Itinerant Chronicler

Duty

I met Grylls in an inn not long after a battle enjoying an ale . He was a good man, but a burdened man. I offered him another ale and he repaid me with his time. I regret I did not spend more time with him. It was an honor to meet him.

"How many lives did this one cost?" an old grizzled old man asked in a muted voice as he looked around the battlefield.

"Too many to count," his young companion responded dejectedly.

The old grave digger shook his head in disgust then he got back to work, preparing a grave. He was fairly old do be doing such back breaking work, but his body was as strong, if not stronger, as the younger men who worked alongside him and his spirit was even stronger.

The old man continued to look about the field. All around the area other grave diggers were hard at work interring the bodies of the fallen from this most recent battle. They labored in solemn silence amongst the battered shields, broken swords and dead warhorses. In many places the ground was saturated in blood creating a grotesque muddy mess.

Most grave diggers could only work in this trade for a short time. It was a difficult occupation to say the very least. As hard as it was on the body, it was even harder on the soul. This particular grave digger was different however. He had served in the role for far longer than anyone else ever had before him. He had become something of a legend. Most wondered how he could handle seeing this kind of carnage for years on end. No one ever thought it was some morbid fascination with death and destruction; neither could anyone ever deny that he treated those in his care with only the utmost respect and even reverence.

In a way the old digger envied the soldiers, both the living and the dead. The living would retreat back to their tents and tend to their wounds. It did not matter whether they were the victors or the defeated. At least they would live see another day and find comfort in the company of their comrades in arms. The dead were freed from all worries and from all battles fought on behalf of their foolish lords. They would join their ancestors, be welcomed into the hereafter and be honored for their bravery in life.

Soldiers never had to deal with inhuming the dead in the aftermath of the battle. Nor were they forced to look upon the broken bodies of the slain once they left the field of battle, or the tortured expressions frozen on their faces at the moment of death once the battle was over. That dubious honor was reserved only for the grave diggers.

Cleaved bodies of young men, who never got the chance to live, littered the field like broken toys. For many this was their first battle, their first chance to win glory for themselves. These kids believed in the myth of war. They took turns inflating their egos with the great deeds they would do in battle and the stories they would share with their comrades by the fire after the battle was won.

Next to them lie the scarred and calloused veterans of many campaigns. These experienced warriors had learned the harsh truth that the lords they fought under didn't care about their soldiers' glory. They only cared that they were there to die for their whims. Up until now these veterans had managed to survive so many campaigns that they hoped their skill and experience would be enough to keep them alive. Despite this they still knew that every time they took the field that they gambled with the specter death and the odds were never in their favor.

Some of the soldiers said they served out of loyalty, others professed they fought to protect their homelands, some even reveled in the bloodshed and the chaos, but the old digger knew the truth. He knew that far too many of them were drawn in, and then corrupted by, the perverse romanticism of war. He knew the thrill of battle, the camaraderie of the camp, and of course, the spoils of the victor were more intoxicating than the strongest drink. Even the veterans, who should have been wise enough to walk away from battle forever, often joined the campaigns for purely selfish reasons.