Isildur Page 19

  "Nonetheless, you made use of your advantages and reacted with great alacrity. Smartly done, sir. I salute you, one naval commander to another." And he brought his sword across his chest in salute. Then his face darkened. "But I forget myself. I am no longer a naval commander, for a city without a ship has no need for a Captain of Ships."

  "You will be Captain of Ships as long as you can stand a deck, Luindor," said Duitirith. "The fleet shall be rebuilt immediately. Have you not told us many times that we needed newer ships? You are forever bringing us plans for more modern innovations you want to incorporate in the next ships. Hardly is the keel laid before you want to change the plans."

  "But they are all gone, my Lord. All my beautiful ships: Míriel, and stately Indis, and long-honored Melian, and… and all. Long will it be ere such ships grace Anduin again."

  "Perhaps not so long, Captain," said Cirdan. "For among my people are many shipwrights and sailmakers and all the maritime trades, for we have been building ships in Mithlond all this age. They shall remain here to help you to rebuild. And I will send our own pickets to guard the Ethir and patrol the coasts, so that the South Gate of Gondor remains safe while your ships are building."

  Luindor's face brightened at once. "I would be most happy to talk with the architects who designed your corbitas, my Lord. Never did I think a ship so large could turn in its own length, yet I swear I saw it happen more than once in the engagement. With a score of ships like that I could hold the Bay of Belfalas against all foes!"

  Duitirith smiled at Luindor's eager face. The waterfront was still smoldering, and already Luindor had twenty swan-ships on the ways.

  They were seated at long tables in a large and lovely hall. Platters of food, hastily prepared, were brought out with flagons of wine and mead. Then a beautiful woman appeared and bowed to the Elven lords. She wore a flowing green gown that accentuated her long red hair. She went to Duitirith and threw her arms about him. She held him tight as if to convince herself he really had survived the battle. Duitirith kissed her and smiled at his guests.

  "My Lords, may I present my mother, Lady Heleth? Mother, this is Cirdan of Mithlond and his lords and allies." Cirdan introduced his companions, and her eyes were shining as each was named. Finally she burst into tears of joy.

  "Welcome to Pelargir, my Lords," she said, wiping her eyes. "Forgive me, but I cannot contain myself. Since the earliest hours of the morning we have seen our ships burned, our people slain, our gates shattered. We looked only for death before the evening. I tell you, Lords, when I looked out from the Blue Tower and saw your ships gleaming in the morning sun, I thought I saw Eärendil returned from the sky to save us. We shall forever be indebted to you."

  "Fair Lady," replied Cirdan. "I am only sorry we did not arrive earlier and spare you this day of horror."

  "Lord Cirdan, you have freed us of a horror that has loomed over us all our lives. We have paid a terrible price, but if the might of Umbar is broken, the cost is well spent."

  They fell to their food then and all ate with good appetite, for none had broken fast that day. Men and Elves laughed and talked together and exchanged tales of their parts in the battle. Amroth sat between two ship captains, one of Pelargir and one of Mithlond. The Elf told of driving his ship toward a great trireme, using the Corsairs' own ramming tactic against them.

  "I kept the helm over slightly," he said, "so that we turned into them, like this." He swung two loaves of bread in the air, arcing one into the side of the other. "They saw us coming at them and put their helm hard over. I could hear their slavemaster drumming for all he was worth. If they had pulled hard, they could have slipped past us, but the oars just drooped into the water and stopped. It was as if they just gave up and waited for us.

  "Then the oarsmen on the side toward us threw back that leather cover they're under and stood up, shouting and waving their arms. I thought they had panicked, but just before we struck, I could hear what they were shouting. They were cheering, crying 'Gondor! Gondor! Gondor!' Then I realized they must be captives taken from Gondor. They were being forced to attack their own city, and they would row no more for Umbar." He shook his head grimly. "We cut them in two. We cut them in two and had to leave them there in the water, and still they cheered us. I'll never forget it."

  The Pelargir captain was silent a moment. "It was always thus when we fought the Corsairs," he said. "We knew they had our people at the oars, but what could we do? We had to do our best to sink them, knowing our brothers or sons might be aboard. Many more brave men of Gondor died today than fought in Pelargir."

  "None were braver than the garrison at the bridge," said a Man sitting on his other side. "Young Foradan had only twenty men to hold the bridge over the Sirith. Several of the Umbardrim galleys landed beyond the Sirith and their companies had to cross the bridge to come at the gates. I saw the battle from the top of the gate. Foradan's men formed a line across the road at the near tower, though hundreds of the enemy were already on the bridge. They didn't have a chance and they knew it. It was a terrible bloody fight and soon over, of course, but every one of them fell where he had stood. Not one had been pressed back a foot." He shook his head sadly. "Young lads, they were, all of them, not one more than eighteen."

  Though their conversation was grim, many others in the hall were joyous, and laughter was often heard. The people of Pelargir felt as if delivered from a sentence of death, and the Eldar were ashore again after a long and perilous voyage. And all felt that strange guilty joy a soldier feels after a deadly battle when he realizes that, though many have fallen, he has survived.

  Duitirith seemed in particularly good spirits. He offered toast after toast to Cirdan and the other Elven-lords. His young face glowed red with pleasure and with mead. Suddenly his clear laugh cut across the room. He was standing, holding up his drinking horn.

  "I just want to see my father's face," he roared, "when he returns in great haste and finds us not besieged but besotted!"

  Cirdan turned to him in surprise. "Lord Barathor is returning to Pelargir? You sent word to him?"

  "Oh, aye, many hours ago. When the pirates first struck, I sent my esquire riding as fast as he could after him."

  "But this is not good," said Cirdan. "If what you have told me of Isildur's fortunes is true, the loss of Barathor's men will leave Osgiliath but weakly defended."

  "But the battle is over," said Duitirith, suddenly sober. "The Corsairs are destroyed and the Gate of the South is secure. We have won."

  "Do you think that because we have destroyed its fleet we have defeated Umbar? Umbar is mighty yet. It has other ships. It has great forces on land, and they have allies: the men of Harondor and Far Harad will rally to Herumor's banner. And Umbar is but one weapon in Sauron's arsenal. Even were the Empire of Umbar broken and humbled, he could discard it like a broken bow string and simply take up another. Nay, this was but a skirmish before the true battle begins."

  Duitirith paled and the hall fell quiet.

  "The Lords of the West decreed that a council of all our allies be held in Osgiliath in but three day's time. If Barathor is not there the council could be delayed and our long-planned stroke go amiss. The war could yet turn on this chance. Indeed, this could have been the whole purpose of the Corsair attack — not to take Pelargir, but to delay the council." He sat a moment, deep in thought.

  "Duitirith, Lady Heleth," he said. "We thank you much for your hospitality. Long has it been since we sat at board with friends and laughed. But we must go to Osgiliath with all possible speed."

  "Now?" asked Duitirith in amazement. "But you are just out of battle. You have barely eaten. Rest here tonight, and in the morning…"

  "We cannot wait until morning. You do not know all that hangs on this. If our plans are thwarted and we are undone, you will find a far greater peril than the Corsairs of Umbar at your gates, and there will then be none to come to your aid. Cardur! When can we have a ship ready?"

  Cirdan's senior surviving captain pulled hi
mself gingerly to his feet, a bandage about his wounded leg. "There is hardly a ship fit to sail, my Lord," he said. "but in a few hours, I suppose, if we…"

  "Good. Luindor! How long would it take a ship to reach Osgiliath?"

  "It is sixty-five leagues, Lord Cirdan, against the current. Three days, at best."

  "And if we ride?"

  "The road is but fifty leagues. A day and a half, perhaps."

  "Then we must ride. Just as well, we would have a better chance of intercepting Barathor. Prince Duitirith! Can you provide me with six swift horses?"

  "Of course. Glamrod, make it so. Have them brought to the ships of the Elves. And provide them with plenty of provisions, for let it never be said that a guest of the Lord of Pelargir went away hungry.

  "And Lord Cirdan," he went on, "when you meet my father he will wish to come here to help us. He must not. Urge him to return to Osgiliath with you, for the greater need is there. Assure him that we are well and with the help of your Sea-elves we are secure and repairing our defenses."

  "My lord," said Cirdan, "I shall do so. Clear it is to me that you are managing a difficult situation admirably. You will be a great lord one day."

  Duitirith fairly swelled with pride and pleasure at this compliment.

  "Cardur," said Cirdan. "I leave you in charge of the fleet. See first to the repair of the ships. When a dozen are ready, send them at once to the Ethir and see that no other unwanted visitors enter the River. Luindor, you have full use of all our resources. Use them to begin rebuilding your fleet. Amroth, Gilrondil, you're with me. Bring your esquires. The rest of you, give all necessary aid to the Men of Pelargir. If you are attacked, hold the line of the River at all costs. Now, let us away. Farewell to you all, people of Pelargir."

  And with that Cirdan strode from the hall. There was a moment of stunned silence, then everyone jumped to their feet and hurried to their duties. Amroth bade a hasty farewell to his new friends and hurried after Cirdan.

  * * *

  As they passed through the city they saw people busy on every side. Some were tending the many wounded, others were still dousing fires set by the Corsairs' catapults. A wagon rattled by with several still figures lying beneath shields. There was much emotion in the air, a mingled grief and joy. Many bold warriors wept openly even as they toiled, for nearly all had lost friends and comrades in the battle. And yet Amroth could see in many faces a light of happiness, for the battle was won and the city safe, at least for the moment. At the feast too, he had been struck by the almost carefree joy of many of the young Men and Women there, who only hours before had been prepared to die and leave the world forever. For his part, Amroth knew that the events of this day — the fear and horror of battle, the friends slain — would be in his heart for thousands of years. Amroth thought as he watched them how the emotions of Men seemed to flit through them more swiftly than do those of the Elves.

  He had time to note also the city around them. This was his first glimpse of a city of Men. He had often heard tales of fair Annúminas, Elendil's city by Lake Nenuial, but he had never visited it, imagining it but a crude imitation of Mithlond or Caras Galadon. But now he saw he had misjudged Men. Pelargir was a much newer city than even the most recent of the Elvish settlements, though doubtless its people would think a thousand sun-rounds a long time. And it was not built with the arts of the Firstborn. It was built of stone, without spell or power to bind it save that of plain mortar. How many brief lives of men had it taken to cut these stones and drag them here and erect this city; to carve its columns; paint its frescoes; tile its courts; pave its streets? And each artisan knew that he could not hope to live to see the work completed. Did they build it for themselves, or for their children, or for some other goal? And he realized that he would like to return to this land in happier times, if such were ever to come again. He wished to know more of this curious race, to live among them for a time and learn their ways.

  They reached the gate and waited but a few minutes for it to be dragged open, then hurried down to the ships. They gathered their belongings and called their esquires, Cirdan snapping out orders to his officers all the while. They had hardly finished when Duitirith's Man Glamrod appeared with six beautiful sleek horses.

  "These are noble animals," said Amroth, stroking the neck of one. "They are from Duitirith's own stable, my lord," said Glamrod. "They will bear you with the speed of the wind."

  Cirdan leaped to the saddle of the first horse. "They will be cared for and returned to your lord as soon as may be. Our thanks to you, and to your master."

  "Follow the road from the bridge, my lord," Glamrod called. "Take the larger road at each turning, and the second evening should find you before the walls of Osgiliath. A fair journey to you."

  Then the esquires ran up, still chewing their dinners, and began strapping the packs to the saddles. Gilrondil limped up, his wounded thigh wrapped in a linen bandage. He mounted without requiring aid. Amroth turned to the people of Pelargir who had come down to the strand to watch them.

  "We thank you all, good people of Pelargir. You have made us feel at home in a distant land."

  "May Eru bless you and your city," called Cirdan. "Now, we ride."

  They spurred their horses up the bank to the road, turned left, and galloped up a long rise. At the crest they paused to look back at the city. The high towers of Pelargir gleamed against the afternoon sky. A thin smoke still trailed up from the valley of the Sirith just beyond.

  "A fair city," said Amroth. "I would not like to see it a citadel of the Enemy."

  "Nor I," said Cirdan, "and if that is not to be its fate, we must ride as if borne by eagles."

  Then they turned and thundered down the slope to the long road winding away across the plains.

  Chapter Eight

  The Council of Osgiliath

  The Elves had rested but a few hours before they were roused by Cirdan. The eastern sky was lightening, but a bank of clouds hung above the jagged peaks of the Ephel Dúath, hinting at thundershowers later in the day. They had some bites of lembas, then mounted their still weary horses and set off once more. By the time the sun broke free of the clouds they were well out into the plains of southern Anórien. It was a fair and pleasant land of pastures and forests, with many hay fields. This was the country in which were raised the sturdy horses for which Anórien was famed. They passed through a number of small villages of a few dozen houses grouped around a mill. Startled villagers came out to watch them gallop through. They stared in wide-eyed amazement at the tall Elves with their bright armor and strange outlandish banners.

  The road was gradually descending into the wide vale of Anduin, dotted with small farms and villages. Many seemed nearly deserted, but they could see a few teams in the fields, already mowing the early wheat. It made Amroth realize how far south they had come, for in Lindon the wheat would not be ready for a month or more.

  The Ered Nimrais, at first only a line of white peaks in the north, gradually drew nearer. The eastern end of the range terminated abruptly in a huge peak of blue-grey stone that loomed above the surrounding land. The road's many winding turns carried them northeast toward the mountain, until by late morning they were riding around its lower foothills. High in a deep-cleft valley they could see a gleaming white city rising tier above tier to an elegant white spire. A farmer they met on the road told them that the city was called Minas Anor and the mountain Mindolluin, "Towering Bluehead". They came to a fork in the road, the left winding up toward Minas Anor. They turned right, descending more steeply toward the River.

  They had not seen the Anduin since the evening before, for it looped away into the flat lands to the east, while their road headed northeast, directly toward Osgiliath. They could trace the path of the River by a line of dark trees far off to the right amidst the green fields. Beyond the River, still hazy in the distance, rose the rounded green hills of the Emyn Arnen. They rode without stopping until the sun had passed its height, then paused beneath a copse of aroma
tic cedar trees to eat some of the food prepared for them by the Pelargrim.

  "We should see Osgiliath in the next few hours if the map is accurate," said Cirdan. "A pity the horses are so tired or we could make better time. I begrudge each hour."

  "Where can Barathor be?" asked Amroth. "Surely we should have seen him ere now."

  "It is still some distance to Osgiliath. And even after the messenger arrived, it would be some time before they could march. But we should meet him soon."

  "I only hope he did not go by the River, for we would be sure to miss him."

  "They will come by land. Even with the favoring current, the River is the longer and slower path. Barathor will travel as fast as he possibly can."

  Cirdan had them riding again in less than a quarter of an hour. Amroth was continually shifting his weight in the saddle. He was unused to riding and now even longed for the feel of a deck under his feet again.

  The clouds gradually covered the sky as the day went on, until by mid-afternoon the sun was streaming in long diagonal rays from a few ragged holes in a woolen blanket of cloud. A light breeze sprang up from the east, bearing the smell of rain. The cool air in their faces was soothing, and the horses were able to quicken their pace slightly.

  Amroth was trotting along, his eyes on the lowering sky, when an Elf near him shouted out.

  "Riders! Riders approach ahead, my lord."

  Amroth stood in his stirrups, and there over a slight rise he could see a long line of riders coming down into a low flat valley. Cirdan led his people to the crest of the rise and halted, watching the approach of the column. They were four abreast, riding hard, their horses gleaming with sweat. At their head a blue banner streamed in the wind of their passage. It could only be the Pelargrim.

  The lead riders saw the armed horsemen on the hilltop and reined in their mounts. One raised his arm and brought the column to a sharp halt in a choking cloud of dust. A score of riders quickly fanned out on either side of the road. There was a brief conversation among the leaders. Then a dozen of the foremost horsemen rode on up the hill and stopped twenty yards from the Elves. Their cloaks were dripping and their long hair hung lank, though whether from a squall of rain or from the sweat of hard riding, Amroth was not sure. Their faces were grim and set and their eyes held a cold hard glint. Their leader was a large man wearing black and gold armor. A long blue plume trailed from his helm.