Chapter 51 lover's return

As soon as the night came, the enemy was beaten to the ground and fled in defeat.The victor is on his way home.Along the way, they held glorious battle flags, sang triumphant songs, and the horseshoes clattered, as if thousands of hammers were beating on the gravel. They looked down on the battlefield.At this time, the bright moon hangs on Jiankou Mountain, and the crags are towering, just like the hearts of everyone, showing high fighting spirit.The fir forest stretched across the field, as if the ancestors had put a glorious medal on Lebanon's chest. The men marched on, their swords gleaming in the moonlight; their shouts echoed in the deep ravine.The team came to the junction of a mountain road.On the road, a horse stands among the gray-brown rocks, as if carved in stone.It raised its head to the sky and hissed so loudly that the warriors couldn't help but come closer and take a closer look.I saw a dead body lying on the blood-stained ground."Show me the sword," cried the leader, "and I will know its owner." Some of the knights dismounted and circled the dead man, identifying it carefully.after awhile.One of the knights looked back at their leader and said in a low voice, "His stiff fingers are gripping the hilt, and it would be bad for us to tear it off."

The other said: "There is a layer of blood on the sword, and the steel edge on the sword is also covered." Another said: "The blood coagulates the palm of the hand and the hilt of the sword, making the sword and the hand one." The leader dismounted, went up to the dead man, and said, "Lift up his head: let us see his face clearly by the moonlight." Everyone did so at once.Through the veil of death, the face of the deceased is resolute, tenacious and brave.It was the face of a strong knight, silent but full of arrogance; it was an optimistic face without regrets: it frowned when it saw the enemy, and smiled when it faced death; It is the face of a Lebanese hero. He participated in the battle that day and saw the dawn of victory, but he failed to sing the triumphant song with his comrades and return home.When people took off his turban and wiped the battle dust from his sallow face, the leader couldn't help being startled, and he cried out sadly: "This is Ibn Sa'abi: it's terrible!" While reciting the name, there was a sigh in my heart, and then all fell silent.Then their hearts intoxicated by the wine of victory became sober all of a sudden, and they felt that the glory and pride of victory were far outweighed by the grief of losing this hero.They were like stone statues, and the horror of the scene made them stand still and lose their voices, which is all the reactions that death can arouse in the hero's heart.Because wailing is a woman's business; crying and screaming is only suitable for children.The warrior with the sword in hand should be silent, solemn and majestic.That silence clenched a strong heart, like an eagle's sharp claws clutching the neck of its prey; that silence seemed noble, disdainful of crying, and this kind of nobility made the disaster even more traumatic; Great minds plunge from mountain tops into the depths of the sea; the silence that announces the approaching storm is more powerful than the storm.

They took off the clothes of the young man who died in battle to see where Death had laid his hand.I saw sword wounds on Lie Tu's chest, like angry mouths, narrating the unfulfilled ambitions of heroes in the quiet night.The leader approached, knelt down and inspected it carefully.He found a handkerchief which no one else had seen.Wrapped around the martyr's wrist was the handkerchief, embroidered with gold thread.The leader looked at it secretly, and recognized the girl who embroidered the handkerchief with flying needles and threads.The leader hid his handkerchief in his bosom, covered his grim face with trembling hands, and stepped back.The hand that had steadfastly removed the heads of countless enemies had now become weak and trembling, wiping away tears.For that hand touches such a handkerchief, which the girl in love fastens around the wrist of the young man she loves, who wears this handkerchief, who fought bravely and died in battle, and who will be carried on his breast by his comrades. Go back to the girl's side.

The leader's heart was constantly turning: for a while he thought about the injustice of Sword Death, and for a while he thought about the children's affair.Then a knight standing by said: "Come, let us dig a grave under that holly tree, and bury him. Let the roots absorb his blood. Let the leaves feed on his body, so that It will grow stronger and stand on this hill forever, symbolizing the hero's bravery and strength." Someone said: "Let us carry him into the fir forest. Build a tomb for him near the church, and let the cross accompany his remains forever."

Someone said: "He should be buried here, because the soil here is soaked with his blood. Let his right hand still hold his sword, put his spear beside him, and kill his steed, for his Sacrifice, let his arms comfort him in this solitude." Someone said: "Don't bury the sword that is stained with the blood of the enemy, don't slaughter the horse that was born to die as a sacrifice, don't leave the weapon used by the hero in the Southern and Northern Wars on the barren hills, but give it to his relatives, because that is the best legacy. Someone said: "Come, let us kneel together around him, pray to Christ and salute. May God forgive him his innocence and bless us with victory."

Someone said: "Let us make a coffin with spears and shields, and carry him on our shoulders. Around this valley. Sing the song of victory. Let the hero stand before the people, look at the battlefield where the enemy's corpses are scattered, and let the smile rippling over his wound." Someone said: "Come, let us brace him with the skull of our enemy, and put him in the saddle, and let him return home victorious, with the spear still in his hand. You know, he puts the soul of the enemy on death's shoulders After the heavy burden, he surrendered to the god of death. Others said: "Come, let us bury him in this mountain, let the echo of the empty valley be his companion, and the murmur of the stream comfort him. In this wilderness. His bones will feel at ease, because here, night When it comes. Always light on your feet."

Others said: "Don't leave him here, because this mountain is really desolate and lonely. Let us send him to the cemetery in the village. There, the ghost town of our ancestors becomes his neighbor, In the quiet of the night, tell him of their old wars and their great deeds." At this time, the leader walked among the people and made a gesture to make them quiet.Then he sighed: "Let him rest in peace, don't speak of war to him again, and don't let his soul haunting us hear the sound of fighting. Let us carry him back to his hometown quietly, There, there is a girl who longs for him day and night. The girl waits for him to return victoriously from the sword. Let us give him back to the girl—his lover, so that she can look at him again and kiss his forehead again."

The soldiers lowered their heads and solemnly lifted the martyr on their shoulders.They walked in silence, and the atmosphere was silent and sad.The sullen steed followed, its reins dragging on the ground.From time to time, it raised its head to the sky and hissed, and the sound echoed in the valley, as if the valley also had a soul, and felt extremely depressed together with the livestock.sad. In that valley, cold moon and cold wind, the victorious procession walks slowly behind the death procession, and before them is the phantom of love with broken wings.