The Sword Brothers (38 page)

Lukas was horrified.
‘Estonians? Did they capture the chief’s village?’

‘No,’ said Fricis,
‘the women were working in the fields sowing the spring crops when
the Estonians appeared on their ponies. They killed the guards and
those like me who were too old to march north and took away the
women and girls, slitting the throats of those women who were too
old to be of any use to them.’

‘Bastards,’ hissed
Conrad to murmurs of agreement from the others.

Lukas spun round.
‘Silence!’

‘I ride back to the
village,’ continued Fricis, ‘where a score of old men with rusty
swords wait to ride after them. I ask you for aid in our moment of
need.’

Lukas scratched his
head. He wanted to help but he had a castle full of civilian
workers and their families and a tiny garrison. And he was loath to
weaken it further with Estonian raiders in the area. He looked at
Fricis with sympathy.

‘I cannot spare any
men. I am sorry.’

‘Please, Brother
Lukas,’ implored Fricis. ‘A handful of your men could mean the
difference between success and failure.’

Conrad could tell that
Lukas was distraught in letting Fricis down. ‘I really can spare no
one.’

Fricis’ features
hardened. ‘What about them?’ He pointed at the boys behind Lukas.
The latter turned in confusion.

‘They are mere boys,
Fricis.’

‘We will go, brother,’
said Conrad.

‘Let us go, please,’
implored Anton. The others nodded and voiced their eagerness to
accompany Fricis.

‘I said silence!’
snapped Lukas.

He looked back at
Fricis and then at the boys who were like hunting dogs straining at
the leash. He shook his head. ‘I must be out of my mind.’

Conrad could barely
contain his excitement as he and the others ran to the stables to
saddle ponies. Fricis embraced Lukas and told him that Thalibald
would make him a blood brother for getting back his wife and
daughter.

‘We haven’t got them
back yet,’ he mumbled as he strode with him into the stables where
the boys were leading their ponies from the stalls.

‘All of you in the
courtyard. Tie your ponies up near the water trough.’

Conrad was surprised
to see leather face and three of his fellow crossbowmen being
issued with quivers from the armoury and then pass him as they went
to the stables.

‘You are going with
us?’ said Conrad.

Leather face winked at
him. ‘Just because we do most of our fighting on foot doesn’t mean
we can’t ride. I can teach you a thing or two.’

‘Conrad,’ shouted
Lukas, ‘move your arse.’

Lukas was now at the
new stone armoury, a large squat building with a solid oak door and
tiny windows covered with iron grilles. Inside were racks of
spears, lances, swords and axes, shelves holding crossbows and
quivers, chests full of crossbow bolts, walls covered with shields
hanging on hooks and a corner containing mail armour, helmets and
leather belts. The armourers, all of them stocky individuals with
huge hands and rugged features, handed the boys lances, swords in
scabbards, sword belts and daggers in sheaths. Hans whooped with
joy and Anton beamed with delight. Johann could hardly believe that
he was strapping on a real sword while Bruno pulled his sword from
its scabbard and stared at it in disbelief. Lukas handed Conrad Sir
Frederick’s sword and then shouted at them all to assemble outside.
Fricis sat on his pony in front of the mounted crossbowmen.

‘I have decided,
against my better judgement,’ Lukas said to the boys, ‘to let you
take part in this rescue attempt. I cannot in all conscience stand
idly by in Fricis’ hour of need, but I also cannot leave this
castle without first telling you that you may reconsider and stay
at Wenden. It is no disgrace.’

His words were met by
a row of resolute stares. He smiled. ‘Very well. Let us pray that
we are not too late.’

Conrad felt like a
warrior king as he cantered out of the courtyard, across the bridge
and down the track to the gates. He glanced at Sir Frederick’s
sword – now his sword – at his hip and tightened the grip on his
reins. Only Lukas wore full mail armour, he and the others being
equipped in gambesons, the boys wearing kettle helmets and the
crossbowmen mail coifs. He touched the leather guige – strap – of
the shield strapped slung on his back and smiled. He was going to
fight at long last.

*****

Rusticus was very
happy. He had wanted to accompany his lord south to take part in
the assault against Treiden and had been most annoyed that he had
been given the task of being a mere decoy. But things had turned
out to his advantage. His scouts had led him on a circuitous route
through the thick pine forests to the east of Wenden, before
heading west to arrive at a spot where he could observe the castle
unseen. He had been most surprised to see the garrison leave one
morning: a line of horsemen, wagons and soldiers on foot, and even
more surprised when his scouts reported warriors leaving the nearby
villages, also heading south. He knew they were going to Treiden
and that he had failed Lembit, arriving too late to gain the
attention of the garrison. But to his delight he discovered that
only youths and old men had been left behind to guard the Liv
villages, only one of which was defended by a moat and timber
wall.

So he had led his men
on a wide sweep of the countryside, riding into fields where women
were sowing crops. The Estonians butchered the few old guards,
raped and then slit the throats of the old women and enslaved the
women and girls. They would either make good slaves or could be
traded for gold and weapons with the Russians. Now he led his
warriors north back to their homeland, with over forty Liv women
trailing behind them.

They were riding in
column along a dirt track through a forest near the Gauja. It was
late afternoon and the sun was lancing through the gaps in the
canopy above, the warm air thick with the aroma of pine. The ponies
were walking slowly, the men’s shields hanging from their saddles
and their spears resting on their shoulders. All of them wore steel
helmets but only Rusticus had mail armour. The best-equipped men
had gone south with Lembit. The atmosphere was sleep inducing,
interrupted only by the flight of a black stork when the column
passed by a lake or the distant tapping of a white-backed
woodpecker. Rusticus heard a pony approaching and halted his mount,
his lieutenant riding up beside him. Behind them the column had
ground to a halt.

‘A problem with the
women, lord.’

Rusticus snapped out
of his daydream. ‘What problem?’

‘One of them is
heavily pregnant and has collapsed. The others are refusing to move
without her. Do you want me to kill her?’

‘Of course not,’
replied Rusticus before grinning wickedly. ‘Not until we have raped
her.’

His subordinate nodded
approvingly. ‘I did not think of that.’

Rusticus rubbed his
hands together. ‘That is why I am a warlord and you are not.’

He was going to
organise the rape of the prisoners once they had made camp but a
pleasant diversion in the meantime would not do any harm.

‘Heavily pregnant, you
say?’

‘Will calf any day
now,’ leered his deputy.

Rusticus’ eyes lit up.
‘Lovely.’

Thud.

The grin on the
subordinate’s face disappeared as he looked down in disbelief at
the crossbow bolt stuck in his belly, then slumped forward in the
saddle. Rusticus may have been fat and ugly but his warrior
instincts never deserted him and he leapt from his pony and grabbed
his shield to cover him, drawing his sword as three more of his men
were toppled from their saddles by quarrels.

‘Ambush!’ he
screamed.

The Livs had been
tracking the Estonians for three hours, catching up with the column
that was slowed down by women prisoners on foot. They and the
soldiers from Wenden then swung east deeper into the forest before
cantering north to put them ahead of Rusticus and his band of
raiders. Leather face and his crossbowmen were placed on the track
where they could shoot at the head of the column. Once they
commenced their shooting to halt the column the Livs, Lukas and the
five boys would charge the eastern flank of the Estonians. Lukas
hoped that the element of surprise would tip the scales in their
favour but it was still long odds: himself, twenty old Livs and
five boys against twice that number of Estonians.

‘God with us!’ shouted
Lukas, digging his spurs into his horse.

Conrad couched his
lance and stared ahead, his pony racing through the trees towards
the enemy. They were in a long line, big men on ponies wearing
helmets and carrying spears. He saw his target and dug his spurs
into his mount. He had been taught to charge knee to knee with
other riders to present a wall of men and horseflesh but the trees
made that impossible. He glanced right and saw Hans a few yards
away and right to glimpse Anton. His target had tugged on his reins
to wheel his beast to the right. He had seen him. Conrad screamed
as his pony strained to increase its speed. The Estonian lowered
his spear as Conrad’s lance struck his shield and the steel point
went through leather and wood to pierce flesh. He released the
shaft, pulled his sword from its scabbard and swung the blade right
as he passed the stricken Estonian, the edge biting into the man’s
lower neck.

Hans was by his side
having likewise speared his man. Their initial charge had unhorsed
at least a dozen Estonians but now the rest were fighting back,
thrusting their spears at the Livs as they passed through their
line, felling at least four. An Estonian directed his pony at
Conrad, spear held tight to his right side.

Keep moving, don’t
become a stationary target.

He heard the words of
Lukas as he spurred his mount forward, shield tucked tight into his
left side. He pulled hard on his reins to wheel his pony left and
the Estonian’s spear missed him. He swung his sword up and down to
shatter the bone in the enemy’s arm. The man screamed in pain,
dropping his spear, allowing Conrad to thrust the point of his
sword into the man’s guts. The man coughed as his dirty tunic
suddenly showed a large bloodstain.

Keep moving.

Conrad yanked on his
reins to take his mount away from the wounded warrior.

A wounded man may have
strength to kill you before he dies. Do not take any chances.

The sword felt as
light as a feather in his hand, his senses were heightened and
strength infused his limbs. But he did not forget his training. He
saw Lukas surrounded by four enemy warriors and watched as he
killed each one in turn, sword, shield and man in perfect harmony
as he parried sword blows, used his shield to knock a man from the
saddle, split Estonian helmets and killed with single thrusts of
his sword.

Conrad’s pony suddenly
collapsed beneath him and then he was on the ground, his foot
trapped under the dead beast. He saw a big brute in mail armour
leering at him, an ugly man carrying a large round shield and an
axe in his right hand. He had seen this warrior before, at Wenden
when Lembit had attacked the castle.

Conrad desperately
tried to free himself but it was too late. The warrior moved with a
deftness that defied his bulk and stood over him, axe raised ready
to strike. He heard a scream and then saw Anton riding hard at the
fat Estonian, who also heard him and swung round to avoid the boy’s
sword that swung at his head. Conrad yanked his leg out from under
the dead pony and leapt up as Anton rode past and the fat brute
once again focused upon Conrad.

Conrad was younger,
half his weight and inexperienced, but he was quick and agile and
avoided the Estonian’s axe blows, catching one on his shield that
almost knocked him over. The warrior was screaming at Conrad in a
language he did not understand, though he caught the gist of the
stream of invective that was being spat in his direction. The
sounds of battle were echoing through the forest as steel struck
shields, shattered shields and cut flesh.

The brute came at
Conrad with a succession of axe strikes that forced him back,
slicing open the leather covering of his shield and chipping the
wood underneath. He screamed as he swung the axe at Conrad’s head,
the youth ducking and jabbing the point of his sword forward to cut
into the Estonian’s upper arm. He growled with malice that this boy
had dared to wound him but as far as Conrad could tell it had no
effect on him. Was he a man or a devil?

Two other Estonians
came to the big man’s side and for the first time Conrad felt
afraid. They closed on him but then one pitched forward and
collapsed on the ground, a quarrel lodged in his back. The other
two looked round and another was hit in the belly by a quarrel as
leather face and another crossbowman advanced towards them. The big
man pointed his axe at Conrad.

‘This is not over,
boy.’

Then he sprinted away
to a standing pony and leaped into the saddle. Conrad saw him
screaming some words, heard a horn being sounded and then the
Estonians began to disengage and ride north behind their leader.
Lukas, still on his horse, his sword and mantle splattered with
blood, began riding up and down. He took off his helmet.

‘Let them go, let them
go.’

Conrad raised his
sword in the air and gave a roar of triumph, then remembered why
they had come. Daina!

He saw Fricis riding
towards the rear of what had been the Estonian column and ran after
him, past dead and wounded ponies groaning in pain, jumped over
corpses and saw Lukas sheathing his sword. He was suddenly filled
with fear that she and the other women had been wounded or even
killed. But then he saw her and his heart leapt.

‘Daina,’ he shouted.
She turned and her green eyes lit up when she saw him. She cried
and laughed as Conrad replaced his sword in its scabbard and ran up
her.