The Tale
The rock beneath trembles
and quivers, a great rumbling rolling through the ground under them, echoing in the
mountains. From far over the black mountains a great red light leaps into the sky,
lighting the low cloud cover. And the tower of Minas Morgul answers the signal with
a flare of livid lightning and blue flame, leaping from the city and its
surrounding hills. The earth groans.
Out of the city comes a
great mingled cry as of birds of prey, the ‘shrill neighing of horses wild with
rage and fear,’ and a rending shriek rising to a piercing screech beyond
hearing. The hobbits put their hands over their ears and cast themselves to the
ground. ‘The terrible cry ended, falling back through a long sickening wail to
silence.’ Frodo looks up to the walls of the evil city. Its cavernous gate is
open, looking like a gaping fanged mouth, and an army is pouring forth from it.
It comes in an endless black
stream, lead by a great cavalry of horses. At the head rides one greater than
all the rest: completely black but crowned with a flickering light. As it nears
the bridge leading out of the fortress, Frodo gazes at the figure in dread.
‘Surely there was the Lord
of the Nine Riders returned to earth to lead his ghastly host to battle? Here,
yes here indeed was he haggard king whose cold hand had smitten down the
Ring-bearer with his deadly knife. The old wound throbbed with pain and a great
chill spread towards Frodo’s heart.’
The Rider halts just at the
bridge, and the host stops behind him. Maybe it was the nearness of the Ring
that troubles the wraith, the menace of a great power entering his domain. He
looks back and forth, seeking the cause of his uneasiness. Frodo cannot move or
stop staring: more than ever he feels the call for him to put on the Ring.
But now he feels no
answering call in his will to put it on. He knows the Ring will only betray
him, and he has not the power to match the Witch-king. But a great power from
outside seems to be moving his hand toward the Ring against his will. With some
effort he moves his hand to another object: the Phial of Galadriel, almost
forgotten until now. Clutching it seems to drive the temptation from his mind,
and he sighs and bows his head, released from the evil fascination of the
Morgul-lord.
The Wraith-king spurs his
horse forward and the host follows behind him. ‘Maybe the elven-hoods defied
his unseen eyes, and the mind of his small enemy, being strengthened, had
turned aside his thought.’ Anyway, he is in haste. His Master has given the
call and he must march with war against the West.
Finally he passes, ‘like
shadow into shadow.’ The army follows, rank on rank, in what seems an endless
stream. ‘So great an army had never issued from that vale since the days of
Isildur’s might; no host so fell and strong in arms had yet assailed the fords
of Anduin; and yet it was but one and not the greatest of the hosts that Mordor
now sent forth.’
Bits and Bobs
I think we can safely assume
that the ‘red flash’ from Mordor comes from an eruption of Mount Doom,
controlled by Sauron, who, as Galdor noted at the Council of Elrond, ‘can torture
and destroy the very hills.’
The black horses of the host
are no doubt bred from the beasts stolen from Rohan, where Saron’s agents
always chose the black ones to take. They have been brought up to endure their
unnatural riders, both orc and wraith, but they still squeal in pain and fear.
The Lord of the Nazgul wears
‘a helm like a crown,’ which to me recalls the famous headgear of Richard II
the Lionheart.
Frodo’s will, though he
still feels the temptation, has grown since their last encounter at the Ford of
Bruinen. But the power of the Wraith still almost overcomes his body. Perhaps
this is a foreshadowing of events to come at the very Crack of Doom, where
Sauron’s (and the Ring’s) power is greatest. The Phial seems to strengthen Frodo
and perhaps the elven-cloaks foil the Witch-king’s eyes, but they are headed to
where ‘all other powers fail.’
The Witch-king can sense
something, some power, but can’t pinpoint it as the Ring. Apparently, someone
needs to be wearing it before anyone is ‘aware’ of it; Gollum, when he had it,
was sheltered by being hidden under the mountains. As it is, the Wraith-lord
can’t stop to investigate, the war (and Sauron’s command) is pushing him on.
Watchers of the Jackson films, note: the Witch-king sets forth on a horse. He is not yet remounted on a Fell-beast.
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