In An Age Before – Part 305
Though it seemed a year passed, and very slowly at that, 'twas in truth but a prudent third of an hour that Captain Heaþolaf spent with his Men to ensure that the Firienfeld was unoccupied. At least there were no living foes that he or any of his Men could mark, and save for the dreary path beyond the Dimholt wood, they had examined e'ery foot of the meadow. Still he was unsettled, and looking at the nervous mien of his companions and the high-strung carriage of their horses, he knew he was not alone. Yet having found none to oppose their coming, he could not but wave a sign to those at the foot of the Climbing Stair and then dismount to let his horse graze.
From the rim of Dunharrow, Captain Heaþolaf and his Men watched the slow progress of the refugees as they ascended the switchback trail. With prudence, the princess had recalled Helluin's warning that the wagons might be unable to make the turns and she had bidden those afoot to march first. 'Twas a long column of reluctant walkers that now placed foot before foot as they climbed the steep path. Those at the head of the line had spent some moments' trepidation regarding the stone-carven Púkel Man adorning the lowest turn, but they had eventually passed its baleful gaze and continued uphill.
At the bottom waited the remaining mounted warriors along with the wounded. Though they would be swifter to reach the top, they had been charged to hold the foot of the path 'til the civilians had ascended. With them were many warhorses whose Riders had fallen at Edoras. Already bearing that sorrow, they would soon be expected to suffer again, for with the steepness of the trail, wagon and cart teams would needs be reinforced and some amongst them would be called upon to serve as draft animals. The Riders looking down from Dunharrow felt sorry for them, yet most of those Men had known a human equivalent; being forced to dig graves for their fallen comrades after losing a battle.
Amongst the carts and wagons were the greater part of their supplies, all of the tents, and those aged and wounded who could not climb the path afoot. The lead cart though drew his attention. That cart now served as a caisson and upon it was the bier of his lord Haleth. The cart behind it carried the carcass of his warhorse Eorlic whom the princess had refused to leave behind. It seemed that after her sharing of memories with Helluin, she was loath to part him from her brother for whom he had died of heartbreak and exhaustion. Somehow, it felt right.
The captain let his eyes drift from the people at the head of Harrowdale. Already the afternoon sun was casting the deep-cloven dale into shadow. He surveyed the course of the Snowbourn as it wound its way down the valley towards the rolling grasslands north of the White Mountains. Just visible a mile away stood the weathered wooden sheds and shacks of Underharrow with the road running beside the river.
His mortal sight failed to reveal Upbourn that lay three leagues distant 'neath broken tree cover, but beyond, indistinct in the distance, stood the dark shoulder of Írensaga. Past that peak, he knew, lay the outlying hill of Edoras, hidden behind the intervening highland. His tactical mind greatly desired an outpost upon those slopes whence he could espy the doings of his enemies in his fallen city. He resolved to give thought to the establishment of such, but not now.
Now, as the coming dusk threatened, he hoped to see the return of Helluin's company and the sawyer's wagons. They had been gone for 'nigh four hours thus far and they were the furthest from the safety of the high redoubt that the Ælf had convinced them to accept. He was unclear as to why she would place such importance on lumber and carpenter's tools, but her folk had their own wisdom and he accepted that. Though the Elves were still largely a mystery to him, he had seen her in battle and had no doubts of her good intentions. Like much else, he would just have to wait with hope and see what came to pass.
Now the refugees reached the top of the Climbing Stair, and with fear in their eyes, tried to settle themselves. The princess urged them towards the smaller, left-hand side of the high meadow nearest to the stream that tumbled down from Írensaga so that their camp would have easy access to water. They gathered well back from the precipice where their children would be safer from accidental falls, and Béma forbid, the cliff's edge would be free for future defensive actions. The livestock was led to the front of the right-hand side of the meadow.
Once they had begun to settle, a signal was given and the eight carts began to ascend. As the Noldo had foreseen, they were able to take the tight turns of the switchback path, though their progress was slow due to the steep grade. Still, after another hour, they began to crest the rim of Dunharrow and Heorte directed them into the rear of the right-hand side of the meadow. There they parked so that the unloading could begin. Alone and furthest towards the rear stood the carts bearing Haleth's bier and Eorlic's carcass. They awaited the princess having a free moment to choose their final resting place.
'Twas with darkness creeping down the valley of Harrowdale that the sawyer Bīetlmære¹, the wagons, and Helluin's escort finally returned to Underharrow. As expected, they were laden with lumber, posts, boards, glue pots, hardware, and tools of carpentry, but there was more. During their salvage operation, the Men had also retrieved the implements of leatherworking, tanned hides, thongs, and such as were required for the making and repair of tack, clothing, and boots. Needles, thread, a spinning wheel, carded wool, cloth, and yarn they had brought. Wax and wicks they had taken from the chandler. Last, they had carried off a ferrier's brazier, small anvil, hammers, tongs, files, and knives for the shoeing and care of horses' hooves and the smithying of minor works of iron. They had picked Upbourn's craftsmen clean. ¹(Bīetlmære, Famous Hammer = bīetl(hammer) + mære(famous)Old English)
The rest of the wagons had yet to make any attempt at the path and ere they did, the Noldo bid the waggoneers turn as tight a circle as their rigs would allow. In all four cases, these were found wanting and none would have been able to negotiate the switchbacks of the Climbing Stair, especially when drawn by the required teams of four to six horses.
With the aid of Riders still waiting at the bottom of the cliff, Helluin and her party of Men had joined the drivers to unhitch the teams and unload all the cargo, and then to their astonishment, o'erturn them so they rested wheels up. In that condition, Bīetlmære and his apprentice began cutting the wagon beds front from rear so that each half bore a single axle and a pair of wheels.
In the newly liberated front halves of the wagons, they pinned the bolster plates to the axles so that the original capacity for steering was immobilized. To the rear halves, they appended paired shafts for the hitching of horses. The waggoneers watched in amazement as their wagons were converted into carts. With the same treatment for the sawyer's two wagons, there were now a dozen new carts and they began reloading cargo. The work had taken hours, yet by the light of a bonfire and with so many hands to hasten the labor, 'twas completed by midnight and the tired company began their ascent of the Climbing Stair at last.
The makeshift carts creaked 'neath their loads, but they held together during their climb to the top. Before them went the wounded and following them, bringing up the rear, came the last of the Riders and Helluin, with Beorhtwulf, Fostercyld, Hroþulf, and Osbearn. In the second hour past midnight, all of the Rohirrim, their horses, supplies, and belongings were safe in Dunharrow. By then, most of the refugees had fallen into a troubled and exhausted sleep. 'Twas the early morn of 14 Nórui.
Dawn found Helluin and Hildmearh standing in the right-hand meadow at the edge of the cliff looking down into Harrowdale. Behind them, the horses and livestock rested or grazed on the fine turf, or if they felt the need, wandered to the left-hand meadow and drank from the stream.
From our earlier travels, I had the impression that Rohan was a wide land, the mare remarked. Helluin raised a brow in question, curious about her train of thought. Yet as I look out this morn, I see that in truth 'tis a small country, for my eyes lie not as they are still following my nose. Look! Thither lays the West Road that leads to Súthburg, which must now be but a few leagues distant. I wonder if it shall look so small on the morrow.
It shall, and I reckon thine eyes shall e'er follow thy nose, my friend, the Noldo replied, but being so high up, the land 'neath us appears small from the distance. It hath e'er been so, in all the lands that I have seen. Were we to descend, we should find its size restored.
The warhorse stood chewing and thinking a while on her words. Finally, following one point of reasoning to the next, Hildmearh asked, Were we to climb the highest mountain, would not all Ennorath appear no larger than an oat?
We should needs climb higher than the tallest mountain, for even from Taniquetil, the tallest peak in Aman, Arda still appeared larger than an oat. Still, thy notion would prove true should we stand amongst the stars.
Hildmearh nodded, accepting her wisdom, and said, I shall take thee at thy word, Helluin, for this climb has been tiring and a climb to the stars must be more so. I feel no haste to tread that path. To this, the Noldo agreed with a grunt and a nod, though she suspected that the path to the stars would be taken by boat rather than by foot.
Captain Heaþolaf joined them, nodded to acknowledge Hildmearh, and then spoke to Helluin.
"Fair morn to thee, Helluin," he said by reflex, then second-guessed his greeting by saying, "or at least I wager this day must be an improvement o'er the one just past."
"I agree, as we have not another city or another prince to lose," she replied by reflex. Then, realizing how morbid she sounded, added, "At least the people and the princess are safer this day than the last." Hildmearh snorted, rolled her eyes, and wandered off.
"We should attend to the interment of the marshal," he said, grim of face, "and his horse."
"Aye, they are due such honors and the sooner the better. Has the princess chosen a site?"
"I have heard 'naught as yet. Perhaps she shall make her wishes known this morn," he said, then, looking 'round nervously as if to make sure they would not be o'erheard, added, "ere yonder shades are drawn to his corpse."
Helluin had to stifle a guffaw at that. Haleth's spirit was long gone and his body of no interest to the ghosts of the Oathbreakers; even less so the carcass of his horse. Had they been so inclined, they would have flocked to Edoras yesternoon, yet the Rohirrim had seen none. Instead, she said, "I would see him entombed with honor ere the corruption of his flesh taints his memory for the people." The captain blanched at the thought, but had to nod in agreement. He then broached the topic he had come to speak with Helluin about ere becoming sidetracked.
"Think thou that 'tis possible to set Men on the slopes of Írensaga, to keep watch o'er Edoras and the plains?" he asked.
"Aye, I deem it possible and t'would be a great benefit," Helluin replied, "so long as word could come to us hither in timely fashion."
He nodded in agreement, for seeing would matter not if a warning could not be sent. Yet the distance was great and the land unfriendly to those afoot, whilst riding on those high, steep slopes was out of the question. The Dunlendings could cover the miles from Edoras faster than a runner could come to Dunharrow from Írensaga. He shook his head, seeing no answer to that quandary. He marked the Noldo looking speculatively towards the mountain and waited on her to speak.
"Long ere the oaths of Cirion and Eorl, the Dúnedain claimed all these lands, and to hasten the passage of alarms both north and south of the White Mountains, the kings maintained beacons on the outlying peaks. These were visible one to another and could be fired at need, sending warnings far faster than any errand rider. One such stood at Írensaga upon a time," Helluin said.
Captain Heaþolaf nodded in understanding, for the presence of just such a beacon at Halifirien on the east boundary of the realm was known. Yet 'twas also known that to reach it, one must needs climb from the Firien Wood at the mountain's foot, just as Eorl and Cirion had done when they went to say their oaths.
"Do paths lead from beacon to beacon, Helluin?" he asked, but she shook her head 'nay'.
"E'er the beacons were reached from the Great West Road whence came the soldiers to duty at those posts. Yet it hath been centuries since the beacon of Írensaga was manned and I doubt the Dunlendings even recall its existence, let alone know whither the path lay. Watchers posted thither should be safe, and by lighting a beacon, their alarm could be seen hither in moments."
Then a smile shaped the captain's lips, but he swiftly realized that posting Men upon Írensaga would not be so simple.
"How then shall our scouts take up a watch thither if they must come by way of the road with no other way to return to us?"
"There may be game trails through the highlands, though the Dúnedain ne'er used them," Helluin said. "I reckon 'tis four to five leagues from here to reach a good o'erlook above Edoras. We must simply find a path." Then the captain nodded and a smile graced his lips.
'Cross the camp, people were waking and breaking their fast. Cook fires had been kindled and cauldrons of oatmeal were set to simmering. The veteran Rider Beorhtwulf groaned as he took a seat on a log before one of the fires where some of his Men were gathering. I am getting too old for camping out, he thought. A wry grin shaped his lips. Then again, I shall die ere I am too old to do battle. At least 'tis summer. A short distance away, he saw Princess Heorte already engaged in aiding a family with several young children, and walking towards him, the Shieldmaiden Agrona. Ahhh, to be young, he thought.
He was only mildly surprised when she came o'er to share his fire. The woman gave him a questioning glance and he nodded to her, bidding her join him on the log. After casting a protective look to the princess and seeing no threats, she nodded in return and sat beside him.
"What troubles thee this morn, Agrona?" he asked, as if there were not many possible causes.
The young warrior barely stayed herself from rolling her eyes and he chuckled in response.
"Thou rode with my father and I would value thy counsel, Beorhtwulf," she said. He raised a brow in question, bidding her continue. "Thou fought yesterday at Edoras whilst I did not, but after sharing memories with the Ælf, the princess agreed to her counsel and now we camp here on haunted ground. I spoke briefly with Helluin aforetime and she seemed…reasonable, but I am curious. What thou saw in battle yestermorn, doth it favor the tapestry and the old tales? I would learn the truth ere I follow further, or stay my counsel to the lady."
Now he understood the cause of Agrona's worries. Though known from lore, Helluin was a stranger to the past eight generations of their people. She had last been seen at Edoras two centuries aforetime in the reign of Brego Eorlsson, builder of Golden Hall. Beorhtwulf sighed.
He had grown up with Agrona's father Hallam and together they had served Gram King, but alas, his old friend had fallen ere the reign of Helm. Agrona valued his opinion of the relatively unknown warrior, yet what could he say? He had only fought beside her in one battle, and that for but three hours. 'Twas hardly the years of camaraderie upon which he usually measured the mettle of a Rider.
"In battle yesterday I slew seven Men and gravely wounded another three, not bad for an old spear who can count two score and seventeen winters," he said, and saw Agrona nod in approval. "She had slain thrice that count holding the gate ere being driven back by a horde of foes. Thereafter she shot o'er a hundred and took more heads with her sword. She slaughtered scores to join us at the gates after the battle was lost, so to arrange our escape, and then she won back the watchtower and from it, burnt Men with oil. I have ne'er seen the like. That Ælf worsted more of the enemy in a morn than I have in a lifetime of fighting."
"So I should believe the claims she made to our king about the tapestry," the Shieldmaiden said. Zärlagab son of Inkishûsh was the name of that prince whose head I took. In that battle there fell King Lüdhgavia, Captain Tröben, four hundred fifty Riders, and three thousand five hundred Dwarves of the Emyn Angren.
"After what I saw, I doubt not that tale," Beorhtwulf said, "and thou hast also seen the ancient hide of the great White Wolf she gifted to Eorl whence came her title, 'Werewolf's Bane'."
Agrona nodded. She had indeed seen that hide, larger than the pelt of a mountain brown bear.
"I thank thee for thy counsel, noble Beorhtwulf," she said as she rose to return to the princess' side. "May Béma keep thee safe."
"And thou, Agrona," he replied as Fostercyld came to him with a steaming bowl of oatmeal.
At noon, they laid Prince Haleth to rest in a hastily dug barrow at the foot of the Starkhorn that rose on the southwestern edge of Dunharrow. Eorlic was laid to rest before the door of his tomb. Princess Heorte had been adamant about the site, and as if t'were a gift from Béma, a void was found in the hard rock where they could excavate without miners' tools. Standing before its door two fathoms back from the precipice above Harrowdale, Helluin's Elvish eyes could pick out the hill of Edoras, seven leagues distant, at the foot of Írensaga. Through all the years of Rohan to come, Helm's heir would keep watch o'er the city he had died to defend.
After taking counsel with Helluin, Captain Heaþolaf had sent parties of scouts onto the slopes of Írensaga, seeking a game trail or path leading to the northwestern slopes wherefrom a view down onto the city could be had. After eight days, a group discovered a narrow, winding path leading in the desired direction. The company had eventually come upon the remains of the old Dúnedain beacon, its foundation barely recognizable, yet offering a view of Edoras and the lands 'round it. Of whate'er path had once climbed to it from the West Road, no trace could they mark. Then, whilst two Men returned in haste to Dunharrow bearing tidings, the other four had labored at cutting wood to build a new beacon, hidden from the eyes in Edoras but easily visible from the Firienfeld. The captain had celebrated with a cup of ale. 'Twas 24 Nórui.
In the meantime, the Riders in the Firienfeld had collected rocks from the piles of scree that lay at the feet of e'ery cliff surrounding the meadow. Soon, they had many hundreds of these bombs and missiles ranging from fist-size to the largest a Man might lift and throw. They set piles of them beside the Púkel Men at the second turn and those turns higher.
During those same days, Helluin gave counsel for the defense of the high meadow and the Climbing Stair. She led a party back down into Harrowdale and with the aid of Riders and the sawyer, demolished several of the shacks at Underharrow. With some of the posts and boards, they built a flimsy barricade 'nigh the first switchback atop the bottommost leg of the trail. Behind it, they piled an unstable heap of loose boulders 'til it leant downhill from the weight. On the next leg, at the second switchback, (and therefore directly above the foot of the trail), they set a stack of scrap wood, branches, and rocks balanced atop a few planks. Then they soaked all with oil and waited.
A fortnight after Wulf had taken Edoras and first sat upon the throne in Meduseld, he sent a thousand Men up Harrowdale seeking for the Riders that had fled his host on the 13th. Their orders were to slaughter all they found save one; Princess Heorte he would have alive, to rape 'til gravid and then beat to death after she had borne him an heir. He craved that she die as had his father, from a closed skull head trauma. They marched from the city on the morn of the 27th and within minutes, a thin column of smoke rose from the beacon on Írensaga. The Rohirrim were surprised that it had taken their enemies so long to muster and attack.
When the Dunlendings entered Harrowdale, they recognized the possibility of an ambush and went forward warily. At Upbourn, they found the hamlet deserted. A swift search revealed not a living soul, not a scrap of food, and not a single farm animal. The settlement had been stripped clean and this told them that the Rohirrim had fled further up the gorge.
More confident now, they pressed forward, expecting at any moment to come upon a hastily erected fortification held by desperate survivors, but as the valley narrowed and the miles passed and they saw no sign of a defense. A few birds were scared up and a few wild creatures fled, but they fled from them and not from some hidden foes. Only the breeze blowing down from the highlands to sough amongst the trees and the splash of water skipping o'er boulders in the Snowbourn accompanied the sounds of their hushed voices and marching boots.
Wulf's army came to Underharrow and there they found the remains of hunters' shacks, footprints and wheel ruts, and the long cold remains of cook fires that hinted at a temporary camp many days old. They marked the dung of horses fallen weeks ago and thoroughly dried. The Riders had passed that way, but they had not lingered. Now they began to wonder if the Rohirrim had taken some secret pass through the mountains and escaped their wrath, for they did not know these lands well enough to understand that they had come 'nigh a dead end.
At last, the Climbing Stair stood before them and they saw the switchback trail ascending the sheer face of a 'nigh vertical cliff. In the dirt at the bottom were many tracks and hoof prints. Staring up at the empty path, they marked no living foes. All was silent. All was still. It seemed that the Eorlingas had been and gone, but then those who stood at the foot of the path espied the poorly constructed wooden barrier set to block the first turn. Some raised their voices and some pointed at the barricade as they regarded it with contempt.
Having marched from Edoras anticipating mayhem and slaughter, 'twas impossible for the Dunlendings to ignore the only evidence of a defense that they had seen thus far. A company of several dozen began to walk up the path, intending to tear down the planks that stood in their way. 'Twas symbolic of course, but the only satisfaction they could expect when their enemies had fled beyond their reach.
Now hereat should somewhat be told of Dunharrow and the Climbing Stair. Eight runs and eight turns comprised that ascending path. The slope was three vertical to ten horizontal, or a thirty percent grade, meaning that each run of a hundred and five yards yielded a rise of fifteen fathoms. The total climb of roughly half a mile encompassed a gain in elevation of seven hundred twenty vertical feet, and each switchback stood thirty fathoms above the one below. This was the formidable obstacle that faced the Dunlendings, and the defense upon which the Rohirrim depended for their survival.
Now the company of Dunlendings had marched halfway up the first leg of the ascending path. They were fifty yards from the barricade at the first switchback with their comrades cheering and urging them on from below. The grade was steep enough that, laden with their armor, weapons, and shields, they had begun to feel the burn of exertion in their legs and their breath was coming faster. The heat of that summer day caused sweat to wet their palms and run down their faces from their helms so that they had to blink it out of their eyes.
'Twas then that hooting, catcalls, and insults split the air. From the next higher section of the path came the voices of the Rohirrim, jeering, shouting insults and ridicule, and making animal noises. They taunted their enemies from above, thrusting their hips in lewd fashion, spitting, and even emptying their bladders onto their foes. Then the furious Dunlendings stopped and shouted back at the suddenly revealed Riders and some few shot at them with their hunting bows, but being directly 'neath their targets, they but wasted their arrows.
The rest of their host joined them in yelling threats and curses so that a cacophony of angry voices rose to the Firienfeld. The verbal assaults continued on both sides with great vigor. Soon, several hundred of the enraged attackers had joined the lead company, charging up the lowest section of the path in a solid block, intent on bloodletting.
By the time they had come 'nigh the first switchback, their heads were close to the level of the Rohirrim's boots and so the Riders kicked dirt into their faces and thrust spears down at them from above, forcing them to hold their shields o'erhead. Even so, the first of them came to the rickety barricade and laid their hands upon it, essaying to pull it down. Some leapt up to grasp the tops of the planks and they leant back and tugged, letting their weight loosen the barrier. The boards wiggled, nails screeched as they pulled free, and the wall began to fail.
A cheer went up as the defense began to fall, but it fell too fast for the simple construction it seemed to be. The planks slammed down, crushing Men 'neath their ruin, and an avalanche of a few tons of boulders rolled o'er them, bouncing downhill as they picked up speed. Some of the Dunlendings were crushed outright whilst some fell with legs broken, knees smashed, or ankles turned. Howls of pain and dismay went up as more were knocked down, their limbs maimed or skulls stove in. On that narrow, crowded trail, there was no space to lunge or dodge aside save to dive o'er the edge of the cliff face. By chance, a few boulders skipped off the path to fall and land amongst the host still waiting at the bottom.
That pandemonium fixed all attention, and so only a few in the host marked the fire that flared up on the second switchback. Thither, the prepared bonfire of oiled scrap wood, branches, and rocks had been kindled to flame. Then, as a company of Rohirrim archers stepped onto the first switchback to shoot down the length of the lowest section of the path, other Riders lifted the planks and toppled the burning wood onto the foot of the path, trapping several hundred Dunlendings 'twixt fire and arrows on the bottommost step of the Climbing Stair.
Now 'twas possible that in desperation, the Dunlendings that had survived the avalanche might have regrouped, raised their shields, and charged the archers, thereby winning the first switchback. They had the numbers to accomplish such a counterattack, but this possibility too had been foreseen.
From the switchbacks above came a hail of stones, flung down with catcalls and laughter, and forcing the Dunlendings to choose whether to shield their heads from the falling rocks and boulders, or hold their shields in front to protect themselves from the arrows. The choice was abominable and most of the invaders desperately shifted their shields back and forth, hoping to escape being struck by one or the other. Predictably, many eventually made the wrong decision, but only once.
The engagement ended when a stream of Dunlendings fled the trail, leaping a few feet down off the lowest part of the path just uphill from the fire, some dragging their wounded, and others simply fleeing for their lives. Indeed, most had seen comrades burning as they fled aflame from the gates of Edoras a fortnight past. Today they had been terrified, expecting flaming oil to fall onto them from above. Finally, the path was free of fighting and they withdrew from the cliff face so that the shooting and the bombardment ceased. Yet still, they heard the cries of their wounded and it fanned their hatred and rage at their defeat.
Now down the path came one clad in black armor and a couple arrows shot from their bows glanced off and did no harm. Then this figure stooped and aided the wounded to rise and support each other that they might escape the battlefield, but ere giving them leave to depart, it spoke to them in silence, eye to eye, and the story they told upon their return chilled Men's blood.
Go! Return not lest your spirits be lost fore'er. Behind this cliff lies the Haunted Mountain. Within its halls dwells an ancient host of ghosts accursed. Brego, first king at Edoras, sacrificed his heir Baldor to the King of the Dead and was granted leave to abide in Dwimorberg's shadow. Ye shall die in Edoras, for Wulf has no son to sacrifice to the King, but in Harrowdale, your spirits shall be taken, ne'er to rest 'til world's ending. Go! 'Twas only partly true, but Helluin wagered that they knew it not.
They fled as fast as their broken limbs could carry them. Behind on the path, the black figure had vanished even as many watched. A half-hour later, the host withdrew, reduced by a third.
When the worsted returned to Edoras and spoke their tidings, Wulf was livid. Fifteen score of his Men were slain, another three score and seven wounded, and they had killed none of Helm's Men that they could swear to. His Corsair allies had looked askance at that. Worse, one soldier on crutches, his leg newly splinted, told a terrifying tale that he feared to believe.
A superstitious Man at heart, just enough Rohirric blood flowed in Wulf's veins that he knew somewhat of their lore. Dwimorberg translated as 'Haunted Mountain'. 'Twas said that Baldor son of Brego had entered the 'Paths of the Dead' and ne'er returned. The 'King of the Dead' was a folklore figure so widely known in Rohan that most believed some truth lay behind it.
The soldier swore that a ghost in black armor had warned him that to die in Harrowdale was to become accursed, and all because Wulf had no son to sacrifice to the King of the Dead, as Brego had sacrificed Baldor long ago. The ghost, previously solid enough to raise him to his feet, had then vanished…in broad daylight with hundreds watching. So too, many others claimed as well.
Wulf could not recall hearing it told that Brego had sacrificed Baldor, yet he could not be sure that the second king had not sacrificed his son either. He was a warrior and but poorly versed in lore. Yet mostly that claim rankled because at the age of thirty-four, Freca's son had neither a spouse nor an heir. In the meantime, Princess Heorte, Helm's dóttir and third child, was probably laughing at him. Wulf was absolutely furious and that left him so rigid and tight of sack that he had to loosen his codpiece lest its pressure cause him to spill his seed.
When he had finally detumesced somewhat, Wulf understood that his Men were deathly afraid. They had seen their comrades burnt at the city gates and fire had been dropped on those defeated in Harrowdale. In both places, the black armored ghost had played a terrifying part with arrow, spear, sword, and fire. Now talk of ghosts and curses would spread like wildfire amongst the troops. To send more Men against Dunharrow so soon would be to risk mutiny. He realized that he was forced to wait.
His shoulder ached from his spear wound, his mood was sour despite having taken Edoras, and there was still the king in Súthburg whom his army had failed to unseat. The Westfold was still contested. Yet there were more causes by which he judged his campaign incomplete.
After taking the throne in Meduseld, he had found the treasure hoard of Rohan absent. There were still some cups of pewter to drink from, but 'naught more rich than that. Along with the gold, silver, and gems, the tapestries, carven and painted art, high craftworks, and heirlooms of the royal house had left with the refugees. He held the city, but Rohan's history and culture had fled with its people. Like any partially successful usurper, Wulf was dissatisfied for he wanted more; he craved legitimacy. More than 'aught else, he longed to be King of Rohan and sire of a Second Line…yet he felt as a bastard pauper who peeps through a palace window and dreams of being prince.
Nórui ended three days later, and after Midsummer's Day, the month of Cerveth came in. At Edoras, Wulf spent that time securing the lands 'round the city, establishing outposts along the West Road, and hoping the fear his soldiers felt would diminish enough that he could again assail Dunharrow. What he understood not was that with each passing day, his Men believed with greater certainty that their lord had accepted the ghost's warnings and would abide by her demands.
In turn, Wulf watched his Men. If they spoke of Harrowdale or ghosts, 'twas in whispers, and they barely looked towards the entrance of the gorge. They even avoided gazing too long at the mountains as if the sight of Írensaga, Starkhorn, and Dwimorberg rekindled the fear they had felt during their battle on the Climbing Stair. They sang no songs to diminish that defeat, not even laments for their fallen comrades. The terror they had felt on 27 Nórui had only grown, and not without cause. There had been baleful omens and eldritch events that fed their unease and filled them with foreboding. The first of these had been the return of their dead.
Even the Corsairs, at first derisive, had become increasingly sullen and uncertain. They whispered in their own tongue of this haunted land and of returning to the sea and their ships. Little stake had they in Rohan, and with the lack of plunder in the city, their motivation was diminished. Their captain had been shot in the face, the first to die ere the battle for Edoras had even begun, and whilst their allies had achieved their goal, their own desires had not been met.
They were foes of Gondor foremost and they had seen no signs of willingness on Wulf's part to begin an invasion of Anórien. Now they gazed with hatred east down the road towards the land of their hereditary enemies in Minas Tirith, and west down the road towards the distant Fords of Isen and their ships with longing. Only their admiral's expectations of their assault on the Pelennor stayed them from simply walking away.
In Dunharrow on the 27th, the Rohirrim celebrated their victory. Many songs were composed and many boasts and tales were voiced. They had rendered defeat to a host twice their count and they had lost none. Joyfully, they had watched the Dunlendings flee the field and retreat in silence down Harrowdale. Jests about the tongue-lashing Wulf would gift them upon their return to Edoras kept them laughing well into the night as they sat 'round their campfires in the high meadow. The very same haunted refuge they had so feared but days aforetime had become a place of pride and comfort.
By dawn's light on the morrow, the Riders had found Helluin readying the lightest carts and their horses with the intention of descending into the gorge.
"The battle is unfinished," she told Captain Heaþolaf, "but with six carts and a half-éored, we shall finish it." The Man had looked at her in question as those standing 'round hearkened. "Shall we leave three hundred dead at the foot of the trail and smell their stench through all the coming season?" she had asked, and then they understood.
"We would have thought of that," the captain murmured, mostly to himself, though the Noldo o'erheard his words.
"Aye, in a week perhaps," she chuckled, "and what an onerous task t'would have been then."
Heaþolaf rolled his eyes at that, but they shared laughter and he wondered if he would have been able to enlist any volunteers at all for that labor. Then he shook his head and turned his attention to the task at hand.
One does not simply descend so steep a trail with the horse before the cart. Instead, 'twas Men that guided each of the six, a half-dozen standing 'twixt the rails to steer its path 'round the switchbacks and four more grasping ropes accompanying a pair of horses harnessed behind to control its speed downhill. Thus, they descended the Climbing Stair without mishap.
On the final leg of the trail where the battle had been fought, the Riders stopped to clear away the bodies, fallen rocks, and remains of the fire, tossing all of it down off the path. Then they hitched the animals 'twixt the rails once they had come to the road.
There at the bottom they heaved half the dead into the carts, but first the Riders stripped the dead of their weapons and collected them at the foot of the ascending path. These they would not return, to arm their enemies in future battles. Finally, when the carts were piled high with cadavers, they set off at a stately walk down Harrowdale towards the mouth of the gorge.
Now when they came to the entrance of the valley, they continued for another furlong towards Edoras, stopping whilst they were still hidden by the foothills of the mountains. There they unloaded their grisly cargo, setting the bodies in rows to the side of the road at the base of Írensaga. The Rohirrim wondered if the Dunlendings would reclaim their dead for burial, but if they did not, at least the stench of their decomposition would waft towards the city rather than drifting up from the foot of Dunharrow to torment them.
Once emptied, they turned the carts back 'round, and after completing their transportation of the remaining half of the dead, returned up the dale to the Climbing Stair. There they loaded the carts with the Dunlendings' weapons, their swords, spears, precious bows and quivers of arrows, daggers, and shields. And last, they drove back up the switchback trail to the Firienfeld, arriving in time for the evening meal.
Eventually the stench did indeed announce to the Dunlendings that their dead had left Harrowdale. Unquiet, the corpses had not lingered on the battlefield. Although the obvious cause was that the Rohirrim had removed them from 'nigh their own stronghold, fear and superstition lent credence to more supernatural rumor-mongering.
In Edoras, many whispered that their dead had walked away from the scene of the slaughter, but bearing the shame of their defeat, had not dared to approach their living comrades. Others decided that their spirits had fled the ghosts and the King of the Dead. Yet for whate'er reason the cadavers had left Harrowdale, the living Dunlendings would have 'naught to do with them. The bodies remained uncollected, unburied, and continued to decompose through the summer's heat, tainting the air in the city and whelping further depression in the invaders. Eventually, their corruption made the Snowbourn unwholesome for drinking by Man or beast and some sickened.
Days passed. During the month of Cerveth, Helluin became restless and took to descending the trail at night and scouting Harrowdale by starlight and moonlight. Besides desiring to keep a closer watch on Edoras, she sought two further things. The first was a trail leading from the gorge and heading west, one by which a company might pass through the foothills without revealing themselves in the grasslands. The second was the ripening of the crops planted in the fields 'round Edoras, the barley, wheat, oats, and rye.
There had been several farms 'nigh the city and by some sense, whether foresight or fatalism, the Noldo wagered that the refugees would not be leaving Dunharrow any time soon. They would need stores, the harvest season was coming, and she was loath to leave the fruits of the labor of Rohan's farmers to the invaders.
By the end of Cerveth, Helluin had found no trail leading west, but as she stood at midnight in a field of winter barley a half-mile beyond the mouth of Harrowdale, she felt the hardness of the abundant seeds in their dried spikes. Six-row, hulless barley, a superb cultivar, and ready for harvesting, she thought, t'would be a crime for it to go to waste. She clipped several spikes to bring back to Dunharrow.
Two fields away, she repeated her examination in a field of winter wheat, finding that 'twas still ripening, but nearing readiness for harvesting. She took a few samples there as well. Hard red wheat berries, good for easily baked pan and flat breads. Another fortnight it needs, very good indeed.
Helluin did not bother checking on a field of oats two furlongs away, knowing from her experience at Norðr-vestandóttir Bý that t'would require another month for growth and ripening. After a final look 'round, she made her way back to Dunharrow and sought to take counsel with Princess Heorte, Agrona, Captain Heaþolaf, and Wærferð¹the mylnweard from Upbourn, when they awoke the next morn. ¹(Wærferð, Honest Spirit = wær(trustworthy, honest) + ferð(spirit, mind, soul) Old English)
"Know ye whose fields lay a half-mile west of the mouth of Harrowdale? They are planted with barley, wheat, and oats," the Noldo asked.
"That would be Wīglāf¹," said the mill-keeper. "He went to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý last spring with his wife, mother, two sons, a daughter, and his wife's parents. I have ground many stone of grist for him." ¹(Wīglāf, a distant cousin and loyal sword thane of Beowulf, Wīglāf was the only warrior to join Beowulf in killing a dragon. Old English)
"Wouldst thou grind grist for him again this harvest?" Helluin asked. The mylnweard looked to her with curiosity, but he nodded 'aye'.
"I would were he and his sons home to harvest it," Wærferð said. "Alas, I fear it shall go for seed, or worse, to feed the Dunlendings."
"It need not," she said, producing the seed spikes of ripe barley. "We can harvest much of his fields in the old way, at night."
"Helluin, even by night the disturbance could be seen whilst we cut and bundle the sheaves," Princess Heorte said, and the captain nodded in agreement.
"Were we to cut and bundle sheaves of grain, I would agree," Helluin said, "but if we start at the back of the fields and with a glove, or even a scrap of leather held in hand, strip the seed spikes from the stalks, these can be dropped into a sack. The stalks remain standing after and the movement of individual pickers is far harder to mark, indeed, it looks much like a breeze ruffling the field when seen from afar."
They sat thinking and trying to imagine this primitive manner of harvesting grain.
"I have ne'er heard any lore telling of this method, even from the earliest days of Rohan," Wærferð said with certainty.
"Nay, not in Rohan, or even in this Age," the Noldo agreed, "yet this method was used by Men long ago. I saw grain harvested thus in fields east of the Brown Lands." In the 6th century of the Second Age when I taught what I could to the settlers south of Greenwood ere making my way to Edhellond and meeting Vëantur of Númenor.
The miller shrugged, for he had no wisdom to gainsay her.
"Helluin, ere I commit my people to a task that seems so unsafe, I would see a sack of grain harvested thus," Heorte said, "and know the time it took." Helluin nodded, agreeing to her terms.
"Wouldst thou grant Agrona leave to be my witness?" she asked the lady.
The princess and the Shieldmaiden exchanged a look and then Heorte nodded 'aye'.
"We shall go this coming night," Helluin said. "Agrona, we leave ere dusk."
For the mortal Shieldmaiden's safety and for the safety of their horses, Helluin chose to begin whilst ample sunlight still lit the trail, for like most steep paths, 'twas a greater hazard to descend than to climb. The Noldo gave Hildmearh her head and Agrona's steed followed behind at the same careful walking pace. She glanced back and nodded in approval, seeing the Shieldmaiden leaning slightly forward, taking some of her weight off her horse's hindquarters.
They spent a prudent half-hour descending the trail and arrived at the bottom as the sunlight failed, plunging the dale into deep shadow. Despite the darkness, they all breathed sighs of relief to be on level ground. Helluin coaxed Hildmearh to a trot to cover the three leagues to the mouth of Harrowdale with reduced delay. The breadth of the road allowed Agrona to ride beside the Noldo, though she deferred to Helluin to set their pace.
Now whilst they had met and spoken briefly aforetime, after hearing Beorhtwulf's account of the battle at Edoras and seeing the combat on the Climbing Stair, Agrona was even more curious about the Noldo. Her interest had begun as an extension of her peoples' relationship with Elves in general. All of the Rohirrim were curious. The ancient kindred of the Firstborn was a matter of myth, fed by occasional meetings that stretched back further than any certain accounts in lore.
It helped not at all that the Rohirrim were not a folk for letters. Their history was woven into tapestries, carved in wood, or recited in the songs and lays of bards. Tapestries rotted and had to be woven anew, carvings were damaged or destroyed if they adorned buildings that collapsed or burned, and bards took pride in embellishing their lyrics.
'Twas known that Elves were immortal, immune to disease, and as warriors, very difficult to slay. The ancient tapestry from Meduseld, a copy of a copy of a copy, attested to a battle hardly to be believed by any reasonable Rider, and yet the very Ælf riding beside her was the subject of that lore and had recalled details long forgotten, if they had e'er been known at all. As for her more recent claim of having seen Men harvesting grain in the lands south of Mirkwood and east of the Brown Lands, well, none had dwelt or farmed thither since time immemorial. It had always been a blasted, arid, wasteland, that accursed parcel north of the Black Land.
"Helluin, thou said that thou hast seen Men harvesting grain by hand-stripping the spikes from the stalks," Agrona said, and at the Noldo's nod, asked, "How long ago was that?"
After a quick calculation, Helluin said, "Five thousand six hundred and twenty-five years, more or less. By 598 of the Second Age, they harvested their crops as do thy folk."
The Shieldmaiden was neither a farmer, nor a loremaster, but that count of years was far longer than any history known to the Eorlingas. Indeed, the number was mind-boggling. But the answer to her next question left her silent and stupefied.
"So then, this was in thy youth?" she asked. The Noldo laughed, long and hard at that.
"Nay, Agrona," Helluin said after she had mastered her mirth. "By then I was already o'er five thousand years of age."
They rode in silence thereafter, passed through Upbourn, and came to the mouth of Harrowdale after an hour and a quarter. Along that way, all Agrona could think was, Aldor King lived five score and one, ancient of years amongst our kindred, yet not the hundredth part of the age Helluin claims. They stopped at the mouth of the gorge and looked out 'cross the night-darkened lands towards Edoras. From just o'er a league away, a few torches were only barely visible to the Shieldmaiden as flickering pinpoints of light.
"The crescent moon wanes towards new, yet his light still brightens the fields. We must be wary," Agrona said after checking the night sky.
"They scout no further afield than a half-mile from the city, four mounted companies of a half-dozen," Helluin said. "They have also three companies of six patrolling afoot in a circuit of the outer palisade. All of them bear torches and so all of them are night-blinded. Come, Agrona, we shall be quite safe."
The Noldo led them a half-mile west to Wīglāf's fields, and when they reached the barley she had visited the past night, they dismounted and left the horses to graze. Then she unfolded a sack to which she had tied the ends of a rope in two places on one side and draped that loop o'er her head so that the sack hung down from her neck against her chest.
With her right hand, Helluin held a scrap of hard leather, bent into a U-shape and held fast with her ring finger and pinky. With her middle and index fingers on one side of the 'U' and her thumb on the other she could grasp the seed stalks.
With her left hand, Helluin held the sack open using her thumb, whilst her four fingers clasped the barley stalks and bent their heads o'er the open sack. Once she began stripping the seed spikes from the stalks and dropping them into the sack, Agrona could see that the method would work, and that t'would be fast, far faster than she had imagined.
The Shieldmaiden walked alongside the Noldo as she moved through the field from one stalk to the next, stripping the grain from the plants whilst moving inward from the edge of the field towards its center. Behind them, the stalks bared of barley still stood as if untouched.
"We shall harvest from the rear of the field towards the city, but leave several rows 'round the edges pristine. So the fields shall look unchanged to any that give them a glance," she said. "Only a more careful check shall reveal that the field has been harvested."
Agrona nodded to this wisdom, imagining the Dunlendings' surprise. She chuckled at the thought. After a surprisingly short while, Helluin dropped the scrap of leather into the mostly filled sack and led her from the field.
"Pray mark the time," she said, and Agrona checked the moon, noting that half of an hour had passed. "I have picked a stone and ten pounds, half the weight of a bushel¹. Once threshed and winnowed, it shall provide a stone and four for flour or soup and six pounds of animal fodder. Let us be away." ¹(A standard bushel of barley weighs 48lbs, or three stone and six pounds. In thirty minutes, Helluin picked 24lbs of barley with the hulls and some attached awns. She anticipates a yield of 18lbs of hulled grain plus 6lbs of chaff. For a full bushel of grain, she would need to pick two and two-thirds such sacks.)
They returned to the horses that had been waiting patiently at the verge of the field. Helluin tied off the neck of the sack with the rope and then they mounted and rode back into Harrowdale. Their foray had attracted no attention from the Dunlendings in Edoras. Two hours after leaving the field, they had ascended to the Firienfeld where they presented the sack of grain to Heorte and the mylnweard. The Noldo emptied the barley onto a cloak spread o'er the ground.
Wærferð the miller took up a full handful and rubbed it 'tween his palms, feeling its texture and the dryness of the hulls. Most of these, along with the awns, crumbled and dropped away 'twixt his fingers, falling onto the cloak and leaving a handful of kernels. He smiled in approval.
"Naked barley, ripe for the picking after a fair growing season," he said. "'Tis the same that Wīglāf and his sire have cultivated since I met them. The winnowing shall be swift and easy."
"How much and how long, Helluin?" Heorte asked.
"I can pick at a rate of a bushel an hour," the Noldo said, "and thy folk shall attain that speed swiftly for 'tis a simple task."
"Wīglāf grew two acres each of barley, red wheat berries, and oats," Wærferð said.
"I wager from the density of the plants that there are fifty bushels of barley per acre," Helluin estimated. "In six to seven hours o'er two nights, twenty people could harvest 'nigh all hundred bushels in two hundred sixty-six sacks. T'would yield four thousand eight hundred pounds of edible grain and one thousand six hundred pounds of chaff for fodder, leaving the bordering fathom of the field untouched."
"Thou wouldst desire to take the wheat as well?" the princess asked.
"Aye, the wheat a fortnight hence," Helluin said, "and the oats a fortnight after that."
"T'would be a lot of food, and we have many mouths to feed," the mylnweard said.
Princess Heorte looked at the other three and then cast her glance to the tents and campfires of her people spread out 'cross the high meadow, o'er a thousand mouths. She saw the horses 'cross the road beyond the rows of standing stones and the other animals lying on the ground amongst them, cows and sheep mostly, and she was responsible for their welfare too. All would needs be fed and she knew not for how long.
"Take a half éored and a cart, Helluin. Have twenty picking and forty standing guard and minding the horses. If all goes well, then we shall give thought to the wheat and the oats as their time comes," Heorte said, and the Noldo dipped her head to acknowledge her orders. Then the princess turned to Wærferð and asked, "If we have wheat, canst thou grind flour?"
The mylnweard chuckled at that and said, "Give me two dozen to help thresh and winnow and three to help mill the grain and thou shalt have bread flour, my lady. 'Tis what I do." 'Twas the night of 29 Cerveth.
By the night of 1 Urui, the harvest of the barley was complete and in Dunharrow, many joined together in the communal winnowing of the grain. 'Twas the closest thing to a festival that they had enjoyed since the past Yule. Separating the barley from the chaff took four days.
It fell to the sawyer Bīetlmære and his apprentice to contrive a granary from spare lumber and parts of wagons. 'Neath the boughs of the fir trees he built a trio of large boxes raised on posts with shake rooves and doors to store the grain, and platforms with sides 'neath them to store the chaff for animal fodder. All were caulked with sandy clay against the thieving of birds and rodents, yet not so tightly as to exclude fresh air.
"'Tis fine construction, Bīetlmære," Helluin said in praise of his efforts. "I wager in a month we shall need more for oats, but I am unsure of how we can best store the flour."
"We shall need barrels, many barrels, and I hope there are some at the mill, for I am no hooper," he said.
"I shall seek them in Upbourn, or on the farms 'nigh Harrowdale, worst comes to worst," she said. After a few moments' thought, she asked, "Can boxes be made to store flour?"
"Perhaps they could, but the joinery must be very well made," he said, "tighter than my skills at cabinetry allow. Even feed boxes from a stable, the ones lined with tin, would be better."
Helluin nodded to him and gave thought to how best to procure barrels and feed boxes. After taking counsel with Wærferð and learning that there were no more than a half-dozen empty barrels at the mill, she went down into Harrowdale, checking the households and stables in Upbourn. And during that time she went repeatedly to check on the wheat in Wīglāf's fields. The grain continued to ripen as expected, and seed spikes brought back to Dunharrow confirmed this when she conferred with the mylnweard.
On 12 Urui, Wærferð judged the wheat ready for harvesting. That night, the half éored brought their two carts down the Climbing Stair, and as night fell, rode down Harrowdale to Upbourn. There one cart and a dozen Men followed Helluin's instructions and gathered the barrels and feed boxes she had found and brought them to the mill.
The rest of the company continued on to the mouth of the gorge. There Helluin led them to Wīglāf's wheat fields and they began harvesting. By then, the Men were both well practiced at the method and more comfortable being out in the open land within a league of Edoras. They understood now that whate'er they could see of the city, moonlit and in the open, their enemies in the city could see far less of them.
Unlike the Dunlending patrols, they lit no torches, had their backs to the darkness of the mountains, and their presence was not expected. They went about their night's task in silence and with minimal movements and the dark hid them, just as the Ælf assured them t'would.
"Though ye are not Orcs, still, the darkness is your friend," she had told them.
They let their eyes adjust to the starlight and moonlight, and found it sufficient to see the stalks in front of them. After the hours spent picking the barley, their hands moved with swift assurance and their sacks grew heavy with lifesaving food. Though the activity was far different from riding to battle, they felt pride that their labor brought safety and prosperity to their people. And for those who had not aforetime, they came to esteem the farmers who fed their beloved realm.
By the night of the 13th, the wheat harvest was in. The Riders had brought eleven more barrels to the mill, and three, tin-lined feed boxes that had held oats for the horses. On the meticulously swept threshing floor, the mylnweard, his apprentice, and ten Riders were emptying sacks and spreading the seed heads. Full sacks waited on the loading dock in the backs of the two carts. In two nights, the harvesting crew had brought in three hundred sacks of picked wheat at forty-five bushels per acre. There was one further consideration. Unlike the standard bushel of barley that weighed forty-eight pounds, a standard bushel of wheat weighed sixty pounds, making the total yield from two acres about five thousand four hundred pounds of grain.
Because they had only taken seed heads rather than bunches of stalks with seed heads, the harvest counted seven thousand two hundred pounds of raw grain. After threshing, winnowing, and milling, they expected to take five thousand four hundred pounds of whole-wheat flour and up to eighteen hundred pounds of fodder back to Dunharrow.
'Round the clock, teams of Riders aided Wærferð and his apprentice in threshing and winnowing the wheat. First, in teams of twelve, they walked in endless circles on the seed heads they had spread o'er the floor, thereby separating the wheat berries from the seed sheaths, awns, and such bits of stalks as had accompanied the grain into the sacks during the picking.
The Rohirrim felt as if they had ne'er trudged so far, and worse, treading again and again o'er the same flat stone floor within the same four walls with 'naught to see save each others' backs. They were far more used to riding, or at least marching through a familiar countryside.
"I have ne'er come so far and seen so little," Hroþulf groaned as he collapsed on a bench at the end of his duty shift. "I believe I have memorized e'ery board in these walls."
"And I cannot recall e'er walking so far for a loaf of bread," Osbearn agreed, sitting next to him and drinking from a water skin. "I have ne'er wanted so badly to be a horse and crop grass instead."
Wærferð wiped the sweat from his brow and chuckled at their complaints.
"'Tis a mind-numbing task, I grant ye that," the mylnweard agreed, "yet it need not be so bad. We usually sing songs to pass the time and imagine our steps taking us to distant places we have e'er wished to see."
Osbearn and Hroþulf looked at the miller as if he were crazy.
"Come," he said, "I shall show thee how to pass the time with less torment."
Then Wærferð urged his team to stand in a line from the center of the room out to the walls, each with an arm 'round the next Man's shoulders. As they paced, two steps forward, then one step back, then two more forward he began to sing. He continued 'til they had made a circle 'round the threshing floor, and then he bid the central Man change places with the outermost in the line, and he began the song again. The words ran thus, in the Common Speech:
xxxxx
The Little Red Hen found a grain of wheat,
Said, "This looks good enough to eat,
But I'll plant it instead, make me some bread,"
Said to the other guys down the street,
"Who will help me plant this wheat?"
xxxxx
"Not I!" said the dog and the cat.
"Not I!" said the mouse and the rat.
"I will then," said the Little Red Hen,
And she did.
xxxxx
Well the sun shone bright, the rain it blew,
The grain of wheat it grew and grew,
It began as a sprout, headed out,
Till it was ripe enough.
Said, "Who will help me harvest this stuff?"
xxxxx
"Not I!" said the dog and the cat.
"Not I!" said the mouse and the rat.
"I will then," said the Little Red Hen,
And she did.
xxxxx
She lugged it to the miller to grind the flour,
Cause the others would furnish her no manpower,
And at baking time they all declined,
To help her with the job;
They were a dog gone no-good mob.
xxxxx
"Not I!" said the dog and the cat.
"Not I!" said the mouse and the rat.
"I will then," said the Little Red Hen,
And she did.
xxxxx
The bread looked good and smelled so fine,
The gang came running and fell in line;
"We'll do our part with all our heart
To help you eat this chow!"
She said, "I do not need you now."
xxxxx
"I planted and hoed this grain of wheat,
Them that works not, shall not eat,
That's my credo," the little bird said,
And that's why they called her Red.¹
xxxxx
("The Little Red Hen", words and music by Malvina Reynolds, ©1965, Schroder Music Co., renewed 1993. Based on a traditional children's nursery rhyme.)
'Neath Wærferð's tutelage, Hroþulf, Osbearn, and the other Riders found that the time and labor did indeed go swifter and with less boredom. Soon, they were making up new verses and amending the originals, though perhaps some of the moral of the story was lost in their compositions. For example:
xxxxx
"I planted and hoed this grain of wheat,
Them that works not, shall not eat,
That's my credo," the little bird said.
Then the cat ate the mouse and the dog ate the rat,
And last of all, the dog ate the cat.
xxxxx
Or, worse:
xxxxx
"I planted and hoed this grain of wheat,
Them that works not, shall not eat,
That's my credo," the little bird said.
So the cat ate the mouse and the rat,
But the dog ate the hen, being more wolf than the cat.
xxxxx
'Twas with laughter and in high spirits that the Riders finished threshing and proceeded to tossing it up into the breeze that flowed down Harrowdale, winnowing the grain from the chaff. On 17 Urui, they had ninety bushels of red wheat berries ready for milling into flour.
Now the miller had available seventeen standard flour barrels, sized to hold 14 stone, or one hundred ninety-six pounds each. In addition, there were three tin-lined feed bins of similar volume, though they were intended to hold whole oats. All together, Wærferð reckoned he could properly store three thousand nine hundred and twenty pounds of flour, but that left twenty-four bushels plus forty pounds, one thousand four hundred and forty pounds, for which he had no safe storage that would protect it from moisture, rodents, or accidents.
"Helluin, I am worried," he told the Noldo as he and his apprentice readied the millstones for grinding the grist. "I need eight more barrels, or at least seven of full size plus a half-barrel."
She nodded to him, but all she could think to do was to survey those farms and homesteads that lay further from Harrowdale and hope they had some barrels that could be collected. Alas, she could only transport them in a cart, and that meant driving on some local lanes that connected the hamlets and outlying farms 'nigh Edoras. T'would be a hazardous undertaking, even at night.
"Speak to me then of the nearest farms, good Wærferð, and I shall seek barrels thither," she said.
The Helluin and Wærferð took counsel together and after the Noldo memorized the map he had drawn in the flour dust on his worktable, she enlisted Beorhtwulf and Fostercyld to drive a cart and they took their leave of the mill.
Whither do we go, Helluin? Hildmearh asked as they set out.
We seek more barrels for the storage of flour, Helluin said. We ride to check some outlying farms. 'Tis a pleasant night, though we must go at a walk in hope of passing unmarked.
So, we are as thieves sneaking 'round 'neath the stars, the warhorse said. I shall keep my eyes peeled for any barrels left unguarded. She stared off into the night-darkened fields and Helluin stifled a bark of laughter.
The first farm they came to was the homestead of Wīglāf's family, naturally enough. In the kitchen, they found two barrels, one empty and one with what they reckoned to be two stone of flour still in it, and a cask of pickled vegetables. In the barn, they found a feed box with several stone of oats. All of these they loaded into the cart. It seemed that the farmer had taken his livestock to Norðr-vestandóttir Bý along with his family, for all the stalls were emptied.
A mile further down the lane they came to a second farm, this one belonging to a family that Beorhtwulf said was headed by Offa of Mercia¹ and his wife Cynethryth. ¹(Offa of Mercia, a King of the Iclingas c. 757-796, who proclaimed himself 'King of the English'.)
Upon their arrival thither, they startled a fox to flight. It ran off into the fields with a half-grown hen dangling from its jaws, still feebly flapping. The barnyard was awash in agitated chickens, some of which approached them in desperation.
Please, please, please, in the name of the king, save us, I pray thee! a little red hen clucked at Helluin's feet. She regarded it, knowing the dramatic nature of chickens from Norðr-vestandóttir Bý.
We saw the fox, she said, is it the source of thy dis-ease?
Aye, aye, 'tis a horrible monster, a scourge sent to destroy us after Offa abandonated us! Why oh why would he abandonate us? The hen's impassioned question and peculiar verbs recalled the plight of Cooper, the histrionic puppy left behind in Fornost when Princess Artanis had fled the Witch King of Angmar. She cast a careful glance at the chicken coop.
Offa and his family fled the war in these lands, Helluin said. I fear there is no way that we can safeguard ye from the fox, for to close the coop would be to starve ye, as the yard is not fenced.
Oh, woe is we! Woe is we! the hen bewailed. Alas, we are undone! We shall perish horribly. Already we are halved and can only look to be worsted, one and all.
'Twas one of the more pitiful performances that Helluin could recall and though she felt some sympathy for its plight she was unwilling to spend time hunting the fox. It had its place in Arda too else Eru would not have created its kind.
How many are ye? the Noldo asked.
But twenty-six of us remain, and nine chicks, but they have no future, the hen said, dejected.
We seek barrels and then we must take our leave, Helluin said, we cannot linger with our foes all too close by in Edoras.
Then take us with thee, please, please, please! We shall be good and lay eggs. We shall eat worms and grubs, and the larvae of mosquitoes and flies. Please, condemn us not to the savagery of the world. It stared at her with one eye and then the other in the manner of birds and clucked softly to itself.
Very well, Helluin said. Bring thy kith and kin and climb into the cart.
The rejoicing hen brought the other chickens and chicks and they fluttered up into the cart bed, Beorhtwulf and Fostercyld had found another barrel and a crock that they rightly identified as sourdough starter, though 'twas long dried out and dead. These they loaded into the back of the cart, whilst looking askance at all the chickens. Thereafter, they turned and drove back to Upbourn.
Wærferð was quite glad to have another three barrels and a feed box. The chickens he was not so happy with because of their droppings. Helluin managed to convince the hens to occupy a nearby shed for a couple nights 'til they could accompany the first cartloads of flour to be driven to Dunharrow. The remainder of the space in the cart beds was laden with chaff for fodder.
The princess and the people were far happier with both the flour and the chickens.
"Bīetlmære, I reckon a chicken coop shall be needed," she told the sawyer as they watched the hens pecking at the ground. She shrugged and gave him an apologetic look for the increase in his workload. The hens seemed happy enough and the Rohirrim were happy imagining eggs and the occasional chicken dinner.
"I shall be glad to build one," Bīetlmære said, "for chickens are deemed good luck and we can use all of that we can find." Helluin nodded to him, though she had ne'er heard that bit of superstition. Later on, the hens themselves would explain the belief to her.
"We shall have more flour arriving daily, I wager," she told the sawyer, "and now I return to Upbourn."
Helluin returned to the mill and then visited two more farms seeking barrels, but though she found two, thereafter the distance became too great and she was reluctant to risk the Men who went with her to drive the cart. Alas, that left Wærferð lacking two full barrels and therefore a way to protect and transport 'nigh four hundred pounds of flour. 'Twas 20 Urui.
The Noldo spent that night wracking her brain for a solution, for she was loath to abandon flour that might render o'er four hundred loaves to feed the Rohirrim. Helluin examined her many centuries of memories, trying to recall some method for the preservation of food in other places and times. Finally, a recollection offered some hope.
In T.A. 1994, Ürgenҫ, site of the Council of Sultans of the Mâh-Sakâ Confederation and the coronation of Tahmirih Khātūn, had hosted a week of celebration in honor of the confederation's new sovereign. The public feasts had rivaled the elaborate banquets of the Gonnhirrim. The Noldo's allies in Rhûn had served many delicacies and many dishes unknown in the west. But in the city's market stalls, the common folk of the east had created a staple of great simplicity, for they had millions of mouths to feed.
Dawn on 21 Urui found Helluin at the mylnweard's worktable, a pile of flour, a ewer of water, a bowl of cooking oil, and a small dish of salt arrayed before her. Taxing her memories of what she had caught glimpses of, but to which she had paid little heed at the time, she dissolved some salt in the water, enough to taste, but not nearly so much as to make brine. Helluin made a depression in the center of the pile of flour and added water sparingly, then a spoonful of oil. She began to combine these ingredients by gathering and squeezing them with her hands, adding more water 'til a dough was formed. When the dough clung together, she began to knead it, crushing and rolling the mass repeatedly for several minutes 'til it seemed the ingredients were evenly combined and the gluten in the flour lent the dough some elasticity. The Noldo then set the ball of dough aside and let it rest.
Now when the half part of an hour had passed, Helluin spread a thin layer of flour on the worktable and began spreading out the dough into a sheet, flipping it o'er several times to keep its surface floured so that it stuck neither to her hands nor to the tabletop. Eventually, the sheet was stretched to the thickness of a leather thong. Then, making sure its surface was floured that it not adhere to itself, she rolled it like a scroll and began slicing thin coils from the end.
When she had finished the slicing, Helluin unrolled the coils, having produced many long, narrow strips of thin dough, and these she hung o'er a railing to air dry. She was well encouraged that the dough had clung together in this shape, rather than crumbling or clumping for being too 'short'. The flour was high enough in gluten and ground neither too fine, nor too coarse, and it had accepted water and oil in an acceptable proportion.
By then an hour had passed and Wærferð had joined her, looking with curiosity on her endeavor.
"What dough is this, Helluin? What attempt thou?" he asked as she prepared another pile of flour for a second batch. It seemed that she did not intend to bake any of it.
"I have recalled a foodstuff produced long aforetime by peoples I met in my travels," she said. "When dried, these strips of dough can be kept long and boiled at need, to be accompanied with butter and herbs, or added to soups, or 'neath a ladle of gravy beside meats. They can also be pan fried with finely sliced vegetables and meat, and indeed that was a preferred method for quick meals."
"And they are 'naught but flour, salted water, and oil?" the mylnweard asked.
"Aye, though they can be made with additions of eggs or powdered dried vegetables like spinach. Some used buckwheat or rice instead of wheat flour."
"How curious," he said, "but whyfor expend the effort?"
"Because we lack barrels for the raw flour and these are easily stored, quickly prepared, and simple to incorporate into many kinds of meals. Shaped thus, the dough can long remain dry without spoilage, and then be cooked in boiling water for but a few minutes rather than needing to be baked," Helluin said.
"I shall be very curious to see the outcome of thine endeavor, Helluin, and most eager to try this dough," Wærferð said. "Pray tell me when some is dried that we may sample it."
"We need not wait on its drying, good Wærferð," Helluin said. "We may boil some and eat of it at any time. Pray set a pot upon the fire and I shall join thee."
Shortly later, after they had boiled several servings and tried them, topped with butter and some minced fresh basil, the miller was quite impressed. So too were the Riders who had awakened to break their fasts and found a new food to try.
"By what name were these dough strings called?" Fostercyld asked.
"The Mâh-Sakâ called them lakhsha¹," Helluin said, and thereafter fielded many questions about who and where these allies of old had dwelt. ¹(lakhsha, noodles though this recipe is akin to Japanese Udon. Persian)
The Rohirrim were somewhat off-put at first to learn that they were Easterlings, but Helluin called them allies and when she described the destruction of Sheol and the defeat of Sauron, they quieted in their protests. In any case, they embraced the lakhsha and that was well, for as they waited on the milling of the flour, the Noldo employed them at kneading and rolling dough.
Now on 25 Urui, the processing of the wheat into flour and noodles was complete and they loaded their carts, drove their food to the Climbing Stair, and ascended to Dunharrow. Both the bread flour and the noodles were well received by the princess and the people and they gave thanks for both.
Soon cooks set about creating dishes using the lakhsha. Amongst these was a preparation involving cream simmered with butter and grated hard cheese that yielded a rich, filling sauce in which the noodles were tossed. This became a favorite, along with a sauce of boiled down tomatoes and shredded sausage that benefitted from the addition of oregano and minced onion and garlic.
They had also rebuilt the sourdough starter and so had varieties of bread to go with e'ery meal, and eggs for their mornings. As summer waned, the people were happy and felt safe in their haunted meadow, and none now favored abandoning it because of ghosts they ne'er saw. In part, this was for reasons unsuspected that only became known to Helluin upon speaking with the hens, and that by accident when she found some slurping up some lefto'er noodles.
Fair morn to thee, red hen, the Noldo had said in greeting whilst watching several chickens eating from a bowl of lakhsha left behind after supper the night past. I am surprised to find thee supping on lakhsha. How dost thou find it?
The sauce Alfredo is tasty, but 'tis the texture we find most attractive," the little red hen said, sucking up another noodle, they are reminiscent of night crawlers which are few in the uplands.
Ahhh, now I understand the interest ye have in them. They are new to the people as well.
I had ne'er seen them at Offa's board and not even the ghosts have seen them aforetime, the hen proclaimed. Helluin regarded her with interest.
Thou see the ghosts? Truly? the Noldo asked.
Aye, we see a few peeking from yonder defile, though they avoid us, she said. Likewise, we try to avoid the Dimholt, though there are some wholesome grubs in the trunks of fallen fir trees.
I see, Helluin said, and know thou whyfor the ghosts of Men would avoid chickens?
Nay, I do not, though they draw back in horror at the laying of an egg.
Huh, said Helluin, unsure of what to think, I bid thee a fine morn, red hen, pray be well.
And thou, Helluin. We are thankful thou brought us hither, for we have seen 'naught of foxes, weasels, or eagles here'bouts.
The Noldo gave her a nod and then walked off to contemplate the hen's tidings ere making her way into Harrowdale that eve to check on the ripening of the oats.
Within the next week, two acres of oats were cut and brought to the mill. There they were spread and allowed another two days to dry. The Rohirrim expected a yield of sixty bushels per acre or one hundred twenty bushels total. Unlike barley at forty-eight pounds per bushel or wheat at sixty pounds per bushel, oats weighed thirty-two pounds per bushel as dried, hulled grain. The expected weight of the harvest was three thousand eight hundred and forty pounds.
On 2 Ivanneth, the last of the oats had been cut, and while they dried in the mill, three carts of stalks were cut and driven immediately to Dunharrow as animal fodder.
As aforetime, the threshing and a round of winnowing followed, and then Wærferð readjusted his millstones from flour grinding to hulling. By passing the oats through the mill with the stones set slightly apart, the husks were loosened and the groats freed. Then a final round of winnowing removed the hulls and the miller collected the clean grain. This he stored in sacks and finally, the oats were driven to the Firienfeld. The harvest of 2758 was completed and ominously, a few flakes of snow fell as the carts drove up Harrowdale.
"5 Ivanneth, and already snow falls as I have not seen it do so early aforetime," Beorhtwulf said, and Fostercyld nodded in agreement as he rode beside him.
Helluin cast a worried glance to the veteran Rider whilst Osbearn and Hroþulf looked up at the leaden sky or held out gloved hands to see the snowflakes alight.
"When wouldst thou expect snow, noble Beorhtwulf?" Helluin asked, valuing his two score and seventeen years' experience of Rohan's climate.
"Seldom does snow fall in the Mark ere mid-Narbeleth, and more oft, not 'til that month's end. We are far south of Framsburg and even Norðr-vestandóttir Bý lies many leagues north."
"So this snow is a month and a half early or more?"
"Aye, Helluin, and perhaps this betides a long winter atop all else that bedevils us," Beorhtwulf said.
"Then we shall be glad of the added food," she muttered as she watched the flakes fall. It seemed they would continue long enough to accumulate on the ground.
To Be Continued
