Chapter 30. We are attacked; but help comes from an unexpected quarter

It seems the great horse and I are not to be left in peace to mourn our dead. Though I am not sure of the source of my foreboding, I toss my drooping head as high as it will go and peer in all directions.

What is it that I sense?

The wind is blowing from the east, and so it carries neither the scent nor the sound of the approaching Men to us. Yet I am looking in the direction of the North-South Road when their heads first appear above the small ridge that lies between us and the Road. They are definitely coming towards us, for the sight of their heads is soon followed by their bodies as they crest the hill. There are more of them than I can count... more than the number of the Company I so recently travelled with, or so it appears to me.

My Lord! I snort, but the great horse does not seem to hear me. He remains on his knees, turned away from the sight I am seeing, his nose touching the ground, his eyes glazed and dull, unseeing.

I do not know who these Men might be, but their appearance and bearing is more reminiscent of my old misery and his cronies than a Ranger or one of our Big Men or even a common, decent Man of Bree such as the keeper of the inn named after a pony.

I stiffen and stare, my eyes as wide as may be and my nostrils flaring to catch their scent, while I prick my ears forward to catch their talk. For they are talking... 

I do not like their tone, not at all. Were I a dog, my hackles would be standing stiff and tall. Coarse laughter, I hear, and jeering tones. Some hold rope in their hands, and several have clubs.

One of them, who seems to be their leader, gestures as he raises his voice above the others'. 'Pity,' he says, but there is no pity in his tone. 'The big one looks to be on its last legs.'

'Put it out of its misery?' another Man says, slapping the palm of his hand with his club.

'Why waste the effort?' the leader answers. 'Just leave him to die... If he's ill, we'd be taking a chance if we were to butcher and eat him, after all.'

Monsters! My companion had warned me about men like these, the very reason why we have been walking to one side of the Road and not directly upon it. At least I do not have to worry about them attacking my companion whilst he is incapacitated.

...but the leader is pointing to me. 'The pony looks sturdy enough... He can pull our cart for us for at least a part of the way until he gives out, and by then our horse will have had enough rest to get over his lameness.'

I lay my ears back and stomp my forefoot in warning, eliciting a laugh from our foes. 'O-ho! He's got spirit!'

'The better to pull our cart,' the leader says, raising his club and then lowering it again. 'All right, then, get a rope on him. Don't hurt him! We want him sound and strong.'

I move towards them to put space between my companion and me, and then I change direction, moving to the side. I will draw them away if I can.

'Rope!' the leader calls as the scoundrels spread out and then approach me from different sides, as if to pin me between them. I duck my head, and one of the descending ropes misses, and then I plant my forefeet and kick out behind me, connecting with a satisfying thunk and hearing a yell of pain. I whirl and strike, then kick out again; I bite any Man who comes within range of my teeth and then rear and plunge and – if I do say so myself – make their lives as difficult as I may.

The Men are no longer laughing but they are shouting now, the words laced with dark humour. 'He's a fighter, he is!' 'I'm going to enjoy teaching him a lesson! Why didn't anyone bring a whip...?' 'What he needs is a good beating...'

What they need is a good beating, I think to myself. Teach them a lesson...

But I am surrounded and outnumbered, and I do not know how long I can keep up my dodging and fighting. I bugle a challenge, hoping the great horse will hear and respond, even as he jumped into my battle with the wolves. But I am not sure, even with his help, if we will be able to prevail?

These Men are as savage as wolves and equally determined, or so it seems to me.

I roar in fury as something solid comes down on my rump – a club, it must be – and aim a vicious kick, even as I hear the leader shout, 'Don't hurt him!'

'Don't hurt him, he says...' another of the rogues sputters, pain running through the words and giving me a dark sense of satisfaction that my hoofs have done him some damage.

And then, quite suddenly, I hear cries of alarm and pain around me – more than I can account for with the work of my own teeth and hoofs, I mean. If I were not so fully occupied, I would breathe a sigh of relief that the great horse has joined the battle at last.

...but I am mistaken! 

The pressure from the encroaching Men eases somewhat, inexplicably, while their shouts and screams continue, and I roll my eyes and swivel my ears to take in our surroundings.

Something is attacking from skyward! A giant bird flies above the fray, splitting our ears with its shrieking. Its enormous wings flap and glide, stunning any Man in their way, while long, curved, wicked talons slash and rend the Men surrounding me.

Is it an Eagle? Dimly, at the edges of my memory, I remember Youngest calling, The Eagles are coming! The Eagles are coming!

The Old Pet was in the middle of telling a story at the time, as he and my hobbits were visiting Merrylegs and me in the meadow in that lovely Valley, though I do not remember anymore how Eagles came into it. I only remember Youngest's eager cry...

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