Five riders sped eastward across the Westemnet on a fair spring day. All five were armed for war but only four wore tall helmets: the fifth wore a black cap on his head. At midday the small troop crossed the Entwade and turned north to the camp of the Éothéod. As they approached within bowshot of the gates they halted. The man in the black cap lifted a horn to his lips and blew a great blast that resounded through the camp. From behind the palisade a warrior hailed them in the Common Speech.
"Noble warriors, who and whence are you, and what is your errand with the Lord of the Mark decked out as if for war? Speak quickly lest we deem you enemies!"
The man in the black cap spoke: "We have traveled here from Tîr Balloch in the Middle Region, across the Angren. I am herald of Coiram, Lord of Fithcoll and Duke of Calenardhon, who has sent me to parley with your lord Brego, if he is willing to listen. Lead us to him swiftly, that we may know the sooner whether our journey has been in vain or not."
"No man may enter these gates against the will of the king. Wait a little while and I will find out what his will is concerning you." Saying this, the warrior leapt from the palisade and ran to the great pavilion where Brego sat at meat.
"What tumult is this, my son?" asked Hildebrand. "Has Herubrand finally tired of warring with his new bride and fled hither, where there is a surfeit of peace?"
The warrior smiled, but spoke only to the king. "My lord Brego, five armed riders from Dunland are at the gates. They say they are sent from Coiram of Fithcoll and would speak with you. What is your will?"
Gúthred spoke: "Fill them with arrows and send them back to Dunland."
The warrior said nothing, keeping his gaze fixed on the king.
"Let them enter and break bread with us," Brego said. "After that I will hear them."
The warrior hastened back to the gates and ascended the palisade. "The king bids you enter and share in his midday feast. After that he will hear you. Leave your weapons here at the gates and you may enter."
The Dunlending herald frowned. "You wish us to enter unarmed into a camp of enemy warriors?"
"Such is the custom among us," the warrior replied. "Does your lord Coiram allow men into his halls fitted for war, unless they are among his own household guard?"
"You speak truly," the herald responded. "And all who know my lord Coiram are assured that he will observe strictly the rules of hospitality, which a man may not breach without bringing great shame upon himself and his house."
"Our king is a man of honor," the warrior said. "Whatever quarrel there may be between our two peoples, he will not count it a worthy deed to seek occasion against five men who come to his table unarmed, bearing only words of peace."
"That we shall see," the herald said. "But whatever merits your lord may possess, I have less faith in the restraint of his men."
"They will not act against his will if I make it known to them," the warrior said. "But if they do, you have my word that I will defend your life and your men's lives with my sword as long as you are within these gates. I am Herulác Hildebrand's son."
At these words the Dunlending herald's eyes widened and he was silent for a moment before he spoke. "Noble warrior, you are only one man, and there are thousands in this camp. Nevertheless, if your actions are as fair as your words, you may lead us, unarmed, to your lord's presence."
"Open the gates!" Herulác commanded as he leapt from the palisade. "Heruwald! Heruwulf! Take the Dunlending warriors' spears and swords, and shields. Keep them safe, and let no man touch them until they are returned to their owners. That is my command. These men are the bidden guests of King Brego. Wait here while I take them to him, but be ready to come to my aid if I call you. I have given my word that they will leave this camp alive, unless I fall defending them."
The gates of the camp swung open and the Dunlending riders entered. They handed their long spears and black oval shields to the gate guards, then unclasped their sword belts and handed them over as well. Finally they dismounted and handed the reigns to the stable hands who waited ready to lead them away. The Dunlending herald took a hard look at Herulác. "I trust that I do not need to impress upon your mind the great wealth that I have committed to the care of your people."
Herulác gazed steadily back. "These men are all accountable to me, and I am accountable to the king." He glanced around at the gate guards and the stable hands. "If anything of yours is lost or harmed, it shall be restored tenfold. Those responsible will make the payment with all that they have. If that is not enough, I will pay with my own property. And if that is not enough, I will prevail upon the king to make up the difference."
"A generous offer," the herald said. "I hope for your sake that we will not have need to accept it. Now, lead us to your king."
As Herulác led the Dunlendings to the great pavilion, the men of the camp stopped to stare at them. The five men were clad in red tunics and white mantles. The four knights' mantles had two black stripes near the hem, but the herald's mantle had one red stripe between two black. While the knights were clad in mail shirts, the herald's only armor was a leather jerkin with iron studs. The five men were tall, as tall as any man of the Mark, but the herald was the tallest of the five. He had long, dark hair and clear gray eyes. The other four glanced aside at the onlookers, but he only stared straight ahead towards the great pavilion to which Herulác led them.
Herulác passed the two guards who stood one on either side of the entrance and stepped into the pavilion. Inside the great pavilion were two long tables at which eight dozen warriors sat at benches eating. A shorter table was set at the far end of the pavilion. Behind that table five men sat in gilded chairs. They were flanked by four guards, two on either side. Herulác led the Dunlending soldiers between the long tables to the far end of the pavilion. Most of the men at the benches stopped eating to stare at them as they passed. Brego sat in the center of the table at the far end of the pavilion. He wore a red mantle over a green tunic. His eyes were pale blue and his hair was silver and gold.
"Hail, warriors of Dunland!" he called out. "Welcome to the camp of the Éothéod on the Entwade!"
"Hail Brego, lord of the Riders!" answered the Dunlending herald. "Coiram, Lord of Fithcoll and Duke of Calenardhon, sends his greetings!"
As he finished, a murmur arose from the tables around him. Brego frowned. "It seems we have much to discuss yet, but we may do so later. You have traveled far and are no doubt hungry. Take a seat at one of these tables and eat your fill. Herulác, you may eat as well. Théodmund!"
A man arose from one of the benches.
"Have you finished eating?"
Théodmund nodded.
"Take charge of the watch."
Théodmund left, but the Dunlendings still stood. "We have not come here to share in the feasting or merriment of your people," the herald said, "but only to speak with you on behalf of our lord."
Brego stared coolly at him. "You have come into our camp as peaceful messengers, and we have permitted you to enter as such. Now, you may eat with us and then deliver your message, or you may leave now without having delivered your message."
The Dunlending herald glared back at the king for a moment, then walked over to a bench and sat down. The four knights followed him, and Herulác sat down next to them, on the end nearest the king.
On Brego's right hand, Gúthred looked over the five guests for a long while. He beckoned to one of the guards, who approached him, and the two men whispered briefly. Then the guard took his place again. Gúthred looked at the Dunlendings again with a smile.
At length the Dunlendings and Herulác stood up and left their bench with one accord.
"Lord Brego," the herald said, "I thank you for your generous hospitality, but I will not be delayed further."
"You have not introduced yourselves," Gúthred noted.
The herald glanced coolly at Gúthred, then back at the king. "We are men of Fithcoll in Tîr Balloch. I am herald of Coiram, Lord of Fithcoll, and have come to your camp at his command. Is that not enough?"
"No," said Gúthred. "You are more than a simple herald. That much is evident by your bearing alone. You are all dressed very finely and, if I am not mistaken, each of your guards is a warrior of great rank in your country. As for you, lord herald, you are a nobleman at least. What is your relation to Coiram?"
"I do not hide my rank," the herald said, "but my identity is no concern of yours. I am one whom my lord Coiram trusts with this task. That is all you need know."
"Perhaps you are Coiram himself," Gúthred mused, "or perhaps not. You must be someone important, at any rate. Guards, take these men away until we have decided whether they are of more worth to us ransomed or dead!"
The four guards advanced toward the Dunlendings. Wyrmtóth rang out as Herulác drew it from its scabbard.
In a loud voice Brego shouted: "Halt!"
The guards stopped.
"It would do you all well to remember who is king here and who is not. Guards, return to your places."
Brego looked towards Herulác. "Herulác, why have you drawn your sword?"
"I have given my word to these men that I would defend them from harm as long as they remain within this camp."
"A rash vow," Brego said. "Nevertheless, under the circumstances, it was perhaps a necessary assurance to make." He looked around the pavilion. "Hear this! Whoever these five men may be, they are free to leave this camp, unharmed and undespoiled, once they have said their part. Perhaps some day we may meet them on the field of battle, and things will be different; but I will not have them harmed while they are guests in my camp! That is my will."
Herulác returned Wyrmtóth to its scabbard.
Brego looked towards the Dunlending herald. "I am sorry for this breach of hospitality."
"Your hospitality has been no less than what we expected," the herald answered. "But we did not come here to enjoy your hospitality. My lord Coiram desires to know what you mean by coming here bearing arms, and settling your people on this land, which is commonly known as Calenardhon, and which you call the Mark."
"Now we come to the heart of the matter," Brego said. "We may also ask what you mean by bearing arms and settling your people in a land that was granted to the House of Eorl by Cirion, Steward of Gondor."
"Our people lived in this land long before the Men of the West set foot in the land they call Gondor."
"Perhaps," said Brego. "I do not challenge your knowledge of your own history. But did not your people once acknowledge the Kings of Gondor as your sovereign lords?"
"I have heard that we did once in the long-distant past," the herald answered. "But that alliance ended long ago, and we do not wish to renew it. Even should we wish to renew it, where now is the King of Gondor? There is only a man who claims to act on behalf of the king, yet dares not sit upon his throne."
"You may not acknowledge the Steward of Gondor," Brego said, "but Calenardhon belonged to Gondor, not to Dunland. It was the Steward's to dispose of according to his will."
"Gondor has had no effective presence in Calenardhon for many years," the herald countered. "Our people have lived here since there was a king in Gondor. Indeed, we lived here before we settled in Tîr Balloch, well before there was a king in Gondor.
"Nevertheless, Tîr Balloch is your country," Brego said. "Where your people once lived and where they have chosen to settle in recent years makes little difference. We have been granted Calenardhon by the Steward of Gondor, and it is now ours by right."
"The rulers of Gondor were fully aware of our settlements east of the Angren," the herald responded. "They permitted them because they knew that the Gondorian population of Calenardhon alone was too small to defend against attacks by invaders from the east."
"I had not heard that," said Brego. "Do you have a record of this agreement with a King or Steward of Gondor?"
The herald paused for a moment. "I am not aware of any record, but it is commonly known among our people."
"And it is commonly known among our people," said Brego, "that when my father was twenty-five years of age, the Éothéod rode out of the north to defeat the Balchoth and the Orcs, who had trapped the armies of Gondor on the Field of Celebrant. Where were the warriors of Dunland in that battle? In that same year Cirion, Steward of Gondor, stood upon the Halifirien and swore an oath to the One, granting the land of Calenardhon to my father. Nevertheless, if you wish for a record of that event, I will send a small detachment of riders to accompany you to Mundburg, where such records are kept."
"I care not what oath Cirion made," the herald said. "Our land was not his to give. Nevertheless, it seems that your people have grown roots in this land. My lord Coiram is prepared to permit you to keep your settlements in eastern Calenardhon on the following conditions: that all your people remove to the east of the Onodló, which you call the Entwash, to the south of the stream you call Snowbourn, and to the east of a line from the peak of the mountain you call Irensaga north to the Snowbourn; and that your people never cross these borders bearing arms or to settle."
"Your lord would have me abandon my capital and the grave of my father?" Brego demanded.
"You do not reside in the place you call your capital," the Dunlending herald responded. "As for your father's grave, my people do not disturb the dead. Nevertheless, if you mistrust us, you may remove your father's body and possessions to Aldburg, where he ought to have been buried in the first place. These are the terms of peace which my lord Coiram offers to you and your people."
Brego laughed. "I hope it did not cost your lord Coiram very much discomfort to extend such a generous offer to this people—a blight on his otherwise grand and glorious dukedom. Nevertheless, Cirion granted to my father the whole of Calenardhon, and its borders are well known: it is bounded on the west by the rivers Adorn and Angren, as it is commonly known, but which we call the Isen. Now, if you are willing to hear me, I have an offer of my own to make: your people may stay on the lands they have settled east of the Isen, but they must surrender their arms to the Éothéod or, if they wish to remain free men, they must swear allegiance to me as their sovereign lord. Otherwise, they should leave their settlements and cross the Isen with as much haste as is seemly."
"I have no authority to accept your terms," the herald said, "even had I the desire to do so."
"Your lord gives you authority to declare terms, but not to accept them?" Brego asked. "It seems to me that this was not so much a parley as a threat."
"Had you been less stubborn," the herald said, "it would have been more of a parley."
"I will not agree to your lord's terms," Brego said, "and you have neither the authority nor the desire to agree to mine. What is there left to negotiate?"
"There is nothing left," the herald said. "I have said all that my lord Coiram has granted me authority to say. My task is complete, and now we shall take our leave. Or do you wish to detain us further?"
"You may leave as soon as seems best to you," said Brego.
The herald nodded. "Farewell, lord of the Riders!"
"Farewell, warriors of Dunland!" answered Brego.
The Dunlending warriors turned and followed Herulác out of the pavilion and back to the gates.
"How did it fare?" asked Heruwulf.
"Not well," answered Herulác. "And yet, not as ill as it could have fared."
The Dunlendings mounted their horses as soon as the stable hands had brought them out to the gates, and then the gate guards returned their swords, shields, and spears. The five warriors rode out through the gates, but as they did so Herulác called out: "Farewell, noble warriors of Dunland!"
The herald paused and looked back. "Farewell, Herulác Hildebrand's son!" he said. "May we two never meet in battle." The Dunlendings spurred their horses on southward, wheeled right to cross the Entwade, then broke into a gallop as they sped across the Westemnet.