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As the Gentle Rain  by Lindelea

Note to the reader:
This chapter started out as "background" and is a very very rough draft, at the moment. Comments are most welcome, suggestions will be thoughtfully considered.

***


Chapter 36. Trial by Jury

‘I would that you’d stay here, my love, and wait my return,’ Fredegar Bolger said to his Melilot. He tried to soften his words with a kiss laid in the palm of her hand.

‘And I would not see you go alone,’ she said as firmly.

He forced a laugh. ‘Alone? With two of my loyal band by my side, and surrounded by sons and cousins? Hardly alone! Why, I doubt the Hall of Kings will hold us all as it is!’

‘You seek to spare my sensibilities, but it is nothing that I’ve not heard before,’ Melilot said.

‘No, my love,’ Freddy began, but she interrupted him.

‘Yes, my love,’ she said. ‘Merry told me. Everything.’

‘Everything!’ he sputtered, then tried to turn it to a joke. ‘Why, Merry hasn’t even told me everything!’ Merry Brandybuck! Not that he doubted his wife, no, not at all, but he doubted that Merry had told her everything about the Lockholes. Even if Merry knew everything, why, this was the same Merry who’d argued with Frodo about the writing of the Red Book. Had Merry had it all his way, the Book would have been much slimmer. Had Frodo not compromised, it would have been a fair piece thicker.

Freddy knew some of the parts that had been left out, and he agreed with Merry. There were some memories better left to be buried with the rememberers.

‘Please, Mellie,’ he said once more.

‘No,’ she said stubbornly. ‘If I cannot be by your side, then you shall not go. And not even the King can make you!’

‘It is by the King’s command that I go in the first place,’ Freddy said.

Goaded to recklessness, Melilot retorted, ‘Well the King may just take his command and...’

‘Mistress Melilot,’ Prince Faramir of Ithilien smoothly interrupted from the doorway. ‘I have come to escort you and your husband to the Hall of the Kings.’

Freddy sagged slightly and Melly regarded him anxiously. ‘Are you well enough to do this, love?’ she said.

He squeezed her hand with a wan smile. ‘I’m as well as I’ll ever be,’ he said wryly. ‘If they wait for me to be completely recovered, that poor Man languishing in the dungeons shall die of old age.’

‘I can think of worse things,’ Robin Smallfoot muttered under his breath. His wife hugged him, and his children joined the embrace as if to pour their strength into him.

Robin’s cousin Budgie hugged his wife and children in turn, saving for last his oldest daughter Amaryllis, who happened to be holding his youngest grandchild. He closed his eyes, the better to inhale the sweet baby smell of the tiny curls. He would take this freshness, this newness of life, into the past and its remembered horrors, an anchor to steady him.

‘Very well,’ Freddy said, conceding defeat. He held his arm out to Melilot, and the little procession of hobbits set out slowly, escorted by Faramir and flanked by guardsmen.

‘We could carry you along, you know,’ Faramir bent to say to Freddy in an undertone.

The hobbit snorted. ‘What a pathetic picture that would present!’ he said. ‘They wouldn’t even have to hear my testimony. One look at me, borne along in your arms, and they’d hang the poor ruffian from the rafters right there in the Hall of Kings!’

He waved his heavy walking stick. ‘With my prop on one side and my stay,’ he nodded to Melly, ‘on the other, I shall walk on my own two good legs!’

‘Hear, hear,’ Ferdibrand said, coming up to the group and falling in beside Fredegar. ‘They’re all assembled, waiting for the witnesses to arrive.’

‘They sent you as messenger?’ Freddy said.

‘No,’ Ferdi admitted. ‘That room is chock-full of Men, you know, courtiers and nobles and guardsmen and such; it made me nervous to be among so many potential ruffians.’

Freddy snorted and Melilot hid a smile.

‘You are not excused from suspicion,’ Ferdi said to Faramir, observing the Prince’s surprise. ‘I heard what you did to my cousin Frodo!’ Under his breath, he muttered, ‘Ruffians, all,’ but he squeezed Freddy’s arm reassuringly as they walked along.

‘But he showed his quality in the end,’ Freddy reminded Ferdi.

Ferdi eyed the Prince, affecting doubt giving way to thoughtful consideration. ‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘Perhaps even a ruffian can change his stripes.’

The great room was indeed “chock-full” of those called to be there, and as many others as were able to gain admittance. The trial of a ruffian was always of interest, of course, if a hanging offence was under consideration, but the contribution of Halflings to the proceedings added to the significance of this occasion.

The hobbit witnesses were shown to the left side of the great throne, where small, hobbit-sized chairs had been placed to await them. There were four chairs standing ready, and Freddy shot his wife a severe look, which she returned calmly. Melilot seated herself, and the others followed suit.

‘Where will you be, Ferdi?’ Fredegar said.

‘O hereabouts,’ Ferdibrand answered vaguely. He nodded to the witnesses, bowed to Faramir, and disappeared into the crowd of Men and Hobbits.

‘What do we do now?’ Robin murmured to his cousin.

‘Dunno,’ Budgie admitted. ‘I’ve never done anything like this before.’ He went over Freddy with his healer’s eye. ‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ he added.

‘What’s that?’ Freddy said.

‘If you show signs of strain, trial or no trial, we’re taking you back to the Houses of Healing before you can so much as say “Jack, Robin’s son”.’

Robin snorted but held his peace. Melilot squeezed Freddy’s hand as the crowd parted before them to allow the approach of a man, weighed down by shackles, surrounded by guardsmen. There were murmurs and hisses amongst the waiting Big Folk.

‘Seems they have a low opinion of ruffians as well,’ Robin murmured.

‘This is old news to them,’ Freddy said. ‘This is not the first of the Lockholes guards to be tried before the King, you know.’

‘I know,’ Robin said. ‘But they were all tried and hanged without my help. I feel as if I’m the cause of this Man’s death, somehow.’

‘Never think that, Robbie,’ Budgie said firmly, as if Robin were still the uncertain tween he’d been during the time of the Troubles. ‘Whatever happens, he’s the cause. His choices, his actions, led him to stand before the King this day. Not yours.’

Melilot patted her husband’s hand. She had reassured him on this point just the previous evening. She did not want him to labour under the additional strain of bearing this Man’s death on his conscience.

The sound of trumpets rang through the hall, and a voice heralded the entrance of the High King of the West. His progress through the hall was marked by a wave of bows, and the hobbit witnesses rose from their chairs to bow to him when he reached the Throne. He thanked them gravely for coming in answer to his summons.

‘As if they had a choice,’ Ferdibrand murmured to Merry beside him.

‘Hush,’ Merry said.

‘When do we get to plead for clemency?’ Ferdi whispered.

‘Where did you learn that word?’ Merry asked. A single trumpet sounded, a high clear note, and all in the hall, including the two booted hobbits, fell silent. A Man bearing an open scroll stepped into the space between throne and crowd.

‘Hear ye, hear all!’ he intoned, the customary opening words. He looked down at the scroll he bore and began to read, his voice pitched to reach the onlookers crowding the doorways.

Reading from the scroll, the herald reminded the court of the King’s decree, issued shortly after his crowning, that renegade Men who tormented the innocent and abused the power of their positions during the reign of the King stood in forfeit of their lives. He then read from a long list of charges against the accused.

Ferdi saw a courtier stifle a yawn. The Man had heard the litany before. This was not the first trial of a ruffian of the Lockholes. Each had gone much the same way: the reading of the charges and then of written testimony of witnesses, taken by Rangers of the North and sent to Gondor, and then the pronouncement of doom.

The ruffian guards of the Lockholes in the Shire had held sway while Elessar was King. They were, therefore, condemned under the King’s edict, and none, once captured and brought to trial, had escaped hanging.

‘Reinadan, known as Ulrich, stand forth!’ he concluded when the charges had been read. Ulrich took a shuffling step forward. ‘Here are your judges,’ the herald said.

The three jurors stepped forward as they were introduced, all Men of honour, well-respected in the City. Turamir, former captain of the Guard, sat as advisor to the King in military affairs. Rion, president of the merchants’ association, was known for his wisdom in settling disputes in the world of commerce. Cuillon was head of the Houses of Healing. All bowed to the King and then took the seats placed to the right of the throne.

Elessar swept the room with his glance. ‘Are there any here, to speak in behalf of the accused?’ he said, in accordance with custom. First, those who would bear witness in favour of the prisoner would be given the chance to speak. Then his accusers would testify as to his crimes. When they had finished, the King would invite anyone to speak, who could offer evidence contradicting any of the preceding testimony. After final questions were answered, the verdict and sentence would be pronounced.

‘Who would speak for such a one as this?’ Ferdibrand heard someone say in the crowd behind him. He opened his mouth, but silence fell as two Men stepped forward. He craned to see around the tall Men who were blocking his vision.

‘Heledir,’ the older, white-haired Man said in answer to the captain of the Guard.

‘Asfaron,’ the younger, well-dressed Man said. ‘We are councillors in the town of Dindale.’

The herald’s voice rang through the hall. ‘What would you say in his behalf?’

‘He is our Mayor,’ Heledir said clearly. There were gasps from the watching crowd as some recognised Ulrich for the first time since his entrance. ‘His actions, since I knew him, yea, and his reputation from the time before we met, have not been those of a ruffian!’

He went on to explain how he had met Ulrich as the Man was travelling South in company of the King, that he’d found him fair-spoken at the time of their meeting. How Ulrich had been returning northwards from Minas Tirith when he’d rescued a Man being beaten by robbers, how he’d placed that unfortunate on his own horse and led him to Dindale, how he’d joined the hunt for the robbers, helped to capture them, testified at their trial, witnessed their doom, and gone on to stay on in the town afterwards, working hard, making something of himself, becoming a councillor and eventually Mayor.

Asfaron, when it was his turn, told much the same story. He told of the Mayor’s honesty, his integrity, his good name in the town. Melilot’s hand tightened on Freddy’s when he spoke of Ulrich’s devotion to his wife and children.

Ferdi heard hissing conversation behind him. Honesty! Integrity! The Man did not even bear his own name, but the name of a dead man! Evidently rumour had run freely even before the start of the trial. The hobbit made ready to step forward, only to be precluded by the stiffening of the Men in front of him. He pushed rather rudely between them, to see Elessar descending from the throne to stand before the jurors.

‘I would speak for him,’ the King said quietly, but every word was heard, to the ends of the hall. ‘We spent many a long night fishing together, and one stormy day he saved my son from drowning at great peril to himself.’

‘He’d have done better to save the Prince and let himself drown,’ Ferdi heard someone mutter. He elbowed his way between the tall Men.

‘I would speak for him!’ he cried. He caught Elessar’s warning glance and nodded. He would not speak of the truth-sifting; it would bring danger to hobbits in general and himself in particular, and most likely he wouldn’t be believed by ones whose belief mattered most.

‘I have spent hours conversing with Ulrich,’ he said. ‘Which of you can say the same?’ He looked challengingly from one juror to another. ‘Do you know this Man, whom you would judge?’

There were sounds of amazement from the crowd, that one of the Halflings would speak on the prisoner’s behalf.

Several more stepped forward from the crowd, speaking well of Ulrich as they had known him. Turamir thanked each one gravely.

When no one else answered the call to speak, the herald called out, ‘Reinadan, face your accusers!’

Elessar resumed his seat on the throne as Ulrich turned to the seated hobbits with a bow. The King nodded to the jurors. ‘You may question the witnesses,’ he said.

‘Do you recognise any of these?’ Turamir asked Ulrich.

‘No,’ he said, shaking his head.

‘Do you know the names of your accusers?’ Turamir said.

‘No,’ Ulrich repeated, ‘only the one, Fredegar Bolger, for he was taken ill during the banquet welcoming the King and there was much concern as to his condition.’

Freddy patted his wife’s hand and stood to his feet, leaning on his heavy stick. ‘I am Fredegar Bolger,’ he said. ‘You knew me better, perhaps, as Number Seventy-Four.’

Ulrich nodded.

The questioning began. The jurors, knowing of Freddy’s condition and the wariness in general that these particular Shirefolk had towards Men, were calm, gentle, polite, each asking questions in their turn and waiting patiently for the witness to order his thoughts before answering.

‘Master Bolger, would you describe your stay at the Lockholes,’ Turamir said with the utmost courtesy. ‘You may be seated, if standing before the court would be too much of a strain.’

‘I thank you, sir,’ Fredegar said, and resumed his seat. He recounted, without expression, the capture of his band in their hidings in the Brockenbores by the hills of Scary, the long, terrible march to Michel Delving through the heat with little water, almost no food, and, for the last part, no rest.

‘Reaching the Lockholes, you encountered the accused,’ Turamir said.

‘Yes,’ Freddy said. ‘He was the scribe who jotted down our names and gave us new names in return for the old.’ He smiled grimly. ‘I did not give him my proper name, however, having been warned that it was a ticket to a front-row seat at a hanging.’

‘What name did you give?’ Rion asked out of curiosity.

‘The first thing off the top of my head,’ Freddy said. ‘I had sand between my toes, and so I said, “Sandy.” He told me that Number Seventy-Four would suit me for the rest of my stay, and that is what they called me.’

‘What was the punishment for using a hobbit’s real name?’ Turamir said.

‘Beatings,’ Freddy answered. ‘The hobbit who forgot and spoke another hobbit’s name would be beaten, as well as the hobbit whose name was spoken.’

Under questioning, Freddy went on to tell of the starvation diet, the myriad and changing “rules”, impossible to remember and keep them all, the cruel punishments and wicked diversions devised to alleviate the boredom of the guards. The Question Game in particular elicited angry murmurs from the crowd.

‘Let me understand this clearly,’ Cuillon said. ‘For every right answer, they spared you pain, and for every wrong answer, they inflicted pain. What sort of questions were there?’

‘For an easy question, something like “What sort of tree bears acorns?” or the like,’ Freddy said. Cuillon nodded, his face reflecting his puzzlement. ‘They’d give you two or three easy questions,’ Freddy went on, ‘but they were always followed by a question impossible to answer. “What’s the name of the inn by the second gate in Minas Tirith?” for example.’

‘That’s easy enough,’ someone muttered stupidly behind Ferdibrand.

‘Idiot!’ another hissed. ‘How would Halflings know such, when they’d never been to the White City?’

‘Describe the penalties you suffered,’ Cuillon said.

‘For every wrong answer, a burn or lash from the whip,’ Freddy said. He lifted his shirt and turned to display the old scars upon his back. Dropping the shirt, he turned again to face the jurors. ‘Or a broken finger, perhaps,’ he said, tugging at the glove on his right hand. Cuillon carefully examined the gnarled fingers that were revealed as the glove came off. ‘Or a kick in the ribs. ‘Twouldn’t have hurt so much if they didn’t have heavy boots on, of course.’

At the end of his testimony, Freddy was asked if he had any more to say. He did. ‘This ruffian never murdered nor hanged any hobbits that I know of,’ he said. ‘He was under the influence of a powerful wizard. And...’ he looked piercingly at Ulrich. ‘And he was young, and slightly built, and the other ruffians made sport of him. Perhaps he was driven to prove himself their equal.’

‘Conjecture,’ Rion said dismissively. ‘It stands to your credit that you would defend him, scarred by his actions against you. But then, we know that Halflings are a noble and charitable race.’

Budgie and Robin were questioned in the course of the hearing. Ulrich knew who they were, of course, once they gave their names and numbers. He’d written their names in the book, of course, and assigned the numbers himself.

Cuillon asked Robin in particular about another of the ruffians’ games. ‘What exactly did you mean by “Take the Cake”?’ he said.

Robin cleared his throat. ‘It is easy enough to play,’ he said. ‘You set a plate of tempting food before a starving hobbit and encourage him to help himself. When he reaches for the food, you lash him with a whip.’

There was a murmur of outrage from the crowd.

‘What would prevent the hobbit from refusing?’ Rion asked.

Robin smiled bleakly. ‘Refusing?’ he said. ‘Refuse a ruffian?’ He let the words stand, to have effect. The Men looked down at the diminutive figure, less than half the height of a Man.

The hobbit nodded. ‘If you played the game correctly, you’d end with your arms raw and bleeding from fingertip to elbow,’ he said, rolling up his sleeves and extending his arms, with their fine white criss-crossing of scars, for the jurors to examine. ‘If you did not play the game, you’d still have the beating, but it would be over more than just your arms.’

Budgie, as a healer, answered Cuillon’s questions about the condition of the Lockhole prisoners both during their incarceration and the long recovery following release.

‘Years, it took in some cases,’ he concluded. ‘And some did not recover, but died soon after release, in the bosoms of their families,’ he looked soberly from Freddy to Robin. It had been a near thing in both their cases. ‘And for some, the effects have lingered the rest of their lives.’ As in the case of Freddy’s heart, he didn’t have to add.

Each witness in turn mentioned the effect of the Voice of Saruman. Ferdi could see the scepticism on the faces of jurors and onlookers alike. None, apparently, had experienced the power of a wizard close at hand. The age of wizards was past, and the stories of Gandalf and Saruman were fading into the mists of legend.

When Turamir asked if any could prove any of the testimony wrong, either in favour of the prisoner, or in contradiction of the charges against him, there was silence throughout the hall.

Sam stepped forward. ‘Wait!’ he said. ‘I too can testify as to the effect of the Voice of Saruman.’

The jurors bowed respectfully to acknowledge the remaining Ring-bearer, though there was no evidence that his words had any effect.

Merry strode to Sam’s side. ‘I too!’ he shouted. ‘He had a power in his Voice, to make Men believe whatever he told them. Ulrich—Reinadan, had little choice in the matter. Surely many of the ruffians under Saruman’s sway were brutes or worse than brutes, and they proved it by going on to lives of debauchery and crime after we chased them from the Shire. But Reinadan did not continue as a ruffian. Perhaps there may be others, as well, who became decent Men when the wizard departed!’

The jurors listened politely, but they were practical Men, pragmatic in their attitude. Turamir alone was old enough to remember Gandalf, and he’d been a young guardsman at the time of the War of the Ring. To him, Gandalf was a distant figure in white. He’d seen him once in passing, during the siege of the City, and had experienced a brief lightening of heart... but that could be explained away. He was a practical Man, after all, and not given to superstition.

Turamir gravely thanked the hobbits, bowed again in dismissal, and turned to face the King.

‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I think we are in agreement,’ he added, looking from Rion to Cuillon. They nodded soberly.

‘Render your verdict,’ Elessar said.

Turamir bowed to the King, and the jurors turned to confront Ulrich. Turamir spoke for them all. 

‘Reinadan, late of Minas Tirith, also called Ulrich, Mayor of Dindale, we find you guilty as charged. Death is the penalty for the crimes you have committed. Now therefore I must pronounce your doom.’

Ulrich looked the old guardsman steadily in the eye. ‘I’m ready,’ he said.

‘With the next rising of the Sun you shall hang by the neck until dead,’ Turamir intoned. ‘And may you somehow find grace beyond this world.’

‘But he shouldn’t hang!’ Freddy muttered. ‘He took no life...’






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