The Sword Brothers (11 page)

Olaf considered
striking his son again for his stupidity but then thought better of
it. He could not batter more brains into his son’s head. Instead he
walked over to where his wife had left a jug of ale on a small
table and filled two wooden beakers. He held out one to his son.
Eric smiled and took it, raising it to his father before draining
it.

Olaf stared at the
drink. ‘Every year more and more of these Germans land at Riga to
kill and conquer. Twenty years ago there were hardly any of them
but now they infest the land like a plague of rats. How long do you
think it will be before they turn their attention to Oesel?’

‘No barbarian will set
foot on this island, father,’ boasted Eric, refilling his beaker.
‘We are many, they are few.’

Olaf shook his head in
despair. ‘Have you learned nothing, Eric? Have you not seen with
your own eyes the armada of ships that brings more Germans to Riga
every summer? This summer will be no different. They have destroyed
the power of the Livs, the ancient people who have inhabited their
land since the earth was young. And now they have named their newly
conquered territory Livonia in mockery of those who originally held
it. They push north against the Estonians, east against the
Russians and south against the Lithuanians. There is no end to
their ambition or greed.’

Eric was unconcerned.
‘The Livs and Estonians are farmers. We are warriors.’ He glanced
at his father. ‘If I were king I would take the fleet and burn
Riga.’

‘If you were king this
island would be empty of warriors so blinded are you to the truth.
Riga is surrounded by a high stone wall and defended by a large
garrison. How will we breach its walls, by flying over them?’

Eric drained his
beaker a second time. ‘Walls can be broken down, father.’

Olaf raised his eyes
to the roof. ‘I am considering an alliance with the Estonians to
fight our common foe.’

Eric put down his
beaker and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. ‘An alliance? With those
whose lands we have raided since time began?’ Why would a wolf seek
the friendship of a lamb?’

Olaf smiled and began
pacing up and down, pointing at his son. ‘The world is a simple
place to you, isn’t it Eric? You get up each morning, fill your
belly and then go in search of a woman to seduce or a man to pick a
fight with. You pester me incessantly to give you command of a
fleet and when I yield to your pleadings you return with nothing
but a tale of Oeselian dead. But the world is changing and if you
are to one day be king of my people then you had better learn to
recognise the signs. We must change with the times and seek pacts
where once we spilled blood. We cannot destroy this German
pestilence alone.’

‘The Estonians might
not see it the way you do,’ replied Eric, who saw no merit in his
father’s plan.

But Olaf thought
differently. ‘They will. It is their lands that are being plundered
and stolen.’

‘And the Russians,
will they be agreeable to an alliance?’

Olaf toyed with his
white beard. ‘They pray to the same god as the Germans and view us
as pagans. I doubt we will have their friendship. And yet, as the
Germans push ever further east they will encroach upon Russian
lands. When they do so they may be able to forget their hatred of
us, if only for a short while.’

‘I will go to the
Estonians with an offer of peace,’ proclaimed Eric.

Olaf stifled a laugh.
Sending Eric would result in perpetual war with the Estonians. He
needed someone with diplomatic skills to bring his plan to
fruition.

‘No. As my direct heir
you must stay here. I will send Sigurd.’

Sigurd was Olaf’s
second son, a thoughtful, resourceful individual who was very
different from his thick-headed elder brother.

Eric laughed. ‘Sigurd?
He is too quiet and accommodating. The Estonians need to know at
all times that we do them a great honour by treating with them, and
should be reminded that they are bargaining from a position of
weakness.’

Olaf’s mind was made
up. ‘Sigurd will go to treat with the Estonians. And now, to
celebrate your “victory” over the Germans, I will give a great
feast tonight.’

‘You honour me,
father,’ said Eric.

‘But it will be many
moons before you lead another fleet to sea again. I will need all
the warriors I can assemble in the coming months and can ill afford
to throw their lives away to satisfy the vanity of my son.’

Sigurd and Olaf’s
other son, Stark, returned later that day with the boar and deer
they had killed and in the evening Kuressaare resounded with
laughter and music as Olaf feasted his people. Oesel was teeming
with wildlife and timber, while the sea that surrounded it was
filled with fish. The great forests on the island were
inexhaustible and its iron deposits provided the Oeselians with
weapons and armour. And Olaf knew that soon such a rich land would
attract the attention of the Germans and their men of iron on their
great warhorses.

Chapter 3

Riga was located
around five miles inland on the northern bank of the River Dvina,
the great waterway that flowed for over six hundred miles from far
away Russia to empty into the Baltic. Conrad and Hans stood at the
prow with the other youths as their cog entered the river’s estuary
and made its way upstream. Two small boats with oars had greeted
the cogs, having pushed off from a small settlement of log cabins
positioned half a mile inland, and now they towed the larger
vessels upstream. The captain ordered the sail to be furled as the
cog cut through the waters of the Dvina.

The river at this
point was over a thousand feet wide and the banks seemed a great
distance away. Beyond them was an ocean of greenery – forests of
mighty oaks stretching as far as the eye could see. Storks flew
over the river looking for fish to pluck and higher up corncrakes
circled above the boats.

‘There is good hunting
in those woods, boys,’ said Rudolf, who had come to join them at
the prow. ‘This land is filled with deer, wild boar, lynx and
bears. Lots of bears. A man can never starve here.’

‘That is good to
know,’ smiled Hans who, despite having eaten a fair portion of the
ship’s food stores, was still as thin as a spear shaft.

Conrad pointed at the
men straining at the oars in the two small boats towing their cog.
‘Are they pagans, Brother Rudolf?’

‘They were,’ he
answered. ‘They are Livs and once worshipped false idols but now
follow the true religion.’

‘When it suits them,’
added Henke, who had wandered over to join his friend. ‘They are
quick to revert to their old ways when they are of a mind to
rebel.’

‘Old habits die hard,’
agreed Rudolf, ‘but they are God’s creatures nonetheless.’

Henke curled his lip.
‘Creatures is right. I wonder what mischief they have been up to in
our absence.’

‘We will know soon
enough,’ answered Rudolf.

An hour later they
docked in Riga, the town that had been founded nine years earlier
by Bishop Albert himself. German traders had been coming to this
spot for fifty years, which was originally a collection of poor
villages, but only in small numbers. Now Riga, the name derived
from the Latin word
rigata
– meaning ‘irrigated’ – was a
bustling river port surrounded by thick walls. Bishop Albert had
named the town thus for he intended to irrigate the dry souls of
the pagans with Christianity.

The wooden quays were
crammed with boats of all shapes and sizes, from great cogs to
small riverboats and barges filled with goods and manned by strange
looking men with long moustaches, some with shaved heads, brightly
coloured coats, most with shoulder-length hair and fur-lined hats.
As Conrad walked down the gangplank following the others, languages
he had never heard before – all harsh, guttural and brutal –
assaulted his ears. He stared at half a dozen men unloading furs
from a single-masted vessel until they noticed him and stopped what
they were doing and stared back at him. He saw a cross around the
neck of one of them and supposed they must be Christian, but their
hard features and strange language made them seem like enemies.

‘Russians,’ said
Rudolf beside him.

‘They are
Christians?’

He smiled. ‘They do
not follow the teachings of our church, Conrad, or of the Pope, the
voice of God on earth. They are what are called heretics.’

The word meant nothing
to Conrad and in truth he was more fascinated by their clothes and
fearsome visages than their religion.

‘We burn heretics in
Germany,’ said Anton.

‘That we do,’ agreed
Rudolf.

‘Then how is it they
are free to go about their business here?’ asked the youth.

‘They are not citizens
of this town or of this land,’ said Rudolf, ‘and so are free to
come and go as they please and trade their goods.’

The boys, mercenaries,
civilian workers and their families left the quay to enter the
town, passing warehouses filled with fur, flax, timber, tar and
hides that would be sent back to Germany for sale. Led by Rudolf
and Henke they walked along dirt streets filled with fair-haired
men and women dressed in brown and red tunics, leather belts and
red sashes, the women also wearing red or brown woollen hats.
Conrad recognised men and women dressed similarly to Lübeck’s
citizens but they were in a minority. As far as he could tell all
the buildings in the town were wooden with thatched roofs.

They eventually came
to Riga’s castle, a square stronghold built of stone with a square
tower in each one of its four corners. Set back from the Dvina, it
was surrounded by a moat filled by water from the river and
accessed by means of a drawbridge. The guards standing sentry at
its entrance bore two keys on their shields to symbolise St Peter,
the first patron of Riga. The foundations of the cathedral that
would be built in his honour had already been laid in the centre of
the town.

Inside the spacious
castle the new arrivals were lodged in the wing given over to the
Sword Brothers, for though Riga was the possession of the Bishop of
Riga it was also the headquarters of the bishop’s military order.
Thus the brothers had their own stables, armoury, offices and
quarters in the castle, though their numbers were dwarfed by the
size of the town garrison. However, when it came to quality the
Sword Brothers were far superior.

Conrad and his
companions were shown to a first-floor dormitory in the castle’s
north wing, while the civilians and their families were quartered
beneath them on the ground floor. The mercenaries were lodged in
one of the towers. The arrangement was not particularly
satisfactory but they would only be staying in Riga for two days at
most before leaving for Wenden.

Rudolf left Henke to
supervise the youths while he went to see Grand Master Volquin, the
head of the Sword Brothers whose office was in the castle’s
northwest tower. There were only half a dozen brother knights in
Riga’s castle and a score of sergeants. It was a purely symbolic
presence – the Sword Brothers were needed on the Livonian frontier
fighting the heathens. Rudolf walked up the steep tower steps to
the second floor where two sergeants of his order stood sentry
outside the grand master’s office. They wore surcoats resembling
his own and steel kettle helmets on their heads. The men saluted
when Rudolf announced himself and said he wished to see the grand
master. One knocked on the door and entered when ordered to do so.
Moments later he reappeared and told Rudolf that Grand Master
Volquin would see him.

Rudolf closed the door
behind him and bowed his head. ‘Grand Master.’

Volquin rose from
behind his desk and extended his hand. Rudolf took it and Volquin
gestured for him to sit in the chair in front of his desk.

‘I trust your trip was
uneventful.’

Rudolf sat down. ‘It
was until the Oeselians paid us a visit two days out from
Riga.’

Volquin walked over to
a small table and poured wine into two silver cups, handing one to
Rudolf before he retook his seat.

‘Olaf’s raiders become
ever more troublesome. Did you suffer many losses?’

‘None of
consequence.’

Volquin placed his cup
on his desk and rubbed his thick beard. Some five years older than
Rudolf, his fierce stare and black hair and beard made him look
much older. He had headed the Sword Brothers for less than a year
and the burden of his office was already bearing heavily upon
him.

‘Unfortunately I have
news that is of consequence to our cause. In your absence the
Estonians launched a great raid against our northern domains and
killed several hundred civilians, together with a hundred local
levies, fifteen of our sergeants and two brother knights.’

‘The work of Lembit, I
assume.’

Volquin nodded.
‘Indeed, the scourge of our crusade.’

‘He must be dealt with
sooner rather than later,’ said Rudolf, finishing the most
excellent wine he had just been served.

‘To which end I have
been summoned to the bishop’s palace to discuss strategy with the
archdeacon tomorrow. I would consider it a favour if you would
accompany me. I find his company irksome. That being the case, your
calming presence will prevent me saying something that I may later
regret.’

Rudolf smiled. ‘I
might say something that the archdeacon may regret, grand
master.’

‘He fears an uprising
incited by Lembit,’ continued Volquin, ‘a not entirely unreasonable
assumption.’

‘The walls of Riga are
strong enough,’ said Rudolf.

‘Though not, perhaps,
the faith of our resident archdeacon,’ suggested Volquin. ‘Now, if
you will forgive me, I have letters to write.’

The aim of the Bishop
of Riga was to import Christian settlers into Livonia who would
eventually outnumber and then supplant the indigenous peoples.
Though many of the latter had accepted baptism and been received
into the church’s embrace, many more remained pagans. Even among
the lands controlled by the bishop and the Sword Brothers the newly
converted locals could be volatile and untrustworthy. For
generations their ancestors had worshipped strange gods and made
human sacrifices to appease their deities and though they professed
loyalty to the Christian religion, they were apt to waver at the
slightest provocation. The news of massacres of Christian priests
and settlers had done nothing to encourage the flow of those
willing to begin a new life on the Baltic’s Christian frontier.
Every year a few hundred crusaders came with the bishop from
Germany. They stayed for a year, sometimes less, and then returned
to their homelands, having dipped their swords in pagan blood. But
Livonia needed settlers if it was to survive and prosper.