Chapter 30. Ruffians, All

 ‘Are we coming into Minas Tirith?’ Freddy asked sleepily as he felt the coach ease to a stop.

 ‘No my love,’ Melilot said with a kiss for his forehead. ‘It will be several days before we reach the White City.’

 ‘Several days?’ Freddy said, sounding more awake. ‘It is a two-day journey from Dinsdale!’

 ‘We are travelling very slowly,’ Melilot said. ‘The better for the visitors from the North to see the landscape. Why, many are walking and enjoying the feel of grass beneath their feet!’

 ‘Slowly indeed,’ Freddy said, eyeing her narrowly. ‘Is it possible for guardsmen to travel at such a pace? And what of the prisoner? I’d think they’d want him safely locked up so soon as possible.’

 ‘I do not know why they do what they do, Freddy,’ Melilot admitted. ‘Bergil suggested to the King that a detail of guardsmen ride ahead with the ruffian, but naught came of it so far as I could tell.’

***

Ulrich was wondering the same thing. He was not enjoying the feel of grass beneath his feet, of course, as he walked encumbered by chains. They hadn’t put him on a horse this day: too worried about the possibility of escape? Or making a spectacle of the prisoner as he was slowly marched to his doom? Thankfully Elessar had spared Ulrich’s family that pain, though they had not ridden far, less than ten miles from Dindale, before they made camp the first night.

He grew used to stares and comments. The farmers and townsfolk who watched them pass were more interested in the Halflings, but Ulrich came in for his share of attention. At one point along the way that second day, hearing of his crimes, a few striplings began to throw refuse at him from the baskets they were carrying to the burning pile, but Bergil quickly put a stop to their sport.

Staked to the ground, he watched the pavilions rise beyond, the guardsmen lay out their bedrolls, eat the evening meal, lie down to sleep or pace slowly, watching. No one brought him food, and he hungered silently, crouched in his cloak. He didn’t know it, but he was the topic of argument in one of the pavilions.

 ‘Why do I have to be the one to carry his dinner to him?’ Ferdi said, his voice tight with frustration.

 ‘Because I ask it,’ Pippin replied calmly.

 ‘You can ask me to swim the Anduin, but I hardly think I’ll grow fins and gills,’ Ferdi said. Pippin did not answer, but bent to his own meal. Sam looked from one to the other, his face troubled.

 ‘What will happen if I don’t?’ Ferdi said at last. Pimpernel noticed that her husband’s food was going cold. Ferdi hated cold food. What was Pippin about, that devious brother of hers?

 ‘He will go hungry,’ Pippin said. ‘Elessar requested that we bring the ruffian his evening meal, and I have asked you to be the one to bring it, Ferdi. If you do not, he will hunger... but then, what does it matter? He is only a ruffian, after all.’

With a wordless snarl Ferdi rose from the table and flung himself out of the pavilion.

 ‘Pippin,’ Pimpernel reproved.

 ‘I know exactly what I’m doing, Nell,’ her brother said, fixing her with his keen eye.

 ‘Shall I bring the Mayor his meal?’ Sam said. ‘One Mayor to another, as it were.’

 ‘No, Sam,’ Pippin said. ‘If Ferdi does not, no one shall. No one ever died of a little hunger, after all.’ He held Sam’s gaze for a long moment before the Mayor of the Shire nodded slowly and looked down at his own half-finished portion.

Merry stared into his stew until Estella urged him once more to eat. He picked up his spoon and moodily finished his meal, and then he took his leave, for Estella wished to spend some time with her brother Fredegar before retiring.

Sighing, Sam shoved his bowl away and rose. ‘I think I’ll take myself off for a walk.’

 ‘Stay within the circle of guardsmen,’ Pippin said. He shook his head. ‘I wish we were safe within the walls of Minas Tirith.’

 ‘But you asked the King to delay the journey as much as possible!’ Diamond said in astonishment, while Pimpernel stared at her brother. ‘You told him you’d be happy if he stretched it out as much as a week!’

Sam shot Pippin a sharp look, which the Thain returned with a nod before saying to Diamond, ‘Did I now? I wonder what I was thinking?’

Sam exited the pavilion, wondering what devious plan of Pippin’s was in the works this time. He walked about, exchanging greetings with guardsmen, talking quietly with Bergil’s family for some time, checking on the comfort of all the hobbits travelling in the party.

Each time he passed the former Mayor of Dindale, he saw the Man sitting motionless, with drooping head, huddled in his cloak against the chill of the falling night. He shook his head. It was a bad business. He was half-tempted to defy Pippin and bring the Man a hot meal and a blanket, but when he’d finished his rounds he saw Ferdi sitting near the chained Man as the latter wolfed his portion of stew.

He walked over. ‘Hungry?’ he said conversationally.

Ulrich nodded, cleared his mouth with a swig of water from a mug. ‘First I’ve had all day,’ he said.

 ‘The prisoners who were marched to the Lockholes got less, and worse, after a longer march,’ Ferdi said coldly.

 ‘I know,’ Ulrich said, gazing into his bowl. ‘They arrived half-dead already, staggering in the heat, holding each other up because they knew they’d get the whip if they fell...’

 ‘No water along the way, or perhaps just the few inches left at the bottom of a trough,’ Sam said. ‘Torture, it is, to march in the heat without water.’ Ulrich did not answer, but he put his cup down half-drunk.

 ‘You might as well drink,’ Ferdi said. ‘The King and his Men are not ruffians, after all, to march you through the day with no rest, no water, no food...’

 ‘Really?’ Sam said, turning to Ferdi. ‘And here I thought all Men were ruffians!’

Ferdi’s lips tightened as his own words came back to him. ‘I did not say that,’ he said.

 ‘Who’s telling the lie now?’ Sam countered. ‘If the truth-sifter lies, then what is to become of us?’

 ‘Truth-sifting,’ Ulrich said, to interrupt the incipient argument. ‘It is a marvel indeed! I have never heard of such.’

 ‘It is not something to speak freely,’ Ferdi said. ‘If it became well known, where would I be? Locked up with the King’s other treasures, and brought out only when he wanted me to ferret out a glimmer of truth.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m that sorry Pip ever told Elessar about it.’

 ‘I only hope Strider allows you to return to the Northland, and doesn’t press you to stay on in Gondor,’ Sam said.

 ‘Ruffians all,’ Ferdi said under his breath.

Sam chuckled. ‘My point, exactly,’ he said.

***

The story of the march of a band of hobbit prisoners to the Lockholes is detailed in "The Rebel", also here on SoA.