A fierce battle was still raging between the city gate and the bridge ahead. Although their fleet was broken, the Men of Umbar were not yet defeated. Those who had been unable to reach their ships had made a determined stand. When the city's defenders had seen the fleets engage, they had sallied forth and fallen on their discomfited foes. The Men of Umbar, their means of escape destroyed and their ranks in great confusion and disorder, quickly found themselves on the defensive. Their slaves, ignored and leaderless, flung down their weapons and either fled the field or lay down in surrender. Their former masters had fallen back from the gate and regrouped, forming into tight-packed squares of archers with pikemen around the edges, forming a bristling wall. Now they were driving determinedly toward the bridge and the road to Lebennin. Even now they drew near the eastern towers of the bridge.
The Pelargrim defenders still held the bridge, but they seemed strangely few and greatly outnumbered. It was clear that they could hope only to hinder but not halt the retreat of the Umbardrim.
"Cirdan!" Amroth cried. "Land me on the west bank with a stout band and I will hold the bridge!"
He turned in surprise. "Are you not yet weary of battle, Sinda? Or is it perhaps that you long for the land under your feet?"
Amroth grinned and pointed to the swan's head above him. "Your swan has served us well this day, Lord, but I will not miss her overmuch. I prefer more solid footing when I fight."
"So be it then. Curulin! Starboard your helm! Put her on the strand there nigh to the west end of the bridge. Our Wood-Elf here would go ashore. And not too near the rocks there. Gilrondil, signal the fleet of our intentions. Let all those who would follow Amroth have their chance."
The war-torn little fleet drove its stems into the sand. Amroth lifted the staff and banner from the taffrail and leaped to the shore, followed by a score of archers. Then more and more mariners leaped down, until the ships stood nearly empty.
At last even Cirdan jumped down beside Amroth. He gave a quick smile. "It would seem that I must follow if I am to continue to lead. Let us then fight together on land as we have at sea. And he took from him the flagstaff. "Onward now!" he cried. "For Elbereth! Elbereth and Gil-galad!"
"Elbereth!" went up the cry from many throats, "Gil-galad our king!"
From every ship Elves poured down until a large company of several hundred lined the narrow beach. They climbed the bank to the road, formed up again, and marched to the bridge. There stood two strong towers with a lofty arch thrown between them. But their parapets were empty. Many of the Elvish archers climbed the towers and took their positions in the embrasures and in the windows. Those with pikes or spears knelt across the road under the arch, forming a triple wall. The rest stood behind them with arrows already notched to their strings.
A few minutes of waiting, then there came a triumphant shout and a body of armored men rushed over the crest of the arched bridge. Their panoply was black and crimson and their faces wild and fierce, streaked with sweat and smoke beneath their golden helms. One bore a staff with a standard of a sable ship on an red sea. The were looking over their shoulders as they ran, laughing and jeering at their pursuers. When they saw the Elves blocking the road they halted, cursing and looking from them to the men rapidly coming up behind them.
Cirdan stood forth and called to them in a loud voice. "Men of Umbar!" he shouted. "Yield, for you are bested. Do not make widows of your wives!"
But the one carrying the banner spat toward him and shouted, "The women of Umbar would rather be widows than the wives of cowards." Then he rushed forward with a hoarse bellow, followed by all his comrades. A hundred bowstrings sang as one, and not one of the Corsairs reached the lines unwounded. Their leader, pierced by many arrows, swung his standard like an axe, striking down several Elves, then he disappeared beneath a flurry of flashing swords. In a moment it was finished. Not one knight of Umbar remained alive.
Then came another company of men racing onto the bridge, but these bore plumes and shields of blue. They halted when they saw the Elves standing over the dead Corsairs. Cirdan and Amroth advanced to meet them at the center of the span. Their standard bearer dipped his banner and their captain lifted off his helm and knelt to Cirdan. He was fair of skin and dark of hair, with a stern and proud countenance. He had some of Isildur's and Elendil's look to him, but to Amroth's Elvish eyes he looked more like to those other Númenóreans who lay about them.
"Well come indeed, Firstborn," said the Man. "I am Duitirith, son of Barathor, the Lord of Pelargir. And I say unto you: Pelargir is yours, for you have purchased it this day with your immortal blood. Come into the city, and Pelargir will do what it can to welcome you with honor and gratitude."
But Cirdan bade him rise, saying, "Nay, stand, Prince Duitirith, for today you have shown that you can stand against all odds. I am Cirdan, and we came not to accept your city but to aid you in your hour of need."
"And verily," said Duitirith, rising, "that hour had for us come, Lord Cirdan, for we could not have stood an hour more. Come, all you brave Elves, and visit the city you have preserved. We shall feast in your honor."
And he led the Men and Elves together back to the city. As they approached, they could see that the walls were blackened and streaked with smoke. The huge oaken gates were cracked and splintered, and the immense brazen battering ram lay flung down beside the road amid piles of the fallen.
They reached the gates and stopped. A voice called down from the ramparts above.
"You are come to Pelargir upon Anduin. State your name and your land and the name of the lord you serve."
Cirdan stepped forward and called out, "I am called Cirdan Shipwright, Master of the Havens of Mithlond and Guardian of Lindon in lieu of my king, Ereinion the Gil-galad. These are my friends and allies, of many Elven lands."
"You are then a friend of this city," replied the voice. "Enter in peace, Cirdan of Mithlond." The gates creaked slowly open with a great rasping squeal, for the hinges were sprung and the timbers splintered. They trooped into the city as the citizens of Pelargir cheered from the rooftops and balconies.
Cirdan looked about in surprise as he walked slowly through the streets.
"I see many women and children, Prince Duitirith, but few men. Where are the rest of your warriors?"
"We had fewer than a thousand men in arms, all told, when the Corsairs fell upon us. I do not rightly know how many remain, my Lord."
"How can this be?" said Cirdan. "Pelargir is a great city ringed with fertile fields and many villages."
"Aye. Last week, my Lord, we had more than six thousand, but they have ridden with Barathor to Osgiliath to give aid to the king of Gondor."
"The king? Isildur came here? When?"
"He rode from Linhir and the lands to the west, but five days past. He bore evil tales and ill tidings and sought our help against Mordor. But my father was loath to yield so many fighting men when we lay under the peril of a Corsair raid. Then did Gildor of your people arrive, saying you were but a day behind, and Barathor departed with the army of Pelargir, leaving us to hold the city until you arrived."
"We would have been here two days ago, but we were delayed by a fierce tempest that swept down on us from the east and carried us many leagues from shore. Have you suffered heavy losses by our delay?"
"We needed every man upon the walls, and so dared not keep the fleet manned. We lost too many at the quays when they came on us in the night, but most of us reached the walls. We maintained some pickets at the Ethir, but they too must be destroyed."
"Alas, it is so," said Cirdan. "We saw the fires from afar yestermorn, but could not come to their aid in time to save them. We saw no survivors."