The Sword Brothers (67 page)

A great fire was
raging in the stone hearth when he arrived in the hall to find
Daugerutis pacing up and down, slaves spreading fresh straw on the
earth floor. The kitchens had been working since before dawn,
baking fresh bread and making hot porridge to fill cold bellies.
Like Vsevolod the other dukes had eaten in their quarters with
their warlords before making their way to the hall, each of them
wrapped in fur-lined cloaks for it was still mercilessly cold,
icicles hanging from roof beams and the beards of sentries turned
white. When they came into the hall they all warmed their hands on
the fire before accepting warmed beer offered to them by
slaves.

‘A man could freeze to
death just taking a piss,’ said Ykintas, throwing his cloak on a
bench.

Kitenis drained his
cup of beer and belched. ‘I hope we have been dragged here for a
good reason. I would rather be in my bed with a young slave girl
than talking words of peace.’

‘Not peace, my
friend,’ said Daugerutis, ‘but war.’

He snapped his fingers
and ordered the slave to bring more beer.

‘I know your journeys
here have been long and arduous and for that I thank you. Please,
be seated.’

More slaves arranged
high-backed chairs around the fire as Daugerutis waved away some of
the guards that lined the walls. As the dukes took their places
facing the fire a tall, white-robed man entered the hall and then
closed the twin doors behind him. He walked purposefully over to
the side of Daugerutis, who bowed his head to him. The white-haired
man with a long white beard said nothing but the others knew who he
was:
Kriviu Krivaitis
, the high priest of the Lithuanian
religion, a man who lived in the sacred oak grove where the Eternal
Flame burned. Daugerutis may have conquered by the sword but he
ruled because the
Kriviu Krivaitis
lived on his land and
every Lithuanian, high- or low-born, knew that Dievas himself spoke
through him. The priesthood, the
Kriviai
, could travel
freely throughout Lithuania without let or hindrance, for to
interfere with them was to incur the wrath of the gods. And now the
high priest himself stood before them in the hall of the grand
duke.

Vsevolod took a seat,
the others frowning at the presence of this foreigner among them,
but Daugerutis remained standing. The presence of the
Kriviu
Krivaitis
had impressed them all, even the fierce Kitenis, and
they all waited to hear what the grand duke had to say. All except
Vsevolod who was abruptly asked to leave.

‘Unless you wish to
embrace our faith, my son,’ said Daugerutis, ‘you cannot be present
when
Kriviu Krivaitis
calls upon the gods.’

The others murmured in
agreement and cast the Prince of Gerzika hostile glances. They only
tolerated his presence because he was related to the grand duke.
Vsevolod rose and bowed to his father-in-law. He had no wish to
attend a heathen ceremony anyway.

‘Of course, my
lord.’

He ignored the others
as he made his way to the doors, which were opened by the guards
and then shut behind him.

Kriviu
Krivaitis
used his hands to order the dukes to rise from their
chairs. As they and the grand duke bowed their heads he faced the
fire and spread his arms, closing his eyes as he prayed to Dievas.
To many people fire was a source of light and warmth but to
Lithuanians it was much more. Fire symbolised the unbroken lifeline
of a family and its ancestry. The Eternal Flame over which the
chief priest and virgins stood guard over was the unifying link
with ancestors who had long since died and were now with the gods.
And every Lithuanian believed that numerous generations of his
family’s dead continued to live on at the hearth of his fire.

For this reason fire
was not to be harmed, insulted or polluted. Fire was treated with
reverence and awe. No one spat into a fire or kicked at it, and no
live coals or smouldering ashes were extinguished for this was
considered a sin. Rather, everyone waited until the fire burned out
of its own accord before the hearth was cleared.

As the fire crackled
and spat in the hall the priest at last spoke, his voice deep and
severe.

‘Great Dievas who
created the world and all that is in it, look upon these, your most
devout servants and bless them.

‘The fire is
burning.

‘Shine as light.

‘We are your
children.

‘Shine as light.

‘Smoulder as
covered.

‘Give us strength.

‘Unite us.

‘Help us prosper.

‘Bless us.’

The others murmured
‘bless us’ as the priest let his arms fall to his side and sat down
in a chair next to the grand duke’s. Daugerutis remained standing.
Vsevolod was readmitted as the others retook their seats. After
they had done so a detachment of guards entered carrying four
wooden chests, which were placed on the floor in front of the
dukes. Daugerutis dismissed the guards and went to each chest,
lifting the lid to reveal a hoard of gold and silver plate.

‘A chest for each of
you. I appreciate you dragging yourselves here through snow and
ice. You have my gratitude.’

Butantas’ eyes opened
wide as he stood and began rifling through his chest, picking up
gold coins and biting them to ensure they were the real things.
Ykintas laughed at him but he too perused the contents of his chest
to make certain his was as well stocked as that of the Duke of the
Samogitians.

‘Most generous, lord,’
beamed Gedvilas, grinning to reveal a row of white teeth.

Vsevolod looked most
surprised and wondered why his father-in-law was giving away the
ransom that the Bishop of Riga had given him for the release of the
Liv slaves. For his part Kitenis merely regarded his chest with
indifference before looking at Daugerutis.

‘What do you
want?’

The grand duke
laughed. ‘Honest and to the point. I like that.’

Daugerutis sat in his
chair next to the high priest. ‘Last year, as you all know, I
crossed the Dvina to lead an expedition against my enemy the Prince
of Novgorod. On the return journey I helped myself to a few
slaves.’

The others laughed.
The grand duke held up his hands to still them.

‘You can imagine my
surprise when the Bishop of Riga sent a request via my son-in-law
to purchase the slaves back. The treasure you see before you is the
sum the Christians paid to get back their worthless Liv
subjects.

‘You asked me what I
wanted, Duke Kitenis. I will tell you. Last year I led a raid
across the Dvina; this year I will lead a campaign of conquest. I
intend to seize all the Christian lands north of the river, and
after that all of Estonia and the Principality of Novgorod. And I
want your help to do it.’

Kitenis nodded
approvingly and Gedvilas smiled once more. Butantas rubbed his
beard thoughtfully and Ykintas gestured to a slave for his cup to
be refilled.

Only Vsevolod was
alarmed. He had thought that his role as a mediator between
Daugerutis and the Bishop of Riga would strengthen his position at
Gerzika by being the ally of both the Lithuanians and the
crusaders. But now he could be crushed between two mighty
powers.

‘Two thousand men,’
said Daugerutis. ‘That is what I require of each of you. I intend
to take twenty thousand men across the river. More than enough to
sweep the Christians from Livonia.’

‘Ever since they
arrived north of the Dvina the Christians have expanded their
power,’ remarked Butantas. ‘Why are you so certain that they can be
so easily defeated?’

Daugerutis smiled.
‘Because they are weak.’ He pointed at the chests. ‘Why else would
they allow me to march through their territory with armed men, to
bleat like women when I took their subjects and pay me this great
sum instead of sending an army to punish me?’

The grand duke
continued. ‘My son-in-law informed me that the Christians begged
the leader of the Estonians for peace and that their much-vaunted
army was ravaged by plague and was barely able to crush a Liv
rebellion. Livonia stands like ripe fruit for picking.’

He stood. ‘Just as
Perkunas, the Heavenly Smith, created the sun and moon and hammered
them into existence, so shall I forge the lands north and south of
the Dvina into one kingdom and that realm will be Lithuanian.’

‘The gods approve of
such a venture,’ announced
Kriviu Krivaitis
solemnly.

The others looked at
each other for a few seconds and then shouted their approval.
Vsevolod’s heart sank as he cursed his own tongue for divulging to
the grand duke what Archdeacon Stefan had told him in his letters.
He smiled at his father-in-law politely as his mind began
frantically searching for a way out of the calamity that was about
to envelop him and his kingdom.

Things darkened the
next day when a gloating Prince Stecse stood beside the grand duke
in his hall while the latter explained to Vsevolod what his role
would be in the forthcoming war.

‘While I roast the
Christians in Livonia,’ said the grand duke, chewing on a great
piece of wild boar and sitting in his chair, ‘I grant you the
privilege of taking your army, my son, to ravage the land of the
Novgorodians.’

Vsevolod’s heart sank.
‘Novgorod, lord?’

Daugerutis spat a
chunk of gristle on the floor. ‘Yes! The Christians will fall to us
as stubble to our swords but do not think that I have forgotten the
Prince of Novgorod.’

‘The enemy of our
people,’ said Stecse, fixing his eyes upon Vsevolod, who had to
think fast.

‘The army of Gerzika,
small and ill equipped though it is,’ said Vsevolod, ‘will of
course be at your disposal, father. Though I shall have to retain
some soldiers in my city to safeguard against an attack from the
east.’

Daugerutis looked at
him in confusion and then at Stecse. ‘From the east?’

‘The Principality of
Polotsk, lord,’ answered Vsevolod.

Stecse was
unimpressed. ‘Polotsk lies over a hundred miles from Gerzika and
you are of the same blood as its rulers.’

Vsevolod glared at
Stecse. ‘I am fully aware of the geography of my kingdom, prince.
If I am seen aiding the enemies of Mother Russia I may incur the
wrath of both Novgorod and Polotsk.’

‘Mother Russia?’
sneered Daugerutis. ‘Who is this whore you speak of?’

‘The rallying cry of
all Russians, lord,’ replied Vsevolod. ‘You must understand, lord,
that my position is most invidious. Many lords north of the Dvina
mistrust me.’

‘Not just north of the
river,’ remarked Stecse.

Vsevolod had had
enough of this upstart who whispered poison into his
father-in-law’s ear. A task, after all, that he was far more suited
to.

‘How dare you!’

Daugerutis held up a
hand to Stecse.

‘You exceed
yourself.’

Stecse bowed his head.
‘My apologies, lord, I meant no offence.’

Daugerutis looked at
Vsevolod. ‘Now is the time to stand by your family, Vsevolod. You
may be a Russian but you are united to the Lithuanian people
through your marriage to my daughter, my only heir. It may fortify
your courage to know that I have informed my lords that you will
rule them should anything befall me during the coming war.’

Vsevolod was taken
aback by this and was momentarily speechless. He had always assumed
that because Rasa was a woman she would not inherit her father’s
kingdom, and as a Russian he had always believed that Daugerutis
would never contemplate him becoming a Lithuanian ruler. He
regained his composure and looked at Stecse in triumph. If anything
happened to the grand duke one of his first acts as Lithuanian
leader would be to have the upstart executed.

Daugerutis saw
Vsevolod’s look of triumph. ‘There is more. I know that many among
my people will not agree with my decision, the more so because my
daughter is married to a foreigner who has sired no sons.’

Vsevolod bristled at
this. ‘Only God determines what children a man may or may not have,
lord.’

Daugerutis held up a
hand to still him. ‘I attach no blame to you, my son, even if your
god turned a deaf ear to your pleas. But the fact is that if you
and my daughter are to rule from this hall then your reign will
need legitimacy. That is why the son of Prince Stecse will be
your
heir, Vsevolod.

‘I do not understand,’
said the latter.

‘It is quite simple,’
said the grand duke irritably. ‘Stecse is the most valiant and able
among my lords and is accepted by all of them as such. He is in the
fortunate position of having enemies that are either dead or
banished. That being the case his son, Mindaugas, will be
acceptable as your heir, my son. It will also consolidate your rule
after my death.’

‘Which I hope is many
years away,’ said Vsevolod. Daugerutis waved away his flattery.

‘You honour me
greatly, lord,’ said a dumfounded Stecse.

‘Honour has nothing to
do with it,’ replied the grand duke. ‘I wish to see my daughter be
accorded her position as my only surviving child but I am also
mindful that my successors must have the loyalty of my princes. I
like your son, Stecse, he will make a fine ruler one day.’

Stecse bowed his head
and Vsevolod smiled perfunctorily at the grand duke. He did not
like the idea that a son of Stecse would be his heir. Still, that
he might be made the heir of Daugerutis had not even crossed his
mind. How strange was fate. Then again it did not solve the
immediate problem of how he was going to extricate himself from the
forthcoming war with the Bishop of Riga. Ideally he would have
liked to sit it out but this was not an option, not least because
it would jeopardise his new role as the grand duke’s heir. With
these thoughts swirling in his mind he left his father-in-law to
inform his wife of this new development.