Chapter 24. The Whipping Ground

Some time before dawn (for the greengrocer and his wife had not yet stirred, nor the baby for that matter), Diamond entered silently, stopped beside the chair where her husband dozed, and reached up to place a light hand on his arm.

Pippin wakened suddenly, as was his wont, and looked over the side of the chair.

Diamond, knowing what he intended, all too soon, tried to smile.

Pippin took his hand from the old man's, slid down from the chair, bestowed a kiss on his wife, and whispered in her ear.

Diamond's eyes rested on Gwill, and she nodded, and as Pippin went on her eyes moved to Gwillam, and Seledrith, who'd lain herself down beside her husband on the bed and, exhausted, slept. She nodded, her smile more genuine, and taking him by the curls to pull his head down, put her mouth to Pippin's ear. 'I'll be happy to help,' she said softly, 'and now, I hope you'll be sensible and not do anything foolish...'

He beamed, and hugged her close, whispering in her ear, 'The King is here, so let the Steward do his worst. Have no fear on my account.'

'Elessar just might let you lie in the bed you made,' Diamond warned.

He tweaked her nose. 'At least it'll be bed and not a chair,' he said. 'Sounds much more comfortable, somehow.'

'Go on with you!' Diamond hissed, pushing him away, and climbed up onto the man-sized chair and took Gwill's hand between hers with a firm nod.

Pippin laughed soundlessly, gave his wife a wink and a sweeping bow, and left the room without a further word.

***

Balanurthon and Hunethon came very early to the square, near the centre of the City, where most of the King's justice was carried out. The gallows outside the Quarry Gate saw very little of the two men, as a matter of fact. Most of their time was taken up with the consequences of more minor crimes--flogging, branding, stocks, pillory. Some of the harsher punishments carried out in older times had been proscribed by Elessar when he came to the throne, such as amputation of the right hand of a thief. Nowadays a thief would be branded, and if he were caught at thievery again, wearing a brand, he'd hang from the gallows. At least the King's justice gave the thief a second chance and allowed him to turn his hand--both hands--to honest work.

It was not long before the healer arrived--each day one of the healers from the Houses of Healing drew the duty of standing by while justice was served, just in case his or her services might be needed. This day the healer was Arthad. He greeted Balanurthon and his assistant quietly and went to warm his hands over the fire that Hunethon had kindled in the firepit, ostensibly for heating branding irons, but just as convenient for the workers to warm their hands in the early morning hours, before the sun lent her warmth to the square.

A cadence call sounded in the silence of the early morning streets, accompanied by boots in marching rhythm, and soon Haleth marched his men into the square, called the halt, and dressed the double line to be sure that the ranks were razor-straight. Every man's boots gleamed with polish, as did their leather belts, even their empty scabbards. Everything that could be pressed was pressed, everything that could be shined was shined. They looked to be the finest of the King's guardsmen... just as Haleth considered them to be.

'At your ease,' Balanurthon said, returning the sergeant's salute. 'We must wait upon the Steward.' He cocked an eye at the blush of sunrise on the tall white towers. 'He comes belated, it seems, but best not to start without him.'

Haleth nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and moved to stand at attention beside his men. None of them relaxed from their stiff pose, but stood as if they'd been turned to stone.

Balanurthon nodded, his face expressionless to spare the feelings of the waiting men. He had no eagerness to start his work for this day, except perhaps the wish to get this unpleasant business all over and done with as quickly as possible.

A crowd was slowly gathering around the perimeter of the square, early risers and those who had risen beforetimes, for rumour had it that Haleth's squad had been found in severe dereliction of their duty, and the Steward intended to make an example of them. It was not that the people anticipated joy in the viewing, but more of a morbid curiosity that drew them, all unwilling, to the Place of Justice.

Two men and a woman were locked in the stocks to serve their daylong sentence before the Steward made his appearance. He was as carefully dressed as ever, as straight in his carriage, but his face bespoke great weariness as he walked slowly to where the whipping posts were set up and waiting.

Arthad the healer arose from his seat by the warming fire and took up his bag, walking over to take his stand near the whipping posts. Certainly he would provide drinks of water to those in the stocks, and even food as the day wore on, but the immediate need was likely to be here.

Haleth gave a nod to the first two men in the rank, and they moved forward as one, stopping in front of the posts, where Balanurthon and Hunethon bound them, hanging their wrists over the iron hooks depending from the posts, and then the soldiers bent forward so that the justice-givers could unbuckle their belts with their empty scabbards, laying them aside, in order to pull their surcoats, hauberks and undertunics over their heads, to hang on their arms, baring their backs, pale in the morning sunlight, gooseflesh rising as the fresh breeze stroked the waiting flesh.

Hunethon unrolled the scroll that detailed the offences of Haleth and his men and read the charges, and then he put the scroll in the box that stood ready to receive it and took up the lash.

Taking up his own heavy leather lash, Balanurthon saluted the Steward. 'Ready, Sir,' he said, and Hunethon beside him nodded.

The hobbits hidden in the crowd started forward, only to be stopped by the man in hunter's clothing that stood in their midst. 'Wait,' he whispered.

'Wait,' the Steward said, as if echoing all unknowing the hidden King's whisper.

Balanurthon nodded and lowered his hand, letting the lash trail upon the ground. It was customary, though custom was not always observed, for the Steward (or King) to say a few words before justice was administered. Sometimes this would be a warning to the watching crowd, sometimes an adjuration to the one undergoing punishment.

The Steward stepped forward, and to Pippin's gaze the man's eyes were hard, his jaw set, and the hobbit tried to pull away from the hand that restrained him, to offer his own back to the lash, rather than the soldiers that he and Merry had bewitched with food and storytelling. He was not the only one; when Merry had told the tale to Hildibold and Ferdibrand, they too had insisted on coming to the square, along with Sam, to plead for the soldiers, to offer themselves if need be, for the fault was Hobbits' and not that of Haleth and his guardsmen. But the King's hand held fast, and, 'Hush' came the whispered order, and 'Stand fast.'

Pippin looked up, to see Elessar, his face shadowed by his hood, staring at the Steward, his eyes glinting silver, and the tension of his shoulders told the hobbit that the King, too, was not completely certain of the outcome here. Yet he waited, though Pippin hardly knew what it was they were waiting for. He looked over at Merry and Sam, standing grim and silent, yet honouring Elessar's command, and then to Hilly and Ferdi, who stood uneasily, looking to him, Pippin, and he drew an unsteady breath and gave them a nod to verify the word of the King. Stay. And then his attention was pulled to the Steward as the man began to speak.