The Sword Brothers (93 page)

‘Because, Brother
Henke, felled trees will impede the advance of an enemy towards
these defences.’

‘The tree stumps will
do that,’ sniffed Henke.

‘They will,’ agreed
Thaddeus, ‘but having to scramble over felled trees will further
discomfort the enemy and impede his advance, giving your
crossbowmen more time to shoot them down.’

‘If they come at all,’
remarked Lukas.

Thaddeus looked back
at the fort and smiled when he saw another stone arching into the
sky before falling inside Lembit’s stronghold.

‘They will come, for
the other chiefs know that if Lehola, one of the greatest forts in
all Estonia, falls then so will their own kingdoms.’

‘Rameke has seen no
sign of the enemy,’ said Conrad.

‘Neither did he when
Lembit slipped by his men and nearly cut you into small pieces,’
replied Henke. ‘This is his land, not Rameke’s, or Caupo’s for that
matter. He and his people know it and all its secret paths. Why do
you think we’ve found no women and children?’

‘They must be in the
fort,’ said Conrad.

Henke scoffed at the
notion. ‘No they ain’t. Do you know what they call women and
children caught inside a stronghold during a siege?’

Conrad shook his
head.

‘Useless eaters,’ said
Henke. ‘Lembit is not stupid. He would have sent all those who
can’t hold a spear or axe away from the fort into the forest to
hide until the fighting’s done. There are only warriors inside
Lehola.’

‘I hope so,’ said
Thaddeus.

‘You find the idea of
the stones from your machines mangling women and little ones
disagreeable, Master Thaddeus?’ teased Henke.

‘I deplore the killing
of any innocents,’ said Thaddeus gravely.

Henke roared with
laughter. ‘There are no innocents. Women bear children who grow up
to become soldiers and children learn to wield a sword soon enough.
Better to kill them all before they breed more of the enemy.’

‘That’s enough,
Henke,’ said Rudolf. ‘Go and chop down some trees as Master
Thaddeus has instructed.’

Henke winked at
Thaddeus, picked up a two-handed axe and pointed at Conrad. ‘Come
on, otherwise your companions will die of thirst.’

Conrad picked up his
axe and followed Henke, who called back to Master Thaddeus.

‘When do your
trebuchets begin their work again?’

‘As soon as night
falls, Brother Henke,’ replied Thaddeus.

‘The old fool thinks
he can batter Lembit into submission,’ Henke said to Conrad, ‘but
it would be better to build siege towers with all the wood we have
cut and then we can launch an assault and kill all those inside the
fort.’

‘What if Lembit
surrenders?’

Henke shrugged. ‘Then
we can chop off his head in front of his fort, it makes no
difference.’

Conrad was surprised.
‘Even if he has given himself up?’

‘The bishop wants to
make Estonia kneel to the church, but as long as Lembit is still
alive the Estonians will not renounce their pagan religion or their
allegiance to him. The sooner Bishop Albert realises that the
better for all of us. If Bishop Albert wants Estonia then he will
have to kill Lembit.’

*****

But Master Thaddeus
was not a fool and inside the fort a crisis was unfolding. There
were two thousand warriors in Lehola and they were discovering that
there were few places to hide within its spacious confines. The
first night of the crusader siege had resulted in fifty killed and
nearly sixty wounded as a result of the barrels of burning pitch
that had landed among the huts and other wooden structures. A
stable had been hit and set alight, the ponies inside being
overcome by smoke and flames before they could be evacuated. Then a
dozen huts had been set on fire as the garrison was stood to arms
to extinguish the flames when the barrels hit anything solid and
split apart, their contents spilling out and igniting as they did
so. Warriors tried to stamp out the flames but discovered to their
horror that to do so was to get the sticky, flaming liquid on their
boots and leggings, which then consumed the material and then their
flesh.

Some barrels hit the
ground and showered men with their burning contents, resulting in
horrific, sometimes fatal, burns. Because the trebuchets had been
positioned to the south of the fort’s main gates Lembit’s great
hall had escaped the dreadful night of fireballs, the wounded being
brought and laid out in rows on its floor, seemingly safe from the
crusaders’ machines.

The new dawn came and
the trebuchets stopped and men, their eyes red, their faces
unwashed and dirty and their clothes stinking of smoke,
congratulated each other and thanked the gods for their salvation.
Then the first stones fell from the sky. They were only small,
weighing perhaps ten pounds or less, but they fell into the fort
silently and with lethal forces, splitting skulls or smashing bones
to pulp. Men fled for cover and soon discovered that the best place
to hide was near the main gates or in the extreme north of the
compound, between the wall that enclosed the great hall and the
outer wall.

After a sparse meal of
nuts and milk Lembit walked from his hall to speak to the men
huddled at the foot of the northern perimeter wall, many of them
sleeping under their cloaks as they attempted to grab some rest
after the night of fire. But their sleep was fitful and interrupted
by the stones that fell on the roofs of huts, storerooms and
stables, the beasts inside screaming in fear, though in truth the
thick thatch acted as an effective shield against the stones.
Nevertheless, it all contributed to the general unease that
permeated the fort as everyone’s nerves were frayed further.

Lembit went among the
men and casually chatted and reassured them, announcing that a
relief force was nearing the fort. He then walked slowly through
the centre of the fort to the main gates to show he had no fear of
the crusaders or their machines. Rusticus walked beside him.

‘The men’s morale is
fragile,’ said Lembit.

‘They need a victory
to put some iron back in them,’ remarked his deputy.

A stone suddenly
smashed into the ground a few feet ahead of them. Rusticus looked
up at the sky but Lembit, unconcerned, continued his stroll.

‘I am open to ideas,
Rusticus, what do you suggest?’

‘We could raid the
enemy camp tonight, send a party of wolf shields out of the gates
to kill a few crusaders.’

They continued past
the still smouldering ruins of huts that had been destroyed during
the night.

‘They would have to
cut their way through the line of defences the enemy has erected
around the fort,’ said Lembit without enthusiasm. ‘There are many
enemy soldiers guarding the machines that throw the fireballs,
which are unfortunately positioned directly south of the gates. If
the crusaders became aware of any troops leaving the fort they
would commit those guards.’

‘What then?’ said
Rusticus.

‘Our fate lies in the
hands of the other chiefs.’

Rusticus spat on the
ground. ‘Saccalians do not rely on others to save their
honour.’

Lembit stopped and
looked at him. ‘Saccalia is here, Rusticus, in this fort. If the
men within its walls perish then there will be no more Saccalia. It
will become the northern part of Livonia.’

‘How do you know that
the others will come to our aid?’

‘Because they know,’
replied Lembit, ‘that if we fall then so do they.’

But that night no
relief came and as darkness fell the infernal trebuchets once again
began their deadly work, sending flaming barrels into the fort.
This time the garrison knew the trajectory they would take and
largely escaped injury, but the showers of burning liquid set
alight more buildings that were allowed to burn. Lembit sent
parties into the stables to slaughter the ponies and others to kill
the pigs and fowl in their pens to stifle their awful screams and
squeals that shredded men’s nerves.

When morning came the
fort was filled with more smoking ruins and men’s mouths tasted of
smoke and their eyes smarted. Rusticus came to the hall to find his
master, shaking him awake in his chair.

‘The gods are smiling
on us,’ beamed his hulking deputy. ‘You had better come and
see.’

Lembit rubbed his eyes
and stood. His neck and back ached and his mouth felt dry and
stale. He filled a metal bowl on a table with water from a jug and
washed his face, then threaded his way through the moaning and
sleeping sea of injured on the floor to follow Rusticus. They
walked through the gates that led from the inner compound, both of
them choking on the smoke that hung in the air, hastening to a
ladder that led to the first floor of the tower in the northeast
corner of the outer wall. They then ascended a second ladder that
gave access to the tower’s fighting platform.

‘Keep your head down,
lord,’ Rusticus warned Lembit, ‘the crusaders have some
accomplished crossbowmen.’

On the platform Lembit
crouched low as he shuffled to the wall and rested a hand on one of
the great logs that had been used to build it. A warrior in a
helmet beside him gave him a slight nod and then turned back to
look towards the north.

‘There, lord,’ he
said, pointing at a great column of dark smoke rising on the
horizon.

Lembit clenched his
fist. He slapped the man on the back and turned to Rusticus. His
deputy nodded and leered. The signal was clear enough. His allies
had answered his call and were nearing Lehola.

Salvation was at
hand.

*****

Conrad sat on the
ground cleaning the blade of his sword when the alarm was sounded.
There was soon a great commotion in the crusader camp, near panic
among those who were newly arrived from Germany, quiet
determination among the Sword Brothers. Johann ran into the tent
and threw kettle helmets to Conrad, Hans and Anton, all of them
buckling on their sword belts and grabbing their other close
weapons of choice as they slung their shields on their backs and
made their way to the chapel tent. The brother knights and
sergeants were likewise making their way there and soon the area
around the temporary chapel was filled with men in white surcoats
bearing the red cross and sword insignia. In other parts of the
camp trumpets were blaring and men were already in the saddle and
heading towards the siege works.

Conrad stood beside
Hans, checking his belt was buckled and his dagger secure in its
sheath. His sword hung on his left hip and his axe was tucked into
his belt. He saw Rameke and called to him. The Liv came over and
they shook hands, Thalibald’s son also greeting the other
novices.

‘An Estonian army
approaches,’ he said. ‘Our scouts ran into them earlier.’

‘How many?’ asked
Conrad.

‘Hundreds,’ answered
Rameke. ‘They come to relieve the fort.’

Conrad slapped Hans on
the arm. ‘Chopping off Estonian heads is better than chopping down
trees.’

‘I must go and join my
father. Take care that it is not your head that is lopped off, my
friend,’ said Rameke, bidding them all farewell as he took his
leave.

Moments later Lukas
appeared.

‘You four are with me.
An enemy relief force approaches and it is our task to ensure they
do not break through our defences.’

Around them the
brother knights and sergeants were being informed of their tasks by
their masters who had come from the chapel where Grand Master
Volquin had issued his orders. The mercenaries of each garrison
followed their paymasters as the order made its way to the outer
works in the northern sector, files of men following the banner of
each garrison. By popular choice Brother Walter had been asked to
carry Wenden’s flag, which was a red cross over a red sword on a
white background with the letter ‘W’ in the top corner next to the
flagpole.

Conrad was in a
confident mood for he knew, as did everyone else, that if this
battle was won then Lembit would be defeated and Estonia would fall
to the Bishop of Riga. He pulled the axe from his belt and tossed
it up into the air, catching its handle as it fell to earth.

‘No tricks today,
Conrad,’ said Lukas behind him.

‘Tricks, Brother
Lukas?’

‘Don’t get clever.
You’ve done well so far. How many battles have you fought in?’

Conrad flashed a
smile. ‘Three, Brother Lukas.’

‘Three?’

‘If you count
Fellin.’

‘And not a scratch on
you,’ said Lukas. ‘You’ve been lucky but luck doesn’t last forever.
What you were taught in training does, however, and if you cast
your mind back you will recall that I did not teach you any
tricks.’

‘We do not need luck,
Brother Lukas,’ boasted Conrad, ‘we have God on our side.’

‘God doesn’t like
cocky young men, Conrad, always remember that.’

Grand Master Volquin
had briefed the commanders of the army on his plan the day they had
arrived at Lehola. Count Horton and Sir Jordan wanted nothing more
than to lead a great charge against the enemy but Volquin knew that
it would require more subtle tactics to defeat the enemy. Thus far
his plan had worked perfectly but he had fulfilled but part of his
scheme. For victory to be achieved everyone had to perform the
tasks allotted to them. The crusader lords had at first bristled at
being told what to do but the grand master was backed up by Bishop
Albert and also by Sir Helmold, the latter now a veteran of
campaigning in Livonia. And so they grumbled but acquiesced in
Volquin’s plan.

As Conrad trotted to
the northern lines of contravallation Sir Helmold took his knights
and squires to the outer defence lines to the east of the fort,
where he was joined by Thalibald and five hundred Liv warriors. He
was also reinforced by the hundred crossbowmen from Riga. All these
men – Livs, knights, squires and crossbowmen – were on foot, their
horses left in camp.