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Outside the Shelter, the Rains had been lashing and pounding the Field of Battle, as if seeking to wash away the very memory of the Fallen; I imagined their corpses swelling obscenely in that liquid grave, being lifted and rocked from side to side like so many bloated worms.
But now the Rains were stopping, and soon the Final Battle would begin. And we, the Leader and I, were the last of our gallant band, burdened with the terrible knowledge that, should we Fall, the desperate sacrifice of all those who had fought before us would have been in vain.
Ah, the pity and the glory of it all! Man, battered by the forces of Nature, still obeyed the primal instinct of self-destruction, still fought these meaningless battles. And yet, was it really meaningless? Were courage, and loyalty and honour, even in defeat – no, especially in defeat – meaningless?
The Enemy were huddled on the other side of the Shelter, close to their weapons. I did not hate them. Were they not warriors, too, like us, moved by the same codes of honour, sharing with us the same determination never to surrender? It was Fate, a mere trick of geography, that had put us on different sides, and though there could be no mercy, there need be no hate.
I glanced furtively at them, in particular at the one with his skull naked like a vulture’s and with a sinister scar slicing down his cheek, remembering the berserk fury of his last assault. “The Butcher”, they called him, and with good reason. He saw me looking, and lanced an icicle smile that plunged into my very soul, and deliberately, challengingly, opened his hand to show me the polished symmetry of his weapon, before curling his fingers round it like the Claws of the Beast dragging a screaming victim to Hell. No, there need not be hate: but neither could there ever be pity.
Watching the Enemy planning our destruction – some even grinning with cruel anticipation - I thought of my wife, and our two little ones, who did not yet know of the existence of Death, had not learned that outside the womb, every path led ultimately to annihilation. Would my son too one day have to face this ordeal? When all this was over, when night turned all to shadow, would my loved ones still be there for me, to exult in my triumph, or weep for my defeat? I gripped my weapon, aware that safety, and home, and love, were all oh so near, and that but for Honour, I could...
I thrust down the treacherous thought: no one had forced me to become a Warrior, to don this uniform, strap on this armour. I recalled how I had even felt fierce joy when the Leader had chosen me – me! – to follow him. The recollection brought me strength. ********** The moment has come. Nature has cleaned and cleared a space for us so that we can play out our pitiful little drama beneath her cold sardonic gaze.
We march proudly and willingly, the Leader and I, to that Field of Destiny, step out without fear into the midst of the enemy, we two alone, knowing that, if we should Fall, there will be other times, other Battles, when we will surely be avenged.
I squint up at the sun, freshly washed and glinting like the blade of a newly-forged sword, and feel its power pouring into me. Then I turn to the Enemy, now completely surrounding us, closing in for the kill, note the lust for destruction in their eyes, the blood-thirst in their slavering jaws, even sense the foetid breath of one of them just behind me, crouching, ready to spring, with the deadly unwavering patience of a jungle cat.
The Leader and I gaze at each other along the Valley of Ordeal. Our eyes lock. We each sense the trust of the other. If one falls, both fall.
We are ready.
Like Childe Roland setting the slug-horn to his lips in the dead land before the Dark Tower, I gaze round slowly at the Enemy. I think of the awesome power of Yggdrasil the World-Tree, of the Wood of the True Cross, of the Ents and the Old Forest, and feel the primordial Power of the Earth itself surging through my wrists as I look up fearlessly to receive the first ball of the over from bald Fred the butcher from the neighbouring village. ********************************************************
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