No ratings.
A brief glimpse into the life of a medieval soldier |
Awaiting The men sat in wait beyond the hill, The outline of the enemy fortress Just able to be seen. Their candles flickered in the distance Amongst the downpour of God’s tears For the sorrow that was to come. The night drew on, The dark clouds passed over the castle. Pale moonlight was finally allowed to fall. With the rain gone, the men were left Cold of body, and of heart. Final pieces of armour were strapped in place, Helmets lowered onto heads. And as the shields were taken up, Bearing the emblems of the families they fought for, The trials they had endured for their king, Silent prayers were sent out. A banner was raised high And the soldiers marched on beneath it, The imposing rhythm of their steps Reaching the castle long before them. Men behind fortress walls grew alert. Horns sounded on both sides, Implements of war were put into place. And when the banner crested o’er the hill, The first arrow was released. Battle The castle walls were crumbling. Agonizing cries of terror pierced the night But trebuchets continued to bombard The aged and failing stone. Arrows rained down from atop the battlements, Hands moving from quiver to bow As fast as fear would allow. Yet the men on the muddied ground continued To advance upon the stronghold. Gleaming swords held high, battle cries unfurled, The metal of their armor clanging together With every metered step. The castle keep would fall. But the men inside would not surrender to the masses That raged on towards them. The large, wooden door was lowered Fathers, sons, brothers charged out, Warriors all. They would fight and die for their home. The sharp ring of metal filled the air As enemy swords collided. Shield beat against shield. Bodies fell and were trodden upon. And as the battle raged on, The ground became soaked with blood. Victory Silence. Men marched, out of step Away from the rising sun that cast the sodden ground In shades of blood. Heavy, blistered feet Clad in boots of worn and faded leather, Carried them back to a desolate camp. There were no words. Dried streams of tears Cut through the grime of sweat and blood That covered every warrior’s face. Sore and dirty hands beneath marred gauntlets Still gripped the hilts of bloodied blades. Dented metal armor sat atop Hunched and weary shoulders. Dull, bloodshot eyes were unfocused Down on the trodden earth beneath. Wounds were left forgotten on bruised skins, Gaining only the seldom grimace and endured. Scars would forever remind them Of what had transpired, The pain running deeper than flesh. It had been a long, cold night But these victors moved towards an even darker day. |