Conrad.’

He opened his eyes and
saw a vision before him, a woman surrounded by a celestial light, a
woman dressed in a pure white robe that glowed radiantly. Warmth
filled the room as he struggled to comprehend what his eyes
beheld.

‘Are you the Virgin
Mary?’ he stuttered.

She smiled gently at
him, her full lips parting to reveal perfect white teeth.

‘Do you not know me,
Conrad?’

Her voice was soft and
calming, like a light breeze on a summer’s day. He looked at her
shoulder-length hair and saw bright green eyes.

‘Daina?’ he said with
disbelief.

She smiled once again
and grief tore at his stomach.

‘I should be with
you,’ he said, choking back tears.

‘You are with me and I
am with you,’ she replied. ‘Just because you cannot see me does not
mean I am not there. We are together always.’

‘Dietmar.’

‘He is safe and in the
company of angels,’ she replied.

‘I should have died
with him and you,’ he said bitterly.

She looked at him with
sympathetic eyes. ‘It is not your destiny, my love. You must become
what you were born to be.’

‘What is that?’ he
asked.

‘You must discover
that for yourself. But in the dawn you will take the first steps to
that new life.’

‘I want to come with
you,’ he pleaded.

‘A day, a year, a
life. They are all fleeting, Conrad. You must make the most of what
has been given to you. We will be together again, my love, that I
swear. And remember, I am with you always.’

He was going to speak
more words for he had so much to say but there was a dazzling white
light that blinded him and then she was gone. The candles
flickered, the air was still and silence returned to the chapel. He
heard a key turning in the lock of the chapel door and knew that
the dawn had come.

He said nothing to
Berthold, Rudolf or Otto of what had happened during the night, nor
to the witnesses summoned to the ceremony: Walter, Hans, Anton and
Johann. It was personal to him and no one else’s business. After
Otto commanded everyone to kneel he proceeded to say prayers,
calling upon God to bless Conrad and all his future actions. He
noticed that Otto’s face was very pale and his eyes ringed with red
for it was a bitterly cold morning.

Master Berthold stood
in front of the altar with Conrad kneeling before him, his four
friends standing behind him and Rudolf standing next to the master
with a new mantle in his arms. Berthold opened a small,
leather-bound book that contained the rules and statutes of the
order and read aloud a number of questions that Conrad had to
answer.

‘Are you married?’

‘My wife died,
master.’

‘Do you owe anyone any
money?’

‘No, master.’

‘Are you anyone’s
slave?’

‘No, master.’

‘Do you promise to
obey your master, to abstain from sexual activity, to live without
personal property, to uphold the traditions and customs of the
Order of Sword Brothers, and to help conquer the holy land of
Jerusalem?’

Conrad thought the
last clause most odd but was happy to obey it anyway. ‘Yes,
master.’

Berthold smiled,
placed his hands on Conrad’s shoulders and raised him up. He turned
to Rudolf who handed him the new mantle, Berthold placing it around
Conrad’s shoulders, fastening the laces that held it on. He also
handed Conrad a woollen cord that he placed around his waist as a
sign of chastity and a soft cap in the style worn by the brother
knights of the order. Everyone then bowed their heads while the
pallid Otto said another prayer, after which Berthold read out a
summary of the customs and rules of the order. Finally, after
enquiring whether he had any questions, Master Berthold dismissed
him with a blessing.

Everyone shook his
hand and embraced him as Conrad Wolff, brother knight of the Order
of Livonian Sword Brothers, left the chapel to take the first steps
of his new life.

*****

It was spring and the
land was alive with a torrent of birdsong and the drumming of
woodpeckers. The lush green forests were also filled with great
reed warblers, sedge warblers and spotted crakes, the meadows, peat
bogs and marshes covered with carpets of flowers providing food for
newly emerged butterflies. The column of men on horseback, foot
soldiers, wagons and draught ponies stretched for many miles as it
threaded its way through the numerous lakes that gave the land its
name: Latgale – ‘The Land of Blue Lakes’ – that lay between the
Kingdom of Novgorod to the north and the Principality of Polotsk to
the south. A land that bordered the great marshes to the east but
which also contained many peat bogs and marsh areas itself, as well
as ancient wetland oak forests that seemingly went on forever.

During the winter a
message had arrived at Pskov from the new ruler of Polotsk: Prince
Boris, son of Vladimir. The latter had been planning a campaign
against the Bishop of Riga and his heretical supporters but had
collapsed and died on the eve of the war – an ill omen that had
stopped the operation in its tracks. Since then Gerzika had fallen
to the Catholics and Boris, alarmed by the approach of the
apostates, had extended the hand of friendship to Novgorod.
Relations between the two kingdoms had traditionally been cool at
best but Mstislav, also aware of the crusader threat, had accepted
the offer to meet halfway between Pskov and Polotsk, at a spot
beside a small river called the Ritupe.