Provoking Ire

“You have read it, I assume?”

“Of course.”

Longo Caskbury and Tollo Grittison sat in a dim corner of the Tree and Leaf Inn which sat, where it had sat for centuries, just off the Tuckborough-Stock road halfway between the two towns.

“And, what opinion have you formed?” Longo asked.

Tollo sighed, took a pull of his ale and sighed again before answering. “They do not know everything, but they know more than enough to set too many others to wondering. Wondering leads to seeking and that to finding, which simply won’t do.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Longo nodded. “Have you any ideas of what should be done?”

“A few. Yourself?”

“A few.”

The two secretaries turned their attention to their supper, eating in a comfortable silence for the two were lifelong friends. In fact, they were kin. It wasn’t until they had set their plates to the end of the table and dabbed at the corners of their lips with their serviettes that the conversation continued.

“I have heard that speeches are to be made in Oatbarton, Undertowers and at Isenbras Took’s holding off the Waymeet-Sackville Road.”

“Yes, Tollo. I’ve heard the same.” Longo nodded. “I was told when Togo, Myrtle and Isenbras came to Brandy Hall to meet with Jebbin, even though they avoided using the main entrance.”

“What of the rumors I’ve heard of the Master’s son frequenting Jebbin Brandybuck’s apartments?” Tollo had a triumphant smirk on his face.

Longo’s eyebrows rose. “You’ve got eyes and ears everywhere, don’t you, Cousin?”

Tollo’s smirk turned into a full smile. “As do you. As do you. But what about this? What about Macidoc?”

“Harmless. The two of them have been friends most of their lives, which troubles old Pompous as Jebbin’s line isn’t a very important one. If it had not been for the fact that Jebbin was a newly wed, there would have been more suspicion raised by he and Mac not having their regular chess games.” Longo softly snorted. “If it hadn’t been for his being newly married, we would have known about what the lad was really up to long before the business at the Harvest Festival. But much leniency is traditionally given to the newly married, though I should have been more curious when he requested a full year sabbatical instead of the usual single term.” He blushed a bit. “My apologies, Cousin. I failed our calling at that point.”

His cousin waved the apology aside. “What is done is done, Longo. I propose we make good use of the month we have before the first of young Mr. Jebbin’s speeches are given. I will obviously see to dealing with the one at Isenbras’ farm, but what of the other two? Have you people in Oatbarton? And what of Undertowers? Do you have anyone out there? I know I do not.”

“No, Tollo, I haven’t anyone that far out. I have a few people in Newton and one, no make that two, in Westview. But that is only a bit further than halfway across Westmarch. Oatbarton, however, is well covered.”

“That is better than no one at all. We’ll just have to be extra cautious out west.” Tollo thought a few moments. “The Brandybuck quotes the original Red Book, or claims to. Could that be possible?”

Longo shook his head. “I rather think not, Tollo. It took a great deal of effort to get it out of the hands of the Fairbairns all those years ago, and that only by pulling a switch using one of the better copies. Whoever did the deed died with the knowledge of what happened to the original. That I know for certain.”

Tollo slowly nodded his head. “Yes, that seems in keeping with things. The Fairbairns have always given more credence than most to the older versions of the tale. They could pose a problem if we aren’t careful. Most of the rest of Samwise the Stalwart’s spineless descendants shouldn’t prove too difficult, being ‘simple folk of the good Shire soil’ as he was.” Tollo grinned and winked as he said that. Longo chuckled.

“We have time,” Tollo continued. “We should be able to have everything in place by the time the young fool gives his first speech over in Oatbarton.”

“We’ll turn him into the most evil being in Shire history since the Dire Year when his precious Travellers were off gadding about, and we will make sure our bosses get the credit for bringing him down. Must keep the Brandybucks and Tooks thinking they are actually in charge of the Shire.”

Loud laughter suddenly came from the previously quiet corner of the Tree and Leaf Inn.

***********

The Grange at Oatbarton was well lit with lanterns and a fair sized crowd of hobbits milled about or sat upon the benches that had been set out for the meeting. In a small room off the left side of the dais, Jebbin Brandybuck strode nervously back and forth.

“Easy there, my lad,” Togo Goodbody said soothingly. “You convinced me, you’ll convince a good number of them. They’re good hobbits, most of them. You’ll be fine, lad.”

Jebbin grunted in acknowledgment but kept pacing.

Out with the crowd, Marjy, Other, Athelas and Mac stood in a corner watching the locals as they began to fill in the empty spaces on the benches. It was almost time for Jebbin’s speech to begin.

“Good evening citizens of Oatbarton!” Mr. Goodbody said as he stepped out onto the platform. He stopped at the center and faced the crowd as they gave various replies to his greeting. “This evening I bring to you a fine young hobbit of the Brandybuck family, Jebbin Brandybuck. Jebbin took training as a teacher and has taught for six years at Brandy Hall. His passion is Shire history and he began serious study of the subject as a young lad in his teens. In particular, he has made a thorough study of all matters relating to the famous Travellers. Jebbin Brandybuck is himself a descendant of both Meriadoc the Magnificent and Peregrin the Peerless. He has, as some of you are aware, made claims to finding out some vitally important information about not only his ancestors but about all four of the Travellers. Information that will change how we view these great heroes as well as how we view ourselves as Hobbits. My dear citizens of Oatbarton, I give you Jebbin Brandybuck!”

A slender hobbit came out onto the stage. Too slender, by hobbit standards, and obviously nervous, as several wives pointed out to their husbands. A hobbit lad followed after him carrying a stand which he set down beside Mr. Goodbody, waved jauntily to the crowd then stepped down off the platform to sit with his parents. The slender hobbit, who was quite obviously the evening’s speaker, placed the papers he carried on the stand before turning to Togo and shaking his hand.

“Thank you for your kind introduction, Mr. Goodbody,” he said a bit quietly.

Togo nodded, then stepped down to sit in the front row next to his wife Daisy. Everyone looked expectantly at the speaker.

“Ah . . . Good evening everyone. I’m, eh, as Mr. Goodbody said, Jebbin Brandybuck. I’m . . .” Jebbin paused. he closed his eyes, drew in a deep enough breath that folks several rows back saw him take it, then slowly let the breath out.

“I’m hear to tell you a marvelous story. A story made all the more marvelous because it is the truth. It is the story of the Travellers as we should have known it all along. The full details are in my book and it would make this meeting much too long to recite it all, but even with the shorter version I will tell in the next few hours, you will realize how different the true story is from the myths we have learned.”

Jebbin began the story, his voice quickly gaining strength and confidence.

Athelas looked nervously about at the crowd. Jebbin had just finished telling of the Council of Elrond and the choosing of the Nine Walkers. He had told most plainly how Meriadoc and, even more so, Peregrin had nearly been made to stay behind. Athelas felt a subtle change coming over the hobbits on the benches.

It had started when so much was made of Frodo Baggins’ Ring being vitally important. Then there was the shock of hearing that Gandalf had not come seeking the courageous Brandybuck and Took to help him battle the troubles in the world outside the Shire. She had felt a twinge of something amiss when Jebbin stressed that the Ring was the trouble. That It was at the heart of the whole situation and that the wizard had come to take care of Frodo because he had the Ring. Athelas sensed the crowd’s unease grow as it became clear that Samwise going with his master was an afterthought, and that Meriadoc and Peregrin’s going had been unplanned by anyone but themselves.

But with the ending of the four hobbit’s time in Rivendell, there was no missing the change in the crowd of listeners, and the discontent grew as Jebbin continued the tale. They faced the challenge of Caradhras, the dark journey through Moria, the fall of the Wizard, the calm of Lothlorien and then Parth Galen.

“Things had got terribly out of control as Frodo and Samwise made their way to the opposite shore,” Jebbin was saying. “Boromir’s gallant attempt at rescuing Meriadoc and Peregrin failed and they were rendered unconscious to be born away by the Orcs as the great man lay dying.”

“That’s enough of this, that is!” a voice called out from the crowd.

Another hobbit called out. “A lot of tosh, this is. They chased those Orcs to revenge that man’s death.”

“What do you take us for, fools?” said a third and soon the voices of the crowd were indistinguishable from each other.

Jebbin froze like a rabbit in the light from a hunter’s lantern. Other and Mac each slowly made their way closer to the dais on opposite sides of the room. Athelas and Marjy quietly left the Grange to see to the ponies and carriage. Togo Goodbody mounted the platform and stood next to Jebbin.

“My good friends . . .” Togo began, but got no further.

“No friends of ours, nor anyone else’s if you want to believe this drivel!”

“It’s the truth!” Jebbin’s voice rose above the crowd. “I swear to you. I will take any oath you wish. Give any proof you ask. It is the truth.”

“Based on what?” one well dressed hobbit shouted. “Books written by hobbits of whom we have never heard. Books, journals more like, written by some long gone Brandybuck and Took? Or based on the “Red Book of Westmarch?” That book has long been held as worthless, being nothing more than Bagginses trying to lay claim to more than their due and Mayor Gamgee trying to make the story seem less marvelous than it truly was. You need more than that, young hobbit if you’re setting to change what we all know to be the real story. What is your problem that you are seeking to discredit your own ancestors?”

“No! No. Not discredit,” Jebbin replied. His face was flushed, his eyes flashed with indignation. “The truth shows them as the heroes they truly were. They made it through the Great War of the Ring by being strong in who they were as hobbits. By staying true to each other and the others in their company. They are real heroes who were hurt and frightened but struggled on, never quitting. That is what heroes are, not those who hide behind magical powers and trickery.”

The room erupted in booing. Small pieces of rotten, inedible, fruits and vegetables flew through the air, most of which found their target. Other and Mac ran onto the platform and grabbed Jebbin under his arms. Hoisting him off his feet they carried him out through the small room off the side of the dais and out the back door of the Oatbarton Grange. The lasses had the carriage by the door and were already seated inside. Other and Mac shoved Jebbin in with the lasses, jumped into the driver’s seat, and they left as fast as the ponies could run.

Jebbin looked up at Marjy from where he had landed on the floor of his carriage.

“You’re a mess,” she said as a tear ran down her cheek.

He got off the floor and onto the seat opposite his wife and sister-in-law. Despite the mess and stench of rotted food that clung to him there was a fire burning in his eyes. He turned and slid open the small window in the wall of the carriage that enabled occupants to speak with the driver.

“Isenbras Took’s farm, Other. We’re going to Isenbras Took’s farm. Don’t you dare take us home.”

Jebbin snapped the window closed before turning to face the wives. They both stared at him, eyes and mouths wide open.

“I’m not finished with my tour of speaking engagements,” he said firmly. “Why are you two looking like fish out of water?”

Back at the Oatbarton Grange a different meeting was convening. The malcontents were ready to listen to the hobbits who had warned them ahead of time what the devious Brandybuck would be trying to force on them. They were ready to do what they could to rid the Shire of the wicked hobbit.

Daisy Goodbody helped her husband wave down as many as they could of those hobbits who sidled out the doors of the Grange, inviting them to come over to their smial. Togo smiled at his wife. After forty-six years of marriage, she still could surprise him. The new meeting at the Grange wouldn’t be the only one in Oatbarton that night.