The Pelargrim looked at one another in horror.
"What was the situation when you left?" asked Barathor.
"A large number of people had gone down to the quays to greet the ships. Many died on the dock and along the quays, but the greater part were fleeing to the gate with Duitirith and some of his knights guarding their rear. They should have reached the gate. The Corsairs were still disembarking and unloading their siege engines."
"How many were they?" asked Gildor.
"I do not know. But many, many. They came in many large ships. It was still dark when I left, hard to see in the smoke and confusion, and many had not yet landed. But when I reached the rise of the road I looked back. I could see three score at least of biremes in the river and perhaps a dozen large galleasses."
"But that must be every ship in Umbar!" cried Barathor. "That could be twenty thousand men at least, perhaps thirty. It will be ten to one at best."
"You say it was still dark when you left," said Gildor. "How can you be so sure of the number of ships?"
Arador looked at the king with a cold eye. "They were easy to see by that time, Sire. The river was lighted up all the way to the far shore by our burning ships."
"All of the ships?" asked one of the Pelargrim captains. "Did not one get away?"
"No. It all happened so suddenly. The Corsairs hurled burning skins of oil amongst the ships. All were alight in moments. If any men reached their ships, they died in them."
"Think you that Duitirith can hold the walls?" asked Meneldil.
Arador looked up proudly into the Steward's eyes. "He will hold them or die in the attempt. His men are well-trained and they are fighting for the lives of their families. But they are so very few. And the Corsairs have siege engines. I would not think they could hold out for more than a few days."
Barathor shook his head, envisioning the Umbardrim host around the walls of Pelargir, his son fighting the hopeless battle, the city in flames, the terrified women and children hiding in their homes.
"But what of Cirdan?" he cried. "Was he not guarding the river?"
"Nay, my lord. We saw no sign of the Elves."
Barathor wheeled on Isildur. "You said the Elves would be there! You said the River would be guarded!" Isildur stared at him helplessly, unable to answer.
"Ah, my city!" wailed Barathor. "My son!" He swung about aimlessly, like a caged bear unable to reach his tormentors. "Why did I leave? Oh, Eru, why did I leave? What are we doing here while Pelargir burns?"
"We all came here to defend Gondor," said Ingold of Calembel, who had come in with the other captains while Arador was finishing his report.
"Yes! We came here to defend Gondor. We guard Osgiliath and we left Pelargir unguarded. But all the time the attack was to be against Pelargir, not Osgiliath. Oh, Isildur, what have you done to us? And now fair Pelargir is destroyed. I have betrayed my trust and delivered my charge into the hands of our enemies. May my ancestors forgive me, for I will have no descendants!"
Then Arador cried out. "Do not despair, my lord. Captain Duitirith sent me to you not to bring you news of defeat, but to seek your aid. I rode one mount to death and had to steal another, but I could not overtake you on the road. At every turn I prayed I would see you ahead and we would race back together like the wind. Always my last sight of the city was before my eyes. But each mile was another in the wrong direction. Now I have found you at last, will you not ride with me at once to Pelargir? The city may yet stand!"
Then Barathor looked to Isildur, standing with bowed head. "Arador is right, Sire," said Barathor. "We have made a terrible error by coming here. We may perchance yet save Pelargir. Or if not," he added grimly, "we shall at least avenge it."
But Meneldil stepped forward. "My King, you must not leave Osgiliath now. If Pelargir is indeed fallen, the Corsairs will not long tarry there. They will strike here next. They may even now be sweeping up the River to assail us. Pelargir may be but the prelude to a concerted assault from the south and the east. It is too late to save Pelargir, but not Osgiliath. You must stand by us here."
Barathor turned to the Steward, his fists clenched and his face dark with anger. "My city is burning and my people cry to us for help, Meneldil. Would you have us stand idly by while they die? Can you think of nothing but Osgiliath? Is Pelargir but a worthless pawn to be sacrificed?"
Meneldil stepped back a pace, but he did not stand down. "I am Lord of Osgiliath, Lord Barathor, and this city must always be my first concern. But I am also Steward of Gondor, and we must now think of standing together against our foes before we are all swept away. Pelargir is a staunch ally and her people are our brothers. My wife's family is there, and my brother's. My heart is heavy with grief. But this is not the hour for incaution and rash actions. Stay a moment and think what this could portend.
"If Pelargir is truly taken, then not only the Anduin is unguarded. The River Poros also is open to the Corsairs. If the border garrisons at the Crossings of the Poros be not taken already, they shall surely fall soon as well. We knew the Haradrim were strengthening their forces near the border. They could be pouring across the border into Harithilien already, marching to attack us. The Úlairi, those most fell servants of Sauron, hold Minas Ithil, but ten leagues from where we stand. We are threatended from the south and east. If the army now goes south to Pelargir, Osgiliath will surely share her fate. It is possible, as you say, that a great error has been made. History shall decide that, if there be any left to write it. But let us at least learn from our error, not repeat it and again draw our forces away from the point of attack."
"You are too quick to concede the loss of Pelargir, Meneldil," said Barathor. "If Pelargir has not yet fallen, then a swift blow from us now could yet save her and vanquish the Corsairs. Then the River could be guarded and Osgiliath would again be safe from attack from the south. We must ride at once."
"The attack was already two days past," said Elendur. "It will take two more to return. Could Pelargir stand for four days against so many, Lord Barathor? Undermanned and with her fleet destroyed? I know well your agony, but do you think it possible that Pelargir yet stands?"
"My people are brave and fierce in battle, Prince Elendur, and they are led by my son Duitirith. They will fight to the last man. They could yet be holding the walls. And if so, even now they will be looking over their shoulders to the River Road, watching for our return. Would you have us simply drink another glass of wine and let them be slaughtered without trying to come to their aid? No! I shall go to them at once, if I have to ride alone."
Barathor turned to Isildur, who had still not spoken. "What say you, my king?" he asked. "Will you not ride with us?"
Then Isildur looked up and met the eyes of Barathor and Arador and the other Pelargrim. His own eyes were filled with anguish and sorrow.
"My friends," he said. "This is an evil choice. How can I choose between two cities that I love? Osgiliath is my own capital, the heart of my kingdom. But Pelargir too is part of Gondor and I am responsible for her safety as well. The people of Pelargir welcomed me and succored me when I was cast up on their shore on the wings of storm. They ceded me this land on which we stand, and they helped to haul the stones of this tower. Now, at my own behest Pelargir has left herself in mortal danger. Can I now ignore her calls for help in her hour of greatest need? How can I refuse my aid to either city?"
"Sire," cried Meneldil, "this is your own city. It was conceived by you and my father. You laid out its very streets. If you leave us now you are casting away our only hope. For eleven years now we have fought and prepared, always waiting for the blow which must surely come. And all that time we knew we would not be able to withstand a concerted attack. With our kings and most of our fighting men away in Gorgoroth, what hope could we have against an all-out attack from Ithilien?