Of Knights, Wars and Beauty
Posted: Sun Aug 04, 2019 5:58 pm
“Son, the World is a wondrous place, of unimaginable beauty and joy.”
The voice of his father followed him up the mountain. A voice that he had not heard in years, but that now took center stage in his mind, despite the maddening chaos erupting all around him. Men were pressed tightly against each other to his right and to his left, as well as in front and behind him. Large shields raised above their heads deflected an endless barrage of arrows, spears and stones. Heels digging against the shifting rocks and slippery grass, they slowly advanced up the hill, in a chorus of pained grunts and heavy breathing.
A large boulder broke a gap between the shields and sunk deep into the skull of the man to his right, the lifeless body rolling limply down the mountain. Another soldier quickly took up the empty space, and they kept on pushing. The man in front of him fell to his knees, a javelin piercing his shield, forearm and forehead together. Orestes leaned on the dying man’s shoulder for support and hurried to take his place on the line.
“Wherever you go, you will find landscapes, structures and art that defy the imagination. Your heart will be full to the brim with the endless glory of creation.”
They were climbing over their own dead. He felt his boots press and dig into something meaty. His fingers found grips on empty eye sockets and broken rib cages. Piss and blood and guts trickled freely down the mountain like little streams at the dawn of a red spring.
Finally and suddenly the incline gave way to solid, flat ground. With barely any thought to his actions, moving on instinct and training alone, he freed the battle axe from his belt and ran forward to take his place on the shield wall. They pushed slowly forward, trying to make space for the men coming up behind them.
The enemy threw themselves angrily, savagely, against their shields and blades. They died freely and quickly, cut, gored and mauled, doing their best, their utmost best, to protect the cave entrance behind their own lines.
“It is Love, son, that fuels all of this Beauty. There is no greater force, no greater mover of mountains, than the purity of Love. Through it, nothing is beyond reach. Through Love, you will see just how Good the world is.”
They were inside the cavern. Torches flickered weakly on the walls. Only the dying and the wounded broke the dark silence. Bodies were piled knee high, twisted and bent, mangled beyond any hint of humanity. The faces were still there, though.
Bearded men with empty eyes, their death throes an eternal grip on their expressions.
Orestes also recognised some of his friends among the carnage. His best friends. Brave men, good men, that he had served with for many years. All gone now.
And then he saw the first of many, half buried and drowned in the gore, some still holding weapons and cloven shields: women and children, as dead and broken as the rest of them.
He sat down against the cave wall, let go of his axe and shield, and hid his face in his hands.
“Love and Beauty, son. Always remember. Love and Beauty.”
The voice of his father followed him up the mountain. A voice that he had not heard in years, but that now took center stage in his mind, despite the maddening chaos erupting all around him. Men were pressed tightly against each other to his right and to his left, as well as in front and behind him. Large shields raised above their heads deflected an endless barrage of arrows, spears and stones. Heels digging against the shifting rocks and slippery grass, they slowly advanced up the hill, in a chorus of pained grunts and heavy breathing.
A large boulder broke a gap between the shields and sunk deep into the skull of the man to his right, the lifeless body rolling limply down the mountain. Another soldier quickly took up the empty space, and they kept on pushing. The man in front of him fell to his knees, a javelin piercing his shield, forearm and forehead together. Orestes leaned on the dying man’s shoulder for support and hurried to take his place on the line.
“Wherever you go, you will find landscapes, structures and art that defy the imagination. Your heart will be full to the brim with the endless glory of creation.”
They were climbing over their own dead. He felt his boots press and dig into something meaty. His fingers found grips on empty eye sockets and broken rib cages. Piss and blood and guts trickled freely down the mountain like little streams at the dawn of a red spring.
Finally and suddenly the incline gave way to solid, flat ground. With barely any thought to his actions, moving on instinct and training alone, he freed the battle axe from his belt and ran forward to take his place on the shield wall. They pushed slowly forward, trying to make space for the men coming up behind them.
The enemy threw themselves angrily, savagely, against their shields and blades. They died freely and quickly, cut, gored and mauled, doing their best, their utmost best, to protect the cave entrance behind their own lines.
“It is Love, son, that fuels all of this Beauty. There is no greater force, no greater mover of mountains, than the purity of Love. Through it, nothing is beyond reach. Through Love, you will see just how Good the world is.”
They were inside the cavern. Torches flickered weakly on the walls. Only the dying and the wounded broke the dark silence. Bodies were piled knee high, twisted and bent, mangled beyond any hint of humanity. The faces were still there, though.
Bearded men with empty eyes, their death throes an eternal grip on their expressions.
Orestes also recognised some of his friends among the carnage. His best friends. Brave men, good men, that he had served with for many years. All gone now.
And then he saw the first of many, half buried and drowned in the gore, some still holding weapons and cloven shields: women and children, as dead and broken as the rest of them.
He sat down against the cave wall, let go of his axe and shield, and hid his face in his hands.
“Love and Beauty, son. Always remember. Love and Beauty.”