11If Bree had more than its usual quota of tall dark weather-beaten strangers arriving over the next few days, most people had sense enough to make no comment. And said strangers had sense enough to stay in the background.
Berilac left with the cart under some protest. It was not until Merry pointed out that if they did not return within the next few days their family and friends would begin to worry, that Beri finally capitulated. Although he would have preferred his cousin to travel with him Merry assured him that other rangers would be watching over the road until Beri was safely within the borders of the Shire.
For his part, Merry stayed to help organise Bree's new militia. Barliman called a town meeting at the Prancing Pony and, much to Barli's relief, Bill Thistle was elected to lead it. It turned out that, unlike Barliman, Bill Thistle had a knack for organisation and within days a rota of patrols was drawn up and a room was set aside at the Prancing Pony for their headquarters. Bert and Mungo were released, on the understanding that they were under the eyes of both rangers and militia, although now that their plot had been exposed they turned into model citizens.
As for Ferdi Greenlock . . . they left him to the not so tender mercies of Molly Greenlock and if he had a black eye next time he was seen about town nobody commented, least of all the militia. Molly let it be known that she would be in charge of the market in future and she also ensured that Ferdi crossed the threshold of neither inn ever again. In that Merry felt a little sorry for him but he had learned long ago to stay out of any business between husband and wife.
Two mornings per week, between second breakfast and luncheon, the Prancing Pony was closed to all but the militia. Tables and benches were cleared aside and Dalmad and Merry drilled their new recruits in the use of arms . . . whatever those may be. Merry developed a keen appreciation of Dalmad's skill at turning household items into weapons and filed the knowledge away for use when he returned to the Shire. Who knew a teaspoon could cause such injuries?
Barliman was correct when he said that Bree and its surrounding villages were relatively crime free but the introduction of the militia seemed to bring a new sense of pride and within weeks lanes were swept, windows sparkled and doors were painted. The close knit community seemed to grow closer still and there was more laughter in the air.
Over the next three weeks Merry almost forgot the reason for creating the militia as he became deeply involved in training and organising. So it was a dash of cold water when little Tom Underhill came panting into the Pony early one evening and ran up to Merry's table. "They're here."
Taking Tom's arm Merry hustled him into the militia room where Dalmad was on duty. As was his wont, the ranger wasted no time when he saw the faces of the two hobbits.
"Where are they and how many?" He handed Tom a cup of water and sat him down to catch his breath.
"I didn't see them but Mungo sent a message through one of his bar lads. He says there's ten come to the inn but from what one of them said there may be more outside the hedge," Tom replied after he had taken a few deep breaths and a gulp of water.
Even as he finished speaking Herdabrand and four other rangers entered the room and began checking their weapons. "I watched them arrive but I don't think they saw us. We left as soon as we saw them settled in. They're definitely Haradrim. I saw the tribal tattoos on the arm of one although he tried to hide them." Herdabrand turned to address two Merry had not seen before. "Calmador, Limnir . . . check beyond the fence for the location of the rest. I suspect they will have arrived expecting trouble. They must know that Appledore could not raise the funds they demanded in the time they allowed him. I suspect it was a ruse to gain control of the town via the Carrot all along."
Merry blinked. Herdabrand had not spoken to him of this or, from the expressions on the faces of all but a couple, to his own folk. It was a credit to his leadership skills that the men did not question, only left to carry out his orders.
Merry was not one of his men, however. "Wait a minute. When did you decide this and why didn't you tell us sooner? Do we have enough militia to make a fight of it? These are simple townsfolk and they haven't exactly had much time to train for a pitched battle."
Herdabrand smiled grimly. "Neither had your Shire folk when they rose up against the ruffians. Mungo Appledore was set up as a front for their arrival in Bree. They always intended to force him out so that they could gain a foothold from which to insinuate themselves into the community. As a market town at the junction of two main roads Bree was ripe for the picking." He settled his mail coat more comfortably. "I apologise for keeping you in the dark but this is a small town and in my experience small towns are prone to gossip. Add beer to that and what is secret one day is public knowledge the next. I have no doubt that our Haradrim friends have been spying out the land for some days, which is why I hid my other men in the Chetwood." Buckling on his sword he turned to nod at another ranger who followed the first two out of the door. "Gilderon will take word to them and, if all goes to plan, we and your militia shall only have to deal with those within the gates."
Bill Thistle chose that moment to arrive, followed by a small group of men and hobbits, all armed with implements that ranged from swords to pitchforks and kitchen knives. Within minutes the small room was filled almost to the rafters and Bill had to rap upon a table to make himself heard over the hubbub. The three remaining rangers took up positions behind Bill as the chatter died down. Merry noticed that Bill's hand was trembling below the level of the table but his voice was strong and clear.
"Now lads. I know most of you don't know what this is about but this is where we earn our stripes. There's some bad folks tryin' to take over our town and we're not goin' to let 'em."
As he drew breath one of the hobbits, who seemed to be using a jam pan lid for a shield and carried a hammer and a firewood axe in his belt, spoke up. "Where've they come from and why are they here?"
It seemed that Bill had been included in Herdabrand's little circle of people in the know but now Bill turned nervously and Herdabrand took a step forward, although still one step behind the militia leader. "The return of the High King has brought much stability but there are some who still seek to create their own little kingdoms. The rule of law does not come about overnight and will not come at all unless the common people rise up to support it. Bree is no longer the cosy little backwater it once was and some see its position at the crossroads as a good place to impose tolls and control movement in the whole of Eriador and Arnor. Your market would bring them even more money by way of taxes."
Many eyebrows rose and the several conversations broke out regarding the legality of taxes. Herdabrand stepped back and Bill Thistle rapped upon the table once more.
"We're not goin' to let this happen. This is our town and we like it fine the way it is. We showed a load of ruffians the gate once before; though there weren't near as many of them. If the Shire can do this so can we and if we all keep our heads we can put these strangers to rights. Now I know some of you weren't expectin' to fight so soon so if you don't have the stomach for it I'll understand. All I ask is that you stay here until all is settled. We don't want word to get out accidental like. At the moment everyone thinks it's another drill and we'd like to keep it that way."
Bill straightened. "So let's have a show of hands. Who's comin' with me to show these ruffians the other side of the gate?"
It was difficult to tell in such a packed room but it looked to Merry as though every hand went up.
-o-
Bill and Herdabrand consulted for some minutes then the militia was divided into smaller groups, with instructions to wait in the shadows and lanes about the Mucky Carrot until Bill gave the signal to enter. Much discussion was had about who should go in to pass the signal that all the southerners were in the common room. In the end, despite his relatively tall height for a hobbit, it was decided that Merry would be the least threatening to such men. He was also the best experienced to make a fight of it if he had to, even though he would have to leave shield and helm outside. His sword he managed to conceal beneath his cloak.
Merry left with Dalmad's party and was gratified to see that the militia room was now empty. It seemed Bree housed some stout hearted folk. As his group crept down to the west gate he spotted several militia waiting silently in the shadows, grim faced but determined. At the corner Dalmad squeezed Merry's shoulder once before slipping away to blend with the shadows of a nearby doorway. Merry took several deep breaths as he resettled his cloak to hide the line of his sword, fixed on a smile and, with a silent prayer to whichever Valar protected reckless hobbits, pushed open the door.
The Mucky Carrot was not as big as the Prancing Pony but its common room was a decent size and at present contained only a dozen patrons, all men. They were scattered about the room in two's and three's and looked to be travellers although whether they were the southerners he sought Merry could not tell at first glance. He strolled up to the bar and ordered a half.
Mungo was serving and Merry noticed his hand shaking as he set down the mug. When Mungo glanced to a far corner Merry turned casually to survey the room, as though seeking out companions. At a table in the indicated corner sat three tall men, dark of hair and face. Now that he looked more carefully he could see familiarities to those he had seen held as captives in Ithilien after the great battle. He turned back to the bar.
"A quiet evenin', Mungo."
Mungo cleared his throat nervously and made a half hearted attempt to wipe the bar top. "Aye, little master. No doubt it'll get busy later. Most folks are still eatin' their supper."
Merry's grin widened. "Had mine early tonight. I hankered for a good cup of beer or two before bed." He took another large gulp and decided that, whilst palatable, it still wasn't up to snuff. It was potent though and he decided to slow down his consumption. It would not do to be run through because he was in his cups.
Mungo busied himself setting up a large tray with bread, cheese and pickles. From the number of plates it seemed he was serving a party of ten and Merry guessed this was his quarry. If he waited for Mungo to deliver the tray the enemy would hopefully be distracted by their food when the militia made its move. Any advantage for the poorly armed Breelanders would be helpful. He continued to sip at his mug more southerners entered, coming down the stairs from the upper floors one or two at a time, and settling at the long table in the corner. Merry noticed that all wore swords and settled on stools rather than on benches; all the better to rise quickly. From their erect bearing and battered scabbards it was clear these were men much used to swordplay and Merry worried anew for his companions.
When Mungo had delivered jugs of beer and the tray of food Merry set down his half full mug, handed over some coins and bid a trembling Mungo a very pleasant goodnight. Mungo's fear was contagious and he found it difficult to resist the urge to race for the door, hoping that his saunter was convincing. Once outside he let out a long breath before darting across the empty road to joining Dalmad in the shadows.
To his credit Dalmad allowed him a moment to recover before pressing for information. "Are they all within?"
"Yes. There are ten, as Tom reported. They're all eating at present, sitting in the farthest corner from the door." He glanced pointedly at a hobbit wielding nothing but a hammer, in the shadows to their left. "They're well armed and look to know how to use those weapons. There are also a few more men who do not look to be with them. I do not know which side they will come down on in a fight."
"Let us hope they come down on ours or at the least, stay out of our way," Dalmad replied firmly. Then he slipped into an alleyway to their right, with Merry in tow. There, Bill Thistle was waiting and Merry made his report again. Bill nodded once before producing and ancient and rather battered hunting horn. "Ready?" He did not wait for their reply before drawing his rusty sword and putting horn to lips. Three quick blasts and the area about the Mucky Carrot burst into action.
Merry followed Dalmad and Bill Thistle through the front door and into the common room, followed by an assortment of hobbits and men. They were met, half way across the room, by the ten Haradrim, their long and wickedly sharp swords drawn. Somewhere on the periphery of his world Merry was aware of another group of militia, under the supervision of Herdabrand, rushing in from the kitchen. Then he was too busy staying alive to notice much beyond the few feet of space around him.
At first it was a very uneven match, with all the best weapons and most of the skill on the Haradrim's side. But after a while numbers began to tell. A small group of hobbits began to work as a team to harass one villain and, in a moment of distraction little Tom Underhill leapt forward to bury a pitchfork in the big man's belly. He fell, taking Tom with him in a tangle of arms and legs.
Merry had no time to help as Bill Thistle's rusty old sword broke on its first encounter with an enemy blade and it was only Dalmad's swift intervention that saved Bill from becoming Bree's next victim. Merry stabbed at the Haradrim's arm while Bill commandeered the pitchfork and, with a wild roar that Merry would not have thought the kindly baker capable of, thrust it up to its wooden shaft in the man's chest. For a while Merry teamed up with a battered but functioning Tom Underhill and two more hobbits to overcome another Haradrim and, when he was disarmed and down, moved on to shadow Bill Thistle once more.
How long they fought Merry would never know but gradually he became aware that there were more Breelanders fighting than Haradrim and eventually the two remaining were ringed by the assorted rangers, hobbits and men of Bree's militia. With a final glance at each other both dropped their swords and raised their hands above their heads in surrender. Dalmad and Herdabrand stepped in at once to tie hands behind their backs and force them to their knees.
Hearing shouts outside Merry ran to the door. He opened it in time to see the West Gate open to admit at least a dozen rangers escorting an equal amount of southerners. From the amount of makeshift bandages on their captives it was very clear that the rangers had given short shrift to these Haradrim. Merry stepped aside to allow them to enter and soon the common room of the Mucky Carrot held more bodies than it had ever seen at one time since the day it opened.
No militia were killed and only two Haradrim. The rest were herded to one end of the room and Herdabrand moved among them, pushing up left shirt sleeves, revealing tattoos on each exposed arm. For the most part the tattoo was a snake but Merry spotted some strange insect drawn on others.
When he had examined all Herdabrand joined the Breelanders and rangers. "Most are of the Cobra clan, with one or two Scorpion clan," he reported.
"What's a clan?" asked Bill, and one or two of the militia moved closer to hear the answer.
"It's a large extended family." Dalmad nodded toward Merry. "Rather like the Brandybucks, although clan's are much more important among the Haradrim. When a clan leader makes any decision he expects the rest of the clan to follow him, without question."
"Aye," Herdabrand added. "And the Ellessar has been experiencing some difficulties with the Cobra clan. All Haradrim were pardoned after the war but it seems some clans have seen that as a sign of weakness on his part."
Merry sheathed his sword. "Well, I think they're going to find out differently when he hears about this."
Herdabrand smiled. "Yes, indeed, Master Brandybuck."
For their part, the prisoners were beginning to look a little worried. Finally, one of those who had been staying at the inn spoke up. "What will you do with us? Your king has given us leave to enter your land if we wish. He will not be pleased that you have attacked us."
Before Herdabrand could speak Bill stepped forward. "The King may give you leave to travel but we Breelanders don't take kindly to folk who try to take over our town, and we like it even less when they start messin' with our beer!"
At his last comment Merry noted Dalmad and several of the rangers hiding smiles. No doubt tainting beer was of little concern to them. Merry was with Bill on this occasion, however. Tainting beer was downright evil.
"The Ellessar demanded a parole of good honour from your clan chiefs. You have broken that parole by your intention to break the King's peace and defraud the innkeeper." Herdabrand stated firmly before adding hurriedly, "As well as the matter of the beer."
The Haradrim snorted. "The beer was none of our doing. We cannot be held responsible for the actions of that innkeeper." Here he nodded disdainfully at Mungo Appledore who was keeping a safe distance from them behind his bar. Merry noted that the remainder of his customers had joined him there, staring wide eyed at the proceedings.
Herdabrand was having none of it, however. "You did not take the action but you were indirectly responsible for it."
Merry could keep silent no longer. "And your accomplice chose the wrong inn to target. The Ellessar is very fond of the Prancing Pony and will take it very personally that you have caused Barliman Butterbur any distress."
The leader looked to Herdabrand for confirmation of this strange statement and shuffled a little uncomfortably when the ranger leader nodded. "Enough talk for tonight. Master Appledore I am commandeering your hostelry as a lockup for the night. Tomorrow we will transport these men to Fornost Erain, where we have more suitable accommodations for them. From there we will send word to the King requesting advice on their future disposition."
Mungo could hardly say, "No" under the circumstances. "But you'll be staying the night with them?" he asked nervously.
"We shall. You and your legitimate customers will be safe. What the King will have to say with regard to your actions I do not know but for the moment I will not take you into custody." Herdabrand regarded the Bree militia. "As for you, gentlemen, I am most grateful for your assistance in this matter, and shall be certain to tell the Ellessar of your part in the apprehension of these enemies of the Kingdom. My men and I will take responsibility for them now and I suggest you all return to your homes to let your families know that all is safe."
-o-
"Well I never," commented Barliman Butterbur some months later. "That Strider as was has shown up trumps that's for sure. The Bree Militia is made official representative of the King in Breeland with a special badge and everythin'." He pointed to a new painted sign above the bar declaring the Prancing Pony to be the official headquarters of "The Kings Bree Militia".
Merry took a long draught of his pint of Barliman's Best Blessed Beer then perused the letter the innkeeper had laid before him. "I see he's pardoned Mungo Appledore."
Barli nodded. "He learned his lesson and who's to say any of us wouldn't have done what he did in the same spot? He says his missus and children will be comin' up to live here soon. I don't hold no grudge and he's welcome to what trade he can honestly get."
"He looked to be doing well out of the market today," Merry observed.
"He does well enough, although he aint come out totally free." Barli tapped the letter with its appended royal seal. "The King has instructed that the loan he was going repay those men is to go to the militia. They have to give it out to any Bree folk with a need."
"So I heard, from Molly Greenlock today. She's been one of the first recipients of the money I understand."
"She has that. And good luck to her. It weren't none of her fault that drunken sot of a husband of hers up and dropped dead when he heard the news about them Hardimen. I shouldn't speak ill of the dead you may say, but she's better off without him. That market aint never been run better now she's got a free hand," Butterbur affirmed.
"Haradrim," Merry corrected absently as he savoured another mouthful of Barli's best. "I must say that she seemed to know what she was doing and even saved me a pitch right at the front by way of apology for our treatment on the last visit. We did very well again and the Master of Brandy Hall has asked Berilac and me to make this a regular event in future. We've plenty of things other than pipeweed to trade."
"Well, now that's good to hear. Tis long past time Bree and the Shire got re-acquainted. Although Molly says she's goin' to change the pitches about regular so that everyone gets a crack at the best ones. So I'm afraid I can't slip her a few pennies to get you at the front next time."
Berilac chuckled. "We don't mind, Barli. As long as everyone gets a fair turn we can't ask for more."
Barliman sighed. "Things change it seems, however much we don't want 'em to."
"Well, I'm pleased to say that Barliman's Best Blessed Beer isn't one of them," Merry replied with a grin as he held up his empty pot for a refill.
END
8
