Chapter 2. Hobbit Hospitality

This is madness, Tolly thought as he reached the centre of the bridge. The water rushed over his feet and past his ankles, giving him the illusion that he was the one in motion. He froze, clutching the railing in a white-knuckled grip. The world tilted and threatened to spin. Madness. Why was he here? He had been going to show the Mistress... show the Mistress... show...

Tolly! Eglantine’s sharp summons reached him in his motionless panic. Tolly! He shook his head to dispel the roaring in his ears and let out a long-held breath.  He was dizzy... and then he realised that he’d not taken a new breath since stepping onto the bridge. Now despite his fear he forced air in and out, and his head began to clear.

There was a splashing behind him and he turned to see Eglantine and the ponies reach the edge of the bridge. ‘Go back!’ he cried.

 ‘Come, Tolibold!’ Eglantine was no less determined. ‘Come at once, do you hear?’

Though he knew he could not stand there on the bridge forever, it was difficult to pry his hands loose from their death-grip on the railing. To move in either direction along the bridge was to welcome the water’s embrace as it slowly rose to encompass him... Reluctantly he sloshed down the slope of the bridge into ever-deepening, swift-running water. It was a relief to reach his pony and haul himself up into the saddle.

 ‘Come along,’ Eglantine said crisply, maintaining her hold on Tolly’s reins. She directed her mare back to unflooded ground, pulling Tolly’s pony after.

Before the shamefaced escort could apologise, Eglantine said firmly, ‘You had the right of it, Tolly. Much too dangerous. We’ll have to go to the Stone Bridge and hope for better luck.’

The next crossing was the high stone bridge outside of Tuckborough. The Great Smials were not far as the crow flies—perhaps an hour from where they stood, were one to leave the stream and travel through the Green Hills. From the far side of the Tuckbourn, however... the stream swung in a wide loop along its course here, leading away from Tuckborough for a good way before turning back. Three more hours’ journey was before them, if not more.

 ‘Go on, Mistress?’ Tolly said numbly.

 ‘You heard aright,’ Eglantine answered. ‘It’s just as far to go back to Whittacres as it is to go forward. Three hours or so either way, so we might as well go forwards as back.’

 ‘Yes, Mistress,’ Tolly muttered.

Eglantine looked sharply at him. The best thing for a hobbit in Tolly’s state was food, but they’d already eaten the meal packed in their bags some time ago. There was nothing for it but to press on. ‘Very well then,’ was all she said. ‘Time’s wasting.’ She turned her pony’s head and started along the track that followed, more or less, the Tuckbourn’s course towards Tuckborough.

They’d been riding the better part of an hour when Eglantine reined in her mare, turning to address her faithful shadow. ‘Smoke!’ she said, pointing an imperious finger. Indeed, a thin wisp of smoke rose into the sullen skies from behind the great hill they skirted. ‘Shall we stop and beg a cup of tea?’

 ‘As you wish, Mistress,’ Tolly said. Accordingly they left the main track when they reached a side-branching trail, and soon pulled up before a cosy smial dug into the side of the hill. Warm lamplight spilled out of the shining round windows, late geraniums waved from window boxes and smoke rose from the chimney in a column of promise.

Tolly dismounted and knocked.

 ‘Someone’s at door!’ came a shout from within. ‘Bert! Bert! The door!’

The round bright-yellow door was jerked open, presumably by Bert, a short, fat hobbit with rosy cheeks and a wide grin. ‘Here now!’ he cried. ‘ ‘Tis a good thing you thought to bake an extry cake this day, Mira!’

 ‘If you please,’ Tolly began, but got no further as Bert hauled him bodily through the door and passed him to a slightly younger hobbit with the same apple cheeks and bright eyes. The latter immediately began to divest Tolly of his cloak, chattering cheerily of the weather and the extra cake Mira had fortuitously baked for tea.

Tolly needn’t worry about Eglantine. Bert had hurried to help her from the saddle while calling a teen to take the ponies.

Mira bustled from the kitchen to greet them, and upon recognising Eglantine she was all smiles and courtesies, bubbling over with the honour of being of service to “the Mistress of Tookland and all!” And all meant Tolly perhaps; he was seized from all sides and led to the second-best chair, plonked down and given a steaming mug of tea before he could utter another word. Eglantine was shown to the best chair, of course.

And so the travellers enjoyed much more than a single warming cup of tea. Indeed they were invited to stay the night, but Eglantine firmly declined. ‘My daughter’s birthday is on the morrow,’ she said. ‘We always celebrate a birthday breakfast in our family! I wouldn’t miss it for the world!’ All rose as she stood up from her chair, and Bert directed two of the tweens to fetch the ponies once more.

At the door, Eglantine paused to say, ‘Thank you for a lovely tea!’ Tolly bowed to Bert and his brothers and their families, adding his thanks. He quite felt himself again, with the warmth and food and laughter.

 ‘Come, Tolly!’ Eglantine said crisply. ‘If we leave now we should come to the Stone Bridge by eventides.’

 ‘Aye, Mistress, you have the right of it,’ jolly Bert said heartily. ‘Just two hours or so... are you sure you won’t stay the night and start out again, early-like?’

 ‘Quite sure,’ Eglantine said with a gracious smile. ‘My daughter will be expecting me, you see, and if I don’t arrive by nightfall she’ll be dreadfully disappointed, thinking I’m not to come at all!’

The good farm family stood in the yard and sang them on their way. Tolly was feeling quite a bit more cheerful, and Eglantine positively glowed. The rest had done her good and renewed her indomitable energies. Not even the lowering clouds could dampen her mood. Besides, if all went well, they’d reach the Great Smials well before the next storm arrived.

 ‘Nearly there,’ Eglantine sang when they’d been riding perhaps an hour. The track had been cut into a steep hillside here, and she had to turn to call over her shoulder to Tolly, leaving her mare to pick her way along.

 ‘Aye,’ Tolly returned. What else was there to be said? Below them the Tuckbourn surged through the valley; above them trees hugging the hillside trembled in a freshening breeze. Odd, Tolly thought, that the breeze should be so stiff up there, and scarcely felt here, halfway down the hill.

His pony tossed an uneasy head and snorted, and Tolly looked all about, his senses alerted to something out of place. But what could it be? Eglantine rode ahead, her gentle old mare placing each step with care. The stream coursed well below them. The trees trembled above as in a breeze... suddenly Tolly realised that rather more than a breeze was troubling the trees. They were...

 ‘Walking!’ he gasped. ‘Walking trees!’ He thought of the stories he’d heard Pippin tell, and for one wild moment the trees assumed the guise of walking huorns on their way to battle, until he realised the truth of the matter. Saturated by the recent heavy rains, the hillside was coming down.

 ‘Mistress!’ he shouted, drawing his unstrung bow from his back. ‘Hold fast!’

Eglantine’s eyes widened as she looked around and divined his purpose; she scarcely had time to grab at her saddle before the escort brought the flexible wood down on the rump of her mare with a resounding thwack. The mare jumped forward and bolted, nearly spilling her rider. Tolly desperately kicked his own pony as the hill began to slide away from under and over them with a rumbling that grew ever more intense. His pony seemed to stumble beneath him, or perhaps its footing had disappeared; in any event, he found himself falling as he lost sight of Eglantine. He was falling with the dirt and rocks and trees that fell around him, sliding down towards the fearsome waters that waited to claim him. He’d escaped their clutches at the wooden bridge, but now there was no turning back.