Notice: With the Laurelin server shutting down, our website will soon reflect the Meriadoc name. You can still use the usual URL, or visit us at https://meriadocarchives.org/

The Fall of Shepstead III



Fortune turned as faded strength

Bright eyed Baldric with battered shield

Dulled with dust, dented with blows

In the fray first with fierce cry, 

Into their ranks he ran, rage his blood 

Sword like sickle, swinging wild. 

Like cursed corn he cut them down. 

Met the putrid plague-grey face,

The snarling enemy slaughter-minded

With jeering clangor that coward false,

A jagged knife needle thin, 

Plunged poisoned, penetrating flesh, 

Knife in his shoulder, sharper his anger

With final stroke he smote his foe 

And together tumbled to the tumultuous earth

Two corpses wrecked on writhing ground,

Hatred hardened as heroes saw 

In muck and mire muddied thus

That battered body of bear-like courage

Beneath their boots blackly defiled 

 

In the hall hopeful, hearts breathless 

The women waited in watchful night

Then silver Silgilflaed standing tall,

In her noble breast, blood stirred

A spear she seized surpassing sharp, 

And bright braids she bound around her head

Her daughter young, demeanour grave

To her mother held a helm of war. 

 

“To delay and declare with dreary words,

And kindle courage with keen songs, 

Needful is not, for no niggards here guard, 

Their battle blood, nor buy their lives,

And pay the price as preserved milksops.

Wakeful women, wills be strong

High be your hearts, the hall well guard.”

 

With steady step, out Sigilflaed strode, 

Heedless of the hated, horrid cries

The drum and din of deadly strife, 

Guthleoth grim, gashed with wounds, 

By Sigilflaed stood, strong by the gate, 

Beloved lord, with lady brave, 

Felling foes, fought together, 

Determined to destroy the dauntless couple

Unending attacks, exhausted strength

Pierced through perished, that puissant woman, 

To the pestilent pillagers, still pledging hate, 

And to the grey ground, Guthleoth fell.

 

By firelight flaming, fierce the women, 

Silently arms and armour taking,

Loud the laments, of Leothwise singing

Holding harp of hammered gold,

Of solemn strength, singing clear, 

Of long the spears, luminous shining

In tales of torchlight in troubled years.

Yet relentless their resolve to repel the foe, 

To defend the hall to dying breath.