The Tale
It is night. The host of
Rohan ride along the road on either side, and now turn southward along the side
of Mindolluin. They can see the red glow of the assault on the distant Minas
Tirith. They are getting close to the distant outer wall (Rammas) and it is not
yet day.
King Theoden leads the way
and Merry (who is riding with Dernhelm), notices the Rider is slowly leaving
the company of Elfhelm to ride closer to the King until they are at the rear of
his guard. Suddenly scouts approach the King to report.
There are fires all around Minas
Tirith, with the foes swarming all about. But they seem concentrated on the
assault, with few on the approaches to City, and those heedless with wanton
destruction.
One of the scouts, Widfara,
reminds Theoden of Ghan-buri-Ghan’s words. He too feels a change in the wind
from the South, bearing a faint tang of the sea. The wind is turning. When they
reach the wall, it will be dawn above the reeking pall. The morning, he
concludes hopefully, will bring new things.
Theoden blesses him with the hope of long life, if he
speaks truly. He issues his commands with a loud clear voice.
‘Now is the hour come,
Riders of the Mark, sons of Eorl! Foes and fire are before you, and your homes
far behind. Yet, though you fight upon an alien field, the glory that you reap
there shall be your own forever. Oaths ye have taken: now fulfill them all, to
lord and land and league of friendship!’
The men clash their spears
on their shields in acknowledgement and Theoden give his order. He and Eomer
shall lead an eored (company), with Dernhelm and Grimbold with eored on either
side. All other companies shall follow as they can and strike where needed. No
other plan can be made now, for they don’t know how things are on the field. ‘Forth
now, and fear no darkness!’
They leave as quickly as
they can; it is still dark, no matter what changes Widfara feels. Merry holds
on behind Derhelm with one hand and tries to loosen his sword in its sheath. He
remembers bitterly Theoden’s question what he would do in such a battle. ‘Just this,’ he thought: ‘encumber a rider,
and hope at best to stay in my seat and not be pounded to death by galloping
hoofs!’
It's only a league to the
out-walls, and there are brief cries as the few looting orcs there are
surprised and swept away. At the ruin of the north-gate in the wall Theoden
halts and the riders draw around him. Ten miles away they can see the great
blaze around Minas Tirith surrounded by a great crescent of flame surrounding
it, the outer line not a league away. Merry, gazing out upon it from behind
Dernhelm, can see no hope of morning of feel any wind of change.
The host of Rohan moves
silently spreading into the field of Gondor, like a tide breaching a dike, but
the enemy doesn’t raise any alarms. It seems the Black Captain is too focused on
the falling city to notice them yet. The King leads the host a little east to
get past the fires and then they halt again.
Burning is in the air and ‘a
very shadow of death.’ The horses are uneasy. Theoden sits on his horse
Snowmane and gazes on the agony of Minas Tirith. He seems suddenly stricken by dread
and doubt and weighed down by age. Merry feels horror and doubt settling on
him.
‘They were too late! Too
late was worse than never! Perhaps Theoden would quail, bow his old head, turn,
slink away to hide in the hills.’
Then Merry feels it at last,
a definite wind blowing from the south, breaking the pall of shadow and allowing
a glimmer of light! But in the city there is a sudden flash like lightning, lighting
up the white tower ‘like a glittering needle’ then closing in into darkness. A
rolling boom comes over the field.
At the sound Theoden springs
erect again. He cries in a loud voice, clearer than any there have ever heard.
‘Arise, arise, Riders of
Theoden!
Fell deeds awake: fire and
slaughter!
spear shall be shaken,
shield shall be splintered,
a sword-day, a red day, ere
the sun rises!
Ride now, ride now! Ride to
Gondor!’
He grabs a horn from Guthlaf
his banner-bearer and sounds a blast that bursts the trumpet. All the horns of
Rohan are lifted up, ‘like a storm upon the plain and a thunder in the
mountains.’
Theoden springs forward and
his banner, a white horse on a green field, flies in the wind, but he outpaces
it. He outpaces all his men, even Eomer with ‘white horsetail on his helm' floating
with his speed. The first eored roars like a wave breaking on the shore but
Theoden cannot be overtaken.
‘Fey he seemed, or the
battle-fury of his fathers ran like new fire in his veins, and he was borne up
on Snowmane like a god of old, even as Orome the Great in the battle of the
Valar when the world was young. His golden shield was uncovered, and lo! It shone
like an image of the Sun, and the grass flamed into green about the white feet
of his steed. For morning came, morning and a wind from the sea; and darkness
was removed, and the hosts of Mordor wailed, and terror took them, and they
fled, and died, and the hoofs of wrath rode over them. And then all the host of
Rohan burst into song, and they sang as they slew, and the sound of their
singing that was fair and terrible came even to the City.’
Bits and Bobs
Widfara = ‘wide-farer, far
traveller.’
Guthlaf = ‘guth = battle +
laf = leave’ or one who survives a battle, not someone who runs away
Orome = ‘the sound of horns
blowing’. He was the Huntsman of the Valar (gods, more or less, not THE God).
The battle may have been the first one after the Elves had awakened and Morgoth,
the first Dark Lord, was taken to be imprisoned in Valinor.
Fey = Fey: fey • \FAY\ •
adjective. 1 : marked by a foreboding of death or calamity 2 a :
marked by an otherworldly air or attitude b : crazy, touched.” Fey is a
Scottish word denoting something doomed or fated, and therefore partaking of a
heedless nature, caring not for consequences.
The lightning and boom is
obviously the breaking of the Gate of Gondor.
This is one of the most Old
English parts of the book, from the battle-fury (berserk?) to the Anglo-Saxon
meter of the verses. But, as Tom Shippey has pointed out, the Anglo-Saxons had
no tradition of fighting en masse on horseback.
The lightning and boom is
obviously the breaking of the Gate of Gondor.
Even the Peter Jackson films cannot not help but show the glory of the charge of the Rohirrim, deglamorizing of the joy of battle as they try to be. Don't get me wrong, I love the films, but they go far in their efforts to debunk martial heroism. Tolkien also shows the cost of war and such heroics later, but he does not deny the exhilaration of fighting in a good cause against terrible odds.
You can't really summarize this part without very large direct quotations. It is a section that has a recording of Tolkien reading it aloud. Like a bard.
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