Another Trial

No one in that large gathering of hobbits spoke a word.

When the Master had begun reading Jebiamac’s papers aloud, all eyes had been on him. By the time he finished, all eyes were on Longo Caskbury. The color had first drained from Longo’s face, but as the story had unfolded his face flushed. He stood rigidly beside his son, who was still seated at his desk.

At last, Macimas addressed the gathering.

“It appears there may be a chance the wrong hobbits have been on trial here. I think . . .”

The Master stopped. He still was not feeling particularly well, but more than that, in a short span of time Macimas’ entire world had been turned on its head. He had not really wanted to disown his son, but it had seemed the right thing to do at the time. He had been uncomfortable with the tiny, dank rooms in which the accused hobbits had been kept, but they were, after all, traitors deserving of punishment, were they not? He had felt in a daze through most of this mornings proceedings, like a puppet waiting for its strings to be pulled while someone provided its voice. Over the luncheon recess, he had begun to realize he had always felt that way. Now, he was saying, ‘I think’. He realized that, for what might be the first time, he, Macimas II the Master of Buckland, was thinking and speaking for himself.

It was a bit frightening.

“I think there is need for a recess . . .”

“Ha!” Longo roared. “A recess for what? So your wife and these . . . these illusions ,” he waved at the Ghosts, “can twist you about their fingers.” He glared at the ghostly Baggins. “Or lack of fingers. This is all a sham! Some sort of trick set up to confuse you. To confuse all of you.” Longo turned and gestured at the assembled hobbits. He turned back and walked to stand at the edge of the dais. He looked up at his boss. “Why take a recess? If they have something to prove against me then let them do so now, without giving them time to play with your sympathies.”

“So be it,” Macimas replied. He was feeling different, somehow stronger than he had ever felt. The Master did not see his son, his wife and the ghost of his ancestor looking at him with love and encouragement in their eyes.

“We first need to tend to the conclusion of the trail of the accused traitors, Jebbin Brandybuck, Marjoram Brandybuck, Other Brandybuck, Athelas Brandybuck and Macidoc Brandybuck. They stand before you, hobbits of Buckland and the Shire, accused of promulgating misinformation regarding the history of the Shire and Buckland, particularly that which relates to the Travellers Journey and the Dire Year of the Shire.”

Macimas looked over the crowded room. He looked to his left and right at those who stood accused, then returned his gaze to the assembly.

“Those who are convinced of the guilt of the accused, say “Aye”.”

To the surprise of all who stood on the platform, there were a few cries of “Aye”.

“Those who are convinced of the innocence of the accused, say “Aye”.”

The response reverberated off the walls and ceiling of the huge room.

The Master smiled, enjoying the response, then held up his hand for quiet.

“It is decided by this gathering of the citizens of Buckland, and those here who hail from the Shire, that the accused traitors, Jebbin Brandybuck, Marjoram Brandybuck, Other Brandybuck, Athelas Brandybuck, and Macidoc Brandybuck, are innocent of the charges that were brought against them.”

The crowd cheered. Jebbin and Other picked their wives up and spun them around while kissing them soundly, before they all fell upon Mac hugging him and slapping his back.

Macimas however was speaking to Togo Goodbody and Holman Gardner, while the two Caskburys were also having an animated conversation. Eventually, the room began to quiet down. The Master looked at his wife and wiggled his arm and hand in the air, Chalcy understood and proceeded to ring the hand bell, bringing quiet to the room.

“The previously accused may step down,” Macimas said, then waited while they did so and while their kin greeted them before speaking again.

“I hereby declare this the opening of the trial of Longo Caskbury, the charge being treason against Buckland and the Shire. I have asked Mr. Goodbody to speak for the citizenry of Buckland and the Shire, Mr. Caskbury. Who would you like to have speak for you?”

“I will speak for myself, thank you,” Longo snidely responded.

The Master raised an eyebrow but nodded to the accused.

“As you wish, Mr. Caskbury. I give you the floor to say what you wish in your own defense.” Macimas stepped down, returned to the desk and sat down.

Longo stepped up onto the dais then faced the assembled hobbits.

“I find it ludicrous that one accounting written by one solitary hobbit should be considered anywhere near enough evidence to find me guilty of anything. More so since that hobbit is long since dead and unable to be questioned. If he could be questioned then perhaps his claims could be substantiated.”

Interestingly, Longo seemed to have forgotten that there were in that very ballroom four hobbits, long since dead, who had spoken to the gathering. The crowd began to chuckle. They had not forgotten the Ghosts, they were looking at them.

“Would you like to question the dead, Mr. Caskbury?” Togo asked.

“Would I . . .” Longo stopped. The ghost of Samwise Gamgee had moved to stand close beside him and Longo felt the chill against his face. He quickly turned, looking at the ghost as though he hadn’t seen him before. “Would I, eh, yes! Yes I would like to question the dead, but none of these are the right one, are they?”

No one replied.

“Well? Are they? No. They are not.” There was a note of triumph in Longo’s voice. “And unless they can produce the correct ghost, the writer Jebiamac Brandybuck, their presence has no bearing on this matter.”

The Ghosts looked at each other a bit helplessly.

Togo cleared his throat. “Ahem, ah, sirs?” he addressed the Travellers. “Are you able to, eh . . .”

Merry stepped forward a bit. “No. We didn’t bring ourselves here at the start. There are . . . there are others who, well, it is their decision, not ours nor yours. It . . .” The Ghost shrugged his shoulders.

A spirit appeared behind Marrin and Clary Brandybuck, their sons and their wives. At first, no one seemed to notice him as he looked about, confused. Other turned around first.

“Jebbin.” Other poked his brother in the arm.

“Not now, Other,” the elder brother hissed. “All could be lost, if no one can answer this challenge.”

Other didn’t bother trying to explain. He took hold of Jebbin’s shoulders and turned him to face the newly arrived ghost.

“Jebiamac?” Jebbin whispered, then “Jebiamac!” he exclaimed.

But the ghost of his ancestor passed through him without as much as a glance at his descendant. His eyes were fixed on Longo Caskbury.

“P-P-Pronto?” the ghost of Jebiamac Brandybuck stammered. He stopped a few feet from Longo. “P-Pronto Caskbury?” Jebiamac then looked about himself. “What are you doing here? You aren’t allowed anywhere near here. They know what you and yours have done, and they forbad most of you from being here.”

“That isn’t Pronto Caskbury,” Meriadoc’s ghost said to the confused spirit.

“Of course it is. If it isn’t, than this hobbit is the spitten image of Pronto Caskbury.” Jebiamac snapped back, then he turned to look at Merry.

“Merry?”

“Yes, Jebi, it’s me.”

Jebiamac looked at Longo then back at Merry. “What is all this, Meriadoc?”

“It is a very important moment.” Merry pointed to Jebbin and Other.

Jebiamac stared a moment then exclaimed, “The lads! I’m there! I’m here! It truly is them?”

Merry nodded.

Jebiamac looked around the room, then stared once again at Longo Caskbury.

“It’s time, isn’t it, Merry?”

“Yes.”

“Where is the current Master?”

Merry pointed to Macimas. The newly arrived ghost went to stand before the Master of Buckland. He bowed slightly before he began to speak.

“I had no way of knowing, sir, the disaster that would come of things when I decided to hide my journal and the papers that were hidden in its cover. But, it appears there were reasons that it had to be so. They have told me since I’ve been there, since I’ve been beyond the bounds of Middle-earth, sir, that it is something hobbits need. That we need to be shaken up from time to time because we forget what stuff we’re made of.”

He hung his head a moment before continuing. “I swear to you, sir, that everything that was written in my journal and in those loose pages is the absolute truth. You saw for yourself that I at first thought this rather distant descendant of Lotho Sandyman Caskbury was instead Lotho’s grandson Pronto.”

“Oh, there’s solid proof for you!” Longo huffed. “He thinks I look like someone else. He says he told the truth. How convenient! And who will confirm that?”

“You requested the correct ghost be produced and he has, Mr. Caskbury. You have what you wanted, why shouldn’t his word be accepted?” Togo Goodbody asked.

“Yes, well. I meant, of course, that I could question him as I had stated.” Longo turned to Jebiamac Brandybuck. He really found this whole situation foolish. Treating these *things* as though they were real, but he proceeded anyway. “Why should you be believed, sir?”

Jebiamac had no immediate answer. He looked at Macimas. He looked at Merry and the other Travellers. They said nothing for they had nothing to say in the face of such a question.

“You know why he should be believed.” Came the small voice of a hobbitess from within the crowd. To the shock of everyone there who knew her, Longo Caskbury’s youngest child, his daughter who had recently come of age, stepped out of the crowd. She stopped about five feet away from her father and began speaking quickly.

“The story in his book and those papers is true and you know it, Father. You told us yourself from whom we are descended. You told us how we are kin to the Grittisons. And you made it very clear . . .”

Longo howled as he lunged at her, teeth bared and claw-like hands outstretched. Had she been any closer, he would have had his hands about her throat. Macidoc dived at his father’s secretary colliding with him in midair before they both fell to the floor.

“You lying little piece of filth!” Longo screamed as he struggled to get out from under the Master’s son. “You’re soft and useless! I tied to beat it out of you when you were little, you filth!”

Longo was soon on his feet, being held by Macidoc and two other hobbits from the crowd, as he continued to struggle and scream at his child.

“You are weak and useless like their mother was! You lying piece of filth!”

The Master had stood and now yelled to be heard above Longo’s raving.

“Get him out of here at once!”

Tobold Took stepped forward to take Macidoc’s place and Longo Caskbury, one time secretary to the Master of Buckland, was dragged from the ballroom of Brandy Hall. An uneasy quiet settled over the hobbits in the room.

Rollo Caskbury had not moved, neither to help his sister nor to help his father. He sat as though turned to stone. Togo and Holman stood on either side of him lest he try to leave . . . or lest he should swoon.

Macidoc returned to stand with his friends and their families. The Master turned to Delphinia Caskbury. “Are you all right, Delphinia? Would some one please get her a . . . Oh! Thank you, my dear!” he said as Chalcedony came over to the lass then guided her to sit in the chair beside the Master’s desk. Isenbras Took poured some water into the glass that had been set on the desk for the Master’s use, then handed it to Delphinia. She nodded her thanks and took a drink.

“Delphinia,” Macimas said gently. “Do you feel you are able to finish what it was you were trying to say?”

She nodded, finished the water then set the glass down. Her eyes were downcast, she placed her hands in her lap. “We, my brother and I, we were told we should never tell anyone that we were the descendants of Lotho Sackville-Baggins. We were told to be proud of it because he had tried to bring the hobbits into the world. That others had twisted what he had done. But that we couldn’t tell anyone.”

She sighed and said nothing for a few moments. Her voice was steadier when she spoke again.

“We were taught that the lies about Lotho had been told too well, that the hatred of the other hobbits ran too deep and we would be exiled if they knew there were descendants of his still living. But we weren’t told what had been done; done to the history of the Shire and done to the Master and the Thain. We weren’t told why we had to never waiver from the stories we were taught. But I wondered.”

Delphinia looked at Jebiamac and Jebbin. “If what we had to believe so fiercely was the right and proper story, why did I have to have it beaten into me? Any time I asked a question, Daddy would take me out of the Hall and into the woods and hit me. Then . . .” She looked at her hands in her lap, her voice was a whisper. “I heard Mr. Jebbin Brandybuck speak at the Harvest Festival and I had hope. I knew I was not alone.”

“I never questioned.” Rollo could barely be heard. He still sat immobile, staring at the ghosts of the Travellers. Only his mouth moved. “I was pampered and coddled. He never hit me. I was told I would have power and riches. Buckland would be mine to control.”

Rollo blinked. A tremor ran through him. He stood and walked slowly to stand in front of Macidoc. “You were to be my plaything. That was what Father called you, what he called your father. Playthings. And I loved the thought that I would be stronger than you and in control.”

He looked at his sister and tears began to run down his face. He walked to her then knelt before her. “You were always so kind, Del. Father would be mean to my friends, cruel to his ponies and dogs. He wanted me to be that way, and . . . I-I did it to please him. But the ponies loved you and the dogs would follow you about . . . and I envied you.” Rollo sniffed hard then rubbed his nose on his sleeve, he was beyond caring how he appeared. “I didn’t know he beat you, Del. I would have hated him if I had known.”

He struggled to get to his feet then turned, holding out his hands to the Master of Buckland. “Have me bound, sir, and taken away. I was becoming like my Father and I would have ruined your son, or your nephew. I only ask that you not put me with my Father as I fear that I might then become a murderer.”

Macimas looked at the shattered young hobbit and tears formed in his eyes. “You will be confined to your family’s apartments, Rollo Caskbury, and I see no need to bind your hands. Miss Delphinia?”

“Yes, Master?”

“Would you wish to care for your brother?”

The lass smiled for the first time. “Very much sir!”

Macimas appointed two Brandybucks to escort them to their quarters and to stand guard. He returned to the dais and addressed the assembly.

“Do you, citizens of Buckland and the Shire, find that Longo Caskbury is guilty or innocent of treason? Those who are convinced of the guilt of the accused, say “Aye”.”

Though many hobbits spoke, the reply was subdued.

“Do any gathered here find Longo Caskbury innocent of treason? Those who are convinced of the innocence of the accused, say “Aye”.”

No one spoke.

“I feel,” the Master said sadly, “that their is much to be pitied in the Caskbury family, and that my secretary is quite mad. There is also the matter of the Grittison family. The testimony heard today has also implicated that family in this treason against the Hobbits of the Shire and Buckland. For these reasons, I declare that there will be no sentencing until after a proper trial of Tollo Grittison has taken place and the Took and Thain, the Mayor of the Shire and I have opportunity to discuss these matters and agree upon an appropriate sentence for Longo Caskbury and for Tollo Grittison should he also be found guilty. Is that agreeable to all gathered here?”

“Aye!” came the strong reply. The hobbits who stood in the ballroom were pleased that the Master was taking his proper place.

“Then this trial is closed.” The Master turned to the ghosts. “I thank you all. I don’t understand by what magic, if I may use the word, you have been able to be among us, but I am most greatful you were allowed to be here.” Macimas II stepped down from the platform and left the room. Soon the ballroom at Brandy Hall was empty.