The Sword Brothers (48 page)

Alva smiled politely.
‘Some of us believe that, following the reverse at Treiden, it
might be better to seek an accommodation with the crusaders rather
than continuing hostilities.’

It was amazing how a
single reverse could lead to an outbreak of defeatism. Were these
the great warlords of Estonia? Lembit nodded gravely. ‘It is, of
course, the prerogative of each tribe to look after its own
interests, and no chief would put the interests of the Estonian
race above those of his own people. However, if we do not stand
together then we shall surely fall one by one.’

‘Not if we have peace
with the crusaders,’ said Edvin.

Lembit smiled at him.
‘The crusaders wish to subjugate the whole of Estonia, to turn it
into another Livonia where their religion spreads over the land
like a plague. They have been ordered to do this by their great
leader.’

‘You mean the Bishop
of Riga?’ said Jaak.

‘No,’ answered Lembit.
‘Their supreme leader is called a pope and he lives in another
land. It is he who sends ships filled with crusaders to our land
who burn our villages and kill and enslave our people. He views us
as heathens to be either wiped out or enslaved.’

‘You do not offer much
hope,’ remarked Jaak, his dark eyes narrowing on Lembit.

‘There is hope in
unity,’ said Lembit.

‘Under your
leadership,’ scowled Kalju.

Lembit feigned a hurt
expression. ‘If you all wish to elect another grand warlord then I
will readily accept your decision.’

‘We wish for peace,
Lembit,’ said Nigul.

‘Of course you do, we
all do,’ replied Lembit. ‘But I believe that we can achieve peace
through strength not negotiation. If we make the crusaders fight
for every inch of ground they wish to take, if we raid their lands
just as they raid ours, and if we enlist allies just as they bring
foreigners to our lands, then I believe that eventually they will
have no choice but to accept that they will never master us.’

‘By allies you mean
the Oeselians,’ said Alva.

Lembit nodded. ‘I
do.’

‘Many among my people
are unhappy that we fight beside Olaf,’ said Alva.

Lembit sighed. Each
Estonian village had an elder who sat on a council of elders formed
when villages banded together into districts, who elected one of
their number to sit on a provincial council made up of several
districts. When a chief wanted to raise an army all he had to do
was to alert his provincial councils, which would muster the men of
their districts. However, this chain of councils could also be a
never-ending source of complaints and grumbling, especially if a
chief was prepared to listen to them.

‘What of your people,
Nigul?’ asked Lembit. ‘Are they unhappy that their villages are no
longer raided by the Oeselians, or that the spectre of longships
along their shores no longer presages death and destruction?’

‘They are pleased that
the sea no longer brings death,’ agreed Nigul.

‘We cannot have
endless war,’ pleaded Edvin.

‘My people are first
to feel the wrath of the crusaders,’ added Kalju. ‘Ungannia is on
their frontier.’

Lembit stood and
spread his arms. ‘As is Saccalia. It is my people who are the first
to experience the fire and sword of the crusaders. And yet we do
not flinch from the struggle. If my kingdom falls then your people
will be next, Jaak.’ He pointed at Kalju. ‘If Saccalia falls then
you will have the crusaders on your southern and western borders.
Do you want that, Kalju?’

The Ungannian chief
frowned. ‘What do
you
want, Lembit?’

Lembit regained his
chair. ‘Another year. Give me another year and if the crusaders
have not been halted then I will stand aside and another can become
grand warlord.’

The fire crackled and
spat as the chiefs pondered his offer. They all desired peace but
knew that Lembit was right. The Saccalians were the largest and
most warlike among the Estonian people. If they were conquered then
the crusaders would undoubtedly be emboldened to continue their
expansion north. But if they could be stopped…

‘Another year, I
agree,’ said Alva.

‘As do I,’ added
Edvin.

Jaak was unhappy but
nodded his assent.

‘You have your year,’
said Kalju.

‘And the peace with
the Oeselians will hold?’ asked Nigul.

Lembit smiled
triumphantly. ‘Of course, brother,’ he said, not knowing what Olaf
would do following the defeat at Treiden.

‘Then I too grant you
another year,’ replied Nigul.

The journey back to
Lehola was made through intermittent rain and drizzle but Lembit
was more cheerful than he had been during the trip to Varbola. He
had the continued support of the other tribes, albeit grudgingly,
and his raiding parties had kept the crusaders occupied in their
own kingdom, which had kept them away from Estonian lands. When he
arrived at his stronghold he found a letter from Sigurd, Olaf’s
son, waiting for him. In answer to his own missive the Oeselians
pledged their continuing support in the war against the Bishop of
Riga.

The autumn was nearing
its end and the first frosts were whitening the land. Lembit sat in
his hall and contemplated the future. The beginning of the year had
witnessed the fall of his fort at Fellin, and his venture against
Caupo had come to naught. But the year was ending with the Estonian
tribes still united under his leadership and the alliance with the
Oeselians intact. He doubted whether the crusaders would attempt
another winter assault upon Fellin, which he had anyway
strengthened. For the first time in a while he was optimistic about
the future.

Chapter 11

‘You hair is like a
goat.’

Daina looked at Conrad
and suppressed a laugh. When he had arrived at her father’s village
following a hunting trip in the company of Thalibald and Rameke he
had insisted on conversing in her native tongue. He had spent hours
with Ilona learning words, sentences and phrases and now he was
determined to put his learning into practice. The hunting trip had
been a great success, Thalibald’s men laying out the game they had
killed earlier in front of his hall for his villagers to admire.
Ever since Conrad had assisted in the rescue of the women when the
menfolk were away, he and the other boys had been held in high
regard by the chief, his sons and their warriors. Thalibald had
invited them to hunt and stay as his guests for the night, though
to ensure they did not over-indulge in revelry Lukas and Rudolf had
accompanied them.

Now they stood with
the Sword Brothers and admired their handiwork with the crossbow.
Rameke had killed the most with his bow but Conrad reckoned his
total of two roe deer was more than adequate to satisfy
expectations. The Liv warriors arranged the day’s kills in a long
line: boars, elk, deer, bears and lynx. It had been a wonderful day
and now he conversed with his beloved Daina in her own
language.

‘You have the eyes of
a rat.’

Daina scowled, Lukas
looked at Conrad as though he was possessed by madness and Rudolf
shook his head.

Hans nudged Anton in
the ribs. ‘Conrad has learnt to speak the language of the
Livs.’

Conrad grasped the
hilt of his sword. ‘My sword is always at your lake.’

‘Perhaps it would be
better if we spoke in your language,’ Daina said to him in flawless
German.

But Conrad was
adamant. ‘No, no. I have learnt your forest especially.’

Hans, Anton and
Johann, not knowing what their companion was saying but being
impressed nevertheless, stood in awed silence as Conrad spoke the
strange words.

Daina smiled at him.
‘I really think we should speak in your language, Conrad.’

‘Ilona has taught me
many baskets,’ said Conrad with pride.

‘Which he has mostly
forgotten,’ said Rudolf in excellent Liv. Daina put a finger to her
mouth to hush him.

‘Speak German,
Conrad,’ said Lukas. ‘You make a fool of yourself.’

Conrad frowned but did
as he was told as the dead animals were taken away to the kitchens
where they would be prepared for the evening feast. As he said a
temporary farewell to Daina and followed Hans and the others to the
hut that had been set aside for them, he reflected on the strange
turn his life had taken. Not so long ago he had been a poor orphan
but now he had learnt to use a sword and was on his way to becoming
a fully trained soldier. He had also learnt another language and
had won the heart of a local beauty. Every day he prayed for his
parents and his sister Marie and God had answered his prayers. He
felt genuinely happy and looked forward to what the future held for
him.

*****

The banks of the Dvina
were now turning brown and red as the trees began to show their
autumn colours. The days were shortening but it was still
relatively warm, the harsh winter some time off yet. The surface of
the river was like a black mirror, the current mild and the wind
weak. Prince Vsevolod was glad for that at least as the rowers of
his boat pulled on their oars to propel it through the smooth
water. Behind were another two boats, one containing fifty of his
bodyguard, his boat containing an additional score of warriors, the
other a gift for the bishop. He might profess to be a friend of the
bishop but he did not trust the Sword Brothers’ garrisons in the
castles he had to pass on his way to Riga: Kokenhusen, Lennewarden,
Uexkull and Holm. He also had men looking towards the southern
shore where Prince Stecse and his Lithuanians might be tempted to
attack his small flotilla. His nerves were frayed to say the least
for the river was packed with other vessels carrying goods to the
markets in Riga, and others returning to Gerzika and Polotsk with
wares they had purchased in the crusader town: iron, salt, woollen
cloth and wine. He thought every vessel was full of potential
assassins but they turned out to contain nothing but goods and
ugly, stinking sailors and traders. It was a most curious thing. Of
all the things that roamed the Russian lands the Catholics coveted
the fur of the grey squirrel most. Squirrel fur was inexpensive
when compared to sable and marten and so was in great demand. Thus
the princes of northern Russia became rich from harvesting the fur
of the grey squirrel. They exported other commodities of course,
such as fox fur, honey and wax, but squirrel fur was the jewel in
their crown.

It was the first time
he had visited Riga and was surprised by the size of the harbour
area with its great warehouses and long jetties and the height of
the town’s walls. The crusaders liked to use stone to build their
strongholds whereas the Livs, Estonians and Russians used timber
for their fortresses. He had never seen Archdeacon Stefan, though
the two had conversed with each other by letter on many occasions,
but now the Catholic priest stood on a jetty as Vsevolod’s boat
glided towards him, the prince shielding his eyes as the sun dipped
in the west. Soldiers in mail and helmets flanked the priest, each
one armed with a spear and sword and carrying long shields
emblazoned with a cross keys symbol.

Vsevolod’s rowers
pulled in their oars as one of his bodyguard threw a rope to a
soldier on the jetty who tied it around a wooden post. Another rope
secured the stern of the boat as it was pulled alongside and Stefan
stepped forward, a flattering smile on his face.

‘Greetings, Prince
Vsevolod. Welcome to Riga.’

The Russian smiled
back and then two of his bodyguard assisted him onto the jetty. The
other two boats had pulled in behind the jetty as Stefan and
Vsevolod walked towards the town. When they reached one of the
boats Vsevolod stopped and indicated to one of the crew to loosen
the ropes that secured a canvas covering.

‘A gift for the
bishop,’ said Vsevolod as the sailor removed the canvas to reveal
two pallets heaped high with fox fur.

Stefan’s eyes lit up.
‘A most lavish gift, prince. The bishop will be most pleased by
your generosity.’ He had a feeling that he would get on with this
richly attired Russian prince.

Vsevolod was
accommodated in the bishop’s palace, his men being allocated
quarters in the castle where Grand Master Volquin raised an eyebrow
at the sudden appearance of a host of bearded brutes clad in mail
and all heavily armed. Stefan had not informed him of the
invitation he had extended to Vsevolod. He found the Order of Sword
Brothers irksome and coarse. The bishop had created them to butcher
pagans not to indulge in matters of diplomacy. For this reason he
did not invite Volquin to the meal that he shared with Vsevolod
later that evening. He was rather perturbed that the prince
insisted that four of his brutish soldiers stand behind him for the
whole meal, but after a while forgot that they were there as the
wine and conversation flowed.

‘The bishop has
returned to Germany for the winter,’ said Stefan, ‘leaving me in
charge of his affairs.’

Vsevolod raised his
wine flagon. ‘He leaves his kingdom in most capable hands.’

Stefan was warming to
the Russian by the minute. ‘How can I be of assistance to you, lord
prince?’

‘As you know I am
married to the daughter of Grand Duke Daugerutis,’ said
Vsevolod.

‘A mating of eagles,’
gushed Stefan.

Vsevolod suddenly
looked very serious. ‘I have to tell you that the grand duke is
most unhappy concerning events north of the River Dvina.’

Stefan gulped some
wine. ‘Oh?’

‘Before the bishop
came the grand duke waged war against the prince of Novgorod, the
man who frequently raided Lithuanian lands. But now the crusaders
bar his way and prevent him seeking rightful retribution against
this plunderer. I have tried to temper his wrath and thirst for
revenge, but have found it increasingly difficult of late. In
addition, many of the grand duke’s more warlike and less
intelligent chiefs strain at the leash to prove themselves against
the crusaders. The assault upon Kokenhusen is but a foretaste of
things to come, I fear.’