Chapter 19 – The Cat and The Bag

“Next time, we need to do the marketing before luncheon,” Merry said over his shoulder to Pippin, who was struggling to keep up.

The luncheon with Lady Bodil had been more successful than they could have hoped, but the consequence of their conspiring was that they were now forced to do the marketing at midday rather than the morning. The market square was now as packed as Lobelia’s umbrella after a visit to Bag End, making navigation nearly impossible. There were people at every turn, lining up for their rations, haggling over prices and bartering their services. So great was the crowd that they hardly noticed Merry and Pippin attempting to cut their way to the butcher’s shop.

Pippin looked over his shoulder and grinned. Of course, Frodo and Sam would not have such problems. The crowd parted for them wherever they went, breaking before them and circling around them with a wide berth, so that they moved freely from booth to booth. If they were hampered at all, it was because whenever one of them looked at or picked up something, a half-dozen eager admirers would step forward and offer to purchase the item for them.

Every time Frodo and Sam made an appearance in the city, the same thing happened. Pippin knew what the post would bring them tomorrow: baskets filled with home-baked treats, parcels packed with whatever the Ring-bearer and his stout-hearted servant had shown particular interest in but had not purchased, and, absurdly enough, shoes. The hobbits now possessed more shoes, slippers and boots than even a Man by rights should own. Gimli found it so amusing that he kept a running tally of how many shoes each hobbit received. Sam, much to his embarrassment, was far in the lead. When the citizens learned that Sam’s feet had been so gravely injured carrying his master up Mt. Doom, they had all come to the bizarre conclusion that a tough pair of shoes would have prevented the injury.

“What should we do with our shoes when we leave?” Pippin asked, catching up to Merry at last.

“We can give them out at Yule as oven mitts,” Merry said. “That’s what I use them for.”

“The slippers maybe,” Pippin agreed. “But surely not the shoes or boots.”

“The boots do pose a particular problem,” Merry said. “Perhaps we could trade them with dwarves who pass through.”

“What do you trade boots for?”

Merry shrugged. “Gloves. Speaking of oven mitts, I’m still missing my slipper.”

“I told you already, I don’t know where it went,” Pippin said. “Besides, they come in pairs, you know. Just use the other one.”

“But it’s the right slipper. I’m right handed,” Merry said and sighed. He looked around, considering. “I think the cobbler’s shop is around here somewhere. Perhaps he will buy the shoes back. He must be running low on ready-made supplies. Maybe he has a spare right slipper.”

He looked back expecting to find Pippin rolling his eyes. Instead, Pippin was stopped a few paces back, staring in the direction of the outdoor café. Pippin pointed when Merry rejoined him.

“Isn’t that the Haradrim woman who served us at the feast?” he asked. “The one who was sent away for talking to us?”

Merry followed his direction and nodded. “And she is with the translator with the missing hand. What did Strider say his name was?”

“Soroush,” Pippin said. “Something’s wrong.”

The woman was standing rigid and was shaking her head. Soroush was doing his best to speak to her and urge her forward, but the woman refused to move. They were receiving many looks of concern, as well as suspicion, and Pippin knew it was just a matter of time before a crowd gathered and worsened the situation. He made a gut decision and headed towards the couple. Merry hurried to follow him.

“Hallo!” Pippin greeted them cheerfully. The couple turned in surprise, startled out of their argument.

“Hello,” Soroush said.

“Peregrin Took at your service,” Pippin continued with a courtly bow. “This is my cousin, Meriadoc Brandybuck.”

“Your servant, sir, madam,” Merry said, bowing also.

“Soroush of Harad, at the service of you and your family,” Soroush said, returning their bows. “This is my wife, Razeena.”

“I shall serve you well,” Razeena said, though in her fright she forgot to bow. She again pulled against her husband’s clasp on her hand.

“Is there something the matter that we may be able to assist you with?” Pippin asked.

Soroush nodded. “My wife is frightened of the cat.” He pointed with his hook towards the café just across the square.

There at a table under the portico sat Lady Genevieve and upon the table on his beaded pillow was the hairless cat her husband had brought her from the land of the Easterlings. Lord Amlach had told his wife only that the cats were believed to have magical qualities and so only the royalty were allowed to own such creatures. He had been forced to sneak the cat, then a kitten, away in his soldier’s pack to bring back to his wife, who fancied exotic animals and trinkets.

“Surely, she is accustomed to such cats, working in the palace?” Pippin said.

Razeena shook her head and muttered in Haradrim. Her husband shushed her soothingly and whispered reassurances to her, to little effect. She only gesticulated over herself and continued muttering in what sounded like a chant.

“Is it because they are magical?” Merry asked.

Soroush shook his head. “How did it get here?” he asked instead.

“Her husband brought it from the East,” Pippin said.

“Is he mad?” Soroush asked.

“No,” Pippin said. “I have seen Lord Amlach at court quite a few times and he always appears perfectly lucid.”

“Can you be certain? Perhaps he is under some enchantment of the Enemy,” Soroush said.

“I’m quite sure,” Pippin said, remembering the madness of Denethor with a shudder. He patted his pocket, where the beads that Gimli gave him were hidden. Somehow, just knowing they were there did seem to give him more courage. He shook off the memories of Denethor’s madness and patted Razeena’s hand. “Perhaps we should go inside somewhere and get your wife something to eat or drink. Lady Genevieve should not be here much longer.”

Soroush nodded and gently turned his wife away. They went into a tavern a block down the street, away from the noise and bustle of the market square. The tavern though was just as crowded with midday shoppers, seeking refuge from the sun and refreshment after their shopping. They managed to find a curtained booth and slipped into it. Pippin ordered ale and tea, remembering what Razeena had said about Haradrim not drinking spirits, and carried the tray to the booth himself. He and Merry were both surprised when Soroush poured himself a healthy dose of the ale and gulped it down.

“All right then?” Merry asked, pouring Razeena the tea.

Razeena nodded, though in truth she looked no calmer for being out of the cat’s presence. She was finally able to speak though. “That is an evil creature,” she said severely. “What was that man thinking to bring it here? He must be possessed. There is no other reason.”

“We’re missing a part of the story, and not a small part,” Merry said. “What is so evil about a cat? I’ll admit, it could be prettier, but it’s harmless enough.”

“They are spies of the Enemy,” Razeena said. “They are forbidden from our lands.”

Merry and Pippin exchanged looks of alarm. “Spies of the Enemy?” Pippin repeated.

Soroush nodded. He refilled his glass, this time with tea, and took a small sip. “That is the belief. It is said that all cats can see spirits, and they can warn their masters of coming danger. Cats are highly revered for this. But those particular cats, the Withered Ones they are called, can also understand the speech of Men, and they carry all they hear back to their masters. They are thus used by the Houses of the Eye.”

“Orc cats,” Merry and Pippin whispered. “Sam was right then?” Merry asked.

“Orc cats?” Soroush said, his brow wrinkled. “I suppose that would be an adequate description for them. I always assumed the rumors had something to do with the legends of Queen Beruthiel.”

“Who’s Queen Beruthiel?” Pippin asked.

“She was the wife of Tarannon Falastur, twelfth King of Gondor. Not much is known of her. In Belfalas where I grew up, there was a legend that Beruthiel had ten magical cats. Nine were black and these she would send into the city to spy for her while the white one looked over the nine. Men were afraid to touch them and whenever one was spotted, all would go silent and fear would grip their hearts.”

“Wraith cats,” Pippin whispered.

Soroush smirked. “It is said that her husband banished her to the Great Sea with only her cats for company, and that she disappeared to the South, never to be seen again. I often wondered, after coming to Harad and hearing their stories of the Withered Ones, if somehow she reached their shores.”

Merry shivered, then laughed. “But, they are just cats!” He did not sound entirely convinced even to his own ears though. “Aren’t they?”

Soroush shrugged. “I cannot say. The Enemy had many spies.”

“I think this Withered One is a good cat,” Pippin said. “He grew up here and never knew the Eye. He likes drinking warm milk, lying in the sun and having his chin scratched. He’s far too lazy to be a spy. I don’t think he could even make it to the city gate without stopping a few hundred times for a cat nap, and dragging that beaded pillow about will only make it more cumbersome. It would take him forever to get to Mordor.”

Razeena laughed at this, despite herself, and the others relaxed their guard.

“I think you’re right, Pip,” Merry said. “Imagine his surprise when he gets there and sees nothing but a large sandpit! You’ll be able to hear his yowls of indignation all the way in the Shire!”

Now they all laughed and Razeena looked more settled, if still a little spooked.

“Don’t worry, Razeena,” Pippin said, reaching over to pat her hand. “If King Elessar can turn one of the Eye’s Palantír to his will, he should be able to manage a cat, if there’s ever a need for it. In fact, Strider did meet that cat and quite liked him. There’s no better proof of goodness than that, if you ask me.”

“Strider?” Soroush asked. “This is how you address your King?”

“That is how we were introduced to him,” Merry said. “We didn’t know he was the future king until much later.”

“How did you meet him?” Soroush asked.

“We met him as a Ranger, one of a group of Men who patrol the wilds for common rogues and agents of the Enemy. He was their captain, though we didn’t even know that at the time either,” Merry said. “What we did know was that the people of Bree were very suspicious of the Rangers. Figured them for troublemakers and thieves, even.”

“Bree?” Soroush said. He sat forward with interest. “That is where he met the Ring-bearer. You know him then! The Ring-bearer and his servant! You traveled with them.”

“We did,” Pippin said. “You still haven’t discovered the Ring-bearer’s identity then, have you?”

“It is the one they call Frodo,” Razeena said, surprising even Soroush.

“How do you know this?” he asked his wife sharply.

“I was watching him in the bazaar, before I saw the… cat. He was with the fourth one of your kind. The people were so worshipful of them both, and they called the dark-haired one ‘Lord Frodo’ and his servant ‘Lord Samwise’. In Harad, a servant would never be addressed as a lord. I wondered why this was. Then I saw that Frodo was missing a finger on his left hand.”

“What makes you think Sam is his servant?” Merry asked, curious.

“He walks a half-step behind Frodo, not at his side as an equal,” Razeena said. “He is the Ring-bearer then, is he not? We knew it had to be one of your kind. The amir thought it to be you, Pippin, until we discovered your deeds at the Black Gate. Nor could it be you Merry; you are well-renowned as one of the slayers of the Witch-King and we know you remained in the city with the injured.”

Before Pippin or Merry could think of a response for this, a light knock sounded upon the wall outside the booth. A moment later the ranger Soronto drew back the curtain. He bowed. “I apologize for the interruption, but your friends were looking for you,” he said to Merry and Pippin. “Several people told me they saw you come in here. I thought I would come and inform you.”

“Of course,” Merry said. “It was rather spur of the moment. Tell Frodo we’ll be there shortly.”

“Amir Shahzad will also be looking for us, if he too is not standing paralyzed outside by the cat,” Soroush said. They finished their drinks and left the tavern. The market was just as packed as before, but Frodo and Sam were easy to spot in the center of their circle.

“Come. You may as well be introduced,” Pippin said to Soroush and Razeena. “Do you see your prince anywhere?”

“There,” Soroush said and whistled sharply in some bird call that caused everyone nearby to jump and cover their ears.

Shahzad turned and smiled. He came towards them and smiled more broadly as he saw Pippin and Merry. He nodded to them and spoke excitedly.

“Well met, my friend,” Soroush translated. “How fortunate an opportunity to meet you here, in the presence of my trusted translator. Now by chance we may speak of your ancestor, yes?”

Soroush shook his head. “I am sorry, Amir, but your father did want us to return immediately upon purchasing the produce. That was the condition he set for allowing you to venture into the city without proper escort.”

“Mother won’t mind,” Shahzad said.

“She will mind if you make the cooks late for preparing her supper,” Soroush said.

“Very true this is. We shall arrange a meeting then with the Stunted Ones,” Shahzad said. “Their friends are just over there. We shall arrange the meeting now.”

“Amir Shahzad wishes to arrange an interview with you and your friends,” Soroush told the hobbits. “We do not have the time to talk today, but he is most eager to tell you the tale of the Hobbit who came to our lands so long ago.”

“We are eager to hear it. Let’s see what Frodo and Sam say,” Merry said.

They walked over to the cart where Frodo and Sam were test-tasting a mixed-berry preserve. Frodo looked up as they approached and held out two bites of the jam-smeared bread to his cousins.

“You have to try this!” he exclaimed. “It’s delicious. We’ll take two jars.”

“This is what you wanted to see us about?” Pippin said, taking his piece. He bit into it and hummed happily. “This is delightful!”

“See you? About what?” Frodo asked. “Where’s the meat?”

“Meat?” Merry said. “You mean you didn’t send Soronto to look for us?”

“No.”

Merry and Pippin gaped at him. “But he said— They’re spying on us!” Merry said, aghast. “That little—”

“Hullo,” Frodo said, seeing then the company his cousins had brought them. “Prince Shahzad, I believe.”

“Hilo,” Shahzad said.

“Sorry, cousin,” Pippin said. “We forgot. Prince Shahzad, this is our cousin, Frodo Baggins, and our friend, Sam Gamgee. Frodo, Sam, this is Soroush, the royal translator, and his wife, Razeena.”

“You’re the lass who served us at the feast,” Sam said after the pleasantries were exchanged.

Razeena nodded. “I am,” she said.

“You didn’t get into trouble on our account, did you?” Frodo asked. “We were worried when you did not return to the hall.”

Razeena blushed prettily at his concerned regard. “I was in no trouble, Lord Frodo. I was feeling not so well, but I am better now.”

“I am glad to hear it,” Frodo said. “You speak our language well. Your husband is a good tutor.”

“He is very patient with me,” Razeena said, “though I am not as quick a learner as our Sultana.”

“The queen speaks Westron?” the hobbits exclaimed as one. “Does Strider know this?” Pippin asked.

“If he was paying attention, he does,” Soroush said with a shrug. “As I told him, Ashtir and I were employed primarily to teach the queen the ways of the Pale Skins. This would include their speech, as well as their customs.”

“He knows then,” Frodo said.

“What about the king?” Sam asked, then glanced up at Shahzad. “And the prince?”

“The House of the Moon is a Queen’s House,” Soroush said. “She rules, and so she must understand the ways of her allies and her enemies. The king must know these things too, but not as intimately. He is there only to support her decisions and help carry them out. He knows some of the basics of the language, but he is not fluent. Amir Shahzad has learned some of the language as well since coming to the city.”

“Frodo, the prince wanted to arrange a meeting to tell us about the hobbit who came to their lands long ago,” Pippin said, feeling that the sooner this conversation ended, the better. If only there was some way to ask Soroush and Razeena not to reveal their suspicions of Frodo’s identity as the Ring-bearer to Shahzad and the other Haradrim - if they did not know already, that is!

“Of course,” Frodo said. “Merry has his guard duty to perform tomorrow, and we are having dinner at the King’s House Sunday night. How about Monday supper then? Is that agreeable?”

“Perhaps Sunday night would be better,” Pippin said. “They could come to the King’s House. I’m sure Strider won’t mind, and he and the others wanted to hear the story as well. Gandalf and the twins will be back by then.” Better also to keep the Haradrim from discovering where their own house was located, he thought.

“We’ll need to ask Aragorn before we can confirm that,” Frodo said. “We’ll send word to you.”

Soroush summarized this to Shahzad, who nodded his understanding. The prince spoke again and nodded with a small bow.

“Then it is arranged. We shall come whenever you are able to receive us,” Soroush said.

“Excellent,” Merry said. “It was our pleasure meeting you today and being able to talk, privately.”

Soroush and Razeena bowed. “The pleasure was ours,” Razeena said. “You were most kind to us. It shall be repaid.”

“We thank you for your words of assurance,” Soroush said. “Be assured in your own minds that the words spoken between us will remain so.”

They said farewell and watched the Haradrim make their way through the market square.

“What was that about?” Sam asked.

“Razeena figured out Frodo is the Ring-bearer,” Merry said. “We were talking to her and Soroush about Sam’s orc cat, which turns out actually is an orc cat—”

“Descended from a wraith cat,” Pippin put in.

“And she informed us that she knew you were the Ring-bearer, and that’s when Soronto interrupted us to tell us that you sent him to find us,” Merry said.

Frodo frowned. “Wraith cat?”

Pippin nodded. “They belonged to Queen Beruthiel.”

“Who’s that?” Sam asked.

“She was queen long ago, a wicked woman,” the proprietor said, jumping into the conversation. “Some even say she was a Black Númenórean. There are several descendants of the Black Númenóreans among the Southrons, you know.”

“I see we have much to discuss when we get home then,” Frodo said. He handed a few coins to the proprietor for the jars of jam, then searched the crowd until he spotted who he was looking for. “Soronto, if you’re going to be following us anyway, perhaps you could make yourself useful and carry some of these bags.”

Soronto stepped out of the crowd, pink with embarrassment. He bowed. “Of course, Lord Frodo.”

“That’s handy!” Sam said and searched the crowd himself. “Are there any others?”

“Let’s get the meat and go home,” Frodo said with a laugh. “I’m sure we’ll pick up more eager helpers along the way.”

They crossed the market square to the butcher’s shop. As they passed the outdoor café, Pippin looked towards the table where Lady Genevieve had been sitting and sighed with relief when both she and the cat were gone.

To be continued…

GF 6/8/09
Published 7/13/09