Chapter 39. Slipping the Surly Bonds*

A week later the stitches came out. Healer Woodruff straightened and fixed Ferdi with a stern eye as he rolled over, preparatory to sitting up. ‘It’s healing nicely,’ she said firmly. ‘Don’t you go running any races, now!’

 ‘Not on my own feet, at least,’ Ferdi said.

The healer nearly smiled. She was not usually the wagering sort, but this time she had a small wager on the head of escort, to win. The Thain had a good chance, indeed, but he rode the older pony.

She handed Ferdi the stout walking stick. ‘Little steps will take you all the way to the South Farthing, if you put enough of them together,’ she said. ‘Don’t overdo.’

 ‘I don’t want to go to the South Farthing,’ Ferdi said logically, firmly planting the stick and his good leg and rising stiffly.

 ‘Go on with ye now,’ Woodruff said with a gentle push calculated not to upset the hobbit’s balance. ‘And I don’t want to see you back here in the infirmary again for... years!’

 ‘That would be nice,’ Ferdi said with a wink. He turned and limped out, on his way, as Woodruff correctly surmised, to his first ride on the stallion of Rohan since Tolly’s wedding.

Hilly was waiting with the saddled pony at the racecourse. ‘I’ve warmed him up for you,’ he said. ‘Settled out the bumps. He’s smooth as silk.’

 ‘Are you now, lad?’ Ferdi said, letting the stallion lip at his hand after the bits of carrot were gone. ‘We shall see, shan’t we?’

Hilly helped him into the saddle, taking the stick and stepping back. ‘Let us see what he’ll do for you,’ he said.

 ‘He’ll fly like an eagle, is what he promised,’ Ferdi said. ‘I hope it wasn’t just talk.’ The pony’s ears switched back to listen and he snorted and shook his head. The hobbits laughed.

 ‘Hold tight,’ Hilly advised. ‘I think you’ve set him a challenge and he means to meet it.’

Ferdi turned the pony’s head towards the racecourse. He felt the stallion quiver under him as they passed through the gateway, and stroked the silken neck. ‘Steady,’ he said. ‘Don’t want you to leave me behind.’

He turned the pony to face the beckoning long curve and sat deeper in the saddle, cautiously stretching his legs before setting himself for the run. The stallion felt like a tightly coiled spring beneath him, and Ferdi felt the same tight anticipation within himself. ‘Steady,’ he said once more, and if possible the powerful muscles beneath him wound tighter. He took a deep breath, leaned forward, and said, ‘Now.’

He rode the flanks of a surging river, he was a fleck of foam borne along the rapids until suddenly he was loosed to rise on the currents of wind sweeping the high clouds higher. He knew now what Bilbo must have felt, riding upon the back of an eagle...

Pippin stood at the fence with Diamond, his breath caught in his throat as he watched the stallion sweep around the grand curve. ‘Magnificent!’ he breathed.

 ‘Merry’s in for a surprise,’ Diamond said when she caught her breath, after the pony had passed them and Ferdi began to ease him to a slower pace on the far side of the course.

 ‘He is at that,’ Pippin said. ‘There’s a matter of a little wager...’

 ‘You didn’t bet against yourself!’ Diamond said in astonishment.

 ‘Of course not, my dear,’ Pippin assured her. ‘Merry would suspect something at once. No, I merely wagered that a Tookish entry would finish first.’

 ‘I suppose he is a Tookish entry at that,’ Diamond said, ‘but if that is the case we must stop calling him “the Rohan”.’

 ‘Indeed,’ Pippin said, waving to Ferdi. They waited while he walked the stallion around the grand curve to them. The pony tossed his head when asked to halt, his breathing free and easy, obviously eager to run on. ‘That was marvellous,’ Pippin called. ‘I’ve never seen the like!’

 ‘It’s the closest to flying this Took ever wishes to come,’ Ferdi replied, a great grin lighting his face, his fingers automatically soothing the pony’s neck as he moved the pony up to the rail where Thain and Mistress waited.

 ‘I’m told we need to give him a proper name,’ Pippin said. ‘What would you call him?’

 Ferdi caught his breath. The pony was Pip’s; he was asking Ferdi’s opinion? ‘Starfire,’ he said, the word slipping out before he could catch himself. It wasn’t his pony; it wasn’t his place...

Diamond reached out to stroke the starry forehead. ‘A perfect name,’ she said, smiling at the head of escort though he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Probably thought he’d put his foot in it. These Smials Tooks were such an odd mixture of boisterousness and reserve.

 ‘He’s fiery,’ Pippin agreed, his hand slipping around Diamond’s waist. ‘Starfire it is.’

 ‘But it’s not proper,’ Ferdi protested. ‘He’s yours to name, not mine...!’

 ‘And so I’ve named him,’ Pippin said, ‘with just a bit of help, as it were.’

***

Ferdi’s one regret was that he’d have to leave his father for some days. It would take two days’ easy journeying to reach Michel Delving, two days to return, and several days staying over at Michel Delving itself. He’d probably be gone a week! Why, he hadn’t missed feeding Ferdinand his late supper in... years, it had been.

He shook himself. What was he afraid of? Deep down, he had to admit, he feared returning to find old Ferdinand gone. It seemed to him, nonsensical or not, that if he were faithful to his task every night, he could somehow keep his father from slipping away. What foolishness! Ferdinand was as he ever had been, older, perhaps, greyer, and not as sour, but still, much as he had been for years. He showed no signs of slipping away. Ferdi gave himself another mental shake and a good scolding about foolishness.

 ‘What is it, son?’ Ferdinand asked as Ferdi took longer than usual to cool the steaming spoonful of tender pork pie in its flaky crust.

 ‘Naught,’ Ferdi said, and then shook his head. He’d never been able to evade his father before, why should he start at this late date? ‘I cannot believe we’ll leave for Michel Delving in just a few days’ time.’

 ‘The time has passed quick enough,’ his father agreed. Ferdi brought the spoon to his mouth and he took the bite, sighing with pleasure. ‘Ah,’ Ferdinand said when the bite was safely chewed and swallowed, ‘that’s Bayberry’s hand, that is. No one can make a flakier crust.’

Ferdi smiled and took a bite from his own plate. His father was right, as usual, though how he could know such a thing, confined to his little room as he was, was beyond Ferdi’s ken.

 ‘Samwise is going for Mayor again, is that right?’ Ferdinand asked before accepting another spoonful.

 ‘He is,’ Ferdi said.

 ‘Your doing, I heard,’ his father said.

 ‘Mine!’ Ferdi replied in astonishment. ‘Wherever did you get that idea?’

Old Ferdinand merely smiled and went on. ‘I thought I’d go and give him my vote, just in case he should need it.’

Ferdi nearly choked on his mouthful. ‘You? Go?’ he sputtered.

 ‘Aye,’ Ferdinand said. ‘Been talking with that young Thain; he’s been in the world, you know, and seen a few sights. He told me how those Big Folk of Rohan carry the injured or infirm in their land, and in much more comfort than Shirefolk would think of.’

 ‘Shirefolk would stay sensibly at home,’ Ferdi said.

His father laughed. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘But young Pip has told me how it might be done, that I might travel in comfort to Michel Delving, to cast my vote and see you race.’

 ‘In comfort?’ Ferdi said sceptically.

 ‘Well,’ old Ferdinand said, ‘in as much comfort as I might find, these days. He said ‘twould be as comfortable as my easy chair, in any event, and perhaps more restful even, with the rocking motion of the ponies.’

 ‘You’re to go to Michel Delving?’ Ferdi said, hardly taking it in. His father hadn’t stirred from his room in... he didn’t know how long.

 ‘Why not?’ old Ferdinand said jovially. ‘Why, I found ‘twas no trouble at all to be carried to your bedside, after you were eaten by dogs.’

  ‘I wasn’t...’ Ferdi began.

 ‘All but,’ his father said placidly. ‘In any event, it hurt me no more than moving from bed to chair and back again. I can cast my vote, watch you race, and be home again in time for tea.’

 ‘Tea, a week later, you mean,’ Ferdi said in bemusement.

 ‘Just so long as it’s hot,’ Ferdinand retorted. To think of leaving the Great Smials! Why, he hadn't been outside, breathing the fresh air for more than twenty years, now. Nearly thirty, was it? Settling back in his chair he smiled and repeated, ‘Just so long as it’s hot.’

***

*The title is taken from a poem entitled "High Flight" (see below) 

High Flight

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long delirious, burning blue,
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untresspassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

Pilot Officer Gillespie Magee
No 412 squadron, RCAF
Killed 11 December 1941