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The Saga of Erik of Rohan, Chapter Five

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Post subject: The Saga of Erik of Rohan, Chapter Five
Posted: Thu 31 Mar , 2005 4:11 pm
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Erik of Rohan, Chapter 5: It is a Long Night…..

From midnight on the heavy rain fell, but such was the shape of the walls and tower that the rain fell most on the enemy. Frequent flashes of lightning and the fitful light of torches showed that the ground had become a sea of mud and blood, and corpses lay everywhere. Yet on they came, endless rank upon rank, it seemed almost that two sprang up for every one fallen, and so the night wore on. Scarce did Erik draw breath. A red mist was before his eyes and he swung his sword until he could hardly lift it for weariness.

He came to himself, someone was pulling on his arm, a voice was urgent in his ear. “Back! Back, men!” Tostig was shouting. “We can do no more here!” Gasping and staggering Erik followed Tostig. He saw men dead and dying everywhere, but one at least walked with him, old Gaute Hardrada. He had a long gash down one skinny arm, and blood trickled from a cut on his chin, but he stepped along with Erik as if he were walking in a meadow on some sunny day.

They were herded back to the next wall, one flight higher. Erik rested on his sword, trying to slow his laboured breathing, to marshal his strength . Naught did he remember of the hour he had just lived through. He was unscathed, not a mark on him anywhere. When someone thrust a bottle into his hands he drank deeply of the cold water.

“We have done good work, men, “ Tostig said. “Take now some slow breaths while I see where the Captain wants us next.”

Gaute Hardrada took the bottle from Erik and drank, then set the bottle down empty. He took a rag and wiped his sword and then pulled out a stone and honed the edge of his blade where it had been dulled. “And to think,” he said, “that this day week I was sharpening the plough, and my grandson playing at my feet. Well, well, once this little scuffle is past, we will be home in time for ploughing after all.” He leaned against the wall again, and closed his eyes. “Take what rest you can,” he said to the boys, “we will be at it again in a trice.”

Spoke up one of the other boys. “Scuffle? Is that what you call this?” His voice shook, and Erik saw that his hands did as well.

Answered Gaute, “No, lad. ‘Tis no scuffle, but the worst fight I was ever in. I spoke lightly, it is ever the soldier’s way.” Now did Gaute Hardrada show all his years on his old face. “Whatever comes of this night, my lads, know that few here will ever see such a battle again.”

Pale and drawn of face, their gowns bedraggled and bloodstained, women and girls hurried about tending to the wounded. Tostig’s sister came to where Erik stood, her sweet and pretty face ashen. “Where is my brother Tostig?” she said. “I must have speech with him.”

Tostig stepped forward from the shadows and she ran to him and said, crying, “Our brother Ceorl is dead! Oh, Tostig, he died in my arms!”

Tostig frowned down at her, shaking his head. “That is ill news,” he said, his voice flat and hard. “Yet many have fallen this night, sister. Many will weep on the morrow. Go now, and do your duty.”

She reeled as if he had slapped her, then she gasped and said, “I am sorry, Tostig. Yes. I see.” She straightened her slender back. Erik saw that she reached up and touched Tostig’s face gently. “Take what care you can,” she said. Then she turned and was gone.

Erik looked away, for he could no longer bear seeing Tostig’s face. He looked up. The sky had cleared, but the stars were now fading with the dawn.

Came now one of those moments that come in the midst of a battle sometime. Here and there a voice echoed in the caverns behind, and the noise of the fighting below seemed stilled for the space of a few heartbeats. Then there came a dreadful blast, like all the thunder of all the skies of Middle Earth. Erik heard cries of dismay from the men on the walls and he stood up straight, drawing in a long uneven breath. Gaute Hardrada and Tostig and the others fell into line behind the Captain.

Then sounded the horn of Helm from the Hornburg, and never could Erik recall this without his blood leaping. Cheering he heard, and other horns, and going to the wall he and the others looked down and saw the King’s white horse bearing the King, and he saw horsemen behind, swords held high, and they charged out onto the causeway and into the midst of the enemy.

As another chronicler has told the tale, the armies of the enemy were destroyed in that morning. Yet not all the enemy was down there, plenty yet were left climbing about the walls and ramparts, men wild with fear now, and caring only to kill as many as they could before they were themselves killed and cast over the wall. On fought Erik and his friends and the stone floors ran red.

Gaute Hardrada now fell, mortally wounded. Erik would have lifted him, but the old man pushed him feebly away. “No,” he whispered. “Leave me be, boy.” He breathed quick and shallow. Erik could not believe how much blood his thin body held, it ran bright and quick across the stones. He grinned at Erik. With that, he drew his last breath.

Erik knelt by the old man’s body. He looked up at the sky now bright with morning, and thought of the day he had shown Theodred the way to the Fords. “An ugly business,” Theodred had said. “Not like the tales.” No, it was not like any tale Erik knew, that an old man should die by the sword and not in his bed. He took up Gaute’s sword and with a sword in each hand he ran shouting down the rampart.

_________________

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


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