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As the Gentle Rain  by Lindelea

Chapter 52. The Quality of Mercy

The drum did stop, however, and to his amazement Ulrich found himself still standing and breathing. He opened his eyes, wondering.

A horse reared before the platform; the sound of its hurried approach had been covered by the drum. ‘Hold!’ rang out two voices in unison. ‘Hold!’

 ‘What is it?’ Elessar said, stepping forward. Brandir the executioner released the lever he’d been about to pull and took a deep breath. Dawning or no dawning, he vowed he’d seek a good, stiff drink when this morning’s work was done.

 ‘The precedent!’ Merry shouted, brandishing a parchment in the growing light. ‘The precedent!’

The joyous laugh of the young prince of Rohan rang upon the morning air. ‘We found it in your dusty old records!’ he cried. ‘Mouldering away, they were, but we found it nevertheless!’

The King strode to the edge of the platform to seize the parchment from the hobbit. He read rapidly, curling the sheet between his fingers as his eye travelled down the page. His stiff, cold expression thawed, hope dawned and turned to joy and then he jerked around, waved an arm to Brandir and said, ‘Release him!’

 ‘What, me?’ said the madman hopefully.

 ‘I think not,’ Brandir said, moving to Ulrich, loosening the noose and drawing it gently over his friend’s head and letting it fall empty.

Bergil stepped up to undo the shackles on Ulrich’s wrists and ankles. Ulrich stood transfixed in wonder, absently rubbing his wrists.

 ‘If you wouldn’t mind...’ Brandir murmured, pointing at the platform under Ulrich’s feet.

 ‘Oh. O yes,’ Ulrich said, shuffling aside onto the firmer foundation.

Elessar gestured to the jurors, and all came to stand before Ulrich. ‘It is in the records of Minas Anor,’ the King said, ‘though ancient, still to be considered as a part of the history and law of Gondor.’ He passed the record to Cuillon, who perused the sheet eagerly. ‘It seems a Man condemned to die was to be hanged at dawn outside the City Gate. An attack came as the sentence was about to be carried out; he was cut loose by chance and grabbed up the sword of a fallen guardsman. He fought bravely and the attack was beaten off by the defenders of the City.’

Elessar smiled broadly and went on, ‘The hanging was put off until the next day, but in view of the fact that he had not received proper justice -- he was not hanged on the day he was sentenced to die -- and in light of his bravery, it was determined that he must be re-tried, and re-sentenced.’

 ‘And?’ Ferdi demanded.

 ‘And he did not hang,’ Elessar finished. ‘He went on to rise in the ranks, to become one of the finest Captains of the Guard of his time.’

 ‘Well,’ Ferdi said. ‘It appears, Ulrich, that you have prospects for a bright future.’

 ‘But what about me?’ the Pilgrim yelled.

The King spared the madman a pitying glance as he and the jurors ushered Ulrich from the platform, Ferdi following close behind.

Nell greeted Ulrich warmly, kissed Ferdi, and gave Merry an enthusiastic hug. ‘I knew you could do it, if anyone could!’ she said. ‘You’ve always been the booksiest of all my cousins.’

 ‘I think that’s a compliment,’ Merry said with a laugh.

 ‘It is!’ Nell said stoutly.

The Sun was rising, peeping over the Eastern range, smiling to greet the new day.

 ‘It’s past sunrise!’ the Pilgrim yelled desperately. ‘I did not hang as I was called to do! Save me! Please! Have mercy!’

King Elessar turned a grave face towards the hobbits. ‘You were witnesses against him,’ he said. ‘We have only your evidence; the others who died, their deaths cannot be laid directly at his feet.’

 ‘What are you saying, Strider?’ Merry asked slowly.

 ‘I know it is not the Hobbit way to take life,’ the King said. ‘If it is your wish, I will grant him mercy, commute his sentence.’

 ‘Commute his sentence...?’ Ferdi said, suspicion and puzzlement in his tone. ‘I do not understand.’ He did not begin to comprehend the ways of Men. Did this mean the madman would go free? He didn’t like the sound of that.

Evidently Nell didn’t either. Her grip tightened to a stranglehold on Ferdi’s arm. She drew a shaking breath, and then whispered, ‘I thought you said his madness cannot be cured.’

 ‘It cannot,’ Elessar said gently.

 ‘Then what do you mean?’ Merry insisted.

 ‘I mean, Merry, that he would not hang,’ Elessar said, going to one knee to be at hobbit eye-level. ‘Neither would he go free.’

 ‘Then, what?’ Merry said, confused. For some reason the spectre of Gollum, held captive by the Wood Elves, rose in his thoughts.

 ‘He would spend his remaining days locked safely away,’ Elessar said.

 ‘In the dungeons,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Yes,’ Elessar nodded.

 ‘Never to be released,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Never,’ the King affirmed.

Ferdi and Merry exchanged glances, but Nell was looking at the madman on the platform, who’d been following the conversation, it seemed. Now he looked directly at Nell and said, ‘Please.’

Nell stepped forward a little.

The madman straightened, saying, ‘Help me. Please! Have mercy!’

Nell nodded to herself. Pilgrim was speaking, but Brant’s eyes looked directly into hers.

All eyes were on Pimpernel. ‘Nell?’ Elessar said quietly. ‘If it is your wish to save him...’

Nell took a deep breath and steeled herself. ‘It is my wish,’ she said clearly. She did not look at Ferdi, for she imagined he looked stricken, sick with fear for her... and though he would not admit it, for himself as well. She looked back to the Pilgrim, seeing the desperation in Brant’s eyes even as the wild grin broadened at her words.

 ‘I would cry mercy: I wish to save him,’ she echoed. She swallowed hard and met the King’s gaze, with such a look in her eye that he did not turn away to order the noose removed from the madman’s neck;  he waited to hear what else she might say. ‘Hang him,’ she said firmly.

Elessar hesitated, and then understanding came into his face. ‘As you wish,’ he said, and rising he gestured to the drummer. The madman’s mouth was moving but mercifully the drumroll covered his words. Ferdi and Merry were still looking at Pimpernel in astonishment but her eyes were fixed on Brant’s, right up to the time the executioner pulled the lever and the madman dropped, snapping the rope taut.

The drumroll continued for a long moment and then stopped.

Ulrich, his face devoid of colour, sagged against Elfwine. ‘I don’t know...’ he gasped. ‘...don’t know what’s the matter with me...’

 ‘I do,’ the young knight of the Mark said grimly, and without another word he helped the staggering man onto his horse, mounted lightly behind him, and cantered to the Gate, on his way to the Houses of Healing. It would be a fine irony, he reflected, for Ulrich to die of heart failure after escaping hanging, but he wouldn’t be surprised at such a thing, after all the man had been through.

Nell watched the gentle sway of the body against the brightening sky for some minutes. ‘Is he dead?’ she asked at last.

Elessar gestured to the executioner, who had long experience in such matters.

Brandir made sure and indicated that life had departed. His expertise had caused the madman’s neck to be broken as he fell, and death came not long after.

 ‘I know that the practice is to leave him until sunset,’ Nell said tonelessly, her eyes still fixed on Brant, ‘but would you please order him cut down?’

 ‘As you wish,’ Elessar said, and raised his voice to call out. ‘Cut him down!’

The executioner waved and complied. Guardsmen caught the body, brought it out from under the gallows, and laid it gently on the ground. Nell stumbled forward, Ferdi and Merry following belatedly, and stood gazing down. To her eyes he looked strangely peaceful in repose.

 ‘What will happen to him now?’ she whispered.

 ‘He’ll be buried out there,’ Brandir said quietly, his arm sweeping the Pelennor, ‘in an unmarked grave, if no one comes to claim the body.’

 ‘Buried and forgotten,’ Nell said.

 ‘I don’t know that he’ll be forgotten,’ Merry said wryly. Ferdi stood mute.

 ‘His name was Brant,’ Nell said. ‘He was a Man of the City, who marched into darkness and doom upon a time, when Shadow covered all and hope was all but lost.’

 ‘Yes,’ Merry said, remembering that time.

 ‘But he was not yet a Man, in truth,’ Nell went on. ‘Too young to be reckoned a Man, too old to be called a boy... a foolish youth,’ she said softly. ‘He marched with the Army of the West, from despair into destruction... and was lost.’

Ferdi fumbled at the purse that hung from his belt. ‘Here,’ he said, roughly thrusting the bag at the executioner once he managed to jerk it free. ‘We claim the body, and ask that you’d bury it with other Men of the City, and mark the grave with his name.’

 ‘Brant,’ the executioner said. ‘I had an uncle by that name. I’m called after him.’

 ‘What happened to him?’ Merry asked.

 ‘He marched to the Black Gate and never returned,’ Brandir said, ‘He...’ His blank look was replaced by dawning comprehension. ‘No,’ he whispered.

 ‘I’m sorry,’ Nell said softly. ‘He saved me, you know, even in the depths of his madness.’

 ‘Did he?’ Brandir asked numbly.

 ‘He did,’ Ferdi said.

Brandir seemed to notice the bag in his hand for the first time. He hastily shoved it back at Ferdibrand. ‘Take this,’ he said. ‘I’ll see he has a proper burial, and remembrance.’

 ‘Thank you,’ Nell said. ‘We can go now.’ She turned away and walked towards the Gate.

***

There was a hurried clatter of hoofbeats and a shout outside the Houses of Healing.

 ‘That doesn’t sound good,’ Pippin said from where he’d stationed himself to watch. He’d been banned from the hanging by the healers, not that he’d ever listened to healers before, but Diamond was a force to be reckoned with.

 ‘Aid! Aid is needed!’ came the voice of the young Prince of Rohan. ‘A Man is ill!’

Healers hurried past the waiting hobbits and out the door.

 ‘Surely I may stir from this spot,’ Pippin said reasonably, but Diamond shook her head in stubborn insistence.

 ‘Cuillon said no closer to the door than this, and I’m holding you to your promise,’ she said.

 ‘It wasn’t a promise,’ Pippin said. ‘I was just trying to make him feel better about this wretched business by agreeing with him at the time.’

 ‘It was a promise,’ Diamond said, shaking her finger in his face, ‘and...’

The healers returned, bearing Ulrich.

 Pippin gasped the Man’s name, adding in a stunned whisper, ‘but how that he be brought here? They wouldn’t hang him and then heal him, would they?’

 ‘O Pip,’ Diamond moaned, and suddenly he hugged her tightly.

 ‘Freddy succeeded,’ he whispered, closing his eyes and sagging against Diamond as the realisation sank in. ‘O cousin.’

A hobbit peeping from the doorway of Frodovar’s room had reached the same conclusion; soon fresh sounds of grief were heard from Freddy’s family.

It took some time for Elfwine to learn of the sorrow he’d engendered; he hovered just out of the way as the healers worked over Ulrich, finally administering a draught of some sort and propping him, half-sitting, in a bed. Ulrich continued to gasp for air for some moments before the draught took effect, calming him and easing him to drowsiness.

 ‘He’ll sleep now,’ old Eregeth said, taking the young prince firmly by an elbow and escorting him from the room. ‘You may tell his friends that all is well with him.’

Elfwine went to assure the hobbits that Ulrich had taken no harm; the healers said he’d collapsed from strain but rest and care would put him right once more. To his wonder the news did not cheer his friends; they continued to weep as in despair. Finally he heard Melilot murmur brokenly, ‘Freddy,’ and he understood.

 ‘No!’ he said, ‘not at all! Master Fredegar lives! Prince Faramir will return him to the Houses shortly!’

He could not make them understand, however, until Faramir himself rode up to the entrance and carried Freddy into the Houses of Healing. Freddy was joyfully mobbed by his astonished loved ones, all babbling at once, until Faramir picked him up again and bellowed at the top of his voice for quiet.

 ‘I should say so!’ Eregeth said, emerging from Ulrich’s room. Glaring at the Prince of Ithilien, she snapped, ‘You might start with yourself, my lord. Indeed, the very thought...’ Muttering, she returned to her duties.

Prince Faramir quietly explained to the now-listening hobbits the events that had transpired outside the Gate. ‘And now,’ he concluded, ‘I think you all ought to settle to your breakfasts, and hold all other questions until Master Fredegar has rested and eaten!’ His glance went to Pippin, half-leaning on Diamond. ‘As well as you, Ernil. Should Cuillon return to find you in this state he’ll pop you into bed for another week!’

 ‘We cannot have that,’ Pippin said, straightening, but he allowed Diamond to escort him back to his bed and serve him his breakfast there. Truly he was drained by the events of the day, and early breakfast was not yet over!

***

Ulrich was better after a day’s rest; Pippin was, as well, and even Freddy seemed stronger.

The Hall of Kings was more crowded than before, if possible, as Bergil escorted Ulrich to judgment.

 ‘What makes you think this will come out any different than the last trial?’ Ulrich whispered to the guardsman.

 ‘You’re not shackled, to start,’ Bergil returned in an undertone. ‘I’d call that a good omen.’

All proceeded as before, according to custom. The trumpets and the herald announced the King’s entrance, the accusation was read, and Ulrich was called to stand forth. The jurors were introduced, and Ulrich had a terrible feeling that it was all a dream, and the outcome would be the same as before. They were simply going through the motions.

Elessar swept the room with his glance. ‘Are there any here, to speak in behalf of the accused?’

Cuillon stepped forward. ‘I choose to speak in behalf of the accused,’ he said.

 ‘Do you excuse yourself from the case?’ the King asked, leaning forward.

 ‘I do not,’ Cuillon said. ‘I offer the thoughts of an impartial observer.’ He went on to detail his observations of Ulrich from the time of the first trial forward.

Though no one from the town of Dindale was represented, more Men pressed forward, Bergil and other guardsmen amongst them, and hobbits spoke, Pippin and Ferdibrand foremost among them, and finally the King added his testimony.

Next came the questioning of the witnesses. The jurors were not as thorough as in the previous trial. For the sake of the hobbits’ sensibilities, they referred often to the earlier testimony, asking that the hobbits’ words be taken from that record and inserted into the record for the current trial. No one seemed to object to this practice.

 ‘The evidence is clear,’ Cuillon said at last. ‘Reinadan tormented you in word and deed, offering no comfort and no aid in your extremity, and had not his actions been interrupted by the scouring of the Shire, you would have undoubtedly died under his treatment.’

 ‘Not Reinadan alone,’ Robin protested.

 ‘And he was acting under orders,’ Budgie put in.

 ‘He was under the wizard’s compulsion,’ Freddy clarified.

 ‘Nevertheless, I think we have summed up the situation adequately,’ Cuillon said. ‘I thank you for your patience in answering our questions a second time.’

Freddy seemed about to protest but the healer caught his eye and gave just the slightest shake of his head.

Next Cuillon called the King to testify. He asked how Elessar had met Ulrich and listened patiently to the story until the King reached the part about the grave.

 ‘Was there a marker on the grave?’ Cuillon asked.

 ‘There was a stone,’ the King answered.

 ‘Did it have a marking?’ Cuillon said.

 ‘No,’ Elessar said.

 ‘Who was buried there? Did you hear a name?’ Cuillon pressed.

Elessar looked to his old friend and back to the jurors. ‘Ulrich said it was his cousin Reinadan, drowned in a storm,’ he said slowly.

 ‘I see,’ Cuillon said, stepping back and exchanging glances with the other jurors. ‘It appears Reinadan is dead.’

He turned to Ulrich and bowed. ‘It seems we have a case of mistaken identity,’ he said.

 ‘No, that’s not it at all,’ Ulrich said, for he was an honorable Man and had put all lies behind him.

 ‘O yes,’ Cuillon said, nodding sagely. ‘You are not the same Man who terrorised the hobbits in the Lockholes. That much is clear.’

 ‘Not the same Man at all,’ Turamir said gruffly, and Rion added his agreement.

Cuillon thanked the King for his testimony and bowed in dismissal. Elessar resumed the throne.

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

‘Render your verdict,’ Elessar said.

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

‘Ulrich, Mayor of Dindale, we find you innocent of all charges laid against you. We find the Man named Reinadan to be the guilty party, but it appears that he died long ago and is no longer available to be put to trial and hanged for his crimes. Ulrich of Dindale, you are set free.’

***

Next: Final Chapter "Homecoming"






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