Chapter 52. Despite my comfortable surroundings, I am in for a rude awakening

These stables have high-set windows in the outer walls, high above my head, higher than a horse can reach, even, that admit light and air. The outer walls effectively block the winter wind – unlike my former broken-down shed with gaps between the boards. No doubt the thick stone walls also keep the interior cool and comfortable in summer. Stalls line three of the walls, with a loose-box at each corner and a large open space in the middle of the structure. The fourth side consists of other types of enclosures built against that stone wall, including a very large one that boasts several large, open doorways, and a tack room, I think from glimpsing a few saddles on stands within, along with bridles and harnesses hanging from pegs, and a granary with barrels and bins.   

After this-Bob and the other three hobbits have left the building, I pass the time in remarkable idleness, swishing my tail for the simple delight of feeling no tangles (for of course there are no flies this time of the year) and occasionally pulling a mouthful of hay from the generously full rack in the corner of my enclosure. I lift my voice to answer a whinnied question or three from one or another of the stalls' occupants, but conversation under these circumstances is difficult at best.

That this is my resting place, I still have trouble believing. But this is where the Bob-hobbit has left me, and so I will enjoy this loose-box as my own so long as it lasts.

When the light is dimming in the windows above, this-Bob returns with two younger hobbits and an older one, along with a tall but relatively youthful Man, and they proceed to groom those of us who are here at the moment. Thus, I receive my second (!) grooming of the afternoon, after which the hobbit tween who serves me lays a blanket over my back and secures the fastenings. At my questioning look, he says, 'Bob said to put on "rugs" tonight, for the temperatures are growing bitter as the Sun seeks her bed, and even with your winter coat, we don't want you to take a chill.'

I nod my understanding, and the tween laughs and offers me a piece of carrot from his pocket which I delicately lift from his flattened palm. He rubs at my forehead then, saying, 'I see that we shall be great friends. They told me your hobbits decided to call you "Bill" before you all set out for parts unknown. Have you learnt to answer to that name, I wonder?'

I nod again, and he chuckles and slaps me gently on the neck. 'Well,' he says. 'Either you're bright enough that you understand what I'm saying, or I'm an Elf!'

You're no Elf, I think at him, contentedly munching my carrot piece.

His laugh rings out again, and he shakes his head, saying, 'I could swear you just agreed that I'm not an Elf, not by the largest stretch of the imagination, though how wondrous it would be to be one, I don't wonder...' The flow of words reminds me somehow of Youngest at his most whimsical, and I rub my face on his outstretched arm as he continues to speak.

But then this-Bob's raised voice interrupts him. 'Bert! You've one more pony to be grooming! And then there's the feeding and mucking-out and sweeping...!'

'Coming!' my helper calls back. After a final pat and a murmured promise to return with my supper, he turns away and lets himself out of my box.

After feeding and watering all of us and cleaning our stalls and spreading fresh bedding where necessary, the small troop of stable workers take up brooms and sweep clean the stones of the large central space. I stand at the door to my box and lift my head high enough to watch them at their work. Although I can hear various sounds from my equine companions in the stalls to one side of my box, I cannot see them; no doubt they are tied up, and though their "log and rope" would have been designed to allow them to move a little and lie down, they cannot turn around and look out of their confinement as I am free to do.

By the time the sweepers have finished, the shadows have grown long, and most of the light comes from lanterns hanging on the walls. At the end, each worker takes one lantern in hand and blows out the rest hanging on "his" wall. To my surprise, they then move to stand together in the centre of the open space and raise their voices in song – a serenade, I have heard my hobbits call it when talking about Elves perched in the trees of the Valley, singing, or referring to the music played in the Hall of Fire. (A fiery hall? Well, I suppose anything is possible with Elves.) Or perhaps a lullaby? My hobbits taught me that word, as well, when Youngest was feverish and fretful after we nearly lost him in the Midgewater Marshes, and the Master sat by his side that night and rubbed Youngest's back and crooned a gentle song to soothe him to sleep.

Yes, a lullaby, this must be, or a blessing of sorts, as the stable workers' voices blend in pleasant harmony; the words they sing are of rest and sleep, safety and security and pleasant dreams. And then, holding his lantern high, this-Bob leads the others from the building, closing the heavy outer door securely behind the last one to exit the building. 

All is dark and quiet, and sleep overtakes me without my quite realising it.

*** 

I am not sure what awakens me, but I am suddenly wide awake. Though this is the first night I have spent in this stables, I quickly grasp that something is not right. Without thinking, I regain my feet as quickly as I can (I cannot jump to my feet as my hobbits do, but I come close) and stand, head high, eyes wide open, ears swivelling to catch the night sounds around me, all my senses at their highest alert.

There is light where there should not be in the depths of the night, and the wrong kind of light at that. No, but all light in a stables should come through windows or doors or from lanterns that keep the flames within safely enclosed.

This light comes from torches! Torches! In a stables!

Even as I toss my head and whicker uneasily, I hear my stable companions' complaints and alarums.

One of the torch-bearers sees my head above the half-door and points. 'There!' he shouts. 'That's the one! I'll get him for Ferny – you lot secure the rest...'

Ferny was all I needed to hear; I half-rear in my box and raise my voice to shout my warning to the others, Fight! These Men mean us harm! Let them untie you from your stall, but as soon as you are free, fight for your lives!

'Oho,' says the Man who thinks he will get me for Ferny as he moves to unlatch the door to my loose-box, 'We're feeling our oats, are we?'

I don't know about you, you rogue, but I have been well-fed this day; and you do not look half so fearsome to me as a dozen wolves... I think at him, arching my neck and snorting defiance.

'Don't be a fool, Mossy!' another Man shouts, hurrying to come up behind him. 'Taking a torch into a stall filled with hay and straw! You'll burn us all alive!' 

My rogue snarls a curse but then turns and hands his torch to his follower. 'Hold this, then, while I get the pony!' He snaps the whip in his other hand as if he imagines it will frighten me into doing his bidding.

As he frees the latch and begins to open my door, I see that he also carries a rope over one shoulder. He will have little chance to use it, I vow.

Before my half-door has swung halfway open, I charge. 

*** 

Author's notes:

In writing the chapters describing Bill's stay in Bree, I consulted numerous sources on stabling in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries since the descriptions of Bree and the Shire in the original text could conceivably fit that time frame. If anyone's interested, I will include a list of sources at the end of the story after the last chapter has been posted. Otherwise, the notes for this chapter might end up longer than the chapter text! That said, here are some pertinent snippets that expand on Bill's observations.

From the blog A Regency Reticule:

"When stabled in a stall, a horse wore a leather headstall to which was attached a rope. This was fed through a ring on the wall or manger and weighted with a ‘log’ – a wooden or metal ball. This contraption, known as a ‘log and rope’, allowed the horse a measure of movement and freedom to lie down, but prevented him from turning around."

The "very large room with several doorways" on the fourth wall would be for coaches or waggons to be stored out of the weather.

***