~ Chapter 34 ~

‘That is the road to the vales of Tumladen and Lossarnach, and the mountain-villages, and then on to Lebennin,’ said Beregond. ‘There go the last of the wains that bear away to refuge the aged, the children, and the women that must go with them. They must all be gone from the Gate and the road clear for a league afore noon: that was the order. It is a sad necessity.’ He sighed. ‘Few, maybe, of those now sundered will meet again.’

ROTK:  Minas Tirith

~oOo~

~ TA 3012, 21^st of Hísimë:  For want of the iron and other metals from outside the Angle, the House begs the Angles’ assistance.  Of each fire is expected tithe of implements of iron or other such hard metal of no less than 4 marks in weight owed to the House.  This tithe to occur within the next seven days and will replace equal weight of that in owed in grain. In return, the Angle’s smiths, Masters Mahtan and Camaenor, to alter or reforged into spearheads, arrowheads, pikes, and knives as they are able.  Weapons to be distributed to the folk of the muster.

~oOo~

Ah, I daresay you have not felt such a tiresome wearing of the hours.

The people of the Angle, aged and young, landed and cotter, stretch and rise from the soil upon the day's grey dawning.  A coughing has awakened me, and I can hear the folk from within the small nest of baskets and blankets where have curled my lord’s son and I.  Loath am I to move, for the wisps of dreams trail upon my thoughts and I would yet clutch at them.

Most oft, in this place, I have come to dream of smoke and a smothering heat I cannot escape.  Unkind hands clutch at me and hold me tight, though ‘tis my own terror that freezes my limbs so I cannot move.  But, this morn, the dreams that kept me company were more pleasant.  For, in them, ere the sun rose, soft came my lord’s voice in my ear as I had not heard since the birth of our son.  There, in my dreams, he begged me to awaken as his arm wrapped about me and drew my back tight against his breast.  There, I was warm, secured within the strength of his arms, and sure had but to answer and would then feel his hands and lips upon me.

Ah, but the folk press ever around and there is no place of quiet and rest. All about is damp and chill, and the sheep and cattle protest the lack of pasture from their paddocks. For it had rained in the night, great black-bellied clouds drifting above us as the barges upon the Tithecelonere travel ceased from the north.

No more than a hectare of land were we allowed within those wooden walls and that overrun with both Man and beast. Poor shelter had we in the night and huddled against the earthen foot of the palisades. There we strung lines of cloth from the walk while our men strode above our heads and drew their cloaks and hoods closely about them, squinting against the rain and wind and keeping their bows and slings near to hand.

Ah, I ache, and my head feels full of wool.

"Awake, onya," say I and, shaking gently at Edainion's hip, rouse him enough to reclaim my arm. It is as alive as a block of wood and I work my fist against the numbness.

My lord’s son rises to sitting and looks about him blearily at the dim space in which we have slept. The pounding of feet sound above us as the men, cold and spent from their night of wakefulness, change places with their fellows.

"Mamil," says he, his small face wretched and his shoulders fallen. "I want to go home. May it please thee, Mamil, may we go home now?"

"Ai, onya."

For the eyes that turn upon me and the weary tears glimmering within them, I draw him against me. There he melts into my side and I wipe at the damp curls upon his brow. His small fingers cling to my dress and I do not wish to beg their release, but steps quickly approach and a shadow falls upon the thin line of light beneath the wool that hangs afore us.

"Lady Nienelen!"

Ai! Had I my choice, I would stay in this small space, just my lord’s son and I. Here we might be close and warm, and I would tell him stories of my father and the stone he gifted my sister when I was very young. For it had sparkled with a light that seemed to come from the very stars, and so had gone the tale he told me of it. Or should he not have the patience, mayhap he would teach me the games that liven his mind and set his eyes to twinkling nigh so bright as my father's stone.

"I come!" I call to the boots that show beneath the cloth of our shelter. It is Mistress Nesta, and by the swiftly shifting shadow, she paces impatiently.

"Up, onya." I push at our blankets and nudge my lord’s son away.

"Mamil!" he protests, clinging to me, and I think he may go to weeping.

"Hist now, onya," I croon. "'Tis not a thing that can be helped. Get you up and I will find you somewhat to eat. Do you not hunger?"

He shakes his head, scowling darkly. I think he would deny that he needed as simple a thing as air to breathe at such a moment, but at least he allows me to raise him to his feet.

"Mayhap not now, but soon you shall be and, natheless, we must begin the day."

When I rise, he does not go forth as he was wont to do but leans upon my leg while I brush at my skirts and attempt to wind my scarf more securely about my hair.

For the winter storms that blow up against the mountains, the feet of our folk have churned the grass into a muddy soup and I no longer look the part of the Lady. My skirts and the hem of my cloak are covered in filth a hands-breadth deep and more and I despair of e'er drying out the thick leather of my boots. Ah, but I am soft and deserve not the regard of my husband. For my lord and his men live in this manner from one season upon another and think naught for it. What I would not give for a bucket of clean water and a cloth, no matter how cold it might be. Ai! And all I have I would give for a mere palmful of powder for my teeth. They feel as were they covered in a foul film and I doubt not my breath is rank. And it has been little more than a handful of days that we have lain waiting in this fortress of wood and earth. We await either news from the north or, in its lack, the sudden running of uncanny shapes in our woods.

I set my lord’s son's clothing tight about him so that he might be warm and then fling aside the sodden hanging to the sight of sun and folk milling about. The folk who have answered the muster call out the changing of the guard and their kin build up the fires, so they might begin yet another day behind the pale. It is as the market square at the noon meal when nigh all the Dúnedain of the North are gathered there.

Upon my one side, Master Tanril with his vest of boiled leather and long knives squats to warm himself by the fire while his wife Dehlia pours him what little of ale we brought with us. And upon the other, Master Bachor says his morning farewells to his sister’s infant son so he might take Tanril's place upon the palisade. He has taken the boy up in his arms and, at the child’s smile, his eyes light warmly upon him. Her two other sons, one a youth no more than seven and another several years younger tussle over somewhat the elder holds.  I cannot tell what, for their voices are muffled by their efforts and the cloth of the others’ coats. Behind them stands Einiond, Bachor’s brother, elder by some years, but, for the harm he took at his birth, of a younger mind.  His tightly curled hair in thin braids close upon his scalp, he shrugs his head between his shoulders effort to keep warm. He shifts upon his feet and flicks brightly colored beads upon the thong that hangs from his belt, out of his depth in the press of folk and restless for it.  Bachor’s sister, Mistress Matilde, is there with them, and he smiles upon her fondly ere letting her son alight to the ground.  

“Leave off now,” Matilde calls to her sons and they halt, the younger giving a final push at his brother, “else you both shall end up with naught.”  With this, she slips behind the flap of cloth to answer the sound of soft coughing and call of her name. 

“Come Einiond,” Bachor calls.  “Give me your farewell, eh?”

The man’s face warms though his eyes and fingers ne’er leave off with their study of the beads.  At the encouraging hand, he leans in to his brother’s shoulder and ducks his head to receive the pendant of polished bone Bachor has removed from about his own neck as had he expected it.  There Bachor pats it against Einiond’s breast.  “Mind them, will you, brother?”

“Man of the house,” Einiond intones and nods. 

“Aye, the man of the house,” Bachors replies, but then jabs a finger at his breast.  “But you will give it back when it is time.”

This sets Einiond to giggling.  “Mine now!” he crows and they complete the ritual with a good hearted tussle that threatens to put the younger boys to shame.

"Ah, good, my lady," says Mistress Nesta, and I must stop with my prying. She worries at her hands, red and chapped as they are from their washing and the chill of the days. I have seldom seen her so distraught.

I draw my cloak tighter about me against the morning air. My lord’s son grasps at the tips of my fingers and squints about him into the dim day. "What is it?"

"Two more have come down with the sickness in the night."

Ai! Lady Elbereth have pity on us!

'Tis a good reason the healer has for her distress. Through all these seasons of fear and wandering, Mistress Nesta's vigilance has kept the coughing plague at bay. Her greatest defense against its spread has been the brew of wine, cropleek, and oxgall and the walls of her sick house. But now my lord commands his folk all gathered in one place she has few other weapons to wield in its stead.

“Have you what you need for their care?” I ask and consider quickly what words I might use to convince the Council of the need to send men beyond our defenses, but still not imperil the case to keep the rest of our folk here.

“Aye, my lady, but we’ve naught more of room in which to put them.  I have no shelter for these last, and I cannot see to their recovery should we not keep them warm and dry.”

"Aye, I come. Let me first see to his comfort," I say, nodding to the small face that now peers up at us. "I shall then meet you."

She takes her leave swiftly, eager to be gone to her charges. I turn to lift Edainion into my arms, for, I think, should I need to see to those who sicken, he shall best spend his time with Elesinda. She sits with Ranger Gelir atimes through the day and sees to his comfort. It is when my lord’s son weighs heavily upon my hip that I again spy Master Bachor.

Done with taking his leave of the kin under his care, a man has his ear, and pours words rapidly into it. ‘Tis Master Fimon, a chief of the pledge and counted among Bachor’s men. Their eyes are upon me, though swiftly withdrawn when I rise. I make much of settling Edainion though he grimaces and turns his head. Ai! I like not the look upon the virgater’s face, for his distress is plainly read there. Master Bachor stills Fimon’s speech with a hand upon the man's arm.

"I shall speak to her," his lips say and I sigh, done with fussing with my lord’s son's hair.

How is it that the folk of the Angle require Master Bachor to intercede on their behalf?

"Come, onya," I say, turning away from them, for I would see no more and wish only I would have spared myself the sight sooner. "I shall take you to Elesinda and she shall see to your meal."

Upon the sight of his lower lip pouting out, I laugh a little. "Come now, my pet. She will be with Ranger Gelir and you can spend the day with them."

At this he brightens enough to press his small body against mine where afore he had held himself apart. Gelir, though he is weary and sleeps much of the time, when awake he makes merry with the boy, setting him to laughing at the games they play. They seem well-matched, the two of them.

"Aye, Mamil," he says and thus we set off to start yet another day in this wearisome place.

~oOo~

Elder Maurus prods at the ground with the butt of his cane. "Aye, well, this place is as good as aught else." He grunts and stabs at a clump of grass, grinding it further into the soft earth. "Like as not, you will draw near to rock soon enough no matter where you dig."

Master Herdir looks upon the Elder gravely and I wonder at the seeming boundlessness of the man's patience. "Rock or not, there's good water beneath, I warrant," he says. His eyes light fondly upon the old man. "You may hold me to it, should you like, Maurus.  It is there and not like to go dry any time soon."

Elder Maurus grunts. Grasping the edges of his cloak away from the clutch of the wind, he shuffles slowly down the small hillock. "Oh, never fear, so I shall, Herdir. So I shall."

My lord's reeve lets loose a soft huff of laughter and, going after him, lends the elder his arm on which to lean.

"It is a good place for a well, Elder, do you not think? High ground and not like to be flooded from the pasture beyond the pale."

'Tis Master Bachor who speaks as we follow Elder Maurus, for the Council has gathered ere the noon meal. My lord is abroad with his Rangers, pursuing sign of our enemy in the lands about the Angle and his kin patrols the boundaries of the Angle in its defense.  As Masters Tanaes and Tanril sleep after their night upon the watch, they cannot attend. And so, Master Bachor left off striding upon the walk about the palisades to join us.

There, o'er the day, I paid him more heed as I had not had the chance in many years.  I watched him clap his hand to the shoulders of our folk or stop beside one or another to share a word. Aye, sure it is he works to keep their spirits high at such a time, but I am left to marvel had he always done so and I had been blind to it. Ah! True it is, 'tis needed, but I wonder greatly at what they tell him and who might heed Master Bachor should he wish to speak more freely of his views on my lord's choices.

Here upon the highest point within the wooden palisades, what Council is awake and not at other duties have come to debate our course with the folk watching on. At the first, we closed the tall gates and made them fast, but now they stand open and much traffic crosses beneath the watch of our guards. They make their way from where they camp just outside the pale to their families within and back with little to check them. Young boys toss about a ball make-shifted from rags and their cries rise about us. They are much muddied by their play, but it seems their parents have little heart to check them. For they watch nearby, seated in small groups about the fires and keep our elders warm and in company. It might be thought there was an air of the festival about the place, but for the weary and worried look of the people, the dirt, the padded or horn scale tunics worn by the folk above our heads, and the sharp knives, axes, and spears they carried.

Ah, the work has been long to build my lord’s defenses, and, in our haste to use them, much yet left undone. The walls are sound and the gate strong, but we have much to do within them.  Upon the Council’s meeting with the pledgeholders, paddocks were hastily built to keep the beasts from mingling among the folk and spreading their dung in our path, but we run low in hay and grain to keep them fed. We have rolled barrels of water from the Angle's square and keep them where they might catch the rain once emptied, should it be so kind as to fall in them, but we have no well from which to draw water. Nor have we cellars underfoot. Instead our smoked meats, roots, dried fruits and onions are collected in baskets that give the food little shelter from the rats and mice that will soon be drawn to this place and their bulk crowd out the people who brought them there. And, yes, yet again the Council must speak to the placement of granaries. It seems a small city rises from the enclosed pasture as mushrooms after a spring rain, and is just as sightly and well-ordered.

"Eh?" Elder Maurus grimaces, squinting into the thin winter sun.

Master Bachor raises his voice, nodding at the knoll behind the elder. "A well, there. A good site, do you not think?"

"Oh, aye!" the Elder says. He comes to a halt and shrugs, looking about. "As good a place as any."

"Then we should move the paddocks," I say, for the pens are not far from where we stand.

Through the crowd of moving folk can be seen the cattle chewing lazily. Their ears flick away the flies and a cow stretches her neck to voice her complaints for the lack of room in which to move.

"Where would you have them, then, my lady?" asks Master Herdir. He shades his eyes against the sun to look about for a more likely spot.

"I thought mayhap down there."

I point down the hill, but Master Bachor shakes his head and speaks. "'Tis at the lowest point and shall soon grow muddy there and the beasts' feet to rotting."

"Aye, but have we much choice? 'Tis either that or set it upon higher ground where their droppings shall poison the well. And surely they should not be there so long as to cause us grief."

“We have no way of knowing how long they shall be needed,” says Master Bachor. “Should we be forced hither and ringed about with enemies, I would rather die fighting them than for the shortsightedness of our own choices.”

“I cannot force the land to be higher ground at all points, Master Bachor. Some choices shall be put to us that have no one good answer.”

"Nay, we have a choice, and a plain one at that, my lady." He points to a large tent of rough cloth.

My look in response must be a sour one. For hither have I just ordered the removal of our sick. A slow rise above it and the hayshed to its other side gives the place shelter and some little distance from the rest of our folk as can be best obtained.

"My lady, they could be moved elsewhere," he says, for clearly the idea is an annoyance to me and I am for the most part unwilling to consider it.

"And where would you put the ill, Master Bachor?"

From the wry look upon his face, it seems clear where he would wish them. To my shame I must confess the thought had come to me as well. Ah! 'Tis true, we may yet come to a time when it will seem best to set them beyond the walls, but that time is not now. Only at the very last would I even consider it, and even then I am unsure what I would do. But I know this, when Mistress Nesta came to me upon the day's rising and begged my aid, I could not put them away from us then.

"We take a grave risk should we keep them so close," he says.  “The day will come when you and I shall deeply regret it, I think.”

In his face I see reflected my own grim thoughts and, for reasons I knew not clearly then, this serves only to vex me more. I have drawn breath to protest when a voice brings me to halt.

"Oh, be easy on that score, Bachor," I hear and turn to find Elder Maurus' watery eyes upon us. They shine with some inner amusement. "We need not worry for that. The sickness takes at least a day or two to settle in the lungs and do its work. We will have been burned out or put to the sword well ere that."

For once, the Elder's dismal forecast brings a sudden smile to my face, and I must turn aside to master myself. I should not laugh at such a thing. Master Herdir is not so shy and laughs outright.

"Come along then," says Elder Maurus. "Should that be settled, let us look to the cellars. I would think ground lower than well and higher than paddock would be the best. This way." He sets his cane afore him and grimaces at the effort to pull his feet across the turf.

"Naught is settled yet!" exclaims Master Bachor, turning a sour look at the old man's back, for Master Herdir shrugs and follows him.

"Eh?"

"What have we settled?" Master Bachor repeats, raising his voice so that he might make the man hear him.

"Heh. I am an old man," calls Master Maurus over his shoulder as he makes his slow way. "I have not the time to waste upon the two of you bickering over naught." He waves his cane about as he walks. "Put the paddock here, put the sick folk there, or the other way about, it matters not. Either will serve."

Master Bachor lets loose a loud breath and shakes his head, rubbing at his brow. The Elder and Master Herdir proceed as had we agreed to follow, and so Master Bachor motions me forward with a show of courtesy.

We walk a ways, and, once we find ourselves in a quieter space where the folk are not so thick about us, I slow so I might walk beside the man who trails behind me silently. I have been puzzling over a thing, for, when I reflect upon Master Maurus' words, I come to feel as a small child chided for her willfulness. Mayhap it is deservedly so.

There was a time I would have put my trust in Master Bachor’s goodwill without reservation, but, too, I know well my cause for which I resent him.  When it comes to it, and he must make the choice, I know not which way his will shall swing; to the good of those about him or to his own. 

"Master Bachor?"

"Aye, my lady," he says as we walk, keeping our pace even with the other.

"Of what did Master Fimon wish you to speak?"

His eyes come swiftly upon me and I think he considers both my intent and his words with much caution.

"’Tis the men," he says at length. "They worry for the flocks and herds they have left upon the land. The longer we stay confined in here and our men waiting upon we know not what, the more they become restless."

Aye, I worry, too, for what we have left behind. Should we return to it, we may find much in need of repair or, to our sorrow, beyond hope. And yet –

"Should the enemy come upon us as we are scattered –" I begin but go no further, for Master Bachor speaks swiftly upon my words.

"I do not disagree, my lady, but it matters not. They will find a way to look after what is theirs. Should we force them to it, they shall see to it even should it mean they do so by guile."

"They would leave the fortress unmanned?" I ask, shocked to slowness as I forget my feet.

Master Bachor then shakes his head at what I can only assume is the either the dullness or waywardness of my wits. "A man will risk much to hold onto his livelihood, my lady. For he knows well the sacrifice that might come after should he lose it."

At this, my face grows hot and I halt. "You need not speak to me as had I no knowledge of this, Master Bachor."

"Do you, my lady?" he asks and, halting, turns upon me. The boys bat at their ball of rags with their feet but the sound is but a dim distraction. "When you called us to council, you made it very clear that it is the House that decides what is to be done for the safety of the Angle.”  “And so,” he goes on, gesturing about him, “we are here.”

“Is it not the right of the House to make such decisions?”

“Aye, indeed, but it is not just its right, my lady, but its responsibility.  When our lord took up his father’s place, he took on the vow to protect those of the Dúnedain.  So will not the House make a decision on this matter? Should it not, the choice shall be made for it."

Ah! Such words he would lay upon me.

"Why will you not trust the House, Master Bachor? For clearly you do not." I forget my resolve and raise my voice.

"Have you not the ear of your husband, my lady? Will you not beg him listen? What is this place?" he asks, raising his arms and looking about him at the sun and the sky and the walls of wood. "What is it but a trap? And we place ourselves in it? For once Maurus has the right of it, we shall die here."

"How are you so sure?" I demand and then fall silent. A boy, his cheeks bright with running upon the hill and his laughter, bumps past us, chasing after the sudden wayward flight of their ball.

We watch until he has passed, and then I ask, "Will you not trust your lord to exert himself to your good? What would you ask of the House that has not already been given?" I hiss the question at him for the ears of the folk who of a sudden pass by.  "Has not the death of his father, and his father afore him, and all their sires in these last years --"

"Aye, yes, my lady! And your father, too. How well we know of his father lost, your father lost."  He glares at me, but, strangely, his look is more weary than angered.  His lips work against themselves as had he forced himself to swallow somewhat of a bitter taste.  “Tell me, then, shall the Angle bear the weight of the dead and owe their own lives because of it?”

“Do not twist my words,” I say.  “I speak not of the debt of deaths, but of the extremities to which our lord would put himself and his men for our folk.” 

“You have forgotten much of me should you count me a fool, my lady.  You are not alone in having heard the tales told by our folk who flee here.  Unrest grows among those who remain in the Wild, and with good reason. They have been left on their own without the aid of our lord and his men.  Will you not speak to our lord and intercede upon our behalf?  My wife’s sister would have had the wit to discern what our folk’s tales imply.  What of the lady of the Dúnedain, does not she?”

I can do naught but stare mutely at the man, pinned as I am by his gaze as he searches my face.  I can think of no answer nor move that would not betray my lord’s mind to him.

He stares at me for some time attempting to determine my thoughts ere he speaks again. “You will not speak to him, shall you.” A huff of incredulity escapes from him and he wipes at his mouth.  “You already know this. And so, of course, does he.” 

He laughs softly, albeit bitterly and turns about, gesturing loosely at high walls about us. “And so, this wooden folly,” he exclaims, tears starting in his eyes.  “What is it but an attempt to give comfort to those who have no understanding of its limits, to draw our gaze elsewhere and distract us from the lack of his men upon the Wild about us.”

At this, I grab upon the thick woolen sleeve of the man’s coat and, dragging him about, set our feet to follow Elder Maurus.  For many eyes of our folk are now turned to us while we had forgotten ourselves.  Their look is grim.  I feel the chill of it upon my back and make a show of stumbling so that Master Bachor must either allow the hand I now place upon the bend of his arm or let me fall. 

His quick eyes take in my alarmed look.  Bachor glances about us and then curses softly.  He clutches at my hand to draw it into the crook of his arm, so we may walk together.   He takes his time, picking out the driest path and patches of grass and tightening his arm to give me support whether I need it or no.  The cries of the children with their ball have now ceased as they seek to pull it from the tangle of goats in their paddock without being trampled or butted.  One bright fellow lights upon tempting the beasts away with a handful of fodder while his mate clambers o’er the fence.

In a little, I can breathe easier, for our folk have returned to their tasks and remark our passage little.

“Forgive me, my lady,” Master Bachor says low, inclining his head to me and laying his hand o’er mine where I clasp his arm. “That was careless of me.” 

I nod.  But I cannot censure him, for I was as equally thoughtless and the warm press of his hand waylays me with reminders of when we were young and, in courting my sister, he had set himself as my brother and protector. 

“I do not expect us to be of an accord on all points, Master Bachor,” I say, giving up any pretense of ignorance around the man.  It matters not.  He would know me false should I make the attempt.  “Indeed, I expect much of the opposite.  I can set your concerns to my lord when he returns, but you are correct, he knows to expect these fears.  I have naught to tell you but that I trust his judgment of what is best for the defense of the Dúnedain.” 

“I would very much like to trust his plans, as well, my lady,” he sighs and releases my hand.  “Only I knew more of what they are.”

We draw near the open gate, having lost Master Maurus and my lord’s reeve in the press of our folk.  There, with the midday meal upon us, there is little traffic to and fro.  The folk sit about their small fires and break apart loaves of bread and dip them into pots sitting in the coals.  The smell of a mix of woodsmoke and steam of cooked beans, lentils, onion, and meats drift to us upon the chill wind rushing through the gateposts.   

Master Bachor halts of a sudden and when I glance upon his face it is to follow his gaze down upon the fall of the headland below the gate. There comes Ranger Halbarad, his shoulders slumped and features stern as he toils up the rise of the meadow.  Behind him stride my lord’s company of Rangers.  My lord is not with them. 

~oOo~