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Chapter Five
THE END OF THE TALE OF ALDRED
Two things that Aldred witnessed had remained to be told.
The first has been told.
This is the second, as he later told it to Swin, Waltrot and the sons of Athelstan; and this is the end of his own tale.
When Fëaruk had burnt out his swathe from the North to the South of Punchkinland, he turned south-east and flew away; and none of the Punchkins ever saw him again. But Aldred rejoiced to hear of his death.
Aldred watched the flames die down. He then returned to the house where he had spent the night.
Later he ate a little food. He did not yet starve himself, but now, understanding that Melohtar had deceived him and used him, Aldred considered means of ending his own life. But not yet: for his account had still to be settled with his own people, and it might be that they would render him that service.
They came the next evening, a great concourse of Punchkins, approaching over the fields and crossing the charred swathe. In their midst strode a much taller figure in a tall hat and a wide cloak. The Wizard had returned.
Aldred saw the one who led them, riding on a pony: Hodgekin Dyer. He rode up to Aldred’s door and smote upon it, commanding him to come forth; and Aldred obeyed.
It was the close of day, and the sky was red. The Punchkins gathered in the sloping meadow. Hodgekin climbed onto the stump of the ruined tree. He denounced Aldred as a traitor, one who had collaborated with the agents of Fëaruk, knowingly wrought harm to the land and brought about the deaths of the bravest of the folk.
In his self-defence Aldred insisted that he was no traitor, having known nothing of the dragon and having trusted the words of the Embassy; and in any case the coming of Fëaruk could hardly have been prevented. The Demesne had been harmed, but not destroyed, and nearly all its folk had survived. He counselled hope and patience. ‘Yet,’ he ended his speech, ‘insofar as I have accepted employment as one of the Queen’s servants, I stand here as a representative of the Crown and must acknowledge on her behalf the wrong you have suffered. Not without reason do you blame me. Execute justice upon me, then, if you will.’
Hodgekin replied: ‘Kill you? In no way! Such a crime has never been committed by any Punchkin. We are not murderers.’ Heavily and savagely he leaned on the word ‘we’, implying that Aldred or Aldred’s friends might be such. Then he turned to the crowd. ‘My friends,’ he cried, ‘you have all heard, and so let each of you judge between us! Will you befriend this miserable traitor, abide here and await the Queen’s soldiers, the terror of her dragon and the cunning of her priests? Shall you let yourselves be enslaved, or will you trust our Wizard, as I shall? Choose! Let each choose!’
And all stood silent, and darkness gathered in the field; but Hodgekin seized Aldred by the wrist and drew him through the crowd, downhill, towards the place where the Wizard was waiting.
Baranithron’s arms hung by his sides, his hands being covered by his sleeves, which flapped a little in the wind. His tall hat had tipped forward so as to hide his face. In fact nothing could be seen of his bodily form except for his long dark hair, some of which curled out below the hat-brim. The skirts of his cloak sloped upwards from the grass, resembling a tall dark cone, and as Aldred approached he felt the clutch of a terrible fear; his bowels were loosened and he had much ado to prevent himself from soiling his breeches. Yet none of the other Punchkins seemed to have noticed anything strange.
‘Stand here, shit-for-brains,’ said Hodgekin. ‘Maybe you’ll get some votes. But I reckon it’s your turn now.’
‘What do you mean?’ quavered Aldred.
‘Your turn to taste the life of an outcast! Now stand here.’
These were his last words. And he must have taken some power from his Wizard, for Aldred was indeed compelled to stand there immovably, his feet rooted to the spot. Hodgekin took up his own stand twenty feet away, in front of Baranithron’s tall cloak-tent. He turned and bowed to it reverently. Then with a courtly gesture he took hold of the leading edge of the cloak, where it flapped loose, and held it open. No under-garment was revealed, nor were the Wizard’s legs seen, merely a three-cornered darkness: an entry-way. Hodgekin stood holding the door open. With his free hand he beckoned, once, to the Punchkins. They began to come forward without haste, first one by one, presently in twos and threes.
They all came past Aldred, and they frowned or scowled at him, or shook their heads; and some shook their fists at him and cursed him; and none took his part, none coming towards him save one small boy who ran up and kicked his shin. And all of them went under the cloak of Baranithron.
Hodgekin continued to hold the flap, and he grinned at Aldred with hatred, and his eyes seemed to glitter while the dim light slowly faded from the field.
Still the Punchkins came forward in a slow procession, one or two or three at a time. Still Aldred endured the accumulating weight of their rejections. And although the borders of the crowd were indistinct, so that it was hard to tell how many still remained, it seemed to him that there were now more people than there had been at the start. He recognised some of them as they passed: Mr. Graveldrop, scornful and aloof; Aldred’s own niece and nephew-in-law, who turned bitterly away with their children; Pontifex Greenbelt with his numerous family; Farmer Cobnut, who had threatened Aldred on the second day of his commission; sad Peony, Tim’s intended bride; Mrs. Brownlock of The Cap and Feather; Tom Strutts and Aubrey Henchman and their families, and many many others, Punchkins from all parts, North Hundred, South Hundred, Middle Hundred, Woody Hundred, Iron Hundred and Bleck Vale, Treggland and the regions beyond. Every one of them despised him, every one shunned him and would cleave to Hodgekin and the Wizard, preferring whatever mysterious destiny the cloak might hold in store. The deep pinkish light faded to dusky mauve, long hours passed, grey clouds grew and spread, and never a star appeared in the sky.
At long last he and Hodgekin stood alone, confronting one another before the tent.
Hodgekin prepared to enter. But before he disappeared he took something from his jacket pocket. He raised his right arm and hurled the small heavy object at Aldred, so that it struck him on the breast. Aldred felt the blow and recognised the stolen purse. The blow and the recognition seemed to break his heart inside him, to shatter it like a stone flying through a glass window.
Then Hodgekin went under the flap, which closed behind him.
And still Aldred stood there, not yet released from the spell.
Night had fallen. The cloak was an inanimate thing. There was nothing and nobody inside – or was there? Was that a twitch of the flap – the hint of a green glow?
Out came the Fox.
Its eyes were brilliant.
It trotted up to Aldred. It sniffed at his knees, and he was released from the spell. His legs were terribly tired. He took a step back and sat down on the ground, wondering what to say to the Fox – but it had turned with a graceful flick of its tail, and was now running off into the darkness.
‘Wait!’
It vanished. Some people, as has been mentioned, still wait for it to reappear in Fallmorrow Wood.
Aldred picked up the purse and went into the cottage. Next morning the cloak was still there, collapsed, a brown surface spread out on the grass. Aldred kept away from it. Then the Dwarf-engineers came along with their spades and picks and digging-machines, their engines and wains loaded with heaps of gravel and kettles of boiling tar. They took the cloak away, finding it useful to cover their gear with. Aldred watched the Road being made. It was his only interest. After some time he ceased to eat. He grew weak with hunger and took to his bed. He would have died before Swin came, had not Walt Hardedge turned up first; but it takes a very long time for a Punchkin to starve to death.
Aldred rode away in one of Swin’s wagons, and Waltrot looked after him. Both of them had seen the look on Swin’s face – the immediate horror, the dismay that he could not conceal, so very far from the expected pleasure and gratitude at having this piece of property restored to him. But he himself saw that they had seen this disappointing response. He accepted the purse and said that he was grateful.
It is possible to live with a broken heart. Life continues after the end of the tale. Aldred offered his hand to Swin, and promised to serve him loyally; and the clasping of their hands was strong.
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