Chapter 28 – Soirées and Mores

Aragorn watched with satisfaction as the hobbits led the ladies back to the floor. The song currently being performed was a sprightly tune, but the dance was simple, perfect for the hobbits. They had learned it at their first feast here and quite enjoyed it, as it was the same ten or so steps over and over again, performed once in each direction, and it didn’t require direct contact with anyone else. They shied away from the line dances, as they didn’t have the height to do them correctly, and they didn’t even bother with the ones that required the lass to be dipped or lifted in any way. Unfortunately, the next song was for just such a dance.

Frodo thought quickly. “Would you like to learn the Springle-ring?” he asked Marja.

“What is that?” she asked, intrigued.

The music was fast enough to merit the dance, so they went into a corner out of the way and began to teach their companions the Springle-ring. Their companions’ laughter drew the attention of those around them, and soon more and more people were watching and attempting the vigorous dance. They enjoyed learning it so much that once they had performed it successfully a couple of times, Merry and Pippin decided to teach them other dances as Frodo and Sam snuck back to the High Table for a mug of beer.

“It is safe to say Gondor will never be the same for having known hobbits,” Faramir said with a laugh.

“That it won’t,” Sam agreed. “Especially those two hobbits.” Everyone laughed at that.

Frodo winked at Aragorn. “Don’t think you’re free of your obligation, Strider. We’ll push you off this stage if we must, but you are going to dance with our guests. It was all they were able to talk about on their way here. You wouldn’t want to disappoint them.”

“Indeed not,” Aragorn agreed and rose to his feet. “There’s no time like the present.” He, Elrohir, Elladan and Faramir joined the others on the floor.

Frodo and Sam turned to watch and shout encouragement, until their food was brought to them. They turned their attention to their meal, eating heartily. After only a few bites, Frodo stopped and reached over to correct Sam’s grip on his fork. Sam always used his utensils as miniature trowels, digging into his food the same way he dug in the gardens of Bag End. Frodo placed Sam’s fingers into the correct position and nodded. At Sam’s bewildered look, Frodo explained, “That is how a gentlehobbit holds his fork.”

Sam’s frown grew. “I ain’t a gentlehobbit though, sir,” he said.

“Humor me,” Frodo requested, knowing that was the quickest way to gain his friend’s compliance. Trying to explain would only garner more questions.

Sam shrugged and commenced eating, somewhat awkwardly now as he was still attempting to shovel the food into his mouth.

Frodo shook his head. “Scoop up the food or spear it,” he instructed and demonstrated. “When you get to crumbs on the plate, use your bread, not your fingers, to push the food onto the fork or spoon.”

Sam nodded. “Very well, sir, if you say so,” he said, looking even more baffled than before. He proceeded to eat, watching his master sidelong for further prompts.

Frodo noticed Farzana watching him. She smiled graciously before returning her attention to her maids, Jamila in particular. The other maids were listening to the music with apt attention or talking to each other. Every now and then, one of the Gondorian lords would attempt to break into the conversation, resulting in a flurry of hand gestures and exaggerated facial expressions as everyone tried to pantomime their meaning. Not so with the pretty dancer and the horse lord. Osric even seemed to forget that he was shaved, painted and wearing a kilt, so long as he could get Jamila to laugh and smile.

Farzana frowned at the pair as they spoke with ease, despite the language barrier. After some time, she leaned over to speak quietly with Faheem. The vizier looked startled by whatever she was saying but he nodded and began to speak with much consideration. Beside him, King Ashrif abruptly ceased his conversation with his son and they both turned to listen to the queen and vizier.

Frodo watched this with interest. Apparently, he was not the only one giving thought to his servant’s future.  

The dancing and merriment went on for some hours. Once Pippin and Merry finished their dance lessons, Elrohir and Elladan were called upon to teach an Elven dance or two, and the bar wenches finally got to dance with the king, his brothers and the steward. Pippin and Merry joined their friends at the High Table, and once they all had their fill, they rejoined the festivities with alacrity.

Midnight was approaching before Osric and the young lords were given leave to join the festivities. The men were at once surrounded by their families and friends. The Riders and hobbits encircled Osric, who laughed.

“I feel as though I am under interrogation,” he said. “All you’re missing are the spears.”

“What did they do to you?” Ecgberht asked.

Up close, Osric looked less like a Haradrim and more like a wild man of Woses. The paint on his flesh had been thickly applied and under the candlelight and firelight seemed to dance along his arms and legs.

“How did this happen?” Wulf asked, leaning in close to observe the shaved head.

“Lord Erkenbrand told me to come here and do as I was told without protest or question, so I did,” Osric said. “We learned the dance first. They had us practice without the ladies until they were satisfied that we could remember all the steps and not stumble. We only rehearsed the dance with them twice. I was hoping I would be paired with Jamila, but none of us were paired with the same woman who approached us last night.”

“The temptation would have been too great,” guessed Cuthred.

Osric nodded. “They are all beautiful ladies, and to think they’ve never once been touched by any man’s hand. They explained that to us, but I didn’t quite understand it. Something about purity of virtue in order to serve the queen. To touch them is to defile not only them but the queen herself. It is a punishable offense.”

“They cut off your hand?” Pippin guessed, with a glance at Soroush. Of course, they knew now the real reason the translator lost his hand, but the warning carried no less horror for it.

“It depends on the nature of the offense, whether it was intentional or by accident, to do harm or to prevent harm, but no matter what the purpose, no man is allowed to touch one of the queen’s maids. They are all punished, except the eunuchs, who aren’t considered to be men,” Osric said. He paused as he tried to remember the brief lesson they were given prior to being paired with the women. “Some men, if the offense results in violence, are even sentenced to death. Ashtir said that the Haradrim have two different levels of death: death by society and death by earth. With death by society, the offender is cast out of the House and all its lands and is no longer recognized as living by any who dwell there. Death by earth is what we consider death.”

“So when the man is sentenced to death?” Cuthred asked.

“It depends on the severity of the violence done,” Osric explained. “Ashtir didn’t know of any cases while he lived in Harad. It is a rare occurrence, since the maids are often accompanied by eunuchs or other female slaves when they go into the city. Usually, it is an accident.”

“What of the lass?” asked Merry. “Would she still be able to work for the queen?”

“Not as a personal body servant,” Osric said. “She may be assigned to some other task or sold to another master. If she instigated the contact though…” He trailed off and said no more on the subject.

“How does your head feel?” Frodo asked, sensing it was time to change the subject.

“I can’t believe you didn’t protest when they did that,” said Penda, joining Wulf in his scrutiny.

“It was a shock, I’ll admit!” Osric said. “After rehearsal, the ladies left to prepare and we were taken backstage to the dressing area. They had us sit down and when they brought out the shears, I thought they only meant to give us a trim. When that first lock was butchered off, it was everything I could do to not cry like a child! You do not realize how important your hair is until someone is ruthlessly removing it! They cut it to about an inch or so, then shaved off the rest. If we thought our torment was over at that point, we were wrong. They then proceeded to shave our arms, legs and… everything else.”

“Everything else?” Wulf asked in horror.

Osric could only nod. “We were then scrubbed head to toe with this foam that was quite invigorating actually. It felt like my skin was coming to life, if that makes any sense. Anyway, that is the only way I can describe it. Then they dumped water over us and scrubbed us with a different soap, and we were doused again. Apparently, this was to remove the taint of male impurity, so in case we did accidentally touch one of the maids during the dance, we wouldn’t have to lose our hands over it. Then they painted us with these symbols, which are supposed to bring forth good luck, and finally they dressed us.”

“Who’s they?” Sam asked.

Osric blushed. “Other servants of the household.”

“They know you pretty well by now then,” Wulf said with an evil grin.

Osric’s blush deepened. “I imagine they do, but thankfully, they will be leaving in the morning.”

“Does this paint wash off?” Offa asked.

“They assure us it will fade with time, about a moon’s turning,” Osric said. “Until it is completely faded, we are to remain pure of female contact.”

Wulf barked with laughter. “All this for talking to a girl and walking her home?”

“The dance is called the Dance of Life. It’s supposed to bring good luck to any tribe or people who perform it. The dancers who participate are said to receive the best luck of all, which is why it is considered such a high honor to be chosen to perform it. It is one of the very few dances that men perform,” Osric said. “I don’t know about luck, but it is important to the queen, and therefore to King Elessar and King Éomer. It has sealed our alliance. If I must shave every hair on my body and avoid women for a moon in order to ensure the future of our three kingdoms, I will proudly do so.”

“Then you’re a better man than I am,” Wulf said. “All this trouble, I’d at least expect a kiss.”

“I cannot have Jamila, even if it were possible,” Osric said with a sigh. “She is leaving in the morning and I shall never see her again.”

“Take heart, man,” said Offa, patting Osric on the back. “We do still have women in Rohan. Some of them even know how to dance.”

“What you need is a couple of pints,” Ecgberht said. “That will make you feel better.”

“The Haradrim don’t drink,” Osric said with another sigh. “I’m considered theirs until the paint fades.”

Wulf whistled consolingly. “Poor Osie. You look like a wild man, you didn’t get the girl, and you can’t even drown your sorrows over it. When is this good luck of yours supposed to start?”

“You’re thinking up puns right now, aren’t you?” Merry said with a grin.

“I am indeed, Master Holdwine,” Wulf admitted.

“If you all don’t mind, I think I’ll just head on home,” Osric said with a yawn. “I didn’t get much sleep last night and if I remain here much longer, I’m going to end up asleep in the punch bowl.”

“We’ll see you in the morning then,” Ecgberht said and they watched him walk off.

The hobbits wandered off to the drinks table, intent on enjoying a pint or two in Osric’s honor. They filled their cups and went to stand along the side of the hall, away from the traffic and noise. They were each growing tired as well, but none were yet ready to leave. They watched the revelers dancing and chatting. Aragorn, his brothers and Faramir had retreated to the safety of the High Table again, but were still in company of the bar wenches. The ladies were telling them a humorous story, for the men and elves were laughing heartily.

“Do you think it’s true, sir?” Sam asked Frodo after some time.

“About what?”

“Will Osric and the other chaps have good luck for this?”

“I don’t know,” Frodo said and was suddenly reminded of something the queen had said to him the day before. “Luck is a fickle thing, but if one could call Luck to them, perhaps it can be tamed. Would it still be Luck then?”

“I’m afraid you’ve lost me, sir,” Sam said. “Luck is what you make of it, as my dad always says. I was just thinking that if being in the dance makes them believe as they’ll be lucky, maybe that’s all it takes.”

“We shall see, lad. We shall see.”  

The ball ended at one in the morning and the revelers dispersed with much regret. The night had been grand in every way imaginable and it would be a celebration much spoken of for many years to come. The royal court of the Haradrim returned to their homes in the Citadel and prepared for the few hours of sleep they had left to them before they must wake and depart the city.

When everyone was ready to settle in for the remainder of the night, Sultana Farzana entered her maids’ chamber. So great was their surprise that it took them some moments to jump from their beds and kowtow upon the floor. It took even greater effort to remain awake once they were there.

Farzana walked up to Jamila and nudged her with her foot. “Stand,” the sultana commanded.

Jamila stood, bewildered and startled by the hardness in her sultana’s voice. She had heard that tone before, but never directed at herself. She kept her head lowered, her eyes on the ground at Farzana’s feet as her mind reeled. What could she have done to displease her sultana so?

“I watched you tonight with the Rider,” Farzana said. “You disappoint me, Jamila.”

“My sultana?” Jamila asked.

“You allowed him to touch you.”

Jamila began to tremble with fear. She shook her head, her ears buzzing with her disbelief. “I did not, my sultana. I swear it! I remain untouched.”

“There is more than one way for a man to touch you, my dear,” said Farzana and placed a slender hand over Jamila’s heart. It felt like a block of marble upon the maid’s chest and it was cold with disappointment. “I told you it was not yours to give.”

Jamila began to weep and her knees weakened, sinking her to the floor. “I did not mean to, my sultana. I love only you, my sultana.”

“You love the Rider,” Farzana stated in a whisper. “Admit it and perhaps I may be lenient.”

There was no chance now of anyone falling asleep. The other maids held themselves as still as stone, in contrast with Jamila, who trembled so badly surely the ground was breaking beneath her. Her friends risked sidelong glances at each other. They knew the fine line Jamila had just been asked to walk. Deny the claim and her life was forfeit. Admit it, and if the sultana felt generous, perhaps she might only be banned from the House, which was no kinder a sentence. Jamila, as with all the maids, had only known life in the palace. They knew nothing else, were raised only to please the sultana and do her bidding, to dance for her and entertain her with their charms and grace. Their prospects outside the palace walls were not to be thought.

“Speak!” Farzana demanded.

Jamila sobbed. “I do! I love him!” she admitted. She looked up at her sultana, and pleaded. “I beg you, show mercy. I did not mean to do it! I love you, my queen. I have served only you. You are as a mother to me.”

“And you are as a daughter to me,” Farzana said. Her voice was calm and soft, but her eyes were full of anguish. “I will be sorry to lose you, my daughter, but lose you I must. You are henceforth banned from the House of the Moon. You will remain here and be given to the sultan, Éomer. Perhaps, if you are lucky, you may be given in marriage to the one you love. I have been assured he is not yet betrothed or married and would be receptive to the offer of your hand. It is clear he feels greatly for you. If, however, he refuses you, I am told the king is a just man and not cruel.” She reached down and wiped the tears from her maid’s face. “Fear not, child. There are worse fates than this.”

Shadows moved behind the sultana. The other maids looked up in time to see two eunuchs enter the chamber. The maids watched in amazement as the eunuchs came to stand behind the sultana. None of them could believe what was happening. Surely, this must be a dream.

“Take her. Be gentle,” Farzana ordered.

The eunuchs circled the sultana and took either of Jamila’s arms in a gentle grip. They helped her to her feet and supported her weight, for the maid was trembling so badly she could not stand on her own. The tears streaming down her face obscured her vision so much that her last glimpse of the maids who had been her sisters for so many years was nothing more than a blur. The eunuchs took her from the room. Halfway down the hall, she fell into a swoon and all faded to blackness.  

The morning of the Haradrim’s departure dawned cool and grey. Many of the citizens came to the Gates to see their visitors on their journey home, including many of the soldiers and masons who had worked with the Southrons in the past weeks. The King and his court and the First Company of the Guard of Tower, the Fellowship and the Rohirrim joined the Haradrim on their long descent down the circles of the city to the Gate, where their horses, wains and goods already awaited them. They walked casually, the groups mingling into one, guards walking with maids, attendants with lords, royalty with commoners.

When they passed through the gate to the fourth circle, Razeena, Soroush and Ashtir approached the hobbits. Razeena held a small bundle of parchments, rolled together and bound with a string. She bowed her pretty head to them. “I was most distressed that I was unable to teach you our way of cooking,” she said. “I would have enjoyed the teaching of you, but the opportunity did not arise.”

“We are sorry as well,” Frodo said, taking her hand to squeeze it gently. “There was simply not enough time. We understand.”

“I wrote down the recipes,” Razeena said. “Or rather, my husband wrote them down for me.”

“I converted the measurements as best as I could guess them to be,” Soroush said. “You may have to experiment until the food tastes right to you. We put together a bundle of the more common spices and herbs that are not available here. Receipts are not of much good when you don’t have the ingredients.”

Razeena gave the scrolls to Frodo, and Soroush handed the satchel to Sam.

“Thank you!” Sam said.

“Are you sorry you will not be able to return home to your family, Soroush?” Pippin asked.

“I am returning home to my family,” Soroush answered before he understood Pippin’s meaning. “My family here in Gondor, you mean. I would have loved dearly to see them again, yet there is always the hope that Ashtir — Sador, I mean; I shall have to get used to calling him by his Westron name again — may be able to bring them to Harad some day during one of his ambassadorial visits. For now, I shall have to content myself with knowing that Sador will carry news of my fate to my kin at last. I wrote letters for them all and included little trinkets, as well as a coal drawing of my family.”

“They will be glad for the news after all these years,” said Frodo.

“It is unfortunate that Ioveta couldn’t have any such reassurance,” said Merry.

“Who is Ioveta?” asked Ashtir.

“A friend of ours,” Pippin answered. “Her husband Leudred disappeared five years ago, killed or taken prisoner by the enemy. Yet perhaps he could have found refuge much as you did.”

“That name was not on the list of refugees,” Soroush said. “Five years ago you say. Where did the attack take place?”

“In Harondor, between the Harad Road and the Ephel Dúath,” Merry said. “They were attacked at night.”

“Yes, they would have been,” Ashtir said. “The Great Eye began to move troops into his lands ten years ago, just a few large companies a year, such as the one that thwarted our company, and a handful of smaller bands throughout the year. They marched only at night, for they moved in secrecy then. There were survivors then? They could not tell you if any prisoners were taken?”

“A small scouting party went to look for them when they never returned. They found the place where the party had camped and could see signs of a fight and the remnants of a large fire, but that is all,” Merry said. "The few who had managed to escape had not seen the end of the attack, so could offer little more details."

“Your people would not have been involved in that, would they?” Frodo asked.

Soroush shook his head. “Not at that time. The Enemy was not yet raiding our lands for troops.”

“Nor would any of the troops moving at that time have bothered themselves with prisoners,” said Ashtir. “Unless there was a general in the troop, someone whose knowledge would prove useful to the Eye, all the men would have been slain and swiftly; they could not have afforded to stop for a long engagement. Their bodies would have been cremated in the custom of our people. You may tell your friend this, for whatever comfort it may bring her, and give her our condolences.”

“We will tell her,” Pippin said, “though I doubt it will bring her comfort, except to at last be certain of his fate.”

They were joined then by Amir Shahzad, who beamed down at the hobbits and handed them a small parcel. Frodo took this and pulled back the cloth-wrapping to reveal a most unusual treasure trove. There were two roughly cylinder-shaped pendants, encased on either end with gold and hung on a chain of gold. The pendants were made of granite and chiseled on the small surface was an outline of a beetle. Next to the pendants was a small knife with a handle inlaid with citrines and lapis lazuri.

“This is a scarab beetle,” Ashtir translated for the prince. “It has the power of life and rebirth after death. I wish for the Ring-bearers to have these, if they will accept so humble an offering. The knife is for the Holdwine, who I am told lost his sword when helping to slay the Witch-King.”

The hobbits looked at the pendants with interest and Sam reached out a tentative finger to graze one. Merry took the knife, small enough for his hand, and tested the grip of the handle. He nodded with approval.

“Thank you,” they said.

Shahzad bowed his head. “I much enjoyed meeting the descendants of the beloved Hildos. I will forever remember you and will believe now that many of the great tales are true. I wish you a safe journey to your own lands, and be assured that if we should find your ancestor’s journal, it will be returned to you with all speed and affection.”

Frodo smiled now and took Shahzad’s hand. “Thank you, lad. We were glad to have met you also and will carry you and your family in our hearts.”

Shahzad blushed and fell in beside them.

Near the front of the procession, the Riders walked in a group. Osric craned his neck to get a better look at the queen’s maids, who were walking some paces behind the queen and king. There were seven maids, as there should be, and their heads and faces were covered with their shawls, so that only their eyes could be seen. Osric looked at each of them and shook his head.

“I don’t see Jamila,” he said.

“How can you tell?” asked Ceorl, looking at his friend rather than the maids. The shock of seeing his friend shaved and painted with savage symbols was beginning to fade, but the sight was still beyond belief.

“I was hoping to at least be able to say good-bye,” said Osric, searching the vast crowd for the dancer.

“Forget about her,” Erkenbrand advised. “I will be sorry to see their horses go, such fine and magnificent beasts they are.”

Discussion quickly switched to the many admirable traits of the sturdy desert horses, but Osric ignored his friends and continued his vain search. Let Ceorl say what he liked, but Osric knew Jamila was not among the maids. Where then was she? Was she already waiting with the caravan, not trusted to come too close to him? Would he be denied even one final glimpse of her?

When the procession reached the Gates, the Haradrim separated from the group and filed out onto the Pelennor amongst a chorus of farewells. Soroush and Razeena hugged Ashtir in brief farewell; they had said their good-byes earlier in the privacy of their rooms. Farzana, Ashraf and Shahzad faced Aragorn, Faramir and Erkenbrand.

“Gifts we have given you, one of your own returned, a first among many, and a sun among citrine,” said King Ashraf through Soroush. “Both are given freely, though their worth is beyond measure. Honor them well and they will bring you much wealth of heart.”

Erkenbrand inclined his head. “I am certain that they will.”

“What’s a citrine?” Sam asked in a whisper.

“The yellow gemstone on Merry’s knife,” Ashtir informed him.

“They gave King Éomer a jewel?” Pippin asked. “Why is that so invaluable?”

“Because to the queen it is worth more than all the gems and gold in Gondor and Rohan,” Ashtir said.

Aragorn stepped forward and bowed to Farzana and Ashraf. “We accept your gifts and give one of our own in return: aid in battle for the freedom of your people and the continued peace of ours. Your enemies are not only my enemies, but my ancestors of old. Dishonor they have brought to our forebears and I am honor-bound to redeem the Faithful of my own House. Will you deny me?”

The queen drew herself up and met Aragorn’s gaze, cold violet sparring with warm blue. At last Farzana nodded and spoke in her clear, commanding voice. Soroush translated for her, “Your gift is accepted, King Elessar, but do not confuse honor with obligation. I fear it will bode ill for us both if your armies should march upon my lands, yet perhaps I am wrong. That has happened, once or twice.” She and Ashraf bowed. “Farewell, Friend Gondor and Friend Rohan.”

“Farewell Friend Harad,” said Erkenbrand and Aragorn. “May no evil meet you on your road.”

Farzana and her court departed through the gates, followed by the First Company of the Tower of Guard, who would escort them to the port. The crowd stood and watched as the embassy pulled away from the gates and many remained until they were but specks against the horizon. At last, Erkenbrand came to his fellow Riders and clapped Osric on the shoulder.

“Come, sword-brother. Despair not, for you never know what is around the next corner,” he said and turned Osric away.
 
 
 
 

To be continued…
 
 

GF 8/26/09 
Published 9/28/09