Chapter Eight: Udo Unmasked

And so as summer waned Frodo and Coronel carried on with their old arrangement, and all seemed as it had been before. Yet somehow it was not the same…Frodo’s giddy euphoria of spring and early summer had given way to a growing disquiet that he could not account for rationally, making it all the more troubling. His relations with Coronel had cooled considerably since the mushroom incident, and while Frodo knew he should be grateful to his cousin for continuing to serve as messenger, he somehow found himself instead developing an unreasoning resentment of him.

Coronel himself seemed not nearly so agreeable about the whole thing as he had been in the beginning, and even went so far as to offer occasional suggestions or criticisms of the poems—all of which Frodo ignored. He had also grown far less forthcoming about Hyacinth’s reactions, usually saying little more than, "She liked it well enough, I suppose. She really didn’t say much about it." This only served to dampen Frodo’s spirits all the more, and he began to fret over the possibility that Hyacinth was growing weary of his verses. His anxiety began to manifest itself in the poems themselves, much to Coronel’s displeasure.

Relations between Rory and Hamilcar Hornblower had begun to sour as well, as problems continued to plague the pipeweed fields with relentless regularity. Recent attacks of suckfly, spotted wilt, and black shank had seriously thinned the crop to the point that the harvest yield was now projected at less than half the original estimates.

* * *

Rory stood amidst a field of maturing pipeweed, a scowl on his face and an enormous green caterpillar with jaunty white stripes caught between his thumb and forefinger. Cursing profusely, he whipped a knife from his belt, sliced the writhing creature in two, and hurled the pieces to the ground. Then he grimly surveyed the nearby plants, their broad leaves ragged with holes.

At his side, Hamilcar tsked and shook his head. "Pipeweed hornworm…such a pity! And just when the plants had bounced back so nicely from the black shank…"

Rory glared at him. "Pity? It’s a disaster! At the rate these blasted creatures eat, the crop’ll be wiped out in a fortnight! What’s to be done?"

"I’m afraid there’s not much one can do against the insatiable appetite of the hornworm," said Hamilcar with a resigned sigh.

Rory fixed him with a hard stare. "You seem mighty calm about all this, Hornblower," he said suspiciously.

"Why Rory, my friend! I feel as strongly for your misfortune as if it were my own."

"That’s mighty big of you, Ham, to have such compassion for a future competitor!" His tone sharpened suddenly on these last words.

Hamilcar looked deeply wounded. "Surely you’re not suggesting that I would hope for the failure of a fellow pipeweed grower!" he said in an aggrieved tone. "That’s hard sir, very hard, if you should think so ill of me! I have never been more sincere in my life than when I say it’s a terrible shame…"

"Indeed it is," said Rory slowly, a shrewd gleam in his eye. "’Specially as I was fixing to make you a junior partner in this little venture."

Hamilcar’s expression of mournful piety instantly gave way to one of calculating avarice. "A—a partner…?"

"That’s right…a partial ownership share in the pipeweed crop—and the profits. I was just having the papers drawn up, and was going to surprise you this very day."

Hamilcar gazed out over the fields for several long minutes, appearing pensive. Finally he turned back to Rory. "Old chap, there’s something not commonly known among pipeweed growers, in fact you might say it’s a Hornblower family secret, and I wouldn’t confide it to just anyone. But your plight moves me, it truly does. And, ah, seeing as how we’re to be partners… Well sir, the fact of the matter is this: the only way to defeat the pipeweed hornworm is to release a swarm of paper wasps in the fields. Back home we raise hives of ’em for just that purpose! If we send a message to Longbottom by quick post today, I reckon we could have several hives brought up by week’s end. You see, the wasps prey on the worms and feed them to their young, and…"

Rory smiled.

* * *

Back at the Hall, the younger hobbits were playing bumblepuppy on a stretch of lawn in front of the smial. Glumly Frodo watched Hyacinth being chatted up, as usual, by his older cousins.

Just now, Cederic was gallantly helping her take a shot. "There’s a secret to bowling technique, Hy, it’s all in when you release the ball…you have to time it just right. And you have to lean into it, like this." He stood just behind her, and closed his hand over hers to take a practice swing.

Frodo seethed at his audacity. How dare he paw her so?

"Do you mean like this?" asked Hyacinth, pulling away from him to step forward, sink gracefully to one knee, and send her ball speeding down the green. With a satisfying thwack it knocked Cederic’s own ball away from the edge of a hole, and dropped neatly in. She looked back at him innocently.

Cederic flushed. "Yes, just like that," he muttered.

Several of the other tweens laughed. "Can I have a lesson too, Ced?" one asked.

"I’d rather have one from Hyacinth," smirked another.

Even Frodo couldn’t help smiling, but his mood quickly soured again when he spotted Coronel, who was entertaining the faunts with sleight-of-hand tricks while awaiting his turn to bowl. Merry sat on his knee and watched in fascination as he took a coin from his pocket and held it up for all to see before making it vanish with a snap of his fingers. Amid the astonished gasps of his audience, he reached down and seemed to pull it out of Merry’s ear, then presented it to him. The youngster giggled with delight, and Coronel tousled his hair affectionately.

"Do it again, Cory!" Merry begged.

Frodo felt a stab of jealousy. Then he reminded himself that he had no right to feel thus, and if Merry was smitten with Coronel’s charm he could scarcely blame him. Full of remorse as he recalled how he had neglected his little cousin all summer, he wondered how he could make it up to him—if it were not already too late. Finally he found he had no more heart for the game, and slipping away unnoticed, retreated to his room to seek the solace of poetry.

* * *

"But this won’t do at all!" Coronel eyed the sheet of parchment he held with distaste as he and Frodo stood once again in the orchard.

"What’s wrong with it?" asked Frodo defensively.

By way of answer, Coronel began to read aloud:

Bid me to live, and I will live
Thy servant e’er to be;
Or bid me love, and I will give
A loving heart to thee.

Bid me to weep, and I will weep,
While I have eyes to see;
And, having none, yet I will keep
A heart to weep for thee.

Bid me despair and I'll despair,
Under that willow-tree;
Or bid me die, and I will dare
E'en death, to die for thee.

When he had finished Coronel looked up with a petulant frown and complained, "I can’t give this to Hyacinth! All that rot about death and despair—it’s much too gloomy and depressing!"

At these words Frodo grew very still. "But you’re not giving it to her, Coronel," he said quietly, but a note of defiance had crept into his voice. "I am. You’re just delivering it, remember?" Never before had he spoken so to his cousin.

Coronel appeared momentarily taken aback, but recovered swiftly. "Yes yes," he snapped, "you know what I meant! My point is, after all this time I think I’m rather a good judge of what Hyacinth will or won’t like, and I tell you she won’t fancy this at all!"

"Why don’t we let her decide for herself?" Frodo persisted.

"No! I won’t give it to her, I tell you, and I don’t have time to stand here jawing about it any longer—I’m due to meet Hyacinth in the rose garden shortly."

"But—if you don’t give her the poem, what will you tell her?" asked Frodo, his new-found resolve starting to waver.

Coronel shot him an infuriating smile. "That’s easy…I’ll tell her Prince Udo was not inclined to write a poem for her today!"

"What?" gasped Frodo. "You can’t do that! I’ve said no such thing!"

"Ah, but I can," replied Coronel smugly. "That’s the beauty of being the messenger, you know."

"Not anymore, you’re not!" cried Frodo, snatching the parchment from his hands. "Thank you for all you’ve done, Coronel, but as of this moment your messenger services are no longer required!"

Coronel just shrugged. "As you wish, little master," he said derisively, and sauntered away.

Frodo stared after him with mingled relief and dismay. The weeks of simmering tension between them had made this falling-out not entirely unlooked for, but in the event, the swiftness and finality of the break had left him feeling suddenly bereft of purpose—and companionship. For so long his days had been devoted to writing poems for Hyacinth, then listening to Coronel’s pleasantly engrossing accounts of her reaction to them. And now it was over…

He looked down at the poem in his hands and imagined Coronel blithely telling Hyacinth of Udo’s disinterest. A sense of looming disaster swept over him, and the thought that he had, perhaps, brought it on himself only made it worse.

Slowly he began walking back to the Hall, consumed with frustration and desperately wondering what to do next. As he approached the front steps a friendly voice hailed him from behind, and he turned to find Horatio coming up the path.

"Hullo Frodo!" he said cheerfully when he’d caught up to him. Seeing his distraught expression he added with concern, "What’s the matter?"

"It’s too difficult to explain," sighed Frodo.

"All right then…but let me know if there’s anything I can do to help."

Frodo stopped, struck by his words. "Maybe you can help, Horatio…have you seen your sister lately?"

"I believe she’s in her room getting ready to go out," he replied. "At least, that’s what she was doing when I left the smial a short while ago, and knowing how long she primps and fusses, I daresay she’s still at it."

Frodo was silent a moment, deliberating, then drew a deep breath and said, "Can you give her this and tell her that Prince Udo urgently wishes to speak with her before she leaves?" He handed him the poem.

Horatio looked down at the sheet and then back up at Frodo, puzzled. "But I just saw Coronel heading toward the garden!"

"What’s that to do with it? I wish to speak with her before she meets Coronel!"

After thinking about this a moment Horatio ventured cautiously, "D’you mean to say that you are Udo?"

Frodo stared at him, startled by the question. "Yes, of course!"

"Oh," said Horatio, looking more confused than ever.

"What is it?" said Frodo sharply, his suspicions ignited to a leaping blaze.

"Well, er, nothing, except…that is, I—I don’t know quite how to say this," dithered Horatio.

"Just say it!" Frodo was now almost shouting at him.

But poor Horatio seemed unable to continue until Frodo seized him by his shirtfront, then said rapidly, "I saw Coronel and Hyacinth in the garden the other day, but they didn’t see me. Cory gave Hy something written on a piece of parchment and after she read it, she—she put her arms around his neck and said, ‘That was lovely! Thank you, my dearest Udo!’"

For a moment Frodo was unable to speak or move, as the magnitude of his folly became suddenly, sickeningly clear. Then he was seized by a paroxysm of fury. "I’ll kill him!" he roared, and releasing Horatio he rushed off in the direction of the garden.

* * *

Coronel was leaning against a rose trellis, humming softly. On hearing someone approach, he glanced up with an expectant smile that quickly changed to an almost comical look of surprise when he saw it was Frodo. The expression on his cousin’s face told him instantly that the game was up. "Frodo, I’m sorry—" he began.

"Not nearly as sorry as you’re going to be!" Frodo snarled. He charged up to Coronel and shoved him in the chest, causing him to stagger backwards a step or two. "Get your fists up, you lying, cheating snake!"

"I don’t want to fight you," Coronel protested.

"I don’t see that you have much choice!" said Frodo grimly, and shoved him again, harder. This time Coronel stumbled and nearly fell. "You’d better defend yourself, or I swear I’ll strike you as you stand!"

Coronel tried one last time. "Frodo—can’t we talk this over, cousin to cousin? I can explain…"

"Talk? I have no more use for words!" Frodo was screaming at him now. "They’ve caused me nothing but grief!" He was beside himself with misery and rage, and drew a shaking arm across his eyes to clear away the mist that clouded them.

Coronel, always one to seize an opportunity when it presented itself, did so now. Without warning he punched Frodo sharply in the stomach then, as the younger hobbit doubled over, gasping for breath, delivered a vicious upper cut to his chin, snapping his head back with such force that he was thrown off his feet.

As he lay writhing on the ground Coronel looked down at him and sighed. "I didn’t want to have to do that," he said. Then he turned to walk away…but before he had gone more than a few paces he was stopped by a hand gripping his shoulder and a rasping voice in his ear.

"Coronel!"

He spun around in disbelief, just in time to meet Frodo’s fist as it smashed into his nose.

While Frodo was a veteran of countless fights with hobbits his own age or close to it, he had never faced an adversary like Coronel Took. Not only was he an adult in all but name, with close to twenty pounds and a slight height advantage over Frodo, but he was also a seasoned—and ruthless—combatant. His rules of engagement were simple—win at any cost, and honor be hanged.

Thus Frodo was more overmatched than he knew, but he had the force of righteous anger on his side, and that was no small thing. He fought with a savage ferocity that his opponent was clearly unprepared for, and after enduring a hail of punishing blows to his head and torso Coronel decided new tactics were called for. Moving in close to his attacker, he hooked a leg around one of Frodo’s and brought him down. Frodo hit the ground hard, getting the wind knocked out of him once again.

When Hyacinth arrived moments later, Horatio trailing several paces behind, the rivals were rolling on the ground locked together. She rushed forward. "Coronel! Frodo! Stop it! Stop it at once, do you hear?" They froze, then slowly turned their heads to stare up at her. "How dare you!" Hyacinth shouted, her eyes blazing. "I’m not a bone for you to fight over like two curs!"

Shamefaced, the two hobbits climbed slowly to their feet. Hyacinth looked accusingly from one to the other. "I have nothing to say to either of you deceitful creatures!" she snapped, then proceeded to say quite a few things for the next several minutes.

While she talked Frodo stared at the ground, devastated. Hyacinth clearly believed he was a party to Coronel’s treachery! This thought pained him more than any of his injuries.

Finally, the tortuous ordeal ended with Hyacinth storming off in tears. Horatio gave them a helpless, bewildered look before following slowly her in wake. Frodo and Coronel were left standing on the path, staring speechlessly at each other. Blood was still streaming from Coronel’s nose, staining the front of his shirt scarlet, and a large bruise was already forming below one eye. Frodo could feel blood trickling down his own face from a cut on his brow, and his swollen jaw throbbed with pain. It was Coronel who lowered his eyes first. Without a word Frodo turned his back on him and walked away.

Next week
Chapter Nine: Useless Words

Author’s notes:

Frodo’s "dark poem" is adapted from "To Anthea, Who May Command Him Anything" by Robert Herrick.

Bumblepuppy is an old game in which nine holes were made in the ground, into which a ball was bowled. It sounds so hobbity, I just had to put it in the story! I couldn’t find any details on the rules, but figure it might have featured elements of croquet, lawn bowling, and pool.