Mindaugas glanced left and right and saw weary, apprehensive faces and a ragged line. He assumed it was the same on all four sides of the square. The priests were no longer shouting encouragement as an ominous silence descended over the battlefield. He saw a forest about half a mile away, its trees beginning on the gentle slope of a hill and disappearing into the distance. He pointed to it.

  ‘Get the priests on the horses that are still alive and order the chiefs to lead their men to the forest immediately. Go.’

  The man saluted and pushed his way through the ranks behind. Mindaugas heard him yelling to the other commanders to rally to him and prayed to the gods that they would have time to mount his desperate gamble.

  ‘Pick up the javelins,’ he shouted to those around him.

  He prised a spear from the body of one of his men and sheathed his sword.

  ‘As many as you can carry,’ he commanded.

  Opposite the drummers of the axe men began banging their instruments, a steady, threatening rumble that was intended to put fear into enemy hearts. It worked because Mindaugas became aware of the thumping in his chest as he gripped the javelin and prepared to lead the charge.

  When it was launched the Kurs were taken by surprise as several hundred men and a score or less of white figures on horseback stumbled over dead bodies piled on top of each other. At first they were momentarily stunned and did not move as Mindaugas and those around him hurled their javelins at the black ranks in front of them and raced at the Kurs. Mindaugas had hoped that his men would retain a wedge formation as they tried to reach the forest but any semblance of order quickly disappeared as one thought occupied men’s minds: get to the trees.

  Mindaugas stabbed and hacked front, left and right with his sword as hundreds of men struck the Kur axe men.

  Around him his men flung themselves at the Kurs, knowing that if they failed to break through they would not survive. They were exhilarated when the Kur line was breached and their prince led the way towards the sanctuary of the trees. But the enemy was already redeploying in response to the bold breakout attempt and soon Mindaugas and his men were being pursued by groups of horsemen, spearmen and axe men. The riders were among them first, hacking down with their swords at what was now a group of disorganised fleeing men. Some of the Selonian chiefs urged their men to stop and face their tormentors but they were quickly overwhelmed and killed by Kurs. By the time Mindaugas and the vanguard reached the pines over half his men had been killed.

  At the treeline Mindaugas turned and ordered what remained of his bodyguard to form a defensive line as the priests on horseback rode into the forest. Behind them came dozens of fleeing warriors, many now without weapons and shields, having dumped them to lighten their load to reach safety. But close behind came the Kurs who flooded into the forest to pursue them as Mindaugas’ makeshift defence line disintegrated and the battle turned into a grim hunt.

  In front of him hundreds of Kurs were approaching the trees, either side of him more Kurs, led by their horsemen, were flooding into the forest, and behind him the high priest was suddenly unhorsed as a burly Kur swinging his axe killed the mare he was riding.

  ‘Save the Kriviu Krivaitis,’ commanded Mindaugas, turning and racing towards the Kur who was raising his axe above the prostrate high priest pinned beneath the dead animal.

  The prince’s deputy hurled a captured spisa that slammed into the Kur’s hide armour, the iron head burying itself in his shoulder, forcing him to drop his axe. Mindaugas rammed his sword into the Kur’s throat, blood sheeting over the blade.

  ‘Help him up,’ the prince shouted to his men as the high priest tried in vain to free himself from under the horse.

  He and his deputy grabbed the priest’s robes as the others used spear shafts to lever the great lump of dead flesh upwards to enable them to pull him free.

  ‘My thanks,’ said the high priest.

  ‘We must move quickly, holy one,’ urged Mindaugas as more Kurs came into the forest.

  They fled quickly, slipping on moss and clattering into trees as the enemy searched for men to kill. The white robes of the Kriviu Krivaitis made him a conspicuous target and soon the group was forced to halt when surrounded by a dozen or more enemy warriors. Mindaugas pushed the high priest behind him as a leering Kur threaded the long haft of his axe expertly through his hands before hoisting it above his head. Mindaugas brought up his shield to deflect the overhead attack but the Kur instantly changed the direction of the axe’s attack to make a slashing stroke. The crescent-shaped blade was a blur as it cut across Mindaugas’ belly, the prince at the last second noting the change of attack and stepping back, but not before the chain mail covering his belly was sliced open. Mindaugas saw his opportunity and stabbed his sword forward at the now vulnerable Kur’s left side, but the axe man had lightning reflexes for such a large individual, feinted left and used the haft as a staff to brush the blade aside. Mindaugas pulled back his blade for a second attempt but the Kur suddenly froze, grimaced and collapsed as the prince’s deputy rammed his sword into his side.

  ‘Move, highness,’ he called as the Kur crumpled to the ground.

  Mindaugas pushed the high priest towards the forest’s interior as his dwindling bodyguard fought off the Kurs, two of them killing the last one with their swords.

  The forest echoed with shouts and shrieks as the Kurs methodically hunted down groups of Mindaugas’ men, isolating small groups before butchering them. The prince and his men shielded the Kriviu Krivaitis as they made their escape. A spear flew through the air to strike one of the bodyguards, inflicting a crippling wound. They left him. An arrow slammed into a tree near Mindaugas, another hitting one of his men in the shoulder. The man grunted in pain and fell to the ground. The prince lifted him to his feet but two more arrows struck him in the back. He looked at Mindaugas with an anguished expression and then his eyes showed no life at all.

  On they went, now reduced to three individuals. Mindaugas’ deputy led the way as they stumbled further into the forest, the sounds of slaughter receding as they plunged deeper into the trees. The prince covered the high priest’s back as they skirted a thicket of bushes and an axe suddenly lopped off his deputy’s head. The Kur was probably lost because he was alone. Mindaugas sprang at him, ramming his shield forward to prevent him moving his axe. He pinned the man against a tree but struggled to hold him there. He put all his weight behind the shield in an effort to prevent the Kur from moving but, like all Arturus’ axe men, he was a big, muscular brute and the prince found himself being pushed back. He drove his sword beneath his shield and into the Kur’s guts, twisting the blade as it pierced the hide armour and sliced through the man’s belly and into his lungs. He suddenly spat blood from his mouth, showering Mindaugas’ face before expiring.

  Then there were two – Mindaugas and the Kriviu Krivaitis – and a seemingly endless forest. They carried on, too weak to run now, unsure if they were going in the right direction but aware that the forest was now silent.

  After two hours of creeping from tree to tree, not knowing if a Kur was going to spring out from behind a trunk, Mindaugas suggested that they stop and rest. They did so in a small hollow surrounded by ancient pines. He had lost his helmet and shield, his mail was ripped and his sweat-soaked hair was matted to his skull. He was also thoroughly dejected, a prince without a bodyguard or army. It was the blackest day of his life.

  ‘Why so glum?’ the Kriviu Krivaitis asked him.

  Mindaugas wanted to laugh with derision, to shake the high priest by the shoulders and scream that his men had been cut to pieces. But the moment passed and his head dropped.

  ‘We are finished,’ he mumbled.

  The high priest regarded Mindaugas with his piercing blue eyes.

  ‘The gods are with you, prince, as I told you many months ago. A setback does not alter that fact, however much you may wish to wallow in self-pity.’

  Mindaugas raised his head to look at the high priest. Tall, severe with long black hair and beard, he appeared totally at ease sitting on the damp earth in the middle of a forest swarming with enemies. His calm should have reassured the prince but instead Mindaugas found it irritating.

  ‘Where were the gods when the Kurs were butchering my men?’

  ‘Watching with amusement I daresay,’ replied the priest.

  ‘I thought they would protect you at least,’ Mindaugas shot back.

  ‘They did, as my being here talking with you demonstrates.’

  Mindaugas had always respected the Kriviai but now his irritation gained control of his tongue.

  ‘I did everything you told me to do. I left my home, my people and travelled halfway across Lithuania because you told me that I was the chosen one. But since then I have experienced nothing but defeat. Where are the gods?’

  The Kriviu Krivaitis nodded his head. ‘Ah, I see. You wish the gods to fight your battles for you. Perhaps you desire an army of dragons to appear to incinerate the Kurs, the Sword Brothers and all the other people you despise so you can rule over a charred world? Or maybe you think I should turn the Kurs into scarecrows that your men can set fire to?

  ‘The gods have given you much help, prince. Did you not leave Panemunis alone but arrive at Medvegalis with many hundreds of warriors? Did not Duke Kitenis, a man not known for his generosity, give you and Duke Ykintas two thousand warriors?’

  ‘We need more men,’ said Mindaugas irritably.

  ‘Why? So you and your brother-in-law can waste their lives just as you have with those men you commanded today?’

  This was too much to bear. Mindaugas had been brought up to revere the Kriviai, the priests who were masters of astrology, interpreters of dreams, conversers with spirits and mouthpieces of the gods. But he had never been a particularly deferential person, especially when he was being goaded. He stood and confronted the priest.

  ‘We are fighting the Kurs because they are defilers and blasphemers who have violated the Kriviai.’

  ‘Not because the Kurs invaded your homeland and that of Duke Ykintas, Mindaugas?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Most admirable. And in your desire to defeat the Kurs would you welcome allies to your cause?’

  ‘Of course,’ answered Mindaugas.

  ‘Such as the Sword Brothers?’

  ‘Never,’ snarled Mindaugas. ‘They seek to erase my religion, my beliefs and my way of life.’

  ‘And yet,’ posed the high priest, ‘they too are at war with the Kurs.’

  ‘I will never ally myself with the Sword Brothers,’ stated Mindaugas.

  ‘Because they killed your father.’

  ‘Because they are the enemies of everything I believe in.’

  The priest smiled. ‘You are a formidable warlord, Mindaugas, but you must learn to bend a little. Take your father-in-law, for example. Now he is a man of formidable talents who uses others to fight for him.’

  Mindaugas was appalled. ‘He has no honour.’

  ‘Ah, now we come to it. You think that Prince Vsevolod is a lesser leader because he resorts to politics rather than the sword to protect his people.’

  ‘He does not protect his people. He debases them by trading with the heretics.’

  ‘And yet,’ said the high priest, ‘both Selonia and Nalsen are at peace and unthreatened by the Kurs, shielded as they are by the Sword Brother fortress at Mesoten.’

  ‘I have to say, holy one, that I am surprised that you should suggest an alliance with the Sword Brothers who would reduce us all to slaves to their religion.’

  ‘Your fate is entwined with that of the Sword Brothers, Mindaugas, that has been revealed to me. But now we have to address our journey to Medvegalis. I suggest you get some rest before we set out.’

  ‘I will stand guard, holy one.’

  The high priest stretched out on the ground and closed his eyes. ‘That will not be necessary. Get some sleep.’

  But Mindaugas stood with sword in hand as the high priest slept, constantly looking around for any suspicious movements and listening for any human voices. After a while, though, the physical exertions of the battle and flight took their toll and he sat on the ground opposite the Kriviu Krivaitis, still gripping his sword. The last thing he saw as he leaned back and stared up at the forest canopy were glimpses of blue sky between the branches.

  He awoke with a start, a sense of dread sweeping over him when he realised that he had fallen asleep. He thought he had closed his eyes for only minutes but it was cold and damp. It must be the next morning. He jumped up, his limbs and eyes aching, and saw that a thick mist had descended, reducing visibility to less than ten paces.

  ‘It is time to go,’ came the voice of the high priest behind him.

  He turned and saw the tall holy man pacing away. He ran to catch up with him.

  ‘How do you know the way, holy man?’

  ‘You wanted the assistance of the gods, did you not, Mindaugas? Well, this mist is the proof of their support of your cause. They showed me the way so I suggest we get moving. My belly is complaining of a lack of food.’

  He looked at Mindaugas’ sword. ‘You can put that away, prince, you will not need it.’

  The holy man traced his way through the web of trees and mist with determination, Mindaugas being clueless as to where they were or what direction they were heading. The prince was at first highly agitated but after half an hour of walking and encountering no Kurs or wildlife he began to relax as he followed the high priest of the Lithuanian religion. The trees disappeared and then they were walking along a dirt track that had no beginning or end. Their boots made no sound on the soft ground and Mindaugas wondered if he had died in his sleep and the Kriviu Krivaitis was showing him the way to the afterlife. He was about to pose the question when the mist suddenly ended and the fortress of Medvegalis loomed into view. It was early evening and the great timber stronghold was framed against a blood-red sky as the sun sank in the west. It was a fitting epitaph to a bloody day.

  Medvegalis was hundreds of years old, its high timber walls and towers sited on a huge flattened mound, its slopes made steeper for defence. Imposing and sprawling it would take a huge army to lay siege to the fort, let alone storm it. That thought gave Mindaugas some comfort as he and the Kriviu Krivaitis walked up the winding steep track to the fort’s entrance.

  ‘Halt!’ came a voice from above the gates.

  Helmeted figures, made small by the tall walls and even taller towers either side of them, stared down at the pair from above the closed gates.

  ‘That’s as far as you get unless you want an arrow in you,’ the guard threatened.

  ‘I am Prince Mindaugas and this is the Kriviu Krivaitis. Open the gates immediately.’

  By now it was dark and Mindaugas kept glancing at the track, fearing that a party of Kur horsemen would appear.

  ‘Open these gates,’ he commanded to no reply.

  ‘Have patience, prince,’ said the high priest, ‘you do not want to provoke a nervous archer loosing an arrow at you.’

  Moments later the gates creaked open and a bruised and tired Ykintas came from within the fort, followed by a weeping Morta and a relieved Elze. The former flung herself into her husband’s arms and an emotional Ykintas had tears of joy in his eyes as he ushered everyone inside and ordered the gates to be closed.

  The fort was filled with women, children and the elderly, though tellingly not thronged with warriors. As Mindaugas and the high priest ate meat, cheese and bread greedily and drank kvass a sombre Ykintas provided a dismal summary of the day’s events. Aside from the duke and his guests the feasting hall was empty, the small group dwarfed by the great chamber and adding to the sense of gloom hanging in the air.

  ‘The horsemen we engaged were just a lure to separate us from your foot,’ he told Mindaugas. ‘When we had pursued them for upwards of two miles we were ambushed by three times our number at least. First they peppered us with arrows and then attacked us on three sides with horsemen. Less than a hundred of us escaped.’

  Mindaugas put down his cup. ‘The Kurs first split our line and then overwhelmed us. If it was not for the mist that descended I would not be alive to report this disaster, my brother.’

  ‘What mist?’ asked Morta.

  ‘What now?’ queried Elze.

  ‘Now we wait until the Kurs arrive to lay siege to this fortress,’ answered Ykintas glumly.

  ‘They will not come,’ said the Kriviu Krivaitis. He looked at Mindaugas. ‘Your prayers have been answered, prince, for the mist that we walked through was a sign that one has come from the underworld to create mischief in the world.’

  ‘Who, holy one?’ asked Mindaugas.

  ‘Velnias, of course,’ came the reply.

  The women’s faces showed fear and even Ykintas and Mindaugas looked concerned for Velnias was the god of death and the underworld. He accessed the world of man through forests, swamps and other dark, damp places, a sudden fog indicating that he was abroad in the world.

  The Kriviu Krivaitis stood. ‘You must listen to me carefully. Instruct the people to stock as much food as possible in the coming months.’

  ‘For a siege, holy one?’ queried Ykintas.

  ‘Not a siege,’ replied the high priest, ‘something far worse. Velnias is a cunning deceiver who ensnares people with false promises of wealth and power. But his only interest is collecting souls for the underworld.’

  ‘How can this aid us?’ asked Morta, her voice laced with fear.

  ‘Because your husband’s pleas have brought Velnias forth who will be under orders to aid the chosen one,’ smiled the high priest.

  ‘So we are saved,’ said Ykintas.

  ‘In the immediate term, yes,’ answered the high priest, ‘but tell your people to hoard their food supplies, duke, for once unleashed Velnias tends to forget his promises.’

  With that he rose, bowed his head to the women and walked to the doors.

  ‘I must consult with my priests, those that are still alive that is. Heed my words Duke Ykintas and tell your people to build up their food supplies.’