Chapter 4. Special Commission
Ever since he’d recovered from his injuries suffered during the landslip a few weeks past, Tolibold had seen a certain speculation in the looks directed at him, or so it seemed to him, though of course the moment they realised he had noticed, people tended to put on a bland expression. Some would even begin to speak animatedly about some minor topic, usually drawn from the latest gossip, as if to cover an awkward pause. Really, he’d’ve thought he was imagining things if he hadn’t caught glimpses of the changes in others’ faces. But then, that was part of his job as the head of the Thain’s escort since the recent Tournament. Protecting the Thain and his family meant being aware and alert, noticing the slightest details in his surroundings, and being ready to respond appropriately.
The news that he and Meadowsweet were expecting again – already! (for she'd been under the impression that she would not be able to quicken again so long as she was nursing their firstborn) – first conveyed by Mistress Eglantine while he'd been hopelessly trapped under the tree, and then confirmed by Tolly's beloved, had been heartening, to be sure. Early in the new year, or perhaps even sometime during the month of Foreyule, they'd welcome their second child to their little family. Even on a day like today, when Tolly could feel himself sinking in the bog of self-doubt, the thought brought a smile to his face, albeit a brief one. On their pledging their love to one another, Meadowsweet had confided her desire for a large family, half a dozen children, at least, to fill up their lives with wonder and noise and joy, and Tolly had agreed whole-heartedly.
Yet all too often lately, he had to fight the feeling of being lost, or at least that a vital part of himself had gone missing. He'd sworn on his life to safeguard the Thain and his family... and yet, who'd done the rescuing when the hillside had fallen upon him and Mistress Eglantine? Why, the Mistress, it had been. What use was his oath? What use were the skills he'd taken pains to cultivate and maintain, if in the end, his fate had rested in the hands of an elderly (though indomitable) hobbit matron?
I feel as if I’ve lost myself, he thought, and not for the first time, as he walked down the corridor to the Thain's study, answering each respectful nod he received with a nod of his own.
He found himself resisting a nagging thought that kept returning as often as he pushed it down to concentrate on his duties. Should he be serving as one of the Thain’s escort at all? Much less as the head of escort, though he'd only recently been elevated to the position after winning the Tookland's annual archery Tournament? Perhaps everyone would be better served if he resigned his position as a hobbit of the escort altogether and asked to work under Verilard, the Thain’s chief hunter, instead.
He'd returned to his duties rather sooner than the healers advised, but then, that was typical for a Took in any event. The Thain and Steward had overlooked the slight limp that remained; it shouldn’t impede his shooting, at least, and he could always ride a pony to deliver a message for the Thain, even if it must be a borrowed beast. His own gelding had never quite recovered from the strain of standing up to the charge of an enraged wild boar on a hunt some months ago, in the springtide of the year. Of a mercy, the recovery of the lost Treasury of the Tooks meant that his salary had increased, allowing him to begin setting aside funds for another pony. By next year’s Pony Sale, he ought to have enough for a decent mount, and then, he vowed, he’d start saving for a second, for the sake of prudence. In the meantime, he had to ride one the ponies belonging to the Thain (or more properly, the Smials Tooks) when his duties called for riding.
Though he regretted the death of the borrowed pony that had died in the recent landslip, at least it had been a near-stranger to him. And the Thain had decreed that Tolly was not to blame for the pony’s loss which was an immense relief. At least he wouldn’t have to pay restitution, pushing the purchase of his own mount even further into the future.
Reaching the Thain’s study, he put aside all thoughts except for the reason for the summons he’d received. Haldegrim, who was on duty as doorward at the moment, exchanged a nod with the head of escort, tapped at the door to alert the Thain and Steward of an arrival and then opened it to allow Tolly to enter.
‘Ah Tolly!’ the Thain exclaimed, rising from his desk. ‘Come in and sit down.’ He indicated the chair by his desk. The next word was directed to the Steward. ‘Regi?’
Reginard moved to the side table where a cosied pot was keeping warm over a candle, picked up one of the cups waiting there for guests or visitors, and poured out a steaming cup of tea, then added milk and sugar without the need to ask Tolly’s preference.
(Not that Tolly often took tea with Thain or Steward, mind, but simply stated, Reginard had an eye for detail, down to the smallest matter. Of course, this quality made him an excellent steward to the Thain and the Tookland. It was rather inconvenient for anyone who might want to put something past the hobbit, however.)
Tolly perched upon the chair indicated and accepted the cup with muttered thanks. He took the requisite sip, managed not to shudder or make a face – it was considered eccentric for a hobbit not to like the taste of tea, even when doctored with milk and sweetening – and set the cup down on the small table next to him. ‘Sir?’ he said. ‘You sent for me.’
‘I have need of a messenger,’ Pippin said, looking down at a paper in front of him and then looking up again. ‘More than that, actually. It’s something of a delicate matter.’
‘Sir?’ Tolly said again. Best to be cautious, and the less he said, the more he might hear.
‘The Master of the Flocks tells me he’s been made aware of a fine strain of sheep in the North Farthing, and he’d like to acquire some new blood to improve the wool we produce for trade.’
But Tookish wool is the finest in the Shire! Tolly thought, though he said nothing.
His startlement must have shown in his face, however, for the Steward said to him, ‘Despite our reputation for producing the finest wool, it’s good business to look out for improvement where ever possible.’
‘Aye,’ Tolly said. He had no head for business, but then, that was why he was an archer and not a merchant or decision-maker. He didn’t envy either the Thain or the Steward their positions, for all the trappings and privileges that went along with them.
‘I need to send an agent to speak for me, but it has to be the right hobbit,’ Pippin resumed.
‘The right hobbit, Sir?’ Tolly said. He was honestly puzzled. They were talking about sheep, something he knew near to nothing about, and not shooting, which was a special feature of his hunter’s training. While he might be the finest archer in the Shire, having been the favourite to win the Tournament this year, and actually having won, into the bargain, his ability to aim words and hit the mark felt dull to him by comparison. ‘Are you looking for my recommendation for someone to send on this errand?’
The Thain actually burst out laughing at this response, while the Steward raised an eyebrow. ‘Not at all, Tolibold! You’re the agent who was recommended to me!’
‘I—but Sir, I—’ Tolly said, at a complete loss. Still, tripping over his tongue would quickly solve this dilemma he found himself in, wouldn’t it?
Regi quietly interjected, ‘The owner of the sheep we’d like to purchase is Bolham north-Took.’ At Tolly’s blank look, he said, ‘During the time of the Troubles, he was known as “Bolham the Red”.
Tolly’s face cleared. ‘Aye,’ he breathed. ‘The Rebels of Bindbole Wood!’
Though Lotho’s ruffians had over-run the North Farthing, a growing group of rebels and dispossessed hobbits, many of them north-Tooks, had retreated to the Wood, where they’d been able to hide and evade capture. From the forest, they freely harried the Men who were trying to impose their will on the inhabitants of the North Farthing. Often, they’d swooped down upon waggons full of gathered crops and other items, incapacitated the drivers and guards, and absconded into the forest with their ill-gotten gains.
The bold and daring rebels of Bindbole Wood were never captured, unlike some of the other bands who resisted Lotho’s louts, like Fredegar Bolger’s hobbits who’d been smoked out of their hiding place in the Scary Hills and marched off to the Lockholes. Men who were ordered into the forest to capture the rebels or reclaim the stolen goods encountered such ill luck as made any of Lotho’s louts reluctant to enter the Wood. Moreover, it had been whispered at the time (but had not been made public until after the Scouring of the Shire was complete) that Bolham’s hobbits ventured out by night, evading detection and capture, and distributed goods and food to hobbits in need.
After the Battle of Bywater and subsequent Scouring of the Shire, Bolham and his band had been slow to leave the protection of the forest, suspecting some trick or other on Lotho’s part. In the end, Frodo Baggins, as deputy mayor, made a special journey to the Wood, accompanied only by his humble Sam, to persuade the Bindbole rebels that the Occupation was over, Lotho was dead, and his Men had been forcibly expelled from the Shire following the uprising of the Shire-folk under Captains Peregrin Took and Meriadoc Brandybuck. Only then did the rebels put down or hang up their weapons and return to farm, field, and cot to begin rebuilding and reclaiming the North Farthing from the depredations of the invaders.
‘I’m told that Bolham has heard stories of the exploits of the Tooks who kept the Tookland free of Men during the Troubles,’ Pippin said, ‘and that he’s eager to meet some of them. And so I thought, we could employ a single stone and perhaps strike two birds at one throw.’
‘What about Ferdi?’ Tolly said without thinking, and then kicked himself for contradicting the Thain and Steward. But Ferdi, with his silver tongue...
‘The Fox, we’ll save for the next trip,’ Pippin said, tenting his hands and tapping his forefingers together.
‘And besides, he’s newly married, in case you’d forgotten,’ Reginard added dryly – which Tolly might have taken for a joke if it had been anyone else other than the Steward, who was well-known for his lack of a sense of humour. In point of fact, Tolly had stood up with Ferdi at the latter’s wedding the previous highday, a week after the Tournament. At the time The Took and The Bolger had conspired to bring Ferdi and Pimpernel together – midsummer, it had been – the betrothed had dolefully contemplated the long months that stretched before them until a traditional Springtide wedding could take place and, with Pippin's blessing, had set the wedding date for after harvest-time.
But then Pippin had thrown caution to the winds and suggested – nay, practically ordered them – to move the wedding sooner, that it might take place immediately after Tookland's annual archery Tournament, when Ferdi would officially step down as head of the Thain's escort and into his role of special assistant to the Thain. 'We've already scandalised the Tooks this far; what's a little more scandal, I say, but to add spice to the cake?'
Even having to wait until after the Tournament had been difficult enough for the two lovebirds, Tolly knew. In any event, Thain Peregrin had blithely set all tradition aside in the matter of scheduling the wedding of his sister and his chief assistant, declaring that he needed Ferdi's mind to be fixed on matters of business and not distracted by the anticipation of months more of waiting before he could be joined to his true-love at last. 'I need a special assistant with a working mind and memory,' he'd said on more than one occasion when some traditionalist had tried to take him to task for his high-handedness in the matter. 'One who can pay the strictest attention to his work and not be distracted by matters of the heart. Is that too much to ask?'
Along those lines, Regi lifted his chin and looked down his nose at the head of escort as he added, ‘Ferdi's mind is not terribly likely to be fixed on matters of business, at the moment...’
Tolly nodded. Of course they would have considered Ferdibrand first as their best choice, and settled on the head of escort as the next best possibility. His younger brother Hilly, like Ferdi, had a silver tongue and was similarly acclaimed as a Hero of the Tookland. In truth, none of the hobbits who were known as such would have claimed the title themselves, and they made themselves scarce when stories of their exploits were told by the hearthside in the great room.
Bolham’s band had been renowned for their skill with a bow, and Tolly’s archery prowess ranked him amongst the highest in the Shire at the present time, earning him the position of head of escort. Thus, Tolly held higher status than his brother Hilly. It was the only reason that made sense to him for the decision to send him to the North Farthing on a commission for the Thain. Perhaps the Thain anticipated that Tolly and Bolham would sit down together and exchange reminiscences over pints of ale, smoothing the way for an equitable agreement regarding the purchase of a few sheep for the flocks that generated income for the upkeep of the Great Smials.
A long talk over a few pints of beer didn’t sound too onerous. Tolly just hoped that the business discussion to follow might not be too much of a trial, and that he could satisfactorily discharge this task.
Another thought occurred to him some time after he’d left the study and gone to inform his beloved Meadowsweet that he’d be away for a few days, perhaps a week, on a commission for the Thain. Perhaps Pippin had lost confidence in his abilities as a hobbit of the escort, and this was his way of easing Tolly into another occupation?
He had better set his mind firmly on the task at hand, then, so as not to fail yet again.
***