Many Lithuanians had a low opinion of Vsevolod, a man who had lost his own kingdom to the Sword Brothers. The nadir of his reign had been when he had invited the Sword Brothers into Selonia to battle the Kurs, which had resulted in Prince Mindaugas leaving the kingdom in the company of the Kriviu Krivaitis. People feared that with his going the gods would abandon them, but in fact in the four years since the land had been blessed with good harvests, a beginning of trade with Riga and peace. It was not lost on even the most simple-minded headman that peace existed in no small part due to the Sword Brother garrison at Mesoten.

  Mindaugas, his long face bearing a scowl, gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. The meeting was not going how he had envisaged, not at all.

  ‘The other dukes are gathering their warriors for the assault on Mesoten. Will Selonia and Nalsen stand idly by and watch others win the glory?’

  ‘What of the Kurs?’ came a voice from the back of the hall. ‘Are they part of the alliance?’

  ‘Duke Ykintas and I are at war with the Kurs,’ replied Mindaugas.

  Everyone knew that Mindaugas and Duke Ykintas had been heavily defeated by the Kurs and had it not have been for the death of Duke Arturus the fortress of Medvegalis would likely have been besieged.

  A man, around thirty, the same age as Mindaugas, looked at the son of the late Stecse.

  ‘If we take part in the assault on Mesoten then we will be at war with the Sword Brothers, Riga and the Kurs. I am the prince of a district near the Dvina and my traders tell me that Kur merchants are now welcome in Riga. How do we know that if we join this alliance you speak of the Kurs will not join with the Sword Brothers against us?’

  There were murmurs of agreement around him, prompting Mindaugas’ anger to rise.

  ‘The Sword Brothers are our enemies. Are you so weak that you fear them? Are you so cowardly that the prospect of the Kurs makes you shake like old women?’

  Perhaps he thought his wrathful words would ignite the spirit of defiance within them and cause them to rally to his cause. But all they did was create a sea of stony faces. Aras shook his head while Vsevolod, sitting on his dais next to Rasa, tried hard not to smirk. Poor Mindaugas. His hatred of the Sword Brothers blinded him to reality. Viesthard and his Semgallians had to fight because half their lands had been lost to the Sword Brothers, their only vain hope was to continue fighting and win back those lands by throwing the crusaders across the Dvina. The Samogitians had to fight because their lands bordered Kurland, which had declared war on the whole of Lithuania, though Duke Lamekins had shown himself to be more conciliatory than his predecessor. But Selonia and Nalsen did not have to fight because Mesoten provided a shield in the west, they had amicable relations with the Aukstaitijans to the south and even better relations with Livonia to the north. The reality was that after years of war there was little appetite for more bloodshed.

  The hall was filled with a sullen silence. Vsevolod looked at Aras and sighed. If Mindaugas had won a string of victories then perhaps his words would have had more effect. But as it was he and Ykintas had achieved nothing other than getting thousands of their men killed. Those in the hall obviously believed that if they joined Mindaugas they would suffer a similar fate.

  ‘I will go with Prince Mindaugas.’

  There were gasps of astonishment as Aras stepped forward and stood beside the prince. Vsevolod’s smirk disappeared as the reality of what was happening dawned on him.

  ‘Aras, you forget your place,’ he growled.

  Aras turned. ‘Highness, you promised that every man here would be free to make his own decision.’

  Rasa smiled in admiration at the gesture but Vsevolod was far from amused. But then he played his hand. His voice halted the chatter and murmurs.

  ‘I promised that Prince Mindaugas would be free to put forward his case and I have fulfilled my promise. But all of you should know that those who follow him will be stripped of their positions when, if, they return. Last year I signed a treaty with Riga and I will not jeopardise that or the good relations we now enjoy with Livonia for the sake of what I consider to be a foolish enterprise.’

  Mindaugas spun round, anger in his eyes, but Vsevolod stood and held up a hand to him.

  ‘No, Mindaugas, you have had your say. You may speak no more in this hall. All those who wish to depart with you will do so within a month. And may whatever gods you worship go with you and them.’

  He nodded to the guards standing either side of the doors to the chamber. They opened them and the assembly began to file out of the hall.

  ‘You will remain,’ Vsevolod ordered Aras, ‘and you will withdraw,’ he commanded Mindaugas.

  When the hall was empty and silent Vsevolod stepped down from the dais.

  ‘I would have preferred it if you had stayed silent, Aras. Your intervention will result in many widows in this land, I think.’

  Aras cast his eyes down. ‘My apologies, highness.’

  Rasa left her chair and walked to the general, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

  ‘You are a man of courage, Aras, and I know you have a fondness for Mindaugas. I for one cannot be angry with your decision though I would rather have you here than facing the Sword Brothers.’

  ‘I echo my wife’s sentiments,’ said Vsevolod. ‘When you return, and I pray God that you do, you will be welcomed back to Panemunis.’

  ‘And the others, highness?’

  ‘They will become exiles for I will not allow Selonia or Nalsen to be dragged into a war they do not desire and cannot win.’

  He looked at the black-clothed Aras. ‘You’re not a fool. In your heart you must know that it is the height of folly to provoke the Sword Brothers.’

  ‘You are not wrong, highness,’ conceded Aras, ‘but it does not feel right to stay here while others are doing the fighting.’

  ‘I would be lying if I said I understood,’ said Vsevolod, ‘but neither will I condemn you for your choice. All I would ask, all we both would ask, is that you do not throw your life away. You are a general so try to direct your men rather than standing in front of them.’

  Aras laughed. Rasa leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. ‘The gods be with you, Aras.’

  Vsevolod, for all his machinations, was genuinely sad to see his general depart Panemunis. Mindaugas managed to raise nearly a thousand men for his cause, mostly drawn from among the Nalsen whose lands had not been threatened by the Kurs or the Sword Brothers. They were mostly foot soldiers, the two hundred horsemen comprising Selonian chiefs and the odd prince who had rallied to Aras because they knew him personally. On the day the general left Vsevolod sent a message to Archdeacon Stefan at Riga pledging his loyalty to Livonia and denouncing Prince Mindaugas.

  *****

  Mesoten had once been the greatest timber hill fort in all Semgallia. It had been burned to the ground by an army commanded by Bishop Albert and then rebuilt on his orders during another crusade south of the Dvina. The work had begun five years before when its castellan, Master Ortwin, had been given a substantial number of soldiers, both to carry out the work and to ensure that the fort was not retaken by Duke Viesthard. In addition to the original five hundred lesser knights that staffed the line of small timber forts spaced at one-mile intervals all the way back to the Dvina, its commander had a garrison at Mesoten that numbered just shy of four hundred men.

  ‘Now I’m down to just under a hundred and fifty and the lesser knights number fewer,’ said Ortwin. ‘Still, at least there’s room inside to accommodate all your men. How many did you bring?’

  ‘Six hundred and fifty,’ replied Rudolf, staring west towards where the vast Tervete Valley was located.

  ‘Eight hundred men is a fair number,’ said Sir Richard. ‘How many will the enemy number, I wonder.’

  Ortwin sniffled and pinched his nose. ‘Perhaps ten times that number, your grace, but the battle will be decided by our crossbowmen, I think.’

  ‘We brought two hundred and twenty dedicated crossbowmen,’ said Rudolf, ‘to which can be added my brother knights and sergeants, all of whom have been issued with crossbows, a further forty-eight.’

  ‘In addition to my knights and squires,’ added Sir Richard, ‘a further forty.’

  Ortwin nodded approvingly. ‘Over three hundred crossbows, not bad.’

  Conrad turned and looked up at the timber ramparts. ‘When we took this place we had mangonels, trebuchets and a siege tower. At least the pagans won’t have those.’

  ‘How many of your army are pagans, Conrad?’ asked Ortwin.

  ‘I have no idea,’ replied Conrad, ‘I take the view that if a man is prepared to stand beside me in battle then I owe him the courtesy of not enquiring to his personal beliefs.’

  ‘Some might say that is heresy, Conrad,’ smiled Ortwin.

  ‘The Army of the Wolf has shed much blood in the service of the Holy Church,’ Conrad retorted, ‘that alone should be sufficient to answer any charges of heresy.’

  Ortwin slapped him on the arm. ‘Well, I for one am glad to have your heathen bastards with us. We’ll need every man in the coming days.’

  Sir Richard looked around at the peaceful scene, the green forests, meadows and glittering lakes stretching west and south as far as the eye could see.

  ‘You are certain the enemy will come?’

  Ortwin nodded. ‘Very certain, your grace. The pagans usually start harassing the smaller forts from here to the Dvina in the spring. Nothing too serious, just the odd arrow shot at a guard in a tower or trying to lure the garrison out so they can be ambushed. But this spring there has been no activity at all, which leads me to suspect Viesthard is gathering his warriors, what is left of them.’

  ‘How many has he lost?’ asked Sir Richard.

  Ortwin spat on the grass. ‘Difficult to judge, your grace, but we’ve been killing them for five years and northern Semgallia is largely empty of people, except for us here and the garrisons of the small forts.’

  ‘We should have assaulted Tervete instead of trying to invade Kurland,’ said Conrad, speaking out loud.

  ‘That would have made sense,’ agreed Ortwin, ‘but what I’ve heard of Viesthard’s stronghold it would require a big army.’

  ‘Grand Master Volquin hopes the pagans will suffer heavy losses here,’ said Rudolf, ‘which in turn will hopefully make it easier to expand our territory afterwards.’

  ‘Where he is, anyway?’ asked Ortwin.

  ‘I persuaded him to stay at Riga,’ answered Rudolf, ‘I pointed out there was no point in the grand master of the Sword Brothers and his deputy being killed at the same time.’

  ‘Most considerate of you, Rudolf,’ said Sir Richard.

  Rudolf grinned. ‘That’s me, all heart.’

  There had once been a thriving town at the base of the great grass mound on which Mesoten sat. That had also been burned to the ground along with the original hill fort and now the site was patchy grass. The mound itself had gentle slopes and a level summit, making it ideal for siting a strongpoint. The new fort comprised two perimeter timber walls, the outer one positioned a third of the way down the slope, which meant its walls could be covered by crossbowmen standing on the ramparts of the inner wall above. The entrance to the outer perimeter was reached by a narrow track on the northern side of the slope. The gates in the inner perimeter wall were located on the western side.

  Between the outer and inner wall stood wooden stable blocks with thatched roofs, haylofts for the horses inside and quarters for stable hands. Between the stables the Army of the Wolf pitched its tents, the buildings housing its ponies, but the carts were stored in the inner compound. In the inner stronghold, a huge area on the summit of the mound, stood wooden buildings of various height and extent. The chapel was located next to the long dormitory where the brother knights and sergeants slept, with a bake house, kitchens, stables, armoury, storerooms, huts, forge, master’s hall and barracks completing the list of buildings. Horses, pigs and goats grazed on the grass between the inner and outer perimeter, at the end of the day being taken back to their stables and animal pens. In the inner compound were two ancient wells sunk to a great depth to tap into the underground water flowing into the River Lielupe. The river, a slow-moving, meandering watercourse, flowed along the eastern side of the hill fort’s mound. Over the years Ortwin had had the slope on that side of the mound made steeper to make an assault from the river more difficult.

  *****

  Ten thousand men marched from Tervete to Mesoten. It had taken longer than anticipated to muster the army pledged by the dukes and it was the end of spring before it left the Tervete Valley. But Mindaugas thought the wait well worth it. The days were pleasant but not too warm, the ground was at last firm and the spirits of the men high, not least due to the presence of the Kriviu Krivaitis and his priests. It was common knowledge that Prince Mindaugas was held in high esteem by the high priest and because of this his word held great sway among the common soldiery. It was true that his contingent – a thousand men drawn from Selonia and Nalsen – was the smallest among the army. But he had the favour of the high priest and that meant the prince was beloved of the gods, and therefore any army that marched with him would also have the favour of the immortal ones. And he had General Aras with him, a commander known and respected throughout Lithuania.

  The Kriviu Krivaitis walked alongside the mounted commanders as the army marched east towards Mesoten. Occasionally the great head of Kitenis would turn and give the white-robed priest a sneer. He did not trust priests, especially when it came to war. On the battlefield they were free to wander around at will, both sides respecting the unwritten rule stating the Kriviai were not to be harmed under any circumstances. Kitenis chuckled. The Christians had no liking for pagan priests and would ride them down without hesitation. The thought pleased him.

  The dukes rode among a large group of horsemen, comprising their banner men, bodyguards and senior commanders. Kitenis had brought his two sons with him and Erdvilas accompanied his father. All the soldiers of the various bodyguards were magnificently attired in lamellar armour, burnished helmets, mail aventails and brightly coloured tunics. They were heavily armed and rode fine horses. The vast majority of the two thousand, two hundred horsemen in the army were also well armed and armoured, though mail armour predominated over the more expensive lamellar variety. However, the quality of the seven thousand, eight hundred warriors who marched on foot was very variable. The best, the warriors from Aukstaitija, were equipped with helmets, mail armour and round wooden shields. Only chiefs carried swords, their men being armed with spears, axes and knives. The Aukstaitijans were equipped with all three. But among the cohorts from Semgallia and Samogitia the story was very different. Those kingdoms had been in a state of constant warfare for years, the Semgallians battling the Sword Brothers and the Samogitians having been rudely handled by the Kurs. The best and bravest among their peoples had already fallen. To fill their places many old men and boys had been recruited, the majority of which were lucky if they had a helmet for protection. The older ones brought their leather armour out of retirement and at least had a pair of leather boots to save their feet. Only chiefs and perhaps the odd headman had a sword, the rest carrying a mixture of spears, maces, clubs and axes. The army also suffered from a deficiency of archers, the total amounting to only two hundred men.

  ‘It should take us two days to reach Mesoten,’ Viesthard informed the others.

  ‘And once we get there what is our plan?’ asked Kitenis.

  ‘To take the Sword Brother stronghold,’ answered Mindaugas.

  ‘I remember a time, when you were just a boy,’ said Kitenis, ‘when Grand Duke Daugerutis arrayed his army in front of a Sword Brother castle whose name escapes me. We lost a lot of men that day for no result.’

  He turned in the saddle and peered at the long line of horsemen, warriors on foot, wagons and camp followers behind him.

  ‘And Daugerutis had more troops than we do.’

  ‘We could starve them out,’ proposed Viesthard, ‘simply surround Mesoten and wait for the Sword Brothers to surrender.’

  ‘We cannot do that,’ snapped Mindaugas.

  ‘Oh?’ Kitenis was unimpressed.

  ‘I have studied Mesoten,’ continued Mindaugas, ‘if we lay siege to it the Christian forts going from there to the Dvina will alert Riga and the city will send a relief army.’

  ‘He’s right,’ agreed Viesthard. ‘If Mesoten is threatened the Christians will alert the other forts by signal fire, which will be relayed all the way back to the Dvina.’

  ‘If we overwhelm Mesoten the Sword Brother garrison will be destroyed,’ said Mindaugas, ‘then we can concentrate on reducing the smaller forts from there to the Dvina. I believe they are spaced at one-mile intervals, Duke Viesthard.’

  Viesthard was impressed. ‘You have done much research, prince.’

  ‘Mindaugas takes a keen interest in the Sword Brothers,’ Ykintas told him.

  Kitenis looked at the high priest.

  ‘Perhaps you can weave a spell that will make the walls of Mesoten crumble,’ he said loudly.

  ‘The gods help those who help themselves,’ the Kriviu Krivaitis retorted. ‘They act through the men you lead. Lead them well and you will prosper.’

  Kitenis fell silent.

  ‘One sudden, overwhelming assault,’ said Mindaugas, ‘against all sides of the fort will succeed, of that I am certain. How many soldiers do the Sword Brothers have, Lord Viesthard?’

  ‘My scouts have reported that reinforcements have reached the fort but we still outnumber them greatly. Mesoten cannot accommodate even half our number.’