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Chapter 10: Sauron or Saruman?
As the band of Rohirrim approached, riding at a gallop, Legolas loosened his knives in their sheaths and checked his bow string.
"Who rides at the head of this band?" asked Mithrandir worriedly. "Is it Théoden?"
"Nay, Mithrandir. It is not."
"Who then? Hama? Gamling?"
"It is no Man that I know—if Man it be."
"Why do you say that?"
"He puts me in mind of a snake. He writhes in the saddle and lacks eyebrows. He has a baldfaced, lidless look to him."
Mithrandir groaned. "By the Valar but we are dogged by ill-fortune. That would be Gríma. Keep your ears covered, Legolas. This one has even less love for Elves than most."
Legolas had tucked his hair behind his ears, for he was not accustomed to their being covered. Now he hurriedly brushed his hair forward. For good measure, he scooped up a handful of soil and rubbed the dirt over his hands and face. It was too late to do anything about his clothes, however.
"Your fingernails," said Mithrandir.
"I beg pardon?"
"Get some dirt under your fingernails. You are lucky it was dark when you entered the Haradhrim camp, else they might have noticed that your fingernails were too clean. Oh, and you might try biting your nails, too, as yours are much too even. If you are to pass as a Man, you want ragged nails. Have you never noticed Aragorn's?"
Legolas had noticed Aragorn's. The Elf made a face but nevertheless made shift to bite off as many of his nails as he could before the Rohirrim troop thundered up and surrounded them, spears at the ready.
"I bid thee good day, Master Gríma," called Mithrandir.
"Good day?" Gríma retorted. "Is it a good day when strangers freely wander the Plains of Rohan?"
"But we are no strangers, Master Gríma. We enjoyed Théodred's hospitality as we traveled east, and he gave us leave to continue our journey. Indeed, he would have provided us with an escort if we had wished."
Gríma's eyes narrowed. "What of these horses?" he said abruptly. "Are they not Rohirrim horses?"
"Indeed they are," Mithrandir replied calmly. "Théodred offered us the loan of horses. 'Twas most generous of him, for I know how the Rohirrim value their steeds." In this, Mithrandir did not lie, for Théodred had indeed made such an offer. "Next I see Théodred," continued the wizard, "I shall be sure to tell him how truly invaluable these horses have been. He will be surprised to hear of it, I am sure."
Thwarted thus far, Gríma turned his attention to Legolas, whom he had hitherto ignored. "You, boy," he snapped, "where do you hale from?"
"I have come from Dunland," Legolas replied carefully.
"Oh, Dunland," sneered Gríma. "That would account for your dirtiness." His eyes again narrowed. "Although I must say that you are dressed uncommonly well for a Dunlending brat—aye, and armed remarkably well, too."
"He accompanies me," Mithrandir interjected smoothly. "Would you have him look like a beggar?"
"I do not see why not," mocked Gríma, "as it is pretty well agreed that you look like one yourself." The Man laughed mirthlessly at his own wit, but the other Riders stirred and muttered uneasily. The Rohirrim were proud warriors who defended their lands fiercely, but they were not discourteous and in happier days had even been renowned for their hospitality. Mithrandir had sat at the board of their King, and he was, moreover, to their eyes an agéd Man. They were accustomed to showing respect both to their elders and to those favored by their King.
Gríma sensed that the Men were beginning to question his judgment, and he swiftly changed tack. "You will pardon me, Master Mithrandir," he said unctuously, "if in my zeal I questioned you sharply just now. Ever I seek to protect the interests of my master."
'Your master', thought Mithrandir, 'and who might that be? Sauron I don't doubt.' Aloud he said, "One who seeks to do good is to be praised." Legolas noticed that Mithrandir had not suggested that Gríma was the one who sought to do good. Nor had Gríma failed to notice Mithrandir's equivocation, but he had no choice but to hold his oily tongue.
"I thank you for your forbearance, Master Mithrandir," he said stiffly. At the outset, Gríma had been eager to bind the pesky wizard and so convey him to the borders of Fangorn, where the white wizard's creatures could deal with him. Now the Man wanted nothing but to be rid of Mithrandir at once. "We have delayed you in your quest, no doubt an important one. You must wish to ride on."
Mithrandir inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.
"Master Gríma," called one of the Riders, "as they ride under the protection of Prince Théoden, doubtless he would want us to see to any needs they might have."
Gríma managed to reply through clenched teeth. "Of course. We shall provide our guests with water skins and such food as we can spare." To Gríma's chagrin, from all sides water skins and packets of dried meat were at once proffered by Men anxious to make amends for the insolence of Gríma Wormtongue.
So it was that Mithrandir and Legolas's encounter with Gríma ended with them not only still in possession of two stolen Rohirrim horses but also well supplied with Rohirrim provisions. As they rode, Mithrandir chuckled at Gríma's discomfiture. Legolas, meanwhile, felt glad that he would have no need to hunt, for now they should make better speed. Although Mithrandir had counterfeited strength as he sparred with Gríma, the wizard was still very ill. Knowing this, Legolas wanted to lay his hands upon some athelas, which they would find once they reached Eregion. Until then, he would care for Mithrandir's wound as best he could. It no longer seemed to be worsening, but it was not healing, either. As for Legolas's arm, it remained numb, but as from the very beginning Legolas was able to make shift to use it. Its strength had been left unaffected, and Legolas relied upon his other arm for dexterity.
The Elf's thoughts were interrupted when Mithrandir spoke.
"Pity about Gríma. He is quite intelligent, really, but he has chosen the wrong master."
"Saruman," said Legolas.
Mithrandir chuckled. "My dear boy, I know that there is a similarity in sound between Saruman and Sauron, but you are no longer an elfling. You ought to be able to distinguish between the two. Gríma serves Sauron, as I am sure you intended to say."
"I meant to say Saruman," Legolas said stubbornly, "and if Sauron and Saruman are indistinguishable, it is in terms of wickedness, not pronunciation."
Mithrandir shook his head, bewildered, as always, as to why Legolas had formed so firm a dislike for the master of the Order of Istari. The wizard would have not been so bewildered, however, if he had known what was about to transpire. Gríma had been forced to let the wizard and 'brat' depart, but in his eyes the matter was not at an end. "We are not far from Fangorn Forest," he said to the Riders. "It behooves us, for the sake of courtesy, that a visit be paid to its master, the wizard Saruman."
To this plan, many objected. "This is a scouting mission, not a diplomatic one," protested one Rider. "Would you leave our borders unguarded," argued another, "in order to bandy words with a wizard?"
Gríma had anticipated these objections and in fact welcomed them. For his purposes, it would be better to have no witnesses.
"Your words are just," he said smoothly, "and I would by means deprive our land of the services of this patrol. It is only necessary that one should ride to Isengard. As I have treated with Lord Saruman on other occasions, I shall take this task upon me."
Their objections answered, the Riders subsided. Truth be told, they were glad to be rid of Gríma Wormtongue. With a new leader, one of their own choosing, they swiftly rode off toward the East Wall. As for Gríma, he turned his horse's head toward the northwest. He rode the mount unmercifully, for he cared for the comfort of neither Man nor horse. Sweating, with heaving flanks and foaming mouth, the stallion bore him to the steps of Isengard, where Gríma carelessly handed him off to a goblin-man who had no more regard for the horse than its master. Given half a chance, the slave would have as soon eaten the horse as groomed it.
Saruman stood upon the steps awaiting his creature, and Gríma bowed low. "My Lord Saruman, as you have bade me, I bring news of the Grey Meddler."
"Excellent," intoned the white wizard. "Where is he? What is he about?"
"He has but lately entered Rohan, traveling west toward the Gap of Rohan."
"Does he return from Gondor?"
"From the environs of Mordor, my Lord."
"Mordor?" So the Grey Fool was scouting out Mordor. Saruman wondered what intelligence his rival had gained. Well, he would soon find out.
"Is he alone?"
"No, my Lord. He is accompanied by one man-brat."
"Not a young Elf?"
"No, my Lord."
Odd, Mithrandir had set out with Legolas. Was it too much to hope that an ill fate had befallen the elf-brat? But who then was this man-brat? Some stray Mithrandir had picked up, as was his wont? Or perhaps Mithrandir had joined up with Elrond's fosterling? Estel his name was, if memory served. However, whoever the man-brat was, he was of no importance. Saruman dismissed him from his mind and turned to other matters.
"If he travels with only one man-brat, why did you not secure him?"
Gríma cringed nervously. "He enjoys the good offices of Théodred Théoden's son. I did not dare act against him, for the Rohirrim who accompanied me would not have permitted it."
'Théodred', brooded Saruman. 'He is more and more an impediment to my plans. Well, impediments can be removed'. Returning his attention to Gríma, the wizard drew forth a gold coin.
"For your service I reward you, as always. In the future I hope to reward you even more generously, when I am in a position to do so. You shall be able to enjoy a prize of your own choosing."
Gríma's snake eyes glittered. He had long ago picked out his prize. Again he bowed low and then backed away obsequiously. Saruman turned his back upon his spy and began to ascend the steps. As he did so, Gríma shouted for his horse. The mount, still sweating, was brought to him, and the Man whipped him into a gallop. He was anxious to return to Edoras, where he might gaze upon the promised prize and dream of the time when she would be his.
As Gríma rode through the Ring of Isengard, Saruman was giving instructions to his servants. "This time I will brook no failure," he declared threateningly. "The wizard must be secured so that I may learn what he knows. Kill his companion—he is of no use to me—but bring me the wizard unharmed. But remember! He must be blindfolded so he does not know that I am his captor. He must think that he has been taken by the forces of Sauron. He may yet be of use to me as an ally and a tool."
His servants shambled from the throne room, and within the hour a combined force of orcs and goblin-men sallied forth from Isengard, making for Dunland. The force was twice as large as the one Saruman had sent out earlier. From a window high above, Saruman watched their departure. This time, he thought, there would be no escape for the Grey Fool.