The Sword Brothers (20 page)

*****

Prince Stecse knelt by
the water and stared across its perfectly smooth surface at the
enemy stronghold. Despite it being summer the nights were not hot,
particularly tonight when there was a full moon in a cloudless sky.
There was no wind and the stillness was oppressive, or perhaps it
was the prospect of the coming assault that gripped his senses. He
looked at the objective again; some two thousand feet away perched
atop a steep mound of earth. Kokenhusen Castle still retained its
original timber walls and towers, the Sword Brothers having taken
possession of it less than a year before. Built at the spot where
the River Perse entered the larger River Dvina, Kokenhusen had
water on its western and southern sides, archers on the ramparts
being able to cover the riverbanks in these directions with their
missiles. Any attack would come from either the north or east, but
on these sides of the castle a ditch had been dug in front of the
earth mound on which Kokenhusen sat. It was a most impressive
stronghold.

Stecse tapped his
lieutenant kneeling beside him on the arm and the man crept away to
commence the attack. In the trees around him squatted six hundred
of his warriors under strict orders to stay silent. An Ural owl
gave two short hoots, indicating he was alarmed. Stecse’s blood ran
cold. Had the garrison heard? To those who knew of such things it
was a telltale sign that something foreign, alien, was moving
through the forest. It did not matter: it was too late to call off
the attack.

Kokenhusen may have
been a formidable fortress but its garrison was small. No more than
a dozen Sword Brother knights, perhaps a score or more sergeants, a
score more spearmen and perhaps the same number of crossbowmen.
There might also be native warriors inside the castle, though the
Sword Brothers usually kept the Livs outside their walls in
surrounding villages. Whatever their numbers the crusaders were
greatly outnumbered by his own men and the soldiers of Prince
Vsevolod that were at this very moment approaching the castle from
the east. Stecse disliked the prince. Disliked him for his
effeminate appearance, cowardly ways and duplicitous nature. Were
it not for the fact that he was the son-in-law of Grand Duke
Daugerutis he would have nothing to do with him. Still, his five
hundred Russian soldiers who would assault the castle from the east
would add to the weight of the attack and spread the garrison even
more thinly along the walls.

His men had spent
three days several miles south of the river, in the forest’s
interior, felling trees and fashioning assault ladders. These were
now loaded onto forty row boats, two in each vessel, that were
positioned among the trees a hundred yards from the water. Each
vessel resembled a miniature longship with pointed prow and stern,
wide amidships, but having no mast. With six oars on each side they
would be able to cross the wide stretch of water quickly and
silently right under the noses of the garrison.

He closed his eyes and
said a silent prayer to Perkunas, the God of Thunder who was also
the deity of warriors and the son of Dievas, the Chief God. He
prayed that his efforts would be worthy of a Lithuanian prince and
if not, that he would die from wounds in his chest and not in his
back. Then he rose and walked over to the nearest boat, grabbed its
prow and with the other warriors hauled it from the treeline to the
water’s edge.

The plan agreed with
Vsevolod was that the Lithuanians would commence the attack and,
once engaged against the enemy, the Russians would assault the east
side of the castle where there would hopefully be few if any
soldiers manning the defences. The boat moved effortlessly over the
sand and then Stecse felt water around his lower legs as it entered
the river and he and the others hauled themselves aboard. The oars
were speedily shoved through the oar holes and their operators
began to apply power to each stroke, propelling the boat through
the water. He crouched at the prow as either side of him the other
boats cut silently through the water.

Stecse’s heart was
pounding as the flotilla reached mid-stream and still there was no
sound from the castle. He gripped the hilt of his sword and held
the wooden handle behind the metal boss of his shield with his left
hand. Then the sound of a bell being rung frantically suddenly
sounded from inside the castle. They had been spotted. The clang of
the bell grew louder as his men strained at their oars to close the
gap between them and the opposite bank as quickly as possible. The
plan was for half the boats to row into the mouth of the Perse and
then veer sharply right to beach on the bank on the western side of
the castle, while the rest rowed straight ahead to land on the bank
directly beneath the castle’s southern ramparts.

Stecse’s boat ran
aground on the soft sand and he leapt from the vessel, as there was
a thud and a low groan behind him. One of the rowers was slumped
over his oar, a quarrel lodged in his back.

‘Move!’ shouted Stecse
as there was a succession of phuts around him as crossbow bolts
slammed into the ground.

The rest of the boats
ran aground as their occupants jumped from them. Stecse scrambled
up the earth bank that led to the castle’s timber walls, his men
following. They and he held their shields above their heads as from
above the crossbowmen on the ramparts shot their bolts. The air was
alive with deadly hisses as quarrels punched through helmets and
splintered shields. Then spears were thrown at the Lithuanians,
their points finding flesh as men screamed, clutched their wounds
and tumbled back down the bank.

But now the castle was
being assaulted on two sides and forty ladders had been hauled up
the earth bank and placed against the timber walls, and then like
ants the warriors scrambled up them. The defenders managed to push
half a dozen away from the walls, screams piercing the air as
Lithuanians fell back down to earth, the fall smashing their bodies
and sending slivers of broken bones into their hearts and lungs.
The crossbowmen managed to slaughter those climbing a further five
ladders, Lithuanian bodies hanging limply from the wooden frames.
But the defenders were too few to be everywhere and other
Lithuanians managed to reach the top of the walls.

Stecse, his shield on
his back held in place by a leather strap around his shoulders,
clambered to the top of the ladder just at the moment a spearman
thrust his weapon at him. He saw it at the last moment and
instinctively swung away, holding the top rung of the ladder with
his left hand. He grabbed the spear shaft and yanked it violently
down. The spearman’s thrust meant his torso was hanging over the
wall and so it was easy for him to be hauled down to his death. He
screamed as he fell to the ground below and Stecse jumped onto the
fighting platform and pulled the axe that was tucked in his belt.
Another spearman came at him, his large, almond-shaped shield
covering his body. Stecse pulled his own shield from his back,
grasped its handle and threw the axe at the spearman’s head. The
man instinctively ducked, giving Stecse time to draw his sword,
dash forward and run the blade into the man’s guts.

The warriors who had
been following him up the ladder now came onto the battlements. He
felt a surge of ecstasy flow through him. They were up and over the
walls! Then he looked down and saw a line of crossbowmen pointing
their weapons up at the walls. Pointing them at him and his men. He
glanced over to where the Russians should be assaulting the eastern
side of the castle walls but saw no activity. Where was Vsevolod?
He saw the crossbowmen again.

‘Take cover!’ he
screamed as a score of quarrels lanced through the air and found
their targets.

He had managed to
crouch down behind his shield but the others were not so quick
thinking. There was another volley of crossbow bolts and at least a
score of Lithuanians were killed, some of them toppling from the
battlements onto the ground in front of the crossbowmen. The latter
shot another volley and more Lithuanians were cut down. Stecse
looked left and right and saw that although some of his men had
reached the walls, they were being contained by a combination of
spearmen and crossbowmen. And now, from below, they were being shot
at by men who should have been fighting Russians on the eastern
ramparts.

A crossbow bolt
slammed into the top of his shield, the point fracturing the wood.
He looked left and saw a spearman charging at him. He jumped up and
to the left and barged the shaft away with his shield, then thrust
his sword over the top of the man’s shield and into his face,
driving the point into his mouth and out through the back of his
neck. He yanked the blade back as more crossbowmen formed up below
to rake the battlements still occupied by Lithuanians with
bolts.

‘We must fall back,
lord,’ said his deputy beside him. ‘We are being slaughtered.

Fresh groans and
screams heralded another crop of Lithuanian dead as Stecse and his
deputy once more crouched down behind their shields.

‘Give the order,’ said
Stecse, his deputy turning to bellow a command at a man nearby, who
blew a horn. He blew it again and thankful Lithuanians began
scurrying back down ladders to their boats.

Stecse was the last to
leave, making sure there were no more live Lithuanians on the walls
before holding what was left of his shield above him and climbing
back down his ladder. Already boats were pushing off into the black
waters as his men beat a hasty retreat. Quarrels kicked up sand at
his feet as he ran to a boat that was now in the water and jumped
aboard, the rowers groaning as they strained at their oars in order
to propel the vessel as far from the crossbowmen as quickly as
possible.

*****

In the woods to the
east of Kokenhusen Prince Vsevolod sat on his horse and listened as
the sounds of battle coming from the castle petered out. Around him
his senior officers shifted uncomfortably in their saddles as they
waited for him to give the order to attack. They had over five
hundred soldiers in the woods, the vanguard equipped with scaling
ladders, bows and ropes with which to storm the castle. But
Vsevolod gave no command. He just sat on his horse impassively.

Eventually he turned
to his general. ‘Send some scouts ahead to see what is
happening.’

It was half an hour of
more waiting before they returned with news that the Lithuanian
attack had failed. There were angry murmurs among his officers.

‘Silence!’ snapped
Vsevolod. He turned to his general. ‘We will advance to the castle
walls.’

He looked at his
officers and then Vsevolod, confusion etched on his face. ‘I do not
understand, highness. Should we not have coordinated our own attack
with that of the Lithuanians?’

‘We are not going to
attack,’ announced Vsevolod, digging his spurs into his horse’s
sides. ‘Ensure that the assault parties are withdrawn and sent back
to Gerzika forthwith.’

‘I do not understand,
highness,’ said the general who followed his lord’s horse.

‘That is why I am a
prince and you are not,’ replied Vsevolod condescendingly. ‘See to
it that my orders are obeyed.’

Vsevolod smiled to
himself. What were the lives of a few Lithuanians to him? He had to
tread carefully. If the Lithuanians had taken the castle then he
would have thrown in his lot against the bishop’s forces. He knew
that Lembit was going to attack south and if Kokenhusen had fallen
then Daugerutis would have sent more soldiers over the Dvina to
support him. But the attack had failed and once more he was in a
vulnerable position: an isolated ruler on the northern bank of the
river facing the bishop and his considerable forces. His defeat at
the hands of the crusaders last year had illustrated the folly of
confronting the Germans directly. It was not lost on him that the
castles being built along the Dvina – at Holm, Uexkull, Lennewarden
and Kokenhusen – had all formerly been the strongholds of pagan
lords, now either dead, reduced to vassals or in exile. No, he
would bide his time.

He would ride to
Kokenhusen and act the part of an ally bringing a relief force
after having heard a rumour that the Lithuanians were going to
attack the castle. This would endear him to the bishop at least and
would lure him into believing that the Kingdom of Gerzika was
loyal. And now that his honour had been affronted Grand Duke
Daugerutis would undoubtedly wage more war against the bishop’s
lands, and would perhaps even assault Riga itself. Whatever the
outcome a war with Lithuania would drain the bishop’s resources, in
addition to the not inconsiderable matter of the conflict with
Lembit that he still had to resolve.

Vsevolod forgot that
he was sitting on an uncomfortable horse as he rode towards the
castle with these happy thoughts swirling in his mind. Perhaps that
oaf Stecse had been killed in the attack, a most pleasing thought.
Vsevolod began to whistle to himself. This night was improving by
the minute.

*****

Stecse stood on the
riverbank and observed his men disembark from their boats and pull
them up the bank and into the trees. The assault had been a
disaster. He stood with his arms folded, staring at Kokenhusen
across the river, while a roll call was taken. The plan had been
simple enough: assault a small garrison on all sides under cover of
night and capture it with speed and overwhelming numerical
superiority. He had gone to Gerzika where details of the assault
had been finalised. Vsevolod’s commanders had even built a model of
Kokenhusen and the surrounding terrain to acquaint their soldiers
with the local geography and its features. He himself had sent
spies to the castle to collect information pertaining to the size
of the garrison and the location of any forces in the local
villages. It was all for nothing.