The great wooden gate of Sarn Esgar swung closed behind them.
"You made it just in time, gentlemen. I was ready to close up for the evening," said the gate-keeper.
"Thank you sir," said Éothain. "We saw you hold the gate while we rode across the plain."
"My thanks also," Elfhelm added. "Tell me, have you perchance had any other Riders of the Mark pass through?"
The man gave a deep chuckle. "Ah, in the market yesterday afternoon. Now there was a fine to-do. Nearly ended with both of them in the stocks!"
"Both of them?" Elfhelm was not sure he wanted to know about this, but he knew he needed to.
"Ah, you'd best talk to the landlord of the Mountain Eagle and his good lady. It all unfolded next to his lady's vegetable stall. And better still, the Mountain Eagle serves the best beer in Anorien, and the stables are well kept, and the beds have no bugs. Reasonable rates too…"
"And the landlord is?" Éothain looked down at the gate-keeper.
"My brother, aye! No flies on you, my lord. But it is as clean and hospitable as I've said, for all I get a wee bit of commission."
Ten minutes later, the party of riders was seated at a freshly scrubbed table, eating mutton pie and bread. The inn did indeed seem to be clean, the food as good as promised, and the beer served by a very pretty barmaid. But it wasn't the pretty barmaid who arrived with the next tray of tankards; instead it was a plump woman with dimples and greying hair.
"My man's brother says you want to know about the to-do yesterday."
"Yes, mistress. Here, have my seat and I'll sit on the bench here." Elfhelm shoved Éothain's shoulder and the younger man and the riders next to him shuffled up to make room.
"Well, I was tending my stall. No fresh stuff, mind, not this time of year. But a few roots from the root cellar and some jars of pickles and sauerkraut. It's a little bit of a side line to make up for us not doing so much business this time of year. Not many men as want to travel in this snow."
Elfhelm felt Éothain shift at his elbow, and laid a warning hand on his forearm. The younger man needed to learn patience. Always let a witness tell the tale in her own time. He nudged her along.
"I like a nice bit of sauerkraut, mistress. Our cook makes some fine jars of it every year to see us through the winter."
The woman beamed, and signalled to the pretty young barmaid. "Bring us a jar of sauerkraut from the pantry – these gentlemen would like some to go with their pies."
"That's very kind of you, mistress. Now about yesterday…"
"Aye, well there was this travelling man set up on a bench next to my stall. Had a little fold out wooden table and three cups. You know the score."
"I do indeed," said Éothain. "Learnt that the hard way when a travelling rogue dunned me out of a week's pay with the three cups. I was fifteen, newly getting the King's coin, and daft as a brush."
"Well, this has been a hard winter and there were a few desperate enough to try to double their stake because they thought they could watch closely enough to win. He'd taken a few coins, a pair of fine gold earrings, and was just about to wager for a young man's wedding bands – his and his wife's. Said he needed the coins to buy a jug of goat's milk for the bairn – I know his wife, she sometimes cleans the rooms for me. Well, she's been ill and her milk all dried up from the fever. So I can see why the young man was desperate. Then I noticed your rider, just watching – skinny lad, long blond braid, sword at his side."
"Sounds about right."
"Aye, and a bit of a kink in his left arm, like it'd been broken and not healed quite right."
Elfhelm gave an involuntary shiver, and said, "Yes, that would definitely be him."
"So the young man lost both the wedding bands, as I could have told him he would. He looked fit to burst into tears, poor lad. So the rider comes sauntering over, and puts a ring on the table – mighty fine one too, gold, set with what looked like a real ruby."
Elfhelm's eyebrows rose at this. The ring was indeed Éowyn's – her betrothal ring, no less, an heirloom of the House of Hurin. Surely she wouldn't have put that at risk on a game she must have known was fixed.
"Well you might give me that look. Anyone with any sense knows the man will have been palming the stuff and there's no point in playing. The rogue makes a big deal of shuffling the cups once, picking them up to show that it's still there, twice, same thing, then says 'Now we do it for real.' And he shuffles them round real quick. And the rider points to one, and he lifts it and there's nothing there.
"Then, faster than the eye can see, the rider has his sword out and flips over the other two cups – nothing under them either. Then, just with the very point, slits the man's sleeve, my goodness, the skill, didn't even draw blood, and out tumbles the ruby ring. And the two earrings, and the two wedding bands. Then all hell breaks loose. The rogue tried to pull a knife, the young man with the wedding bands laid him out with a punch, the magistrate's men arrived and both the rogue and your rider got taken into custody. Both sentenced to the stocks, the rogue for theft, the rider for breach of the peace and unsheathing a weapon within the town bounds."
"So the rider's still here, in custody?" Elfhelm was surprised indeed.
"Nay, good sir. The townsfolk thought as how he'd done us all a good turn and didn't deserve the punishment, so the town gaoler let him out and my brother-in-law let him slip out through the postern gate. It was dark, but there was no snow last night and a clear moon, so he'd have made it over the ridge and down to the hamlet beyond to find rest for the night."
"Always just one step ahead of us," murmured Éothain, bitterly. "Another bloody day in the cold."
~o~O~o~
A.N. Sarn Esgar is my imaginary town in Northern Anorien that first featured up in "Flower of Ice and Steel." It's based loosely on 16th century Chester.