Cirdan turned to him in surprise. "Lord Barathor is returning to Pelargir? You sent word to him?"
"Oh, aye, many hours ago. When the pirates first struck, I sent my esquire riding as fast as he could after him."
"But this is not good," said Cirdan. "If what you have told me of Isildur's fortunes is true, the loss of Barathor's men will leave Osgiliath but weakly defended."
"But the battle is over," said Duitirith, suddenly sober. "The Corsairs are destroyed and the Gate of the South is secure. We have won."
"Do you think that because we have destroyed its fleet we have defeated Umbar? Umbar is mighty yet. It has other ships. It has great forces on land, and they have allies: the men of Harondor and Far Harad will rally to Herumor's banner. And Umbar is but one weapon in Sauron's arsenal. Even were the Empire of Umbar broken and humbled, he could discard it like a broken bow string and simply take up another. Nay, this was but a skirmish before the true battle begins."
Duitirith paled and the hall fell quiet.
"The Lords of the West decreed that a council of all our allies be held in Osgiliath in but three day's time. If Barathor is not there the council could be delayed and our long-planned stroke go amiss. The war could yet turn on this chance. Indeed, this could have been the whole purpose of the Corsair attack — not to take Pelargir, but to delay the council." He sat a moment, deep in thought.
"Duitirith, Lady Heleth," he said. "We thank you much for your hospitality. Long has it been since we sat at board with friends and laughed. But we must go to Osgiliath with all possible speed."
"Now?" asked Duitirith in amazement. "But you are just out of battle. You have barely eaten. Rest here tonight, and in the morning…"
"We cannot wait until morning. You do not know all that hangs on this. If our plans are thwarted and we are undone, you will find a far greater peril than the Corsairs of Umbar at your gates, and there will then be none to come to your aid. Cardur! When can we have a ship ready?"
Cirdan's senior surviving captain pulled himself gingerly to his feet, a bandage about his wounded leg. "There is hardly a ship fit to sail, my Lord," he said. "but in a few hours, I suppose, if we…"
"Good. Luindor! How long would it take a ship to reach Osgiliath?"
"It is sixty-five leagues, Lord Cirdan, against the current. Three days, at best."
"And if we ride?"
"The road is but fifty leagues. A day and a half, perhaps."
"Then we must ride. Just as well, we would have a better chance of intercepting Barathor. Prince Duitirith! Can you provide me with six swift horses?"
"Of course. Glamrod, make it so. Have them brought to the ships of the Elves. And provide them with plenty of provisions, for let it never be said that a guest of the Lord of Pelargir went away hungry.
"And Lord Cirdan," he went on, "when you meet my father he will wish to come here to help us. He must not. Urge him to return to Osgiliath with you, for the greater need is there. Assure him that we are well and with the help of your Sea-elves we are secure and repairing our defenses."
"My lord," said Cirdan, "I shall do so. Clear it is to me that you are managing a difficult situation admirably. You will be a great lord one day."
Duitirith fairly swelled with pride and pleasure at this compliment.
"Cardur," said Cirdan. "I leave you in charge of the fleet. See first to the repair of the ships. When a dozen are ready, send them at once to the Ethir and see that no other unwanted visitors enter the River. Luindor, you have full use of all our resources. Use them to begin rebuilding your fleet. Amroth, Gilrondil, you're with me. Bring your esquires. The rest of you, give all necessary aid to the Men of Pelargir. If you are attacked, hold the line of the River at all costs. Now, let us away. Farewell to you all, people of Pelargir."
And with that Cirdan strode from the hall. There was a moment of stunned silence, then everyone jumped to their feet and hurried to their duties. Amroth bade a hasty farewell to his new friends and hurried after Cirdan.
As they passed through the city they saw people busy on every side. Some were tending the many wounded, others were still dousing fires set by the Corsairs' catapults. A wagon rattled by with several still figures lying beneath shields. There was much emotion in the air, a mingled grief and joy. Many bold warriors wept openly even as they toiled, for nearly all had lost friends and comrades in the battle. And yet Amroth could see in many faces a light of happiness, for the battle was won and the city safe, at least for the moment. At the feast too, he had been struck by the almost carefree joy of many of the young Men and Women there, who only hours before had been prepared to die and leave the world forever. For his part, Amroth knew that the events of this day — the fear and horror of battle, the friends slain — would be in his heart for thousands of years. Amroth thought as he watched them how the emotions of Men seemed to flit through them more swiftly than do those of the Elves.
He had time to note also the city around them. This was his first glimpse of a city of Men. He had often heard tales of fair Annúminas, Elendil's city by Lake Nenuial, but he had never visited it, imagining it but a crude imitation of Mithlond or Caras Galadon. But now he saw he had misjudged Men. Pelargir was a much newer city than even the most recent of the Elvish settlements, though doubtless its people would think a thousand sun-rounds a long time. And it was not built with the arts of the Firstborn. It was built of stone, without spell or power to bind it save that of plain mortar. How many brief lives of men had it taken to cut these stones and drag them here and erect this city; to carve its columns; paint its frescoes; tile its courts; pave its streets? And each artisan knew that he could not hope to live to see the work completed. Did they build it for themselves, or for their children, or for some other goal? And he realized that he would like to return to this land in happier times, if such were ever to come again. He wished to know more of this curious race, to live among them for a time and learn their ways.
They reached the gate and waited but a few minutes for it to be dragged open, then hurried down to the ships. They gathered their belongings and called their esquires, Cirdan snapping out orders to his officers all the while. They had hardly finished when Duitirith's Man Glamrod appeared with six beautiful sleek horses.
"These are noble animals," said Amroth, stroking the neck of one. "They are from Duitirith's own stable, my lord," said Glamrod. "They will bear you with the speed of the wind."
Cirdan leaped to the saddle of the first horse. "They will be cared for and returned to your lord as soon as may be. Our thanks to you, and to your master."
"Follow the road from the bridge, my lord," Glamrod called. "Take the larger road at each turning, and the second evening should find you before the walls of Osgiliath. A fair journey to you."
Then the esquires ran up, still chewing their dinners, and began strapping the packs to the saddles. Gilrondil limped up, his wounded thigh wrapped in a linen bandage. He mounted without requiring aid. Amroth turned to the people of Pelargir who had come down to the strand to watch them.
"We thank you all, good people of Pelargir. You have made us feel at home in a distant land."
"May Eru bless you and your city," called Cirdan. "Now, we ride."
They spurred their horses up the bank to the road, turned left, and galloped up a long rise. At the crest they paused to look back at the city. The high towers of Pelargir gleamed against the afternoon sky. A thin smoke still trailed up from the valley of the Sirith just beyond.
"A fair city," said Amroth. "I would not like to see it a citadel of the Enemy."
"Nor I," said Cirdan, "and if that is not to be its fate, we must ride as if borne by eagles."
Then they turned and thundered down the slope to the long road winding away across the plains.