CHAPTER 3: The King's hostage

The Land of Númenor was at the seemed height of its glory. Great realms of Middle Earth, once subject to the captured Lord Zigur, were subject to Númenor now. In music and in poetry and in weapons of war, the Men of that land considered themselves without any equal. They made steel and copper of a fineness that no other nation (as they believed) could rival. Their ships sailed upon the slightest wind, and their architects made buildings and towers that rivalled those of Tol Eressëa. Yet the undercurrents of discontent seemed if anything to have become stronger of late, as men asked more often why they could not share the deathless glory of the elves. But still at that time these things seemed unimportant before the glory that was theirs.

In the palace of the King there was music, and light, and dancing, and laughter. In all of these the King shared, for it seemed to him that never had his heart been so full, nor his throne so glorious, or his stature so great as since he had returned from his triumph in Middle Earth; in some unaccountable way all things seemed more precious to him.

Ar-Pharazôn called for wine to be given to his guests, and again the musicians stuck up a dance tune, and he smiled to see his courtiers share his happiness. Yet one of his train, he noted, seemed not to share in the joy around him: Amandil of Roménna. It seemed often so lately; wherever he went Amandil spread discontent and ill feeling. Ar-Pharazôn had not noticed this before Zigur came to Númenor, though he supposed it must always have been so. While all others had rejoiced in the glory of Ar-Pharazôn 's glorious return from Middle earth, bringing as hostage its pretended Lord, Amandil had seemed malcontent. Again and again in Council he had spoken against the bringing of Zigur to Númenor, and Ar-Pharazôn was beginning to suspect that only jealousy led Amandil to speak against the bringing of Zigur as hostage to kneel in Númenor; Amandil must wish that he could humble so glorious a being. Although he never had done so before, Ar-Pharazôn had begun to distrust the council of Amandil, since it now seemed that Amandil wished he could himself have had the glories that Ar-Pharazôn had won.

And now, again, in the midst of his joy, Ar-Pharazôn saw Amandil approaching though the throngs of dancers. It annoyed him to see that Amandil had not partaken of wine, as the others had, nor had he sung or danced; again he came as if to a Council in the middle of Ar-Pharazôn 's well-earned pleasure.

'My Lord, my heart misgives me, and I must talk to you, ' said Amandil, bowing.

Ar-Pharazôn hid his annoyance, and listened.

'Sire, there was a time when you relied on me for council. At first it was for council on how to evade your mathematics and Quenya lessons, and your governesses' wishes to braid your hair, and later on matters of importance. In memory of that time, will you not think again on what I have said before? Will you not listen to my advice concerning the hostage that you brought from Middle Earth?' said Amandil, his voice low and anxious. 'We know that he was mighty there, and has powers, perhaps that we cannot know. I have told you that seems to me unwise to allow him to dwell in our land; he is still a King, and a rival, and it does not seem to me wise that you should forget it. What say you? Will you not at least give him less freedom to walk in Armenelos, speaking we know not what to your subjects?'

Ar-Pharazôn laughed. 'Powers, you say? Then why did he not use them to destroy me as I stripped him of his jewels, and had him thrown on his face to the dust? Have you not seen him come when summoned by me, and kneel when commanded? Does that seem the action of one who seeks to destroy me with his mighty powers?'

He allowed himself a moment to enjoy those memories before he continued. 'Why in the name of the Valar did his armies fly before mine, if his magics are so mighty; why did he allow himself to be led from the harbour to Armenelos in chains? Surely he would have raised his hand and destroyed me, as a child would destroy a troublesome fly?'

Amandil shook his head and his voice was urgent, 'Sire, that is why I council you not to trust in his seeming surrender. He is Maia, and mighty beyond our mortal might. If he acts like one defeated, then there must be a reason, and I do not think it is one that is for the benefit of Númenor.'

Now Ar-Pharazôn was becoming annoyed at the interruption of his pleasure, tired of the continued paranoia of his Councillor. 'Not to trust, you say? A seemed surrender? What, do you think his submission feigned?"

Amandil looked steadily into the eyes of his King. 'Sire, I do think so.'

Ar-Pharazôn laughed, and called for more wine, for it seemed to him that he knew how this could be answered. He called his page to him, and asked that his hostage be roused from sleep and requested to come before them.

In a short time, Zigur came as he was commanded. Ar-Pharazôn, still with his wine in hand, ordered that those present draw back to the walls of the chamber and watch, leaving all the floor of his Hall clear. Then with Amandil beside him, he ordered the Lord of Middle Earth to walk the length of that chamber, and kneel again before him and all the people there present and press his head to the floor.

And the royal hostage knelt, and spoke words of submission, and all in the hall were stunned to see one of that race with his light all but hidden, bowing before their King.

'What do you have to say now?' the King asked Amandil.

'What I said before,' Amandil replied, almost petulantly it seemed to Ar-Pharazôn, but before the King's anger could swell against Amandil, the one who knelt before them spoke.

'Nay,' Zigur said, and his voice seemed rich in its sound, and wise to hear, 'Do not chastise your Councillor simply because he no longer agrees with your policies as once he did. It may be it is only that he is unhappy that you make decisions without his counsel, which once you took, or it may be no more than that he fears that others may usurp his influence upon you. Surely it is not likely that his behaviour suggests he plots harm to you, his King?'

Ar-Pharazôn started at the thought, which had not before occurred to him. But now that it did, he wondered how he could have trusted one who spoke so often against him of late. He must watch Amandil, and those who supported his counsel, and be wary of all they said.

He smiled at Zigur, grateful that his words, carelessly uttered, had revealed to Ar-Pharazôn's wisdom a truth that Zigur himself did not suspect.

'Get up, Zigur,' he offered, graciously, anxious to prove to those around him that his prisoner posed no threat. 'Come, join us. Have some wine.'

'Sire, you are most kind. Would I be too bold if I asked leave to remain beside you and hear your talk, and perhaps understand more of your thought?' Zigur kept hi eyes downcast, and waited on Ar-Pharazôn's word.

Ar-Pharazôn stared. His Kingship was so great that even a Maia sought to learn from him. For the rest of the evening he talked mostly to his subject Lord, and was amazed that they had much in common and understood each other well. It pleased him almost as much that Amandil and his Elf-friend associates took themselves away when Zigur was with him. It occurred to him that both he and Zigur might profit from an exchange of their knowledge. And he realised the great profit that might come to Númenor from it.

oooooOOOOOOOooooo

Within a month, he was proved correct.

The Council meeting had been long and tedious. Amandil had had a great deal to say, much of it about Zigur or about the moral rights and wrongs of various actions, policies, attitudes. Councillor Vorondil had had even more to say, and that was if anything more tedious. Vorondil might have been young, but in Council he was like the worst of old men. He spent a good deal of time discussing the correct procedure, frequently objecting at length to minor points in the account of the last meeting that was given. On almost any issue, however inconsequential, he invariable had to bring into the debate something about the law, or previous events which might be of enlightening; he could debate for an hour on the rights and wrongs of hiring a musician for a court ball. And as ever, he had arrived with a scrap of paper on which he had written half a dozen points which Ar-Pharazôn had had no intention of raising, but which Vorondil felt were of the utmost importance to the Kingdom. One of these had concerned the making of cheese. When the Council was over, Ar-Pharazôn felt more than ever that it had provided no counsel at all.

The one genuinely important issue had been debated at length, and once more without result; the forges of the Númenoreans were standing idle, both in Middle Earth and on Andor itself, for want of iron, and the shipyards were standing idle for want of timber. The root cause of both was simple enough; supplies of wood, and hence of charcoal, were not sufficient to meet all the demands placed on them. For centuries, Middle Earth had been a source of timber for Númenor, but now it could no longer supply those needs. The reasons for this were many, and seemingly insurmountable. There was the increased demand stemming from Ar-Pharazôn's latest policies, there was the unfortunate fact so much deforestation had occurred in past decades that cutting and shipping timber was now possible only in areas far from water transport, and besides that because the Men who lived in those woods had become more than usually hostile were interfering with the supply, for reasons that no one could discern. Even more puzzlingly, there had recently been unprecedented raids on both shipping and on lumberjack camps by orcs; no-one could explain this change in the pattern of orc attacks, although it were many theories, all of which had been expressed at the Council many times and at great length.

But whatever pattern the prolonged arguing took, the outcome was, as always, that all sought to blame the King. The shipwrights and mariners blamed Ar-Pharazôn for the shortage of lumber; the military blamed him for want of bows and armour; the blacksmiths blamed him that they could earn no living for want of iron; the lumberjacks in the colonies of Middle Earth blamed him that he had failed to protect them, and if the unwelcome reports of Vorondil were to be believed, when winter drew on all the people of Númenor would be blaming him that they had no wood for their stoves, since the cutting of the little wood that remained on Númenor had been forbidden for centuries.

In stating these facts repeatedly and at length, and attempting to assign blame, the Council had stinted no effort. Unfortunately in finding a way to reduce the need for wood the Council had been singularly unhelpful (except for the bleating of Amandil about reducing military expenditure and avoiding war).

Ar-Pharazôn was in need of sympathetic company. Of late, he had often turned to Zigur for this, as the only person of status around him who was not involved in Númenorean politics, and above all as the only person who understood the burden and problems of Kingship. He did so tonight.

Zigur, as ever, was anxious to please him. He poured wine, and listened attentively to Ar-Pharazôn's account of the meeting. When that account was complete, he asked Ar-Pharazôn what he thought should be done.

'In truth, I do not know. I must press on with the armament of my nation, to spread its glory wider and to guard against the threat of others. I need ships for this purpose, and iron also. But the fact is, that the available wood will not suffice. If the Wild Men could be subdued, and the orcs eliminated ... but that would require more iron, more ships, more men... I cannot see any way that the ruin of my hopes can be avoided...' Ar-Pharazôn realised that he felt comfortable telling this to Zigur as he could never feel comfortable telling any of his squabbing Councillors.

'Perhaps if you could limit the use of wood to those purposes where it cannot be avoided, and find substitutes in other cases?' Zigur suggested.

''That has already been done. Coal can be used to provide heat for our homes, in spite of Vorondil's worries; I have ordered that the mines in the South of Númenor from which it comes increase their production as much as they can. They will provide some of the fuel for our domestic stoves, and for our Colonies in Middle Earth peat can be cut and burned, supplying that need to a limited degree. But it does not alter the fact that we cannot provide wood for the making charcoal to smelt iron, while still supplying our shipyards, building stockades at our Three Mile Posts along the roads of Middle Earth,, and providing fuel for the many men who now dwell there. And without sufficient ships, we cannot take coal to Middle Earth...' The whole vicious circle nature of the problem overwhelmed him, and he trailed off into silence.

'Then why not supply your colonists with coal mined in Middle Earth to use as fuel?' Zigur enquired.

Ar-Pharazôn was startled. 'I did not know that coal was to be found outside Númenor! Our folk traditions have taught that it is one of the gifts of this Land, provided by the Valar.'

Zigur laughed. 'I assure you that I have had coal mined in many of the lands of Middle Earth. There is coal in Rhudhor, and in the Ered Luin, and great amounts in the East. If the teachings of this land concerning the Valar's gift have led you to believe so, then they have deceived you.'

Ar-Pharazôn started at Zigur's words. That any might contradict the popular tradition of the gift of the Valar shocked him, yet he knew that Zigur had ruled over vast areas of Middle Earth, and that if coal were found there, he would know it. In the excitement of the revelation, he did not stop to consider that the popular tradition might not be the same thing as the words of the Valar themselves. He felt instead stunned that the Powers had chosen not to reveal this.

'Then I can import coal to the furnaces of my manufactories and the stoves of my people from Middle Earth?'

'Certainly. I myself would be happy to pay you tribute in such a form. If I do so, perhaps, in return, Sire, you might permit the removal of your garrisons from Mordor? After all, is not the tribute enough to show my loyalty, so that you no longer need to confirm it with the occupation of my Land?'

Ar-Pharazôn thrilled to hear that there was a partial solution to his problems. And better yet, of course it would be no longer necessary to keep, provision and fuel garrisons in Mordor, with all the problems of supply that that entailed; after all, its Lord would never have revealed this to him this militarily important secret if he intended harm to Númenor. Obviously further garrisoning was unnecessary.

Ar-Pharazôn signalled to Zigur to refill his glass. 'You improve my spirits immensely,' he said. 'There will be wood enough, I deem, for the shipwrights at least, although the smelters will still be short.'

Zigur raised his glass in answer to Ar-Pharazôn's. ' But you will have coal in plenty from Mordor; that can provide for your smelters, leaving all of your timber free for stockades and ships!'

'You think I am a fool!' Ar-Pharazôn declared, setting his glass down with an exclamation.' Iron cannot be smelted with coal; the iron produced is useless!'

'What did not the Valar, through Ëonwe, instruct their chosen Men in the making of coke either?' enquired Zigur. 'Then you are fortunate that I, a Maia taught by Aulë himself, am here to guide you. Coal can be made into a substance like to charcoal; all that is needed is to heat it strongly in the absence of air. I will show you how it is done. You will have no need of wood to produce iron.'

Ar-Pharazôn stared at him, astonished.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

I'm assuming here that Zigur is able, to some degree, to do the 'Voice of Saruman' trick, which I'm taking to be something any Maia in fair-seeming guise can do. Combined with his carefully playing on all Ar-Pharazon's weaknesses of character, of course.

The idea that Zigur taught the Numenoreans about coking coal is my own, but it is an idea based on a passage in the unfinished text 'The Lost Road' (HoME V), where Elendil tells his son: 'At first he revealed only secrets of craft, and taught the making of many things powerful and wonderful, and it seemed good.' I tried to think of something he might be able to tell them which was consistant with the level of technology the Numenoreans seemed to have.

The main weapon of the Numenoreans were steel bows, hence why a shortage of this raw material would have worried the very militaristic Ar-Pharazon.

Oh, and Tolkien invented this stuff, not me. I'm not making a profit.