Red
slaughter raged all down the pass, helms, banners, arrow-points shone
and fell in the stream of the tide of war, but at length the stony way
was clear save for the dead alone. Beyond the pass the plain was black
with flying men, and the fragments of the broken nations were mixed
together as clay and sand are mixed of the potter. Where now were the
hosts of the Nine-bow barbarians? Where now were their glory and their
pride?
The Wanderer gathered his footmen and his chariots and set them in array
again but the horsemen he sent out to smite the flying nations and wait
his coming by the camp; for there were mustering those who were left of
the nations, perchance twenty thousand men, and before their ships were
ranged the dense ranks of the Achaeans, shield to shield, every man in
his place.
The Wanderer led his host slowly across the sandy plain, till at length
he halted it two bow-shots from the camp of the barbarians. The camp was
shaped like a bow, and the river Sihor formed its string, and round it
was a deep ditch and beyond the ditch a wall of clay. Moreover, within
the camp and nearer to the shore there was a second ditch and wall, and
behind it were the beaks of the ships and the host of Aquaiusha, even
of his own dear people the Achaeans. There were the old blazons, and
the spears that had fought below Troy town.
Pages:
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309