Diseased Jottings From A Random Mind

The Army of the Night

I was riding on an errand for my father. He, being a lawyer of some note in my home town, was often consulted by the local gentry on legal matters and, as such, often had cause to send letter to those he advised. s he was a firm believer that blood was a better guarantee than mere coin, he would therefore employ me to carry by hand such missives as were necessary to his practice.

It so happened that on this occasion my father's business was with a farmer whose stead lay just less than a full day's ride away. Although the hour was late, my father was most insistent that I take his letter - at once, if you please! - and return with a reply as soon as I was able. Being an obedient son, I had my steed saddled and I set out on my task as quickly as I was able.

Before I was halfway through my journey, night descended. The moon was often hidden by clouds, so it was difficult to discern any landmarks; also, I was not familiar with the road, which was often obscured by the mass of vegetation that had grown over it. Consequently, I soon lost my way. I debated whether it would be better to stop for the night or to continue on my way, but an encounter with a low-hanging branch decided the matter for me. So, I halted my horse and dismounted to look for a place to rest until daybreak.

As luck would have it, I had stopped close to an ancient oak. Its roots formed a hollow in which I could rest my body, while an old marker stone provided a place to which I could tether my mount. Then I drew my riding habit about me and settled to sleep.

My sleep was fitful, and I was beset by troubling dreams. The most vivid of these was one in which I saw a colossus bestriding the land. As it walked, the ground beneath it trembled and shook with each step. Indeed, it was this that woke me from my slumber. For a moment I lay in my bower, wondering whether I was still a-dreaming for I felt the ground move beneath me but felt naught. But, when my horse became skittish and started to rear, I roused myself and went to calm it.

As I held the creature's bridle, I saw a pale light some distance down the road. At first I thought that it was another traveller following the trail, but the light was too diffuse and numerous. This led me to think it was a will-o'-the-wisp but, as I watched, the lights grew closer and stronger - as did the shaking of the ground.

My horse reared and plunged, ripping the bridle from my grasp. Now free, the terrified animal fled into the night. I started in pursuit, but stopped. The lights had resolved into the forms of a ghostly band, marching through the gloom. They were armed with spears and swords, while their armour was of a type most ancient. In short, they resembled nothing so much as the warriors written of in the antiquarian texts. Some of the warriors were borne by their brothers-in-arms, grievous wounds upon their bodies. Others walked slowly, slowed by their injuries. Was this some spectral army fleeing a battle? Or was it a victorious host, bearing their wounded home. I could not tell. The worst of it was that their passage was totally silent.

As they reached the tree, the warriors halted. Then, as one, they turned to look down the path whence they had come. The object of their attention approached: an ornately caparisoned warrior - perhaps their war-chief - followed by a prisoner and his escort. As this last approached, I could feel the hatred from the warriors. Obviously their captive was an object of revulsion to them. Indeed, as he came closer, the warriors began to jeer. Those who were close to him tried to strike him with hands, weapons or whatever was convenient; but his guards stayed the hands of those who wished him ill, although without enthusiasm.

At last these stopped before the tree. The warrior chief addressee the throng, pausing to gesture at the fettered prisoner. The warriors raised their weapons and cried out, while their captive cringed in fear. As the chief harangued his men, two of the guard prepared a noose, which they threw over a branch of the tree.

This done, the unfortunate was dragged to the makeshift gallows and the rope placed around his neck. He tried to speak. Was it a plea for mercy or a speech of defiance? It did not matter, for his guards pulled upon the rope and hoist him into the air, struggling balefully. The gathered warriors watched until the condemned danced his last. Then, at a silent command, they formed ranks and marched away, their light fading as they went.

All this passed in silence, save for the sound of the wind in the branches.

As the darkness returned, so did my senses. I fled from that place as fast as I was able, until my fear was overtaken by exhaustion. At last, I collapsed.

I woke at dawn, unsure whether or not I had only dreamed of the night's events and had run from a nightmare. As I did not wish to be ridiculed, I did not tell anyone of that which I had experienced. But, as I was curious, I made discreet inquiries of the local folk about legends of a hanged man. Most were ignorant, but from the others I gleaned that many years ago, when the Romans marched across the land, a band of indigenes had fought against them but been betrayed by one of their number.

So, for many years afterward, when my business took me once more down that overgrown path, I always resolved to travel only during the hours of daylight so that I would avoid the sight of that ghostly band and their betrayer.