Chapter
5: The Great River
It was a
good hour before dawn when Sergeant Gillow woke his company.
“Come on
now, boys! Let’s have you. Up and ready!”
Sleepy
grumbles soon gave way to appreciative murmurs as breakfast was brought round, and
by the time they had eaten and the sky was greying, the whole company was alert
and ready.
“Right lads.
We’re coming up to Minas Anor. We still hold the city, but past it the enemy
controls the right bank. The landings at Osgiliath are the danger point. I need
you archers in the rigging, and along the rails here, anywhere you can get a
clear shot. You others, have your weapons ready in case they try to board.”
Ahead of
them the gorge between the Hill of the Guard, on which was built the city of
Minas Anor, and Emyn Arnen loomed darkly. The right bank was still in shadow,
the steep and rocky slopes covered with loose boulders. Just as they drew
abreast of the city, the light of the rising sun came over the shoulder of the
hill and lit upon the roof of the White Tower causing it to gleam like a
beacon. A loud cheer rose from around the ship at this good omen, and for the
first time all present, sailors, archers, horsemen and soldiers, seemed as one,
a single front against the enemy.
Gildinwen
was brushing Loreglin, and watching the city pass by, when Lord Falcred
wandered up to talk to her.
“Good
morning.” His voice was soft and rich.
“My lord.”
He held his
hand out to Loreglin. “Is this your horse?”
“Yes, but
please be careful, he’s rather ill-tempered.”
He rubbed
the horse’s nose affectionately, “He seems in a fine mood this morning.”
Gildinwen
looked on with an incredulous smile on her face. “I don’t believe it! He never
likes anyone!”
Falcred
flashed her a boyish grin, “Well, since your horse approves of me, maybe you’d
do me the honour of joining us for a little breakfast.”
“As you
wish, my lord.”
“Excellent.”
He led the way over the deck to where his companions were seated at table.
“These are
my friends, Ragnor, Turin and Valmar.” He gestured indiscriminately in their
direction, before flinging himself carelessly into a chair. “I’m Lord Falcred,
my father holds the lands of Lossarnach for Anárion.”
“This,” he
gestured at Gildinwen as she settled self-consciously into a spare seat. “so
Sergeant Gillow informs me, is the Lady Gildinwen of the House of Amarnon.”
“Amarnon?”
mumbled Turin with his mouth full. “Never heard of them.”
“Neither had
I, but then ancient history was never my strong point.”
Gildinwen
frowned uncertainly. Were they making fun of her?
“However,”
Falcred’s voice took on a more serious note, “Old Gillow knows a thing or two,
particularly about soldiers’ superstitions, and if he says the troops will
think that the flag this girl’s carrying makes them invincible then I’m
inclined to believe him.”
“What that
the flag makes them invincible?” chuckled Valmar.
“No, you
fool,” returned Falcred, aiming a crust a Valmar’s head, “that they believe
it.” He threw the crust, but before he could tell if it hit its mark, a bone
chilling yell reverberated from the valley walls.
The nobles
sprang to their feet as one, drawing their swords and leaping away to the side
of the boat. Gildinwen sat frozen to the spot, her hand tightly clutching the
grip of her sword, her heart in her mouth.
“I can’t see
anything!” shouted Falcred.
“They’re in
the trees!” This was from Sergeant Gillow. “Watch out now lads! We’re coming up
on the Landings.”
“Archers,
make ready!” Falcred ordered, “You see anything move on that bank, shoot it!”
“Aye, my
lord!”
“My Lord!” a
shout from the rigging, “They have a line of boats across the river!”
“Damn!”
Falcred swore loudly, “Right men, I want you forward, bring spears if you have
them. Archers! Be ready!”
Sergeant
Gillow was organising his lads at the front of the boat, “Now then, boys. Above
all, we must keep them from boarding. They’ll throw grapples as we pass, if
they lodge you must cut the lines. Got that?”
“Yes,
sergeant!”
The sailors
were not idle either. Some ran up the rigging to wet the sails in case of
attack with fire, others drew their cutlasses and joined the soldiers, still
others the Mate ordered below decks, where they unshipped the oars. As the beat
of the great drum resonated through the deck, the oars rose and fell, and with
each sweep the speed of the ship increased.
Within
minutes the Landings of Osgiliath hove into view. The buildings on both sides,
formerly prosperous warehouses, were now burnt out shells. The bridgeheads were
smashed, and the quays littered with rubble. On the right bank a mass of men,
Haradrim, swarthy and dark, clashed their arms and shouted challenges; sinister
archers, arrows already notched, lined the bank; while across the water a black
line of boats stretched, filled with soldiers.
Falcred
climbed a few feet up into the rigging, wrapping one arm about the ropes, his
sword arm raised. “Archers! Wait for my command!”
At the
forward rail, Gillow readied his men. “Steady now lads. Remember, don’t let
them board.”
As the ship
sped up the narrow gorge towards the ambush, sails full, oars flashing, some of
the soldiers in the waiting barricade began to waver, and as the vessel came
on, sprang into the water.
The impact
sent a shudder through the timbers, but the ship was past undamaged. A flurry
of arrows rained in from the right, some of the soldiers went down.
“Archers!
Now!” and the volley was returned.
A loud
clattering was heard as grappling hooks were flung at the sides of the boat,
and the soldiers leapt forward to cut the ropes. Some of the enemy made it on
board, but they were quickly cut down. The air was again filled with arrows.
Sergeant Gillow fell with one in the thigh, but pulled himself upright against
the gunwale. Behind him, an enemy soldier was hauling himself on board.
“Bregor!”
Gildinwen suddenly found herself in motion, her sword in her hand. “Behind
you!” But the Southron had already gained his foothold by the time Gillow
turned to face him. A second man was attempting to follow him. As the sergeant
faced the first Haradrim, Gildinwen slashed at the hands of his fellow, then
put her foot in his chest and pushed him backwards into the roiling water. The
first man was pressing the injured Gillow hard. Without thinking she lunged,
Deanor’s blade passing easily through the leather hauberk into the man’s flesh.
Just as easily it slid out again, and he fell at her feet, his look of
disbelief mirroring her own.
Cheers
sounded from the rigging. Gildinwen looked around. They had passed Osgiliath.
The last of the boarders had been dispatched. They were through. She looked at
Gillow, his face was split with a wide grin. “We’ve done it! We’re through!” He
looked round at his company, “Well done, my lads! Very well done indeed!”
All around
shouts and noise erupted. Gildinwen wiped her sword and sheathed it before
fetching her medicines.
“Right,
Bregor, let’s be having a look at that leg.”
Gillow was
sitting propped against the rail, taking reports.
“We’ve two
dead, sergeant, the bowmen got them. A handful of injured, but I think you’re
likely the worst off.”
“Good, Tom.
Off you go and make sure they get some food now, will you.”
“Yes,
sergeant.”
He winced as
Gildinwen removed the arrow. “It’s a bad wound, Bregor.” She frowned, “the
muscle of the leg is very badly torn up.”
“It’ll heal
though?” Gillow’s face was suddenly very worried.
“Oh, yes.”
She reassured him, “But you’ll have to keep off it.” She looked hard and
meaningfully at him, “And I really mean keep off it.”
“Damn!” he
cursed.
“Don’t
worry, you’ll be back on it in a few weeks, and somehow I think we’ll all be
here a lot longer than that.”
Having seen
to the rest of the injured, and set Tom to watch that his sergeant followed her
instructions, Gildinwen took herself off to a quiet spot at the stern of the ship.
She sat in silence, watching the wake of the boat as it softly folded back into
the river, but her mind seethed. She had killed a man today. She didn’t even
know him. Who was he? Did he have a family? ‘But he would have killed me,’ she
thought, ‘and any of my friends, with no hesitation.’ Did that make it right?
‘Well, I don’t know about right, but necessary.’ That was true. ‘Look Gil.’ She
told herself sternly, ‘there’s going to be a lot more of this sort of thing
from now on, so you’d better get used to it.’
“Ah, here
you are.” It was Falcred.
“I wanted to
be alone.”
Despite her
lack of invitation, he settled down beside her. He did not speak but handed her
a leather bottle of wine. She took a drink gratefully before passing it back.
“First
fight?”
She nodded,
dolefully.
“You stood
up pretty well.”
She looked
round at him, her face miserable, “Really?”
“You kept
your head, showed courage without taking risks. Just what I look for in a
member of my company.”
She managed
a smile.
“And you’ve
done a good job patching us up afterwards. So, if you want to stay with the
company until we reach the battlefield, then we’d be glad to have you.”
“Thank you,
my lord.”
“You’re
welcome.” he grinned, “My lady.”
The rest of
the day passed relatively peacefully. Many times enemy were spotted in the
thickly forested hills that now made up the right bank, both men and other
things, but they took little interest in the ship. They too were heading for
the battle to come. The ship passed the island of Cair Andros at dusk and
everyone settled down to snatch what sleep they could. This would be their last
night on board.
They reached
the disembarkation site at first light the following morning. Several other
ships were moored already, and the sailors called boastful greetings to their
comrades. The ships were to remain to take the wounded back downriver.
Unloading
was quick and efficient, time was of the essence now. The armies were massing,
battle would soon be joined.
Gildinwen
spent the last of her time on board checking on the progress of the wounded,
and talking to Sergeant Gillow, now seated comfortably, if not happily, in a
chair on deck.
“I wish I
was going with you.”
“Don’t
worry, I’m sure Lord Falcred will look after me.”
Gillow
smirked, “Just watch he doesn’t look after you too well! He has a bit of a
reputation back in Minas Anor.”
Gildinwen
laughed, indicating her stained and grubby clothing with a chapped hand, its
fingernails torn and ragged, “Somehow I don’t think he quite sees me in that
light.”
“Well,
anyway, I’ve asked Tom and his friends to look out for you. They’ll stick by
you, whatever happens, until you get to Gil-galad.”
“Thank you.”
“And
remember what I said, if you believe, they’ll believe.” He smiled ruefully,
“Damn! I’d so like to be there to see it.”
A shout from
the dock told her they were ready to move out.
“I have to
go, Bregor.”
“Good luck,
lass,” he said fondly.
“You make
sure and stay off that leg until it’s fully better.”
“I will.”
She bent down
quickly and kissed him on the cheek before hurrying off to join the others.
She took
Loreglin from Tom, who was holding him warily for her, and mounted up.
“Right men!”
Falcred was once more astride his beautiful beast. This time dressed in
gleaming armour, a great sword by his side, and richly decorated helm hanging
from the pommel. “It’s two days hard march ahead of us, and a battle at the end
of it. We cannot afford to wait for stragglers. If you can’t keep up, then
you’re left behind. I don’t promise you glory, I don’t even promise you
victory. What I do promise you is a chance at the enemy. To revenge yourself on
the scum who took Minas Ithil, who killed, raped and burned that once-proud
city. Now who’s with me?”
The shout
rose as from one throat, as the whole company, soldiers, horseman and archers
gave a great cheer for their leader.
“To battle!”
And he set off at an easy trot. Gildinwen fell in behind him along with the
other riders, after them, with a smart step, came the archers and the men-at-arms.
The supply wagons, with their cooks and armourers, lumbered along at the rear.
Tom rode
beside her, along with his friends Will and Rufus. She tried to talk to them
during the course of the day, but they were shy of her now.
‘What has
Gillow been saying to them?’ she thought.