20.

            “Where are you going, Bandy?” asked Gimli gruffly, undoing the clasps of the bevor.  “Your Master is to joust against Aldamir of Amon Din in less than an hour’s time; they are first on the roll this afternoon.  If you run off now you will miss it.”

            “I have very important errands to run,” said Bandy, puffing out his chest and lifting his chin proudly.  “My Master charged me with them himself; he called them – what did you call them, Master?  I can’t remember the word you used, but it’s an awfully long one.”

            “Munificences,” said Legolas.  Gimli lifted the basinet from his aventail and Bandobras saw the Elf smiling tenderly at him, his fair face filled with gentle affection.  Flooded suddenly with a warmth of fondness for his Master, Bandobras dropped the basket he had been holding and ran up to him, putting his small arms about Legolas’ cuisse, which was as high up as he could reach, and resting his chin upon the poleyn.

            “Yes, munificences, that was it,” said the Hobbit, giving the armored leg a little squeeze.  “My mother always called this sort of thing ‘charity,’ but I like your word better, Master; it sounds more grown-up, you know.  Ow!  This armour is fine for keeping you in one piece, but it does make you hard to embrace, and that’s the truth.  How splendid you were fighting Vorondil today, Master!  Why, you didn’t even let him hit you once.  I was sure you’d do well, because of the Lady Éowyn’s telling you to do so – she strikes me as a lady people are sure to obey, sort of like my Aunt Vinca – you wouldn’t like her to catch you someplace you weren’t supposed to be – but I surely didn’t expect you to thrash him so completely.  I was so proud of you when that third green flag went up on the wall, I thought my chest would burst, I really did.”

            “It was indeed very gratifying,” grunted Gimli, turning the frogmouth about in his stocky red hands while Legolas refastened the arming cap.  “Do you want the extra padding?  No?  Very well; hold still, and I will lower the frogmouth.  It’s quite vexing to have to cover you so completely every time you leave the tent to go to the tournament grounds; I wish you weren’t in disguise, and could ride bare-headed, as the other knights do when leaving the Tent City.  I am always afraid the piecings and reinforcement plates will loosen before the joust begins.”

            “It is but for a few more days,” said Legolas, his voice sounding tinny and hollow within the helm.  “Then my Bandobras may embrace me without fear of pain, and I shall ride with my face unveiled and my hair free, and leave behind my metal trappings.  Fair though they be, son of the inestimable Glóin of Erebor, I do not wear them willingly.”

            “Better that than to get a lance in your chest,” said Gimli, setting the pins in the bevor of the frogmouth, and Bandobras shuddered.

            “Yes, indeed!” he said earnestly.  “That would be awful, wouldn’t it?  Would it kill you, do you think, Master, to get a lance in your chest?  I am sure it would hurt, but I suppose it would depend on where it hit you, and how deep it went.”

            “The lances are blunted, remember, Little One,” said Legolas.  “Though I doubt not the coronel could break the skin, and the force of the blow cause considerable damage.  Rest assured, however, that I would not joust without my cuirass protecting me; I am not so foolish as that!  Now, my Bandobras, take up your basket and go you to the tent of Hallas of Lossarnach, and deliver to him these sweets you have procured; he is on straited means and the fancies and trifles of the best bakers are quite beyond his resources.”

            “You are going to see Hallas?  Then be sure to hold your tongue -- if you can, that is,” said Gimli.  “There is no reason to cause him disquiet by telling him what is happening in Lossarnach and the Erui.  And even if he has heard tell of it before now, as is likely, do not discuss it with him; there is still much obscured in this business, and I am not at ease about any endings.”

            “Very well!” said Bandobras primly.  “And when I am done with Hallas may I go to see Híldaf, Master?  Brytta of Rohan has cast him aside and he is living in the inn called Bridge Embattled in the village to the west of us; I have some bread and cheese and dried sausages I would like to bring him.”

            “From what the Lady of Emyn Arnen has told me,” smiled Legolas, “that young man need fear no want now; he is to swear fealty to Walda of the Westfold when he returns to Rohan, and that captain shall make him a good master.  Yes, my dear Bandobras; your felicity behooves you, and I am sure Híldaf will greatly appreciate both your offering and your presence.  But listen to me, Little One,” he said seriously, laying a hand upon the Hobbit’s shoulder; though it was clad but in the leather under-glove it was still quite heavy.  “Keep you to the wide roads and the busy streets; speak to no man unless you must, and go not to houses or tents owned by folk you know not.  We do not know the nature of the lion that hunts me, and I would not have you be a goat as well, even an untethered kid.”

            “I’ll be quite safe, Master,” said Bandobras, taking his Master’s hand and kissing the dogskin glove.  “Never fear!  I shall be there and back in a flash, so that I do not miss so much of the joust, which I admit is quite entertaining.  I never thought I’d see the day when such a thing would interest me, but now that I’ve been watching it, it’s rather exciting, isn’t it?  I don’t care as much for the foot-combat, though – sword fighting isn’t nearly so fascinating as Uncle Pip told me it was.”  So saying he collected his basket, pulled his cloak about his shoulders and ducked under the door-flap.

            As Legolas held out his hands for Gimli to reattach the gauntlets to his vambraces, he asked, “How did my grandsire’s sword sharpen?”

            “Beautifully!” said Gimli, his dark eyes alight with admiration.  “A fine blade, as befits the royal house of Eryn Lasgalen.  It is sharp as a razor now, and I challenge you to find where you nicked it upon Vorondil’s pauldron.  You cannot even see the place.”

            “Good!” said Legolas.  “Then I would like it strapped to the cuirass above the fauld.”  Gimli looked at him in surprise, and Legolas said, “If I am to be a goat, I wish to be a goat with horns; it would be foolish to be unarmed.”

            “Will it not bounce against your cuisse as you gallop?” asked Gimli, fetching the belt.

            “I care not,” shrugged Legolas.  “The noise will be but a small price to pay for my peace of mind.  And Gimli, every part of me rattles and bangs so as I ride upon Hatchet’s back, and so much racket do his cruppers and peytral make, that I can scarce hear the roar of the crowd or the thunder of the horses’ hooves above it.  And when I am struck the clatter is so deafening I am never sure whether I have fallen or not until Hatchet comes to a stop.”

            “Well, well, like I said, better that than a lance in your chest,” laughed Gimli.  “I did not notice Hatchet’s armour making such a row; I am sure it is through his dishing as he runs.  I need to reset his shoes; he pecks so with his hind feet.  It is a good thing you did not choose him for speed, my friend; he is powerful but is possessed of a very clumsy gallop.  Were he to run more smoothly, like Arod, perhaps you would rattle less.  Perchance if you asked him he would check his gait; after all he is as spoilt as Bandy is, and loves you just as well.”

            Legolas laughed.  “I shall ask him to run more smoothly, then,” he said.

            “Many thanks, Bandobras of the Shire!” exclaimed Hallas, delighted, as the Hobbit opened the basket and showed him the dainties.  “Your benevolence quite takes my breath; here my esquire and I had resigned ourselves to eating but dried beef and day-old bread for our dinner, and you have brought us a feast for the eyes as well as the tongue.”

            “It was my Master’s idea,” said Bandobras deprecatingly, setting the basket upon the side of the bed so that the young knight could look within.  “In fact I’m missing his joust as we speak, but it doesn’t matter; I’m glad to do what I can to help you out a bit.”  For he saw, naïve though he was, that Hallas of Lossarnach would be abed quite some time, and the knee would never fully heal.  The young man’s pale and eager face, flushed with pleasure by the gift of sweets, cut Bandobras to the heart, and seeing the small and shabby tent, enclosing but one straw pallet and a small stove, made him think of the grand quarters in which he and Gimli lived with his own Master; though the Hobbit had seen want before he had never yet had the occasion to be able to compare his own wealth against it, and he was abashed.

            “Ornendil!” called Hallas to his esquire, who hovered uneasily at the tent opening.  “Take you this basket of good things and add it to the meat and bread we have for our evening meal; through the benevolence of the Green Knight are our stomachs bettered.”

            “Yes, my Lord,” said Ornendil obediently, and taking up the basket in his thin hands he departed.

            “I am all the more glad you have sent it,” said Hallas, lowering his voice; “I had a letter from my sire, telling me he is to arrive tomorrow, and it would have shamed me to not have offered him some trifle or fancy at table.  We are poor but my father likes his sweetmeats.”

            “I can’t judge the ages of men,” said Bandobras suddenly, trying not to look at the worn holes in Hallas’ tunic, or the pitted surface of the stove.  Remembering Gimli’s words to him he desperately wanted to change the subject, and so remove the temptation to discuss what might be happening at that moment to Hallas’ sire.  “To me Ornendil looks full grown, but he’s an esquire like me, so he must be young, mustn’t he?”

            “He is the eldest son of my sister Númedreth; he has achieved but fourteen summers,” said Hallas.  “I have been knighted but a year, and it would be unseemly for an esquire to exceed his lord in age.”

            “Well, there’s no chance of that with me,” said Bandobras cheerfully.  “I doubt my Master could find an esquire within a hundred years of his own age, unless he looked to his own folk, and as I understand it that’s an unusual thing for them.”

            “I can well imagine,” smiled Hallas; “One Elf-Lord could have over a hundred esquires; it would be trying indeed upon the exchequer.   How is it, then, good Bandobras, that you find yourself in such a position beneath an Elf-Lord?  I do confess it has teased my imagination.”

            “Well, then, since you ask,” said the Hobbit with relish, and he proceeded to tell the young knight of Lossarnach his tale.  If he glossed over some few facts concerning his own part in leaving the Shire, and emphasized instead his Master’s role in his rescue, it was not out of malicious intent to deceive, but through a child’s desire to increase another person’s opinion of a dearly-loved benefactor; certainly Hallas, being but a youth himself, heard the account with eagerness and earnest reflection, and when Bandobras had concluded he sighed and said, “It is as I thought!  The Lord of Dale is as compassionate as he is mighty, and reticent as he is redoubtable; blessed are you, Bandobras of the Shire, to have fallen in with his ilk!”

            “So I am!” fervently agreed the Hobbit, relieved his diversionary tactic had succeeded.  “And I’ll be more blessed, if you pardon my saying so, if I run along and perform my other, er, munificence that’s been charged to me by my master.  I need to go to the Bridge Embattled over across the road and see Híldaf, Brytta of Rohan’s esquire – or rather, his former esquire; he’s making a move for the better, now, thanks to Lady Éowyn – quite an arresting personality she has, hasn’t she?  Though not a patch on her majesty Queen Arwen, of course, but then, she’s an Elf, and that makes a difference.  But both quite regal ladies, and I must admit it’s a real pleasure to serve them, they’re so polite and well-spoken.  It’s a real shame I can’t invite you to dinner tonight – not sure how you’d get there, and anyway I haven’t got my Master’s permission – perhaps we’ll think of some way to get you around that doesn’t involve wheel-barrows or a travois, which isn’t very dignified.  Roasting a leg of lamb tonight, dressed with garlic bulbs and rosemary and stuffed with breadcrumbs and onion; if I don’t want it to be bloody as a butcher’s shop I’ll need to get it in the oven as quickly as possible, which means I can’t leave Híldaf too late.  So I’ll take my leave of you, my Lord, and of your man Ornendil, and hope your father enjoys the sweets.  Tell him to try the little petites fours with the crystallized rose petals – they’re quite tasty.”

            Hallas thanked him again, with many effusive expressions of gratitude and pronunciations of amity, and at last Bandobras quit the tent of the Brown Knight and emerged once more into the Tent City.  He was in the back eastern corner, an undesirable locale due to its damp and inconvenient conditions; the Hobbit looked up and down the muddy trenches of the back alleys and pulled a face.

            “To think I always assumed knights and lords were rich and fortunate!” he thought to himself.  “Well, this has been disappointing, but I suppose it was good to learn, too.  Anything I can add to whatever else is in my head is bound to help me in the long run.”  For Legolas had impressed upon him the importance of his education as an esquire, and thus was encouraged to improve his understanding of finances and campaigns and warcraft, though it is certainly very doubtful much of consequence was actually absorbed into his curly head, despite Gimli’s hammering in rules concerning the nobility and gentry, and their various customs.  But Bandobras was canny in his own right, as befit a Hobbit, noticing the speech and clothing of those around him, and he was very eager to increase his knowledge concerning the grocers and bakers, the fishmongers and butchers of this southern kingdom, so that when he returned home he could impress his mother and old nurse with his skill in preparing such fancy foreign foods.  The olives had especially astonished him, and he wondered if he would be able to bring some back to her.

            Thinking of his mother brought a heaviness to his heart and he bit his lip, willing the stinging tears to subside; the approach of a fat knight on a rouncey shook him from his sad reverie and he stepped aside to let the horse amble past him.  “Back to the tent!” he said to himself firmly, and finding a broad alleyway he walked cautiously through the Tent City.

            “I wonder where Hyardil is today?” he asked himself as he walked along, ducking sometimes beneath the hem of some man’s cloak, or dodging the knights’ great boots.  “I haven’t been able to find him yet since I overslept; I hope he isn’t out of mushrooms.”  His heart leapt when he saw a man with a large cart crying his wares, but it was only the sops-in-wine; the Hobbit questioned him but he had not seen the greengrocer.  So Bandobras bought a bottle of ruby-red wine which the man assured him would compliment the taste of the roasted lamb, and took his leave of him.  He relaxed a little when he found the main thoroughfare that passed east to west through the Tent City, for he saw many knights and esquires who knew him and spoke in a friendly fashion to him; the Halfling with affable wave and cry made his presence known, and begging their pardons with great satisfaction excused himself from prolonged conversation to continue his Master’s munificences.

            “What a grand word!” he though proudly; “I must be sure to remember that.  It sounds so weighty.  I shall use it on Celandine when I am home; she will be most impressed.”

            When he at last gained his Master’s tent he decanted the wine, stirred up the ashes in the oven and contemplated the lamb.  “It’s a good thick leg,” he thought, “and will take some cooking.  But Master likes it pink about the bone.  Nurse always said that was unhealthy, but I guess Master’s been around longer than she has and would know better.  I’d best not put it on yet; I’ll just run to see Híldaf, and when I come back I’ll start it, and the potatoes about an hour later, so they’ll be nice and floury.  If I find Hyardil I believe I’ll ask him for some peas.  Gimli said Master favored peas in cream.”  He picked up a sack full of dried sausages and a wheel of hard cheese, tucked the long thin loaf of bread under one arm, and trotted down the main street to the gate.

            Targil and Fenbarad were in conversation as he passed; Targil but waved to him, however Fenbarad called out:  “Friend perian!  Where are you going, and when will you return?”

            “I’m going to take a peek at the joust, my good man,” said Bandobras importantly, “and then go on a job of work for my Master the Green Knight.  I have a munificence to perform.”

            “Have you indeed!” said Fenbarad smiling.  “Well, be sure your munificence does not take too long; I have been charged with watching for your well-being, and cannot be everywhere at once. Remember to stay on the main road, and should some evil-doer attempt to molest you my soldiers are certain to be nearby.”

            “Thank you!” said Bandobras, a little deflated. Feeling the man’s eyes upon his back, he trotted down the dirt road to the tournament grounds.

            He could hear the roar of the crowd within, and the thudding of hooves, and then could just descry the crash of lance upon breastplate; he quickened his pace and approached the leeches’ tent.  The healers stood round the inner corner, watching the joust and applauding with the rest; Bandobras was glad they did not seem to be busy, as that would mean an injury, and he did not like to contemplate that possibility overmuch.  Edging round the group of healers and men-at-arms he watched his Master turn Hatchet about in a tight circle, throwing up a great cloud of dust; the sunlight glinted and flashed upon the bright armour, and as Hatchet threw his great head up and down the red dragon’s eyes upon his shaffron gleamed redly at him.  He saw the Green Knight’s winged helm turn to look towards his foe, who was being helped upon his horse; his red surcoat had been torn by the coronel, and his lance had been snapped in two.  His caparisoned destrier shifted uneasily, rolling its eyes at Hatchet, who bellowed and shook his head so that the crinet clattered and glittered.  Then he felt his Master’s eyes upon him.  He could not explain how he knew it was so, and yet he was certain he had been descried; sure enough when he put his sack down upon the earth and waved his hand, the clawed gauntlet rose and waved back at him.  

            The leeches, seeing the salute, turned to him and smiled down upon him; blushing furiously Bandobras gathered up his things and hurried from the lists.   He retraced his steps, passing the Tent City by, and followed the hard dirt road to the settlement beyond.

            The village had no proper walls yet, though a small fence enclosed it; it housed but fourscore or more people, merchants and tradesmen who dealt goods with the farmers and their crops, and being near the ruin of Osgiliath it sported a small inn.  The Bridge Embattled would have seemed quite large and imposing indeed to Bandobras a year before, being loftier and noisier than the Golden Perch, which was the only other inn he had set foot in; but after many months of traveling, first with his ill-chosen Dwarvish companions and then with his Master, the Hobbit-lad had broadened his views considerably and always found himself comparing men’s dwellings unfavorably with the halls of Thranduil, which had impressed him greatly.  So the Bridge Embattled was not as intimidating to him as it might have been, and he passed heedlessly by the company of soldiers patrolling the street and entered the inn.

            Híldaf was waiting for him in his rooms, which were small but very clean; he had thrown open the shutters to let in the freshening breeze, and sunlight glanced across the smooth plank floors.  The room was high enough above the street that the breeze carried upon it the scents of the rose garden of the next door house; small pink roses showing bristling yellow hearts breathed their sweet fragrance into the mellow afternoon, and every now and then the breeze shifted enough to stir up the aroma from the bouquet of lavender sitting upon the table. The bed was neatly made up with cushion and coverlet, and although by no means equal to the abode of the Green Knight it was so much an improvement over Hallas’ dwelling place that the Hobbit sat down in the proffered stool with a sigh of relief.  Híldaf offered him a cup of wine, which he accepted hesitantly; he was as yet very young and unused to imbibing such grown-up drinks, but was immensely flattered that Híldaf thought him old enough to share a cup of wine with a friend.  So he sipped it carefully as Híldaf told him about Brytta’s wrath, and Lady Éowyn’s intervention, and Walda’s generosity.  It did not taste so sharp as ale, which he had drunk before (secretly, from his uncle’s tumbler); the pale yellow wine was crisper and possessed a tangy aftertaste that reminded him of lemons.  Supposing it was not so strong as the foaming tankards favored by the farmers and gentlehobbits of his acquaintance he drank deeper from the cup until to his surprise he had finished it.

            “Would you like more, friend holbytla?” asked Híldaf politely, holding up the green bottle.

            “Why, yes, thank you!” said Bandobras.  “It is very good; I have never had such good wine before.”

            “It was a gift,” said Híldaf, his youthful face flushing; “The Lady Éowyn’s maidservant and kinswoman, Éodild of the Eastfold, gave it me the evening past.  Also she gave to me a posy of lavender, which she said would freshen the air of my rooms and lighten my cares.”

            “I’d say the wine would do more to lighten your cares than the posy,” scoffed Bandobras, taking another deep drink of wine.  “So you were saying, Híldaf, that Walda wants you as his esquire now, and you’ll swear fealty to him this autumn?  I swore fealty to my Master in the spring, though it seems an awful long time ago to me now.”  And full of good cheer he chattered to Híldaf for some minutes about the ceremony, how he had stood upon the dais with Thranduil at his back, kneeling before Legolas and laying his small sword upon the prince’s knee.  He described the hall itself, hung with crystal lanterns and jeweled tapestries, filled with the fair Elven folk who stood in solemn attendance about the court; he also described the Elven King and his Queen, resplendent in their robes of green and gold, and their son in his white and silver jeweled doublet, crowned with mithril and opals, with his grandsire's sword upon his belt.  Híldaf listened eagerly, for he knew few tales of the Eldar, and having seen the Green Knight uncloaked felt a keen interest in them.  Soon, before Bandobras even marked the time, his cup was empty once again, and the sun slanted sharply through the window, its golden light flecked with orange.  Bandobras sprang up with a cry of dismay.

            “It has gotten late!” he exclaimed.  “O I am sorry, dear Híldaf; I didn’t even realize how much time was passing, I was enjoying myself so.  Gimli is right; I chatter far too much for my own good.  Please forgive me, but I need to leave right away!  I haven’t even put the lamb on to roast yet, and if I don’t get back as soon as possible it’ll be too bloody to eat, not to mention the potatoes will be hard as rocks.  Thank you so much for the wine!  And when the Tournament is over my Master says you and Hallas of Lossarnach are to come to dinner.  I hope you’ll have time before you have to go back to Rohan.”

            “The feasting will last a week at least,” said Híldaf, showing him to the door.  “And I travel back with Fréawine, who is my kin, and I know he means to stay until the leaves change color.  So I shall have the pleasure of your company several more times before we must part ways.”

            “Good!  Thank you again!” said Bandobras, and started to hurry down the stairs.  But he had to stop halfway down and put his hand on the banister.  “Goodness gracious me!” he thought.  “I must have stood up too fast; I’m very dizzy.”  He put a hand on his cheek and thought again, “I am hot too.  O well!   I need to hurry or dinner will be late.”  Grasping the banister firmly he carefully descended, then when he reached the main floor he walked with deliberate steps out the door.

            He had gone no more than ten paces when a man standing by the corner of the inn called out to him.  “Master perian!” he said smiling, wiping his hands upon a white apron.  “I did not see you in the Tent City this morning; I have here a bushel of mushrooms delivered to me fresh today, and understood you favored them.  Tell me, have you yet purchased them from some other greengrocer, or can I interest you in taking a look?”

            “Mushrooms?” said Bandobras eagerly, turning to him.  “Why yes, good sir, I was just wishing for some mushrooms.  I didn’t see Hyardil, who usually supplies me, and I was hoping to foregather with him, but haven’t managed to find him yet.  Do you hawk in the Tent City?  I don’t think I’ve seen you there before.”

            “Well, I only deal in the finest goods,” said the man, smiling wider and leading Bandobras around the corner of the inn yard into a small alley.  “I am usually sold out before I get to the back corner, where your Master dwells.  But I am very anxious to do business with you and have your custom, for I know you are particular about your fare.”

            Bandobras hesitated at the entrance of the alley, remembering his Master’s warning, but the wine, and the sight of a patrol of soldiers nearby, strengthened his courage and he stepped in.  It was cool and damp out of the sunshine, and he could feel the cold dirt beneath his feet.  At the end of the alleyway was a grocer’s cart covered with a white cloth.

            “I am glad to see you know how to treat mushrooms properly,” he said excitedly, feeling very light-headed and giddy.  “Nice and dark and damp back here, just right for them, you know.”

            “O aye!” smiled the grocer; “I am very knowledgeable when it comes to mushrooms and roots and marrows; you must let me show you my wares.”  He turned and walked to the cart and Bandobras followed him.  The Hobbit saw he was wearing a chainmail shirt beneath his apron; at any other time this would have seemed strange to him, but the wine had fuddled his wits and he trotted behind, eager to see the produce.  The man stopped by the cart and turned to him with a smile; he drew back the cloth and gestured inside.  “You see!” he said.  “Only the best for your and your Master, my good perian.”

            Bandobras went up to the cart, which was taller than he, and climbed upon the spokes of the wheel.  Catching the sides of the cart with his fingers he pulled himself up and leaned in, peering around.  The cart was empty save for a few pieces of straw and a dried up, leathery carrot.  He frowned and turned to ask the grocer what had happened to his mushrooms, but only saw the cudgel swinging toward his head; then after a flash of light all was darkness.