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The Saga of Erik of Rohan, Chapter Four

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Post subject: The Saga of Erik of Rohan, Chapter Four
Posted: Wed 23 Mar , 2005 9:48 pm
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Erik of Rohan, Chapter 4: In which Erik goes to Helm’s Deep……

Some men had sentry duty, the guard changed every four hours, and Erik woke each time he heard the outer door thud shut. He lay listening for a time, then fell back into sleep, warmer and more comfortable than he could ever remember being. But the barracks were astir early, and Erik was roused from sleep by the clatter of men going to their breakfast.

It was with some surprise that he heard the troopers complain of hard narrow beds, and rough fare for breakfast. To Erik all was luxury, clean and well ordered. Along the trestles steaming pitchers stood, full of some hot drink new to him, they named it Tea and told him it came from some far off land. He tasted it doubtfully and found it somewhat bitter, but the others drank it eagerly and so did he. Bread thick sliced and sweet good butter, hunks of cheese and even some slices of ham, were set about, and he fell on the good food like a ravening wolf. Or so Olaf named him, laughing.

“How many years have you, Erik?” Rolf asked.

Eric flushed and answered, “I am not sure. Fifteen, I think.”

“Ah, yes,” Rolf said. “I remember fifteen, and seeming never to have enough to eat. My mother was always threatening to hide the victuals, to keep my brother and me from leaving everyone else hungry.” He slid the platter of ham toward Erik. “Eat your fill, boy. We will ride all day, and no stop for a midday meal, if I know Grima Sigurdson.”

Harald Haraldson came in just then, and he looked at Erik in a measuring fashion. “Are you done your breakfast? Then come with me, Erik.”

Erik followed Harald out into the grey morning and into the stable. Harald said, “I have found a saddle for you, and some other gear. You can see that all is dusty and stiff, and since you must be ready to ride out when we do, you ought to get at it.” He showed Erik where the saddle soap was stowed and Erik fell to with a will.

Gleams of wintry sunshine fell upon the stable floor. Horses stamped in their stalls and men came in and began saddling up, soon the stableyard was full of mounted men. Grima Sigurdson was last to leave the barracks and when he was mounted the order was given to ride out.

But scarce had they left the post when they met Lord Ulfwine with his troops, riding hard to the Fords of Isen. These men had been in the land at the roots of the mountains between Edoras and the Hornburg. Some news had come to Ulfwine that the enemy was indeed on the move in great force. Word he had had of Theodred’s fall, and he was hot for vengeance.

Grima Sigurdson then said, after some talk with Ulfwine “We must haste to the Fords with these men of Ulfwine’s. Do you send men out to the folk in these parts that they ought to prepare themselves to take refuge in Helm’s Deep. Should the fight go against us at the Fords—“

Here was he shouted down, men slamming their spears on their shields. “Never!” they shouted. “Never while Ulfwine the Fair commands!” For this Ulfwine was named the Fair, a nickname first given in jest, due to his fine garments and gilded armour. Those there were who sneered at his finery, and it was said that he wore the yield of half the Westfold on his back. Yet the men who rode in his company would brook no insult to their lord; vain as a maiden he might be, but he wielded a sword as well as any and better than most. His men loved him, for he never sent them into the fray but was always in the van, his gilt helm and shield a mark for them to follow. His finicking ways were laughable to those who knew him not, but no man who had fought beside him ever laughed at him again. In him lived again the berserker warrior of old, and when the battle fury was upon him none could stand against him.

Ulfwine the Fair raised his hand. “We must prepare for the worst, our folk must be ready to move! Should the fight go against us at the Fords we will retreat here if we can, and so aid those who must then flee. At worst, some word will be sent. See that the folk understand and obey!”

Erik thought of the hamlet that had been his home. Away from the main roads to the Fords, would his old neighbours be safe? His mother? He put the thought away, there was naught he could do. He knew he could not come there in time to warn them. Some three score of Theodred’s men remained there, and he heard Grima Sigurdson say that some men would take that road and see how they fared. He did not say, and no one else did, either, that they may already have learned the lesson, written in their own blood, that the earlier raid had been a feint indeed, and had succeeded.

The main host rode on away from them. Gone with Grima Sigurdson and the others were Rolf and Olaf, eager to avenge their lord. On the road to Helm’s Deep Erik fell in beside a young trooper. The man was wounded in the leg; he could not bend it but let it hang loose, that foot not in the stirrup. He cursed his wound, wanting to ride to the Fords.

“You are Erik, are you not?” he said at last. “I am Tostig Ulfson.”

Erik answered, “Yes, I am Erik. Does your leg pain you much?”

“Not much. But the worst of it is, as you see, that the splint keeps me from bending it. I would be no use in a fight, so here I am. Ah, well, it may come to fighting anyway, if things go ill.” He frowned. “Who would have though that Theodred would fall? And now we hear from Ulfwine’s men that Eomer Eomundson is in bad favour with the King! Surely in this hour of need the folk of the Mark must not be troubled over such a thing! A valiant man is Eomer Eomundson, worthy heir of the Mark!”

Shocked, Erik said, “But there is no other! The King cannot set him aside, can he?”

“Not the King, no.” Tostig frowned. “I am no courtier, mind you, but these matters are become common knowledge. The King does not rule. He is in his dotage, and in the hands, as well, of those who do not have the good of the Mark at heart.”

Such was Erik’s ignorance of what went forth in the kingdom that Tostig’s words frightened him. He wondered if it was that Tostig made out to know more than he did, if Tostig sought to make himself greater in Erik’s eyes. Yet the young man’s honest face and worried look made Erik think his doubts groundless.

“Still,” Tostig said. “This is my homeland, the Westfold, and I rejoice to think I will soon see my father and mother.”

Erik looked around him, this was a richer land than his own part of the West Emnet, here were rich farms and pastures, not the rocky fields and gorse uplands that lay farther to the North and West. They came upon a village and did as Ulfwine had ordered, warning the villagers to prepare to flee to Helm’s Deep should need arise. The folk they spoke to listened at first in doubting silence, but then the sight of the wounded men and the news of Theodred’s death shocked many of them into moving out right then, following the horsemen.

The evening of the second day’s riding brought them to the Deeping Coomb. They rode into the Hornburg in good order and Erik stared about in wonder. Such sights he had never seen, the great rock wall and the tower, the sloping road rising to the ramparts. He felt very small and unimportant, riding into the great fortress. Surely no power in the world could take such a stronghold?

The next day and the next a stream of country folk poured into the place. Carrying what they could on their backs, or pulling handwagons, women and children and old men came. Tostig’s mother came, and his father, and the four of his nine brothers who were too young to go to war, and the lovely dark-haired sister of whom Tostig had said, “I am one of ten sons, and there is a sister for each of us.” Erik quickly understood that Tostig had only one sister, but the joke made him laugh in the midst of his worry. Warriors straggled in, ahorse and afoot, escaping the enemy that now roamed the Westfold seemingly at will.

Thus it was that Erik and the men he rode with were there when the King of the Mark rode in. Standing with Tostig Erik saw the old man on his white horse. Tostig shook his head in wonder. “This is a thing I thought never to see, Erik. I have never before seen the King, yet I have been in Edoras many times. All knew that he sat frail and foolish on the Golden Chair, guided to and fro by women. Yet here he is!”

Erik heard many of those around him say the same. Erik raised his voice, shouting, “Theoden King! Theoden for the Mark!” All this was new to him. He had scarcely known that his land was called the Mark of Rohan, and until now the King had been like a tale told to little children.

With the King came news of a great battle at the Fords, and folk wondered if the Rohirrim were defeated. All felt dismay and the bite of increased fear. Erkenbrand, maybe, had fallen. Of Ulfwine the Fair and the men he commanded nothing was known.

Erik understood that he had come to a time and place of great danger, that a savage enemy was on the march to where he and his white-haired King sought safety, yet he exulted, thinking that at last he was living life as a man should.

For so he now named himself. The day before he had been given a sword, and Tostig, leaning on a crutch, gave Erik and a few other boys some hasty lessons in the sword exercise. “The chief thing is,” Tostig urged, “that you use all your strength. You must put all such power as you possess into the blow!” He frowned at Erik and at the other youths who looked to him with trust in their eyes. Tostig muttered a curse under his breath and turned away. “I need water,” Tostig said. “Do you, Eorl, fetch some to me.” Other men so engaged had the same look on their faces, this was not soldiering as they had known it, teaching downy-cheeked lads just enough to get them killed.

There was much talk among the folk about the strangers who rode with the King. Wild stories flew about in the caverns behind, where hid the women and children. Erik did not listen much to the tales, he deemed himself too old for fairy stories. Eomer Eomundson he had seen for sure, a tall man much like Theodred, and beside him a warrior roughly dressed yet with lordly bearing. These two seemed to be everywhere, ordering the defense of the Hornburg, and wherever they went men took heart.

Erik wandered to the rampart and looked out into deepening night. He saw torches in the dark, everywhere, and knew hosts of the enemy were drawing closer with each heartbeat. There was a kind of roaring noise in the air, like a distant waterfall, it was the voices of brigade upon brigade of the enemy marching, their voices, and their feet upon the rocky ground, the rattle of weaponry. There was no sound of horses, in the Burg or out. Horses there were, stabled in caverns behind, but here was no ground for the Rohirrim to ride in battle. All along every inch of the wall men waited.

Erik returned to Tostig and the others. They were to be held in reserve, Tostig said, and he and the other men ordered things so that Erik and the other lads were set in a quiet place near the South end of the Deeping Wall. “I or some other will come for you, if need be,” Tostig said. “Do not move unless you are ordered.”

Some of the boys muttered angrily and Erik, too, felt that they ought to be on the wall now, ready for the fray. “Do as you are ordered!” This from a tall harsh-featured man with one arm bound on his breast in a sling. “You are soldiers of the Mark now and must do as you are commanded!” Erik remembered Theodred’s words to him, and swallowed the defiance that surged in him. The memory of that prince steadied him. He tried, too, to swallow his fear, for always the roaring noise grew nearer and louder, and now could be heard shrieks and screams, the enemy pouring out oaths and curses of hatred for the Eorlingas.

With them waited an old man, Gaute Hardrada he was called. He held a sword in his gnarled hand, the blade bright and sharp, made in the old fashion such as was not used any more. His arms were thin but ropy with muscle and tattooed with marks signifying the campaigns he had ridden in. He grinned at the boys with his toothless mouth, his sunken cheeks white with stubble. “This is the worse part, my lads,” he said. “The waiting. Now does the time drag, and the heart quail. Take courage. Many a fight was I in with Theoden King in the old days, and came ever home ahorse, and maidens throwing roses at our feet. This night will bring sure victory over the witless fools who think to take the Hornburg.”

Gaute Hardrada sat with his back against the rock wall, his helm resting on his bony knees. The mail shirt he wore hung loose, once his shoulders and chest had filled it. But his eyes were bright, and his calm courage steadied the boys.

Erik closed his eyes and listened to the beat of his own heart, then he knew that the sound was coming through the very rock. Men shouted nearby. Boys younger than he ran past with buckets and bags of sand. They were to throw it beneath the feet of the men to keep their footing dry and upon any fire that should begin.

Tostig was there of a sudden, and he shouted, “Come with me, men!” Erik hurried with him, wondering that Tostig could run so fast on his bad leg. Now, around the corner of the wall, the noise struck Erik and the others like a fist. Erik’s foot touched something and he saw that it was a man lying dead. Wounded men crawled back, and the floor was slick with blood despite the sand.

Tostig got them to the wall and there before them was a scene from a nightmare, hordes of the enemy swarming over all the ground before the wall, and onto tall ladders. The boys were placed between older men, to steady them, and Erik looked to his left and saw old Gaute Hardrada. Taller he seemed, and his face was stern. He had fastened the chin strap of his helm and Erik did the same, yet the thing was so heavy it hurt his head. Noise like thunder, only sharper and closer than any thunder could be, assaulted them.

There were men clambering over the wall; he saw Gaute’s sword slice down and saw a man’s face, startled, then the man fell away. Just a man. A face like any other man. But before Erik could take a breath, in the space of only heartbeats, another man was there. Erik raised his sword with a shout and swung it. He could hear nothing for the riot of noise all around him, he could hear nothing at all, yet in his mind he thought he could hear the sound his sword made when it struck the man in the shoulder and the blood spewed forth, and white bone glinted in the torchlight.

“Good!” Gaute Hardrada grunted. “A mighty blow, youngling!”

Now did Erik go into another place. He could see all that took place in front of him, but it was as if time was slowed, and it passed thick like honey, flowing in a new way. His ears closed to the noise and he heard it not, neither the enemy nor the men and boys who fought and died next to him, nor his own voice shouting The lust for killing was upon him.

_________________

Living on Earth is expensive,
but it does include a free trip
around the sun every year.


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