6. Go tell the Spartans

Gandalf

Inscription written at Thermopylae:

 Go tell the Spartans, ye who pass us by,

That here, obedient to their laws, we lie.

Once I spoke with a man who had lost his sight – not suddenly, through some wound or mishap, but agonisingly, little by little. First a slight blurring of vision, then the world growing more indistinct about him, colours fading to greyness, then the greyness to shadows, dark on dark, before everything sank into blackness, unending, unvarying, hopeless night.

So it had been in Gondor. Two days since, ‘sunrise’ and ‘morning’ had still been words with meaning. Now there was only night, although we had not quite reached the last terror of unrelieved darkness. As I rode across the cowering grass of the Pelennor, I could dimly discern the shape of house and barn and shed, deserted by their owners as by all living things; but even so, the lights I saw as I approached the Causeway, faint as they were, came as a shock. A long string of lights, high in the darkness, marking the line of forts. I wondered why, with the Enemy so close, they were showing lights at all.

I could hear no sound of battle; the silence was disquieting. For a moment I feared that all Faramir’s forces were already overwhelmed and the forts held by the enemy, but as I approached the Causeway gates a sentry, unmistakably a man of Gondor, came forward with a low-voiced challenge, uncovering a lantern that momentarily dazzled me. He was grim and suspicious, but had not the look of a defeated man; nor had the two guards at the door of the fort, one of whom summoned a lad to take charge of Shadowfax while the other guided me to the upper room.

The dim light within showed up a score of dark figures, some crouching or sitting, some standing, alert but with undrawn bows, near the arrow-slits on the River side. Even as I entered, one with a swift motion set arrow on string, took aim and fired; a shriek from below showed that he had found a mark, and he grunted with satisfaction.

At the sentry’s call one of the dark figures detached itself from the wall and came towards me. The height told me it was Faramir, and the steady walk indicated he was unhurt; but as he passed under the lantern I  saw he had the look of a man who has  exhausted his natural reserves of strength, and is kept on his feet by will-power alone. My heart twisted with pity, but his bitter gaze rejected what my eyes expressed. There was no self left in him, only that indomitable will.

‘Mithrandir? You bear a message from my father?’

The idea stung me; I felt no fondness for Denethor at that moment, nor any desire to be his errand-boy.  ‘No message,’ I replied, ‘for I did not come at your father’s command.’   

‘Then what?’

‘To offer what help I could.’

Even as I spoke there came a throb of wings, and a rattling as of iron claws on the roof just above our heads, and one of those unendurable cries. All the men flinched, and from one dark corner I heard a whimper as from a hurt child; and I saw there was a hunched form there, rocking from side to side.

Faramir barely looked up. ‘Tom-cats on the roof again, lads,’ he remarked, loudly but casually, and a flicker of scared laughter answered him. One of the bowmen leaned forward and spat on the floor.

‘ Black bogeymen,’ he grunted. ‘Left off being afraid of them when I were four year old.’ And Faramir, who normally would have called him sharply to task for unsoldierly behaviour, laughed and clapped him on the back. The hunched form whimpered again.

‘Take him down to the surgeon,’ ordered Faramir. ‘Get him a sleeping draught – a mild one, we may need him later.’ There was another breath of laughter.

Faramir took me aside. ‘You see how I am placed?’

‘I know what your last messenger reported. Apart from that, it’s hard to see anything in this murk.’

‘True enough. I can explain in a few words. The Enemy has drawn back, for a time, but not for any fear of us. With the Crossings secure, he’s bringing across his heavy war machines, and there’s not a thing I can do about it.’  His eyes hardened. ‘At least it has given me a respite. The forces he does have in the field are mere spies and skirmishers, and mercifully they’re as hampered by the dark as we are: hence the lights in the other forts. You must have wondered at them.’ He smiled bleakly at my expression. ‘I have a few dozen brave men running from fort to fort, along the inner wall, firing the odd shot from each; it gives the impression that all are manned. An old trick, but effective. Meanwhile, there are other men out there seeking out our wounded – any that may be saved – and bringing them in; and to those beyond saving they deal a quicker death than they could hope for from the Enemy.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘But our time is running out. When the Black Captain is ready, the enemy will come, and with Him behind them, and with their numbers, we won’t hold them.’

‘So?’

He looked at me doubtfully. ‘Mithrandir, I know you have greater powers than any you have yet showed me. Can you hold off the Black Captain?’

It was a question that had troubled me for far longer than he had any idea of, and I did not well know how to answer him.

‘I am not sure,’ I said truthfully; then, seeing his face tighten with the irritation of a commander given an imprecise answer, added, ‘I think not.’

He nodded, scarcely seeming disappointed. ‘But the lesser shadows? We have some four or five over us.’

‘Those I can outface, at least for a while.’

‘Then you can best help by escorting our wounded back to the City. I have wains to carry them, but they’ll travel slowly, and I can spare no other horsemen, because I’ll need them to cover our own retreat. I was about to send off the wains in any case, but you can give the men a far greater chance of life. Will you do that for me?’

‘And leave you here?’

He shrugged. ‘That’s of no importance. While there’s a man of Gondor left to fight in the field, I shall be fighting with him; and in any case I must remain to cover our retreat, for without me the men will panic. As for you, Mithrandir, I can give you no orders; I can only ask.’

As I peered up at him he swayed towards me, and I gripped him and supported his full weight. For a moment he rested his head on my shoulder; and I could feel the burning heat of his brow although his body trembled as with extreme cold. For a moment only; then that invincible will took control again and drove him upright. In the gloom, the men had noticed nothing.

‘Hey! Caranthir!’

‘My lord?’ A lad sprang at once to his side.

‘Bring me a bucket of water. Cold water.’

‘My lord?’

‘You heard me.’ The water was brought, and under Caranthir’s puzzled gaze Faramir knelt and ducked his head in it. ‘Like rain on a wilted lettuce,’ he remarked as he emerged, and his smile held genuine amusement.

* * *

The loading of the wains with suffering men was a slow and agonising task, and I expected every moment to hear the sounds of the enemy’s advance; but nothing came. When all was ready Faramir came to the gate to bid us farewell, and my heart ached anew at the sight of him.

I made a last appeal. ‘Will you not come with us? You have done all that a brave commander could do; you have no strength for more. You need rest.’

He laughed shortly. ‘Rest? I shall have time enough for that … after.’

‘Have you any message for your father?’

His fever-bright eyes looked into mine with sudden passionate anger. ‘Tell him … tell him I am sorry I cannot hold the fords or keep the Black Captain from the City. Tell him I am sorry for the men I have lost, and will lose. Tell him that if my brother had been here my men might have fought with more success, but not with more courage or resolve. Tell him I have obeyed his command as best I might. ..’ He curbed himself with a visible effort, and was stern and cold again, looking suddenly very like his father.

‘No, say none of that. Assure him of my duty and service, and for the rest … say to him what you will.’

‘I will do that.’ Suddenly, as I looked on him, I was reminded of an ancient battle and an ancient defeat that had in it all the glory and tragedy of that race of mortal men that has bound itself, through all the long and bitter years, to the struggle against evil … of Húrin and his last stand against the hordes of Morgoth. It was still the same struggle, and still the same splendid and hopeless courage.

‘Aurë entuluva,’ I said.

He caught the allusion at once, and his face was transfigured. ‘Aurë entuluva,’ he echoed. ‘Day shall come again, though we shall not live to see it.’

So I embraced him, and he turned and went back into the dark.