WHISPERS OF THE RING
Brought Up Short
Farmer Ghead’s voice could be heard clearly even from the rear of the small cottage as Sam and Frodo slipped their way into the small herb garden the widow kept. “I’ve no patience for your outsider rubbish, widow woman! Hand over the Little Folk for punishment and I’ll be on my way.”
With a great gnawing of lip, Frodo tugged lightly on Sam’s cloak and bid him with a jerk of the chin to follow him along the back of the cottage to peer round the side wall. Hardy broad-leafed mint released its cool fragrance into the early morning air as hobbit feet trampled their dew-flecked leaves.
“I’ll not be giving you what I don’t have, Farmer Ghead. I’ve no guests in my home, and even if I did I wouldn’t turn them over to the likes of you! Your senses are addled with fermented honey and I would advise you to leave me in peace.” Suddenly they heard the sharp sound of flesh slapping against flesh and a shrill woman’s cry cut the early morning air.
Without thought, Frodo sprang forward, leaping the small fence that held the herb garden in check and rounded the side of the house; Sam following close behind him. The widow was leaning heavily against the doorframe, her upswept hair knocked loose and a large red mark upon her unscarred cheek. Though unshed tears glimmered in her eyes, Frodo was heartened to see bright anger dancing there as well.
“For Honor!” Frodo cried out as he gave a mighty kick to the farmer’s shin. As the farmer stooped to clutch his leg, Sam, being of greater mass and strength than Frodo, shoved the farmer’s shoulders hard and tipped him on his bottom.
“Take that! How dare you strike a lady,” Sam chastened him with a shake of his finger then clenched his fists in front of him, ready to brawl. “I’ll have you if you try to stand!”
Red spots stood out on the farmer’s cheeks to match his great, red nose. Embarrassment warred with anger as he spluttered and choked on his words. “I knew it! No good comes of Little Folk! I’ll feed you two to my pigs for stealing my corn!”
Frodo and Sam exchanged looks. “We took no corn, farmer. Indeed, we toiled for the widow in her garden and her home yesterday afternoon and into the evening.”
“But snuck into my fields to snitch my corn and molest my daughter under the cover of darkness!” Ghead made as if to rise, but the snapping fire in Sam’s brown eyes gave him pause. When on his bottom in the dirt, the Little Folk looked more threatening than when he stood.
“Hattie Worstberry can vouch for them as well,” the widow put in. “She came by to speak with me yester eve as my lads were preparing a fine supper. After supper we all stayed in and slept, like decent folk do when night falls. You are mistaken and trespassing, Farmer Ghead.”
“I’ll not be put off by treacherous attacks and false words, widow!” Ghead started to rise and had his ears boxed by Sam. He glared balefully at Sam and Frodo. “These two look identical to the two that lazed in my field instead of working, and when I refused them payment for their unfinished work they came back and robbed me! Short they were, with mops of curls on their head and feet; they had queer little faces and funny trousers that stop before they cover the leg—exactly like these two! So don’t you tell me my eyes aren’t seeing what my mind plainly knows to be the two fellows that I hired yesterday!”
“We’re not either!” Sam protested loudly. Of course he knew exactly whom the farmer was speaking of. Those two going to get it from Mr. Frodo when they met up with them again! Merry was bad enough, disobeying Mr. Frodo’s orders when he specifically told them to honestly earn supplies, but to corrupt Pippin too? Pippin wasn’t even in his tweens yet, and eighteen was far too young to be teaming up with the likes of Meriadoc Brandybuck!
“I am sorry, sir,” Frodo spoke firmly and clearly and stood with his arms crossed on his chest, “But you are mistaken. However, I am rather curious why you would not pay for labor performed, even when it was only halfway done; for wasn’t some work done for you and should require some form of payment?”
“I don’t pay for unfinished tasks! Theft is theft!” With those words, Farmer Ghead suddenly lurched to his feet and grabbed Sam by his shirtfront.
“Sam!” Frodo cried.
“Master Gamgee!” the widow echoed.
Sam found himself nose to whiskers with the angry farmer. “Now my little boxer,” Ghead began, “Let’s see how brave you are when there’s no trickery to help you!” Sam gagged as the farmer’s breath washed over his face. He was certain the smell of sour honey would cling to him for the better part of the day.
“Do as you please, farmer, for the Gamgees of the Shire are tough as leather; and if you knock me down I shall be well pleased that I stopped your fist from striking a body in my care.”
Frodo felt his heart leap to this throat. His Sam, so noble, so brave and so foolish! Well, they say, fools keep like company. Quick as a snake he leapt on the farmer’s leg and bit the soft flesh behind his knee.
With a great roar Sam was flung at the ground and large hands reached around to twist fingers in Frodo’s hair. Tears leapt to Frodo’s eyes as his hair was yanked but he kept his teeth firmly clamped in place. Sam recovered his feet quickly and cried out when he saw Frodo’s situation.
“Mr. Frodo!” Sam threw himself at Ghead catching the taller man in his midsection and sent him tumbling backwards over Frodo. Immediately the halflings were on the taller man, trying to pin his arms so he could not stand. Frodo sat on one arm and pressed on the farmer’s forehead with a hand. A body couldn’t rise if a head didn’t.
Finally, the three stopped struggling and the sound of their heavy breathing was heard loudly in their ears.
“That ought to learn you, Farmer Ghead.” The widow was gesturing to a strapping young man across the lane, bidding him to come and assist her guests. “You ought not judge a person by their appearance; you might come up short in the measure. Here now, Glensward, help us with this drunken fool. He’s gone and attacked my guests!”
"And yourself it appears, Widow." Glensward said by way of greeting. Glensward, son of the local smithy and quite stout of chest and lank of limbs, bid the hobbits release their captive and with a powerful shrug of his shoulder he raised the embarrassed Ghead to his feet. Ghead would have bolted then if it were not for the powerful grip on his shirt. “Here now, Ghead. What’s got you bothering women and children?”
Sam bristled at the remark but Frodo laid a hand against his arm and gentled him. “Hush, Sam. We’ve had enough anger today.”
“They aren’t children!” Farmer Ghead protested, “They’re wild creatures and thieves in the night! They tried to cripple me and…”
A sudden stillness overcame the group gathered on the widow’s walk. The hobbits cocked their heads and looked around with fearful eyes, for though they could hear nothing odd, ancient instincts warned them of danger. Glensward released his grip and instead of running, Ghead even stood trembling quiet as he tested the air for danger.
The deep thrum of a drum rolled through the town, “Doom- doom –doom.”
The widow gave a cry and slumped against the doorframe as if overcome by weakness. Frodo was at her side a moment later. “What is it? What drains you so?” And even as the words left his lips Frodo felt a chill as though he had dipped in the waters of the river Brandywine; from their long talk Frodo knew of only one thing that the widow feared even still to this day.
“Orcish war drums,” she whispered hoarsely. With a sudden fire to her eyes she stood suddenly and her voice was clear. “ALARM! We must spread an alarm! Orcs are invading!”
Like a shot Glensward’s long legs took him over the small gate at into the lane. “TO ARMS! TO ARMS! ALARM!” He cried at the top of his lungs, rousing villagers who had just begun to start their day. Sleep clothed folk came to their doors to see what the commotion was, and a few dodged back into their homes in alarm when they understood Glensward’s words.
Ghead took off like a shot with a cry of, “Aidline!”
The drums were all around now and were so quickly being sound that it seemed they were unstoppable thunder. “You must flee!” The widow cried at Frodo and Sam who were standing as if rooted. “This is not your fight!”
“Flee?” Frodo asked incredulously. “But we cannot abandon you to death!” Sam nodded in agreement though he was shaking with fear.
“I had died many years ago with my husband and children. This is simply the day of my release.” She knelt before Frodo and Sam and kissed each of their foreheads. “Think not a moment longer for me. Save yourselves for I will not be responsible for your deaths!” And with those words she pushed them away and shut herself in her humble cottage.
For a brief moment Frodo stared at the door then he turned and took Sam’s hand in his own. “Come, Sam! We must fly!”
“But what about…?”
“No, Sam. Hood up and light of foot; our best chance lies in our stealth.” Frodo pulled Sam with him and together they leapt the low fence of the herb garden and ran, unmindful of the foliage, through the herbs making for the dark forest that surrounded the village.
Behind them they could hear a clashing of steel on steel and ahead of them they heard the thrashing of underbrush and clinking of armor. The village was surrounded; and there was no path for them to fly.
{ here ends book one of Whispers, the Ring departs Gondor. }