Chapter 31. The Long Ride Home

Paladin stalked through the corridors of the Great Smials, his mind still reeling. How stupid he’d been all those years ago in the market, not to guard his tongue. The weaver had warned him at the time that the least of idle words always got back to the Mistress... and he’d heeded the advice, but only after the fatal words had been spoken: “Petty tyrant.” They must have rankled, for Lalia to have harboured her resentment all these years. He’d been a fool to think himself safe when nothing had come of it.

At a touch on his arm he glanced over. Isumbold walked beside him; the farmer hadn’t even heard the head of escort running to catch up. Isum did not meet his eyes but nodded slightly as they walked. Cheery greetings and congratulations on the boy’s safe recovery died on the lips of the Tooks who saw them walking, grim-faced, Isum holding Paladin’s elbow, and the whispers began.

Bittersweet half-turned as they entered the infirmary. ‘Ah, Paladin, back so soon! The lad’s—.’

Isum interrupted her. ‘The Thain sent me,’ he said, squeezing the farmer’s arm in unspoken message, ‘to escort them home and proclaim the Ban in Whitwell and its environs.’ Paladin nodded to himself. It would amuse Lalia to send him away without informing anyone, to prolong the agony of having the Ban imposed. Of course people would realise Paladin was under sentence of shunning when he did not answer nor look them in the eye, but it would take time and rub his nose in it all the more, waiting for others to understand and respond accordingly. Ferumbras had spoiled his mother’s game as best he could.

 ‘Shunning!’ Bittersweet gasped. ‘Whatever for?’

 ‘Disloyalty,’ Isum said succinctly. ‘Malice,’ he added, and the healer nodded slowly. She understood that the malice was Lalia’s, not Paladin’s, though Isum did not dare say so in so many words.

 ‘The whole family?’ Bittersweet asked carefully. One under sentence of shunning could not be named, not until the Ban was lifted.

 ‘Pearl has always been a good, obedient girl and so Mistress Lalia protected her,’ Isum answered heavily.

 ‘Even so...’ Bittersweet bit her lip. She could see no way of helping the farmer at the moment, and she had to walk carefully herself. Thus far everyone seemed to believe Rosemary had spirited herself out of the Great Smials without any help. The healer could not afford the least breath of suspicion. She took a deep breath. ‘The lad is dressed and fed and ready to go,’ she said. ‘This way...’

She led them to a pleasant room where Pippin started up, calling, ‘Da!’ He ran to his father for a hug, and Paladin automatically embraced his son, his face working to conceal his emotions.

 ‘I’ll return shortly,’ Bittersweet said to Isum. She was as good as her word, bringing a bag of provisions and a warm child-sized cloak, which she laid on the bed. ‘Safe journey,’ she said to Isum, ‘and may grace go with you.’ She hoped the good farmer knew that the words were not addressed only to the head of escort. She added, ‘I’m glad Pearl was not included; you can be sure I’ll watch over her.’

 ‘That is a relief to hear,’ Isum said, just as if the remarks had been addressed to himself. ‘Give her my regards and tell her I’ll see her on the morrow.’

Paladin picked up the cloak from the bed and wrapped up his son. When Pippin spoke his father shushed him. It took several repetitions before the lad understood, but since no one else spoke, he caught the idea at last. His eyes began to dance with mischief. He was good at the game of “silence” when his sisters played it with him. He could nearly always get Pearl or Vinca to laugh without making a sound himself, winning the game.

They walked out of the Smials in silence, finding their ponies saddled and ready in the yard. ‘I’ll be back on the morrow,’ Isum said to the stable hobbit.

 ‘Yessir,’ that hobbit answered soberly. The word of the shunning was already beginning to spread; Isum had sent Baragrim ahead with the news to minimize Paladin’s discomfort as he took his leave.

They mounted. Baragrim had arranged an extra pony for the lad to ride to Whittacres; Isum would lead him home, of course, loaded with delicacies from tomorrow’s market day at Bywater. The Mistress never wasted anything.

They rode from the yard of the Smials without the usual parting song. Pippin was smirking at the success of his play. No one had yet tricked him into speaking.

However, as the miles spun away beneath their ponies’ feet he found his discomfort growing. The adults showed no signs of hunger or thirst, and they played the game awfully well. Why, Isum didn’t even talk to the piebald pony as he usually did, and Paladin had no remarks on the progress of ploughing and planting. When the track splashed through yet another shallow stream, Pippin quite thought he was dying of thirst.

 ‘Look!’ he shouted, pointing. ‘There’s a spring! Can’t we stop and drink? I’m thirsty! And I’m that hungry!’ If he were going to lose the silence game, he might as well lose it grandly, with an unending flow of words.

With a glance at Isum, Paladin jerked at his son’s arm. ‘Silence!’ he hissed. ‘We’re not allowed to speak!’

 ‘Not allowed!’ Pippin laughed. ‘What’s happened? Did the cat get everybody’s tongues?’ They were passing the spring and he pulled his pony to a stop. ‘I’m thirsty!’ he repeated. ‘I want a drink!’ The adults stopped their ponies so as not to leave him behind, and he grinned, assured of victory.

Not looking at him, Isum tapped the water bottle hanging from the saddle. ‘No!’ Pippin shouted. ‘I don’t want dusty dry old water from a bottle! I want fresh cold water from a spring!’

In the next moment, his mouth was hanging open with surprise and tears were starting from his eyes. Paladin had cracked him across the face with a sweep of his hand. Isum started in the saddle, kneeing his pony closer, but the farmer, his face bleached with shock at his own action, had already turned away from his son, burying his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking.

 ‘Da!’ Pip cried brokenly. His father had never, ever raised a hand to him in anger before. It was as if the world had rocked beneath him and the solid earth was crumbling away. To his bewilderment, his father lowered his hands from his face, shook his head — refusing to look at him — and kicked his pony, hard, Paladin who never used whip or heels on a beast! The startled pony jumped and surged into motion.

 ‘It is not permitted for those under the Ban to speak to others,’ Isumbold said to the piebald pony, nudging him into motion, ‘nor for others to speak to them.’ He gave the reins of Pippin’s pony a forward tug and they followed the farmer, who’d pulled his pony down to a walk to let them catch him up again.

 ‘The Ban!’ Pippin sobbed, tears streaming down his face where a red mark was appearing. ‘Why would my da be shunned? He’s never done anything wrong!’

 ‘The Mistress has seen fit to place the entire family under the Ban,’ Isum said to the pony. ‘Of course, she has no way of knowing if the family speaks amongst themselves, in the privacy of their own hole, but out here in the open it is wiser to be silent.’ He patted the pony on the neck. ‘Good lad,’ he said. ‘Good old Pie, I knew you’d understand.’

Pippin might be not quite twelve years of age, but he understood, probably better even than the pony did.