2. Night without stars

Anborn

We came to Cair Andros in the early evening, after a swift secret journey from Henneth Annûn. We had crossed the River into Ithilien from the same spot, and would not normally have returned that way; but a feeling of urgency was upon us all, and Cair Andros is the nearest crossing-point. 

The darkness was thick under the trees as we neared the River, but it was not until we emerged into the open that we realised how black the whole world had become; the air was heavy and suffocating, as if there was a great storm brewing, and it smelt of fear. As we began the last short march to the hidden haven where the boats waited, the sun cast one last red ray that sent our shadows before us, thin and quailing and fantastically long, and when the Captain turned to me, his face was like a mask of blood. And yet he smiled.

‘The darker the night, the brighter the dawn,’ he said. But the next day there came no dawn.

We were roused early the next morning – or what ought to have been morning: our company along with the garrison. Pitifully small, the garrison seemed, and palpably afraid, but they strove not to show it. As soon as we had swallowed our meagre breakfast, the Captain sent for me in Turgon’s little office.  

‘Is the company ready to march?’ he said.

‘At fifteen minutes’ notice, sir,’ I answered.

‘I’ll give you ten.’

‘Where are we going, sir?’

He looked at me, and his eyes were cold as stones in the torchlight. ‘To Osgiliath,’ he said.

If I’d ever wondered how a man feels when he hears his own death sentence, I knew the answer now. Not afraid exactly, but cold and numb. We all knew the Enemy was almost upon us, for the Darkness could mean nothing else. And we all knew that when he came to cross the River, it would be at Osgiliath, where the garrison was not much stronger than the one here at Cair Andros. Three hundred of us would make little difference; but for the honour of Gondor?

I forced a smile. ‘They’ll be glad to see us, Sir,’ I said, ‘You in particular.’

He looked at me again. ‘I am not coming.’

Now I felt more like a child whose father has abandoned it in a place of unknown danger.

‘Sir?’ I tried to keep the panic out of my voice, and the reproach.

‘I was commanded to return to the City as soon as our errand in Ithilien was done.’

His voice was harsh, his face expressionless. A lesser man might have attempted some apology, some justification; might have pointed out that we were desperately short of horses, whereas to march the whole company back to the City on foot would take far too long and expose us to even more danger than we might face by the ruins of the Great Bridge; but not the Captain. Looking for a moment into his eyes, I read the anguish in them and realised how much easier it would have been for him to turn his back on the City – where there was no other commander the people would trust now that Boromir was gone – and come with us. For a commander there are worse things, even, than facing certain death.

‘Good bye, then, Sir.’

‘Good bye, Anborn. May the stars shine on your path.’

‘I doubt they’ll do that, Sir,’ I said.

There was a shadowy smile on his face now. ‘The stars will still shine, Anborn, even if we cannot see them.’

 And so came the parting of our ways.