Chapter 17. Fighting for Breath

A river of light flowed along the Shirebourn, a double column of riders whose weary ponies walked splashing in the shallows of the river. Half bore torches, the others rode with bows at the ready. A hunter walked at their head, leading his pony, scrutinising the bank by the light of the torch he held.

Master and Thain rode just behind the hunter, immersed in quiet conversation. ‘Ferdi said he saw no signs of more than the three ruffians,’ Merry was saying.

 ‘It doesn’t hurt to be careful,’ Pippin said. ‘Should any arrows come whistling out of the dark, the archers are to drop their torches in the stream, loose their ponies, and go to ground on the bank.’

Merry shook his head. ‘I don’t think ruffians are waiting for us,’ he said. ‘Ferdi ordered a veritable army of Tooks to turn out; unless the ruffians entered the Shire in force of numbers, as they did under Saruman, they’d probably just turn tail at seeing us.’

Pippin smiled faintly. ‘Ferdi takes his ruffians very seriously.’

 ‘As do I,’ Merry said stoutly. ‘But I really think...’

 ‘They didn’t take your wife and child,’ Pippin snapped.

 ‘I beg to differ, cousin,’ Merry said softly. They rode along in silence for a few moments, and then Pippin groaned and put a hand to his head. Merry reined his pony to a halt, saying, ‘Pippin?’ The column halted behind them, and hearing this, the hunter stopped and looked around, waiting for orders.

 ‘I’m sorry, Merry,’ Pippin whispered. ‘You are still living with the reminder the ruffians left you, the ones that took your wife, and yourself.’ He took as deep a breath of the foggy air as he was able. ‘Somehow, when danger threatens Diamond or Farry, my head just does not...’ His words were interrupted by a strangling cough, and yet more, until he was fighting for breath as Merry steadied him in the saddle.

There was a vigorous splashing as Healer Fennel kneed his pony out of the column and forward to where Thain and Master sat. Without hesitation, he took hold of Pippin’s reins and turned to the bank, mounting up as Merry rode alongside supporting his cousin.

Fennel jumped down from his pony, pulled his blanket roll from the saddle and snapped it sharply, laying the blanket on the grassy bank and turning to catch hold of the Thain. Merry let Pippin go and slid from his saddle, to kneel by his stricken cousin almost before Pippin was stretched out upon the blanket.

 ‘Prop him up,’ the healer snapped, and Merry and Tolly, who’d followed on their heels, hastened to obey. The healer dug in his bag, bringing out a jar of pungent ointment that he nearly fumbled in his haste. Tolly, well versed in the Thain’s bad spells, already had lifted Pippin’s coat, waistcoat and shirt out of the way.

 ‘Cold,’ Pippin managed to gasp before a more violent seizure of coughing robbed him of breath.

Fennel smeared the ointment on Pippin’s chest and throat, then moved to rub the pungent stuff over the Thain’s back, muttering all the while. ‘...knew he ought to have stayed at the inn, not gone riding out in the fog and the chill, but would anyone listen...?’ He broke off his litany of complaint to seize Pippin’s shoulders. ‘Breathe!’ he ordered. ‘Steady, slow breaths!’

 ‘Trying,’ Pippin gasped. His desperate grip on Merry’s good arm loosened and his head fell back, eyes half-closed in concentration.

 ‘Kindle fire,’ Fennel barked.

 ‘We’ve torches,’ the hunter said, waving at the line of archers waiting in the stream.

 ‘Not torches,’ the healer scolded. ‘Fire, to boil water! I need to get a draught into him.’

Pippin raised his hand to grasp at the healer’s shirt. ‘No,’ he gasped, ‘No draught.’

 ‘Thain Peregrin, I...’

Pippin, by dint of great determination, along with the help of the balm, was somehow steadying his breathing. He did not want a sleeping draught to carry him off, not when they were so close, no matter that it would relax the muscles and enable him to breathe more easily.

 ‘That’s it, Pippin,’ Merry encouraged.

Fennel, reassured by the signs of progress, went back to his muttering, ‘...night air...’

 ‘Do you want us to go on without you?’ Merry asked.

Pippin’s grip tightened again and he raised his head. ‘...no,’ he whispered. ‘Be all right ...in a minute.’

Tolly said smoothly, ‘Ferdi’s on guard. On his life, he won’t let anything happen to Diamond and Farry.’

 ‘And by the signs Hilly left, there were only three ruffians in all,’ Merry said, thinking back on the drawing in the mud under its grass covering. Three long strokes, three half as long: three Men, three Hobbits.

So they waited.

It was many minutes before Pippin was strong enough to sit up himself, and at that they had to lift him onto his pony once more. Merry rode on one side of Pippin and the healer rode on his other side, but Pippin shook off their supporting hands. He wanted to lean forward, to splash along the stream at a gallop, but he was constrained by the hunter walking before him, watching for the signs Hilly had left when he’d climbed the bank at the end of the ruffian’s rope.

Fennel suppressed his grumbling with an effort; he wanted to be able listen to the Thain’s breathing as they rode along; worrisome it was. Every inch of him wanted to carry the Thain to the nearest smial and pop him into a bed, but unless Pippin collapsed completely he could not hope to overcome the hobbit’s stubborn insistence. Fennel supposed if it were his own wife and child, he’d do the same.

Sometime between middle night and dawn the hunter raised his torch, and Merry called for the column to halt.

 ‘Here!’ the hunter called, and Merry slid from his saddle to splash forward.

The bank looked different by torchlight, but he nodded and said, ‘You have the right of it. This is where we climbed the bank after them. There’s a small copse of trees not far from the top, and that’s where they are. We ought to see their fire when we climb out...’

The fire that had been burning high and bright when Merry rode away was a bare flicker amongst the trees. He reined his pony in at the top of the bank, saying, ‘That doesn’t look right.’

Pippin lifted his head. ‘Doesn’t look right?’ he rasped. ‘Speak plainly!’

 ‘Ferdi’s let the fire die down,’ Merry said, ‘or...’

Thinking quickly, he passed orders along the line of archers. These quickly extinguished their torches and then, leaving their ponies, moved to surround the copse of trees, bows at the ready. They didn’t know what they were expecting, but they were prepared to meet it.

Pippin slid from his saddle, and Fennel and Tolly caught him as he staggered.

 ‘Wait a moment, cousin,’ Merry said. ‘Let me see what’s what.’

 ‘Diamond,’ Pippin said hoarsely.

 ‘I won’t be long,’ Merry said, forcing cheer into his low tone. He nodded to Bracken, the hunter, and the two of them slipped silently towards the trees.

The dying fire threw light on two cloak-covered piles and a hobbit resting against a tree, silent and unmoving. There was no sign of the ruffians.

Merry turned with a shout while the hunter went from one pile to the next, and the Thain and archers came up quickly.

 ‘Diamond...! Farry!’ Pippin gasped, and Bracken called, ‘Here!’

The Thain stumbled to his side, falling to embrace his wife and child. Diamond blinked sleepily, then gave a glad cry and threw one arm about Pippin, the other still firmly holding Farry, who was deep in a dream and difficult to waken even when in his own bed, under ordinary circumstances.

Merry knelt by Hilly’s side, calling the healer over. ‘He was given a sleeping draught,’ he said. The fire flared to new life, fuelled by the fresh supply of wood one of the archers supplied, and firelight flickered on Hilly’s slack face.

Fennel checked Hilly quickly and relaxed. ‘That’s all it seems to be,’ he said. ‘He’s deeply asleep, true, but his heart is strong and his breathing is regular.’

Tolly called from where he knelt by Ferdi, and Fennel rose to go to him. ‘I don’t know what the ruffians did to him,’ Tolly said. ‘I cannot waken him, and he’s not breathing as he should.’

 ‘Bring a torch!’ Fennel called, and soon several freshly-kindled torches were surrounding him. ‘Ferdi,’ he said, taking one shoulder in his hand. The hobbit lolled in his grasp, and Fennel knew a terrible moment, listening to straining breaths for the second time of an evening. He pulled his bag from his back and rummaged for the balm.

 ‘Ferdi?’ Diamond said, looking past Pippin to the cluster of hobbits by the tree. ‘I am well,’ she told Pippin, pushing at him, ‘but what’s happened to Ferdibrand?’

Pippin’s arms tightened about her, and then he released her and rose from his crouch. ‘You’re unharmed,’ he said, as if to reassure himself, ‘and Farry is well.’

 ‘We’re well,’ Diamond said, giving him another push. ‘See to Ferdi!’

Pippin moved quickly to the tree, staring down as Fennel applied the balm to Ferdibrand, muttering, Two in one night! Of all the...

Ferdi’s hands came up to his throat as he laboured for breath.

 ‘Did they strangle him?’ Pippin said, struck by a sudden thought.

The healer shook his head. ‘Nay,’ he said. ‘There’s no sign of such.’

Pippin bent closer, for Ferdi was gasping out words, even as he tensed in the firm grasp of the hobbits holding him. ‘Please...’ Pippin heard. ‘Just a boy...’ and ‘Don’t hang...’

Behind him, Merry was asking, ‘But which way did they go?’

The hunter raised his hands in a helpless gesture. ‘Find a trail? In the darkness? When all these blundering archers have spoilt the ground?’ He spat disgustedly. ‘In the morning light, perhaps, if all these hobbits stay put and don’t lay down any more marks!’ He thought of the grassy field surrounding the copse. ‘On the other hand,’ he said glumly, ‘there may be no trail to find. The grass that bent to their passing will have stood itself up again, if the fire’s any indicator.’

 ‘The fire?’ Merry said, confused.

 ‘If it was burning bright when they left, it’s been some time,’ the hunter said. ‘It had burned low by the time we arrived.’ He stared out into the darkness. ‘And the fog’s come down heavy. They’ll leave no footprints in the dew,’ he concluded.

 ‘We know they’re going to the Bounds,’ Merry said.

Bracken shrugged. ‘The Bounds go a long way,’ he said. ‘All the way round the Shire, so I hear tell.’

 ‘Very well,’ Merry said shortly, and turned to issue orders. Before long, a score of archers were riding off, each taking a slightly different line to the borders of the Shire. ‘They’ll alert the Bounders and the Rangers to keep watch,’ he said to the hunter. ‘But I rather have the feeling that we’re closing the barn door after the ponies have run off.’