Chapter Four: The Capital of the Empire
"If I had known that the road would be this crowded, I would have hired cheaper horses from that livery stable," snapped Amandil, as light drizzle began to fall.
I shared his frustration. Even when the walls and towers of Rómenna had disappeared from view, the paved road to Armenelos was teeming with traffic. Merchants, soldiers, whores, tax collectors, and peasants each scurried along on some business of their own, obstructing our path, and rendering it impossible for us to ride as quickly as we wished. The vast majority of the travellers were on foot, and we might as well have been too, for all the speed that we had on horseback. Nor was it possible to ride across country: the fields to either side had been sternly fenced off many centuries before, when the local lords had grumbled about damage to crops. We had no option but to be patient.
Partly from generosity, and partly from boredom, I threw a handful of silver coins down to the passers-by. Amandil initially looked nonplussed, then realised that it was simply charity on my part. "Sometimes it is nice being nobility," he chuckled, as some coins ended up in well-trodden piles of horse dung. "I would never go hunting through that just for a couple of marks!"
The common folk seemed to be of a different mind. There was many a mad scramble for those coins, followed by the doffing of caps, and among those who recognised me, breathless pledges of undying loyalty to Pharazôn son of Gimilkhâd.
"See Amandil," I said, "the people appreciate an open-handed lord."
"I note that you are giving them silver, not gold, Pharazôn," said Amandil. "Perhaps you are not as generous as you think you are!"
"It is more than I see you giving."
"I prefer to err on the side of prudence in such matters. Give generously today, and they will come knocking on your door tomorrow, when you may have nothing to give. Be frugal, and they will appreciate what you give them all the more!"
"The view of merchants," I said, "and my father. Look where so-called prudence got him." I also needed the love of the common folk now, rather than later. But that was best left unsaid, even to Amandil.
The rain was becoming heavier, so we both pulled up our cloak hoods. As we slowly made our way towards the capital, I gazed around at the orderly fields of the Númenórean countryside. Centuries, nay millennia, of cultivation had left its irreversible mark in the island's landscape. How different was the Land of the Star from the wild and untamed lands of Middle-earth! In my travels, I had spent weeks and months marching through lands of rock, gorse, and heather, and had marvelled at the vastness of Greenwood the Great: a veritable ocean of trees that had stood since the dawn of time. But Númenor was different. It was true that virgin forests were still to be found in obscure corners of the island, especially in the hilly northern reaches of Forostar, and there was much dense and ancient foliage on the slopes of Mount Meneltarma. But here, on the eastern plains, there was nought but tidy fields, grass, and the grand old stone fences of our forefathers. The great paved road itself, originally built in the time of Elros Tar-Minyatur and repaired through the years by countless slaves, ran as straight as an arrow, disappearing far in the distance beneath the huge shadow of the Mountain.
It was dusk when we finally reached the outskirts of Armenelos. We rode past crumbling hovels and gambling dens. A few sullen faces stared at Amandil and I from the upper windows of rickety houses.
"Do you think anyone here has recognised us since we entered the city?" I muttered.
"I am unsure," he said. "It is probably getting a bit dark, and with these cloaks, we could be anyone."
"Hello, there travellers," said a man's voice from an alleyway. "Those are a couple of pretty horses you have there. That amount of horseflesh … let me see, that would feed quite a few folk round here for days, I'm reckoning. So how about you just hand them over..."
I pulled back my hood. The rain messing my hair was a small price to pay: in a street fight, one needs unobstructed visibility. From the corner of my eye, I could see some shadowy figures emerge from the surrounding buildings. I winked at Amandil as we simultaneously dismounted. This was like old times on campaign.
"Lord Ph…, Lord Ph…" said the prospective attacker when he saw my face, belatedly realising who it was he had challenged.
"Sorry, my friend," I said to the terrified man, drawing my sword, "the only flesh you will be eating will be your own tongue, after I cut it out and stuff it back down your throat."
I was as good as my word. I always am. Sheathing my bloodied weapon, I went to see how Amandil had fared. A couple of corpses lay in front of him, the blood from their wounds seeping into the puddles of rainwater.
"The rest ran," said Amandil, "They knew they were doomed the second you pulled back that hood. It is either a very brave or very stupid man who would draw steel against the King's nephew and the Heir of Andunië in the streets of Armenelos."
"Well, I said, "That answers the question as to whether we have been recognised with the hoods. And these men," I said, pointing at the corpses, "were clearly just very stupid."
Amandil nodded. "Still, we had best get to the city walls tonight," he said. "Much more of this and even the drunkards at the Watch House will start taking notice."
"Agreed," I said. We had got back on our horses, leaving the dead where they lay. More likely than not they would end up in the broth of an unsavoury tavern. "I will say this for my grandfather," I added. "He had the right idea about clearing out the outer city." Armenelos had long ago spread beyond its ancient walls, with disease-ridden slums branching out unchecked. Ar-Gimilzôr had once suggested demolishing the city-beyond-the-walls and relocating the population elsewhere. His idea had come to nought though, and uncle Inziladûn was far too interested in studying Elvish lore and moping at the top of Tar-Minastir's tower to worry about such things. As we passed further into the city, I saw numerous beggars and dirty children. I threw some more coins, and carried on.
It was night when we came to the gate to the inner city. The gate was a massive bronze structure, built in the early days of Númenor by Dwarven smiths, or so the story went. The story went on to say that the smiths had been cheated by the Númenórean King of the day, but neither I nor Zimraphel had ever believed a word of it. She said that the tale was a corruption of one about Elves and Dwarves, while I insisted that it would have been totally out of character for our people. The Númenóreans of the early days were too childlike and honourable for such underhandedness. Now on the other hand…
The numerous lamps around the walls kept the area well lit. Amandil and I dismounted, and strolled up to the guardsmen on duty.
"And who might you be?" asked one of the guards, brandishing a spear. I said nothing, but pulled my hood back again, giving him a good look at my face.
"Ah," said the guard, sheepishly. "Lord Pharazôn. It has been a long time, my lord. My most humble apologies. We were not expecting you."
"Yet here I am," I said grinning. "And this gentleman is Amandil of Andunië. Lord Numendil's Heir. You may remember him also. We have business in the inner city."
"As you wish, my lord." He and his companion obligingly opened the gate for us. Getting back on our horses, we rode through without a backwards look.
The inner city of Armenelos was altogether different from the city-beyond-the-walls. Here one found the respectable, the wealthy, and the well-favoured. The streets were wide and well-lit, and the houses were made of stone rather than wood and mud.
"Not far from the Palace now," I said. "I believe we owe my dear uncle a night-time visit."