Chapter 11. Lambs to the Slaughter

It was not far to the neighbour’s fields, to the west towards Tookbank, just over a hill and splash through a stream and round another hill and they pulled up before the door of a cosy smial dug into the hillside. At the lad’s shout a hobbit mum came out of the smial, her hands twisted in her apron and a worried expression on her face.

 ‘I was that sorry to miss the wedding...’ she began, but as Pippin approached she broke off, stared into his face for a moment, and said, ‘You’re not from round here.’

 ‘It’s the Thain, mum,’ the lad said urgently, and his mother’s eyes widened.

 ‘You’re not serious!’ she protested.

 ‘He’s all too serious,’ Pippin said. ‘Where do we find the sheep?’

 ‘They brought some here, that we hope to save,’ the hobbit mum said, making a clumsy courtesy, ‘and the rest are in the far pasture.’ She waved vaguely to the southwest. ‘Take the Thain to your father, Tad.’ She bobbed again, nervously, and said, ‘I must get back to my lambs.’ When she let the apron fall from her hands, smears of blood stood out against the bleached white cloth.

 ‘Go!’ Pippin urged, and she whirled and hurried back into the smial. To the lad, he said, ‘Lead on.’

The track climbed partway up a large hill and then circled its girth. On the far side was a green valley with a tranquil pool tucked near the foot of the hill on the far side. ‘Spring fed,’ the lad said, pointing. ‘Sheep like quiet waters better’n chuckling streams.’

 ‘Aye,’ Pippin said noncommittally. He remembered leading his father’s sheep from pasture to pasture with the help of the dogs that ran and crouched and stared the ewes into submission. Learning the whistles to control the dogs had given him such a sense of power as a young tween... that he alone could direct a flock of hundreds with a few shrill sounds had never ceased to give him a thrill.

A carpet of fleecy white covered the flank of one of the hills, and Pippin could see the dogs working the sheep.

 ‘Not as good a pasture beyond,’ the lad said, ‘but better to take them away from here. Da and my brothers will camp with the flock this night, and perhaps for many a night to come.’

Small puffs of white dotted the valley floor, some tiny, some larger, all stained with red and brown. As they rode down into the valley the white puffs became carcases of sheep, torn and bloody.

The farmer straightened from the sheep he was inspecting to eye the newcomer. The Shirriff standing next to him knew the Thain at once, of course, and doffed his hat with a bow and a respectful, ‘Sir.’

 ‘Wolves?’ Pippin said, though none had been seen in the Shire for years.

 ‘Dogs,’ the Shirriff answered, replacing his hat on his head.

 ‘Wild or strayed?’ Pippin asked.

 ‘Too early to tell,’ the Shirriff answered.

 ‘How much of this trouble have you seen?’ Pippin asked. The farmer looked from one to the other. He knew the hobbit on the grey pony must be important from the Shirriff’s manner, but...

 ‘There’s been some reports of sheep being run to exhaustion, but this is the first worrying I’ve seen,’ the Shirriff said. ‘Tom here had the bad luck to be the first struck, anyhow. There’ll be more.’

 ‘Aye,’ Pippin said, shaking his head. ‘They find the chase intoxicating, but once they taste the blood there’s no turning back...’ He eyed the Shirriff. ‘I want you to put out the word. Ask if any dogs left loose have come home with blood round their jaws. If so they ought to be put down.’

The Shirriff’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. Once a dog learned the joy of sheep worrying you could not break him of it, and it was better to lose one dog than a dozen or more sheep. Still, what if a dog had been off hunting badgers or whatnot?

The Thain continued, ‘All dogs must be kept tied up when not working with a master. If there’s no more worrying we’ll know it was dogs straying from home for a little night time sport.’

The Shirriff nodded. ‘And if it’s wild dogs...?’

 ‘We’ll have to call a hunt,’ Pippin said. ‘Leave a flock unattended in the valley, lie downwind for as many nights as it takes, and watch.’ He looked down at the torn ewe before him. ‘Any dogs that show will be shot on sight.’

The farmer nodded soberly. It was a hard business, but then, he’d lost a score of sheep in the night. Out of a flock of an hundred, that was a number he could ill afford to lose. ‘My thanks, Mister...’

 Pippin smiled and met the outstretched hand. ‘Took,’ he said. ‘At your service, and your family's. If there’s any other way I may be of assistance, please let me know.’ He nodded to the Shirriff. ‘Jay here knows how to get hold of me.’ He turned back to his pony, swung into the saddle, and began the ride back to the farmyard, to see how many animals they’d been able to save, and from thence to Sunnybanks Farm.

 ‘Who was that?’ the farmer asked, turning to Shirriff Jay, whilst the lad looked on open-mouthed.

 ‘That was the Thain, you fool of a Grubb,’ Jay said in response. ‘Don’t you even know our own Thain?’

 ‘Never set eyes on him before,’ the farmer said, shaken. ‘He seemed just like regular folk.’

***

As the Sun reached her zenith, Ferdi rose from his chair and lifted his mug high in the air. There were cheers and then calls for silence. He swept the crowd with his gaze as he intoned the ritual toast. ‘Laugh long!’

A pause, and absolute silence.

 ‘Live long!’

The crowd waited, breathless, for the conclusion of the toast, but Ferdi’s eye was caught by the empty place at a table on the periphery. Diamond was there, yes, and Eglantine, and there was little Faramir, but...

A nudge from Hilly beside him recalled him to his duty. He cleared his throat as if the pause had been deliberate, lifted the mug yet higher, and shouted, ‘Love forever!’

 ‘Hear! Hear!’ chorused the assembled guests, and then all drained their mugs.

He was for it now. Head of escort, and he’d let the Thain slip from under his nose, so to speak. Good thing Paladin wasn’t here, for letting Pippin slip away from his escort had been worth three days on water rations, under the old Thain. Of course, Paladin was dead, but... Ferdi lifted one corner of his mouth in a sour grin. What ought he to do? Put himself, Hilly and Tolly on water rations?

Tolly had held tightly to Meadowsweet’s hand for the entire morning, but now laughing hobbits were pulling her away from him, lifting her onto their shoulders, carrying her to the top of a nearby hill where the two would be joined by vows witnessed by the Sun and open sky, as well as relatives, friends and neighbours.

Ferdi gave a mental shrug. The ponies were out of the stable, and there was no use closing the door, now, was there? To point out the Thain’s absence would worry Tolly on what was supposed to be the happiest day of his life. Ferdi sat back down in his chair and poured more wine into his mug. All around them hobbits were rising from their seats to join the procession to the top of the hill. Ferdi and Tolly would follow at the tail, by tradition.

 ‘Last chance,’ he said.

 ‘Last chance for what?’ Tolly asked.

 ‘Last chance to change your mind,’ Ferdi said.

Tolly stared. ‘Are you daft?’ he asked.

 ‘So they tell me,’ Ferdi answered, taking a goodly swallow of wine. Instead of steadying him as he’d hoped, it seemed to have no effect. He pushed the mug and the rest of the wine it contained away from him, and it tipped, spilling purple-crimson on the snowy tablecloth.

 ‘What’s got into you, Ferdi?’ Tolly said.

 ‘Naught,’ Ferdi said. ‘Just worried about doing my job proper, is all.’

 ‘I thought you’d forgot the words of the toast for a minute there,’ Tolly confessed.

 ‘I did,’ Ferdi said easily. ‘Such a long toast, you know, and so many words to remember.’

Tolly stared at him and then laughed, relaxing.

 ‘That’s better,’ Ferdi said. ‘You looked entirely too worried for a hobbit on his wedding day.’ He picked up his serviette from his lap and threw it down on the table. ‘Come along,’ he said, pushing his chair back. ‘Follow me as meek as a lamb and I shall lead you to slaughter.’

 ‘Die happy I shall,’ Tolly replied, adding for good measure, ‘Ba-a-a-a-a-a-a!’