‘I thought all these underground places had been flooded and scoured?’

  ‘Aye, round about, but not in the Tower. And the lowest depths, dungeons or store rooms or whatever they are, are hewn out of the solid rock and so secure that nothing could get in, not even water. Do you want me to go through those rooms as well?’

  The captain jingled the great keys thoughtfully, then made up his mind. ‘Yes. But go carefully, in case the old villain left some further devilry there to entrap us.’

It was two days since the King and his party  had left Isengard, nine days since Saruman had abandoned it. The captain of Gondor, entrusted with clearing the great tower of Orthanc for possible occupation by a new warden, was heartily sick of his task, fearful of  the sinister remains of incomprehensible wizardry that abounded in Saruman’s chambers, uneasy at having to pass the time of day with talking trees, and resentful at being excluded from the celebrations that were still in progress all over the restored kingdom. He wished only to complete his task, lock up and be away. 

Nervous already, he started violently as a hoarse scream echoed up from the stairwell. The young soldier reappeared, panting and as pale as a man stricken by a mortal wound.

  ‘Sir! Sir…’ 

  ‘What the…’

   ‘Sir, sir, please come, come now.’ The soldier clutched at the captain’s sleeve like a terrified child.  

   ‘Look in there.’ The soldier – who, though young, was a proven warrior – pointed a trembling finger at the dark door and shrank back.  The captain, shaken but with his dignity to maintain, advanced and flung the door open, then reeled back, gagging but relieved.

  ‘Meat! Rotting meat! It’s the old man’s pantry! They said he  had everything of the best. And it's nine days since he left with his servant, and in this heat…’

  ‘No, sir.’ The soldier was screaming now. ‘There’s something in there. Something that moved. Something with a voice.’

  ‘Orcs? Wild men? There were plenty of those in Isengard, so the Rohirrim told me. But why in the Tower?’

  The soldier shook his head. ‘Orcs and wild men I could face, but whatever is in there is horrible. I can feel it.’

The captain could feel it too, now: the horror in the air, more potent than the stench. A horror that drained all memory of sunlight and joy and made this palpable darkness all that existed. And out of the horror and the stench there came a voice – a harsh, husky voice, like the voice of something that had once been human but whose humanity had been sucked away, like marrow from a bone.

  ‘Who is that? Which of us have you come for now?’

  ‘Elbereth protect us!’ murmured the captain.

  ‘Sir, don’t answer, if you do it will have us!’ groaned the soldier, but the captain’s courage was returning – thanks to the invocation perhaps – and he nerved himself to speak.

  ‘Who is that?’

  ‘Something that was …’ – the voice paused and there was a dreadful sound, as if a coffin laughed –‘something that was once a woman.’

  ‘What woman? What is your name? Are you a creature of Saruman’s? What evil power have you? Friend or foe of Gondor?’ The captain realised he was gabbling and fell silent. 

  ‘When I was a woman,’ said the coffin-voice, ‘I was a woman of Gondor and had a name. We have no names now. We are no friends or foes of Gondor. We have no power to work evil. We are evil. We are foul. Do not come near us.’

  ‘Us? There’s more than one of you? How many of you are in there?’

  ‘Sisters,’ said the un-voice, ‘count yourselves.’

From the stinking blackness came other voices, slow and harsh, that spoke numbers.   

  ‘We are one and twenty,’ said the un-voice. ‘At the last count there were eight and twenty. I do not know how long ago that was. I have lost count of the days since the ill-favoured man left us alone. Those of us who yet live, lie among the dead whom we envy.’

  The captain fought against waves of nausea and uncomprehending horror. His mind reeled.

  ‘If you are no foes of Gondor, then come out and show yourselves! We are men of Gondor. We will do you no harm.’

  ‘No, we will not come out,’ said the un-voice. ‘If you are wise, you will close the door now, and seal it, and leave us alone.’

   ‘I can’t … that is…’

The captain could stand no more. He turned and fought his way up the winding stair until he reached daylight. He stood before the great door of Orthanc and breathed the sweet air and looked down at his hands as if he thought the darkness and stench would have clung to them, like tar.  The soldier was sitting on the bottom step, his head in his hands.

  ‘This is too much for me,’ said the captain. ‘Orthanc is the King’s tower. It is for the King to decide what should be done. I suppose. He left no orders about … women.’ The captain was finding it hard to adjust to the existence of a king in Gondor. In this he was not alone.

  ‘King’s gone,’ said the soldier. ‘Gone away with those fine guests of his. Don’t know which way he went. Might take a long time to find him.’

  ‘Oh.’ The captain shuddered, then brightened. ‘But the Steward is still here, at Edoras. We can send to him. It’s not far. He’ll know what to do.’ 

  Immense relief flooded the soldier’s face. They knew where they were with the Steward. ‘Yes, sir. He surely will, sir. Shall I ride there now, sir?’

He departed at a run. The Captain called for another subordinate, who approached with equal reluctance.

   ‘Get a bucket of water, clean water. And some bread, and leave them in the room under the Tower. No, you need not go inside. But leave the door open.’

*********

Faramir stepped into the darkness and fought down the nausea. He remembered the Ring-bearer’s tale of a darkness palpable, a stench unbearable, an air thick with malice. Thus it was here, except that the air was full not of malice but of despair; but it had the same draining quality, banishing even the memory of light and joy though they were only a few hours behind him. ‘Woman of Gondor!’

  ‘There is no woman here,’ said the un-voice.

  ‘Woman or un-woman, as you choose, but whatever you are, I would speak with you. And since you will not come into the light, I have come into the darkness. I am the Steward of Gondor.’

  There was no surprise in the un-voice, but there was the faintest tone of question.

  ‘When I was alive in Gondor, the Lord Denethor was Steward, and he oversaw all things from the City. He did not ride abroad.’

  ‘Many things have happened since. The Lord Denethor is dead, and the Lord Boromir also. It is the Steward Faramir who speaks.’

  ‘I remember him. He was young, and wise. He had a good heart. But that is nothing to us.’

  ‘I may be nothing to you, you who were once a woman of Gondor, but all things in Gondor are now my care, and you are something to me, you and the others here whom you call sisters. By the authority I bear I could command you, but because of the pity I feel for you, I will only entreat you to speak.’

The coffin-laugh came again. ‘You care for us? It is because you do not know. Nonetheless, if my sisters consent to it, I will speak. Sisters, do  you consent?’

  The voices came out of the darkness, one by one.

  ‘Nineteen have consented. None has refused. Two have fallen silent forever. Therefore I will speak to you, Steward, but you will not thank me for it.’

********

I was nineteen when they came to my village. It was in the foothills of the Ered Nimrais above Pinnath Gelin. It was a good place. There was a young herdsman there who had looked lovingly on me, but the orcs killed him. I had never seen orcs before then. I thought they lived only in stories, or beyond our borders which the warriors of Gondor held secure. They were more hideous than any tale had told. They burned the village and killed all save the young women, and us they drove off – like beasts, only they had killed the beasts. There were ten of us, but three died on the way. They drove us over the pass into the empty fields of Rohan. There they tied us like sacks, and set us before them on horses, and rode swiftly by night. I thought the Rohirrim might save us, but none came.

At daybreak on the second day we came to a great wall like a cliff, and passed through a gate into a guarded camp, and then they took us to an enclosure. In the enclosure, guarded by orcs, were many women. Some were of Gondor, but many more from Rohan. Some were women out of the forest, strange to our eyes and speaking only a few words of our speech,  but they were our sisters none the less. Two were black women from Harad, where they say the men are friends of the Nameless Lord, and they spoke no word of our tongue, but they were our sisters none the less. None of us knew why we had been brought, and we were afraid, but not afraid enough. They fed us on scraps and foul water, and gave us straw to lie on. We lay together and tried to console one another, hearing all round us the voices of orcs and of wolves.

When the sun was high, the orc-guards roused us out and made us stand in long lines, and then the old man came. He was tall and noble and we thought he had come to deliver us, but at his side walked one that was a man, yet no man; an orc, yet no orc. The old man and the orc-man looked at us and laughed. They walked along the rows, and some women, who were small and weak, the old man pointed out, and the orc-guards slew them. Four were with child, and the old man pointed to them and they were led aside, and chained together, and taken away. A long time after they were returned to us, having been delivered, but they had no children with them, and they wept all day and all night and could not be comforted, and all but one soon died. Perhaps you have heard that orcs have a taste for child-flesh. Also on that first day there were three women who were very beautiful, and the old man pointed to them and they were led away. We never saw them again.

Then the old man smiled on the rest of us, and his smile poisoned our hearts. He turned and left us, walking proudly and nobly like a great lord, and the orc-man gave a shout, and a trumpet blew, and other orcs came. Many orcs, more than us women, but they all took their turn. Afterwards they took us into the Tower, and then into a great dark room underneath it. There we lay and prayed for death and sought a means to it, but they watched us day and night, and gave us no chance to escape them in death. Those who sought escape most assiduously they chained and hobbled, like the old ass my father used to keep, except that my father had a kindness for the ass. Those who refused to eat were fed by force. Some died of despair, but death is slow to come to those who call most eagerly upon him, even as he is swift to visit those who love life.

So it was that we bore the orc-children. Those who bore no children the orcs slew. We counted them most fortunate. Most of the women bore only one orc-child, and died of it. I was strong and bore many. I fed my children with loathing. When they were taken away I would have rejoiced, except that I knew what would happen next.

New women came day by day to replace those who died. I wondered why no men came to avenge us, but our ravishers were cunning and never left any trace to show where we had gone, and none ever came within the great walls except the servants of the old man. Even if one had come, he would have known nothing of us, or heard our cries through the solid stone. I think that in Gondor and Rohan and the other lands they must have blamed these losses on the Nameless Lord, but we knew it was not his doing. We did not think any could work a worse evil than the Nameless Lord, but it was so.

So the years and the days went by. I do not know how many days. There came a day when the orc-guards seemed excited, and some of them went away and did not return. I think now they had gone to war. And after this came a day when the remaining orc-guards looked fiercely on us and we thought they would slay us, and we rejoiced. But instead they drew their swords and ran out, and we heard a great crashing outside and many shouts, but they shut the door behind them and left us in the dark, and we heard and saw no more. A while later we heard another great noise as of many waters, but dim and far off, for nothing could penetrate the living rock that was our prison.

So we remained for many hours, or days, and the air grew foul and hunger and thirst tormented us. It is strange how the mind can long for death while the body cries out for air and light, and water and food. The women began to die. It was then that I began to count my sisters, so that we would know how many of us remained. There were five and forty of us when we first counted. We spoke to one another and consoled one another and there came a kind of tortured peace among us. Each one that died we commended to the Valar and to the strange gods of the forest people and the Haradrim. We laid out their bodies as best we could, but…

On a time, the door opened and air came in. There was a man with a glim, and the brightness of it hurt our eyes. I saw he was a little man, ill-favoured, but he came to our  bodies like the coming of the Valar, for in his free hand he held a bucket, and in the bucket was water – muddy and foul-tasting, but water. He said no word, but set down the bucket, and then lowered a sack from his back, and in the sack were some crusts of grey bread. He said no word. He emptied the sack on to the floor, and left us, locking the door behind him.

After that he came again – not often, but enough to keep us alive. He never spoke. Every time the food was scantier, but every time there were fewer of us, so those who remained could still eat. Then, not so long ago, his visits ceased and we knew that all hope – why do I say hope? - was gone. And then your soldier and your captain came, and we saw men of Gondor again, and knew fully what we had become.

You say that the Nameless One is overthrown and that the old man has departed and that all is well with the world. These are great matters, but not to us. We have no place in a world that has been cleansed of what you call evil, because we never can be cleansed. We are rotten through and through with evil. No, do not talk to us of healing. We are beyond healing. I have told my tale because you entreated me to speak. I do not ask for your pity. I know I am loathsome in your eyes, even in this darkness, because not to find me loathsome would be a lie, and you do not lie. Be thankful that you have not seen me in the light of day. Now go back into your clean world, and shut the door on us, and leave us. I do not say ‘forget us,’ because you never will.

I say we do not want your pity.

Is there nothing you can do for us? Perhaps one thing. Give us death. Death, swift and painless, so that we may depart and be at rest. And if you can find men with courage enough to bring us out, lay us in the earth, and cover us, and we will be utterly forgotten, and perhaps the earth will cleanse us at the last.

I do not speak for my sisters. Ask them if you will, and if any have life in them left to live, then let them live it. I care not.

Now let us be.

***********

‘Warden,’ said Faramir, ‘I need your help.’

The Warden looked up in fatherly anxiety. ‘You are not ill? You look pale. No return of fever?’

‘No, nothing like that. It is not for myself.’

‘Then what do you need from me?’

‘Death. Death swift and painless, by whatever drug you think best. No, don’t look at me as if I had gone mad. It is for a reason.’

The Warden, deeply shaken, looked up at him. ‘My Lord, I know well that you do not do things without a reason. But this is a terrible thing you ask of me, and without knowing the reason…’

‘The reason I cannot give.’ Faramir smiled bitterly. ‘Oh, I have the consent of the king of Rohan, and I have told the King Elessar, and I have the King’s warrant…’

‘Nay, I have no need of any warrant if I have your word. There is indeed such a drug, though few know of it, nor should. It is-’

Faramir raised a hand. ‘No, that secret should be known only to those who are absolute for life, and I have been a warrior. Only prepare me sufficient quantity of this drug for twenty’ – he spoke harshly through the Warden’s gasp of horror – ‘and that as soon as may be. And believe me, Master Warden, though you labour another hundred years in this House, you will never do a better deed of healing than this.’

**********

Deep in the tree-garth of Orthanc there is a glade. The grass is level and smooth, and in spring it is starred with white flowers of evermind. Always, on the western side, stands an Ent, standing as still as a mountain, save that he raises his branchy arms in salute when any enter or leave. Few ever come. Sometimes a few dark women of Gondor, sometimes a golden woman of Rohan. Very rarely a black-skinned woman from a far country. The little women of the forest folk come and go so warily, it is like a whisper in the grass. And once a year, a tall man, kingly but no king, alone and unattended, who stands in thought  for a while in the midst of the glade, with bowed head, and then passes silently away.

Alas, evil cannot be wholly cured, nor made as if it had never been.

Author's note: LoTR contains numerous hints that Saruman has been interbreeding men and orcs. I've been haunted by the implications of that for ages,and this story is the result.