Chapter 48. In the Bargain

When Ulrich saw the flash of the blade he acted without thinking, pushing Ferdi down even as he felt hot fire trace a path along his ribs. The Southron snarled and turned, seeking other prey. Guardsmen drew their swords and pressed forward through the crowd.

Bergil threw himself between the attacker and the royal family, pulling his own sword from its scabbard, but the Southron was seeking blood not of Men but Halflings; the cruel knife found Frodovar and plunged deep. In the meantime, Brant was staring, aghast, at the advancing ring of swords. He had to wrench the situation from Pilgrim’s grasp or they’d both be slain in another instant! Even as the Pilgrim pulled the knife from the hobbit, Brant grabbed at the free hand of the hobbit lass whose hand was entwined with that of the staggering victim.

As the Southron tugged at Forget-me-not, Frodovar was pulled along as well, crying out in pain, weakly pawing at his bloodied breast. The Man cursed and roughly cut the cord binding the hobbits together, lifting the lass up and against him, a living shield. Forget-me-not kicked and screamed, trying to win free, to go to Frodovar who was now sinking to the ground. One of her flailing hands caught the headscarf and ripped it free, revealing no Southron but the mad Pilgrim of Rohan. Roughly he subdued her, bringing the knife to her throat.

‘Hold!’ he shouted to the guardsmen, backing rapidly until none stood behind him. ‘One step forward and she dies!’

 ‘Slay her and you will die at once,’ Elessar said, pushing past Bergil.

 ‘So long as you stay back, she will continue to breathe,’ the madman said, knife steady at Forget-me-not’s throat.

 ‘Ruby,’ Diamond moaned, and Pippin’s arms tightened about her as he stared, helpless, at his oldest daughter.

 ‘What do you want for her?’ Elessar said tightly.

The madman laughed. ‘What will you grant me?’ he mocked. ‘Even unto half your kingdom?’ He tightened his grip on Forget-me-not. ‘I will not require so much of you... a horse will suit my needs handsomely. I must warn you, however, that if your archers shoot me down as I ride away, this little one will die with me.’

Elfwine stepped forward. ‘Take my horse,’ he said, gesturing to the guardsman holding the reins of several horses. ‘He’s faster than anything Gondor can offer.’ He met Merry’s eye, and the small knight of the Mark nodded slightly in understanding, loosening his grip on his sword, standing straighter.

Elessar shot a look at the young prince of Rohan, but Elfwine was already taking his reins from the guardsman, knotting them and throwing them over the horse’s head. ‘Run well, Eaglewing,’ he murmured into the twitching ear. He stepped back and slapped the horse lightly on the side, sending it towards the madman.

 ‘Wait!’ Nell called, her voice high and clear in the deadly silence. The madman caught the reins of the horse with the hand holding the knife, but the blade settled once more against Forget-me-not’s throat before any of the guardsmen could move.

 ‘Nell, no!’ Pippin gasped. Ferdi still lay beneath Ulrich, stunned and breathless, but he struggled now to push the Man away, to rise.

 ‘He let me go upon a time,’ she whispered to her brother in an undertone that did not reach the ruffian. ‘Ruby has no such hope.’ Raising her voice, she called again, moving towards the madman holding her niece. ‘You don’t want her!’

 ‘Don’t I?’ the Pilgrim sneered. ‘Young and tender: ah the dancing and feasting to come!’ Nell knew that voice. It was the other that she was trying to reach.

 ‘She doesn’t know how to dance,’ she said, in as persuasive a tone as she could manage. ‘She’s too young... you don’t want her,’ she said again. ‘Take me instead. I know a thing or two about dancing. What delight we might share...’ she cooed, and then hardened her tone, ‘but not if you take her.’ Pimpernel infused her last words with as much scorn as she could muster.

 ‘Stand back!’ the ruffian rapped out, and the creeping guardsmen reluctantly halted. ‘Tell them to move away, or this little one will lose an ear, to start. I will cut her to pieces slowly, before your eyes!’

It was Brant talking, Nell thought. The Pilgrim wielded the knife, but Brant was trying to escape. Somehow his words did not ring true to her. He did not want to harm Forget-me-not, she thought, though the Pilgrim would not hesitate. She must reach Brant, somehow, in that dangerously confused Man standing before her, or she must use the Pilgrim’s madness against him. Suddenly she remembered...

 ‘You promised,’ she said softly, holding out her hands to the Man. ‘You made a promise to me; you know you did. “A promise made is a promise you’re honour-bound to keep.” I heard you say it more than once.’

 ‘True,’ the madman said. The Pilgrim cackled, but Brant’s eyes looked out at her thoughtfully.

 ‘Let her go, and take me with you,’ Nell said again. She feared the guardsmen would grow reckless and cause harm to her niece, so she moved forward quickly until she was just out of the madman’s reach.

 ‘Perhaps I’ll take the two of you!’ the Pilgrim chuckled nastily, but Nell still saw Brant’s eyes meeting her gaze, and she shook her head.

 ‘You don’t need her,’ she said again softly. ‘I am the only one you need.’

 ‘How would you know what I need?’ the madman sneered.

 ‘I know,’ Nell said, her voice ripe with promise, in a tone she’d only used with her husband until this moment.

 ‘Come to me, little darling,’ the madman crooned, loosening his grip on Forget-me-not, though the knife edge did not waver from its threat.

 ‘I am yours,’ Nell said in a soft sing-song. ‘You said I was; you promised.’ She gathered her nerve and stepped forward, adding, ‘Let her go.’

In an instant Forget-me-not was sprawling on the grass and the hand had taken Pimpernel in its merciless grip. She gave a gasp and protested, ‘You’re hurting me!’ Astonishingly, the grip was lessened; the madman held her loosely now.

 ‘Stand back,’ he growled. ‘I do not want to kill this one, but I will if I must.’

Elessar gestured, and the guardsmen fell back. The madman, holding Nell close, mounted the tall horse of Rohan and pulled at the reins, urging the horse backwards, away from the crowd. ‘Stand fast!’ he said. ‘Stand fast and no harm will come to this little one.’

Nell relaxed slightly. She recognised Brant’s voice, and knew he would keep that promise if he could.

When the horse was clear of the crowd, the madman reined him around and dug in his heels. The horse sprang into a gallop, and the Pilgrim’s laugh sounded high and wild as they made their escape.

 ‘Nell,’ Ferdi gasped, even as Pippin plucked at Elessar’s sleeve, saying ‘Archers!’

 ‘Too dangerous,’ the King replied, and to all the staring hobbits he added, ‘Wait. A moment only, I beg you, and then...’

Ulrich knelt by Frodovar’s side. He had complete confidence in Elessar, and so he paid no heed to the escaping madman with his hobbit hostage. This hobbit, lying before him, didn’t have a moment, or very many moments, from the look of him. Frodovar gasped for air through lips that were turning blue. He had coughed but a moment ago, and a bright froth of blood issued from his mouth.

Ulrich pushed aside Frodovar’s hands which were pressing against his chest and pulled the bloodied shirt open to reveal the wound. Air whistled in and out and bubbles formed in the blood at the edges. Ulrich had seen such a wound before; instinctively he pushed his hand against the opening, sealing the wound. ‘Breathe,’ he panted to the stricken hobbit. ‘Keep breathing.’

 ‘Listen to him, Fro,’ Freddy said, kneeling beside his son. His own face was very pale, but he held himself tightly in check, firmly ignoring the hammering of his heart in his chest. His son needed attention, and he would not allow himself to collapse and draw away needed help from Frodovar. ‘Breathe, son. I’m here beside you.’

Forget-me-not fell to her knees beside Frodovar, taking up his hand in hers. ‘Stay,’ she begged. ‘Please stay.’ Her eyes went from the face of her beloved to the horse retreating across the plain. No riders pursued. She wept fresh tears for the sacrifice of her aunt, and all for naught. If Frodovar died, then she didn’t care to live. They ought to have let the madman take her.

A whistle rang out across the plain, high and clear.

One moment they were galloping along, Pilgrim chortling and Brant grumbling by turns, the madman’s arm tight around her though he’d put the knife away, the bright Southron robes streaming behind him in the wind of their passing. In the next moment they were flying through the air. Nell was not quite sure what had happened, only that the horse was no longer beneath them. She felt the Man curl himself around her as they flew, and then there was a terrible jolt and she knew no more.