board77

The Last Homely Site on the Web

The Saga of Erik of Rohan Chapter 9: A lass with pretty eyes

Post Reply   Page 1 of 1  [ 1 post ]
Author Message
vison
Post subject: The Saga of Erik of Rohan Chapter 9: A lass with pretty eyes
Posted: Tue 03 May , 2005 1:18 am
Best friends forever
User avatar
Offline
 
Posts: 6546
Joined: Fri 04 Feb , 2005 4:49 am
 
Erik 009: After the Battle….

Erik rose about midafternoon. He had not slept, but had been dozing and half-dreaming in the mild March sunshine. Voices he heard, and shouts, and horses calling, and above it all the seabirds crying. Riders of Rohan returned to the tents and Erik heard them moving about tending to their horses and gear. He tossed off his cloak and got up, and went into the mess tent to see if any riders he knew were yet returned.

Someone told Erik that Eomer King of the Mark had gone into the city to take and give counsel, but it was known that he would come and speak to his men. And Erik heard with a sad heart the tale that the Lady Eowyn, who had ridden secretly with them, had been grievously wounded and was like to die.

This was a sorrowful tale indeed. That lovely maiden! Erik wondered how she had kept herself secret among all the riders, and his heart ached to think of her beauty and bravery maybe coming to such an end.

Then who should come in but Rolf and Olaf. They hailed Erik warmly, but he could see that they were weary and heartsore. Olaf had a long cut down his face, and Rolf’s helm was dented by an axe blow, but they had taken no other bodily hurt. Erik brought their plates to them, and great mugs of clean cold water, and sat with them while they refreshed themselves.

They said little. “What use is it to speak?” Rolf said. “Look out on the field.”

Erik asked what news they had of Eowyn Eomundsdattir. Olaf shook his head. “Only that they took her up as one dead, and carried her into the city. One who was there told me that it may be that she is not dead, she nor her page, but no more do I know.”

Erik was able to tell them that she lived, but no man knew more than that. After they had eaten they went to take some rest and Erik saddled Ruadh and rode out onto the field. He did not stay long. He did not wish to be drawn into labour out there by some officer he could not disobey, so he rode back to the tents and busied himself helping those who tended the wounded. Here was the other side of the bold Riders; they were as tender as women in this work of nursing their wounded comrades. The least hurt waited on the worst, and all fell silent when orderlies had to come and bear away those whose wounds were mortal after all.

For out on the field was a picture of horror. Wains drawn by oxen hauled the corpses away, piled like cordwood, friend and foe alike. They were being taken somewhere, Erik knew not where, and there the Riders and their allies would be laid out and folk would go and look to see who was dead. Women from this place would go looking for husbands and sons and brothers. No man killed in battle lays straight and tidy, hair combed over the shoulders, hands folded on his breast. Erik could scarce bear to think what it would be like for those who had to go there. Grima Sigurdson, if he had not fallen, and Harald Haraldson, would have undertake this, to see which of their men they could name. A list would have to be made and when the campaign was over, Grima and the other Captains would have to go about the Mark and tell women they were widows, tell children they were fatherless, tell old folks they had no son. They would say what they always said, that the man had borne himself valiantly and that he had died as became a Rider of the Riddermark. No one told the folk at home about the screams and the sundered bodies, no one spoke ever of the day after the battle and what lay on the field.

And the enemy? What became of the bodies of the Southrons, those fierce black men with gold earrings and red-tipped spears? Long would their women wait for the warriors to ride home. And there were many, many more. Many hundreds lay dead, and of those hundreds scores were horses. The horses would be burned, Erik knew. Indeed, before nightfall pyres were set alight and the thick, greasy smoke rose in the still evening air.

Eomer Eomundson, King of the Mark, rode to his pavilion during the night and in the morning did he address his men from horseback, his voice clear and carrying. Erik stood at the back of the ranks and heard him. He praised the Eorlingas, Riders of the Mark, and wept at the number of the fallen. He spoke of his sister, the Lady Eowyn, saying she was like to live. A cheer went up at this, men clashing their spears upon their shields.

Then he said that in two days time he was riding with the other great Lords, and they were riding to the East, to the fortress of the enemy himself. The men fell silent. Then one, and then another, put himself forward as willing to go with the King. Eomer put up his hand and said, “Five hundred horse and five hundred foot I have pledged to this host. Do you who are willing speak to your captains. I will not give you soft words, men, this is like to prove deadly to all who venture with me.”

The only grumbling Erik heard was that half the Riders were to walk. This told hard on them, men bred from childhood to ride the proud horses of Rohan. In vain did the Captains go over and over the reasons, and while any number of horsemen could be found, few at first were willing to go afoot. Yet in the end the captains had to draw lots, so many volunteered. Whatever came determined was Erik to ride with his friends. The army must eat; no matter where they were going, horses must be groomed and fed. Walda Bryttason would be on this march, for sure, and Erik knew well that Walda would choose him over the other mess-boys.

Erik looked about the camp until he found his friends. They were sitting in the sunshine, leaning on the low stone wall behind the tents. There with Rolf and Olaf was Grima Sigurdson, and Erik most gladly greeted him. But he had ill news, of the fall of Harald Haraldson in the first shock of the first charge. Erik thought of the man who had been Theodred’s standard-bearer and of the first day he had seen him, riding with that prince. Harald had been ever his friend, and he felt the news of his death like a bruise on his heart.

Now were the men recovering their spirits, however. True it was that the battle had taken place before a great city, yet nearby were hamlets and farmsteads aplenty. Not all lay in ruins. Some thirsty man had ridden in with news of inns here and there and since soldiers ever seek amusement after battle, many sought out these places after their daily duties. They could not refuse to let Erik go with them on the score of his youth.

“He is as seasoned a man as any,” Olaf admitted. “Yet I deem he is as ignorant as a girl in some things.”

Erik laughed scornfully. “Think you so?” He shrugged. “I am not likely to see aught I have not seen before.”

And so it proved. They set out on foot and walked in the gathering darkness. An inn, all its windows lighted, stood by the Western road, and while it had taken some damage, it was nonetheless open for business. The taproom was crowded and noisy, like any taproom, and full of troopers shouting and singing. Erik and Rolf and Olaf pushed through the crowd to the bar, then found space on a bench. Erik was not overly fond of the taste of ale, he held the same beaker all evening, never draining it. For the most part, he was content to sit and watch and listen, it was not in his nature to put himself forward.

Olaf and Rolf were ever temperate men. It was the company they sought, and the song, and the relief from care. And the tales, of course.

Once more the name of Ulfwine the Fair was in all mouths. One-handed, he had fought most valiantly, leading his men in his usual bold way. He came through the battle unscathed and merry as ever, they said, and now was lying in some grand house in the city and was said to be going about with a beautiful woman whose eye had been caught by his splendour. He and his troops were not to march with King Eomer, but were ordered with the captain Elfhelm to the West road.

Here, too, was more talk of Eowyn Eomundsdattir, and that she was like to have broken her brother’s heart. No one could say why she had done what she had done, but all grieved that so lovely a maiden, so highborn and brave, had suffered such hurt. Still, she was like to live, they said, and so no one dwelt overlong on her sorrows.

Someone talked of the warrior who had been with Eomer at Helm’s Deep, saying that this man was now known to be the true Lord of Minas Tirith, kept out of his place by the strategems of the old lord, who now lay dead in the citadel. Someone else shouted this tale down, no, no, he was not Lord of Minas Tirith, but King of all Gondor, born in the North and kept secret until now. Another man laughed, all knew that the stranger had vanished under the mountains; surely he could not have come here? Erik listened to all these tales, each to him was as likely as the other.

Women moved about the taproom, bold eyed and free of manner. Erik looked away, such women reminded him always of his wretched mother, and he wondered if any of these had sons at home to be ashamed.

But such was the press of the crowd that the landlord’s own wife and daughters were waiting upon the men. He kept them behind the bar and his sharp eyes and ears kept watch that no man offered any insult to them. Erik went with his friend’s mugs to be refilled and the youngest girl drew the ale, her pretty face intent on the task. She handed the mugs to Erik with a smile and he smiled back and, turning, tripped on someone’s outstretched leg and tumbled to the floor, managing by some feat of balance not to spill the ale. He sat, feeling mighty foolish, holding the full mugs; all who saw were laughing. It was not easy to stand up without using his hands, but he was young and limber and up he came.

“Well done, youngling!” Rolf said. “I have seen it before, that a maiden’s smile knocked a man off his feet. But that you didn’t spill the ale! Now, that I have not seen before.”

Erik could see her, standing behind the bar, her roguish eyes smiling at him. He wished he could think of some reason to go back and speak to her, but the only reason would be if Rolf or Olaf wanted more ale. Never had they drunk so slowly!

_________________

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


Top
Profile Quote
Display: Sort by: Direction:
Post Reply   Page 1 of 1  [ 1 post ]
Return to “Literary Rambles: There & Back Again...”
Jump to: