fighting in your place on the castle walls

fighting in your place on the castle walls

fiction
edward w pritchard

Fighting in your place on the castle walls after eight hours of intense battle one grows numb to the slaughter and begins to see the mayhem clearly, dispassionately and with more than idle curiosity. The man to my left, the braggart as I had previously  judged him had an arrow through his neck, angled low to high, now dead; but he hadn't fallen and was impaled and held up on his own spear. Our purported invincible enemy below fuming and strutting at us as they fought; screamed in agony and cowardice when scalded by burning oil or spattered with small pieces of metal from our artillery.

A light rain began to fall and the sweat on my arms and back bristled with chill as I continued with my duties of tending to cauldrons of burning oil near ready for the enemies next charge and heated the small chunks of metal to be fired soon from our over heated field artillery machinery.

This my fourth siege here in the castle and it looked to be several more days before it became known if we would succeed in our efforts to drive off our beseigers and save our children and wives from slaughter and mayhem.