CHAPTER V
After they had rejoiced over their victory, the Eathens then geared for a journey back to the city of Eathercrest. Those who were wounded were given treatment and were placed on several wagons drawn by horses. Except that of Lord Fernburry, the remains of those who died were buried in a wide shallow grave and incense was burned for their ghosts. The remains of the Chief-captain was shrouded with a piece of clean white linen and then laid on a four-wheeled carriage.
The King, grateful of the victory that they had just won, quietly burnt fragrant oil in his tent to honor the Good Spirit.
When it was all set for them to march, Lord Limbstrong went to the King and asked for his release from the army. The King was in a wagon enclosed with roof and curtains. Before the King, he knelt and said, "O King, I've committed so grave a misdeed against my men which had put me into disrepute. Grant me now my leave … that I may regain my honor in a place afar."
Surprised, the King inquired about the misdeed that Lord Limbstrong had declared and was told of the riddle and of the daughter of Oarwell. At the mention of the daughter of Oarwell, he was reminded of the curse that was cast upon him and began to realize the fullness of his deliverance from the curse and its sting of death. "I do grant you your leave for a man's life is disgraced without his honor. But this last thing I command you to do … go to the remains of the daughter of Oarwell and burn incense by her grave for my sake ... that I may show kindness to her ghost. Isn't the woman from your division? Take her with you, therefore, that she may cry tears for the body and give the ghost rest."
Thusly, Lord Limbstrong did what was commanded for him to do. He offered his sword back to the King, and did set for a separate journey to Barrenhill with the woman.
Before parting from his division, he stood before his men to address them for the last time. Looking at his men, he was downcast for barely a quarter of them survived the battle and all those who survived sustained varied wounds. Moreover, they appeared to be weakened a great deal, and their dirtied faces hinted a feeling of repulse to the rawness of the fight, quenched somewhat by the remembrance of their victory. When Lord Limbstrong spoke, the wounded men leveled him their stares and lent him their ears.
"Men of the tenth division ... gallant warriors of Eatherland, you have just fought your first battle and you ... you who survived are found adequate. As you have witnessed with your very eyes, every man loses one thing or two in war. Some lose their lives, others ... the pureness
of their souls. As for me, in this war, I have lost my dignity. Hence, I must go and find a place fit for a man without honor. So now ... I wish you well in the fights that may come your way."
After Lord Limbstong had spoken, his leadsmen came to converse with him.
"Must you go?" Stoneheel asked, sounding a tone of disapproval. Wearing an impelled brightness on his face, Stoneheel appeared to be unscathed by the fight. His agility worked well for him in battles.
"I must," Lord Limbstrong affirmed. There are yet a few invaluable things that the war failed to steal away from him, he realized, and one of which was his friendship with his leadsmen. "I must go to a place afar that I may regain my honor."
Rawhand, a man of few words, merely stared with his hands crossed upon his breast. Bruises were on both his thighs.
"Consider the island of Mileas," Spader, the Seabuck, offered. A shallow cut was on his right shoulder, wrapped about by a length of white linen. "Strangers find good fortune in the island."
"I shall consider," Lord Limbstrong replied with half heart. The thought of leaving the only manner of living that he had learned still pricks a pain in his heart. Furthermore, he had another thing in his soul to do.
Soon afterward, the trumpets were sounded. It was a call for the Eathens to march back to the city of Eathercrest. Thusly, the able men rose and gathered according to their own divisions, forming ten columns.
The King, in his wagon, took a last look at the valley where men's lives were willfully laid. Noticeable to the King, the sun, unlike in the two days that just had passed, persistently appeared, stealing the day from the rain, seemingly wanting to distinctly depict the gory testament to mortals' untrammeled beastly being: blood spilt, limbs torn asunder, and bodies fallen.
"A costly victory," he sighed noiselessly as he took a glance at the four-wheeled carriage that was queued behind his wagon, fixing his eyes on the shrouded body that was laid on it. Thereafter, he sat back and restfully let the horses tow his wagon and his thoughts away from the grisly valley of carnage.
After half a day of travel on their horses, with one quietly following the other, Lord Limbstrong and the woman arrived at the foot of Barrenhill where the grave was. Thereupon he went off his horse to light a fire and burn incense. He took from his satchel a small bowl filled with black-colored wax and laid it bare on the grave to let the fiery glares of the sun ignite a fire on it. When fire was lit, he poured upon the bowl a fistful of ground incense from a small bag that was in the satchel with the small bowl. Then, with a repressed feeling of grief, he stood before the grave and did let the fragrance of the incense flow generously through the air, drowning the faint trace of stench that had flown from the grave.
The woman, on the other hand, sadly sat by the mound of stones; tears were falling from her eyes as she touched with her hand the white stones that were placed on top of the grave. Visibly, maggots, in multitude, crawled between and up the stones, only to fall back down again upon reaching the steep edges of the stones.
As he darted his sight aimlessly around, Lord Limbstrong saw a dagger not far from the grave. It was wrapped with a cloth in a rolled fashion. Lord Limbstrongs went near and picked the dagger up, believing that it was from the daughter of Oarwell, and then slid it into his girdled waist after shaking off the dusts that the winds had blown upon it in the days and nights that had passed.
When the fragrance of the incense faded, Lord Limbstrong then geared to leave. Unto the woman, he spoke and said, "Isn't that the town of Mosskin beyond the tract of trees? Go back to your mistress, therefore, and desert her no more ... for there is none worthy of your service but she."
After he had spoken, he rode on his horse and went on his way to uncertain destiny.
"Where could a man go without his honor?" he sighed as his nut-brown horse paced slowly onward. "O daughter of Oarwell, behold the man whose honor you stole ... and ruthlessly broke it with you when you did fall. Resembling a lost wind, swiftly you came and gone, leaving my life, like hair, undone. Now, where should I go to hide from the memory of my humiliation? Should it not be behind the walls of your affection?"
He traveled on, led by the road more than by his thoughts for his soul wandered on its own. It flew back to the remembrance of the battles which he had fought, where he could have died an honorable death. Likewise, to the remembrance of the night his courage betrayed him, when he should have declared the truth to his men and faced his death with all his dignity. And, finally, to the remembrance of his father's words saying: "Caress to the heart is the tidings of man's valorous death, but shame to the face is the rumor of man's craven existence."
Beneath the towering trees, where the sunlight was blocked by the thick clusters of leaves that clung on the twining branches, he stopped; and onto the ground, he fell on his knees. His horse stared at him, dumbly, giving him more concern than the patches of green grass which stood around them. Looking up, he groaned, saying: "O Good Spirit who breathes life for Eatherland ... my distress is so grave that it had blinded my soul. Now I see nothing but dreariness on the days that lie before me. Cast now your shadow upon me and forbid me not ... for I must end my life and my misery."
He then took the dagger from his waist, the one that he found by the grave, and unrolled the cloth that was wrapped around it. When he had uncovered the dagger, he saw something that was with the dagger fell to the ground. He picked it up and by what he saw, he was puzzled.
Due to her weariness and sorrow, the woman fell into slumber. She was sitting by the grave; her head and arms were rested on the mound of stones that formed the grave. The shadow that was cast by the huge rock that stood near the grave shielded her from the flare of the afternoon sun. Her dress and head covering gave her comfort from the gusts of the intensely warm wind.
It was after some time that she was awoken by the footfalls of a horse. Half awoke and half asleep, she raised her head and looked onto where the footfalls were coming from. There, she saw a nut-brown horse and upon it was Lord Limbstrong. She was mesmerized. Her eyes were fastened upon him as he went off his horse and walked towards her.
"I came back to give you this," Lord Limbstrong spoke as he held out his hand and showed what was on his palm. "It was wrapped with the dagger. Wasn't this given to you?"
On his palm, she saw the upper front tooth that had fallen from the mouth of the steward. She thereupon held her right hand forward to receive the tooth. But, with surprising swiftness, Lord Limbstrong held her hand and clutched her body against his, tightly. With his free hand, he uncovered her head. She was Shim.
Warm wind blew and gently caressed the two as they were drawn together and were staring at each other's eyes, dumbfounded. Shortly, the wind grew stronger and came around them, twirling, seemingly troubled that the two remained still and speechless just like the huge rocks that stood round about them. Between the boulders of rocks, the wind slid through to stir a sound and break the silence that seized the passing moments. But the weather-beaten rocks seemed likewise to be under the spell that cast over the man and the woman, for the humming sound that they gave forth was with a soothing melody, resembling that of the olden minstrel.
When the wind departed, the melodious sound as well faded ... but the heart-tingling spell remained.
THE END
