The Sword Brothers (80 page)

The first to feel
their wrath were the ten wounded pagans who were found in the camp.
Over forty of their companions had been killed, most around Sir
Helmold’s pavilion, and now their bodies were collected and hurled
onto a funeral pyre that the squires built south of the camp.
Prisoners were usually given the opportunity to recant their pagan
faith and accept baptism into the Holy Church before being
incinerated if they refused, but Sir Helmold was adamant that they
should die. So he ate a breakfast of fruit and meat broth washed
down by wine as the prisoners, chained to stakes sunk into the
ground in front of his pavilion with piles of burning brushwood up
to their chests, writhed and screamed in agony as their flesh
melted from their bones.

Conrad was one of the
onlookers who were assembled around the execution site to witness
the deaths but he turned away from the horror. When he witnessed
executions all he saw was his pale-faced father being led to his
death. Afterwards, when the charred, blackened corpses hung from
the stakes and the air was heavy with the aroma of roasted human
flesh, he made his way back to the Sword Brother camp alone, his
still bloody axe tucked in his belt. Later that day he assisted in
washing the bodies of three sergeants from Wenden who had been
killed during the night. They would be transported back to the
castle where they would be buried in the cemetery. The garrisons of
Segewold and Kremon had also suffered a small number of slain and
so a column of two-wheeled carts borrowed from the crusaders left
the camp just after midday, a score of sergeants detailed to escort
the bodies back to their last resting places. They would return to
camp after they had completed their mission.

Security was increased
in the days afterwards as everyone waited for news of the bishop’s
army. At night they all stood to arms in expectation of another
pagan assault but none came. Ten days after the raid a party of Liv
horsemen arrived with news that Caupo had ridden south to join the
bishop whose army had relieved Kokenhusen. Sir Helmold was
‘invited’ to join him and the other lords at the river directly
south of his position in order to cross the Dvina and launch the
campaign in Lithuania. The riders also brought a message from Grand
Master Volquin ordering the Sword Brothers to march with all haste
to the Dvina. The crusaders and brethren struck camp and marched
south on the track towards the Lithuanian bridgehead in high
spirits.

But unknown to them
and the bishop three thousand warriors had crossed over the river
the day before to reinforce those soldiers under Prince Stecse who
held the northern end of the pontoon bridge.

There was great
rejoicing at Kokenhusen where Thalibald was united with his king.
The bishop and Grand Master Volquin also warmly embraced the Liv
chief and his eldest son. A service of thanksgiving was held in the
castle chapel for their safe deliverance and the relief of all the
Sword Brother castles along the Dvina. All that remained was the
destruction of the Lithuanian bridgehead on the northern riverbank
of the Dvina, which was the main topic of conversation at a council
of war held the next day.

The crusader army was
camped to the north of the castle, the views from which provided an
excellent observation point over the river to the east and the
Lithuanian bridgehead in particular. The bishop, grand master, his
castellans, Caupo, Thalibald and the crusader commanders stood on
the castle’s eastern wall and looked towards the enemy position. It
was a beautiful summer’s day and the lush green of the land
contrasted sharply with the deep blue waters of the Dvina as it
disappeared towards the east.

Master Griswold
pointed at the pontoon bridge that spanned the river. ‘The
Lithuanians brought over a great many soldiers a week ago and have
strengthened their defences this side of the river.’

‘They mean to stay,
then,’ remarked Sir Helmold, whose humour had improved since the
arrival of the bishop, though he still thirsted for revenge over
those who had had the impertinence to raid his camp.

‘What defences?’
queried Volquin.

‘My scouts report that
they have dug a ditch around the whole of their camp next to the
river,’ said Griswold, ‘the earth dug from which they have used to
form a rampart behind it. They have also placed sharpened stakes on
the slope of the rampart that faces outwards, though as yet have
not erected a timber wall upon the rampart.’

‘A few sticks will
avail them not,’ sneered Sir Helmold to murmurs of agreement from
the other three German lords present.

Volquin was not so
sure. He pointed to the northern riverbank. ‘You see how the land
is flat and largely devoid of trees around the bridgehead, lord
bishop. This would make a frontal assault against the enemy
defences costly, I fear. And we will not be able to make use of our
horsemen against the Lithuanians, thus negating our greatest asset.
A frontal assault may lead to high casualties.’

The bishop toyed with
the plain silver pectoral cross hanging around his neck. ‘What
would you suggest, grand master?’

‘The Lithuanians must
know by now that Daugerutis is dead and his army destroyed. I
believe they can be persuaded to leave Livonia and return to
Lithuania.’

‘I must protest, lord
bishop,’ said Sir Helmold. ‘We cannot allow these pagans, who have
despoiled this land and your own reputation, to escape.’

The other lords nodded
in agreement.

‘I would agree with
Sir Helmold,’ said Caupo. ‘Many of my people and members of your
flock, lord bishop, have died at the hands of the Lithuanians these
past few weeks. To let them go will make us and you look weak.’

‘And let us not
forget, lord bishop,’ said Thalibald, ‘that events in Livonia will
be known to Lembit and his chiefs in Estonia, to say nothing of the
Russians further to the east. If we show any weakness we may
unwittingly invite them all to attack us.’

The bishop continued
to rub his cross as he stared at the bridge of boats across the
Dvina.

‘Good faith,’ he said
at last.

‘Bishop?’ said a
confused Volquin next to him.

‘In good faith,’
continued the bishop, ‘we entered into a treaty with the
Lithuanians and our reward was to see Livonia ravaged by their
treachery. In good faith we paid Grand Duke Daugerutis a king’s
ransom to get back those who had been stolen from their families
and homes, and our reward was to witness the slaughter of a great
many of King Caupo’s people. In good faith the Governor of Riga
trusted Prince Vsevolod to be sincere and truthful in his relations
with us, and our reward has been Vsevolod’s silence while a hostile
army has crossed over the Dvina to strike at our hearts.

‘Grand Master Volquin,
there is no man I esteem more in this kingdom than you, but in this
matter I must agree with the opinion of Sir Helmold. The
Lithuanians must be expelled from Livonia and their bridge of boats
destroyed. It is like a dagger pointed at the heart of Christ’s
kingdom and cannot be tolerated.’

‘Might not the
preservation of the bridge be to our advantage, lord bishop?’ said
Sir Helmold casually.

The bishop looked at
him quizzically. ‘To our advantage in what way?’

‘For our campaign in
Lithuania,’ answered Sir Helmold.

Volquin looked at him
in alarm, as did his castellans. They knew as well as he that
Livonia did not have the resources to fight a war in Lithuania in
addition to the inevitable conflict with the Estonians that would
break out sooner or later.

‘There will be no
campaign in Lithuania,’ said the bishop firmly. He pointed at the
pontoon bridge. ‘That bridge has prevented trade along the Dvina
and must be destroyed as quickly as possible, otherwise the
merchants in Riga will starve and my treasury will empty.

‘I give my blessing
for the destruction of the abominable pagan bridgehead you see
before you, but I forbid any crossing of the river. The Lithuanians
will have to wait.’

‘I must protest, lord
bishop,’ said Sir Helmold. The bishop froze him with a stare.

‘You will have your
revenge against the pagans, Sir Helmold, but be wary of allowing
personal vanity to cloud your judgement. I would rather see you
unsheathe your sword against the Estonians than the
Lithuanians.’

Sir Helmold guffawed.
‘Have no fear, lord bishop, after we have butchered the Lithuanians
we can deal with the Estonians.’

The other crusaders
grunted their approval but the bishop shook his head.

‘One of the
obligations of being a servant of Christ, Sir Helmold, is that once
you have given your word you are forced to keep it. We have an
agreement with the Estonians and cannot break it.’

‘Does breaking an oath
to pagans count, lord bishop?’ queried one of the crusader lords, a
barrel-chested individual who obviously disliked being shorter than
either Caupo or Thalibald by the scornful looks he gave them.

‘It is an interesting
theoretical question, Count Horton,’ replied the bishop, ‘though
one for a gathering of cardinals, I think, rather than to be
debated on the eve of battle. My decision is final. We destroy the
pagans on this side of the river and burn their accursed bridge.
May God be with you all.’

*****

Stecse stood on the
earth bank and looked west towards the rising ramparts of
Kokenhusen Castle, the banners of the Sword Brothers flying from
its towers. He had left two hundred men at the castle to continue
the semblance of a siege but had withdrawn them when his scouts had
reported the approach of the bishop’s army. Now they and the eight
hundred men who had also been committed to the siege were in the
great camp that guarded the northern end of the bridge of boats
that spanned the Dvina. Together with the three thousand he had
ordered to cross the river he had more than four thousand men to
defend the bridgehead against the crusaders. The great
semi-circular earth rampart that surrounded the camp, together with
the ditch in front of it, was enough to negate the crusaders using
their mailed horsemen in an assault, and that gave him hope that he
could beat off a Christian attack.

Vetseke standing
beside must have been reading his thoughts.

‘The Christians will
be attacking this camp soon, prince. I would advise getting your
men back across the river before then.’

‘I cannot do that
before I give the crusaders a bloody nose,’ replied Stecse, still
observing Kokenhusen. He noticed that Vetseke did not look at his
former home once. Perhaps the memory of its loss was still too
raw.

‘The grand duke is
dead and his army destroyed. If I retreat across the river with my
tail between my legs then the campaign will have been a complete
waste. I can at least save some honour by defeating the
Christians.’

‘You will fail,’ said
Vetseke flatly. ‘Even if you beat off one attack the bishop will
summon his engines of war to hurl fire and stone against you. And
all the while you stand here the other dukes will make war on your
lands in Lithuania.’

‘The forts of the
grand duke are strong and well sited,’ replied Stecse defensively,
‘and they are well manned. But I cannot withdraw without inflicting
a defeat upon the Christians. I owe that to the grand duke at
least.’

Vetseke smiled
faintly. It all came down to honour and vengeance. Stecse would
fight a battle to salve his conscience and redeem Lithuanian honour
for a dead grand duke. It was all so ridiculous, but then perhaps
he was no better. He was, after all, standing on this bank of earth
instead of accepting reality and availing himself of the
hospitality of Vladimir of Polotsk. What made him keep returning to
Livonia? The vain hope that he would once again sit in the great
hall of Kokenhusen? But this was his home and he was loath to leave
it.

‘And you?’ said
Stecse.

‘I will take my men
out of camp tonight, to seek the sanctuary of the forest.’

‘A precarious
existence,’ remarked Stecse, ‘you would be welcome to join me in
Lithuania.’

‘I thank you for your
kind offer, prince,’ said Vetseke, ‘but I prefer to stay in my
homeland.’

‘Even though it is
occupied by the enemy?’

‘I hope it will not
always be so.’

The sound of horses’
hooves made them turn around as thirty or more mail-clad riders
halted at the foot of the rampart. One of them dismounted and made
his way up the bank and removed his helmet. Vetseke was surprised:
he was no more than a boy. Is this what the Lithuanians were
reduced to?

‘I thought I asked you
to stay on the other side of the river,’ snapped Stecse
irritably.

‘I could not remain
idle while you fought the heathens, father.’

Stecse shook his head
and looked at Vetseke. ‘This is my son Mindaugas, lord prince. And
this is Prince Vetseke, Mindaugas, an ally who fights by our
side.’

The boy with the long
face bowed his head to Vetseke. ‘An honour, sir.’

Vetseke smiled.
Honour. There was that word again.

Mindaugas looked
beyond the camp to the area of flat land that had been cleared of
trees for hundreds of yards to provide building material for
shelters, firewood and stakes that had been hammered into the
outward-facing side of the rampart where they had been
sharpened.

‘Any sign of the
enemy, father?’ he asked excitedly.

‘Not yet.’

‘Perhaps they will not
show their faces, these Christians. I have heard that they are
frightened to fight.’

‘Oh, they will fight,’
said Stecse.

Mindaugas grinned.
‘Good.’

‘What of Prince
Vsevolod?’ asked Vetseke.

‘What of him?’ sneered
Stecse.

‘Will he not come to
assist you in your hour of need?’ pressed Vetseke.