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All along the watchtower, princes kept the view.
Matthew sat by a dying fire, surrounded by the harsh darkness of night. He was shivering all over; the cold seemed to leech his very energy away out of his body. He hated the night watch. Hated the darkness, hated the cold, hated the quiet, and hated the loneliness. The only redeeming factor was the company of the man sitting across from him, also trying to warm up by the last few resilient embers. They were both silent, though this was not their normal state of relation. Matthew was scared to his bones, and he was comforting himself by the thinking the other man was too, though he doubted it.
The other man was Horatio, captain of the guard of Osgala, and a more courageous man Matthew had never known. They shared the night watch every third night of a month, standing watch over the large city. Together they had braved thunder and fog, rain and lightning, hail and sleet. Tonight, however, something was different. They were both subdued, lost in thoughts that wandered far up among the stars. It was two hours to the minute until the time the prophets had predicted the apocalypse would come. Most of the city, and indeed, the world regarded prophets as misguided fools; but strange things had been happening of late. Matthew would have been the first to scoff at warning of a Judgment Day a year ago, but now he was uncertain. People were dying of unknown diseases, crops died without reason and famine stalked the lands.
The sobs of a crying baby reached his ears, coming from across the rooftops. It was a horrible sound, and he knew it had likely been left out to die. It was all to common these past weeks, there simply wasn’t enough food to feed a family, and sacrifices, horrible sacrifices had to be made.
There must be some way out of here, said the joker to the thief,
There’s too much confusion, I can’t get no relief.
Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth,
None of them along the line know what any of it is worth.
He looked across at Horatio. The other man was still lost in thought, and seemed to be humming some kind of tune.
“Horatio,” he spoke softly, barely daring to break the silence. “Why do we stand guard here, with turmoil in the streets? The suffering, the children, the sick, the starving men and women. For what do we insist on upholding this façade of alertness? In less than two hours the world will end, or so it has been said.”
His voice soft as well, the other man replied. “Appearances…are sometimes all we have left to us. Some men may take to drinking; others may hang themselves before the hour arrives. For myself, if I must go I would do so doing my duty.” He fell silent and Matthew thought about this, though after a few moments the old Captain spoke again.
“Also, without us, any image or hope of a peaceful society would die. While we stand watching here, at least down there people can pretend that nothing is wrong, that their lords still rule over them, that everything will turn out happy in the end because we are here to stop any evil from coming over these walls.”
“So we are ordered out here, away from our own families, to let other people pretend that what they know in their hearts will not really come true?”
“Your duty has always been to the good of the city first, to yourself second. What has changed since? Are you merely afraid of the face death has chosen to take at this hour?” Horatio replied, his voice barely audible. When Matthew could think of no reply, the older man began to hum his soft tune again.
No reason to get excited, the thief, he kindly spoke,
There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke.
But you and I, we’ve been through that, and this is not our fate,
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late.
The minutes ticked by. Despite another half log of wood the fire still seemed poised on the verge of dying. A chill unrelated to the cold seemed to crawl up Matthew’s spine. He was finding it harder to breathe, almost as if smoke was clogging his longs, though the fire was clearly not the culprit. The Darkness seemed to be the opposite of light, not merely the absence of it. A deathly silence had crawled its way on top of the city; there wasn’t a sound that reached Matthew’s ears except for the slow crackling of the fire and Horatio’s and his own harsh breathing.
“Horatio,” he said softly, barely able to hear the words form themselves, “I am afraid. The waiting is horrible. Always before, I have looked into the face of death and marched forward, unflinching. But now…as death moves toward me, I could hardly grasp a spear through the shaking of my body.”
Matthew waited for a response, both worried and for once not completely caring whether he had sullied Horatio’s opinion of him. It was a huge surprise when Horatio replied.
“I, too, am afraid. There is something unearthly about this evening, this Hour of Doom. I am quavering in my seat.”
Matthew understood how large of an admission that was, for a Captain to make to a simple soldier. He would have expected it to comfort him, to reassure him that he was not alone. Instead, it only made the unbearable fear and waiting worse. Hours seemed to pass for every second they sat. The fire finally burned down and died, but neither of them made a move to get some more wood to revive it.
Breaking into their silence was the sound of a bell ringing, signaling that the appointed hour had come. Even that clear, ringing sound was robbed of all its warmth and happiness that night, however. In the city, people began pouring out of their houses to see what death had in store for them.
All along the watchtower, princes kept the view
While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too.
Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl,
Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl.
Inhuman howls came from outside the city walls. Matthew and Horatio sprang to their feet, looking out upon the fields. A red glare seemed to light the darkness, and a hill far off in the horizon became discernable. On top of the hill were two horsemen, glad in black. The lifted their swords slowly, almost as if in salute of the city watching them.
The wind began to howl.
"There must be some way out of here," said the joker to the thief,
"There's too much confusion, I can't get no relief.
Businessmen, they drink my wine, plowmen dig my earth,
None of them along the line know what any of it is worth."
"No reason to get excited," the thief, he kindly spoke,
"There are many here among us who feel that life is but a joke.
But you and I, we've been through that, and this is not our fate,
So let us not talk falsely now, the hour is getting late."
All along the watchtower, princes kept the view
While all the women came and went, barefoot servants, too.
Outside in the distance a wildcat did growl,
Two riders were approaching, the wind began to howl.
All Along the Watchtower – Bob Dylan
