Chapter 44. A Slight Difference of Opinion

The final day of Lithe dawned as bright as the previous days. The Shire-folk attending the fair congratulated themselves on the fine weather. Not all Lithedays celebrations had enjoyed the warm, dry weather that had blessed them this year. The farmers among them, however, kept an eye on the sky and muttered about the need for rain.

Ferdi, walking the racecourse that morning with Pippin, shook his head. ‘Dry,’ he said.

Pippin laughed and slapped him on the back. ‘Fine and fast,’ he said. ‘Just as the Rohan likes it. He’s used to running over grassy plains, you know, and has a horror of puddles.’ He eyed his head of escort. ‘I do believe he has a good chance of beating Socks, but don’t tell him I said so!’ 

 ‘I wouldn’t upset Socks for all the world,’ Ferdi said, and meant it. That pony gave trouble enough as it was. ‘Dry,’ he said again. ‘Dry and dusty. I was thinking of you.’

 ‘All is well,’ Pippin said. ‘Never been better. And in the race I plan to be riding ahead of the pack and all the dust they kick up.’

  ‘You’re wheezing,’ Ferdi said flatly. ‘You’ve already taken in more dust than is good for you, just walking. The race is a little less than an hour away, and how bad will you be by the start?’

 ‘I’m fine,’ Pippin said, annoyed.

 ‘Of course you are,’ Ferdi said, holding tight to his temper. He’d have said the same thing in Pippin’s place, of course, but that didn’t make him feel any better. ‘Come along,’ he said now, changing his tack. ‘Let’s get our fancy togs on. Hilly and Tolly ought to have the ponies warmed up by now, and it would be a shame to miss the start.’

The other riders continued around the racecourse as Ferdi persuaded Pippin to duck under the fencerail and walk towards the pavilions that stabled the racers. ‘I’m sure if there’s anything wrong with the racecourse, they’ll see it,’ he said with a gesture to the hobbits they were leaving.

Once inside the pavilion that housed Socks, Ferdi picked up his bag. ‘Take off your shirt,’ he said to Pippin.

 ‘Of course,’ Pippin said. ‘How else would I put the colours on?’ He undressed to the skin from his waist up and then picked up the finely woven green-and-gold of Tookland.

 ‘A moment,’ Ferdi said, taking out the jar of balm.

 ‘Not that smelly stuff!’ Pippin protested.

 ‘You’re wheezing,’ Ferdi said again. ‘Woodruff said that if we use the balm early, we might not need the draught.’

 ‘You may use the balm if you wish, and take the draught for all I care, but I don’t need them!’ Pippin said, emphasising the personal pronoun with a jab of his thumb at his chest.

 ‘Very impressive,’ Ferdi said, carefully not looking at the healed ribs that did not look as hobbit ribs ought. ‘Now let us spread this stuff on. Bad enough I must get it on my hands without having to argue you round.’ To his ear the wheezing sounded worse in the confines of the pavilion.

Pippin seemed to think the same, for he suddenly shifted the bright shirt to his left hand, dug his right hand into the jar, pulled out a handful of pungent unguent, presented his back to Ferdi and said, ‘Well? What are you waiting for?’ As Ferdi carefully rubbed his own handful of balm over Pippin’s back, not commenting on the whip scars he found there, Pippin rubbed the stuff over his chest and throat, wrinkling his nose at the smell.

 ‘Good,’ Ferdi said. ‘Now sit down and let it work.’ He indicated a nearby chair. To his alarm, Pippin sank down without protest. He sealed the jar, placing it carefully in the bag, and fumbled for the bag of tea. ‘Perhaps we ought to make up the draught,’ he said worriedly.

 ‘That stuff? It’ll put me to sleep!’ Pippin said sharply.

 ‘It relaxes the muscles,’ Ferdi corrected.

 ‘Precisely!’ Pippin snapped. ‘I’m not so daft as you are, Ferdi, to ride a race after quaffing a sleeping draught!’ He shook his head, muttering, ‘Not to mention tying your leg to the stirrup leathers. You were risking your death, and for what? Gold?’

 ‘As you are risking your life,’ Ferdi returned evenly. ‘And for what?’

Gold. The answer hung between them.

 ‘The Rohan will likely win,’ Pippin said, ‘and even if Socks drops to fourth place, we’ll do well enough. As it is, we could take second and third and still come out ahead.’

 ‘So, what if the Rohan wins?’ Ferdi said. ‘You don’t have to risk riding at all! Better for Socks in any event, not to run the old pony against the Shire-wide competition he’ll find here. Let him race in Tookland, where he’s amongst the best, and don’t force him to break his heart against younger ponies like the Rohan and the best of Buckland.’

Pippin shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, rising from the chair. ‘We need first place, and at least fourth, or it’s no use.’

 ‘Let me ride,’ Hilly spoke quietly from the doorway. Both turned sharply, and Pippin pulled the shirt that dangled from his left hand over his chest, moving to hide his back... Hilly had seen enough before they noticed him, but he knew better than to speak of it. He’d heard Talk about Pippin’s adventures in foreign parts, but he fancied now he knew a bit more than speculation had spoken, after seeing the whip scars and battered ribs, and he knew enough to understand the argument that he’d interrupted.

 ‘No,’ Pippin said.

 ‘Why not?’ Ferdi said.

Pippin levelled a stern eye on him. ‘You know very well why,’ he said. First... and Fourth, his look said.

 ‘I’ll lay a wager with you,’ Hilly said. Somehow he’d divined that the purse was an issue. The Thain was riding the pony himself so that he wouldn’t have to split the purse, giving half to a hired rider. For some reason Ferdi had given up his share of the purse for riding the Rohan, Hilly hadn’t quite figured out why, yet, though he kept the knowledge to himself. He wouldn’t have known, himself, had he not overheard a scrap of conversation some days earlier, between Ferdi and Pippin. Though he’d spread a rumour as quickly as any other Took, Hilly knew better than to start one.

 ‘A wager?’ Ferdi said. ‘I thought you’d given up wagering.’

 ‘This is no more than wagering the price of a mug,’ Hilly said. ‘I’m not laying down coin that I’d miss, after all. If I didn’t ride, I wouldn’t expect any gold, now, would I, and if I do ride and win, well, it would be a nice bit of “extra”. But I’ll lay a wager with you, as I said.’

 ‘What wager?’ Pippin said, eyeing him narrowly.

 ‘If I ride to win, you pay me half the purse, as is custom,’ Hilly said. ‘If Socks and I take any place but first, I’ll take no pay for riding.’

Ferdi looked at him sharply, but Hilly gave no indication of whether he’d overheard Pippin say he doubted Socks could win this race.

 ‘You’d take no pay?’ Pippin said slowly.

Hilly shrugged. ‘No skin off my teeth,’ he said nonchalantly. ‘I’d get as much as if I only watched the race, but the race will be a great deal more diverting from atop a pony’s back.’ He could see the plea in Ferdi’s face, that his cousin was too proud to voice, and that Pippin was wavering.

 ‘Besides,’ he said, to clinch his argument. ‘Diamond’s going to come to walk with you to the racecourse, and if she smells that stuff on you,’ and his own nose wrinkled, ‘she’s going to pop you into a bed to keep you from racing, and you’ll miss the whole event.’

 ‘Hilly,’ Pippin said, warning in his tone, but then his shoulders slumped. ‘You have the right of it,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want to use the stuff at all, but...’

From where he was standing, Hilly could still hear the wheeze in his cousin’s breathing. He extended his hand. ‘Give me the draught,’ he said. ‘I’ll make it up quick-like, in the tea tent, and Diamond and Woodruff will be none the wiser. If you only drink half it’ll relax you without putting you to sleep.’

 ‘How do you know?’ Ferdi said, handing the small bag over.

 ‘I make it a point of knowing,’ Hilly retorted, spun on his heel, and was gone.

 ‘He makes it a point?’ Pippin said.

Ferdi shook his head, couldn’t help a chuckle. ‘He’s the biggest gossip in the Smials,’ he said. ‘And at that, he listens more than he speaks.’ And a good thing for us, he thought privately, but catching Pippin’s eye he saw that his cousin shared the thought.

Hilly returned, bearing a covered cup, as the first horn call sounded to call the riders to the race. ‘Drink up,’ he said. ‘I saw Diamond coming this way, but I got Tolly to delay her with a question.’

Pippin gulped down the drink while Hilly donned the green-and-gold. Ferdi was already dressed.

Diamond arrived with the second call. ‘Tolly wanted me to tell you...’ she began, and stopped short at seeing Ferdi and Hilly dressed for riding and Pippin in his fine linen shirt, just settling his jacket over his shoulders.

 ‘Tolly wanted you to tell me what?’ the Thain said casually, even as his wife’s nose wrinkled at the pungent smell in the pavilion.

 ‘They’ll bring Socks and Star at the last call,’ she said, ‘and meet you at the entrance gate. He thought it better than to stand about waiting for the call, and risk a fight.’

 ‘Hilly’s going to ride Socks for me, my dear,’ Pippin said. ‘I’ll be at your side to watch the race after all.’

 ‘That’s very nice, my love,’ Diamond said, taking his arm. As they exited the pavilion, she whispered, ‘The odour won’t be quite so noticeable in the open air.’

 ‘If anyone asks, we’ll just tell them it’s your new perfume, sent from Gondor,’ Pippin said.

 ‘A capital idea,’ Diamond returned. ‘It’ll be all the fashion, and make breathing easier for you wherever you go, in the bargain.’

Pippin laughed in spite of himself, and she squeezed his arm. She didn’t have to tell him how relieved she was, that he’d be out of the dust and danger of the race. ‘Do you have your handkerchief?’ she asked.

 ‘Right here in my pocket,’ Pippin said, patting that part of his jacket. ‘When the dust starts to blow over our part of the stands, I’ll pretend a sneezing fit and it’ll be over my mouth and nose, have no fear.’

Merry and Estella greeted them as they entered the notables’ box. ‘Pippin! So you had the good sense to hire a rider!’

 ‘Yes, I thought I’d leave the racing to the experts,’ Pippin said. ‘Ferdi’s the son of old Ferdinand, you remember, and Hilly was practically born on ponyback.’

 ‘You and I have had quite a few races of our own,’ Merry said, and then patted Estella’s arm. ‘But I promised my love that I’d sit this one out.’

 ‘I’m such a tyrant,’ Estella said comfortably. ‘Always imposing unreasonable demands upon my patient husband.’

 ‘I ought to give it a try,’ Diamond said.

 ‘It’s quite diverting,’ Estella said. ‘You ought.’

Mistress Rose Gamgee arrived then, with young Faramir amongst her own brood, just as the last call sounded. ‘Here we are!’ she said cheerily.

 ‘You might have missed the start,’ Diamond said.

 ‘Not at all!’ Rose replied with a laugh. ‘They cannot start until my Samwise says a few words!’

The crowd cheered as Mayor Samwise stood up on an overturned bucket in the centre of the racecourse and raised his arms. ‘Are you ready for a race?’ he called.

There was a great shout of accord.

No elaborate speeches this day for the good Mayor. He’d used up most of his fancy words at the confirmation of the Thain the previous day. Besides, after the race, the election results would be announced. He might not even be Mayor, in a little while. It would feel good to be just plain Samwise once more.

 ‘Let us have at it then!’ he shouted, and with a final wave he jumped down off the bucket, ducked under the fence rail, trotted across the course and under the outside rail, and took his place with his family.

 ‘Well done, Samwise, I don’t know that I’ve ever heard you so eloquent before,’ Merry said.

 ‘Short and to the point,’ Pippin put in. ‘My kind of speaking.’

 ‘So I noticed,’ Samwise returned, and then all turned their attention to the ponies being led in with their brightly-clad riders on their backs.

A ghostly grey stallion reared high, and Pippin thought at first it was the Rohan, but for the rider in blue-and-silver on his back. ‘That’s Buckland’s entry?’ he said, turning to Merry. ‘He’s magnificent!’

 ‘Well, yes,’ Merry murmured, pulling at his collar with a finger. ‘Found him on my last journey, you know.’

 ‘He followed you home?’ Samwise said, eyeing the stallion.

 ‘Pippin’s not the only hobbit that Eomer has imposed upon,’ Estella said acidly. ‘Wouldn’t let us leave until we accepted his gift. I tell you! Give me a mathom, any day, but don’t make it a four-footed one!’

 ‘Well, he’s improving the bloodlines of Buckland,’ Merry said, ‘much as those other greys are doing for Tookland, I imagine.’ He indicated the Rohan and Socks with their green-and-gold riders.

They fell silent as the starter’s assistants sorted out the jumble of ponies, their riders bearing the crimson of the West Farthing, the sunny yellow of the South Farthing, the deep indigo of the East Farthing, the icy white-and-silver of the North Farthing, and the colours of Tookland and Buckland.

 ‘They look good,’ Merry breathed, his eye glued to the ponies.

 ‘They ought to,’ Pippin said. ‘They’re the best in the Shire.’

 ‘No matter who wins, it’s an honour to race here,’ Merry said.

 ‘Of course,’ Pippin replied. ‘It doesn’t really matter who wins at all, does it?’ Merry looked at him sharply as he leaned forward on his seat, watching the Master of the Race raise the starting flag.