The House of the Wolfings: A Tale of the House of the Wolfings and All the Kindreds of the Mark Written in Prose and in VerseMorris, William
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The House of the Wolfings: A Tale of the House of the Wolfings and All the Kindreds of the Mark Written in Prose and in Verse
Morris, William
Fantasy fiction
So at last Thiodolf led forward with Throng-plough held aloft in his
right hand; but his left hand he held out by his side, as though he were
leading someone along. And as he went, he muttered: "When will these
accursed sons of the nether earth leave the way clear to us, that we may
be alone and take pleasure each in each amidst of the flowers and the
sun?"
Now as the two hosts drew near to one another, again came the sound of
trumpets afar off, and men knew that this would be succour coming to the
Romans from their main-battle, and the Romans thereon shouted for joy,
and the host of the kindreds might no longer forbear, but rushed on
fiercely against them; and for Thiodolf it was now come to this, that so
entangled was he in his dream that he rather went with his men than led
them. Yet had he Throng-plough in his right hand, and he muttered in his
beard as he went, "Smite before! smite behind! and smite on the right
hand! but never on the left!"
Thus then they met, and as before, neither might the Goths sweep the
Romans away, nor the Romans break the Goths into flight; yet were many of
the kindred anxious and troubled, since they knew that aid was coming to
the Romans, and they heard the trumpets sounding nearer and more joyous;
and at last, as the men of the kindreds were growing a-wearied with
fighting, they heard those horns as it were in their very ears, and the
thunder of the tramp of footmen, and they knew that a fresh host of men
was upon them; then those they had been fighting with opened before them,
falling aside to the right and the left, and the fresh men passing
between them, fell on the Goths like the waters of a river when a sluice-
gate is opened. They came on in very good order, never breaking their
ranks, but swift withal, smiting and pushing before them, and so brake
through the array of the Goth-folk, and drave them this way and that way
down the slopes.
Yet still fought the warriors of the kindred most valiantly, making stand
and facing the foe again and again in knots of a score or two score, or
maybe ten score; and though many a man was slain, yet scarce any one
before he had slain or hurt a Roman; and some there were, and they the
oldest, who fought as if they and the few about them were all the host
that was left to the folk, and heeded not that others were driven back,
or that the Romans gathered about them, cutting them off from all succour
and aid, but went on smiting till they were felled with many strokes.
Howbeit the array of the Goths was broken and many were slain, and
perforce they must give back, and it seemed as if they would be driven
into the river and all be lost.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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