Chapter 14. Heroes and Otherwise
After a pleasant and uneventful day in the saddle, the travellers pulled up in the sunny yard of a prosperous-looking farm.
A tall, well-muscled farmer emerged from the long, low smial, booming a greeting. 'Well come, Captain Peregrin and company!'
'Captain Bolham, I presume!' Pippin called in reply, swinging down from his pony.
'You'd presume rightly, my friend!' Bolham said. 'Or should I call you "long-lost cousin"?' He took the hand Pippin held out to him and drew the Thain into a brief, back-slapping hug, then stepped back and beamed at his visitors.
'I should think it was the other way around,' Pippin said, recovering from his surprise at the hearty greeting. But then, Diamond's family had welcomed him and Merry like long-lost family on their first acquaintance. Perhaps it was the north-Tooks' custom to be warm and welcoming rather than clannish and suspicious like their Southern counterparts. He wondered what Regi or Ferdi would think of that. 'The Tooks have remained where they settled, how ever long ago it might be, while it was the north-Tooks who were the ones that wandered off and ended up putting down their roots in the North Farthing!'
Bolham laughed heartily in response to this observation. At last, wiping his eyes, he said, 'We're as bad as the Brandybucks, I suppose...'
'Worse!' Pippin said. 'For you had the Brandybucks' example before you (seeing as how they were the first to wander out of the settled lands and into the wilds), and yet you still chose to wander!'
'There's something to that,' Bolham admitted. He looked then to Pippin's companions. 'And have you brought some heroes of the Tookland with you, as I requested?' His smile took on a grim look at seeing the glance that passed between Hilly and Haldi, and he addressed the archers directly in a lower tone. 'Not heroes, neither of you, or so you'd say. But then, so would I.'
At Pippin's quizzical look, the north-Took said, 'No, Thain, I am not demeaning your escort or questioning their courage. What I meant was, I am no hero myself, no matter what the songs may tell you.'
The visitors' faces cleared at his explanation, and Hilly was bold enough to say, 'Not heroes at all! We simply did what was needed at the time...'
Bolham laughed again and said, 'I might say the same!' Then he stepped forward to repeat his welcoming back-slapping embrace with each of the hobbits of escort. 'Well come!' he told each in turn. 'It's about time the Tooks and north-Tooks became reacquainted! It has been a long time since Bandobras Bullroarer chased the goblins from the North-lands...'
'Well he had a bit of help, as I heard it,' Pippin said diffidently. Did Bolham not know Diamond was a north-Took? He wondered. But now seemed neither the time nor place. 'Thain Ferumbras – the Second, that is, brother to Bandobras – and an hundred Tookish archers rode to battle in aid of the North-landers...'
'He wasn't quite Thain at the time, no more than you were at the Battle of Bywater,' Bolham said. 'But I should say the both of you were similar in that you proved your mettle in battle!'
His look swept the visitors, and he said, 'But come! Let us not stand stupidly about in the yard when there are stalls prepared and waiting for your ponies and mugs just waiting to be filled and quaffed for your refreshment! Harlow!' The last word was a summons, bellowed at the top of his voice and accompanied by a hearty wave.
A slightly shorter hobbit, limping on a crooked leg, came from one of the outbuildings. 'Hullo!' he said in a friendly way.
'My forehobbit,' Bohlam said, '...and my right hand, frankly.' He exchanged a grin with his forehobbit, then threw back his head and laughed. 'Good thing I'm left-handed! I should have an awful time trying to carry Harlow about with me otherwise!'
Harlow, obviously familiar with the farmer's joke, chuckled and shook his head. 'Ai, and I'm hoping someday to work up to the exalted position of Red's left hand, but he tells me I've a long way to go to get there!'
The visiting Tooks smiled, though the archers looked somewhat lost at the different customs to be found here in the North. Pippin was the only one who seemed at ease. 'I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, Harlow.' He held out his palm to the hired hobbit.
Hilly and Haldi noticed the absence of the honorific "Master" and wondered. Was it part and parcel with Bolham's casual tossing about of "Captain" and "Thain" without the usual respect the titles commanded in more southern regions? Nor had Pippin rendered the customary "At your service... and your family's service" to the Northerners.
Harlow confirmed the escorts' perception of different customs as he reached out and touched his palm briefly to Pippin's, saying, 'The pleasure is mine, Captain Peregrin.'
Pippin then half-turned to the hobbits accompanying him and said, 'And these are my cousins, Haldi and Hilly.' It did not escape the escorts' attention that the Thain deliberately used the informal form of their names instead of saying Haldegrim and Hildibold, and they wondered.
But Hilly was skilled at landing on his feet. He held out his palm before him and said, 'Pleased to make your acquaintance.' It must have been the right move, for first Bolham and then Harlow touched their palms to his while tendering an appropriate response.
Haldi, not one to let the grass grow under his feet, followed Hilly's example.
Bolham cocked a bright eye at Pippin. 'I commend you, Captain,' he said. 'The hobbits you have chosen to bring with you are both observant and intelligent.'
'Pippin, please,' the Thain said. 'Captain sounds so formal... it has me looking around for Beregond – a friend of mine in the Southlands – or perhaps my cousin Meriadoc, though he's left Captain aside for Master these days.'
Bolham seemed to find the idea comical, for he laughed, but when he was finished laughing, he nodded and said, 'Pippin, then,' adding, 'Now, how about that beer?'
'Let me take your ponies,' Harlow said at once. 'I promise, we'll bed them deep and grain and groom them well. And if you're staying over tomorrow, we'll be happy to turn them out to graze and roll on the grass and have some time to refresh themselves before the journey homeward.'
'Thank you, that would just suit,' Pippin said. 'We thought we'd take tomorrow for business, and then home the next day, unless there's some reason to extend our stay...'
'We'll do our best to find such a reason!' Bolham said, gesturing towards the long, low smial to one side of the yard. 'I, for one, am eager to hear more of life in the South-lands,' (and by this, the escorts divined, he meant the Tookland and not Gondor or other foreign lands that the Thain had visited). As they walked towards the smial, he continued, 'I've also invited some members of my old band to join us for supper this evening! We're all quite curious about the methods and means the Tooks used to keep the Tookland free when Lotho's ruffians were overrunning the land... As it was, we were hard-pressed simply to keep the Wood free of the scoundrels, and it required constant vigilance on our part! Or, I've no doubt, they'd have burned the forest over our heads!'
***
They'd had a productive day of gathering, if Gorbyl did say so himself. 'For all your recent trouble with your memory, you certainly have not forgot the look of the healing plants we were after!'
Wallas shook his head with a thoughtful look. 'I knew them all – I knew each one of them as soon as you named it,' he said. 'I wonder if I might do the same if you were to name a particular Hobbit from my past. Would his face suddenly come to mind? Would I know him once more?'
Gorbyl's eyes narrowed as he studied Wallas's face. 'I don't know,' he said slowly. 'For you know your own sweet Dove – still – as only a painted face. Even just this morning, before we set out, you said you have no memories of her laughter, her voice, her songs...'
Wallas blinked away the sudden tears that rose at this reminder. 'Too true,' he said. 'And yet, the childer... I feel as if I have known them all my life!'
'But you knew the lads only as babes and faunts, and the lass not at all before you came to us...'
'This is true,' Wallas had to allow. His shoulders slumped. 'Perhaps I've only come to know them since I've been here, and the memories I think I have are only... only suggestions, or the like, and not true remembering at all!'
Gorbyl put a hand around Wallas's shoulders and tried to comfort him. 'You're healing still, my son,' he said. 'Give it more time. Not all that long ago, you were barely able to move, and you could speak no words at all! And look at you now! You can speak, you can shoot – and better than you ever did before! – you can walk for miles and find the plants we're looking for and harvest them as they should be harvested...'
'Foot by foot, as you keep telling me,' Wallas said, straightening and putting on a smile for Gorbyl's sake.
'That's the spirit, lad,' Gorbyl said. And then his voice changed, and he glanced at Wallas from the corner of his eye. 'But... there's some news I feel I must share with you, lad, and I do hope you won't be put out with me for speaking for you without talking to you first...'
'What is it?' Wallas asked.
'Our old Captain, the Red – you do remember calling him that in the old days, don't you? – just as is his custom every so often, he's invited some of the old band to gather to swap stories and raise a glass or three,' Gorbyl said, eyeing Wallas closely. 'I wasn't sure if being there would be helpful or only confusing to you and, perhaps, wearisome until you've regained more of your memories...? Hawfinch brought the word of the gathering with him the other day.'
At Wallas's hesitation, the old hobbit nodded. 'I told him you weren't quite up to assembling with a host of others quite yet, but I thought you'd like to come the next time. As you may or may not recall,' and the old hobbit smiled as he said the light words that were too close to truth to be taken as a jest, 'Bolham always invites all the band at Yule, to lift a glass to fallen comrades and remember the good with the bad.' He swallowed hard, tears coming to his own eyes, as he added, 'It'll be wonderful to toast in remembrance to only one of my sons and not the both of you this year...'
Wallas quickly moved to hug the old hobbit. 'I'm here,' he said. 'And I think... Gorbas is gone. He is.' He hesitated, and then asked slowly, 'Isn't he?'
Gorbyl nodded wordlessly against Wallas's shoulder.
'And so, it seems rather cruel... and pointless...' Wallas said, groping for words not because of his damaged memory but more for the strong emotion of the thoughts he was expressing, '...for me to leave again, and go searching for him, and leave you and the childer to limp along without me for any length of time...'
'O aye,' Gorbyl breathed. 'Though I've never begrudged your longing for your brother's return in the past...'
'I've given him ten years of my life, and more,' Wallas concluded. 'I...' he faltered, and then gathered his nerve and continued, 'I think... I hope he'll forgive me for turning my heart to home from here on out, even if he is still out there somewhere.'
The old hobbit, his head still bowed, gave a single sob within the circle of Wallas's arms.
'And if one son could find his way home, we can always hope...' Wallas said.
Gorbyl nodded and then straightened, and Wallas stood back as the old hobbit wiped the tears from his face and said, 'O aye... we'll keep on hoping... after all, our hopes brought you home at last...'
That evening, as Wallas and Flam fed the animals and milked the goats, and young Gorbi and Lark took care of the washing up, Gorbyl went out to his hives to say good-night to the bees. He laid his palm against the side of one hive, and then the other, feeling the steady hum of the bees inside, fanning their wings to warm their home, and stood a long time in silence, taking comfort in the sound.
'I don't know what more I might tell ye than I told ye last night,' he said. 'Winter'll be comin' soon, and ye'll be staying snug in yer home...' But he had the feeling the bees were listening for him to say more, that they knew of the burden lying heavy on his heart and mind. It's nonsense, he told himself. The bees would tell ye the same, were ye to ask them! Wallas was a fair shot when he went away, and when he came back, his shooting was a sight better than fair... But for sure and all, there's a perfectly good explanation for the change in him. Practice, for one!
Though he stood a long time listening and waiting, the bees offered no insights of their own to ease his concerns. They simply hummed as they always did, steady, unchanging... unlike Wallas, Gorbyl's mind whispered. He pushed the thought away, said his good-nights to the bees, and walked back to the cot, where Wallas was telling the childer a story about a clever coney that fooled a fox.
Later that night, the old hobbit stood just outside on the veranda, breathing the rich smells of a crisp autumn evening. He'd left the door open to let out some of the heat of his earlier bread-baking, and now, alone in the darkness, he wept freely as he listened to Wallas sing a lullaby to the young ones after the younger hobbit had blessed each of them with a kiss on the forehead and pulled the covers smooth and tucked them in, one at a time, against the chill of the middle night that would descend a few hours from now.
The wind walks wild o’er the darkling world;
‘Tis time to seek my resting place.
The trees their banners of leaves unfurled
Are waving their farewells.
I’ve wandered far from my familiar home
My hidey-hole where my true love waits.
Forgetting the reasons I e’er sought to roam,
No more will my straying feet lead me away...
When the song finished, Gorbyl wiped his face and took out his pipe. He had it going well by the time Wallas stepped outside and proceeded to fill and light his own pipe which Gorbyl had presented to him as a gift on the day he was well enough to get up from the bed.
Gorbyl drew on his pipe and said, 'The stars'll be bright this night.'
'O aye,' Wallas agreed. They smoked for a few moments in silence, and then he spoke again. 'Truth be told...'
'Aye?'
'Truth be told,' Wallas began again, 'I think I'd almost rather sing lullabies and tuck little'uns into their beds than sit about telling stories of rogue Men and their cruelties, no matter how clever we might've been dealing with them...'
***
'Now that's what I'd call a convivial evening,' Haldi said as he and Hilly settled to their beds in one of the guest rooms of the smial, for Bolham had insisted on putting them up here on the farm rather than sending them off to the inn in town. And likely to find the door tight-shut and the innkeeper abed by the time the last pint is hoisted and the last story told! the farmer had said. No, but we've beds a-plenty here, all made up fresh and likely to go wanting should you decide to try to find an inn in town that's still open after we've finished our singing and storytelling for the night...
'Convivial!' Hilly said. 'My but we're fancy this evening!'
'You must admit, these north-Tooks are the souls of hospitality,' Haldi countered. He put his hands behind his head on the pillow, splaying his elbows out comfortably as his brain absently formed constellations from the knots in the heavy beam running from wall to wall under the curved whitewashed ceiling. 'They know a thing or two about brewing, as well...'
'Are you planning on removing to the North-lands as Bandobras did before you?' Hilly asked acidly. Although he would not admit such a thing to anyone, riding past the bog that had claimed the life of his beloved older brother had left him deeply shaken. He still could not understand how Tolly could have blundered into the bog, though Hawfinch and some of the others had described a violent storm that had rolled through the area on the day Tolly had been expected to arrive at the farm. They'd conjectured that Tolly's pony had panicked at a too-close bolt of lightning, shied violently at a place where the road ran uncomfortably close to the treacherous ground and thrown his rider, and then bolted in the other direction, fleeing into the Wood in a vain attempt to escape the storm before, unluckily, being found by another spear of lightning thrown down from the clouds.
Truth be told, in trying to forget his grief for a time, Hilly had probably quaffed a few beers over his usual limit and expended more energy than his usual mien in his storytelling, as well as in his enthused responses to the stories told by the members of Bolham's band of rebels as they debated the best strategies for dealing with foes twice as tall as hobbits – and tenfold more evil, or more, from the grimmer parts of their recollections, which they tended to skim over in the telling.
Pippin had tried to put in a good word for the Men of his acquaintance, but the north-Tooks, though polite, had seemed to share the Tooks' scepticism in this matter at least. When the Thain had proposed a toast to the King, the response had been half-hearted at best.
At least everyone had drunk the toast. Eventually. Though for some, it had taken a stern look from The Red before they'd done the polite thing and lifted their glasses to echo the toast.
As it was, Hilly had some doubt as to whether all the north-Tooks gathered that night to welcome the visiting Tooks had actually swallowed any beer in toasting to the King, but at least they'd kept up appearances for their Captain's sake. He supposed that counted for something, though he wasn't sure just what.
In any event, after rubbing elbows with these north-Tooks and other Northlanders, he was convinced that they'd done their best by Tolibold, had searched diligently and thoroughly, not leaving a single stone unturned. When the Northerners had realised he was the missing Took's brother, they'd sobered briefly, and each had come up to him individually to express regret and condolences.
The Northlanders were solid folk, Hilly decided, and he'd be proud to call any one of them his comrade and not merely a distant cousin.
***