The Sword Brothers (84 page)

‘Burn it,’ said
Mindaugas.

The commander smiled.
‘Good decision.’

He called over one of
his men and gave him the order to ride back to the bridge and torch
it.

‘Why did he let us
go?’ said Mindaugas.

‘Sir?’

‘That crusader with a
red cross and sword on his shield. He could have cut me and my
father down easily but he just stood there and let us go.’

The commander was
uninterested. ‘He was a Sword Brother, sir, and they usually like
to kill first and ask questions later.’

‘I am going to destroy
the Sword Brothers one day,’ vowed Mindaugas.

The commander started
eating an apple and pointed it at the hut. ‘Looks like your father
has woken up.’

Mindaugas turned and
saw the healer in the doorway. He went to enter the longhouse but
the healer grabbed his arm.

‘The wound is too deep
and your father has lost too much blood. I am sorry.’

Mindaugas pulled his
arm away and went back to the bedroom, ordering the headman to
leave. He knelt by his father and held his hand. Stecse looked at
him.

‘I go to Perkunas, my
son. Pray that he welcomes me into his great hall.’

Mindaugas tried not to
cry but tears came to his eyes.

‘You will sit beside
him, father.’

Stecse’s lips curled
into a thin smile. ‘You will rule the Lithuanian tribes, Mindaugas,
but you must tread carefully. Trust no one, least of all Vsevolod.
He shifts only for himself.’

His voice was very
faint now. ‘The daughter of the grand duke is your ally, though.
Lithuanian blood flows in her veins. Serve your people and they
will serve you, my son.’

Mindaugas felt his
father’s grip weaken and then his eyes closed. He wiped away his
tears and kissed him on the forehead. Then he held his head in his
hands and wept.

Chapter 18

The harvest at Wenden
was bountiful that year. The peace with the Estonians held and so
the crops were undisturbed by raiders and gathered in. As usual
members of the garrison assisted in their collection and Conrad
took the opportunity to be as near to Daina as was allowable. There
was great rejoicing at the return of Thalibald and Waribule to
their village, which meant that Rameke’s brief reign as chief was
at an end. Trade along the Dvina returned to normal and the
merchants of Riga continued to prosper. Ships took furs and wax to
Germany and others returned with people who wished to settle in
Livonia. More mercenaries arrived at Wenden to strengthen the
garrison but also farmers who had been promised virgin land and
crops to plant on it. Thus did a small number of huts and animal
pens appear to the north of the castle – the beginnings of the
first settler village at Wenden.

Master Berthold was
very enthusiastic about their presence, as a portion of the crops
they produced would be given to the castle as rent. And more food
meant more soldiers and civilian families could be fed.

‘The problem is not
food, master,’ said Rudolf at the weekly gathering of the brother
knights in the master’s hall. ‘The problem is, as ever, money. This
land is rich in everything apart from gold. Without money we will
not be able to pay the mercenaries or workers, or purchase weapons,
armour and horses from Germany.’

‘It is as Brother
Rudolf says,’ added Lukas. ‘This castle is to be one of the
strongest of the order in Livonia and yet we are starved of funds
by Riga.’

‘We were promised the
funds bequeathed to us by Sir Frederick but they never
materialised,’ complained Rudolf. ‘If the bishop wishes his
garrisons to be strong then he needs to release funds from his
treasury.’

Berthold frowned.
‘Alas, Archdeacon Stefan has control over the treasury and Grand
Master Volquin has informed me that he is most reluctant to release
any monies until Riga’s security is assured. He uses the Lithuanian
threat as an excuse to strengthen the city’s garrison at the
expense of the order.’

‘Without the order’s
castles there would be no Riga,’ growled Henke. ‘We should look to
the north to satisfy our needs, there are plenty of Estonian women
and girls who would fetch a handsome price in gold.’

‘The Sword Brothers
are not slave traders,’ protested Walter. ‘It is a sin and against
God’s law.’

Henke sniffed in
disapproval but Berthold was in agreement. ‘I was severely
reprimanded by the bishop and the grand master for trading slaves
to the Russians and will not authorise another similar
mission.’

Henke shook his head
in disgust but Walter was delighted. Holy warriors did not sully
their hands by dealing in slaves, even if it meant starving.

‘Henke is right about
one thing,’ said Rudolf, ‘we should look to the north.’

Berthold looked at him
with a bewildered expression. ‘Please enlighten us, Rudolf.’

‘We all know,’
continued Rudolf, ‘that war with Lembit is inevitable. When it
comes the Sword Brothers must seize all the land it takes from the
Estonians. If the bishop will not pay us from his treasury then we
must have our own lands to service our needs. What we conquer we
keep.’

‘Makes sense,’ said
Henke.

‘The bishop will never
agree to that,’ said Berthold.

‘He will,’ remarked
Rudolf, ‘when we withhold sending food supplies to Riga. Let’s see
how our friend Stefan likes having a starving population hammering
at his door. Riga’s population grows every year but Livonia’s
hinterland provides the food for its teeming masses. I’m sure that
the other masters, and Volquin himself, will agree that the city
treasury should make the strengthening of the order and its castles
a priority over cushions for the bishop’s palace.’

The other brother
knights were nodding in agreement, even Walter, but Berthold was
frowning. He held up a hand. ‘I will write to the grand master
requesting money to pay for our immediate needs. Brother Rudolf,
you will draw up an inventory of our wants. As for the matter of
Estonian lands, that can be put aside for the moment as Lembit has
kept the peace and shows no sign of breaking it.’

But little did they
know that the arrival at Wenden of a small group of missionaries
would be the spark that would set the north aflame.

It was an overcast
autumn afternoon when they arrived, three Cistercian monks led by a
very tall abbot with a lean, severe face and white hair. Lukas had
been tutoring the novices in swordsmanship, though by now most of
the training classes became opportunities for the young men to show
off their skills. All four were battle hardened and proficient in
the use of weapons on foot and on horseback. Lukas was proud of
them but frowned upon their increasing cockiness. They were
training as matched pairs with swords, moving agilely around each
other just as he had taught them. But his satisfaction turned to
anger when he saw Conrad throw his sword from his right hand to his
left, laughing at Hans, his opponent, as he did so.

‘Stop!’ shouted Lukas,
marching over to Conrad.

‘What are you doing?’
he snapped.

‘Practising with my
left hand, Brother Lukas.’

Anton and Johann
stopped and grinned at each other.

‘Are you left handed?’
asked Lukas.

Conrad shook his head.
‘No, Brother Lukas.’

‘Then don’t let your
sword out of your right hand,’ said Lukas, ‘and don’t throw it
around like it is a toy. That sort of idiotic trick will get you
killed on the battlefield.’

Conrad slashed the air
with his sword. ‘You have trained us well, Brother Lukas.’

‘Next year we will be
brother knights like you,’ said Johann.

‘If you live that
long,’ said Lukas, raising an eyebrow at them. ‘Now get back to
your training. And anyone who tries any tricks will be spending the
evening mucking out the stables.’

They laughed and went
back to their training, only to stop when the white-haired abbot
and his threadbare companions walked from the gatehouse along the
track and diverted off it when they saw Brother Lukas. Conrad and
the others stopped and stared as the tall man leading cleared his
throat behind Lukas.

‘Excuse me, brother, I
am looking for Master Berthold.’

Lukas turned and
looked up at the thin man who like his companions wore a habit of
undyed wool. A smile creased his gaunt face.

‘I am Abbot Hylas from
the monastery at Zinna and these are some of my monks.’

‘I am Brother Lukas of
the Order of Sword Brothers, abbot.’

‘I am pleased to meet
one of our brave warriors of Christ,’ said Hylas, ‘perhaps you
would be so kind as to direct me to Master Berthold.’

Lukas beckoned one of
the spearmen at the gates to come over.

Hylas looked beyond
him to the strapping novices in their leggings and gambesons. ‘Are
these some of your fellow knights?’

Lukas laughed. ‘No,
abbot, these are novices. Insolent novices at that who stop their
work on the flimsiest pretext.’

Conrad and the others
recommenced their training as the spearman arrived and Lukas told
him to take the abbot and his monks to the master’s hall. Hylas
thanked him.

‘What brings you to
Wenden, abbot?’

Hylas followed the
spearman, his tonsured monks following. ‘We go to bring the word of
God to the Estonians.’

Lukas scratched his
head as they walked up the track that led to the castle.

‘What did he mean,
Brother Lukas?’ enquired Conrad as the others stopped when they
heard these words and gathered round.

‘The White Monks they
call the members of the order of Cistercians, on account of them
wearing habits of undyed wool,’ said Lukas. ‘They only wear
trousers when travelling, leading many to ridicule them for their
bare-bottomed piety. Poverty and simplicity, that’s what they live
for. And a desire for a slow death, it seems.’

‘I do not understand,’
said Hans.

Lukas shook his head.
‘Let me put this to you, Hans. Would you like to go into Estonia
unarmed and few in number?’

‘No, Brother Lukas,’
replied Hans.

‘Why not?’ asked
Lukas.

‘Because the Estonians
would kill me.’

‘Exactly,’ mused
Lukas, ‘exactly.’

He looked at Hans.
‘You wouldn’t like being a White Monk, Hans. Most of the time they
eat only coarse bread, vegetables, herbs and beans. Not like at
Wenden where you get lots of eggs, fish and meat to keep you fit
and strong.’

‘They aren’t really
going to Estonia are they, Brother Lukas?’ asked Johann.

‘I have a dreadful
fear that they might be,’ said Lukas.

And so it was. Despite
the remonstrations of Berthold, Rudolf and even Walter, Abbot Hylas
and his monks left Wenden the next day. Henke was on the top of the
completed second story of the north tower as he watched them go,
four ragged individuals leading a mule loaded with a few meagre
rations and a small tent that Berthold had insisted they take with
them, Conrad having shown them how to erect it that morning.

‘That’s the last we
will see of them,’ said Henke dismissively.

‘I fear you may be
right,’ agreed Rudolf.

‘They must be
mad.’

‘Apparently,’ said
Rudolf, ‘the abbot told Berthold that he had a vision that he was
converting the Estonians who were falling to their knees at his
beckoning. He walked all the way across Germany, took ship from
Lübeck and found his way here, with no money or food. Imagine that.
He and his monks relied on charity to get here, nothing more. Now
that, my friend, is faith.’

‘They will find Lembit
less charitable,’ sneered Henke.

*****

After the death of
Daugerutis and Stecse Prince Vsevolod sent his wife and daughters
to Panemunis. He did so because he wished Rasa to be at her
father’s capital to ensure her and their daughters’ safety, since
now the Lithuanian invasion had been crushed he feared that the
bishop would turn his attention to Gerzika. And though he was now
the heir to the Lithuanian throne, or at least those territories
still controlled by what was left of the grand duke’s army, the
other dukes would no doubt try to increase their own territory at
the expense of the Selonians and Nalsen. And if civil war broke out
in Lithuania then there would be no soldiers to spare to send
across the river to support Gerzika.

He was musing over
these thoughts when there was a knock at the door to his study.

‘Enter.’

The chief steward of
the palace entered and bowed. ‘Chief Aras awaits you in your hall,
highness.’

Vsevolod looked up
from his chair. ‘Who?’

‘Prince Stecse’s
deputy, highness.’

Vsevolod sighed. Was
there no end to these tiresome, dull-witted Lithuanian lords?

‘Very well, tell him I
will be along shortly.’

When Vsevolod entered
his hall a few minutes later he found a tall man of medium build
waiting for him. Unusually, he had a smartly trimmed black beard
and his hair was cut short. Most Lithuanians wore their hair and
beards long and wild. In fact his overall appearance was neat and
tidy, with a thigh-length mail hauberk, short leather boots, brown
leggings and green tunic, his helmet held in the crook of his arm.
He bowed his head when he saw the prince.

‘Chief Aras?’ Vsevolod
sat on his high-backed wooden throne. ‘What brings you to
Gerzika?’

‘To advise you on
affairs south of the river, lord.’

Vsevolod called over
his steward and ordered him to fetch wine for him and his
guest.

‘I have advisers,
chief, and they keep me informed of affairs on both sides of the
river.’

Aras nodded. ‘Then you
will know of the meeting between the other dukes a week ago in
Semgallia.’

Vsevolod’s face
registered alarm.

Aras continued. ‘I see
that you do not. They first seek to divide the territory of Duke
Ykintas between them and afterwards they will look east, to the
territories of the late grand duke, your father-in-law.’