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the siege of gondor 1079
of a dim day of fears into the darkness of a desperate
night. Fires now raged unchecked in the first circle of the
City, and the garrison upon the outer wall was already in
many places cut off from retreat. But the faithful who
remained there at their posts were few; most had fled beyond
the second gate.
Far behind the battle the River had been swiftly bridged,
and all day more force and gear of war had poured across.
Now at last in the middle night the assault was loosed. The
vanguard passed through the trenches of fire by many devious
paths that had been left between them. On they came,
reckless of their loss as they approached, still bunched and
herded, within the range of bowmen on the wall. But indeed
there were too few now left there to do them great damage,
though the light of the fires showed up many a mark for
archers of such skill as Gondor once had boasted. Then
perceiving that the valour of the City was already beaten
down, the hidden Captain put forth his strength. Slowly the
great siege-towers built in Osgiliath rolled forward through
the dark.
Messengers came again to the chamber in the White
Tower, and Pippin let them enter, for they were urgent.
Denethor turned his head slowly from Faramir’s face, and
looked at them silently.
‘The first circle of the City is burning, lord,’ they said.
‘What are your commands? You are still the Lord and
Steward. Not all will follow Mithrandir. Men are flying from
the walls and leaving them unmanned.’
‘Why? Why do the fools fly?’ said Denethor. ‘Better to
burn sooner than late, for burn we must. Go back to your
bonfire! And I? I will go now to my pyre. To my pyre! No
tomb for Denethor and Faramir. No tomb! No long slow
sleep of death embalmed. We will burn like heathen kings
before ever a ship sailed hither from the West. The West has
failed. Go back and burn!’