The Sword Brothers (86 page)

‘Have courage, my
son,’ he called to the monk.

Lembit looked at
Hylas. ‘You can save him, you can save all of them as well as
yourself.’

Hylas looked at him,
relief mixed with suspicion at this calculating, long-haired
barbarian who spoke so softly.

Lembit smiled. ‘It is
true. All you have to do is kneel before me, place your hand on
your heart and swear allegiance to Uku.’

Hylas was perplexed
and began looking round. ‘Uku? Who is Uku?’

Lembit grabbed Hylas’
hair and twisted the thin strands in his hand. The abbot winced in
pain as the Estonian forced his face upwards.

‘The Supreme God, the
creator who blessed us with life. Bow and declare your allegiance
to Him and I will let you go free.’

He released the
abbot’s hair and looked back at the shaking monk, pointing at
Hylas.

‘Your fate, boy, lies
in his hands.’

He walked over to
Rusticus who was holding his sword in readiness.

‘Why the delay?’

Lembit shook his head.
‘I have promised them their lives if the old man kneels and swears
allegiance to Uku.’

Rusticus was appalled.
‘You cannot let them go, lord.’

‘Why?’

‘It will look
bad.’

‘Will it?’ said
Lembit. ‘Look at them, Rusticus, an old man and his three deluded
followers. Have you no pity in your heart?’

‘But you promised,’
muttered Rusticus forlornly.

‘I did promise,’ said
Lembit, ‘to send them back to the bishop and I always keep my
promises.’

‘But if they swear
allegiance to Uku,’ protested Rusticus, ‘then I will not be able to
execute them.’ He pointed his sword at the people standing in
silence on the ramparts. ‘They will be disappointed, lord.’

‘You mean
you
will be disappointed. Well, console yourself with knowing that you
can kill some prisoners later if the old man agrees to my
terms.’

He walked back to
Hylas as Rusticus muttered under his breath.

‘Well, abbot,’ said
Lembit, ‘what shall it be, life or death?’

‘I do not fear death,’
answered Hylas firmly, ‘and will never abandon my god.’

Lembit nodded to the
two wolf shields who shoved the young monk down on his knees in
front of Hylas.

‘Time to see if your
sword is sharp, Rusticus,’ said Lembit.

His deputy grinned
with relish. He took a few steps forward, gripping the hilt of his
sword with both hands, and then swung the blade at the monk’s head,
severing it in one blow. The ramparts erupted in cheers as the head
rolled to the feet of Abbot Hylas, its eyes and mouth wide. The
abbot nearly swooned but managed to stay on his feet. Lembit
gestured to a wolf shield standing behind the priest who kicked at
the back of his knees, sending him sprawling on the ground.

‘It is inappropriate
that you should be looking down on me, priest,’ said Lembit.

The chief walked over
to the headless corpse and took the wooden crucifix that had been
around the young monk’s neck. He placed the bloody necklace around
the abbot’s neck.

‘A memento for
you.’

Lembit ordered the
next monk to be brought from the gates. ‘I give you another
opportunity, abbot, to save yourself and your two companions.
Renounce your god and acknowledge Uku as the true supreme deity and
I will let you live.’

‘Blasphemer!’ spat
Hylas as the second monk, gaping wide-eyed at the headless corpse
in front of him, was shoved down on his knees beside it.

Lembit sighed and
nodded to Rusticus who lopped off the quivering monk’s head with a
single blow – wild cheering from the ramparts. Lembit once more
retrieved the crucifix that had hung around the monk’s neck and
placed it around Hylas’ neck. The latter was shaking with rage, his
eyes bulging and his cheeks purple.

‘You will rot in hell
for your crimes,’ he spat at Lembit. ‘Oh Lord, strike down this
heathen and show the disbelievers Your power!’

Lembit looked around
him. ‘It would appear that your god is not listening. That being
the case, I’m sure he will not mind if you kneel and swear fealty
to Uku.’

But Hylas had his eyes
closed and was reciting a silent prayer, trying to shut out the
horror that was unfolding before him. Lembit raised his arms to the
ramparts.

‘I have offered this
priest his own and the lives of his followers in return for him
paying homage to Uku and yet he refuses. Am I not merciful?’

Those on the ramparts
cheered and whistled, the warriors banging their spear shafts
against their shields. Lembit waved forward the last monk, who put
up a mighty struggle before he was forced down onto his knees in
front of Hylas. Rusticus gripped his sword and placed the bloody
edge against the monk’s thin neck. Lembit struck Hylas across the
face with the back of his hand.

‘Pay attention, you do
not want to miss any of the entertainment. Rusticus, can you make
it three out of three?’

Rusticus drew back the
blade and then swung it forward to take the head off the last monk,
a blow so speedy and expertly delivered that for a few seconds the
severed head rested on the corpse’s neck, until the body crumpled
and the head rolled on the ground. Rusticus raised his hands to the
applause showered upon him and stepped forward, smirking at
Hylas.

‘No, Rusticus,’ said
Lembit, retrieving the last monk’s crucifix and placing it around
Hylas’ neck, ‘not this one. This one will live to take my message
back to the bishop.’

Rusticus was shocked.
‘You will let him live?’

‘Sort of.’

Lembit ordered Hylas
be tied to a wooden frame and then had him flogged. Rusticus was
allowed the honour after he had executed the other prisoners with
his sword. He undertook the flogging with a whip made of cowhide,
the blows biting deep into the abbot’s back, tearing the flesh. At
first Hylas cursed Rusticus after every blow but after twenty
lashes his head hung down and he merely moaned with each
strike.

‘That is enough,
Rusticus,’ said Lembit, arms folded and standing on the other side
of the frame so he was near Hylas’ face.

‘But I am just getting
warmed up,’ protested Rusticus.

Lembit held up a hand
to his subordinate and leaned closer to the pale, pain-wracked face
of the abbot.

‘I have a surprise for
you, priest. My deputy uses his right hand.’

Lembit waved forward
one of his wolf shields, a stocky man shorter than Rusticus but
powerfully built nonetheless.

‘Give him the whip,
Rusticus,’ ordered Lembit.

He continued to speak
to the abbot. ‘But the next man to flog you is left handed and so
the strokes across your back that he will make will cross the first
set of cuts and mangle your flesh even more.’

He placed a hand under
the abbot’s chin and lifted his face. ‘Enjoy.’

The second set of
strokes resulted in the abbot passing out, only to be rudely
awakened when Rusticus threw a bucket of water in his face. When
his back had been cut to ribbons salt was rubbed into Hylas’ wounds
and then he was left to hang on the frame all night.

In the morning he was
cut down and given water before all his fingers were broken with a
hammer and his toenails were pulled out. He was then thrown on the
back of a cart, together with a sack containing the severed heads
of his monks tied to one of his ankles. The dozen riders who were
instructed to take him back to Livonia and dump him near Wenden
were ordered to given Hylas food and water should he request it,
but on no account to harm him further and to ensure that he did not
die of exposure on the journey.

Lembit stood at the
entrance to Lehola as the cart trundled down the track south,
Rusticus beside him.

‘This signals the end
of our peace with the crusaders,’ said Lembit.

Rusticus rubbed his
hands together. ‘Good, your warriors grow restless with no blood to
wash their blades in.’

Rusticus pointed at
the cart. ‘Why did you let him live?’

‘So he can carry my
message back to the Christians that their religion has no place in
Estonia and if they send any more priests they can expect to
receive the same treatment.’

‘They will send an
army, not priests,’ said Rusticus.

Lembit nodded. ‘I
know. But of the two I would rather fight a crusader army than an
army of their priests. At least you can see the men of iron.’

Rusticus looked
confused. ‘I do not understand.’

‘The men of iron come
with swords but their priests wage war with words and ideas, and
once ideas are planted in people’s minds it becomes almost
impossible to remove them or prevent them from spreading. I do not
wish to see the Estonians going the way of the Livs. I would rather
see this land laid waste than fall to the religion of the Bishop of
Riga.’

*****

‘He must be over a
hundred paces away, said Hans, staring at the wild boar with its
snout to the ground.

Conrad placed a finger
over his lips to quieten Hans and lifted up the crossbow that was
hanging via a strap over his shoulder.

‘If you miss him and
waste a bolt there will be extra duties for you tonight,’ whispered
Lukas behind him as Conrad pulled back the bowstring with the claw
on his belt and patted the neck of his horse. Ever since the
arrival of the German settlers at Wenden and the building of their
hovels beyond the north wall of the castle Master Berthold had
organised daily patrols to safeguard the area. Usually the riders
saw nothing aside from birds but each patrol always took along a
crossbow on the chance that it might come across something to add
to the stockroom of the castle’s kitchens.

Today it was the turn
of Lukas and the novices and now Conrad had the opportunity to kill
a boar that was so busy sniffing for worms and insects that it did
not spot the five stationary horsemen.

‘Don’t miss, Conrad,’
said Anton. ‘He’ll make a fine meal.’

‘Must weigh at least
two hundred pounds,’ added Johann.

Conrad took a bolt
from his quiver and placed it in the groove in the crossbow’s
stock. The others fell silent as he raised the weapon and took aim.
There was no wind so all he had to consider was elevation. He
relaxed and slowed his breathing – his horse would sense any
nervousness and might become skittish. He waited for the hog to
turn so it was presenting its side before he released the trigger.
The crack of the crossbow was followed by the squeal of the boar as
the bolt hit it in the shoulder. Then there was a grunt and the
animal collapsed.

The others cheered and
Hans slapped Conrad on the arm.

‘You got lucky,’ said
Lukas.

But it wasn’t luck; it
was the result of hundreds of hours of training that had turned
these young men into skilled fighters and horsemen. He was proud of
how they had turned out but frowned on their occasional displays of
bravado. He was about to tell Conrad to go and fetch his prize when
he saw movement in the trees to his right, and this was no
animal.

‘Ready!’ he shouted,
drawing his sword and bringing his shield up to cover his torso.
The others did likewise. They were in a clearing with trees fifty
paces on the right and brush thickets ahead and on their left.

They brought their
horses in line with Lukas who had turned his animal to face the
threat. They could all see him now, a lone figure who seemed to
have halted just back from the treeline.

‘Show yourself,’
shouted Lukas but the figure did not move.

‘Do you want me to
shoot him, Brother Lukas?’ asked Conrad.

Lukas pulled down his
mail coif to hear better, listening for any sounds that might
indicate more men in the trees.

‘He’s moving again,’
said Anton, pointing his sword at the lone figure as it exited the
trees.

They stared in
disbelief at the half-naked man with torn breeches who staggered
towards them and then collapsed. Lukas spurred his horse forward
and the others followed. The brother knight sheathed his sword and
dismounted when he reached the poor wretch, kneeling beside him and
gently lifting his head off the ground. He saw the bloody
crucifixes around his neck and the wounds to each of his toes, then
caught site of the lacerated top of his shoulders.

‘Water bottle.’

Johann threw him his
waxed leather water bottle and Lukas uncorked it and tipped some of
the contents into the man’s mouth.

‘Abbot Hylas,’ he said
gently, ‘what in God’s name happened to you?’

They took the abbot
back to Wenden slung belly first over Lukas’ horse so as not to
aggravate the weeping wounds on his back. Conrad cut the rope that
fastened the sack of what he thought was meat to his ankle and
carried that back to the castle as well. In the excitement everyone
forgot about the boar.

Hylas was transported
to the Master’s Hall where he was placed in Berthold’s bedroom.
Ilona was summoned to treat his wounds and Conrad saw her enter the
hall carrying a box filled with herbs and potions. He still had the
sack hanging from his saddle as he and the others dismounted in the
courtyard.

‘What have you there,
Conrad?’

Conrad stopped to see
Rudolf and Henke walking towards him.

‘We found Abbot Hylas
whilst on patrol.’

‘He was in a bad way,’
said Johann.

Henke looked at Rudolf
and then at the sack hanging from Conrad’s saddle.

‘What’s that?’

‘It was tied to the
abbot’s ankle,’ replied Anton.

Henke lifted the sack
from the saddle and pulled his knife from its sheath.

‘I was wrong about not
seeing the missionaries again, Rudolf. I underestimated the
Estonians.’

He sliced open the
sack and emptied its contents at Conrad’s feet. The novice jumped
in alarm as three severed heads rolled onto the cobbles, their
necks packed with salt and sealed with hide to prevent the sack
being stained with blood.