CHAPTER 38

The next morning the company prepared to start rather earlier than usual. There was no need to worry about the campsite--Yric and his Men would deal with that.

Clodio was riding with Danulf that day. Mistress Poppy would make it a point to ride nearby, so that she could keep an eye on him, and call a halt whenever she deemed it necessary for him to rest.

The land around them had changed greatly. They had left far behind the rocky foothills of the Misty Mountains, and were passing south along the West Emnet. Berilac looked around with interest at the wide grassy plains that stretched before him, covered with lush grass, and dotted here and there with the odd copse of trees. There were a number of small streamlets--in a season of rainy weather, he deemed that it could become fen-like and marshy--but right now, all the little brooks flowed neatly within their banks. To the east of their course could the occasional steading be spied in the far distance, but their journey did not take them near any of those habitations.

It was a wide land, opening out beneath an immense sky of the clearest blue, and one could see for miles. Berilac could easily imagine how much this sort of land would be suited the herds of the Rohirrim. A horse or a pony could gallop to its heart’s content. He remembered hearing Merry wax poetic about Rohan, and he began to understand how this land had stolen his cousin’s heart.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” asked Freddy, riding up alongside him.

“It is,” replied Beri. “I think I understand why Merry came to love it so much.”

“I think that it was the people and the friends he made here, though, more than anything else.”

Beri nodded. “I know that he often speaks of the Lady Éowyn in the fondest terms. He calls her ‘sister’, you know.”

“Well, by the customs of these people, they are rather like adopted brother and sister, for as you know, they went to battle together, which apparently made her his ‘sword-sister’ and he is her ‘shield-brother‘.”

Beri agreed with this; he’d heard Merry on the subject before.

They travelled more slowly than they had been--Mistress Poppy insisted on stopping every couple of hours, to allow Clodio to rest a bit, and so that she could check on him. He was pale and wan, but seemed to be holding up well enough.

When they stopped for luncheon, Viola called to Berilac--they were preparing the meals together that day--and Beri started the fire, while Viola saw to making tea and the two of them took meat, cheese and bread from the stores. After everyone had eaten their fill, and Bergil was cleaning up, the two of them strolled together a little ways from the rest. Mistress Poppy was adamant that the company take longer at mid-day to have a respite from riding, and from the summer warmth.

“Look!” said Viola. Her sharp healer’s eye, always on the lookout for herbs and other useful plants, had been caught by a patch somewhat greener and wider-leaved than the waving grasses, growing near one of the many tiny streams that ran through the emnet.

“Sorrel!” said Berilac. He grinned at her. “Perhaps we could have salad at supper this evening.

They returned with armloads of not only sorrel, but also of dandelion greens, and, from near the stream, watercress. Viola carefully and loosely bundled their bounty into a cloth bag. “I hope it doesn’t wilt too much,” she said with a slight frown.

“Some of it probably will,” said Beri, “but what’s in the center may stay fresh enough. And we might be able to find some more greens between now and the time we stop.”

They managed to add a few other greens to their hoard, and when É othain finally called a halt for the evening, near a somewhat larger stream, where a small copse of trees grew, they were excited to discover a patch of salsify. The roots were tender and creamy.

There was much praise that evening for the meal: a salad of wild greens, and salsify soup, with griddlebread. It made a welcome change from the usual stews of dried vegetables and meats.

Anwynd sat back in contentment with his second dish of the soup. “I have travelled often through this part of Rohan,” he said in amazement, “and have never thought to eat anything but stale journeybread and leathery dried meat. It exercises the jaw, but does not much fill the belly.”

Gimli grinned. “An advantage of travelling with hobbits. They are very clever foragers.” He turned to Berilac and Viola, who were rather basking in the praise. “I have to say this is as good a meal as any that Sam Gamgee made for us on our journey! My father says that Bilbo was a very good forager as well, though he did not have very much opportunity to show it on their Adventure--once they entered the fastness of Mirkwood, there was little that was safe to forage.”

Legolas chuckled. “At least for those travellers who stayed upon the path!”

Targon leaned forward. “I have been curious about something, yet I did not think to ask it of the Ringbearer when we were yet in the Shire. I know that he had the Ring of his kinsman Bilbo as an inheritance, when none knew what it was. And I know that Bilbo Baggins came by it on that Adventure to Erebor. But I do not know *how* he came by such a thing!”

Berilac nodded. “It wasn’t something anyone knew about. Cousin Bilbo told the story often enough, but he always left the Ring clean out of it. I remember as a child thinking sometimes that he wasn’t telling us everything--but I never guessed what the true answer to his last riddle with Gollum was.”

“Neither did I,” said Freddy. “I remember actually, Folco asked once: ‘Cousin Bilbo, what *did* you have in your pocket that the Gollum-creature couldn’t guess?’ and Bilbo looked a bit uncomfortable, and responded ‘What do *you* think, children?’ and all of us got distracted and began making our own wild guesses.” He sighed. “I finally got the true story out of Merry and Pippin after they all returned--Frodo and Sam do not like to speak of Gollum at all…”

He pursed his lips, as he tried to remember all he’d been told. “It seems that during the Dwarves’ escape from the goblins, Bilbo had been knocked unconscious and was separated from the others…” He went on, gaining confidence as he moved into the familiar tale, including all the riddles, which most children of Bilbo’s acquaintance had by heart by the time they were in their mid-tweens. “…he finally burst through the door, leaving most of his buttons behind him.”

“It was very clever of him to ask what he had in his pockets,” said Bergil, admiringly. “And those were some very good riddles! I like the one about the fish.

Alive without breath
As cold as death,
Never thirsty, ever drinking,All in mail, never clinking. ⁽¹⁾

That’s perfect for a fish! I shall have to tell my father that one!”

Éothain laughed. “The Rohirrim have a riddle about fish, but it is far longer than that one:

My house is not quiet, I am not loud,
But for us was fashioned our fate together.
I am the swifter, at times the stronger,
My house more enduring, longer to last
At times I rest; my dwelling still runs;
Within I lodge as long as I live.
Should we two be severed, my death is sure.” ⁽²⁾

“Oh, I like the sound of that,” said Jolly. “Do your folk have many riddles?”

Danulf nodded. “Here is one I learned from my old grandfather. See if you can guess it:

I am valued by Men, fetched from afar,
Gleaned in the hill-slopes, gathered in groves,
In dale and on down. All day through the air
Wings bore me aloft, and brought me with cunning
Safe under roof. Men steeped me in vats.
Now I have power to pummel and bind,
To cast to the earth, old men and young.
Soon he shall find who reaches to seize me,
Pits force against force, that he’s flat on the ground,
Stripped of his strength if he cease not his folly,
Loud in his speech, but of power despoiled
To manage his mind, his hands or his feet.
Now ask me my name who can bind men on earth
And lay fools low in the light of day.” ⁽²⁾

The other Rohirrim laughed at this, and Berilac pondered the answer. “gathered in groves” and “lay fools low”? Cider, perhaps? He was about to make that guess when Borondir did so.

“Nay,” said Danulf, “though you are close to the mark.”

Beri looked at the other hobbits, who were also puzzling at this. No, cider would not account for “wings bore me aloft.” He was quite surprised to hear Mistress Poppy make the next guess.

“Mead,” she said, “It has to be mead!”

The Rohirrim all chuckled at this. “Indeed, little mistress,” said Anwynd, “that *is* the answer. Now, you should pose to us a riddle.”

She raised her eyebrows at this, but her dark eyes sparkled. “Very well:

A hill full, a hole full,
Yet you cannot catch a bowl full.” ⁽³⁾

Berilac caught Viola’s eye, and suppressed a chuckle. This was quite an old chestnut in the Shire.

“Dirt!” exclaimed Bergil eagerly. He looked crestfallen when Mistress Poppy shook her head.

Targon looked down at the boy, who sat at his side. “Bergil, how could you have a hole full of dirt--if it were full, it would not be a hole. And you could easily fill a bowl with dirt.”

He looked thoughtful, but then shook his head.

The Men made several guesses, but the hobbits were all grinning and telling them ‘no’. Finally Éothain threw up his hands. “Very well, we yield to you holbyltlan.”

Mistress Poppy laughed as all the hobbits chorused “Fog!” Then she added, “ ‘mist’ is also considered a good answer.”

“I believe,” said Freddy, “that we hobbits get another chance. Do you wish to pose another, Mistress Poppy?”

She shook her head. “Why don’t you ask the next one?”

Freddy thought for a moment, and then said:

“As soft as silk, as white as milk,
As bitter as gall, a strong wall,
And a green coat covers me all.” ⁽³⁾

This time Bergil’s grin was wide. “Walnut!” he exclaimed. “I heard that one from Sir Pippin!”

“It’s your turn, then, Bergil,” said Freddy good-naturedly.

The child pursed his lips in thought for a moment, and then recited:

“Sometimes I go before you, sometimes I go behind,
Your boon companion, you will find,
so long as you are walking in the light:
I follow you not into darkness or night.” 

The hobbits looked at one another, mystified. Such a solemn riddle! Yet, looking at the expectant expression on Bergil’s face, Beri was sure that the answer was something very simple.

Before any of the hobbits could answer, Éothain sat forward. “Ah! I have it! Bergil, is it my shadow?”

“Yes, it is!” Bergil was pleased that his riddle had been a hard one. “It’s your turn now, Lord Éothain.”

“This is a very old riddle in the Mark,” he said,

My beak is bent downward, I burrow below,
I grub in the ground and go as he guides,
My grey old master, foe of the forest.
Stoop-shouldered my warder walks at my back,
Fares through the field, urges and drives me,
Sows in my track as I sniff along.
Fetched from the wood, cunningly fitted,
Brought in a waggon, I have wondrous skill.
As I go my way, one side is green;
On the other side plain is my dark path.
Set through my back hangs a cunning spike,
Another fixed forward is fast to my head.
What I tear with my teeth falls to one side,
If he handles me right who is my ruler.” ⁽²⁾   

The hobbits had listened intently to this, as well as the other Men. Targon shook his head, as did Borondir and Artamir. Adrahil was standing watch. Danulf and Anwynd looked a bit smug--of course they knew the answer.

“That’s a poser, that is!” exclaimed Rolly.

Berilac was still puzzling over as much of it as he could recall. He was sure he should know the answer. Freddy was muttering and shaking his head.

“ ‘Go as he guides--go as he guides’…could you please say that again, Lord Éothain?” asked Jolly.

Éothain obligingly repeated the riddle, a bit slower this time.

Jolly’s face lit up and he looked quite like his nickname. “I know. It’s a plow!”

“Why, yes it is, Master Jolly! That was well done!”

The other hobbits all looked chagrined, for now the answer seemed obvious.

“Let us have a riddle from you, then, Master Jolly, to end the evening!”

Jolly blushed to be the center of attention, but closed his eyes, tipped his head back and took a large draw of his pipe as he thought. “Ah!” he said.

“Lives in winter,
Dies in summer,
And grows with its root upwards.” ⁽³⁾

Gimli gave a bark of laughter. “An icicle!” he said triumphantly. “And that is one for the Dwarves!”

On that note, it was time for Mistress Poppy and Viola to retreat to their small tent, while the others sought their bedrolls.

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(1) From The Hobbit, Chapter V, “Riddles in the Dark”
(2) From An Anthology of Old English Poetry translated by Charles W. Kennedy
(3) Traditional nursery rhymes