Nearly What They Expected

The bright light of a new day was a bit hard on the eyes of Other and Athelas, Jebbin and Marjoram, and Macidoc. Their three days of confinement had them accustomed to much dimmer lighting than the sunlight that illuminated the ballroom at Brandy Hall.

There weren’t often trials in the Shire or Buckland. Most hobbits were normally well behaved and when problems did arise, they were usually dealt with in the offices of either the Master, the Thain or the Mayor. But this was treason, and that’s an all together different matter. Also, Longo Caskbury insisted the trial should be held where a good number of hobbits could view the proceeding.

And a good number there were. The accused were seated on the platform that on happier occasions held the band. The Master of Buckland was seated on another, smaller, platform off to the right from the viewpoint of the assembled citizenry. There was the expectation, amongst the crowd that was gathered, that this would be a good meeting with considerable debate to be heard. For Shire trials were run a great deal like town meetings. The accused would have someone trained in Shire Law to speak for them, but they would also speak for themselves. Someone trained in the Law would also pose most of the questions for the presiding official, though the official could ask questions or make comments himself if he chose. The citizens who came to the trial could also make comments as long as the presiding official recognized them. The decision on the guilt or innocence of the accused would rest upon the decision of those hobbits present when the debate was over. The Mayor, Thain, or Master would decide the punishment meted out should the accused be found guilty.

“This trial of the Traitors, Jebbin Brandybuck, Marjoram Brandybuck, Other Brandybuck, Athelas Brandybuck, and Macidoc Brandybuck is hereby called to order.” Longo announced loudly. The room became quiet.

From their places on the platform the accused looked carefully at the crowd seated before them. Jebbin and Other saw no signs of their parents, aunts or uncles, or closest cousins. Athelas saw none of her family, nor did Marjy see any of hers. Macidoc saw his father of course, though he would have much preferred not to. His first cousin, Gorgulas, was seated next to Macimas II as was to be expected now that he was next in line to be the Master. There were assorted other relations of varying degrees of closeness scattered amongst the crowd. However, Macidoc saw no sign of his mother.

“The first question will be posed to Jebbin Brandybuck, the Traitor,” Longo said. It was easy to hear the sneer in his voice. “Did you or did you not write a book with the intention of changing all that is known of the time of the Travellers?”

Jebbin rose. “Yes. I wrote a book to . . .”

“He admits to the writing of his book of lies, Master Macimas.” Longo shouted over Jebbin.

“Let that be recorded,” Macimas said immediately, and Longo’s son, Rollo, wrote it down.

“I wrote a book of truth.” Jebbin asserted.

But the young scholar was ignored. Longo simply proceeded onto his next question.

“Did you or did you not speak of these lies at the Harvest Festival, held the thirtieth day of Winterfilth?”

“Yes, I did, but they aren’t lies. They are tru . . .”

“He admits to speaking these lies at . . .”

“They aren’t lies!” Jebbin shouted to be heard above the secretary.

“I heard him! I heard him at the Festival, Master Macimas!” A hobbit in the crowd stood to his feet to be recognized by the Master.

“Your name, sir?” Macimas inquired.

“Tod Holeman, Master, from Bywater.”

“I recognize Tod Holeman of Bywater. Speak.”

“I heard him with his talkin’ at the Festival. Right nonsense it were, sir. He didn’t have nought of it right.”

“That is because what you and all of us have been taught is wrong, Mr. Holeman.” Jebbin said, but no notice was taken of him.

“There weren’t no magic in it at all. And goin’ off to fight the Dark Lord weren’t the big reason for the Quest. It were to throw the Baggins’ ring in the Fiery Mountain.”

Other stood, moving to stand beside his brother. “And what is so wrong about that? It was the One Ring, the Dark Lord’s own Ring and it held much of his power.”

“See!” Mr. Holeman shouted. “See, Master, sir! They all are sayin’ that same nonsense.”

The gathered crowd joined in and nothing could be heard for several minutes until calm and quiet were restored and Longo resumed his questioning.

So it went: questions were asked, the accused were ignored, the crowd would become unruly. Now it was nearly noon and the trial had been going for four hours with only two twenty minute recesses for second breakfast and elevenses.

To the amazement of the accused traitors, Longo Caskbury looked at his pocket watch then announced, “We shall now vote upon the guilt of the accused.”

Jebbin, Other and the wives were dumbstruck. Macidoc rose to his feet.

“I believe the correct phrase is ‘vote upon the guilt or *innocence* of the accused’. Also, how can a proper vote be taken when we have had no opportunity to fully present our side of this issue?”

As before, the Master’s disowned son was ignored.

Longo continued. “All who have decided that the accused are guilty of treason against Buckland and the Shire by promoting lies regarding the honor of our glorious heroes of the past, signify your decision by saying ‘Aye’.”

The ballroom of Brandy Hall rang with the word, “Aye!”

“All who have decided that the accused are innocent of the aforementioned treason, signify your decision by saying ‘Aye’.”

Not a single voice was raised.

Longo waited longer than was necessary. He wanted the moment to hurt the five traitors as much as possible. Finally he announced that sentencing would take place after a long recess for the partaking of a proper luncheon. Jebbin, Other, and Macidoc were returned to their cells. The wives were returned to their small apartment.

************

Jebbin wasn’t sure if he was more angry than hurt, or more hurt than angry. The tea he was given with his luncheon did much to soothe his aching throat. He had shouted himself hoarse trying to be heard.

“Why did I bother?” he asked himself aloud. “None of them listened to me at all, even when Longo actually let me finish a thought.”

He sighed as he pushed a piece of potato around in his bowl of beef stew.

“And, where were Mum and Dad?” He sighed again. ‘If they haven’t really disowned me and Other, surely they would have been here. They couldn’t have really . . .” He couldn’t bring himself to voice those thoughts aloud. It was this matter that had his emotions so confused. He was angry at the way the trial was being handled, or mishandled to be more accurate. But he was losing his confidence regarding having been disowned by parents he thought loved and supported him.

He knew he should eat, but he simply didn’t feel that he could.

************

Other was pacing.

“All right,” he said to the gloomy air of the cell, “where were you? Where are you? You should be here, you wretched ghosts!” He completely ignored his luncheon tray. “You . . . you . . . You ought to have shown up, you wretched ghosts! How dare you sit and laugh with me, Peregrin Took, sing songs with me and then not be there this morning?”

The young blacksmith stopped at the brick wall before him. Other rested his head against the decaying bricks, then slowly pounded them with his fists.

*********

Macidoc’s thoughts were following a slightly more productive path.

“If I start speaking before Longo, perhaps I’ll get heard, and I had better be heard. This is a farce! A total disregard for Shire and Buckland law. There is no one speaking for us!” he ranted aloud. He shoved a spoonful of beef stew into his mouth, chewed it twice and swallowed. Macidoc didn’t even realize he was eating. “I’m trained in the law. Ha! Of course I am, I’m supposed to be the Heir of the Hall. But it isn’t really seen as proper for the accused to defend themselves without someone else also representing them, even if they are capable of doing so.”

He shoved in and swallowed another untasted spoonful of stew.

“Maybe it will delay things. Maybe I can push this into tomorrow by insisting that we be represented as we should be by law. And then . . .”

Macidoc stopped. His stomach felt queasy. He set down the bowl of stew.

“. . . maybe my Mother and Jebbin’s parents will be here.” Macidoc closed his eyes as he laid his head on his drawn-up knees. “Maybe someone will be here to help us.”

********

Marjy was meandering about the small apartment, not really pacing, just wandering about. Her hands were knotted up in her handkerchief which was damp from dabbing away tears.

“Where is everyone?” she muttered.

She said nothing for a few moments.

“No one was there for us, not anyone.”

Another long pause.

“Not their parents, nor ours, nor Chalcedony Brandybuck, nor the Ghosts.”

Pause.

“No one.”

She put her hand to her pocket, hoping to find a fresh handkerchief. Instead, her hand touched the faint outline of one of the small journal books she had taken from her husband’s pockets the night of their arrest. She reached under the waistband of her skirt to fish the one of the books out of the purse that hung from her waist under her skirt and petticoat. She looked at it, it was the journal of Jebiamac Brandybuck.

This had started it all. Long before she had even known Jebbin, this book had brought the Ghosts and had started a little boy wondering. Marjy drew back her arm.

“You horrible, stupid book!” she cried as she threw it against a wall.

It hit in a manner that caused the back cover to be roughly pulled back against the book itself and land on the floor with the pages fanned out in a graceful arch.

Marjy crumpled to the floor herself to lie in a heap, crying.

Athelas quietly went over to the book and picked it up. The binding was split. As she moved the pages back and forth, she noticed something sticking out from the torn hinge of the back cover. It looked like a piece of paper that was different from the endsheet. She worked the paper out from under the book’s cover. Actually, it was two pages of lightweight paper written upon in a small tight hand.

“Marjy.” Athelas barely spoke her sister’s name aloud as she stood reading the pages.

“What?” Marjy muttered from the floor without looking up, her voice raspy and tear-filled.

Athelas sat down with a thump beside Marjoram. While she continued reading the pages, her left hand reached over to firmly pat Marjy’s shoulder. “Marjy, you have to see this. Read this. Marjy, it’s what will turn the tide!”

***********

Luncheon was not pleasant for Macimas the Efficient.

Chalcedony, Marrin and Clary, and Tobold Took had arrived at Brandy Hall to find a large crowd standing about on the front lawn.

“It’s the Mistress!” someone shouted, and the hobbits parted for them as they made their way to the main door of the large smial. The crowd had more than Brandybucks in it, and the family members of the accused traitors quickly understood why.

Three hobbits and two hobbitesses stepped forward to meet them just before the door was reached.

“Mistress Brandybuck, I am Togo Goodbody of Oatbarton,” said a portly older gentlehobbit as he held out his hand. Chalcedony shook his hand firmly. “And this is my dear wife, Daisy.”

“And I,” said the other hobbitess, “am Myrtle Fairbairn of Undertowers.” Myrtle gestured to the hobbit on her right. “Along with my cousin from Bag End in Hobbiton, Holman Gardner.”

Chalcedony shook hands with them.

“Isenbras Took, Mistress,” said the last of the group. The Tooks nodded to each other as well as shaking hands.

“These folks,” the Mistress of Buckland said, gesturing to those with her, “are Marrin and Clary Brandybuck, parents of Jebbin and Other Brandybuck, and Tobold Took, brother to Mrs. Athelas Brandybuck.” Chalcy looked out over the crowd. “Perhaps one of you can explain to us why all of these people are standing about out here?”

Togo answered. “We have been informed there is no more room in the ballroom of the Hall, where the trial is taking place, Mistress.”

“Though we were here more than early, Ma’am,” added Holman Gardner.

“I’ve looked in through the windows. They have already begun the proceeding,” Isenbras spoke up. “And the room is indeed filled.”

“It’s already in progress?” Chalcy queried. “According to the accepted handling of such matters, it shouldn’t start for another hour.”

“True, it should not have. I’m practiced in Shire law, and I’ve a very bad feeling about it all, Mistress Brandybuck,” Togo said. “It seems odd to me that none of the hobbits in that ballroom seem to have been waiting outside with us this morning. I’m quite certain that no matter where some of them may hail from, they were already at Brandy Hall last night. Which indicates to me that it was the wish of the Master that only hobbits of his choosing are present for the trial.”

“Implying, Mr. Goodbody, that my husband is conducting a false trial?”

Togo stared at the Mistress of Buckland, the others stared at Togo. The old hobbit drew himself up.

“Yes, Mistress Brandybuck. I am saying exactly that. I think your husband is conducting a false trial.”

Everyone looked back and forth between Togo and Chalcedony, many held their breath.

“With what I’ve heard this morning,” Chalcy intoned. “ I agree with you.”

There was an audible sigh of relief.

“I am mistress of this smial. I don’t think they shall be able to keep me out.”

Chalcedony walked up to the door, turned the knob as she pushed . . .

. . . and nothing moved. She tried again, shoving against the door with her ample hip. Still, the door didn’t budge.

“We’ve tried that,” Holman said.

Chalcy’s shoulder’s sagged for a moment, but when she looked up, her eyes were blazing. “There is more than one way into this smial.” She looked at the small group standing with her by the door. “Would all of you come with me?” she asked. Receiving their nods, she turned to the crowd. “I ask that you remain calm and that you act with proper decorum while the families of our heroes, these other leaders and I find another way into Brandy Hall. If all goes as it should, I hope that many of you will be inside shortly.”

With a wave of her hand beckoning the small group to follow her, Chalcedony led the way to the Master’s entrance to the Hall. But as they drew near, they could see that entrance was guarded. Chalcy stopped the group. She wasn’t sure what to do. It usually was not the best of ideas to use the abilities she had with her eyes in front of others. Too many questions would arise; questions she really did not wish to answer. As it happened, she didn’t need to.

“There’s another way in.” whispered Clary. The others all turned to look at her. “It’s small and hard to find. My sons . . .” she paused to quiet her rising emotions at the thought of her lads. “My sons found it years ago. I couldn’t figure out how they were getting outside so I followed them once. It is tight for adults, I’m not sure all of us could get in this way, but some of us should be able to, then we can see to letting the others in a larger way.” Clary thought a moment. “Mistress, do you know where the north servant’s entrance is?”

Chalcy smiled brightly. “I certainly do, Clary. That should be perfect. We will meet you there.” The north servant’s entrance was little used, being far from the parts of the Hall that were most occupied.

The smaller amongst them, being Clary, Daisy, and Isenbras, set off in search of the secret entrance. It took them rather a long time to find it, hidden behind some bushes and a growth of ivy on the east side of Buck Hill. They had to slouch to fit into the tiny tunnel. Isenbras wondered why such a small tunnel had been dug into the Hall, but the knowledge was lost in the long centuries of Brandy Hall’s existence.

They were all a bit achy by the time they shoved open the small hatch at the inside end of the tunnel. The three of them stood in a storeroom filled with casks; brandy casks. Clary waved them on and soon they were moving quietly through the halls and tunnels of the Hall, heading for the north servant’s entrance.

Luncheon was not pleasant for Macimas the Efficient. No sooner than he had tucked his serviette into his shirt collar than the door to his study burst open.

He had never seen Longo Caskbury look so shaken.

“You need to come back to the ballroom, Master,” was all Longo said before heading back out of the study.