In An Age Before – Part 298
A cloudy day of peace passed in the East Emnet, but at the second hour after midnight in the early morning of the 24th, the Rohirrim rode through the Easterlings' camp smiting any they could reach from horseback ere disappearing into the darkness. They had trotted to within a half-mile and walked their horses forward thereafter whilst Helluin and the Riders of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý finished shooting the last parties of scouts. When they had reached a distance of just o'er a furlong, the Eorlingas remounted and charged, hastening to a gallop, and with well 'nigh no warning, burst in upon the sleeping invaders whilst brandishing spears, swords, and axes. Some foemen were slain by their weapons, but more were trampled by their horses as they briefly lurched to wakefulness. Ere they could muster any defense, the hoof beats of the Riders were fading to silence in the night.
The camp was left in an uproar. Morale, already flagging after the first attack, plummeted further still in the wake of the nocturnal assault. Now the Easterlings felt unsafe by both day and night, and not even their encampment provided the illusion of safety. In the following o'ercast dawn's gloomy light, they found their scouts lying dead, their horses gone, and not a single fallen enemy. They counted 'nigh two hundreds of their own warriors slain and a like count wounded.
'Twas simply demoralizing and the habitual undercurrent of dissatisfaction in the ranks of divers tribes grew to include comments espousing mutiny and desertion. The surviving commanders grew more severe and fearful of their troops. Corporal punishment was administered for the least offense, further increasing the hostility 'twixt the soldiers and their officers.
The eastern host departed their ill-fated camp two hours ere noon and advanced a score miles south by dusk, hoping their movement would confer some measure of safety. 'Twas futile in that flat land of course, for scouts from Aldburg had watched their e'ery move. Still, because no attack came during that day, they felt a measure of normalcy returning. Alas, this too was an illusion.
Late in the night of the 25th, the same murderous ghost they had met ere fording the Entwash revisited their camp. Silent and invisible, it bypassed sentries, eluded watchmen, and beheaded two dozens whilst they slept. For the second time in this accursed land, Men woke to find the soldier beside them decapitated, their bedroll soaked in blood. That morn the mess was delayed. All lost their appetite after it became known that the missing heads had been discovered in the gruel cauldrons and stewpots.
The Eorlingas were still breaking their fasts when Helluin rode back into camp. Her hands were caked with dried blood, her face bespattered, and she had a broad grin on her lips that chilled Men's hearts. After dismounting, she went straightaway to the creek that ran beside the camp and washed her hands, staining the water scarlet.
Prince Haleth marked her return and asked after her night's activities, thinking at first that she had gone scouting and might have some tidings to share.
"Thou sup this morn on far more wholesome fare than thy foes, my lord," she told him. "By now, I wager their cooks have found a couple dozen missing heads in their kettles."
A grin shaped the prince's lips, for he kenned the value of her assault on the enemy's morale. He offered her an appreciative nod and clapped her on the shoulder in congratulation.
"I shall make Orcs of them yet," she added as she went to find some rations. Behind her, the prince cast back his head and laughed, deep, loud, and hearty. 'Twas a fine start to the day.
On that murky morn, the Easterlings' march was retarded so that they broke camp scarcely an hour ere noon. That dawn's mess had been so delayed that 'twas completed barely two hours ere the midday meal. 'Twas a disgruntled and irritable host that continued their advance south on the 26th. In this, they had proved utterly predictable.
That same morn after Helluin's return, Prince Haleth had taken counsel with his captains.
"Ye know our problem, my friends," the Third Marshal said, and heads nodded in understanding. "Aldburg lies but three score and fifteen miles south of the Entwade and Edoras but three score and five southwest. Now those distances are lessened by o'er a score miles. The enemy could reach either city in two or three days. They cannot be allowed to threaten our people. Indeed, I fear for our scattered farmers and herders outside the cities."
"For prudence's sake we must warn the hamlet of Norþfeldas¹, my lord," Captain Heaþolaf said. "Eighty-seven loyal souls dwell there and they are defenseless. It lies not a half score miles southwest with outlying fields a mile closer." ¹(Norþfeldas, Northfields = norþ(north) + feldas(fields) Old English)
"There is also the homestead of old Hæðstapa¹ the herder," Haleth recalled. "He too should be warned. I shall send Riders at once, but still, t'would be best that the enemy ne'er come so far." ¹(Hæðstapa, Heath-walker = hæðstapa(heath-walker, coll. for a deer) Old English)
"Then we must either turn them away or destroy them," Captain Heaþolaf said.
"Forcing them east 'til their backs are against the Entwash is possible," Captain Ælfwine said, "and we could then have respite in which to destroy them."
"In desperation to escape, some may try to swim the river," Helluin said, "and horsemen could not follow. To pursue them, we would have to ride all the way back to the Entwade, a roundtrip of fifty miles."
"Then we must choose a place where the banks are steep and the current swift," Captain Ælfwine said.
Captain Heaþolaf cast a glance to the lowering clouds o'erhead and said, "The spring rains are due to start, and then well 'nigh all the length of the river shall run fierce for many weeks. Even passing the ford can be a hazard then."
The Third Marshall nodded to his captain. The weather could well become a deciding factor.
"Let us seek to drive them east," the prince said, "and we shall see if we are blessed with drenching storms, chill, damp airs, and sodden ground. Should they survive a fortnight, I wager many shall sicken with the grippe or ague.¹" ¹(Grippe, influenza Fr. archaic medical. Ague, infectious fever marked by chills and sweating, often malaria Eng. archaic medical.)
Shortly after noon, as the invading host stayed their march and broke ranks to sup, they again heard the ominous thunder of approaching hooves. This came from further south and the Easterlings scrambled to reform their lines to meet another massed cavalry charge. If the thunder sounded less…thunderous this time, none seemed to mark the difference.
The arrival of their enemies came sooner than expected, for 'twas four score and six mounted archers that rode to assail them, not the thousand, spear-wielding Riders of the Rohirrim host. They seemed to appear from the grassland on a sudden as the defenders were still striving to form a proper defensive line. The Easterlings had mistakenly reckoned their preparation time longer based on the volume of the pounding hoof beats.
Helluin, Captain Ælfwine, and the Riders from Norðr-vestandóttir Bý approached in a long column of only two Riders in breadth so that their count could not easily be told. At a furlong, they spread their long files into a single rank eighty-six across and began shooting. Having no longer any cavalry of their own to oppose them, the invaders were left to raise their shields and pray to escape the arrows loosed against their southern flank. Ere the Riders' formation broke off and turned north along their eastern flank, more Men fell wounded in the legs than struck in the torso or head. The Riders had shot the equivalent of three volleys ere they rode out of range. The Easterlings had turned their shields east for protection as the mounted archers passed their host. Once they were too distant to be deemed an immediate threat, the Riders began to turn west.
The Easterlings had just begun to take stock of their casualties when they heard the thunder of hooves again, swiftly growing much louder, and this time approaching from the west. The attempt to aid their wounded was abandoned as Prince Haleth's host closed on them at a gallop. Only now did the Easterlings ken that the archers had been a distraction.
They could do 'naught but try to turn their formation about face towards the west whilst advancing ten paces, thereby moving to confront the threat and place their fallen and wounded at the rear of their ranks. Then they braced for the impact of the spear-wielding horsemen who attacked in a frenzy of bloodlust whilst screaming incomprehensible insults and battle cries.
The éoreds of the East Emnet slammed into the Easterling host, again wielding their spears, axes, and swords with deadly intent. Men and horses screamed as bodies were rent or run down. The invaders fought back in a fey, savage frenzy. Steel clashed and shields were riven, helms cloven and spears shivered. The Rohirrim drove through the ranks of footmen, and though some fell from their steeds and won renown with their sacrifice, the engagement unquestionably stood in their favor.
The prince's host continued east and the bloodied invaders readied themselves to defend against their expected return charge. So fixed upon them were they that with their backs now to the west, they failed to mark the return of the mounted archers who rode down their western flank that was now composed of their exposed rear rank.
Then more arrows flew, this time into the unprotected backs of the eastern Men who had continued facing Prince Haleth's host and watched in growing fear as they wheeled their mounts in an arc to the south. The eighty-six mounted archers loosed arrow after arrow, having slowed to a canter to buy themselves more time to shoot, and ere the rear guard turned their shields to face them, they had passed beyond the Easterling host and ridden off to the south.
Their distraction was only partially effective this time, though the count of slain and wounded was far higher. Most of the invaders had remained facing Haleth's host, but now the mass of Riders turned from south, circling back to attack again from the west. E'ery eye followed as the lines shifted to track them with shields up and weapons clenched in white-knuckled fists. Being accounted the far greater threat, few amongst the Easterlings had bothered to follow the path of the mounted archers or realized that this time, 'twas the main host that had acted as the distraction.
The Third Marshal formed up his lines and they charged against their foes again, but ere they made contact with the Easterling host, the Riders from Norðr-vestandóttir Bý assailed their rear for the second time, riding up their eastern flank at a canter and loosing their arrows ere continuing to the north. Their foes had not even tried to guard against them, for e'ery eye was still watching Haleth's thousand riding down upon them.
Helluin, Captain Ælfwine, and their Riders had barely ridden free of the enemy host when the Rohirrim slammed into their lines, again hewing and stabbing 'aught they could reach ere they won through their formation again and turned away south. This time, they continued 'til they passed from sight and the brutalized eastern Men dared breathe a grim sigh of relief. They lowered their shields and sheathed their weapons, physically exhausted and emotionally numbed.
Following the attack, the Easterlings found a few dozen unhorsed Riders, dead or wounded, lying upon the ground. In a slavering fury, their numbness gave way to mania and they hewed them as they lay, limb from torso and head from neck. 'Twas well 'nigh all they could do to vent their rage, for the battle had been agonizingly one-sided. With e'ery eye focused on what scant vengeance they could reap, none marked the approach of the column of mounted archers who rode past their unprotected western flank, and for the last time loosed another three volleys of deadly arrows into their company. Then these too disappeared into the south as a cold rain began to fall. So ended the second battle of the East Emnet.
"We made four passes and expended ten to fifteen arrows per man, loosing o'er a thousand shafts all told," Captain Ælfwine reported during the prince's council in a hastily raised campaign tent following the day's fighting. "Most, I wager, hit something."
"We have run down and hewed hundreds in trade for the loss of four and fifty of our own," Captain Heaþolaf said. "From a host of twenty-five hundreds, how many can remain able to offer battle?"
"Enough that their ranks broke not this day," Helluin said. "Whether fey, courageous, or simply stupid, they are still unbowed and still pose a threat to Rohan."
The Third Marshal sighed as the rain beat a steady tattoo on the waxed canvas o'er their heads. A charcoal brazier provided warmth and oil lamps gave light. On his board, the remains of a roasted tenderloin of beef rested on a platter with the plates from which they had dined. A firkin of ale sat in a frame beside the table laden with mugs. He imagined that the enemy had come to the campaign not nearly so well provisioned.
"I wager that after this night, after they count their losses and endure the cold wetness of spring, they shall be more disheartened and likely to break ranks," he said. "Forced idleness and miserable weather shall gift them too much time spent contemplating their ill-fortune."
Captain Heaþolaf and Captain Ælfwine nodded in agreement, but Helluin only dipped her head, thinking, This night I shall give them yet more reason to contemplate their ill-fortune.
"At least the hamlet of Norþfeldas is evacuated and even the herder Hæðstapa joined them, though he refused to leave his livestock behind," Captain Heaþolaf reported. "They make for Aldburg."
They all imagined the families of farmers in their wagons driving south 'cross the grasslands with scores of sheep bleating in their wake. Prince Haleth adjourned the council thereafter.
'Naught else of remark occurred in the Rohirrim camp on the night of 26 Gwaeron save that a banner was carried off by the wind though it blew but mild and the staff it flew from disappeared as well. Still, the host could ken no other cause for its disappearance and paid the incident little heed in any case.
I am sorry to call thee forth on such a night, Helluin told Hildmearh as they stood together in the rain. For once, she had foregone her cloak and the drops tapped metallic on her mithril armor.
Bah, said the mare, we warhorses have weathered far worse as is our nature. Besides, 'tis hardly a winter blizzard. I would ask if thou art now a banner-bearer for the prince.
I am not, Helluin replied. 'Tis merely a piece of set dressing for a drama pending.
They rode northeast towards the Easterling camp, four leagues through the stormy night. The moon and stars were hidden by the o'ercast, but far behind to the south, some faint flashes spoke of lightning o'er the Ered Nimrais. The thunder was silenced by the distance so 'twas only the rainfall that covered the sound of the mare's hooves, already dampened by the sodden grass.
When they had come within a half-mile of the camp, Helluin dismounted and bid Hildmearh await her.
As thou bear no tack, I reckon thou shalt be taken for a wild horse should any mark thee. Still, be wary, my friend. Allow no other to approach thee.
I shall be fine, Helluin. Pray be careful.
Of course, the Noldo said ere taking the pennant and striding off towards the wretched camp of the Easterlings. 'Twas an hour past midnight.
Now Helluin found the camp e'ery bit as dismal as she had imagined. There Men huddled 'neath their cloaks or tried to rest in soaked bedrolls on the ground. The wounded were treated no better. They lay moaning in pain in a segregated area whence came the stench of spilt blood and corruption. It seemed that only the commanders had tents and she saw but three of these, little more than circles of fabric with poles at their centers and a handful of lines staked to the ground 'round their edges. The cook fires were cold, and for lack of dry kindling, no watch fires burned. A few sentries ringed the periphery, staring out into the surrounding dark and cursing their luck for having to stand watch.
Despite the impediment of the banner and staff, Helluin was able to slay enough sentries to clear her way to the southern verge of the camp. There the Noldo planted the staff with its pennant of Rohan in the ground, and then drew Anguirél and the Sarchram as she stood beside it. In the next moment, a brilliant flare of Light blasted the camp, blinding any Men looking thither, but providing them the brief vision of a black armored knight standing with bared weapons beside the flag of their enemies. They marked that she was tall, pale skinned, and dark-haired; not one of the straw-headed Rohirrim, but perhaps one of the fell King's Folk from the stone city whose land this had been in days of yore. Then she extinguished her ril leaving them night-blinded. Whilst they blinked and struggled to recover their sight, she moved.
Visually impaired and slowed by fatigue, hunger, and the chill in their bones, the confused mortals ne'er stood a chance. To one who had been born 'neath the stars and crossed the Helcaraxë in an Age before, the night's cold spring rain went unheeded. She slipped amongst them like a whisper or a shadow, slitting throats, gouging bellies, and dismembering torsos. Doubt and fear made their swordplay feeble and 'twas long ere the Easterlings could contrive any organized defense. By then, Helluin had taken another two dozen heads. These she flung into any group she saw gathering, visiting horror upon them ere she moved on to the next. When, by her own tally, she had slain a hundred and an hour of terror had passed, she returned to the pennant, set her hand upon its staff, and again blasted the camp with Light. Men stared in fear at the reappearance of the black knight, or the vengeful ghost of a knight perhaps, seemingly conjured from 'naught save shadows, mist, and darkness.
Depart these lands, for ye shall find only death in Rohan! she commanded the disoriented mob in silence, mind to mind. Then she vanished into the night, but the staff and pennant retained an eldritch glow and none would approach it. 'Twas long ere it faded.
That went as well as I could have hoped, she told Hildmearh when she returned to the mare.
Whate'er 'that' might be, the mare said, thinking of the two bright flashes. I see thou hast lost thy banner. I hope the prince shall not be wroth.
Bah, said Helluin. What he knowth not shant vex him.
The mare nodded, not really wanting to learn the sordid details.
To camp then? she asked, and Helluin nodded 'aye'. 'Twas the early morn of 27 Gwaeron.
That day saw the rains increase to a torrent. Through the morn and afternoon, the downpour continued, so heavy that even the hardy Rohirrim clove to their tents and few went out save to tend their horses. Instead, they busied themselves sharpening weapons and repairing kit. Songs were sung, tales told, wagers laid, and boasts made for future battles. Camaraderie was strong and morale high despite their worries.
In the Easterling camp, Men were soaked to the skin and owned not a dry scrap. Most sat on the ground, shivering and disconsolate, but in a growing rage. Breakfast had been cold and the noon meal as well, for the cooks could kindle no fire. 'Round the camp, the silence was broken only by the endless thrumming of cold rain and the coughing of the sick. By nightfall, not a one of them wished to be there.
In their hearts, they cursed the commanders who had enticed them hither with promises of plunder and land for the taking. They would have vast estates, comely wives, and herds of horses to eat or ride. Endless wealth they had been promised, but instead they had found suffering and death. The only woman they had met was the ghost of a knight who slaughtered them in the dark, and the only horses they had seen were ridden by deadly foes. They deemed the land cursed and there had been no treasure to hoard.
Supper had been meager; the cold lefto'ers of the noon meal, which in turn had been lefto'ers from breakfast. They had spent the day sitting deedless in the rain, and if there was 'aught to be thankful for, 'twas that they had not been attacked. That night, a party of four score deemed they had 'naught to lose and would do 'aught ere the murderous ghost reappeared, and so they took up their few possessions and slunk off into the north, intent on returning 'cross the river to their homelands. The rest of the host watched the deserters go and did 'naught to stay them, yet their own apprehension grew as midnight approached and many cast glances to the pennant of Rohan still hanging limp where the ghost had planted it, for none had dared hew it down that day.
Just ere midnight, the best of them, a company of warriors from a tribe far to the east of the great forest who had e'er held themselves apart, took counsel together in whispers and made a decision. Then they stood and walked to the commanders' tents as the rest of the host looked on. There they slew those who had lied to them all, dragged their bodies out and flung them on the sodden ground, and then gathered such of the wounded as they deemed still had a chance of reclaiming health and helped them into the tents. Thereafter, they took their leave, forswearing the war and marching away into the north.
The night of 27 Gwaeron passed without further incident as did the days of the 28th and 29th. The rains continued all that time without pause, whilst the misery of the Easterlings increased as the coughing sickness attended by vomiting and fever infected the ranks. Huddled close together for warmth and security, the malaise spread swiftly. In the worst cases, dehydration and delirium followed, and men felt themselves burning up and shivering with wracking chills at the same time. Then in desperation, some flung off their garments and ran naked o'er the grass to cool themselves 'til they collapsed and died. 'Twas the grippe as Prince Haleth had called it, and the Men of Darkness from far to the east had no resistance to it. (This is a highly lethal and virulent influenza only slightly less deadly than the H1N1 "Spanish" flu that caused the 1918 pandemic that infected 500M and killed 50M+ worldwide.)
Another affliction visited itself upon the host after drinking the plentiful surface water from puddles. Commonplace in lands with livestock husbandry, it caused diarrhoea, dehydration, flatulence, and cramping of the gut. This illness was called the Trots¹ and brought further misery, for like the grippe, 'twas virulent amongst foreigners. ¹(The Trots, or Travelers' Diarrhoea is a generic term for water borne intestinal infections including E. coli and Giardiasis. These are bacterial and protozoan infections respectively, acquired by drinking contaminated water.)
In the camp, discipline and order had broken down. Meals no longer came at their accustomed intervals, for sickness had visited the cooks as oft as the soldiers. Having been murdered, there were no commanders to order the host, no healers healthy enough to treat the wounded, and no sentries or scouts to keep watch. Unwilling to expend the effort, the bodies of the dead were not buried, only tossed to the side of the camp where they festered. Predictably, the stench grew oppressive. During the night of the 29th, the rains lessened and the morn of the 30th dawned 'neath a threatening sky that for a time withheld its rain.
'Round mid-morning, the Rohirrim host approached. 'Twas just as Prince Haleth's scouts had reported, the Easterlings had not tried to advance during the storm. Their encampment was still where the second battle had been fought on the 26th. Yet unlike a few days aforetime, the enemy's readiness was sorely diminished and their reaction sluggish. They were slow to rise, slow to raise their shields, and slow to free their weapons. There were no shouts of defiance, no threats, and no war cries. Behind the ranks of defenders, the Eorlingas marked that many lay on the ground, enfeebled and barely moving. Of the fourteen hundred survivors, scarcely nine hundreds rose to oppose them. Some of these were swaying on their feet and others doubled-o'er coughing.
And at a hundred yards, the Third Marshal turned his men away. They drew off and came to a halt at a furlong.
"My lord, they are beplagued," Captain Heaþolaf said, and there was fear in his eyes for an unseen enemy that no foeman could have instilled in his steely heart. The prince nodded.
"We shall not chance to come 'nigh them in their affliction," Haleth said. "Whyfor should we slay those already dead?"
'Round him, those within hearing nodded in agreement and relief. For a moment, he eyed the staff still bearing the pennant of Rohan standing just beyond the southern border of the enemy's camp. Then he called for Helluin and Captain Ælfwine. They attended him straightaway when their company joined the main host.
"Have ye the numbers to cordon these foes and slay with your arrows any that would stray?" he asked. They both nodded 'aye'. "Then I bid ye do just so that none here may infect others. Approach them no closer than a bowshot and touch 'naught that they have touched." Again, the Noldo and the captain nodded 'aye'. "I shall hold your duty done when the last is dead."
Then Helluin and the Riders from Norðr-vestandóttir Bý set a camp, and with support from the Riders of Aldburg, they had food, drink, tents, and an ample supply of arrows, for they had already shot 'nigh half of those they had brought from the farm. There, as the Laiquendi had done in Eriador during the Great Plague, they enforced the quarantine of the infected and waited on their deaths. Indeed, they were required to shoot but few. Most were too fearful or too debilitated to attempt flight and they had nowhere to go.
That duty all the Riders found burdensome on their souls. This was no heroic battle of equals to be decided by courage and prowess at arms. There was 'naught that they could do save ride the circuit of the enemy camp to ensure that none broke the cordon, and wait to watch Men die.
The rains had recommenced in the eve of the 30th and they fell unbroken 'til 2 Gwirith when the following two days passed 'neath o'ercast skies. They came again bringing downpours in the night of the 4th. The 5th saw a mist rise so thick that water ran down the horses' flanks just from trotting through it. The very density of the air seemed to trap the miasma of corruption so that the oppressive stench of decay abode in e'ery nostril. 'Twas an odorous torment to all.
"Béma preserve us! Stifling are these mal-airs," the Riders bemoaned. "We shall be fortunate to survive this."
On the 6th the rains resumed only slightly less chill than a fortnight afore and they broke not 'til the night of the 8th. By 9 Gwirith 'twas done. On that morn, the Riders of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý could mark no movement in the Easterling camp. Silence reigned. The moans of despair and the groans of pain were stilled. Those who had not perished from the grippe had dehydrated or succumbed to exposure. Their defeat was bereft of honor and the Riders' victory was shorn of renown. 'Twas simply depressing.
By mid-morn, carrion fowl had begun to gather, circling o'er the camp in a great gyre. 'Round noon, wild dogs arrived to feast. The Riders shot them once they set to gorging, for dogs carrying a pestilence could not be allowed to roam free. In the night, Helluin met a pack of wolves that had been drawn from further north by the scent of death.
Fair night to ye, grey hunters, she said in greeting.
Fair night to thee, bright one, the alpha said. I am surprised thou hast come hither. Whyfor then, for there is no battle, no feasting, no song?
We remain this night to be sure that none of the enemy survived. They lie slain by disease, and though I know not for certain, perchance that sickness may infect thee and thy pack as well.
The wolf cast a worried glance to the camp of the dead and sniffed the air.
I scent 'naught save their death and their dung, but if they were stricken by sickness and not by weapons, then mayhap we shall pass them by. Too oft does foul smell the same as fair.
To this, Helluin nodded in agreement.
Were I thee, I should chance it not.
Then we shall continue the hunt, he said. After a moment, he added, We espied several score fleeing north a fortnight past. Mayhap they were of the same ilk, for they were not horse-lords. After a quick glance to the north, he reclaimed the Noldo's eyes.
Helluin had dipped her head to the alpha in thanks for his tidings. If they are indeed of the same kindred, I wager they lie dead by now, for the ford is drowned by the rains and no escape from this land 'cross Onodló shall they find. To this, the wolf nodded in agreement. E'eryone knew the Entwade was impassable for two or three fortnights each spring.
Fare well, bright one, he said in parting.
Fare well, grey hunter, the Noldo replied. She watched as the wolf yipped softly to his pack and they loped off to the west in search of wholesome prey. Behind her, the Riders had slept through it all.
10 Gwirith dawned and Helluin compared her memories to what the rising light revealed. 'Neath the grey, leaden sky, she marked that none of the bodies had moved since dusk. Immune to such afflictions as the Elder Children were, she could have walked safely amongst those cadavers to confirm their demise, but she would not chance some pestilence clinging to her boots or armor and being borne back to her mortal allies.
"Save for some clenching of rigor, the bodies have lain still since yestereve," she told Captain Ælfwine. "They are surely dead."
The captain nodded and said, "Then we ride for Aldburg to bear tidings to the Third Marshal. I deem this duty done and good riddance to it, loathsome as it hath been."
'Round them, the Riders who stood ''nigh nodded and muttered in agreement. They would be only too glad to leave the dismal camp and breathe fresh air untainted by corruption. Soon, the tents were struck, the camp packed, and then they mounted their steeds, eager to be gone.
The way from the battlefield to Aldburg ran three score and five miles all told. They were at first forced to ride southwest to avoid a forest with a breadth of thirty miles that lay at the confluence of the Mering stream and the Entwash. Thereafter, they could turn south to cross the Great West Road into the Folde and then ride the last score and five miles to the home of the Third Marshal. That whole way, the stench of the dead clung to them, but their noses, so long accustomed to it, smelt it not.
The company from Norðr-vestandóttir Bý set out in the mid-morn on the 10th and arrived at the city in the late-afternoon of the 11th. Surrounding the tall palisade stood the tents of the éoreds from the outlying holdings of the East Emnet, the temporary homes of seven hundred-odd of the prince's assembled host. With the Easterling incursion resolved twelve days aforetime, the Riders wondered that they yet lingered.
When they drew 'nigh, they found that the host had not only maintained its muster, but that all was in uproar and the Rohirrim were unquiet. Armed soldiers strode through the encampment with purposeful haste and horses stepped nervously at their pickets. There were orders shouted and orders acknowledged, wagons being loaded, and through the open gate, civilians passed with fear writ plainly on their faces. Amongst the host stood the carts and wagons of many country folk, farmers, traders, and herders with their animals, all looking lost. Within the stockade waited more carts and wagons, but these were piled high with the supplies and belongings of city folk as if they were preparing for flight.
The Riders regarded it all with questions blooming in their minds, for they had expected to find the city celebrating, or perhaps already returning to its normal routines. Instead, they had found refugees and a citadel in posture of war. The more they saw, the greater their worry grew as they entered the city. Straightaway they rode to the keep, a massive construction of frowning stone grey as the sky, cold, forbidding, and boiling with activity.
Worse yet, any they passed wrinkled their noses and looked upon them in horror for they still reeked of death. The weeks of damp and rain had left their gear thoroughly permeated with the scent of rotting flesh and it earnt them the whispered moniker, the 'Charnel Company'.
"Pray await us here," Captain Ælfwine told the Riders. "We go to find the marshal."
He and Helluin dismounted and ere they reached the steps leading to the keep, they managed to ask after the lord of a harried squire who was hastening downstairs with an armload of spears.
"Whither should me seek for Prince Haleth?" the captain asked.
With his arms full of weapons, the squire well 'nigh gagged at their smell, but thrust his chin up the stairs, saying, "Our lord meets with his captains in the great hall…captain…my lady. Pray enter the keep and ye shall find him thither." He fled their presence, gasping for fresher air.
"Our thanks, good squire…" Helluin began, but the man was already turning away to bear his cache of spears to the éoreds outside the city. She muttered to herself, "One would think him in mortal haste." O'erhearing her, Captain Ælfwine chuckled. The Noldo met his eyes with a worried expression.
"Aye, aye," he said. "All bodes ill for what may betide. Let us hear what the Third Marshal has to tell."
They climbed the stairs, and having seen them arrive at the head of an ordered block of eighty-six Riders, the door wardens choked back their gorge and admitted them without question. Within the keep, well 'nigh the entire ground floor was given o'er to the great hall wherein the prince had his seat and the household of Aldburg held forth. Haleth was standing at the head of a map-covered table surrounded by his officers and advisors. A manic air held sway and he alone appeared calm. Helluin marked that amongst the gathering stood a man in a black surcoat o'er a tabard bearing the device of the White Tree, an errand-rider from Beren, the Steward of Gondor.
They approached the table and bowed to the prince and the lords of the East Emnet. At the far end of the table, the prince dipped his head to acknowledge them as the wrinkling of noses and mouth breathing proceeded from their end down the length of the gathering to his. Though their smell was quite off-putting, these Men had all seen battle and deemed many things less worthy of esteem than to come from war reeking of slaughter.
"The battle is finished?" Haleth asked as a formality, for they would not have come in any other case.
"Aye, my lord," Captain Ælfwine said. "The last perished by the eve of the 9th. We stayed 'til the morn of the 10th and marked that none had moved since."
"My lord, twenty hundreds and more lie dead in their camp where thou saw them last. The invaders have become fodder for dogs, crows, and vultures," Helluin said.
"Any of thine own lost in the death-watch?" Haleth asked the captain.
"Nay, my lord. On thine orders, we approached them not," Ælfwine replied.
Then there was rejoicing in the hall and the gathered lords and captains honored them and spoke words of thanksgiving and praise. Yet they were not boisterous or celebratory and it felt as though other concerns weighed grave and heavy upon them.
"My lord, Aldburg seems troubled…" Captain Ælfwine began, but he fell silent at the prince's grimace and nod of confirmation.
"Aldburg is ordered evacuated and its Riders are called to muster in defense of Edoras," he said. "Rohan is assailed from the west."
Then Captain Ælfwine gaped at him in horror and Helluin groaned. 'Twas just as she had suspected. This assault on Rohan was part of a coordinated attack by Gondor's enemies, and like a fattened spider teasing at threads in its web, the Great Enemy was well 'nigh certainly behind it, for such wiles were all too familiar.
"Dunlending hosts follow Wulf o'er the Fords of Isen and bring war to the Westfold," the Third Marshal said through teeth gritted in anger. "They are accompanied by many foreigners that we have but lately learnt hail from Umbar far to the south. These have invaded Gondor. So says Belegund, errand rider of Steward Beren." Here he indicated the man that Helluin had marked earlier and Belegund dipped his head to them, though he had been staring at the Noldo since her arrival. She dipped her head to him in return.
"My lord, the Riders of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý serve Helm King. We await thine orders," Captain Ælfwine said.
The prince offered a strained smile in appreciation of his loyalty, for truehearted Men, willing, courageous, and steadfast in their oaths were e'er the most valuable in time of war. Yet he knew their mettle as well as any and he reckoned the battles to come would be fought as massed charges and close-quarter melees afoot in which their abilities would be wasted. Besides, he had a more pressing need than the simple addition of another four score and five spears to his host.
"The Second Marshal has sent word to the king that the invaders are so numerous that he fears the West Emnet shall be o'errun," Prince Haleth said. Helluin and the captain looked at him in shock. "The people of the Eastfold have been ordered to gather in Aldburg, and two days hence they shall be met upon the West Road by refugees from Edoras. Together, those who have come shall travel to safety."
"Safety where, my lord?" Captain Ælfwine asked. "In Gondor?" But Belegund the messenger shook his head 'nay'.
"We are hard pressed in the south. The Corsairs hold Ethir Anduin and we deem an assault on Pelargir pending. A second fleet landed along the southern coast. Anfalas and Belfalas are contested and Linhir invested. All of Lebennin, Dol Amroth, and Edhellond are threatened," Belegund said. "In the west, a third fleet of Corsairs landed troops above the mouth of the Angren and joined with the Dunlendings. For now, captain, there is no safety to be found in Gondor. Nor, alas, can the steward send aid."
Then Helluin and Captain Ælfwine looked back to the prince, the captain in shock and the Noldo with a sinking feeling.
"Perhaps two in five of our people are willing to leave their lands, but they still number some twelve hundreds," Haleth said, "and they shall go to the one holding loyal to the king that lies beyond the enemy's reach. Captain, thou and thy Riders are tasked with seeing our people safely to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý." Ælfwine's mouth dropped open and then he began to sputter in protest at being dismissed from battle. Helluin groaned. Prince Haleth said, "'Tis by order of the king, for none know the way so well, especially 'nigh Beorg Blæcdry¹." ¹(Beorg Blæcdry, Hill of Black Sorcery (aka Dol Guldur) = beorg(hill) + blæc(black) + dry(sorcery)Old English)
Then for long moments, the captain of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý could only stare at the Third Marshal, but finally, his sense of duty and the oaths of his sires won out and he bowed and said, "The will of Helm King shall be done, my lord. We shall see our people to the farm and keep them safe 'til the war is won."
Prince Haleth nodded to him, his heart filled with esteem for this honorable captain who did his king's bidding even against the passions of his own heart. Would that all the Eorlingas were so, he thought, but then Ælfwine would be leading three thousands north and even so bountiful a farm as Norðr-vestandóttir Bý might not be able to succor so many.
"Thank you, my friend," the Third Marshal said. "My father could not ask for a finer or more loyal captain." Then he turned and regarded Helluin, for she was an ally only and neither he, nor the king, could compel her. "Helluin Maeg-móremenel, I have received no orders regarding thee, for 'tis not the place of any Man of Rohan to command thee. I can only say that we would be thankful to have thine aid."
"I have been a foe of Umbar since 1847 of the Second Age when 'twas commanded by Murazor, second son of Tar-Ciryatan of Númenor," Helluin said, "whom I slew in 2003. As he died on the quay at Pelargir, he vanished before my eyes and became the first of the Nine.
In his timeless enmity for the Dúnedain, the Great Enemy continues his long war. Now he uses the Corsairs to threaten Gondor where some of my own kin once dwelt. For me, this war is a blood feud that has stretched through two Ages of the world. I shall go west to battle."
"Then I welcome thee to the company that shall ride to Edoras two days hence, Helluin," the marshal said. Then he grinned and added, "And though I know 'tis not my place to command thee, I pray that thou, the captain, and the company of Norðr-vestandóttir Bý shall bathe after your victory," and the gathering chuckled whilst the two groaned and nodded in acceptance of his offer.
Now whilst Helluin accompanied Prince Haleth to Edoras, Captain Ælfwine and his Riders safeguarded the people of the Eastfold on their flight northward to safety. Both parties rode from Aldburg on 13 Gwirith, going their separate ways to fates recorded in the lore of that time. Yet some who have read the account set down herein may yet wonder o'er the fate of another party.
What became of the two groups of Easterlings who abandoned their encampment in the night of 27 Gwaeron? Numbering four score and eighteen, they might have posed a threat to Captain Ælfwine and the refugees, but in fact, those companies ne'er met the Rohirrim on the trail. So how did these potential foes avoid each other? Was it fate or some grace of the Valar? Was it simply the time that passed 'twixt each groups' arrival at the Entwade?
The first party of Easterlings counted four score fearful Men who had fled the prospect of again facing the fell black knight that had visited slaughter upon them the previous night. The second party numbered a dozen and a half disgusted warriors from further east who forswore the campaign and slew their commanders ere helping the wounded to occupy their tents. These followed the first group northwards as they all intended to cross back o'er the Entwade and return to the South Undeep, and then journey back to their homelands beyond Mirkwood.
Marching in an ordered company, the second party o'ertook the first in torrential rain during the afternoon of the 28th, and they deigned not to join them for they had despised them as much as the commanders against whom they had mutinied. By then, they had already passed a few soldiers stricken with the grippe and left behind by their comrades to die alone, lying in the rain. That night they heard the howls of wolves hunting too close for comfort, though they were doubtful of an attack on so large an armed group.
Rather than joining those who disgusted them, the second party held to their course and reached the ford that evening. They found the river swollen from the rains, making the Entwash impassable. After cursing their ill fortune, they camped a couple furlongs to the north, so to avoid the first party's arrival. Depart these lands, the ghost of a knight had commanded, and they intended to do just that.
The morn of the 29th dawned, the rain continued, the river ran just as high as yestereve, and 'twas obvious that many days without rain would needs pass ere the water level dropped. At the ford, the first party arrived just ere noon, and seeing that crossing was impossible, camped beside the river in despair. Yet by that eve, the rains began to trail off and the 30th dawned 'neath leaden skies that promised more rain. On that morn, Prince Haleth's host approached the Easterling camp and declined to engage the sickened Men remaining there.
After making some ill-considered decisions based mostly upon desperation, the first party marched upriver, deeming it possible to find another ford that would be passable, hopefully ere the Rohirrim gave chase and caught them with their backs to a flooded river.
The warriors of the second party watched them go, for to them 'twas obvious that there was no other ford. Their foes that dwelt in this land had crossed the river nowhere else even as their own host had approached, and they accepted the wisdom of the horsemen. Besides, the very same downpour that plagued them would have washed away any tracks and they no longer feared being attacked. They chose to remain at the ford and hope for the end of the rains.
The rains recommenced that night and continued unabated 'til 2 Gwirith. During that time, the Entwade remained flooded. The warriors hunted some small game and waited with dwindling patience as they realized the season was against them.
Also during that time, the first party had continued their march upriver. Five score and five miles they slogged as more of their company fell to the grippe and were left littering the landscape. On the morn of the 4th, the second dawn without rain, they reached the verge of Fangorn Forest.
Now these Easterlings were used to the open, dry landscapes of western Rhûn. The endless grasslands of Rohan had appeared surprisingly lush to them. The rain was an unprecedented horror. Of forests, they knew little, yet the small woodlands 'nigh the Sea of Rhûn paled beside the dark, density of Fangorn. They had ne'er imagined its like, for 'twas far more alien to them than Mirkwood, which they had shunned. Even at its eaves the trees crowded so close together as to be 'nigh impassable, and they groaned and whispered together, and the dimness 'neath their boughs was unrelieved.
They found a little space along the banks of the river as it flowed from the forest into the grasslands, and seeking shelter and succor, they passed 'neath the trees, continuing upstream another half-mile. They still saw no possible crossing, yet they deemed 'twas but a matter of time ere they found one, and in the meantime, they would have roaring bonfires to dry and warm themselves, and a more hopeful place to hunt. They began chopping firewood from the trees almost at once.
The eve of the 4th came and ere twilight 'twas night dark 'neath the canopy. The Easterlings kindled their fire and spitted some squirrels they had caught. Soon the light of dancing flames quickened their shadows, and the warmth comforted their chilled bones. For the first time in o'er a week, they were dry. Even those who coughed and shivered with fever felt some relief.
Though their bellies were not full, they raised their voices in jubilation, not in songs of thanksgiving, but in loudly spoken words, coarse and vulgar, boasting of how they might remain in the forest and live in comfort, raiding the straw-headed horse masters when the notion took them, and thereby finding both freedom and fortune in the land they had invaded. They deemed that their commanders had had the right idea, they had just gone about it the wrong way.
'Round them, the darkness deepened save where their bonfire lit the riverbank, and the groans and whispers of the trees had grown angrier. They paid them no heed, no more than they did the splashing of the rushing river or the rustle of leaves fluttering in the breeze, for what did Men have to fear from trees? 'Naught but what the fables told to any child of the Rohirrim might have said.
Eventually they slept, for their time in Rohan had been exhausting. Three died of fever in the night and could consider themselves lucky. A few more woke to find themselves being crushed within a press of wood and they felt a momentary terror, quickly snuffed out. The ground slowly heaved from the movement of roots, as a wave rolling through mud might, and the remains of the fire slid into the river. There were no bodies to accompany it. By the morn of the 5th, no trace of the camp was to be seen as a thick mist blanketed the open land beyond the forest.
Of all these things, 'naught was learnt by the smaller company of warriors who had remained beside the Entwade. They felt some hope when the rains stopped 'twixt the 2nd and the 4th, but then the storm resumed just as heavy that night. After a foggy day on the 5th, the downpour resumed on the 6th and continued unbroken 'til the 8th. The warriors from eastern Rhûn had seen no drop in the river's level during the two days of respite and deemed they would be waiting at least three or four days after the rains ceased ere they could cross.
On the 9th, the camp they had left behind hosted only dead men. That day was o'ercast, as had been all others for 'nigh a fortnight, but though the low, heavy clouds looked threatening, they withheld their rain for the next four days. By the eve of the 11th, the warriors marked a slight drop in the river's level. On the 13th, they thanked their bloodthirsty God of Flesh and Bone, tied themselves together with their own garments, and waded naked in a single file line 'cross the river, immersed in cold, fast water almost to their waists. When the last had successfully reached the eastern bank, they collapsed and lay on the ground to rest and catch their breath, and finally, they donned their soaked raiment and resumed their march toward Anduin.
Now whether or not they e'er reached their homelands in Rhûn, no tales have told. No bodies did the parade of refugees heading to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý find beyond the Entwade. And so, unless they starved in the Brown Lands, were swept away by Anduin, perished of exhaustion in the desolation north of Dagorlad, or were slain by hostile tribes east of Mirkwood, perhaps these distant sons of the Massagetae did indeed win home bearing tales of defeat in battle and the terror of Rohan.
To Be Continued