~ Chapter 40 ~

You will meet many foes, some open, and some disguised; and you may find friends upon your way when you least look for it.

FOTR:  The Ring Goes South

~oOo~

~ TA 3016, 20^th of Narquelië:  Master Herdir discovered two days prior that men had taken hammers to all but one of the Angle’s ploughs in the night.   New wheels and coulters needed for the most.  Where they were taken, he could not discover. Two mortar boards split and need replacing.  Blades were intact. The wheels and mortar boards we can refashion with wood, but we have little iron in the Angle with which to replace the coulters.  Master Herdir, in consultation with the Council, to determine the order by which the winter fields are to be ploughed until those destroyed can be repaired.   

~oOo~

Ah!  What now?

I halt of a sudden upon the path and my lord’s son bumps into my leg.

"Ammë?" he asks, peering up at me.

But I spare him no mind, for a great shouting and an ox bawling in vexation has reached my ears. Down the line of ploughmen and cotters comes the sound of voices raised in anger. Heads turn as men scramble away from their source and a murmuring as the wind rising through the pines runs through them.

Ah!  Whatever could it be?  Is it not enough the land and sky have turned against us, but we must reawaken old quarrels amongst ourselves?

Sure it is my lord would not tolerate such a thing. I have dropped my lord’s son's hand in favor of grabbing up my skirts, and a voice falls swiftly behind me, for I am running.

"Lady Nienelen!  I beg thee, wait!  Do not-"

'Twas the young Ranger who called after me, come to my lord's house in the days of late spring. Young as he was, he was the more easily spared when Halbarad set my lord’s men searching for the cause of Gelir's death. One month he had given himself to discover our Enemy's purpose, but that was now spent and gone, and he was no closer to his answer. Restless and grim, Halbarad's disquiet drove him far from the Angle throughout the high, hot days of summer. Only now, when winter begins to chase the leaves of fall from their perches did he send word he shall soon return.

Upon our rising, I had decided to visit Mistress Pelara at home, for I was much disturbed by my thoughts of the Angle's condition.  And so we set out for the heart of the village, Edainion, myself, and the young Ranger Boradan entertaining his lord’s heir with tales of his elder brother, who, one of the first of the wandering clans from the northern hills to pursue it, has preceded him in taking up my lord’s service.  It seems his brother takes much to boasting and then must put his body to paying what his wit had promised. 

"Come, onya," I had said when we set out, stretching my hand for his.

My lord’s son tarried at the path's ditches when he should have been walking beside his mother. A buzzing sounded across my ear and I flapped at it, hoping to be rid of the biting fly hovering there. Ah! But they are a plague and buzz about our heads for want of aught else from which to drink.

Edainion stretched his neck to peer to the height of the pines. The wind kicked across the fields, bringing with it the sharp scent of hay as it sighed through the high needles and sent the cones rattling through their branches. He has grown to all arms and legs, has my lord’s son, and lost the round-cheeked look of the infant he once was. True it is he shall have his father's height, so it is told in the length of his limbs. Or so I hope, for with each meal I labor to shield my lord’s son from all want.

The young Ranger halted close behind Edainion and tapped him upon the shoulder to gain his attention, for my lord’s son stared as one enspelled by the swaying tips of the pines, his dark hair falling from his brow and moving with the wind.

"Your lady mother, young master," the youth said when the boy craned about to see who it was who touched him.

"Aye, Ranger Boradan." My lord’s son brightened at the smile turned to him. He fair launched himself as a bolt from a bow to grab at my hand and was soon followed by the youth.

"Ammë?" Edainion’s bright face turned to me. "After our even’s meal, shall Ranger Boradan not go out, but stay with us in the hall? He said he would teach me to play the Hare and the Hound."

The smile fell swiftly from Boradan’s face at my look, and well it should. For it is a man's game of dice in which little of skill and much of chance rules the fate of the wagers made upon it.

"I regret I cannot, young master," did the Ranger say, all the while glancing upon me. "I have my duty to perform for thee and thy mother."

"Oh." Crestfallen, Edainion hung upon my hand as we walked.

I thought the youth as cast down as my lord’s son, for I am sure my look told of my displeasure. For a little while we walked in silence and the boy attempted to still the sounds of his steps as would a Ranger upon the Wild. Carefully he strode, peering at the dirt of the path and placing his feet just so, but his attempts at stealth were sadly betrayed by the crackle of the grass and leaves beneath his feet.

"What dost thou, out there in the dark?" my lord’s son asked, giving up his game and kicking at a stone upon the path.

I squeezed his hand and shook my head once he looked upon me, for he sent up a cloud of dust with his feet and it clung to his breeches and my skirt when it need not.

"I watch the house, young master, and the croft upon which it stands."

"That is all? All night?" Edainion asked, turning about to see the nod of the youth walking behind us. "Does it not get very tiresome?"

"Aye, it does, atimes."

"You must get very bored. Ah! I have it! Ammë?" My lord’s son tugged on my arm and turned upon me his most winning smile. Oh, but it seems my lord’s son is well-used to his way. "Shall I then go with Ranger Boradan to watch the house?"

"I do not think he needs the distraction, onya."

"I shall not distract him! Shall I, Boradan?"

I could not tell should the hesitant look upon the youth's face speak more to the limits of his tolerance of the boy or he feared to offend his lord's wife by not anticipating her desire to keep her son at home.

"Should it please you, Ammë," came my lord’s son's pleading voice. "I will be good and heed him well."

At this Ranger Boradan smiled upon the boy and I wondered at what young brothers he left behind in his mother's home, for he had the look of an elder brother who knows well the ways of a young child when temptation proves greater than the oath given.

"Should it please thee, my lady, I shall not mind his company."

"Very well," said I. "But on one condition, Ranger Boradan; you not teach my lord’s son aught he need not know."

"Aye, my lady."

With that settled, my lord’s son forgot himself and kicked at a pebble, sending it and a cloud of dust bursting from the path.

"Onya."

"I beg thy pardon, Ammë," he said, but I saw naught of remorse for the glee shining from the boy's face.

Aye, he has been a blessing, this youth, for the Angle demands much of my attention, now I can give it, and Halbarad is long away searching upon the Wild. He has taken to the young Ranger, my lord’s son has, as were he an elder brother. By the dark eyes and skin and curls they share, 'twould not be far from truth. For Boradan has not so much the ruddy-brown skin of his father, but takes more after his mother with her fawn coloring and freckles and chestnut hair.

Poised though the young Ranger is upon becoming a man, they are not so far off in age and interests, were it not for the sharp sword that swings from Boradan's hip and his e’er-watchful look. It is he who, in Halbarad's stead, tutors my lord’s son in the ways of my lord's men, taking him into the wood about our house in their hunt for small game. Though, ‘tis rare they return with somewhat of meat for their efforts. The good beasts of heath and wood have mostly scattered upon the Wild, but Edainion seems to mind it little. I think Boradan schools him in the way of scavenging for bark, lichen, leaf, and root he might eat should aught else be scarce, for atimes he comes home bearing these things for his mother to add to their meal and seems very pleased with himself for it.

"Hast thou ever seen an orc, Ranger Boradan?"

“Nay, but my elder brother, Muindir, has.  He said, once – “

"Hist, now!" I said, silencing Boradan ere he can continue. We came swiftly upon our folk making their way down the path toward us.

In a slow cavalcade came the Angle to plough the fields and attempt the sowing of the winter wheat. Their feet stirred the dry soil and the wind sent up a cloak of dust behind them to drift into the trees as they pass. Leading them was Master Bachor, for my lord's reeve has taken those who are willing into the forest about the Angle. There they are to glean what nuts and last of the season's fruits can be found beneath its dark eaves. In Master Herdir's place, Bachor swayed upon the back of his mount, moving with the slow swinging stride of the mare beneath him. Grim and weary were they both, man and beast it seemed, though they could not have long been on their journey.

High and bright and clear are the skies of our autumn, and pitiless is the sun that rides therein. Yoked together, the grumbling oxen twitched their ears and lashed their tails, all in vain hope of disturbing the flies that bite at them.

O’er a year it has been ere my lord left and still the days bring no sign of his return. And aye how changed his land for his lack.  The spring wheat, bewitched by the promise of deep rains, sprang from the earth in a light green mist upon the land only to die aborning. For we had precious little rain thereafter. The eye of the sun bears down upon us without respite until naught shall grow beneath its harsh gaze but a scattering of beans and a withered ruff of rye and oats. A short harvest it made, the reaping and threshing done in but a few days. What little we brought in from the fields we guard jealously, hoarding it in our granaries as it were the treasure of the highest of kings. Even the haying is done, where in seasons afore a good fortnight or so would yet need to pass ere the grasses dried.

The youth placed himself between my lord’s son and I and the line of men and beasts, though I thought there was little from which he would need shield us. Master Bachor nodded his greeting as he passed, and I bowed my head in response, but do not speak. Upon the man's face lay graven his grief, his comeliness sunk deep in shadow. ‘Twas many years since I had seen him thus and, as then, had no words with which to console him.  Matilde’s husband, long weakened by illness, lies now beneath his barrow.  Though his death was long looked for, the time of its coming was no less lamented.   Aye, they are the quickest to fall no matter our attempts to protect them from it, our youngest, our eldest, and those whose bodies faltered under the press of pain and poor health.

A weariness weighted the feet of the men, their mattocks lying upon their shoulders and their eyes drifting upon my lord’s son. So accustomed is he to bearing the weight of their glance, I think he saw it not. His face bright with the joy he took of being out of doors, he smiled upon them as they passed. Mayhap he was eager to see Mistress Pelara. He has not seen his playmate Lothel in some time, and, now he may trail behind Ranger Boradan and satisfy his young boy's heart, he minds not so much the games of little girls nor his disappointment at his sister's birth.

Aye, his sister. Had I not said afore? No? Mayhap then I shall be allowed the chance to repair the fault.

Aye, my lord has both son and daughter, though he knew it not. And indeed, has my lord’s son come to love his sister, and it is clear she adores him. He will atimes lean upon the edge of his sister's crib and croon o’er her just to see her pucker her little mouth and make the attempt to imitate him. And when he laughs at her, she smiles and beats upon her blanket with her fists, her eyes wide and drinking in the sight of him. He has learned to hide beneath the wooden slats of her bed until she stirs unhappily and then pop up to catch her face lighting with sudden joy at his appearance. Her gaze trails after her brother and she weeps most piteously should he go where she cannot see. Indeed, the girl wept when she saw her brother vanish from out the hall after we broke our fast. No doubt she would settle soon, for we left her in Elesinda's care and the girl dotes upon the child as were she her own. True it is, it was at first as were the child hers.

For you may hear that into the birthing of a first child goes the greater labor, but I found it not so.  The second demanded more of me.  Much pain there was and many days of prostration after.  But, ah!  I should not speak of it.  It could not be helped, and all things come as they must.  In the end, Mistress Nesta took a knife to my belly to usher my daughter into the world ere the efforts of birth took both of us out of it together.

I remember the pain little, for they doused me with strong draughts of mandrake root until I wept for my sister and cried out for her, long gone though she was.  Another mouthful and my eyes rolled in my head and I cowered and screamed of beasts with eyes as burning coals bearing down upon me with their sharp white teeth from my lord’s rafters, ere falling into a dark, dreamless sleep.  And though she came into this world under the worried eyes of Mistress Nesta and for days afterwards I roused only to put her to my breast, Elesinda took over the infant’s care and my daughter thrived. 

Aye, unlovely and ungrateful for the effort it took to bring her into the world, my daughter laid upon my breast and squalled, her fists shaking and her face dark with rage as I pressed the dirt to her brow.  There Mistress Pelara sat upon the edge of the bed and held my hand.  I wept for the beauty of life at that moment.  Pelara wept in relief for my awakening.  The Mistress had come, weary though she was, stirring herself from her mourning to attend upon me.  In want of my lord, ‘twas Mistress Pelara who brought me a bowl of the earth from my garden, so I might welcome my daughter to Arda's soil.  Elenir I call her, even should it be only for a little until her father returns home and grants her a name of his choosing.

"Well now, my lady," had said Pelara, sitting upon the edge of my bed and looking on the infant fondly when first I held her. "That is a fine case of a woman of the Northland, enter this world kicking and screaming, and cause her mother mortal peril. She will have a fine spirit."

"Ah, Pelara, only you would jest so," Nesta huffed, impatient for her breath after making her way into the solar. There she tossed a pillow to the pallet they had wrested from the parlor and up the stairs.

There she or another woman of the sickhouses slept beside my bed until Nesta judged me well enough healed. But even after she left did she set a guard upon me, frightening the youth Halbarad left in his place into obeying her with warnings of dire consequences should aught tire me. The poor lad, Boradan, sat himself down afore the solar stairs and refused entrance to even Mistress Pelara, though the spring harvest failed and the Council deferred all decisions until the tale of the harvest could be told in full. To his credit, Boradan stood his ground in the face of the Mistress' inchoate spluttering and the Council's more polite but pointed queries. I have no doubt he shall serve my husband well.

And now the fall harvest has come and gone. All of the Angle knows the tale it told and there is no avoiding its foretelling for the winter. Aye! And well could I see it in the men we brushed past, my lord’s son and I. Oh, they nodded and brought their fingers to their brow, paying respect as is proper, but their gaze turned quickly elsewhere. It was with a shock as the splash of chill water upon rising I felt eyes upon me. When I turned it was to find Master Sereg, his sons at his side, marching upon the path so close were I lift my hand it would brush upon him. His gaze considered me, and I knew not what shame gripped me when he brought his fingers to his brow. Then he was gone.

Ah! Could I not have prodded at the Council sooner? Could we not have done somewhat to clear the weirs upon the river of its mud and brush? Shallow and thick runs its water and we catch little fish and much leaves in it. Should we not have sent Master Herdir upon his search of our wooded lands at the height of spring when the now withered berries and mushrooms were once plump with rain? Well! The Council shall hear me now.

"My lady! Wait!"

Ah! The great clout-headed fools! Whatever could they think they are about?

The line of men and beast falters and breaks asunder.

"What right have you to the first ploughing, eh?" a voice shouts.

"Hold there!" I hear ahead amidst a labored grunting of oxen.

Men scramble to take ahold the beasts and make them fast, but somewhat unsettles the teams and they protest their imprisonment. The men have gathered in a great press about the noise and I beat upon them.

"Let me through!" All I can see are broad backs and a glimpse of light and shuffling of feet.

"I have earned my right with these my own hands, not had it settled upon me with some chance of birth!"

"Have you now? None of us wished you here."

Ah! I push at backs barring my way and squirm between them until the air is dense with cloth and dust and the jostling shoulders of men. The look turned to me is greatly startled, for I have jabbed a man in the ribs with the crook of my arm.

"My lady!" comes the cry behind me. "Wait!"

A scuffling of feet in the dust and the oxen bawl in distress.

"Let him go!"

"No!"

"Hold there, you cursed Southron," cries a man just afore me, cupping his hands about his mouth the better to have his voice heard. "Let the man of the Angle have his turn first as is his due!"

With that, I strike at his arm and he turns upon me swiftly as would he make me feel the full brunt of his anger. He falls back, his face aghast at the shock of seeing me there.  'Tis rare I am to hear such words spoken within my hearing these days and, had I the time, he would know more of my displeasure.  But I know not what he did next, for at his turning he opened the way into the center, and ‘tis there I spring.

Such a thing I see! Two men with their hands upon the horns and yoke of the oxen as would they tear the team asunder between them. Ah, but their faces are dark with wrath. They push at each other and the men jostle in a crowd upon them. Menace hangs in the air as were it the scent of blood. And like wolves the men of the Angle assemble in a pack and move as the ploughman and wanderer struggle o'er the beasts.

"You welcomed us then," I hear from the men gathered about and know not whose voice speaks, "when you would expand your own holdings by the sweat of our brow! What of now? Shall we always lie upon the dirt beneath your feet?"

"Enough of this!" I say, raising my voice above the sound of the crowd. They stare at me uncertainly, shuffling away.

"You wanderers!" shouts the ploughman and lets go his hold of horns and yoke. His face reddened and disfigured by rage, he wrenches at the wanderer's grip, and with a great blow to his cheek, throws the man aside to stumble back upon his heels. "Always wanting more. Well there is no more to be had! Go back to your hills in the north.  You will not have none of mine."

I know little of what happened next, but with a great roar of noise the wanderer lowers his head and surges upon the ploughman and they are next tangled together and kicking up dust amidst the shouting of men and lowing of oxen.

No, no, no! Ai! Were my lord here, what would he do?

"Enough!" I shout and voices take up the call for a halt to the fighting.

Oh, I am determined they shall heed me and part, and so quickly I stride across the small space of light and ground given them.

With a loud bellow, the ploughman batters at arms clutching about him and, of a sudden, I am lying in the dust, clutching at my face, wondering what had filled my vision so completely I was blinded and why, then, the back of my head buzzes as had it been struck. 

It does not pain me, not at first, but it seems all the bees of the Angle are swarming about in my head in a great, disturbed, and spinning cloud. And the shouting! Ai!

"Thou dost not touch her!" I hear in a high voice. Loud it is, though it wavers as were it delivered from a throat made tight by weeping, and stillness falls.

My eyes clear, but such is my astonishment at the sight afore me I can no more rise than had a blow felled me yet again. For ‘tis my lord’s son who has spoken. He stands there with his hands tight and fisted by his side.  His shadow falls upon me where he has planted himself between both Angle and wandering folk of the Dúnedain and his mother. His father's Ranger stands silent beside him, blade naked and bright with the sun slipping along its length. And all about us in a stiff and silent fence stand the men as were they the wooden pikes of the palisades. Ah, and the horror in the eyes of the men who had, until this moment, known naught but the blows they traded!

"Make way!" I hear far behind me and the men about us set to murmuring, shifting about on their feet. But I mind it little, for my lord’s son trembles with both fear and fury.

Ai! Onya!

At this, I heave myself from the ground and care not for the ringing in my ear nor the heat that is pain spreading o'er my cheek and skull. With but a touch upon his sleeve, my lord’s son starts and turns wide eyes to me, his skin marred for the dust and tears he has shed.

"Ammë," he says and then halts, uncertain. I take his hand. All his bravery forgotten, his face crumples and he clutches at me, pressing his face deep into my skirts as he has not done in many years.

"Make room, I tell you!"

‘Tis Master Bachor who comes.

"Put away your blade!" say I and Ranger Boradan turns wide and blown eyes upon me. "It has no place here."

He hesitates, the whites of his eyes stark against his skin and I hiss at him, "We do not draw on our own!"

He blinks and sets the tip of his sword to the scabbard, where it falters, sending the light of the sun into my eyes until he has it mastered and thrusts the blade home.

"What is this?"

Master Bachor has made his way through the crowd and now stands afore it, with Sereg close at his shoulder, watching. I know not what Bachor sees, but it sets a grim line upon his face. The ploughmen and wanderer, their faces wringing sweat and clothes dark with dust step back a pace, uncertain as to their fate. But there is no escape. And it is my foolishness that has brought it upon them.

My eye waters and for the burning of my cheek I know the skin is broken and swells e’en now, but I shall not flinch beneath his sharp gaze when Master Bachor comes near.

"Who struck you, my lady?" he demands.

"I know not, Elder," for, in truth, I am uncertain as to the exact nature of the events.

"Indeed?" And at this, his look is one of thinly veiled anger. "You there," he says, impatient and thrusting his chin at a ploughman I know for one his chiefs of the pledge. "Take ahold of that man and him as well.  Bind them and put them under watch."

Easily are the ploughman and wanderer marked. By the dirt clinging to their breeches, the sweat upon their brows, and the blood upon their knuckles, it could be none other.

I laugh and the sound falls oddly upon the bright and quiet space.

"I think you would do better to place me in Master Herdir's keeping as well, then."

"And how is that, my lady?"

"Ah, well," I say, and drop my eyes.  A small wry grimace twists at my lips though my heart beats within my breast so loudly I wonder he cannot hear it. "'Twas my own fault. A woman has no place where a man's strength is needed. I should have known better."

Master Bachor’s gaze holds upon me.  He licks at his lips ere a tightness comes upon his face.

He steps in close and speaks low into my ear.  “Do not insult me with your attempts at dissembling, my lady."

He has turned away ere I may speak. "Take them now," he says, for hands have clapped upon the ploughman and wanderer and my mouth runs dry for the naked fear upon their faces. The penalty for raising a hand to any of the House of Isildur is death.

"Who are your pledgeholders?" At my question they halt. "Where are they?" I raise my voice, looking out above the men for one head or two that might move and cleave a path through the crowd.

"It is a little late for that now, my lady.  Do you not think?" snaps Master Bachor and turns swiftly to me. Ranger Boradan, unnerved, steps close and his shadow catches the Elder's eyes. He comes no nearer.

"This is not for you to decide, Master Bachor. You are not of the House."

This brings him up short and I think then he will protest, for he draws a quick breath.

"Nor is it mine," say I, my voice swift and low.  "It shall be for the Angle to decide. We are hard upon the hallmoot, are we not?  I see no harm in the wait."

"My lady, ‘tis of no use," he says, shaking his head grimly. "’Twas done when first you were struck."

"Where have they to run?"

The look he puts to me is long and measuring in its silence. But then, he bows, though his gaze remains stiffly upon me.

"As you wish, my lady."

I step back, then.  For with that, Master Bachor takes the bond of pledgeholders for the ploughman and wanderer and sets the men back upon their path.  

Should I wish to address this festering of ill will between the folk of the Angle, a House that visits death of those dependent upon it as a cost for its own error will do very little to help me.  Ah, had I thought the work of the next few days a burden, I have but added to it.  It would not be so, had Bachor not insisted upon the House’s right to such a harsh response.  For what reason could he be so eager for it?  The man I knew as brother would not have missed the implications.  Was that his purpose?  Or is he truly too weary and troubled to attend to it?

"For your pains," Bachor says, "neither of you shall have use of the oxen, not today. Now get you upon your way, and swiftly, too."   He gives me no heed and does not salute or give farewell when he again mounts his horse.

Soon we are again at the edge of the path, Ranger Boradan watching as the men pass, his hand lightly laid upon the hilt of his sword. But I do not look upon them, for my lord’s son stares up at me with eyes full of questions I think he does not have even the words to give voice.  I must give myself over to soothing him. Such a thing it is to have power over men. An it disturbs my sleep and sends me worrying over my books, how it must frighten a child. It is not until the last of the men have passed and I have cleaned his face and smoothed his hair and clothing that my lord’s son is ready.

We start again upon our journey to the Elder's house, but without the merriment that accompanied us upon our beginning. And when we are done with our meal and settle for the night, for all the joy he took in his plans to join Ranger Boradan in his watch, my lord’s son does not seek to go further from my side than his small bed, there to listen to his mother settle his sister to her sleep and then ease to his own slumbers.

I lay in the dark, then, listening to the slight sounds of his sleep.  Had I a hand in the laying of the foundation of my lord's fortress? Mayhap, but the very stone I have laid down shall one day take a life of its own and grow beyond my grasp.  However shall I prepare him for it?

~oOo~