The Lord of the Rings: The Uruk-Hai [Part Two]

 

The Tale

The Orcs are debating what to do now, which way to go and what to do with the prisoners, Merry and Pippin. Some want to kill them right away; they don’t have time to do it ‘properly’ (with as much drawn-out torture as possible) but they are a nuisance to lug about and they need to get going.

An Orc with a deep voice, Ugluk (Isengard), says that his orders from Saruman are that they are to be brought to him alive and unspoiled [not looted] as quickly as possible; they have something wanted for the War, some ‘elvish plot’ or something. At that some voices say they should search them and find it for themselves.

Another voice interjects, sneering, ‘softer than the others but more evil.’ It is Grishnakh (Mordor). He may have to report that bit of treason. His orders from Sauron are the same: no plundering. The Orcs from Moria say they have no orders; they just want to kill, avenge their folk, then go home. Ugluk (I) says they’re under his orders now. They’re going straight to Isengard. Grishnakh (M) asks if Saruman is the master of the Great Eye? They’re going to Lugburz [the Dark Tower]. A winged Nazgul awaits them across the Anduin River.

The other Orcs suspect they’ll fly away then and leave them in the Horse-country, a land full of ‘foul rebels and brigands’. They must stick together. Ugluk (I) agrees. And they will do it under his command. He and his folk, the fighting Uruk-hai, killed Boromir and took the prisoners and led them here, and will lead them back to Saruman, ‘the White Hand, the Hand that gives us man’s-flesh to eat.’ Grishnakh (M) sneers that such boastful talk might interest them in Mordor, and where he might have got his strange ideas from. Saruman is a dirty treacherous fool, but ’the Great Eye is on him’. And Grishnakh warrants that it’s orc-flesh that the Isengarders eat.

There are yells at this insult, and a fight begins. Pippin turns over cautiously. Their guards have gone to join the fray. The hobbit sees Ugluk (I), ‘a large black Orc’, confronting Grishnakh (M) ‘a short crook-legged creature, very broad and with long arms that hung almost to the ground’, surrounded by smaller goblins. Ugluk calls up some other big Isengarders, then suddenly lops a couple of heads off the lesser Orcs. Grishnakh runs off into the night. There is more fighting, and the hobbits’ yellow-fanged guard falls next to Pippin, still clutching his knife convulsively in his dead hand.

There is more cursing and fighting, and two more Orcs are killed. While Ugluk is calling for order, Pippin takes the opportunity to use the knife to cut the bonds around his hands, then loops the rope and slips it over his hands so that it looks like he is still tied up. ‘Then he lay very still.’

Bits and Bobs

We gain further insights into the Uruk-hai (‘Orc-folk’) as we go along in chapter.  In the books, the term ‘Uruk-hai’ seems to apply mostly to those Orcs bred in Isengard, with the Orcs of Mordor called black Uruks or Uruks of Mordor. The Uruk-hai are taller, stronger, and more tolerant to sunlight than other Orcs, and carry short straight swords and yew bows, like Men. There is some speculation that Saruman had somehow, in the creation of the Uruk-hai, crossed the races of Orcs and Men. Let’s hope that is was by some sorcerous genetic engineering and not through the more ‘natural’ way.

But it becomes clear that it is not only Orc bodies that have become twisted and corrupted. Their outlook on life, their morals, have also been bent, but not totally abolished. They expect loyalty, but only to the strongest ‘boss’ of their ‘party’. To them, the Rohirrim are ‘rebels’, not because Rohan has ever owed Sauron or Saruman allegiance, but because they should somehow; their boss is right, the duly constituted divine ruler of Middle-earth by right of might. Eating man’s-flesh is alright, but eating orc-flesh, well, that’s obviously cannibalism. But man’s-flesh is the right kind of cannibalism. Any secret move against their masters is an ‘elvish plot’, ‘elvish’ being to them a term of obloquy.

It becomes obvious that both Saruman and Sauron have become aware that the Ring is being carried by a Halfling. It is also obvious that they have not told any of their troops the details of the situation. Of course, the Orcs can’t be trusted with that knowledge; at worst one would run off with it and try to become their own Dark Lord; though he would be unlikely to succeed, it would take some time to recover it, and there might be a chance it would fall back into the West’s hands. The wizard and the dark lord are also crafty and sneaky. No sense telling the slaves more than they need to know. It is this distrust that ultimately saves Pippin and Merry’s lives.

I have noted Ugluk’s and Grishnakh’s affiliation in an effort to keep them straight in my head.

It is this little fight that leaves the five Orc-corpses that Aragorn and the others later find on the trail. It’s strange, but I’ve always found the image of them simply lying unburied on the vast plains of Rohan, just carrion under the sky, to be rather pathetic. As evil and as unpleasant as they are, it seems to punctuate the ultimate tragedy of Orc existence; their deaths have no meaning, not even to their fellows. They have been made what they are, and seem can do no other. As Gandalf says, ‘I pity even his slaves.’    

Pippin is finally taking some initiative, risky as it is. As they tell him later, he’s taking his luck into his hands. Time for Master Took to grow up a bit.

Out of the Shadow Library and Back Into the Archive

 

I re-ordered Lin Carter Presents The Year's Best Fantasy Stories 6 for one reason alone. That was Brian Lumley's short story, Cryptically Yours. Not only because I enjoyed that tale back in 1980, but because it was the inspiration for a little writing project my brother John and I worked on, the letters between two wizards, John Craft and Scramasax. Each letter was a short story in itself; three of these still exist. So the volume is rather entangled with my memories. It might be a gas to reread the other stories and see what I think of them now.

The Lord of the Rings: The Uruk-Hai [Part One]

 

The Tale

Pippin lies in a dark dream: he is searching for Frodo, but a hundred hideous orc-faces are grinning at him from the shadows, and Merry is nowhere to be seen. He wakes up and finds himself on his back, lying in a cold wind with evening coming on. He is bound hand and foot. Next to him is Merry, pale, a dirty bandage wrapped around his brows.

Pippin begins to piece his memories together. They had gone running off calling and looking for Frodo, only to crash into the arms of a surprised group of Orcs. With a yell, dozens of the goblins had swarmed out of the trees. The hobbits drew their swords but the Orcs seemed more intent on capturing them than on fighting. Merry had cut off several of their arms and hands. ‘Good old Merry!’

Then Boromir had arrived. He slew many of the Orcs and the others ran. The three companions had only fled a little way when the Orcs returned, at least a hundred of them. They began to shoot arrows, only at Boromir. The man had blown his great horn; that cowed them for a moment, but when no help came, they attacked again. The last Pippin saw was Boromir leaning against a tree, plucking an arrow out. Then he must have been knocked on the head.

Pippin is full of questions. Is Merry much hurt, what happened to Boromir, why did the Orcs let them live, and where are they going? He has no answers. He feels cold and sick, and worst of all useless. He wishes Elrond had persuaded Gandalf to leave them behind. Pippin feels he’s been nothing but a nuisance on the journey, a piece of luggage carried and now stolen. He wishes Strider would come and reclaim him, but then what about Frodo? He struggles against his bonds a bit.

An Orc nearby growls at him to stay still. Another stoops over Pippin, his yellow fangs in his face, and threatens him with a long black knife. He’d like to teach the hobbits a lesson, but he has orders from the leader of the Isengard Orcs, Ugluk, whom he curses in his own tongue. Pippin finds to his surprise that he can understand much that the Orcs are saying. Apparently they are from several different tribes and can’t understand each other’s orc-speech, so are using Westron, the Common Speech, that they make ‘almost as hideous as [their] own language.’ There is a quarrel, and it’s getting hotter.

Bits and Bobs

I’m only doing a couple of pages today; I got up this morning already feeling tired, in some pain, and facing quite a bit of other work. But I decided I could advance, just a little bit.

This chapter is notable for containing one of the longest insights into the Orcish ‘culture’ and mindset. Not until Shagrat and Gorbag have their little discussion near Cirith Ungol do we learn so much. And we hear it in their own words, thanks to the communication problems between the Orcs of Moria, Ugluk and his Isengarders, and Grishnakh with his Mordor-folk. We get to hear the longest bit of ‘dialect’, ‘Ugluk a bagronkg Saruman-glob bubhosh skai’, which Tolkien Gateway records and analyzes:

“The phrase is not translated in the text, and in Appendix F it is only identified as "the more debased form [of Black Speech] used by the soldiers of the Dark Tower". However, there exist three different translations of this sentence.

First Translation:

This translation appeared in the draft of Appendix F, published in The Peoples of Middle-earth. Here, it is translated as "Uglúk to the cesspool, sha! the dungfilth; the great Saruman-fool, skai!"

Second Translation:

In a second translation, published in an article by Carl F. Hostetter in Vinyar Tengwar 26, the phrase reads "Uglúk u bagronk sha pushdug Saruman-glob – búb-hosh skai!", and the translation "Uglúk to the dung-pit with stinking Saruman-filth - pig-guts, gah!". Hostetter identifies the speaker as Grishnákh.

Third Translation:

Yet another translation, published in Parma Eldalamberon 17, is from the late 1950s, and as far as is known, Tolkien's last word on the subject. Here, the sentence is divided into one long sentence and one shorter - only expressing more contempt.

"[Ugluk] u bagronk sha pushdug Saruman-glob.
búbhosh - skai!"

Which is translated as:

"Uglúk to torture (chamber) with stinking Saruman-filth.
Dung-heap. Skai!".    – Tolkien Gateway.

 

It’s interesting to think that as this was Pippin’s first encounter with the language, he was paying particular desperate attention to it, might even have been traumatized by it, and so could remember enough of it to record.

Infernal Devices: Into the Archive

Infernal Devices, by K. W. Jeter (1987)

I have long followed the careers of two of the ‘godfathers of Steampunk’, James P. Blaylock and Tim Powers. Having caught up on my backlog of their works, I thought it was finally time to give the third, K. W. Jeter a shot, and I thought I’d start with Infernal Devices, the first in the George Dower Trilogy. It is set, as most good Steampunk is, in Victorian times. It arrived on Thursday, and I am halfway through it now, finally having time on Sunday to apply myself to it. I am enjoying it greatly so far; it harks back (for me) to the styles and milieu of Eighties Fantasy.

‘Kevin Wayne Jeter (born 1950) is an American science fiction and horror author known for his literary writing style, dark themes, and paranoid, unsympathetic characters. He is also credited with the coining of the term "Steampunk." K. W. has written novels set in the Star Trek and Star Wars universe, and has written three (to date) sequels to Blade Runner.’- goodreads.

‘Infernal Devices is a steampunk novel by K. W. Jeter, published in 1987. The novel was republished in 2011 by Angry Robot Books with a new introduction by the author, cover art by John Coulthart, and an afterword by Jeff VanderMeer.’ – Wikipedia.

                                                              Original Cover

Congratulations

A little planter/pencil holder like this was presented to Mom and Pop around the time of Mike's birth. For years it was a constant presence, either in the kitchen window or or on the mirror shelves over the TV. It reads "Congratulations On Your New Little Tax Exemption." Eventually it was damaged, moved to the garage (I think) and then thrown away.

I find out now that it was produced by 'UCAGCO (Ukaguko) means United China and Glass Company. Its offices were based in New Orleans and New York. Ucagco was primarily a distributor of dinnerware and glassware. They were a large distributor in the US of many (occupied) Japanese china patterns and decorative ware during the early 1950s.' The top scroll was colored blue for a boy or pink for a girl, or simply left unpainted, as ours was.

The Lord of the Rings: The Riders of Rohan [Part Three]

The Tale

Eomer and the Riders leave Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas, and are soon out of sight. The three ride off on their new mounts, with Aragorn bending low to observe the trail. They come to the river Entwash, and they see where that new group of Orcs joined the band they were following. Aragorn dismounts and searches the area but can discover little. He judges that the Orcs knew they were being pursued at this point; the Hunters must go slower, in case some effort was made to get their captives away before  they were overtaken.

As they ride forward the day is overcast and misty. As they grow closer to Fangorn Forest, they pass single corpses felled by the Riders’ arrows. Late in the afternoon they come to the eaves of the forest and an open area where trees were felled to make the pyre for the fallen Orcs. The ashes are still smoldering. Nearby is a pile of their armor, helms, shields, weapons, and other gear of war. In the middle of this pile, on a tall stake, is impaled the head of a great goblin; it still wears the helm with the badge of the White Hand.

Further away, near the river is a mound, covered with green turves and planted with fifteen spears. This is the grave of the fallen Riders.

While the light lasts, the three search for any trace of Merry and Pippin but find none by nightfall. Gimli sadly concludes that the burned bones of the hobbits are mingled with the ashes of the Orcs. It will be hard on Frodo and Bilbo if they ever hear of it. Elrond never wanted them to come at all.

Gandalf did, Legolas points out. But Gandalf came himself and fell, Gimli counters. His foresight did not see that coming, either.

‘The counsel of Gandalf was not founded on foreknowledge of safety, for himself or others,’ said Aragorn. ‘There are some things that are better to begin than to refuse, even though the end may be dark.’ But they’ll stay the night and search more in the morning light.

They make their camp not far from the battlefield under a spreading tree. It looks like a chestnut with broad brown leaves like dry hands with spread fingers. As it is growing cold, Gimli decides to build a fire, even if it draws any enemies left to them. Legolas hopes if the hobbits are still alive, it might help draw them to them.

Aragorn says they are almost under the eaves of Fangorn, and it is said to be perilous to touch the trees of that land. Gimli points out the Riders felled many trees to make the Orcs pyre and were not harmed, but the ranger points out that they were many and did not enter the forest. They might have to, so touch no living bough. Gimli says there are enough chips and branches and dead wood aplenty, and he builds a fire near the tree.

As they sit huddled around the little blaze, Legolas looks up into the boughs overhead and cries out. They look at the tree in wonder.

‘It may have been that the dancing shadows tricked their eyes, but certainly it seemed to each of the companions the boughs appeared to be bending this way and that so as to come above the flames, while the upper branches were stooping down; the brown leaves now stood out stiff, and rubbed together like many cold cracked hands taking comfort in the warmth.’

Suddenly the night and the foreboding forest at their backs seems uncanny. Legolas asks Aragorn about the stories Boromir mentioned about Fangorn, whether he thinks they are true. He replies that if an Elf of the Wood doesn’t know, how shall a Man answer? Legolas says all he knows from old songs is that the Onodrim, that men call Ents, dwelled their long ago. Aragorn says it is very old, as old as the Old Forest back in the Shire, both remnants of a greater ancient wood. But Fangorn has some secret of its own.

They settle down to sleep, with Gimli taking the first watch. Aragorn warns him not to stray far if he needs more wood; rather let the fire die out. He falls asleep. ‘Legolas already lay motionless, his fair hands folded upon his breast, his eyes unclosed, blending living night with deep dream, as is the way with Elves.’ Gimli sits hunching by the fire, running a thoughtful thumb over the edge of his axe.

‘Suddenly Gimli looked up, and there just on the edge of the firelight stood an old bent man, leaning on a staff, and wrapped in a great cloak; his wide-brimmed hat was pulled down over his eyes.’ Gimli springs up, thinking that Saruman has caught them, and his movement rouse Aragorn and Legolas, who sit up and stare.

Aragorn leaps to his feet, asking the old man what they can do for him and join them at the fire. But then the old man is gone (stepped out of the light? vanished?) and no sign can be found of him. They dare not go far from the fire. Suddenly Legolas cries out. The horses are gone!

They stand still, struck by this new stroke of bad luck. The distant sound of whinnying and neighing come to their ears, then all is silent again. At last Aragorn says they must accept their disappearance if they don’t come back again. They started this hunt on their feet and can end it on their feet. Gimli grumbles that they cannot eat their feet as they might the horses, if it comes to that. Legolas laughs that a few hours ago the dwarf would not even sit on a horse; they’ll make a rider of him yet.

Gimli thinks there’ll be no further chance of that. He thinks the old man was Saruman, wandering as Eomer said he did, hooded and cloaked, and that he scared away the horses. Aragorn notes that he was wearing a hat, but nonetheless believes that it was Saruman, too. Still, there is nothing they can do now but rest. He takes the next watch. He needs to think.

‘The night passed slowly. Legolas followed Aragorn, and Gimli followed Legolas, and their watches wore away. But nothing happened. The old man did not appear again, and the horses did not return.’

[End of Part Three]

Bits and Bobs

This last little bit is only the last five pages or so of the chapter. I couldn’t find any appropriate illustrations, but I always thought the appearance of the old man by the Three Hunters’ fire would be a good one, or even of the tree ‘warming its hands’. These incidents may have inspired pictures somewhere, but I haven’t found them. But anyway, all the notes for the whole chapter appear here.

As has been pointed out by Tom Shippey in The Road to Middle-earth, the Riders of Rohan are essentially described as Anglo-Saxon warriors, except for a few details. The most important, of course, is that they are horse-riders, with battle skills more akin to warriors of the steppes, like the Huns in our world. Eomer’s horse-tail ‘panache’ on his helmet is particularly reminiscent. Anglo-Saxon armies had few mounted riders. Most Rohirric names and special terms are from Old English; all the names of their kings translate as some word meaning ‘ruler’ or ‘warrior’ (‘Eorl’=’Earl’, ‘Theoden’=’King’) and ‘Eo-‘ names contain the word for ‘horse’.  Of course all these words are feigned to be translated into Old English from the ‘true’ language of Rohan.

I wish I could easily reproduce all the accent marks used by the Rohirric terms. Tolkien had a typewriter set in Anglo-Saxon typeface for his work. 

It has also been noted (I forget where) that much of the savagely stoic character of the Riders recalls the actions and nature attributed to native Americans in popular literature. Tolkien himself (in On Fairy Stories) states that he enjoyed tales of ‘Wild Indians’ when he was young, especially in the tales of James Fennimore Cooper, with their deep, primordial woods.

Through the actions of Legolas we are given insight into the relation of Elves to their minds and bodies, especially of the connection of their dreams and memories to waking life. It seems their mind can rest while their body jogs along, and vice versa. It is Legolas who has visions of the spiritual nature of things, like the crown flickering on Aragorn’s brow.

While the Elf has generally a more hopeful outlook on life, Gimli takes a more … well, I don’t want to say pessimistic, but certainly a more distrustful attitude. He is quick to see and warn against the downside of every situation. Gimli is stern, ‘dour’, like most Dwarves, and a little quick to take anger, but also can set it aside. His defense of Galadriel has been seen as a ‘chivalric’ devotion to the Lady, a high respect and dedication that lifts his spirit above the personal prejudices of his people.

In this chapter we learn some more about Tolkien’s view of stories and morality. Aragorn says not to scorn the stories of the past, for we will ourselves be the stories of the future, to be judged by those who come after. The Riders themselves might come to seem an unlikely tale to later generations. Meta! Also, that morality, good and evil, is not relative, changing with the times, or different between different folk.  And ‘There are some things that are better to begin than to refuse, even though the end may be dark.’

The appearance of the Ents is teased, both in speaking their name (without much detail about what they are) and in the unusual actions of ‘the chestnut’ to the fire. This tree is apparently not an Ent itself, but possibly a ‘Huorn’ that is approaching sentience and mobility.

Much time is spent discussing the machinations of Saruman, which will soon become very important to the story. For a long time I thought the appearance of the old man at the fire was just an appearance or a ‘sending’ of Saruman’s awareness, like an astral projection. But according to the Scheme written by Tolkien, reported in The Lord of the Rings: A Reader’s Companion, it is indeed Saruman grown impatient for the Ring and gone out to meet his troops. Just a little too late. That he was wearing a hat rather than a hood might have been meant to obscure his identity.

The incidence of the missing horses in the night will later be shown to have a different significance than they surmise.

The Lord of the Rings: The Riders of Rohan (Part Two)

 

The Tale

They wait on the bottom of the hill until even Gimli can hear them. With a thunder of hoofs they come by, riding like the wind. They call to one another in clear strong voices: ‘a long line of mail-clad men, swift, shining, fell and fair to look upon.’ Their horses are large with grey coats, flowing tails, and braided manes. The men are a good match to the steeds: long-limbed, braided flaxen long hair, and stern, keen faces. They are armed with great ashen spears, painted shields on their backs, long swords at their sides, and polished coats of mail down to their knees. They go by, two by two, and are almost passed when Aragorn stands up and calls, ‘What news from the North, Riders of Rohan?’

The Riders immediately wheel around and begin circling the man, the dwarf, and the elf in an ever-tightening ring, then without a signal stop. Aragorn waits impassively. Spears are lowered at them, and arrows are at the string. The leader, a man taller than the rest whose helm sports a white horsetail as a crest, advances on his horse until his spear is a foot from Aragorn’s chest. The ranger does not stir or show fear.

The rider questions him in the Common Speech of the West. Who is he and what is he doing in Rohan? Aragorn answers that he is called Strider, and that he is hunting Orcs. The rider dismounts and looks at them in wonder. At first he thought they were Orcs themselves, but Strider must know little about them to hunt them in this fashion. And he has a strange name and raiment for a Man. Has he sprung from the grass? How did he escape their sight? ‘Are you elvish folk?’

Aragorn replies that only one of them is an elf, but they have passed through Lothlorien and the favor of the Lady is with them. The other’s eyes harden. So, there is a sorceress in the White Woods, as old tales say. Are they also net-weavers and sorcerers? He looks at Legolas and Gimli. Why don’t they say anything? Gimli rises and grips the handle of his axe, and asks the rider’s name.

The Rider stares him down. ‘The stranger should declare himself first. Yet I am named Eomer son of Eomund, and am called the Third Marshal of Riddermark.’ Well, let Gimli the Dwarf Gloin’s Son warn him about speaking foolishness about the Lady, fairer beyond his reach of thought.’ Angered, Eomer replies, ‘I would cut off your head, beard and all, Master Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground.’ Quicker than sight Legolas draws his bow. ‘You would die before your stroke fell.’ Eomer raises his sword in answer.

Aragorn springs between them, hand raised, and asks Eomer’s pardon. When he learns more he will understand why he angered his companions. But they mean no harm to Rohan. ‘Will you not hear our tale before you strike?’ Eomer lowers his blade. Very well, but Strider must tell him his right name. Aragorn tells him that first he must know if the Rider is a friend or foe of Sauron? Eomer says that he serves only King Theoden Thengel’s Son, Lord of the mark, and that Rohan is no friend of Morder’s, though neither have they proclaimed against it. But by whose authority does Strider hunt Orcs through this land?

Aragorn says he serves no man, but he hunts the servants of Sauron wherever they go. Few men alive know more about Orcs than he. And these have stolen his friends. In such need no-one will ask leave of anyone, nor count his foes save with a sword. And he is not weaponless. He throws back his cloak and reveals Anduril and its flashing sheath. He draws it out like sudden flame and cries out ‘Elendil!’

‘I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, and am called Elessar, the Elfstone, Dunadan, the heir of Isildur Elendil’s son of Gondor. Here is the Sword that was Broken and is forged again! Will you aid me or thwart me? Choose swiftly!’

Even Gimli and Legolas look at him in amazement. They have never seen him like this. For a moment they glimpse in his living face an echo of the majesty and power of the kings of Argonath, and Legolas sees a flicker of white flame around his brows, like a shining crown. Eomer steps back, abashed. These are indeed strange times when dreams and legends spring out of the grass.

Since Aragorn is from the North and is connected to Gondor, Eomer asks him about Boromir, who passed through their lands, and did he find the answer to his riddle. ‘What doom do you bring from the North?’

The doom of choice, he answers. Open war lies before Theoden the King; no longer can anyone remain neutral. If chance allows, he will go to the King to speak of such matters. But now his need is urgent. What news of the orc-host that took their friends?

They have all been killed, says Eomer, and they need to pursue them no longer. There were none but Orcs among the slain. Aragorn describes them: no bigger than children, clad in grey as they are, and barefoot. When Gimli reveals that they were hobbits, or Halflings as the rhyme from Boromir’s dream called them, another nearby rider laughs. Halflings are only a little people in old songs and children’s tales. ‘Do we walk in legends or on the green earth in the daylight?’

‘A man may do both,’ said Aragorn. ‘For not we but those who come after will make the legends of our time. The green earth, say you? That is a mighty matter of legend, though you tread it under the light of day!’

The rider grumbles, but Eomer sends him off to get the Riders ready to depart. Once alone he comes down to business. He knows Aragorn isn’t lying: the Men of the Mark don’t, and therefore aren’t easily deceived. But can’t he speak more clearly of his errand? Aragorn reveals he did indeed set out from Imladris with Boromir, meaning to go to Minas Tirith with him. But the Company they journeyed with had other business. Their leader was Gandalf the Grey.

Gandalf Grayhame (hame = ‘mantle’ or cloak’)! Eomer exclaims. His name has been well-known for many years in the Mark, a herald of strange tidings, though some now say a bringer of evil. It was since he came last summer that all their troubles with Saruman and Isengard began, though he had warned them of war being prepared there. Theoden did not listen to him but told him to take a horse and begone. Gandalf further angered the King by choosing Shadowfax, the king of the mearas, which only the Lord of the Mark may ride. Shadowfax returned seven nights ago, but Theoden is still angry with the wizard, for the horse is now wild and will let no man near.

Aragorn tells him that Gandalf will ride no longer, that he fell in the Mines of Moria. Eomer finds this heavy tidings, but when Aragorn also tells that Boromir is slain, he is even more dismayed. How long ago was this? Four days ago, from the shadow of Tol Brandir and on foot. Eomer is astounded, saying Strider is too poor a name, and calls him Wingfoot. That is 45 leagues (135 miles) in four days.

But now, what is Aragorn’s counsel? He could not speak openly before the other Riders, and war is indeed approaching. As Third Marshal and warden of the East-Mark, he has withdrawn all herds and herd-folk farther into the land, with only scouts and messengers going abroad. The Rohirrim have never been allies with Mordor and never will be; indeed, Orcs have come plundering into the land, stealing black horses. The people love their steeds like their own families; now they hate Sauron worse than ever.

‘But at this time our chief concern is with Saruman. He has claimed lordship over all this land, and there has been war between us for many months. He has taken Orcs into his service, and Wolf-riders, and evil Men, and he has closed the Gap against us, so that we are likely to both east and west.’

It's hard dealing with such a foe, a wizard both cunning and ‘dwimmer-crafty’ (master of illusions). He roams the land, looking very like Gandalf, in fact, and his spies slip through every net. Eomer fears that Saruman even has agents in the house of the king. If the Heir of Elendil will come to the House of Eorl it will be aid indeed. Aragorn says he will come when he can, but Eomer hopes soon. Battle is even now in the Westfold.

Indeed, Eomer has left without the king’s leave, hearing that the orc-host had entered their land, some of them bearing the white badge of Saruman. Suspecting a league between Orthanc and the Dark Tower, he led his eored (men of his own household) out, overtook the Orcs two days ago on the borders of the Entwood, then attacked at dawn. They lost fifteen men and twelve horse, for the band they were following was joined by more Orcs from east over the river and another force from the eaves of the wood, bearing the White Hand. But now, will Aragorn join him? There are spare horses, and, if they will pardon him his rash words about the Lady of the Wood, there is work even for Gimli and Legolas to do.

Aragorn wants to go, but they must find out the fate of the hobbits. They might have escaped unseen by the Riders: they were small and wearing elven-cloaks. Eomer says it is hard to keep track of so many miracles: Halflings and Ladies and ancient swords returning. ‘How shall a man judge what to do in such times?’

‘As he has ever judged,’ said Aragorn. ‘Good and ill have not changed since yesteryear , nor are they one thing among Elves and Dwarves and another among Men. It is a man’s part to discern them, as much in the Golden Wood as in his own house.’

He knows what he wants to do, but Eomer is not exactly free. The law is that no-one can travel through Rohan until he has seen the king and gained his leave. He’s asked Aragorn to come with him willingly; must they now fight, one hundred against three?

Aragorn says he is not unknown in Rohan, having been there before in other guise and name. He knew Theodon, and Eomund Eomer’s father as well. And if there was a fight, fewer Riders would there be to go to battle or to the king.

Eomund ponders a while, then says not only will he let them go, he will loan them horses as well. All he asks is that when their search is ended they return the horses to Meduseld, the high house in Edoras, to prove that Eomer has not misjudged him. Doing this, he puts his very life into their hands if they fail to return. Aragorn promises he will not fail.

There is some surprise when they return to the Riders and they hear Eomer’s orders. Aragorn is given a dark grey horse named Hasufel. Gimli is a little leery about getting on a horse, but Legolas says he shall ride with him on his steed, Arod. The elf has the men remove the saddle and leaps up, and to their surprise the beast is tame and willing. They lift Gimli up behind ‘and he clung to him, not much more at ease than Sam Gamgee in a boat.’

Eomer bids them return soon, and Gimli promises he certainly will come back, to teach him the better to speak of the Lady Galadriel.

‘We shall see,’ said Eomer. ‘So many strange things have chanced that to learn the praise of a fair lady under the loving strokes of a Dwarf’s axe will seem no great wonder. Farewell!’

[End of Part Two]

The Lord of the Rings: The Riders of Rohan [Part One]

 

The Tale

They run through the night, their pace slackening only when they enter the stony hills of the Emyn Muil. The sky is clear with a waxing moon in the West, but it is still hard traveling through this ‘bony land’, up hills and down valleys. In the hour before dawn, they pause. The orc-trail has vanished into the valley. Making a good guess, they head northward.

After going for only a mile, they run across the bodies of five dead Orcs. Aragorn guesses that it was not the Rohirrim (the men of Rohan) who did this, but a quarrel amongst themselves: these are all Misty Mountain Orcs and not the large ones with Saruman’s badge. A little further North they come to a fold in which a little stream runs. Here at last they find a clear trail. Just as the sun rises, Aragorn can see the White Mountains, border of the realm of Gondor. But they must turn west and north.

As they stop on ridge of the Emyn Muil, they can see twenty fathoms below them the green land of Rohan. From there Legolas can see the eagle again, flying North. But below them on the plain there is movement, so far that even the elf’s eyes cannot make out what sort of folk they are, except they are on foot. But it is doubtless their enemies. They follow the path along the ridge.

In the clear light of day this is easier. The Orcs seem to be making all possible speed, dropping things carelessly in their haste: food-bags, the rinds and crusts of hard grey bread, a torn black cloak, a heavy iron-nailed shoe broken on the stones.’ The trail leads to where a stream descends into the valley, and they follow it down into the green plains below.

‘Legolas took a deep breath, like one that drinks a great draught after long thirst in barren places…’A! The green smell,’ he said. ‘It is better than much sleep. Let us run!’

They find the trampled and bruised path of the Orcs through the grass and follow it eagerly, hoping to overtake them now that the way is clear. After a while Aragorn stops the others and examines a trail leading a little away. They are the footprints of a hobbit (Pippin by the size) and there he finds the dropped brooch of an elven-cloak. ‘Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall.’ This has been left deliberately for any who might follow. One hobbit is at least alive, if he did not pay for his break-out. They run on.

As night begins to fall, they stop and consider what to do. It has been a day since Boromir fell, and they have run twelve leagues (36 miles) with little rest. Shall they follow the Orcs by night, trusting that they will not deviate from their path but possibly missing any further clues like the brooch (which Legolas thinks unlikely after that last attempt), or, as Gimli proposes, they ‘must rest a little to run the better.’  Aragorn decides that they will rest through the night. He casts himself down and falls fast asleep.

Before it is dawn, he wakes up. Legolas is keeping watch, but he feels in his heart that the Orcs have journeyed through the night and are far, far away. Aragorn rouses Gimli. Since the sun is not up yet, Aragorn lies down and puts his ear to the earth. When dawn arises, he gets up, looking troubled. Faint and far are the sounds of the Orcs, but loud and clear are the hoofs of horses, though they are moving away from them. The Three Hunters continue their pursuit.

It is the third day of their hunt. Their elven-cloaks fade into the grey-green of the fields, and the lembas bread sustains them even as they run. The day wears on and the track remains clear, bending a little as it heads northward. The ground grows harder and the grass shorter. They see and hear neither bird or beast or man, which Aragorn finds strange. At dusk they halt again.

‘Now twice twelve leagues they had passed over the plains of Rohan.’ Legolas does not want to stop; ‘the Orcs have run before us, as if the very whips of Sauron were behind them.’ He fears that they have already escaped into the shadows of the forest before them. Aragorn says there is something strange at work in the land: he is more weary than a Ranger should be with a clear trail to follow. There is a will set against them that helps their foes go faster.  Saruman.

The next morning Legolas is again first afoot in the red dawn, and he wakes the others. They spring up and immediately set off. An hour before noon they reach the green slopes rising to bare ridges running towards the north. Just to the West of the southernmost slope is a great ring of trampled earth where the Orcs had their camp. Aragorn estimates from the outward tracks that they left there already almost thirty-six hours ago. If they held their pace, they had reached Fangorn Forest by sundown yesterday. Another 23 miles away. ‘Well let us go on,’ said Gimli. ‘My legs must forget the miles. They would be more willing, if my heart were less heavy.’

They come near the end of the downs as the sun is sinking. They have marched without rest, and they are beginning to slow down. ‘Stone-hard are the Dwarves in labor or journey’, but Gimli’s back is bent.  Aragorn walks behind him, silent and grim. ‘Only Legolas still stepped as lightly as ever, his feet hardly seeming to press the grass, leaving no footprints as he passed; but in the waybread of the Elves he found all the sustenance that he needed, and he could sleep, if sleep it could be called by Men, resting his mind in the strange paths of elvish dreams, even as he walked open-eyed in the light of this world.’

They climb to the top of a green hill but can see nothing but a grey formless world of mist and the distant black wall of the Misty Mountains and the forest around their feet. They must camp again and it is growing cold, the wind from the North. Legolas says ‘Yet do not cast all hope away. Tomorrow is unknown. Rede [counsel] is oft found at the rising of the Sun.’  Gimli points out that three suns have passed without them finding any guidance.

They sleep fitfully through the night and by dawn the East wind has driven the mist away. They see wide lands lying bleak around them. North-westward is the dark forest of Fangorn, still ten leagues away, and Methedras, the last peak of the Misty Mountains. Winding toward them is the Entwash, a water now swift and narrow. The orc-trail is turning that way.

Looking that way, Aragorn sees a swift-moving blur. But to Legolas, with his elven-eyes, he sees not a blur but the small clear figures of many horsemen, bearing spears. Aragorn can tell from listening to the ground that they are horsemen, but Legolas can see that they are one hundred and five riders, and even that they have yellow hair. Aragorn says that since they are heading their way, back from where the Orcs were heading. No doubt the Riders will have news of them. Legolas can see three empty saddles but no hobbits with them.

The three leave the hilltop and walk down the northward slope. They stop a little above the hill’s foot and sit, their cloaks blending into the faded grass. They have a while to wait. Gimli rather uneasily asks Aragorn about the Riders.

Aragorn lived among them for a while. ‘They are proud and wilful, but they are true-hearted in thought and deed; bold but not cruel; wise but unlearned.’ They are not related to the Men of Gondor but have long been their allies. There’s no telling what their relationship is with the traitor Saruman, but they certainly will not love the Orcs. Gimli reminds him that Gandalf mentioned a rumor that the Rohirrim are paying a tribute to Mordor, but Aragorn does not believe it.

‘You will soon learn the truth,’ said Legolas. ‘Already they approach.’

[End Part One]

The Fall of Socks

 [I had barely started on the next chapter of LOTR when I had to do an exhausting chore between 9 and 10 AM. I don't think I have the time or energy to finish today; instead, here is an old 'biographical' poem.]

Socks 

The first day of fall

He fell

I was free again

I mouthed

A bitter foretaste

Of mortal

Parting on my tongue

 

I had tried to make him

Comfortable

Stroked his thinning fur

Felt bones under skin

Washed his rheumy eyes

Yellow pus and once

A bloody tear

 

Slowly the machine

Wound down

Over the days

I had worried

Told his real owners

Heard, well, he was old

Nothing to be done

He might last a while yet

But I knew

 

I think of him

At their house

In the pride of life

Curiously questing

The lesson of the hot stove

As I cooked

And the annoyance I felt

When he was moved

In house with me

Just as I was free

Of Shadow (another inmate)

 

He tipped over

A treasured toy

Twice

Loosened its limbs

Knocked off head and tail

It will never be the same

But here it is

And he is gone

 

For years I cleaned his box

Fed him twice a day

Cursed when I stepped

In misplaced shit

Or unexpected vomit

Muttered as I moved

That box out of bathroom

Before I could shower

 

But there were days

(He was never my cat)

When he’d curl in my lap

Look at me with innocent eyes

Go to sleep

With animal acceptance

Of trust and warmth

And one couldn’t help

But scratch his ears  

 

 

--Sept. 24, 2019

The Lord of the Rings: The Departure of Boromir

 

The Tale

Aragorn is speeding on up the hill of Amon Hen, every now and then bending down to be sure he is still following Frodo’s faint tracks. He reaches the high seat there and looks out. He is granted no visions as Frodo was, only distant hills and a lone eagle descending in circles from high up.

Then sounds come to him from below: cries, and among them the harsh voices of Orcs. Then the air is full of the deep-throated echoing call of the horn of Boromir. ‘He is in need!’ Aragorn goes leaping down the path, wondering where Sam is, while the yells of the Orcs grow louder but the horn call fainter, and until finally it ceases. The Orc sounds retreat until he can hear them no more. Putting on even more speed, he draws his bright sword and cries out, ‘Elendil! Elendil!’

‘A mile, maybe, from Parth Galen in a little glade not far from the lake he found Boromir.’ His back is against a tree, and he is pierced with many arrows, his sword broken and cloven horn by his side. But he is alive enough to confess that he tried to take the Ring from Frodo. He is sorry. He says that Orcs have taken the Halflings, after tying them up. ‘Farewell, Aragorn! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people! I have failed.’

‘No!’ said Aragorn, taking his hand and kissing his brow. ‘You have conquered. Few have gained such a victory. Be at peace! Minas Tirith shall not fall!’ Before he can ask if Frodo was with them, Boromir dies. Aragorn bends his head, weeping. He feels that it was he who had failed as leader of the company, and vain was Gandalf’s trust in him. It is thus that Gimli and Legolas find him as they come following the summons of the horn.

They have been fighting orcs; Legolas has spent all his arrows. At first they think Aragorn is wounded. He tells them all that has happened, and that he doesn’t know where Frodo is. They decide that the first thing they must do is tend to Boromir’s body. They have no time to bury him or raise a cairn of stones over him; they decide they must give him a ship burial on the river Anduin.

As they gather the gear of the fallen Orcs as trophies for Boromir’s funeral rites, they find Merry and Pippin’s barrow-blades, thrown aside by their captors. Aragorn takes them up to keep in hopes that he can return them. Legolas gathers as many arrows as he can find. There are many that are longer and stronger than Orcs usually use.

Among the more familiar types of Orcs, Mordor-folk or goblins from the Misty Mountains, Aragorn finds another breed. They are ‘of greater stature, swart, slant-eyed, with thick legs and huge hands. They were armed with short broad-bladed swords, not with the curved scimitars usual with Orcs.’ They carry yew bows like those of Men, shields with the strange device of a white hand, and an S-rune in some white metal on their helms.

Gimli first guesses that S is for Sauron, but the Dark Lord does not use the Elf-runes nor allow his right name to be spelled or spoken, and his sign is the Red Eye. Aragorn guesses they are from Saruman, and that he somehow knew of the Company’s purpose and the Ring and probably knows of Gandalf’s fall. But they must hurry on with their task.

Gimli uses his axe to cut branches, which they tie together with bowstrings and lay their cloaks over. Putting Boromir and such trophies as they have chosen, they bear him to the riverside. Aragorn keeps watch as Legolas and Gimli return to Parth Galen for their things. They return paddling two of the boats along the shore. They’ve come back with a strange tale.

The third boat is missing. It wasn’t Orcs, because they would have destroyed everything. Aragon says he will examine things later; for right now they need to attend to the task at hand. Laying Boromir out in one of the boats, his elven-cloak under his head, the golden belt of Lorien on his waist, his helm set beside him and his broken sword and horn on his lap, and the weapons of his enemies at his feet.

Using the other boat they tow him to the middle of the river and set him loose, watching until he vanishes over the falls. Aragorn begins singing a funeral song for him, saying how the people of Gondor will question the West Wind about the fate of Boromir but will get no answer; Legolas, when questioned in the person of the South Wind, replies ‘Ask not of me where he doth dwell – so many bones there lie/ On the white shores and the dark shores under the stormy sky’. Aragorn answers as the North Wind, finally revealing how Boromir died and was laid to rest on the waters of Rauros.

When the song is finished Gimli complains that they left the East Wind to him but is told that Minas Tirith endures the East Wind but does question it: it blows from Mordor.

They return to camp and Aragorn rangers up the place. They correctly deduce from the absence of orc-damage and the missing packs and boat that Frodo and Sam have crossed the river and are on their way to Mordor. Legolas wonders what could have made him flee so suddenly; but what Aragorn thinks ‘was the cause of Frodo’s sudden resolve and flight [he] did not say. The last words of Boromir he long kept secret.’

Now they have to choose. Should they try to find Frodo and Sam in the wilderness, or else follow the Orcs and rescue Merry and Pippin? Aragorn finally decides. ‘My heart speaks clearly at last: the fate of the Bearer is in my hands no longer. The Company has played its part. Yet we that remain cannot forsake our companions while we have strength yet.’

They leave the last boat behind with all that they can spare and return to glade where Boromir fell. There they pick up the trail of the Orcs. Their trampling path is plain and obvious; they seem to go out of their way to do damage. But they do go swiftly and are hours ahead of them. But Aragorn declares that they will make a chase of them as will be a marvel among the Three Kindreds, Elves, Dwarves, and Men. ‘Forth the Three Hunters!’

They spring forward through the trees, leaving the lake behind and climbing up dark, long slopes  in the sunset. Dusk comes and they pass away, ‘grey shadows in a stony land.’

Bits and Bobs

We pick up the tale going back a bit, following Aragorn after he runs ahead of Sam in search of Frodo. He wants to see what he can see from the top of Amon Hen. Frodo’s tracks not only lead there, but it is a high point from which to scout out the land. He also hopes, as a Numenorean and an Heir of Elendil, to perhaps gain a guiding vision. He sees that Frodo’s footprints lead not only there but away again, but decides it is worth the time for a look. The view he gains is neither as clear nor as distant as Frodo had, suggesting that the hobbit had some advanced power of sight when he had the Ring on. Perhaps Aragorn’s doubt and indecision clouds his perception, or maybe Frodo is ‘granted’ what he needs to know.

The noise of Boromir’s horn draws the ranger back in time to hear Boromir’s last confession and to grant him pardon after his heroic acts of penance and restitution. Boromir’s horn call and death underneath a tree recalls the fate of the warrior Roland, from the famous 11^th Century chanson de geste “The Song of Roland”. He too sends out a horn call when he is overwhelmed by enemies and dies propped up against a tree, his relief coming too late to save him.

The ’ship burial’ of Boromir also recalls another famous episode from medieval literature, one with which Tolkien was very familiar. At the beginning of the Old English epic of Beowulf the life and death of Scyld Scefing, the ancestor of Hrothgar, is briefly told: how he was found floating on the sea as an infant with a sheaf of grain and weapons at his feet; and when he dies is sent back over the waves in a boat laden with weapons and treasure. Such burials at sea are recounted often in Viking literature, though they usually end in the boat being set on fire as they voyage out. Tolkien probably thought this would be too much of a ‘heathen’ flourish for the Men of the West: Gandalf later tasks Denethor with the fact that such a practice was followed by human kings who had fallen under the Shadow. In our own history, ‘ship burials’ could include internment in the earth with entire vessels, or even simply in a grave shaped like a boat.

Other funeral customs mentioned are the ‘vigil’ Aragorn holds over Boromir’s body, the dirge praising his deeds and virtues (made up extempore at that; Aragorn and Legolas’s power of improvisation is impressive, but perhaps on par with the skills of Elves or those trained by them), and the fact that they comb out his hair in an effort to make him more presentable, and to show that he’s cared for.

It recalls to my mind a story my Mom told me about her early life. Our grandmother was a hairdresser by trade, and was training her up accordingly. One day one of their customers died, and as it turned out that she had requested that Mom do her hair for the funeral; she liked the way Mom worked on her hair. Mom didn’t really want to go, but Nanny forced her. She was all of 15 or 16. She went to the funeral home and was, for the first time, confronted with the bare reality of death. She managed a brush or two, then fled the room in tears. The mortuary cosmetologist, an understanding soul, finished for her, but she was traumatized for a long time. What does this have to do with Boromir? Not a damn thing.

Among his funeral goods is mentioned his helm, a detail that either I didn’t notice him wearing before or that was only just mentioned. You rarely see it shown in LOTR iconography.

Gimli once again boasts about the hardiness and endurance of the Dwarves, as he did before helping portage the boats overland. That effort wore him out; Boromir commented on it ironically at the time. Still, Gimli thinks he’s certainly more than a match for the marching Orcs, an opinion he will have to modify a bit as time goes on.

Boromir's Pieta

Aragorn knows what he must do now. With Frodo gone of his own free will, with only Sam with him to follow the quest (and not, for instance, choosing Aragorn to go with him), and with Merry and Pippin facing possible torment and death, his choice is clear. He sets off with Gimli and Legolas to find the Orcs and rescue the Hobbits.

The fact that Sauron does not allow his 'right name' to be spoken or written down, even a single letter, reflects a very old idea of sympathetic magic, where the name or symbol of a person or thing is the thing itself, the use of which can grant one power over the thing named, or which might summon the thing named. This often leads to a system of 'secret names' and 'use names', as in Ursula K. Le Guin's Earthsea books, or taboo names that give the name power, as in J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter books.