The Sword Brothers (85 page)

The steward returned
with a silver tray holding two silver flagons. He offered one to
Vsevolod and the other to Aras.

‘I know who Daugerutis
was,’ said Vsevolod. ‘What is your point?’

‘I was appointed by
Prince Stecse to keep an eye on his son, Mindaugas, lord. As such,
I have a responsibility to ensure that he has a kingdom to inherit
when he becomes a man.’

‘That is my task,’
said Vsevolod irritably.

Aras, unconcerned,
sipped at his wine. ‘Well, my lord, then I would suggest that you
and your army get to Panemunis as quickly as possible to prepare
for the assault of the other dukes. The death of the grand duke has
whetted their appetite for power and they see an opportunity to
crush the Selonians and Nalsen, especially now that Prince Stecse
is dead.’

‘If I abandon
Gerzika,’ said Vsevolod firmly, ‘then I have no doubt that the
crusaders will launch an attack against it.’

‘They will attack it
anyway, my lord. The fact that you did not aid their cause against
the grand duke’s invasion of Livonia will have condemned you in
their eyes.’

Vsevolod waved a hand
at him. ‘I am a friend of the bishop. I brokered a peace treaty
between him and the grand duke.’

‘That the grand duke
broke. I know that these Christians place great store in
forgiveness and charity, but they will not forget that you did not
come to their aid in the recent war.’

Vsevolod glared at
Aras. ‘The war was not of my making. I cannot be held responsible
for events beyond my control.’

‘The point is, lord,’
said Aras, ‘can you fight the crusaders as well as the other dukes
south of the river?’

Vsevolod said nothing
but began tapping his fingers on the arm of his chair. This
well-dressed Lithuanian was impertinent but he was also right: the
bishop was probably no longer his friend and the other Lithuanian
dukes obviously sensed an opportunity to strengthen themselves at
the expense of the grand duke’s people. Gerzika’s army, such as it
was, would not be able to withstand a battle against the crusaders,
and once the bishop’s men were at his walls the only allies he had
would be the Lithuanians across the Dvina. But if civil strife
raged south of the river then he would get no help and Gerzika
would surely fall. Perhaps it might fall anyway.

‘You command the army
of the grand duke?’ queried Vsevolod.

‘What is left of it,
my lord,’ answered Aras.

‘And what is left of
it?’

‘The grand duke took
twelve thousand of his own men across the Dvina. I mustered just
over four thousand at Panemunis two weeks ago. They are in no state
to fight against the other dukes, lord. I need time to rebuild the
army.’

‘That is not within my
power to grant,’ said Vsevolod.

‘No, my lord, but the
transfer of a few hundred of your own soldiers across the river
would allow me to transfer some of my own men from garrison duties
to offensive operations. To keep the wolf from the door, so to
speak.’

‘To do so would weaken
Gerzika,’ said Vsevolod.

‘The land will be
covered in snow in three months, lord, and the rivers and lakes
will be frozen. The crusaders will not march against you until next
year.’

Vsevolod could not
decide whether he disliked or admired this Aras. He was certainly
perceptive and what he was suggesting made sense, which was in
itself irksome. But he was right about one thing: the other
Lithuanian dukes presented the most immediate threat.

‘Your name means
“eagle”, does it not?’ enquired Vsevolod.

‘It does, lord.’

‘How apt for someone
who keeps a watch on Stecse’s son. I trust he prospers.’

‘He thirsts for
revenge, lord.’

‘Ah, I see. Entirely
understandable, I suppose,’ remarked Vsevolod, ‘to seek vengeance
against those who killed his father.’

‘It is my task to
temper his anger with judgement,’ said Aras. ‘One day Mindaugas
will lead the Lithuanian people.’

‘I will send five
hundred men to Panemunis,’ announced Vsevolod, ‘where they will
guard my wife and daughters. Now, Chief Aras, tell me about
Arturus.’

Aras was surprised.
‘Arturus? He is the leader of the Northern Kurs who fights Gedvilas
of the Southern Kurs, or he did the last time I heard anything
about him. He was the one who attacked Riga a few years back.’

Vsevolod rose.
‘Excellent. Now if you will excuse me I have business to attend
to.’

Aras replaced his
flagon back on the tray held by the steward and bowed his head. ‘My
lord.’

Vsevolod raised his
hand in acknowledgement and went back to his study. An hour later
he summoned his steward and presented him with a sealed letter that
he had written. He found the Lithuanian language coarse but it was
easy enough to write and so he did not need a translator to write
down his words. He gave the steward the letter and ordered him to
deliver it himself. The man had served him diligently for many
years and he hoped that he would not lose his head during his
mission. Still, hard times demanded great sacrifice. Vsevolod
frowned when he noticed that his white silk shirt was stained with
a spot of ink.

Three weeks later,
after having overseen the transfer of the five hundred men from
Gerzika to Panemunis, Vsevolod was seated in the dining hall of his
former father-in-law’s stronghold. The days were getting cooler now
and a fire constantly burned in the great stone hearth in the
centre of the hall. In a month’s time ice would begin to form on
the Dvina and the land would be covered with snow. Then he would
finally feel confident that the bishop would not march against him,
at least for this year.

Rasa had taken the
death of her father particularly badly and had wanted him to unite
his army with Aras’ forces and recross the Dvina to continue the
war against the bishop. She only calmed down when Aras informed her
that the bridge of boats that had enabled the grand duke to cross
the river had been destroyed. She cursed the Christians for burning
it and he agreed that they were indeed heathens.

Today she and Vsevolod
ate alone in the dining hall, both seated at the end of the top
table. Aras had taken Mindaugas and their two daughters, Morta and
Elze, on a hunting trip in the forest, the prince having assigned
two score of his Russian warriors as bodyguards.

‘You need have no fear
for their safety,’ Rasa censored him, ‘Aras is quite loyal. He is
like me, a Selonian.’

‘I know, but it will
take me a while to grow accustomed to Lithuanian ways.’

She picked at a slice
of mutton. ‘We need to think about Mindaugas.’

Vsevolod cast aside
his lukewarm meat. ‘Do we?’

‘The death of my
father has led to uncertainty within the kingdom. We must act to
secure the succession.’

Vsevolod tore off a
piece of black bread and dipped it in the bowl of
juka
. It
tasted exquisite.

‘Your father named me
as his successor.’

Rasa shook her head.
‘You are the guardian of the throne, nothing more.’

Vsevolod frowned. ‘You
are so reassuring, my sweet.’

‘My people will never
accept a Russian ruling over them. They tolerate you because of
your marriage to me but they look to us to give them a Lithuanian
duke.’

Vsevolod dropped his
bread into his soup in alarm. ‘You wish to bear another child?’

‘I wish for Mindaugas
to marry Morta.’

‘He is thirteen and
she is fourteen,’ said Vsevolod. ‘They are too young.’

‘They like each other
and can be married next year,’ replied Rasa. ‘I have spoken to the
Kriviu Krivaitis
and he will give his blessing to the
union.’

‘Have you ever
wondered why he lives in a grove, my sweet?’ enquired her husband
innocently. ‘You know he is completely mad, though not that insane
if he has managed to surround himself with a host of virgins
willing to do his every bidding.’

Rasa looked around the
room in alarm. She cared nothing for the serving slaves but didn’t
want the guards to spread rumours of her husband’s blasphemy.

‘Choose your words
carefully,’ she hissed, ‘you are not in Gerzika now.’

The doors of the hall
opened and a muddy courier entered. Around his neck was a leather
tubular carrying case. Two guards crossed their spears to bar his
entry but Vsevolod waved him through. The man was wearing the
silver griffin symbol of Gerzika on the front of his blue
tunic.

Vsevolod rubbed his
hands together. ‘If this is what I think it is, my sweet, we may be
back in Gerzika sooner rather than later.’

The courier took a
letter from his carrying case and bowed his head as he handed it to
the prince. Vsevolod’s smile started to disappear when he saw the
cross keys symbol of Riga on the seal. He broke it and read the
contents, his mood darkening as he read the fawning words of
Archdeacon Stefan. When he finished he tossed the parchment on the
table and came to two immediate conclusions: the archdeacon was no
longer his friend and he would be staying in Lithuania longer than
he had hoped.

‘The news is not good,
I gather,’ said Rasa, looking at her husband’s face.

‘The bishop wants his
gold back.’

Rasa was confused.
‘What gold?’

‘The gold that was
paid to your father, my sweet, for the return of the Liv slaves he
took during his raid against the Novgorodians. The gold that he
used to entice the other dukes to join his campaign earlier this
year. The bishop views said campaign as a breach of the terms of
the peace treaty that was signed between him and your father.’

‘Ignore them,’ said
Rasa contemptuously.

Vsevolod smiled. ‘The
crusaders are nothing if not diligent when it comes to
negotiations. They have thought of that.’

He picked up the
letter and read aloud some of its contents.

‘Failure to deliver
the aforementioned quantity of gold to Riga before the Dvina
freezes over will result in the bishop seeking alternative
reparations from the Principality of Gerzika, equivalent to the
amount in gold that is currently owed to the Holy Kingdom of
Livonia.’

‘Meaning what?’ said
Rasa.

‘Meaning, my sweet,
that if I do not pay the bishop his gold he will attack my
city.’

*****

The missionaries were
sweating heavily, though due to the raging fire that burned behind
them or the prospect of being harmed was uncertain. They had
trekked through the empty land north of Wenden that marked the
frontier between Christian Livonia and pagan Estonia before coming
to one of the villages near the hill fort of Fellin. There they had
begun to preach to the villagers, showing them the wooden crosses
that hung around their necks and calling on them to accept the
Christian faith and be baptised. They were met by a variety of
blank and hostile stares as none of the villagers understood
German, though they recognised the crosses that they had previously
seen on the shields and banners of the crusaders that had ravaged
their land two years before. As Abbot Hylas and his monks prayed
and preached word was sent to Fellin and a party of wolf shields
arrived on ponies to seize them.

Their wrists were
bound and they were dragged off to Lehola to face the judgement of
Lembit. They now stood before him in his hall, their habits having
been taken from them and thrown into the fire. Wolf shields stood
around the walls and Rusticus stood beside his lord in his war
gear, though Lembit himself wore only a plain shirt and leggings,
his sword hanging at his hip. The only sound in the hall was the
crackling of the huge fire.

‘Do you know who I
am?’ he asked them in German.

‘A pagan who must hear
the word of the one true god,’ said Hylas, looking down defiantly
at Lembit.

‘And you are?’ said
Lembit.

‘Abbot Hylas of the
Cistercian Order.’

‘What are
Cistercians?’

‘A religious order
that spreads the word of God.’

‘I am Lembit, leader
of the Estonian tribes,’ he spread his arms, ‘and this is my hall.
It stands on my land, as does the village you invaded. The last
time Christians came to my land they kidnapped women and children.
Was that your intention, Abbot Hylas?’

Beads of sweat formed
on Hylas’ forehead as the fire roasted his and the others’ backs,
but he still stood defiant.

‘I am here with my
brothers to lead them to God.’

‘So you are a
kidnapper,’ said Lembit, ‘for you seek to steal their souls and
sell them to your god. We have our own gods. We do not need your
god; we do not want your god.’

Hylas sneered at
Lembit. ‘Your gods are false. There is only one god.’

Lembit sighed. ‘I
see.’

‘What are you going to
do with them?’ said Rusticus, bored by the whole thing.

‘Send them back to the
bishop, of course,’ answered Lembit.

The next day he sent
riders to the other chiefs informing them that the truce with the
Christians was over and that they should strengthen their
strongholds and prepare for war next spring. Judgement was passed
on Abbot Hylas and his monks that afternoon.

The first monk, the
youngest, had tears streaming down his face as two wolf shields
dragged him from the fort’s gates to stand before Lembit, the
leering Rusticus slashing the air with his sword behind him. The
ramparts of the stronghold were filled with soldiers and their
families, all of them curious to see the fate of these madmen who
had come unarmed into their lord’s lands, and who were now marched
out of Lehola’s gates. The monk, his skin white and pale, looked
imploringly at the abbot, his teeth chattering with fear. The
abbot, like his monks stripped to the waist, tried to maintain his
air of authority but was distraught at the prospect of what was
about to happen.