4. Battle

The Dark Lord raised his hand in spell
On the battlefield the Elf Lord fell
The Dark Lord strode to Elendil,
Spilling his blood upon the hill.

The sky grew dark with increasing gloom,
As the soldiers rallied to meet their doom.
If men had let their duty go
The Dark would have taken Gondor long ago...

(from a lullaby of Gondor)

The clamour of fire bells awakened Bergil. He looked over at Fargil, but his cousin still slept, one arm curled around the soldier Beregond had carved. He eased from the bed. His aunt would be putting up sandwiches to feed the fire fighters. Sometimes she would let him carry the bundles of food to the fire, and he would get to watch the excitement.

The lantern in the kitchen was dark, blown out or perhaps burned out. By the dim light of the fire on the hearth, he saw Gilwyn sitting motionless at the table, head resting on her clasped hands. He crept back to his bed.

***

It was still dark when Gilwyn awakened them. Smoke hung heavy in the air, but the fire bells no longer rang. Outside was a confused murmur as of faraway thunder, or a heavy rain. Gilwyn's face was pale and she had dark smudges under her eyes.

'Fargil,' she hissed. 'I want you to gather extra clothes for yourself and Bergil and roll them in your blankets.' She attempted a smile at her son's blinking confusion. 'Just like the time your Uncle Beregond took us to sleep under the stars, remember?' The boy nodded sleepily and began to comply.

She beckoned Bergil out to the kitchen. The lamp was lit and the usually tidy room was in a state of semi-confusion. Gilwyn took up a half-wrapped loaf, finished wrapping the cloth around it, and placed it in one of the water buckets.

'Here, Bergil,' she instructed. 'Wrap all the bread and dried meat and dried fruit you can, and pack it up.'

As he packed away the food he watched her take down lengths of undyed cloth from the shelves, roll them tightly, and place them in the other water bucket. She added packets of needles and skeins of thread, tucking a cloth over all.

''Done,' Bergil stated. She checked his bucket and gave him an approving nod.

'Here is a cloth--tuck it over the top of your bucket as I did mine.'

As he was doing so, Gilwyn reached again amongst the lengths of fabric on the shelves, bringing down an oblong object rolled in a cloth. She sat down at the table to unroll it, revealing a sharp new knife that glinted in the light from the lantern. She looked at Bergil.

'Your father meant this for a gift on your next birthday,' she said. 'I think he'd say to give it to you now, were he here.'

The knife slipped into the right place in his boot as if it had been made to fit there. His aunt smiled faintly, then was all business again.

When Fargil came out with the blanket roll, she tied rope around the ends and fashioned a rough shoulder loop.

'There,' she sighed, and looked about the room. She turned to the boys. 'The first circle of the City is all afire and I know not how long we will be safe here. We are going to the Houses of Healing. I hope that we can be of some use there.'

Fargil gasped and ran back to the bedroom. Before his mother could call him back, he returned cradling his two treasures, a horse carved by his father who had been slain by orcs the previous year, and the carven soldier. Gilwyn nodded and tucked them into the blanket roll. She settled the loop about her son's shoulders, picked up her own blanket roll and slung it over Bergil's arm. She bent to put the yoke for the water buckets over her own neck, and straightened again. Giving a hand to each boy, she guided them out the door.

Outside the raging flames from the outermost circle painted the sky above the City. Gilwyn hurried them through the deserted streets. Not many people were about. Most of the women and children had left before the siege began, Bergil's young brother sent with them, and all the men in the City now stood to arms upon the walls or wherever their duty placed them.

Bergil stumbled. The streets were littered with small round shot about the size of a man's head, but before he could get a better look his aunt pulled him along faster. The rushing sound was louder and he realized he was hearing the sound of battle. He could hear the deep beat of drums and the shouts of men and shrieks of voices not men's.

When they reached the Houses of Healing their legs burned from the long climb and their lungs from the rising smoke. Men moaned on the wide porch and in the corridors, mostly casualties of the fires in the first circle. Old Ioreth greeted them distractedly, telling the boys to set their bedrolls in a corner and wait out of the way. Gilwyn broke in with a question, ‘Do you need more bandages?’

‘Yes, I am sure we will need plenty before the night is out. They are sending siege engines against the walls, and more wounded will be arriving soon.’

‘I brought supplies,’ Gilwyn said, lifting the covering from the bucket of fabric, ‘and I can sew flesh as easily as cloth.’ Ioreth nodded and gave her arm a grateful squeeze. ‘The boys can run messages,’ Gilwyn added, ‘but until they are called for I will keep them with me. Where is a table where we can make dressings?’ Ioreth led them to a dining area, now being set up to handle wounded. Gilwyn set one bucket under the table and held the other out to the old healer. ‘Here is food, all we could bring.’ A smile flickered across the old woman’s face as she thanked them, took the bucket, and departed.

Gilwyn turned to the boys. ‘Now, here is what we do…’ She took out a length of fabric, unrolling it on the table with a deft flick of her wrist. Cutting a slit near one end, she tore a strip down the length of the fabric. Again and again she repeated the action until the piece had been reduced to a pile of strips. She took one, nodding to the boys to copy her, and rolled the strip quickly into a neat, tight roll.

The boys were more awkward to start but with practice they were soon turning out uniform bandages. They worked on until all the fabric in the bucket had been reduced to dressings.

Gilwyn took the boys to the corner where their bedrolls lay and told them to lie down and wait. Fargil soon dropped off to sleep again but Bergil lay wakeful. He heard two guardsmen talking low as their wounds were being dressed. Faramir had been taken to the Houses of the Dead! Tears stung his eyes, and he thought of his father. Where was Beregond this night? Did he already lie among the wounded, or was he dead?

Gilwyn came to check on the boys, and he told her what he had overheard. She bowed her head, took a few deep breaths, and raised it again. ‘They are bringing siege towers against the walls, and they are assaulting the Gate,’ she told him. ‘If orcs break through to the Houses of Healing, and cannot be stopped… if all hope fails…’ he followed her gaze to Fargil.

‘I will take care of him,’ he promised. ‘The orcs shall not have him.’ She hugged him briefly and was gone again.