William H. Babcock - Cian of the Chariots - Chapter XXX: The d**h of an Army lyrics

CHAPTER XXX. THE DEATH OF AN ARMY. WHEN Arthur and his men saw that revulsion of panic take their enemies at the blowing of the elfin horn, they too were aware – or later so deemed themselves – of something appalling and unearthly. But they made no stint of fighting, indeed, fought all the harder, for some had raised the cry, "The hosts of heaven are coming to our aid!" Even the Emperor echoed it, this interpretation being most in agreement with his hopes and his will. It seemed that the Saxons were to be reaped from the earth all at once where they hovered, weakened and shaken. But in a moment there came on them that strength of paroxysm which drives men against anything, with the sense of horrors behind. Against that even the victorious Britons could not stand. They slew many, took and wounded many; but at two points the Saxons broke through them. Ossa Cyllalaur, with a desperate few who clung to him, cut a pa**age northward, and, in the end, after many hardships and losses, gained his capital. The greater number went [Page 287] back, by the way they lately had taken, through the breach in the British wall. Behind their own rugged stone shelter they turned again, savage in despair. After one unsuccessful a**ault, their enemies withdrew, and waited. Now and then the environing soldiery jeered, and sent arrow-flights, but nothing more. As for the Saxons, they mostly kept silence, looking at each other with deep eyes; and many lay down, leaden in their weariness, until slumber took them. Yet keen hunger awoke with them at the dawn. Whatever in any way might be made to pa** for food was eagerly hunted for. Yet there was little to choose between those who ate nothing, and those who wearied their jaws on foul leather, or devoured scraps. The strain of fighting had brought this need swiftly and direly on them. Beside, not a few had lost blood, and needed replenishing. Sore and grim, they looked over the wall, exposing themselves indifferently, or doubled themselves behind it in the temper and aspect of wild beasts. Only here and there one preserved the nobler air of a brave man under the great shadow. Of these, a harper, after a time, picked up his instrument where he had thrown it in that last night-sally, and drew his hand, through habit, idly over the strings. Chance, or some soul-movement, wakened hopeful notes, and a faint light came into the dull [Page 288] eyes about him. So – hearers, minstrel, and harp all inciting one another – the sounds grew into a continued strain, which leaped out inspiringly. "Why have done with hope?" he sang. "Hope hath but fled with Ossa, hath wed Ossa Cyllalaur; and full surely and swiftly will they come again to us together. Why, O men of the North and of the sea, why, O men of the fight and of the storm-wind, have ye grown all at once so child-weak in patience, so unenduring? Was it not said of old that the one food needed by the Saxon is the sight of his enemy's destruction? Is it much to wait a day longer with such a banquet in store? For I tell you that their mighty walls shall be broken, and the weapons of them shall be whirled away like dead leaves through the forest. Then what can save from you their goodly cities, fairer than any dream. Wherefore patience a little while; yet patience." Listening, they believed with fevered exaltation; a deadly faith for them, since at that moment came one more message of pity and peace, a Briton bearing it. Him these frenzied men seized with mocking answers, and one, wild with famine and many hurts, cut him down. A great cry went up from the British circle, then ceased again as suddenly. There was no further sound, nor any motion. The Saxons looked around, and knew what they had done; and the world drew blank to them. [Page 289] Their minds went over the long distance between them and York, the city drained of her strength, dead or dying there. Over empty lands it went, from which no new forces might quickly spring, and back into that tangled wilderness where their chief, if yet alive, was doubtless then striving to force his way. Very desolately it was borne in on them that he would never come. By noon they were most hopeless, famine-stricken wretches. Through hour after hour following, they said to each other by word and eye, "This must have an end." Toward sundown one cried, "Better now, while we have yet strength to cut our mark on them." At once three or four thousand of the strongest climbed the wall on the northward side, making for their enemy in a leaderless, ravening ma**. That charge held, though many fell by the way with arrows in them, and there was hard fighting over the British barricade. But the besiegers were too plentiful, and gathered more and more at the threatened point from every quarter, pushing them farther from the wall in throbs and throes of combat, step by step, quite to their own enclosure. And now all were closely pent there except the dead, while their enemies were up against it on every side. Seeing their desperate plight, Arthur called aloud one more offer of mercy, to all except him who had [Page 290] slain the message-bearer. But they were beside themselves, and answered only with a jeer. "End it, then," he commanded; "end it, since they will have no less." But this was not easily done, even yet. They were still many and well-weaponed, and every way formidable in their famished hate. For a time, fast as men mounted the wall they were hurled back again, or dragged inward, or speared, or cut; or rolled, grappling, with some stabbing enemy. Yet the a**ault was nearly continuous everywhere, Saxons and Britons being well packed together, with only the slippery and crumbling ma** of stones between. Lancelot and Caradoc were the first over it who made good their footing within. Slowly a few more joined them; but they scarce gained ground at all, and had to fight for life as well as victory. Half an hour later a mighty swell of attack lifted Arthur, with Llywarch and Caowl and some hundreds more, a little farther inward from the opposite point of the circle. There was desperate effort to dislodge these; and when it failed, the Saxons threw up some sort of crude barrier before them with whatever came in their way, and fought over it. Before the sun left the tree-boughs, the doomed men were panting within less than one-fourth of their stone-encircled camp. The glinting yellow rays between the trunks lighted the last knot of haggard, angry faces and [Page 291] whirling arms, driven literally to the wall and to d**h. After that there were great shoutings of triumph; but the victors, with their dead and wounded, drew away to a less ghastly place. Then silence and the night fell together; the one suddenly, but not unbroken, the other by slow degrees. And men hushed their breath for ages afterward at thought of the slain Saxon army in that haunted forest of Celidon.