The Sword Brothers (62 page)

The other chiefs were
waiting for Lembit as he came from the tent. He beckoned over Kalju
whose hard features showed concern.

‘Get your people to
their hill forts as quickly as possible.’

‘You think that what
that priest said, about the Lithuanians, was true?’ said Kalju.

Lembit hunched his
shoulders. ‘I have no idea. But it is best to take no chances.

‘Have the crusaders
and Lithuanians made an alliance?’ asked Edvin.

‘I doubt it,’ Lembit
replied. ‘They are not of the same faith and Daugerutis has often
crossed the Dvina to raid the crusaders’ lands.’

Lembit’s guards closed
around him as he and the other chiefs walked back to their
camp.

‘Will the peace with
the crusaders hold?’ said Alva.

Lembit smiled. ‘The
one thing about these Christian priests is that they put great
store in their promises. The peace will hold until I decide to
break it. They also dislike lying, which leads me to conclude that
there is indeed a Lithuanian army marching towards Novgorod.’

*****

But the Lithuanians
did not attack Novgorod, the dour city amid swamps and forests that
lay two hundred miles north of the Dvina. Instead Grand Duke
Daugerutis led his horsemen north towards the rich lands around
Pskov, the prosperous city set amid gently rolling hills where
ancient villages nestled on hilltops and white-painted churches and
monasteries littered the many hay meadows and pasture lands. Though
a third of the land south of the city was covered with trees, the
great tracts of forest lay to the north where huge expanses of
pine, birch and fir blanketed the terrain. The more temperate
climate around Pskov and to the south resulted in deciduous trees
predominating, among them oak, linden, maple and elm.

This was a peaceful
land bordering the Principality of Gerzika, a kingdom of fellow
Russians, ensuring its southern frontier was untroubled by raiders.
To the west lay Estonian Ungannia but the rulers of Pskov had
always endeavoured to maintain amicable relations with its pagan
neighbours, backed up by a large force of
Druzhina
and a
well-trained city militia.

Domash Tverdislavich
sat on his horse and cursed his luck. Pskov had lost a sizeable
number of men during the prince’s ill-judged invasion of Ungannia
and now he faced a Lithuanian invasion alone. He had sent urgent
messages to Novgorod requesting reinforcements but knew that they
would never arrive in time. Now he waited with the men of his
Druzhina
– four hundred horsemen – as villagers flooded past
him towards the safety of Pskov.

Normally a Russian
army would deploy for battle in five sections – van, centre, rear
and two wings – with the urban militias in the centre of the line
with low-grade
Voi
either side of them. Ahead of the foot
soldiers would stand the archers and crossbowmen, while on the
wings would be arrayed the horsemen with a reserve in the rear. But
Domash had allocated the city militia to the defence of Pskov, its
missile troops lining the walls, especially the southern ramparts
where the refugees were flooding through the two gates.

The land immediately
around the city was mostly arable and had been largely cleared of
trees. As such it was ideal country for horsemen, which was
unfortunate, as he had learned that the Lithuanian invaders were
all mounted. Once they arrived in Novgorodian territory they had
systematically set about burning and destroying everything they
came across: villages, churches and monasteries. Scouts had brought
messages to Pskov telling of all the inhabitants of villages being
rounded up, herded into buildings that were then set alight. Nuns
were raped and then murdered and monks and priests were hanged from
their places of worship. It was apparent that the Lithuanians had
come only to kill and destroy.

Some villagers had
fled with their possessions into the woods but had been hunted down
and slaughtered. The only safe place of refuge was behind the
strong walls of Pskov. The inhabitants of the villages around the
city had been evacuated days before and the groups of people now
hurrying towards Domash’s stronghold were from those settlements
located twenty or thirty miles away. They flooded the great plain
south of the city, women clutching infants and holding the hands of
wailing children. Men pulled two-wheeled carts on which were loaded
food, their few belongings and the elderly, while others armed with
spears and axes formed a ragged, nervous rearguard.

Domash gave the order
to advance as civilians rushed passed his men in terror, some bare
footed and others wearing
bast
shoes made from birch bark.
His men were the cream of the city’s boyar class: each one encased
in steel lamellar armour, helmet, aventail, and armed with sword,
shield and lance. But as they trotted forward the far end of the
valley suddenly filled with Lithuanian riders. The civilians,
hearing the screams of those nearest the pagan invaders, abandoned
their carts and belongings and fled towards the city.

The Lithuanians fought
under the chiefs of the princes, their banners showing the ancient
symbols of his tribes – Selonian and Nalsen – Daugerutis had
brought across the Dvina: the white stork, auroch, wolf and elk.
They ran down the fleeing Russians and killed them with their
swords, axes and maces, while those who stood and attempted to form
a shield wall were showered with
spisas
and then cut to
pieces by horsemen who rode among their disorganised ranks. As they
had done during the previous days the Lithuanians set about killing
as many as they could.

Behind him his boyars
seethed with anger and despair at the horrible spectacle unfolding
before them but Domash did not give the order to charge. Instead he
halted his men and ordered them to deploy into two ranks. There
were now upwards of a thousand Lithuanians at least on the plain
and more were appearing all the time. His charge would have to be
well timed for it would probably be the only one before the
Druzhina
were overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers.

Then he spied a great
column of horsemen that dwarfed the other groups galloping around
and slaying civilians. This force was advancing at speed directly
at the city and straight for his men. As it got closer it expanded
in width as its riders deployed from column into line, in the
middle of which flew a huge red banner showing a black bear on all
fours. He turned and ordered his trumpeter to signal the advance. A
mighty cheer answered the shrill blast as his horsemen broke into a
trot and lowered their lances to move forward to engage the
Lithuanians.

There was no
disciplined advance, no effort to maintain order, just a mad rush
to get to grips with the Lithuanians. The golden snow leopard of
Pskov billowed in the wind behind Domash as he griped his lance and
headed for the huge man on a big horse in the middle of the
Lithuanian line. He could feel the strain of his horse as the beast
hurtled across the grass, its iron shoes kicking up great sods of
earth as it pounded the ground. The distance between the two sets
of horsemen seemed to vanish in the blink of an eye and then there
was a sickening crunch as they collided.

The big Lithuanian had
been shielded by a horde of his men as Domash brought his shield up
to deflect a
spisa
, one of many that were thrown at the
Russians, before thrusting his lance through a rider’s mail armour
and into his belly. He let go of the haft and drew his sword to
hack at the neck of an opponent who passed him on his left side.
His horse slowed as he and the other boyars fought desperately to
stem the Lithuanian tide. Suddenly hundreds of men were engaged in
a desperate mêlée, the clash of weapons resembling the sound of a
load of metal cutlery being thrown down stone steps.

The boyars of Pskov
wore blue feathers in their helmets as a means of identification
but as the fighting intensified it appeared to Domash that he was
an island in a Lithuanian sea. He could see no other Russian as he
slashed the arm of a rider wielding a mace before turning to his
left to see a Lithuanian raising an axe, about to spit open his
helmet. The man screamed and brought the axe down at the instant
when Domash’s horse collapsed to the ground.

The Lithuanian’s
animal tripped over it and threw its rider as Domash lay on his
back, surprised and mildly stunned. His horse was dead, a
spisa
sticking out of its chest. He breathed a sigh of
relief and got to his feet, retrieving his sword from the ground,
and realised that he was surrounded by half a dozen enemy riders,
in addition to the one who had been thrown, three of whom were
armed with lances. He held his sword at the ready, prepared to take
as many as possible with him before he too died.

The non-stop clashing
of blades and squeals and cries of wounded men and horses continued
unabated as one Lithuanian charged at him, his lance levelled at
his chest. Domash threw himself aside to avoid the metal point and
then thrust his sword into the rider’s leg, who yelped and released
his lance. He swung around just in time to catch a mace blow on his
shield, the metal flanges splitting the leather and wood. Another
rider thrust the point of his
spisa
into his right
hamstring. Domash grimaced with pain and went down on one knee. He
was finished.

The Lithuanians were
in no hurry now. They knew they had him and grinned at each other
at the prospect of giving this Russian a slow death. Domash winced
with pained as he hauled himself up. At least he would sell his
life dearly.

‘Come on, then!’ he
shouted at them as behind him he heard a new sound: the banging of
drums and the blast of trumpets.

He heard several thuds
and saw two of the Lithuanians pitch forward and fall from their
saddles. Another thud and an enemy rider trotted from behind him
slumped in the saddle, a crossbow bolt in his back. And then there
were cries and suddenly he was surrounded by spearmen with blue
plumes in their helmets, thrusting their spears upwards at
Lithuanians while behind them crossbowmen shot them down.

‘On, on, save the
mayor.’

Domash hobbled
backwards as men of the Pskov militia methodically advanced and
forced back the Lithuanians, many of the latter’s saddles being
emptied by well-aimed quarrels. Domash recognised that voice.

‘A ride back to the
city, my lord?’

Domash looked round to
see a grinning Gleb sitting beside the driver of a cart.

‘What are you doing
here?’ he asked.

‘Saving your arse,’
Gleb replied.

‘I thought I gave
orders for the militia to man the walls.’

Glad waved a hand at
him. ‘There are plenty of men to stand around doing nothing except
hold a spear. The militia were needed here.’

Domash hobbled over
the cart, Gleb hauling him onto the bench next to the driver.
Behind the cart were a dozen drummers and trumpeters. Ahead the
spearmen had halted in a line to allow the fifty crossbowmen to
shoot accurately at the rapidly retreating Lithuanians.

‘Don’t hit any of our
own men,’ called Domash, wincing as pain shot through his wounded
leg.

‘Don’t worry about
them,’ said Gleb standing on the cart behind him. ‘They know what
they are doing, unlike you.’

‘Just get me back to
the city, damn you,’ said Domash.

Gleb turned and gave
the order to the trumpeters to signal withdrawal as the crossbowmen
shot another volley at the Lithuanians.

The appearance of the
city militia had saved what was left of the
Druzhina
, though
two hundred of them had been slain in the engagement. As the
crossbowmen kept the seething mass of Lithuanians at bay with their
accurate shooting, the boyars and their commander limped back to
Pskov. Honour and not a few civilians had been saved, but at a
price.

Domash ripped off a
length of his shirt and bound his leg as the cart rumbled across
the moat and through one of the city’s two southern gates.

‘How many managed to
get into the city?’ asked Domash.

‘More than the city’s
food supplies can feed,’ replied Gleb, raising his hand to the
soldiers lining the walls above.

Behind the spearmen
and crossbowmen were conducting an expert withdrawal, groups of
boyar horsemen trotting over the bridge across the moat as the foot
soldiers kept the Lithuanians at bay. Domash looked behind at the
riders with damaged shields, dented armour and ripped flesh, their
horses sweating and some also wounded.

‘Many fines ladies
will be weeping tonight.’

‘Very poetic,’
remarked Gleb. ‘Perhaps you could write a long poem during the
coming siege while you wait for the prince. Where is he, by the
way?’

‘On his way, God
willing.’

‘Ah, yes,’ mused Gleb
as the cart wound its way through a throng of refugees to the
mayor’s palace. ‘You will be pleased to know that the priests are
wailing and burning incense in their churches, calling upon God to
save them. So far he appears to have ignored their appeals.’

‘You should watch your
words, Gleb,’ warned Domash. ‘The church has great power in the
city.’

‘Though not among the
citizenry, I think,’ smiled Gleb. ‘It is amazing how crises bring
out the old ways in people. If food runs low we could always eat
some priests, though they are so scrawny that they would not make
much of a meal.’

Domash tightened the
ligature on his leg. ‘It might come to that if the Lithuanians
besiege us and prevent the prince from relieving the city.’

*****

Grand Duke Daugerutis
established his headquarters in an abandoned white-walled church
ten miles south of Pskov. His own and the horses of his senior
commanders were tethered in the nave while he and they sat at a
small table where the altar had been situated. The walls were
covered in religious paintings and there was a domed roof just
before the sanctuary. His army filled the surrounding countryside,
using wood from the village huts that had surrounded the church to
make fires. All the cows, pigs and goats had been abandoned by the
villagers when they fled to Pskov and now the Lithuanians feasted
on their meat as they availed themselves of Russian
hospitality.