The Battlefield

by C.A.L.

The sun shone brightly on the battlefield when the mist had cleared away. It warmed the bright emerald fields and the verdigris trees of the forest border. It glinted from rusting shields and swords, and reflected from the trickling stream which ran quickly over rounded stones. It glowed upon the blackened castle which sat like an icon at the centre of the grounds - yet lit and warmed it not at all.

The day of the fight was darkened by smoke and rouged by fire, washed by blood and pierced by cries and the clash of steel. When night had come and a sickly dawn stared bleakly at last through the haze, those few who still stood upon their feet had staggered across the little stream to the castle walls - and found that they had fought for nil. For though none remained to defend the charred stones, a curse of warding lay upon it, that none may enter without the consent of those who ruled. That consent they could not give, for they lay abandoned on the battlefield, and they would speak no more.

Those who lived took their lives as the spoils of their victory and they rode quickly away. They left behind their dead, and even their wounded. These they left to die among the carcasses of men and horse and their deaths were slow. For the ground was also cursed, and it ensured that none who assailed it would escape pain in the time of living which remained to them.

The next day saw the corpses hardening where they lay. A gentle wind stirred the low moans of those left to die. And over it all looked the castle, and high within the walls was a certain window, and from this window the brilliant eyes of a lady also watched the battlefield. There, below, her husband lay, and the knights of her order, just pieces now, scattered across the glistening grass. She sat without stirring, eyes ever watchful, while the days crawled slowly past. And when a year had gone by, she spoke, and her words were these:

"I curse those who lost,
I curse those who won,
I curse all those who love and laugh and live under the sun."

This uttered, she returned to her vigil over the battlefield.

Now, after this year, most of the corpses had utterly decayed and their bones, some adorned with mummified flesh tanned hard by the wind and sun, protruded at odd angles from rusting mail. Living men would now and then ride to the edge of the woods, look upon the decorated fields, shiver, and ride away. One or two more bold adventurers would walk to the castle gates, and look up to the window. They would see the lady with her strange stare of death, and they would turn quickly and wisely away.

Was she alive ? Under the circumstances, the answer is very probably no. She was pale, and very seldom did she move. No one attended her, to bring food, or wine, or warmth. No furnishings remained within the walls - they had all been burnt. No, it is unlikely that she was alive. But certainly, she was not yet entirely dead.

A second year passed. Weeds entangled the remains, although the winter frosts had kept them low. The air remained still, the wind no longer blew. Birds and insects had renounced their songs. Only the sun, and the lady, looked upon the battlefield. Soft words drifted over the ground after this second year.

"I curse those who live,
I curse those who do not,
I curse all those who hope to live in peace while I cannot."

Every year as night drew on the lady spoke and cursed those both dead and alive. She did not appear to age, nor did her malice or sadness diminish. And never once did she turn away from the battlefield.

The tenth year approached, and upon the anniversary of the battle the lady moved at last, though she looked, as always, outwards. She laughed. It was a peculiar sound. On hearing it the setting sun fled behind the clouds. Night fell suddenly, to the sound of her voice.

"I curse you to eternal life,
I curse you to eternal death,
I curse you all to curse yourselves within your dying breath,

I curse those who come after me,
I curse the blades you wield -
I curse you all to lose your lives upon the battlefield."

During the next morning a lone man rode across the glittering stream and up to the gates of the blackened castle. He wore a visored helm, and a coat of mail, and he left his horse to graze upon the grass. Having heard of the lady of the battlefield, he watched for her, looking up to the window.

"Madam," he called, "will you not let me in ? I have travelled far, and mean you no harm. Nor, if you are indeed a ghost, will I try to dispel you. Will you not let me in ?"

She smiled. It was a cold, and rather frightening expression. "I consent," she said, "to let you in."

The gate peeled itself open and admitted the man. He came to the wooden door, charred, but still firm.

"Will you open the door ?"

Her sigh flowed like a breeze through the halls. "I consent," she murmured, "to open the door."

The door came easily open, and he stepped inside. A century of emptiness greeted him, though it had been only a decade, of hollow decay. He walked through the maze of halls, all of them brushed with the char of ancient smoke, and arrived at last in the room of the lady.

She turned away from the battlefield. She asked this knight why he had come. He removed his helm (as courtesy dictated) and answered thus:

"I am a prince in need of a home. I heard of this castle, abandoned these long years, save by a lady who waits and watches. I would make this my home."

"You do not know," she said, "of what you speak. This place is cursed."

"Protected," he told her, "So that none may enter, unless allowed. It is perfect, it is unassailable."

She laughed, and he shivered. "Yet we were assailed. Did you not see the ruin, and the battlefield ?"

"I did," he replied, "but I would make this my home."

She tried again to dissuade him, but he would not be moved. So she returned to gaze from the window at the field before the castle. "It is yours." Softly then she spoke her last:

"I curse those who stand,
I curse those who fall,
By the blood of those on the battlefield, I curse you all."

And suddenly, without another whisper, she was gone.

Now this knight was indeed a prince, and he went away and returned with his court. The words of the lady troubled him only momentarily during the next bright years. The castle was cleaned and refurnished with exotic woodworks and tapestries. The remains of those thousands who lay over the grounds were finally buried, and put to rest. The lawns were tended, gardens grown. Children played there, and women walked happily in the boundless woods. Minstrels came to sing and went away with glory. The prince grew very rich. They were unassailable.

The tenth year of his coming saw news arriving for the prince. News which warned of a large force of arms gathering in the north. His wealth was sought after. His castle, unassailable, was sought after. He prepared himself, for it had to be seen that he could meet such a force, that he could buy the best knights to his service. He collected an army, convinced that they would not have to fight. "For," he recalled, "none may enter without the consent of those who rule."

A day then approached that grew dark with smoke, and was lit by the crimson fire of a thousand torches. An army stood before the gates, preparing for a siege. The prince laughed, and taunted them, for they could not enter. When the balls of flame came over the walls and the castle began to burn, he ceased his laughter and rallied his army forth to fight. They poured from the gates, and the day-night became washed in blood, and pierced with cries and the clash of swords and shields. Night came and went as night does, and when morning arrived a pathetic sun watched a man, once a prince, crawl back toward the gates. All was burnt within, women, children, wealth. Upon the gate, shown only by the blackened stain of charcoal, he read again what he had read before, but cleared away before any other could see. The words, etched in stone, ran thus:

The Castle of the Battlefield
None may enter without the consent of Those Who Rule

None May Rule

The sun shines brightly on the battlefield, upon the corpses lying rotting in the grass. It shines not at all upon the castle, from whose black ruins a man sits watching from a window. He speaks, every year or so.

"I curse those who defy,
I curse those who yield,
I curse thou to eternity upon the Battlefield..."