Chapter 51. Into Eternity 

In the depths of the night there sounded the slow marching of booted feet, which approached inexorably until they stopped just outside Ulrich’s cell. The condemned Man dragged his gaze from the window, where he’d watched the stars as he and Ferdi had quietly talked the dark hours away. There was a jingle of keys as the keeper unlocked the cell.

A Man dressed all in black, without the relieving silver of a guardsman, stepped forward. ‘Ulrich,’ he said.

 ‘Brandir,’ Ulrich said. ‘It has been too long.’

 ‘Not long enough, I think,’ the King’s executioner said.

 ‘I don’t blame you,’ Ulrich said quickly. ‘If anything, I bless the fact that it is you. You’ll make it quick.’

 ‘I’ll do my best, old friend,’ Brandir said. He held out his hand, and Ulrich took it. Suddenly the executioner threw his arms about the prisoner, embracing him tightly, laying a brother’s kiss upon his cheek before releasing him. ‘I must take my leave of you now,’ he said, ‘for there’ll be no time later.’

 ‘Grace go with you, my friend,’ Ulrich said.

The executioner nodded and stepped back. ‘I must go on before you,’ he said, and left. His rapid steps sounded in the corridor, a door slammed, and all was silent once more.

 ‘It’s time,’ Bergil said, standing at the cell opening. This would not normally be one of his duties, but he’d asked the King for this place.

 ‘I’m ready,’ Ulrich said, though he knew Ferdi would hear the lie in his voice. The hobbit said nothing, however, only nodded.

He shuffled out of his cell and into the courtyard, where they waited under the stars which were not yet dimming. It would be a long walk down through every level of the City to the Gate, and the gallows just beyond, and they must arrive before the dawning to be in good time. The stars would shine on them for much of the walk. They’d begin to dim only as the end was near.

At last he heard the muttering and cursing that announced the Pilgrim’s arrival from a deeper level of the dungeons. Bergil raised his voice to order the march, and they set off. It was not a brisk march, but a slow one with the dirge of a single drum to accompany them.

Ulrich shivered a little as they walked down the darkened streets, the echo of the drum and the guardsmen’s boots sounding unnaturally loud against the stone walls and shuttered windows. No light shone save the moon and stars above and the torches that accompanied the slow parade.

At the beginning he’d thought he’d be eager to get this over, but now it all seemed to be going much too quickly. Each step brought him closer to his doom. On the long climb, upon his arrival, he’d thought the streets stretched to eternity. Now the walk was shorter than he remembered, and each level passed swiftly beneath his feet.

***

 ‘I wish you all the best in life,’ Fredegar said quietly to his weeping family, who stood all round and held to him as if they’d never let him go. ‘It has been a good life, and longer than I deserved.’

 ‘Never say that, Freddy,’ Melilot sobbed. ‘Never.’

 ‘O yes,’ Freddy said gently. ‘If the wizard had had his way, I’d’ve died within a few days of leaving the Lockholes, his parting gift to my family. Look at how I’ve spited him, living so many years longer than he intended!’

He pulled Melilot around to his side, settled his arm around her, and looked around the circle of loved ones. ‘It has been a good life,’ he said again, ‘and I go to a better place, they say, or why would they call it “the gift of Eru”?’ He smiled. ‘I will not even be lonely for you all, for they say there is no time there. It will seem like no time at all that I must wait for you...’

He squeezed Melilot gently as his daughters gulped back their tears and his sons blinked hobbitfully. ‘You must be of comfort to one another,’ he said, ‘and know that my love is ever with you.’

 ‘But why?’ Perevar whispered.

 ‘You know very well why,’ Fredegar returned calmly. ‘His oldest son is only ten years of age, his youngest daughter a babe. Why should they be condemned to grow up fatherless? You’ve had a father all your growing years, and you’re nearly grown now...’ He looked once more at each beloved face. ‘I might be taken from you at any time, but there’s no need for him to be taken from them.’

 ‘O Father!’ Violet, his youngest sobbed. Merivar took her hand, and she buried her face in her older brother’s shoulder until she could control her tears once more. Freddy smiled and moved forward to take her in his arms; she clung to him and wept softly, then gained control once more, straightened again, wiping her face defiantly, setting grief aside.

He patted her back, whispering, ‘Someone wiser than I’ll ever be once said that not all tears are evil.’

Melilot nodded, her own face displaying evidence of sorrow. Freddy returned to her, to give her the comfort of a final embrace.

 ‘I love you,’ Freddy whispered. ‘I love you all.’ His heart was so full that he might drop on the spot, and what good would that do Ulrich? He gave Melilot a last kiss and then turned to Faramir, waiting silently. ‘I’m ready,’ he said.

The Prince of Ithilien nodded and picked him up, to carry Freddy to the waiting horse, and thence on horseback, down to the Gate.

Frodovar, from his bed, took as deep a breath as he was able and began to whisper a song to sing his father on his way. Forget-me-not, holding his hand, took up the tune, and soon all the hobbits were singing even as the tears streamed down their faces.

 ‘Are you sure about this?’ Faramir said, lifting him into the saddle.

 ‘I am doing the right thing,’ Freddy said in reply. ‘It is not always the easiest thing to do, but I choose to do it all the same.’

The Prince of Ithilien nodded, his thoughts going back to the first Halfling he’d ever met, who’d said much the same thing to him upon a time.

The song swelled behind them as they rode into the night.

***

The Gate loomed before them in the light of the torches and the fading stars, and then they were through. The executioner awaited them on the platform, standing with the King and the jurors. Others stood quietly nearby; it seemed quite a number of Men of the City had risen early this day. Hobbits stood there too, among them Pimpernel, for her testimony had helped convict the madman, and though many had tried to dissuade her she maintained that she must be there.

The drum fell silent; its voice would not be heard again until the actual moment of execution. Guardsmen wrestled the Pilgrim up the tall, narrow steps and onto the platform, but he continued to fight them so fiercely that one of them finally stunned him with the blow of a gauntleted fist to get him to stand still for the noose. The executioner did his work quickly and competently and stepped back again before the prisoner could revive and try to strike out, even shackled as he was.

Next he stepped up to Ulrich, but before he could lower the noose over his friend’s head hoofbeats rang on the stones and Prince Faramir hailed the King.

 ‘A moment,’ Elessar said to Brandir, and the Man in black nodded and took the rope away again.

 ‘I have come to take his place,’ Freddy called from the horse’s back. ‘We are just in time, I take it!’

 ‘Your timing is impeccable,’ Elessar said, ‘though I wouldn’t say you’ve come in good time.’

 ‘I offer my life for his,’ Freddy said, ‘and by tradition you are honour-bound to grant me this boon.’

 ‘I have no choice in the matter,’ Elessar agreed reluctantly. It gave him no joy to save his old friend in this manner.

 ‘But I do,’ Ulrich said, standing straighter even as Brandir looked in amazement from one speaker to another. ‘I will not accept this gift, Master Perian, no matter that it is freely given, or that you think to exchange your short remaining time for a longer time for me. Not one of us knows our end. You could live another twenty years, and I could be kicked in the head by a horse on the morrow.’

 ‘You don’t know...’ Freddy began, but Ulrich overruled him.

 ‘I refuse the gift, I say,’ he shouted. Lowering his voice, he said, ‘Forgive me my rudeness, Master Fredegar, but I stand on my words. I will not let the noose pass to you. On my honour, I’ve never taken a life and I refuse to do so at this late date.’ He turned his head to nod at the executioner.

Brandir returned the nod and without waiting for the King’s order he settled the noose over Ulrich’s head, adjusting the knot. ‘It ought to break your neck when you hit,’ he whispered. ‘That’s as quick as I can make it.’

 ‘My thanks,’ Ulrich whispered in return.

Elessar walked to stand before the Pilgrim, slumping dazed in the grip of the guards. ‘Have you any final words?’ he asked.

The madman straightened, swallowed hard, started to shake his head but was constrained by the rope. He seemed to waken then, to realise his circumstances. His voice rose in panic. ‘I didn’t do anything!’ he cried. ‘I’m innocent! You cannot do this! You cannot condemn an innocent man!’

The guards tightened their grip as the King turned away and walked the few steps over to Ulrich. ‘Old friend,’ he said.

 ‘Old friend,’ Ulrich responded.

Elessar embraced him suddenly, heedless of shackles and rope. ‘Go with grace,’ he whispered. With a kiss for Ulrich’s cheek he stepped back.

 ‘And you,’ Ulrich said. He took a deep breath. Not long now.

Cuillon stepped to the King’s side, his eyes steady on Ulrich’s. ‘Do you have any final words?’ he asked.

 ‘I’ve said all I need to say,’ Ulrich responded. He looked to Ferdibrand, standing nearby, the eastern sky beginning to lighten beyond him. ‘My thanks.’

Ferdi nodded, a sharp jerk of his head. He did not trust himself to speak.

As King and head juror stepped away the drum began the final roll. Ulrich closed his eyes, knowing that he would not hear the last beat. During the drumroll Brandir would walk to the lever, give it a sharp pull, and the two condemned men would drop to the ends of their ropes. The drummer would count the slow march of seconds until the passing of a long minute, and then he would stop.

The drum rolled on, seeming to swell into eternity.