Chapter 13. A Visit to the North Farthing
'I don't know about this,' Steward Reginard said slowly, looking down at the message sheaf in his hand and then up again to meet the Thain's demanding gaze. 'Look what happened when you sent your Messenger in response to Bolham's earlier invitation! Bindbole Wood has already claimed one Took! I'm not sure we ought to risk more – especially not when one of them would be our Thain!'
'Regi,' Pippin said in exasperation. Honestly, had he not known that his Steward possessed not a single grain of humour, much less imagination, he'd've accused the older hobbit of engaging in whimsical thinking. It seemed to be his lot to be surrounded with such these days, and in his estimation, the whimsy was growing ever stronger with the passing of time.
First, the day after she'd been informed of her terrible loss, Meadowsweet had awakened and thrown off her mourning. Not long after, Haldi, that stalwart and steady Took, had refused to acknowledge Tolly's death. And even today, Rusty continued to maintain the apartments of the head of escort as if he expected Tolly's return any day now. Daily, the Tooks around the Thain were increasingly referring to Tolly in the present tense when they mentioned him. On further thought, it seemed to Pippin that the hobbits he encountered on a regular basis were mentioning Tolly much more often than was usual more than a fortnight after a hobbit's departure for the Feast.
'There's historical precedent!' Regi argued. 'In the time of Bandobras Bullroarer, many Tooks went to the North Farthing and never returned to the Tookland again!'
'D'you honestly think Tolly's followed suit?' Pippin challenged. 'Found a new life in the North-lands, and changed his name to "north-Took"?'
'None of your nonsense now, lad,' Regi chided.
To tell the truth, Pippin nearly breathed a sigh of relief at hearing the familiar rebuke aimed at him rather than feeling the need to issue it himself, which was happening all too often these days.
'P'rhaps there's something in the water,' he muttered under his breath. He wasn't sure whether he was referring to Tooks becoming north-Tooks or the spreading absurdity he perceived in the Great Smials and surrounding area. Why, he himself had even recently referred to Tolly as if the hobbit were in the present and not relegated to the past!
'What was that?' Regi said.
'I could use a glass of water,' Pippin amended, a little louder. Regi nodded and poured him a glass from the pitcher, refreshed hourly with icy spring water per Diamond's request, that stood upon the side table in the Thain's study.
Pippin thanked him, drank deeply, and then returned to business. 'Detail Haldi and Hilly to ride with me,' he said. 'Tell them we'll overnight at the inn in Bolton, or perhaps we ought to plan on two nights, to allow a full day to inspect Bolham's flocks and two days of unhurried travel.'
***
A few days after Lark's rescue from the charging stag, Gorbyl and Wallas had followed a footpath to the eastern edge of the Wood, intending to gather some plants and their roots that grew under the trees, along with a few to be found in the marshy ground on the other side of the lesser road to Oatbarton. That road ran between Wood's eastern reaches and the Oatbrook, a stream that flowed southward, winding its way somewhat east of Overhill and Hobbiton and ending in the Bywater Pool.
From where they stood, just inside the canopy of trees, they could see the outskirts of Bolton a mile or so north of them, standing on the far side of the road on rising ground past the end of the marsh. The small community, which had been rebuilt after the Scouring of the Shire, was situated near the lands that Red Bolham farmed, perhaps a dozen miles south of Oatbarton.
About five miles or so south of where the herb-gatherers looked out on the day, the soft, soggy ground that lay just beyond the road gave way to a treacherous bog near the south-eastern corner of the Wood. Now, as he pointed out various features and landmarks visible from where their path emerged from the Wood and joined the north-south road, Gorbyl warned Wallas to steer well clear of that area if he were to go out hunting or gathering alone. 'Too many have been lost in the bog,' he said, 'never to see the light o' day again.'
'I've no intention of going near the place,' Wallas said. He shifted his large gathering basket on his arm.
'I'm that glad to hear it,' Gorbyl responded. He studied the sky for a few moments, taking advantage of the clear view provided by the open fields. 'Another fine day,' he observed to Wallas. 'I'm thinking the weather will hold a few more days, at the least, which bodes well for the gathering.'
'Make hay whilst the Sun shines,' Wallas said inconsequentially.
'If we were farmers, perhaps!' Gorbyl laughed. 'But I'm glad enough to work in the Wood and not in the open fields... We can start in the marsh and work our way homewards through the Wood,' the old hobbit concluded, but as he began to move into the open, with Wallas at his side, both gatherers were arrested by the sight of travellers, coming from the South, trotting their ponies northward on the little road.
'Well now!' Gorbyl said. 'I wonder who these might be! Harvest is still in full swing, and Bolton's Yuletide Faire is still weeks away – a good fortnight more than a month off! It's not the usual time of year for Outlanders to visit the North Farthing...'
'How d'you know they're Outlanders?' Wallace asked, for the figures seemed somehow familiar to him, though he couldn't begin to fathom why that might be.
'Their dress, for one thing,' Gorbyl said. 'The styles in the South-lands are just a bit different than sensible hobbits wear hereabouts. But then, the Wind blows colder here in the North-lands. See, lad,' he said, pointing at the travellers now passing on the road, not quite close enough to where the gatherers stood for a halloo though close enough for a wave if they'd been so inclined. 'Those rolls tied on top of the saddlebags? Heavy cloaks! And see how they're dyed – dark-green! Winter cloaks ought to be woven of bleached wool, to blend in with the snows that fall upon the downs!'
He shook his head and added, 'Not to mention that these Southerners are carrying heavy cloaks with them, as if it's winter already... If they think the North-farthing wind is cold now, when it's only autumn, I'd hate to see them freezing their bums off in winter's icy chill! It's enough to make you wonder about how Southern folk manage...'
And then he turned to Wallas and said, 'Beg pardon, lad. I ought not to say such a thing.' At least he hadn't vented his feelings in front of the childer, for (as is a byword, and not only in the Shire), little pitchers can have big ears.
'Beg pardon for what?' Wallas said in return, slapping Gorbyl on the back, even as his eyes continued to follow the northbound riders. 'For my part, I'd hate to see them freezing any body parts off, including their backsides!'
***
Only a few days ago, Hawfinch had confirmed to Gorbyl and Wallas that they'd identified the missing hobbit connected with the pony that had been found a few weeks ago as a Southerner in part because of the heavy, dark-hued cloak that had been tightly rolled and fastened to the empty saddle, and that's why the Tooks had come north to mount a search in the southern part of the Wood where the pony had been found, as well as in the environs of the bog where the hobbit's hat had been discovered. 'Lost in the bog, it seems. What a pity.'
The Shirriff had stopped by the cot as Gorbyl and Wallas prepared for their gathering expedition, which included leaving instructions with the childer as to keeping themselves safe and completing the necessary chores until the grown-ups returned. Gorbyl had introduced him to Wallas – whose memories of the past remained almost non-existent, making it likely that he wouldn't know Hawfinch even though they'd hunted ruffians together during the Troubles. When Wallas had turned to face him, the Shirriff's eyes had widened in recognition. 'Wallas?' he'd gasped. 'You're back?'
The Shirriff had only to look to the children's shining faces to confirm the situation.
'So it seems,' Wallas had answered with a sheepish look and a shrug. It bothered him more than he'd like to admit that the sight of Hawfinch's face stirred no memories at all, though the Shirriff had known him immediately, even ten years after they'd last talked or hoisted a pint together.
Hawfinch had seized his hand and drawn him in for a backslapping hug. 'I thought I'd ne'er see you again in the life! Welcome home, you blast... er... blessed wanderer!'
Wallas managed a chuckle at the Shirriff's quick-witted change to avoid using rough language in front of the grinning children, and he slapped Hawfinch's back with equal enthusiasm. However, his smile dimmed as he stepped back and offered Hawfinch an archer's salute. 'It's good to be home,' he said. 'I wish I could say the same for my brother.' He shook his head. 'For all my wanderings, I've naught to show but empty hands.'
Gorbyl, sensing Wallas's disquiet, laid a soothing hand on the younger hobbit's shoulder. 'He managed to find his way home to us again, even though he had no memory of us or the place when he awakened,' the old hobbit explained. 'He still doesn't know how he came to be here, or even where he'd come from before turning his face towards home.'
'You came back to us; that's the important thing,' Hawfinch maintained. 'Bless you, lad... and I'm sorry for the loss of your lovely Dove while you were gone. I'm sure it was a shock...'
Wallas looked down and shook his head sadly, and Hawfinch dropped the subject, saying only, 'Well, I've got to be about my rounds. I'm out o' my territory, but I thought I'd bring ye the news about the missing Took since I was the one who told ye about him i' the first place.'
The others followed him out the door, where they stopped for a few parting words.
'Much obliged to ye for bringin' the news,' Gorbas said. 'But remember you're welcome here any time you should stray out o' your territory. There's always time to brew a "pot o' hot" cheer.'
'Make mine bark tea, and I'll take you up on it,' Hawfinch said, stepping off the veranda and turning back to say his good-bye.
Wallas's smile became more genuine as he lifted his hand in farewell. 'A hobbit after my own heart,' he said.
Hawfinch grinned. 'Aye,' he said. 'We always were, were we not?' He chuckled, shook his head, and said, 'Good to ha' ye back, for sure and all, old friend.' And then he turned and walked away.
***
'Heavy cloaks,' Wallas said meditatively, wrenching Gorbyl's thoughts back to the present. 'How curious...' he said, and stopped, watching the riders pass.
It wasn't the heavy cloaks he found curious, as it turned out, but the riders themselves. 'Two of them are archers,' Wallas said, turning his head to follow them as they continued northwards. 'But the third bears no weapons, to all appearances. You'd think, if it were a hunting party, that all of them would have quivers on their backs.'
'True,' Gorbyl said. 'I would hazard that they've not come to hunt the deer, at that.' He scratched his head under his cap. 'Besides,' he added, 'there must be plenty of deer in the South-lands! No need for hunters to ride all this way to find deer! And they've no pack-beast with them to carry the carcases home again.'
'I might think they were more protectors than hunters,' Wallas mused. 'Two who bear arms, flanking one who is unarmed...' He shook his head and flashed Gorbyl a wry smile. 'To be honest, I find such a thing appealing...'
'You do?' the old hobbit said in surprise.
'O aye,' Wallas answered. 'Certainly, we hunted ruffians in the old days, but I don't remember ever taking much joy of it.'
'You remember hunting ruffians?' Gorbyl probed.
Wallas shrugged. 'A little,' he admitted. 'Flashes here and there. Bits and pieces of a dream when I awaken...' He shuddered then, but did not explain further. 'And o' course, I killed that stag that was practically in our yard... but I took no pleasure in bringing down that magnificent creature.'
'No, but you had to bring him down, or we'd've lost our Lark for sure and certain!' Gorbyl protested.
Wallas shook his head. 'I know,' he said, but his tone was rueful. 'Just as I know that hunting for the pot is needful for hobbits, and cutting down a certain number of deer is necessary for the deer themselves, else they'd grow too numerous for the Wood to sustain them, and starve...' He sighed. 'But, as I said, I take no satisfaction in taking a life, whether it be a deer or a fox or a rogue Man.'
'Since when ha' ye felt this way, lad?' Gorbyl said. In the dim recesses of memory, he could see Wallas's grin as his older brother Gorbas clapped him on the back after a well-placed shot. Hobbits did not hunt for sport, of course, but they could still derive a thrill from the chase and the reward, whether eliminating a predator that menaced the coop or flock, or hunting with an eye to filling the larder with smoked or dried meat and the stewpot with fresh venison or fowl or coney.
That faraway look was back as Wallas said, 'I don't know...'
Gorbas patted him on the shoulder as he so often had over the past few days, whenever Wallas's memories troubled him with their elusiveness. 'All's well, lad,' he said. 'Something probably happened to you afore you came here, to make you feel that way.'
Wallas nodded, looking a last time after the receding riders, and said, 'I expect you have the right of it, old hobbit.'
***
After they'd returned home, while Wallas and the childer tied the gathered herbs in bunches to hang and dry, Gorbyl went to see the bees, as he always did at the end of the day. He laid his palm against the nearest hive to feel the deep humming inside as evening came on and the temperature dropped. 'Hurry yersel' home now, ladies!' he called to the few stragglers returning.
'It was a good day,' he told the bees. 'With Wallas's help, we gathered twice what I might've gathered alone... and o' course there was the pleasure o' his company...' But then his smile faded. 'But I ha' to tell ye, ladies...' He fell silent then, groping for the words. 'He's changed, my Wallas,' he said at last. 'I can't quite account for it. I don't know what to think, at all.'
He listened to the steady hum of the bees warming their home with their wings and said, 'How's he changed, you'd like to know?' He drew a deep breath and sighed it out again. 'He's a crack shot, for one. I hate to think how he learnt such... them Outlands must be a dangerous place, for him to have learnt to shoot so well. He must've trained, or practised without ceasing, or somethin' to that effect!'
The bees never left off their quiet hum as Gorbyl stopped speaking. At last, the old hobbit resumed. 'And that shot that took down the stag... not many I know of could've made that shot, not even Bolham himself on his best day in the Wood, back when we were hunting ruffians. Must've been desperation that done it, aye, that's what it must've been.'
The old hobbit nodded to himself and to the bees, but then he burst out, 'Yet he took no pleasure innit! I can remember so well his whoop when he made a clean kill i' the past – no, not that he hunted for the sport of it, mind you, but... but he used to be so pleased after bagging a good-sized hart, proud of hisself, and basking in our praise, Gorbas's and mine... But e'en though he shot to save our Lark, he looked almost sad to have brought down that magnificent creature, not happy or proud...!'
In a lower voice, he confided, 'I don't know what to make of it at all.'
And then young Gorbi was calling from the cot, 'Tea's on, Grandfa!' Why, his communing with the bees must have stretched much longer than he'd realised!
'G'night, ladies,' Gorbyl whispered.
Then he removed his hand from the hive and its soothing, steady humming, and began to trot back to the house. Happily, he hadn't noticed any chest pains of late. Perhaps Wallas's return had healed his broken heart. When he deemed he was far enough from the hives that he wouldn't disturb the bees, he raised his voice to shout. 'I'm coming!'
Wallas met him at the door. 'Good thing I don't care all that much for tea!' the younger hobbit said. 'Or I'd've drunk up the pot by the time you got here!'
'He was going to eat up all the buns and scrambled eggs, but I told him he had to wait!' Lark said officiously.
'Aye, that she did,' Wallas confirmed. 'I tried to tell my little songbird that it's the worm the late bird gets, not the buns and scrambled eggs, but she wouldn't believe me!'
'That's the early bird!' Lark corrected.
Laughing, the adults shooed her before them as they walked to the table where the lads were already standing and waiting for them. And after the eventide meal was done, Wallas tucked the childer into their beds with a kiss for each and a lullaby for all before joining Gorbyl to finish the washing up.
Pity we cannot wash our worries away as quick as we can clean these plates, the old hobbit thought to himself, but when Wallas joined him and began drying and putting away, Gorbyl only smiled at him and did his best to tuck his worries away. He remembered the bees' advice: stay steady. Worries never do a body good.
'Aye, and they ha' the right of it,' he said aloud.
'What's that, old hobbit?' Wallas said.
'Just something the bees told me,' Gorbyl answered.
'Ah,' Wallas nodded wisely. 'We could learn a few things from those busy lasses.'
'Indeed we can,' Gorbyl agreed.
And then it was time to turn in and seek their own pillows. But sleep eluded Gorbyl that night, and what dreams he had, though he did not remember them upon awakening, were not restful ones.
***