The Sword Brothers (115 page)

Grand Master Volquin,
his beard frozen solid, ordered that those still capable of walking
should assist in pushing the wagons through the snow to save the
strength of the ponies. Conrad noticed that Hans shivered
constantly. They were all cold, notwithstanding their layers of
clothing, but his friend felt the conditions the most. Despite the
years of eating like a fighting cock at Wenden he had never lost
the lean, hungry look that Conrad remembered when he had first set
eyes on him.

His teeth chattered as
he sat in the tent vigorously rubbing pig grease into his boots to
prevent them becoming brittle.

‘Do you think we shall
see Wenden again?’

Johann looked at him
with bloodshot eyes. ‘One of the Liv guards told me that we should
be there within a week.’

Hans stopped rubbing.
‘A week? I doubt if I can last another day.’

Anton, his face
deathly pale, smiled weakly. ‘You will make it, Hans. You are
stronger than you look, which is just as well seeing as you look
like a corpse.’

‘Unlike the sick,’
said Conrad, who had pins and needles in his face – a sure sign of
frostnip. ‘Most of them will not survive another day.’

Hans went back to his
rubbing. ‘Poor bastards. They survive a siege only to die of
cold.’

‘Master Berthold did
not even survive the siege,’ remarked Conrad glumly. ‘I told you
there would be a price to pay for slave trading.’

‘At least we all
survived,’ said Anton.

But in the next few
days they thought they might not as they trudged through the snow,
heads down against the biting wind, taking short steps but always
moving. Volquin, in consultation with the other masters and Sir
Richard, had taken the decision to strike for Wenden as quickly as
possible rather that travelling short distances each day and
spending the rest of the time ice fishing or setting traps to catch
game. The crossbowmen had no missiles with which to hunt and in any
case many of them had frostnip in their fingers, making it
difficult to aim their weapons accurately. The Livs informed the
grand master that they could reach Wenden in three days, though the
pace would be cruel.

The last of the fodder
was given to the ponies and they were covered in caparisons as
protection against the freezing wind. The scouts led them through
trees covered in snow and in the lee of hillsides to protect the
column from the merciless wind. At night they crammed bodies into
tents so men could glean what warmth they could from their
comrades. But in the morning there were always a few who did not
open their eyes, having passed away during the night.

Rudolf barked orders
to the men of Wenden, walking among them to encourage them to keep
going. One foot after the other, focus on staying alert, don’t
daydream; a dull mind is your enemy. On the sixteenth day the wind
dropped, the sun shone and men began to feel more optimistic. They
were still tortured by hunger but at least their cold flesh was no
longer being blasted by an icy wind.

Johann developed a
limp and had to ride on a cart for long periods, while Hans’ hands
turned blue despite wearing two pairs of mittens. Conrad’s lips
became chapped and painful, the pins and needles spread to his
hands and the reflection of the sun on the snow hurt his eyes. He
still wore his sword and dagger and his axe tucked in his belt but
he barely had the strength to buckle it each morning.

On the seventeenth day
he had his arm round Hans’ shoulder to assist him as they plodded
through the snow, each step taking a mighty effort. They helped to
push a wagon loaded with sick squires, though how much they
assisted was hard to tell. Conrad could not feel his hands as he
placed them against the side of the cart and attempted to push it.
His eyes were mostly cast down as he pushed for ten minutes or so,
then stopped as a trumpet call signalled a halt. The column of
ghost-like individuals and exhausted ponies halted for what seemed
like seconds, before another trumpet communicated the advance. On
they tramped, through a white wilderness of undulating hills, thick
forests and frozen waterways. He looked up and saw pairs of
listless eyes staring at him from a gap in the canvas cover over
the back of the cart.

On the eighteenth day
Hans collapsed in the snow.

‘Help me,’ called
Conrad as he struggled to lift his friend.

Hans was a dead weight
and he had trouble raising him up. Then Henke and leather face
appeared, grabbed one of Hans’ arms each and dragged him towards
the wagon.

‘There is no room in
there,’ said Conrad.

Leather face, his
visage barely visible under the huge fur-lined cap he was wearing,
peered into the cart. He examined two of the squires and then
pulled them off the cart, their frozen corpses falling into the
snow with a dull thud.

‘Now there is.’

‘Quickly,’ said Henke,
as he and Conrad lifted Hans onto the wagon.

He looked at Hans’
face. ‘You’ll live.’

Conrad nodded
appreciatively at Henke and noticed that even Wenden’s most
fearsome soldier looking gaunt, his face pinched with cold.

That night another
three quires and two knights died. The latter expired on guard
duty, their reliefs discovering their frozen bodies in the snow.
Like unthinking slaves the brother knights and sergeants attended
prayers in the chapel tent before dismantling the ever-smaller camp
and continuing the journey. The Livs scoured the forests for
berries, sharing their meagre haul with the rest of the column,
though it did nothing to dispel the hunger that tortured
everyone.

It was the last day of
February and Conrad had now lost all feeling in his feet, shuffling
forward and leaning against the wagon that held Hans. The later had
fallen asleep, though Anton and Johann, the latter using the former
as a crutch, kept shouting at him and prodding him to prevent him
falling into a slumber that he would not awaken from. The cart was
near the front of the column and Conrad could see the stooped
shapes of Volquin, Rudolf, Bertram, Sir Richard, taller than them
all, and Mathias as they led what was left of their commands.

He put his shoulder to
the wagon and attempted to lend his weight to the efforts of
Walter, Lukas and Henke on the other side and Anton and Johann
behind. The two ponies that were pulling it were almost spent,
their heads cast down and their steps heavy and faltering. He
looked up and saw the sun glint off something. He squinted and
stared once more and saw helmets and lances ahead. He tried to open
his mouth and shout but his lips were blistered and painful and his
throat sore. But others had seen them now: two brother knights and
two sergeants on horses wearing white caparisons and the insignia
of the Sword Brothers on their white flowing cloaks. He closed his
eyes and said thanks to God. They had reached home.

The last two miles of
their journey was the hardest trek that Conrad had ever faced. Some
were tempted to whip and beat the ponies to make the final leg of
the ordeal pass as quickly as possible. They were severely rebuked
by the masters and brother knights who knew that the animals were
at the end of their physical limits. The scouting party from Wenden
dismounted and hitched their animals to four of the wagons, those
carrying the sick and injured, to ensure they at least reached the
castle.

Conrad stumbled along
in the snow as the wagon carrying Hans inched ahead of him. He
walked on the other side of Johann, assisting Anton in supporting
their friend whose limp had got worse. He could now put no weight
on his injured leg and Anton’s cough sounded dreadful.

Conrad suddenly
laughed out loud. Johann and Anton looked at him quizzically and
Lukas and Henke in front of them stopped and turned.

‘What is so funny?’
said Lukas.

Conrad looked at the
thick woods to their right.

‘I was just thinking
that if Lembit and a few of his wolf shields came out of those
trees he could probably put all of us to the sword with ease.’

Henke, his beard thick
and frosted, shook his head. ‘Lembit will be warming himself beside
a big fire in Lehola. Only we are stupid enough to go trekking
through Estonia in the middle of winter.’

‘God would not allow
Lembit to slaughter you, Conrad,’ said Walter. ‘He will ensure that
when you do meet him to avenge the wrongs done to you, you will be
both equally matched.’

Henke rolled his eyes
and turned to continue the march. The sun was dipping rapidly in
the west when they spotted the castle’s northern tower at last.
They skirted the eastern outer perimeter wall and walked through
the gates, some falling to their knees and kissing the frozen track
when they entered Wenden. Their ordeal was over.

Hans quickly recovered
his strength after devouring copious quantities of hot broth and
there was fortunately no lasting damage to Johann’s leg. The
remnants of Volquin’s relief force, plus the depleted contingents
from Kremon and Segewold, stayed at Wenden for a month, recovering
their strength and waiting for the snow to melt as winter gave way
to spring.

Conrad paid regular
visits to the grave of his wife and child, which now had a
headstone. One morning he stood with Ilona staring at it, unable to
read the words.

‘It says “Here lies
Daina and Dietmar Wolff, wife and son of Conrad Wolff, Brother
Knight of the Sword Brothers”,’ she told him. ‘You should learn to
read and write.’

‘I have no need of
it,’ he said.

She looked at him, his
blue-grey eyes full of sadness. ‘You have lost weight.’

‘It was a hard
campaign.’

He looked across at
the gravediggers trying hard to make an impression on the frozen
ground with picks and shovels to dig Master Berthold’s grave. He
would have his own pit but the sergeants who had fallen at Odenpah
would be buried in a mass grave. The brother knights and sergeants
from Kremon and Segewold would also be buried at Wenden.

He looked back at the
grave of his wife and child.

‘It was good of Master
Berthold to allow them to be buried here.’

‘He was very fond of
Daina,’ said Ilona, ‘we all were.’

Conrad looked around
at the steadily increasing number of graves in the cemetery.

‘When I first arrived
at Wenden there were few graves. Now they prosper. And there will
be more still come the summer when we finish business with
Lembit.’

‘Rudolf told me that
he was at Odenpah.’

Conrad nodded. ‘He
crawled back to Saccalia before we left the fort. He should enjoy
his freedom while he can. There are no sanctuaries for the enemies
of Christ or for those who have betrayed the Bishop of Riga.’ He
smiled grimly at Ilona. ‘Or me.’

*****

Lembit sat with his
arms crossed, listening to the grievances of his chiefs and village
elders as they stood before him in his hall at Lehola. Once the
snows had disappeared and spring had arrived in all its glory he
had summoned the leaders of his people to his stronghold. He had
lost a thousand men at Odenpah and now the leaders, friends and
relatives of those men stood in his hall and berated him, most of
them clearly angry that he had been so profligate with Saccalian
lives.

His wolf shields stood
with spears in hand around the walls of the hall and Rusticus was
at the side of his master, his knuckles white as he gripped the
hilt of his sword, malice in his eyes. But Lembit sat calmly and
listened to their remonstrations. He occasionally nodded and did
his best to look earnest as fingers were pointed at him and the
occasional fist was shook in the air in his direction. He went
along with the drama, looking sorrowful when one elder with white
hair, tears in his eyes, reported that half the menfolk of his
village had been killed at Odenpah and the wail of their widows
could be heard every evening. Lembit rose from his chair and
embraced the man, telling him that he too heard the cries of
grieving Saccalian women.

Eventually the hubbub
burned itself out and the hall grew quiet. The visitors had
satisfied their desire to be heard and now they looked down at the
floor and shuffled uneasily on their feet. All wore leather or mail
armour and held helmets in the crooks of their arms, though they
had been required to leave their swords and other weapons outside
the hall.

Lembit rose and raised
his arms. ‘My friends, when I agreed to shoulder the heavy burden
of being leader of the Saccalian people I knew that the path would
not be easy. This last winter has shown me how arduous is our task.
Nigul died at the hands of the crusaders and Kalju betrayed our
cause to throw himself into the arms of the Bishop of Riga.’

There were murmurs of
agreement around the hall. Lembit began to slowly pace in front of
the chiefs and elders, occasionally pointing and smiling at one he
recognised as he continued to speak.

‘I know as well as you
that the bishop will once again march against us as soon as he
lands at Riga. Perhaps he has already landed and is on his way,
together with the traitor Caupo. I do not know. But what I do know
is that I will not meekly stand by and let Saccalia become a slave
to the foreigners.’

There were louder
murmurs of agreement and nodding of heads.

‘I know that many
wives weep at the losses suffered at Odenpah but also know that we
now stand on the verge of final victory over the bishop.’

There was a stunned
silence and men looked at each other in confusion.

‘You think that I
delude myself?’ asked Lembit. ‘That I have spent too many nights
drinking ale?’

There were a few
yesses and he smiled.

‘It’s true, I
have.’

They gave a great
cheer. He raised his hands to quieten them.

‘You think I do not
want to avenge the deaths of so many fine warriors? You think that
I am cowered by the crusaders? The reverse at Odenpah has merely
increased my thirst for retribution. Lords Edvin, Alva and Jaak
have pledged their warriors for the coming campaign.’