Chapter 68. Hobbit Hospitality

The stable lads at the Great Smials were working their way slowly from one stall to the next, clearing out the soiled bedding and laying fresh, filling the haynets and mangers, filling the water buckets, though none was strong enough to haul more than half a bucket at a time. When the fever chills would strike a lad, he'd go out into the courtyard and sit in the sun a bit, until the chills went away, and then it was back to work, for there were many ponies to be tended yet this day.

Jory, one of the eldest of the lads, who had his eye on becoming a trainer, as a matter of fact, was sitting on the stones with his back to the stable wall, letting the warm sun soak his fever-chilled bones, when he heard the clatter of pony hoofs in the courtyard. He opened his eyes and jumped to his feet, unmindful of fever aches and weariness, to see the hard-ridden pony before him, head drooping, flanks heaving, foam dripping, legs a-tremble. He strode up to grab at the bridle, ready to heap imprecations on the rider's head, when he realised the rider was fainting in the saddle, ready to fall. Shouting for help, he caught the limp body and eased it to the ground.

'Steady, now,' he said to both pony and rider. The pony looked to be on the edge of collapse, about to join its rider on the stones. Two more stable lads emerged from the stable, moving slowly until they saw the pony, then racing over, only to stop, swaying, dizzy, having to grab at the pony to keep from going down themselves.

'Steady,' Jory said again. 'Don't pull 'im down, he's barely on his feet as 'tis. Sammel, go and get the steward, there's somewhat gone far wrong, or I'm an elf.'

'You're no elf, for sure,' Sammel gasped, and straightened cautiously. He wiped his hand across his face and started for the Smials.

'Neddy, are you all right?' Jory asked. The other nodded, and Jory said, 'Take the lad, then, strip off the saddle and cool 'im out. Go slow, he's all used up. If he perks up, rub him down and give him but a few sips of water. Then go call old Tom, he'll know what else to do for the lad. That pony'll be bad sick if we don't take care.'

'Right,' Neddy answered. Taking the bridle, he crooned to the shaky pony, gently walking it away.

Jory tried to pull the limp hobbit to the shade but had to give up the effort. He arranged the hobbit with his head in Jory's lap, face shaded from the sun by the stable lad's body. Jory then took his handkerchief from his pocket, soaked it in the water bucket that Sammel had carried out to the yard in his haste, and sponged the pale face.

The steward came out with Sammel, went to his knees when he reached them, put a hand on the hobbit's shoulder and shook him slightly.

'Dinny?' he said. 'Dinny, can you hear me?' The other moaned. 'He was supposed to take the news towards Bywater and Hobbiton,' Regi said as if to himself. 'Dinny, talk to me, what's happened?'

'Dead,' the other moaned, shaking his head. 'All dead.'

Reginard felt a fist in his stomach at the implications of the other's words. Dinny had been ordered to ride the road towards Bywater until he met someone, shout the news, and return to the Smials. All the hobbits of Bywater... all in Hobbiton... dead?

'All of Bywater?' he gasped aloud.

Dinny shook his head, opening his eyes, face bleached with shock. 'Never got to Bywater,' he mumbled.

Regi shook him gently. 'Talk to me, Dinny,' he said slowly. 'Tell me what's what.' Slowly the story came out. Dinny had not met anyone on the road to Bywater, had seen no one moving on the farmsteads between; perhaps they were all gone to Market Day, but was this the right day? The heat made it hard to think. On the outskirts of Bywater, passing a farmstead he had seen a body lying near a well. Shouting as he turned his pony into the yard had brought no response from any of the buildings. Dismounting by the body, he'd found it cold and stiff. Hurriedly searching through the buildings, he'd found more, none alive. In his horror, his only thought was to flee this place of death, return to the Smials as quickly as he could.

Reginard absorbed the news. Not as bad as he'd feared, perhaps, for they did not yet know what went on in Bywater, but bad. Very bad. For all the hobbits of one farm to die, and the bodies left unburied, unnoticed... things must be very bad in Bywater.

The steward made a decision. He looked down at Dinny. 'You have to walk, lad,' he said. 'None can carry you.' Dinny nodded, and between them Regi and Jory got him to his feet, helped him into the Smials, to the great room, where they laid him down.

Then Regi turned to the stable lad. 'I want you to find everyone who's on his feet,' he said. 'Round them up, I'll meet them in the yard. Then start saddling ponies. The ones going door-to-door in Tuckborough ought to be back soon; tell them to grab a bite and find me.'

'Yes, Sir,' Jory said, 'I'll go to Bywater for the search, I've family there.'

'Right, lad. We've got to find out what's happening in Hobbiton, as well.' The stable lad nodded and turned away to begin gathering hobbits for the rescue party.

As Reginard was taking reports from those who'd been in Tuckborough, another rider clattered into the yard, riding into the group of hobbits there, shouting, 'Ruffians! There's ruffians in the Shire!'

'What?' the steward snapped, grabbing at the wild-eyed pony's bridle.

'Ruffians, riding down the road to Stock.'

'How many?'

'More than a dozen,' the hobbit gasped. Anticipating the steward's next question, he said, 'I nearly ran into them, just past the Crowing Cockerel.'

'I don't suppose the best beer on the Stock Road will slow them down any,' the steward said. He turned to Ferdibrand, who'd been apprising him on conditions in Tuckborough. 'Take a company of archers,' he said. 'You know what to do.'

'Right!' Ferdi snapped back, exhaustion forgotten in the face of this new menace. He surveyed the hobbits who'd returned with him from Tuckborough, probably the only hobbits on their feet at the moment, save the watchers taking care of the fevered hobbits in the great room. 'Get weapons and ponies.' The gathering broke apart. As Ferdibrand turned away, Reginard put a hand on his arm. 'Be careful,' he said, 'and use your head.'

'We won't meet them head on,' Ferdi answered. 'We'll shoot from ambush if we have to.'

'Good lad,' Regi said. 'We can't take any chances.'

***

The waiting was the hardest part. Some hours after they departed, a lone Took returned from Bywater and Hobbiton, face sober, to report more deaths from the fever. The rescuers from Tookland had been barely in time to save the Mayor and his family, and for the Mayor and several of his children, the outcome was yet in doubt. There were still farms and hobbit holes to be searched, and no hobbits fit to help themselves or others had yet been found. More help was desperately needed. Regi ordered the stable lads to saddle as many ponies as could be saddled, then went to the great room of the Smials. He clapped his hands together to gain the attention of all in the room and quietly explained the situation. Hobbits around the room staggered to their feet, to help each other out the door to the waiting ponies.

Regi put his hand to his forehead, dizzy, and felt a watcher take his arm and ease him down. 'Steady, Reg,' a familiar voice said, though he couldn't have told which cousin it belonged to. 'Take a rest. We'll let you know if anything happens.' The steward nodded and let the world slide away.

***

One good thing you could say about the drought, one could see the approaching body of riders from some distance, just by the cloud of dust they raised. Ferdi raised his hand to halt his group of archers, and they dismounted and led their ponies into the shelter of the trees, tying them up well off the road, returning to lie hidden in underbrush, arrows nocked, bows at the ready. Ferdi sat down by the side of the road to wait.

Soon he heard the soft thud of the approaching horses, the jingle of harness, and he scrambled to his feet to stand in the middle of the road, waiting. A body of mounted Men on tall horses came down the road, the leader halting the group just short of the grim-faced hobbit. There was something familiar about them, but he couldn't put a finger on it.

'Have you lost your way?' Ferdi barked. 'You don't belong here. This is the Shire; no Men are allowed, by edict of King Elessar.'

The leader of the ruffians swung down from his horse, tossing the reins to another. 'We're here on King's orders,' he said, approaching a few steps closer.

Ferdibrand laughed sharply. 'That's a new one,' he said. 'You ruffians think to fool us that way?' He surveyed the tall Man quietly, then said, 'I suggest you get back on your horse and ride back the way you came.'

'We are here to help...' the Man said.

'You are covered by archers, and if you do not heed my words you will be poked as full of holes as a pincushion in a moment,' Ferdi said. He was losing patience with these great oafs who did not seem to understand the simplest concept.

A hobbit came out of the underbrush, still holding his bow, to whisper to Ferdibrand. 'What's that?' Ferdi growled.

'Look at their dress,' the other repeated. 'They look like the Thain, when he's wearing those fancy togs the outlanders gave him.'

Ferdi took another look at the black and silver guardsman before him, White Tree of Gondor outlined on his surcoat, ridiculous-looking winged helm on his head, not like sensible hobbit headgear at all.

'Where did you say you come from? Speak quickly!' he snapped.

'We are a part of the King's guard at Fornost,' the other said. 'The Ernil i Pheriannath appealed to the King for aid. King Elessar himself is at Brandy Hall.'

'The... who?' Ferdi said, annoyed. The other hobbit murmured, 'That is what they call the Thain. I suppose "Thain" is too difficult for them to say.'

The Man smiled at the hobbits' bold contempt; he was reminded of small snarling dogs who will fight to the death against much larger adversaries to defend their masters.

'Yes,' he added. 'The King is with your Thain at Brandy Hall.'

'What proof can you show me? Do you have any token from the Thain?' Ferdi demanded.

The guardsman was taken aback. He'd received orders to enter the Shire and render aid, but no instructions on how to deal with surly hobbits. All they'd encountered thus far had been too sick to do more than widen their eyes, if they were awake enough to recognise that it was a Man and not a hobbit helping them. 'There was no time for... tokens,' he said cautiously.

'Well,' Ferdi said, considering, 'You've a lot of nerve, riding around here without leave.' He came to a decision. 'We had better escort you to the steward, let him decided what to do with you.' He eyed the guardsman. 'You're not safe, in any event, riding about Tookland without an escort. Tooks are likely to shoot first and ask questions later. You're just lucky you ran into us first.'

He gave a whistle, and waited. Bemused, the guardsman waited as well, his men exchanging amused glances at the quandary their sergeant was in. Amusement faded as more grim-faced hobbits holding bows emerged from cover, leading ponies, to assemble before them. The guardsmen had heard too many legends of Shire bowmen sent to defend the North-kingdom long years past, to take these lightly.

'Right,' Ferdi said brusquely. 'Half of us will ride ahead, just to keep hobbits from mowing you down from ambush, and half will ride behind you, just to make sure none of you ruffians... or King's Men, or whatever you may be... gets lost.' A hobbit brought his pony over and he mounted, the escort formed quickly, and at a signal from Ferdibrand, the group started for the Smials.

***

Reginard felt his shoulder shaken, forced his eyes open. 'What is it?' he mumbled. His brother Everard helped him sit up.

'You'll never believe it,' Everard said.

'Don't play games with me, Ev'ard,' Regi snapped. 'My head is about to fall off. Speak plainly.'

'Ferdi's caught a great lot of black-garbed ruffians, evil looking creatures, indeed. He's got them sitting in the middle of the yard right now, and awaits your pleasure.'

'Help me up,' Regi said, and though Everard was hardly any steadier on his feet, he managed to haul his brother upright. Supporting each other, they staggered out of the Smials.

'Well, Ferdi?' Reginard said when he reached him. 'They're a scurrilous looking lot, but better dressed than the last bunch of ruffians we chased away.'

'They say they're from the King and the Thain,' Ferdi growled. 'But they have no token.'

Regi straightened up from Everard's support and stalked over to confront the seated ruffians, surrounded by a ring of hobbits, bows at the ready. Stable hobbits held the reins of tall horses some yards away. 'What do you have to say for yourselves?' he asked. 'We told you ruffians what would happen if you ever returned. What's to stop us from shooting you down where you sit?'

He measured them with a grim eye, tall, proud Men, not skulking like those others. Not easily cowed, from the look of them. Wary, but none had put hand to sword, and their leader was keeping good order. And their uniforms... they looked just like the Thain's mail. That White Tree, there...

'We are King's Messengers,' the sergeant repeated patiently. He had a feeling that impatience would have serious consequences.

Reginard nodded. 'Ferdi,' he said. 'There's bad trouble in Bywater and Hobbiton. Take these... King's Messengers, up the Bywater Road. The rescuers have tacked a white cloth to the front door of every dwelling they've already searched. These... Messengers might be of some use, after all.'

'All right,' he said to the leader of the ruffians. 'You came to help, you say, so we'll put you to work. But mind...' he surveyed the group grimly. 'We'll be keeping an eye on you.'

'Yes, Sir,' the sergeant said without expression. 'Many thanks.' He managed to keep the irony out of his voice, but Reginard looked sharply at him.

'You're welcome,' the steward rejoined. 'See to it that you earn your welcome, or you'll find it won't last long.' He staggered, and Everard caught him. 'Ferdi, you know what to do.'

'Right, Regi. Go back to bed,' Ferdibrand said, and turned back to the sergeant. 'All right, you lot,' he said. 'Mount up. We've no more time to waste in pleasantries.'