Aldred, Hodgekin and Waltrot. The names do chime together, do they not? Would that their destinies and loyalties had accorded so well!
*
Hodgekin, during the years of his bitter self-imposed exile, must have drawn for himself a sadly distorted picture of the Demesne and its moral standards. Some disgrace was attached to illegitimate birth, no doubt, but less than he supposed: although the Punchkins were intensely proper by nature, they reserved a kindly, earthy tolerance for those few who transgressed the bounds of propriety. Mistress Ruby, to whom Ferumbras Dyer had been married at the time of Hrothgar’s birth, might well have been a lady of unusually strict views; but she had now been dead for years, and Mistress Marigold, Ferumbras’s second wife, evinced no more disapproval than Ferumbras himself did when, three days after Aldred had broken the grievous news of their son Fortinbras’s death, Fortinbras’s obscure half-brother was made known to them. With scant hesitation they opened their arms and accepted him into Fortinbras’s place.
Much talk followed. Constable Ferumbras displayed a commendable interest in the journey through Daelum, the events at Caras Gulwen and the return. Meanwhile Aldred and Waltrot were still being shocked by the pallor and thinness of everyone they saw. During the winter the punchkins had experienced great hardship. Too many of the older folk had died, and had it not been for the exceptionally mild weather many of the younger ones would have perished also. Once again the Demesne’s patience had been strained to snapping-point. And so everyone was unusually ready to listen to what Hodgekin had to tell and to urge, concerning the state of Punchkinland, the Kingdom and the lands around. The Wizard, Mr. Brown, sat apart, saying nothing but listening to all the talk, taking an occasional pinch of snuff and clearly enjoying this new pleasure. Plans were laid, and then the travellers parted from each other for a short while.
Aldred and Waltrot rode together as far as Kingsbridge. Aldred was silent along the way, for he had heard that his own father and mother were among the dead. There was cause for grief, both old and new, and there would be much to set in order when he arrived. As the new Warden of Kingsbridge he would have many responsibilities. Waltrot, well judging Aldred’s mood, kept up a kindly companionable silence of his own. But as they came down into Bleck Vale, and caught sight of the distant river and the old wooden bridge that carried the Tregg Road, Aldred had a long-overdue thought:
‘What’s your position with us here, Walt? Are you in Hodgekin’s employment now?’
‘I ain’t rightly sure,’ said Waltrot. ‘It’s all been very interesting indeed, and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world, but yes, I do still want me wages some time. And my sister Aggie should have ’em if I get killed.’
‘So is it me or Hodgekin you’re with now?’
‘Let’s see. It was Mr. Fortinbras that summoned me, and I understood as I was in his employ. But then he died. But we understand Mr. Hodgekin’s inherited Mr. Fortinbras’s place, and his, well, his mission, I guess, so maybe he’d honour Mr. Fortinbras’s debts... But you know, Mr. Sherling, somehow I don’t above half fancy asking that Hodgekin for me wages.’
‘The Constable would honour any debt of Fortinbras’s.’
‘So he would. But that don’t seem right neither. Would you take me on, sir?’
‘Of course, dear Walt! I’ll pay you fully for all your time with us since Fallmorrow.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
After a very busy fortnight they met one another again in Middleton. This town, a largish cluster of thatched cottages and stone-built houses, straddled the main east-west Road that ran through the Demesne, and straggled some way up the green slopes of Middlebrow Hill. It might reasonably be described as the capital or administrative centre of the Demesne, bearing in mind that the punchkins needed very little government. The main post-office was here, and the Town Hall; and the latter had been extended with a long shed or penthouse, the main sub-station of the Reeve’s clerks and spies. From the dovecot and stable of this Reeve-house went many a carrier-pigeon and swift dispatch-rider to the Reeve’s main depot in Bigginton beyond the northern border. The Town Hall itself, or Town Hole as it was unaffectionately known, was a large excavated space. Why the Council continued to meet, when it did meet, in this unsafe chamber, with its low cracked ceiling and clustered roof-props, was an unanswerable question: one of the many immutable traditions that had, for this conservative people, the full force of law. But they disliked the space as much as they disliked large gatherings and formal speeches. Since the time of Kedrahil I there had always been four Demesne-Councillors or Aldermen: the Mayor of Middleton, the Warden of Kingsbridge, the Bailey or Constable of Bailiwick and the Steward of the Eastern Hundreds. These possessed the hereditary right of representing the Demesne at the King’s Council in Dunbury or Vinyards. This right had never been exercised on any occasion, but the Aldermen were still regarded as the principal persons of the Demesne, with the Constable accepted as their chief. The Aldermen used to meet together only at times of emergency, but recently, with the shortages, these meetings had had to become more frequent. And as an extreme measure a Full Aldermoot might be summoned, with delegates from each of the Hundreds and all of the greater families. It was from the Council that last year’s Embassy, led by Mr. Proudfoot the then Mayor, had set forth, and to the Full Moot that the Embassy’s survivors had reported. And it was a special extraordinary Full Moot that Constable Ferumbras had called for the nineteenth of March.
There really is need for Aldred, writing this, to describe the workings of the Moot. He does so with reluctance, having not the least desire to make it the butt of mockery. The sending of the Embassy was, as far as can be discerned, the only act of political self-assertion that it had ever accomplished, and even that, as has been told, was vitiated by the most absurd ignorance about the regions abroad, to the extent of sending the Embassy off in quite a wrong direction. Fortinbras Dyer, reporting to the Moot, had found them uninterested in this huge error. Fortinbras had found it difficult to make his voice heard at all. Somehow the Aldermoot brought out all the silliest elements of the Punchkins’ nature. They excelled at finding consensus in small groups; in larger groups they would follow a leader bravely and faithfully, as long as the leader was clearly identified; but as for debating among themselves in any gathering of more than a dozen – this was rarely attempted and hardly ever productive of any shared resolution. The delegations all suspected each other. ‘The Eastern Hundreds have their own queer ways,’ they reminded themselves, or ‘Middleton folk are all too slick.’ Then there was the common assumption that before the main business of the meeting could be discussed it made sense to try to sort out any smaller pre-existing disputes and grievances; so that the questions about the fence between Farmer Brockden’s home-field and his Cotteridge neighbours’ land, or the right-of-way between Link and Bavorton, or the complexities about the Reeve’s allocation of tithes between the Sandheaver family, the Henchmans and the Halfinches, with many others, had to be aired and gone into simultaneously. ‘Aired’, yes, that was another thing again: the smoking. By long-established custom everyone in the Council chamber must smoke during the Moot. Supplies of tobacco were low, yet the arriving punchkins all made sure that they had their pipes ready and their pouches full. There might as well have been a sign on the wall, in big black and red letters:
TOWN HOLE
SMOKING STRICTLY COMPULSORY
- if any of the walls had been visible from more than a dozen paces away, in the fug of smoke, through which disputes and objurgations resounded from one end of the room to the other.
With the avowed intention, then, of reducing the element of comedy to a minimum, Aldred will merely note that the travellers met together, after two weeks, as planned; that it was a mild March day, with clusters of primroses and daffodils on the village green; that Aldred, Hodgekin and Waltrot lit their pipes and went into the Town Hole along with the other Aldermen and all the other delegates; that Mr. Harvey Graveldrop, the Mayor, called repeatedly for silence and at length almost obtained it; that Constable Ferumbras Dyer took the platform and boldly introduced his own natural son to the assembly, creating a remarkable stir of interest; that Hodgekin then began a strongly-worded speech on the necessity of rising in rebellion against Thandor; that this was heard with attention for five minutes, but then dismissed as mere Dyerish eccentricity by most of those present, who then began to discuss their own affairs all at once; that Hrothgar Dyer continued his harangue; that he was thanked, and asked to desist from speaking, by Mr. Graveldrop; that, refusing to desist, he raised his voice louder and angrily pounded the table; which, being for some reason mounted on castors, then ran forward, tumbled off the stage and crashed into the base of the nearest roof-prop; which, being black worm-eaten oak, several hundred years old, at once disintegrated, causing a now inadequately-supported roof-beam to press down on two other ancients posts, which also bowed and cracked; that other props were damaged as the punchkins hastily retreated from below the sagging beams; that the roof collapsed; that the side of the hill fell in; that as the unhurt unburied punchkins staggered upright, coughing furiously, their eyes beheld a burst of sunlight, of which the long straight rays were substantiated by the swirling clouds of dust; that the figure of Hrothgar Dyer stood in the midst of this revelatory sunlight, gesturing vigorously, pointing with his drawn sword towards light and freedom; that with sudden shared relief at having recognised a strong aggressive leader whom they could follow, they clambered up the mound of chalk and flintstones and broken timbers towards the lip of the hole; and that they emerged, three or four at a time, at once into the light and into the glad knowledge of their rebellion.
Although he had not planned it this way, having hoped simply to rouse the punchkins with his words, Hodgekin now rose to the occasion admirably. As his followers came out of the hole, and as the folk of Middleton, aroused by the rumble of the collapse, came flocking through the streets and up the hillside, he issued rapid orders. A rescue party went back into the hole; shovels, barrows, stretchers, bandages and new timbers were sent for; and a larger band, led by Walt Hardedge, who had at once put on sword, shield and helmet, surrounded the Reeve-house and made sure that no messages could be sent. The wounded and the stunned were brought out. Constable Ferumbras was one of the latter. Very luckily, no-one had been killed. Hodgekin left Mr. Graveldrop to direct the rescue efforts and hurried into the Reeve-house. He found Walt sitting in the Chief Clerk’s chair, behind the Chief Clerk’s desk, smiling and jesting. The Chief Clerk himself was sitting tied up in the stables, along with all his crew. Hodgekin ordered the ponies to be taken out. Some of the local lads, mounted on ponies and carrying weapons, had already returned in response to his first orders. Less than an hour after the Town Hole had collapsed, Hodgekin was in the saddle with Walt at his side and a hundred resolute punchkin-riders following. He galloped northward, himself the first herald of the rebellion.
During the rest of that day the news spread rapidly. Everywhere the punchkins drew a breath of delight and acted upon the sense of their new freedom. Housewives plundered their own larders, determined to cook up a nourishing meal for once, while their menfolk scoured the countryside, breaking into every one of the reevers’ storehouses and collection-points, returning in triumph with their own liberated plenty. There was no fighting within the borders of the Demesne, indeed little violence of any kind; Aldred considers that this was the result of the clever policy of King Oresgal, which had always been to involve the punchkins in their own exploitation, to make them see themselves as willing contributors rather than as slaves. The only folk who now suffered were the reevers, but they experienced nothing worse than a bit of rough handling, with maybe a brief immersion in a village duckpond. The worse punishment was reserved for Bartrob the Reeve himself. After several hours of hard galloping and two changes of horse, Hodgekin with forty remaining followers arrived at Bigginton, identified and broke into the granary that contained Bartrob’s own office, took prisoner all within it, barricaded the doors and then defended it with their bows. There was the usual number of Men at Bigginton, clerks and storehousemen, draymen and coopers, and these might well have fought back, but they were chary of attacking the building in which their own boss was being held hostage; and soon Walt Hardedge came up with reinforcements, followed by many women and children, poor villagers from Bootham, the nearest settlement. The Men of Bigginton were now outnumbered. After some parleying they were allowed to go, but not before Bartrob had been set on a cucking-stool before the door of his own storehouse and thoroughly pelted with ordure. Night fell, and bonfires were kindled, and casks broached, and bottles uncorked, and new loaves brought forth from the oven, and slices of salt-beef and bacon laid in the frying-pan. Hodgekin sat alone in the dark office on the upper storey. He gazed down at the bonfire and the punchkins dancing in the firelight. He considered; he made new plans.
Obedient to Hodgekin’s orders (as Aldred had bidden him to be), Walt returned to Middleton next day. Ferumbras was still there, recovering from his injuries, along with Tom Strutts and Aubrey Henchman, two other punchkins who had become principals of the uprising. Walt expounded Hodgekin’s conviction that the King would at once send troops to Bigginton as a preliminary to invading the Demesne. The punchkins’ outpost at Bigginton needed to be strengthened, while scouts should be sent to watch all the approaches through the North Downs. Hodgekin begged his father to muster the Demesne’s own forces at once. The command went forth. Soon there was a great concourse towards the middle of Punchkinland. On the fourth day of the rebellion the muster was held. Three regiments, each eight hundred strong, were created on regional lines, similar to those that had evolved during the war against Asuldo. Before noon the Constable’s Own Punchkinry-at-arms had taken to the road, with Ferumbras in the lead as Captain of the Regiment and General of the Army. Beside him rode Waltrot, Aldred and Aubrey Henchman. The two following regiments were commanded by Tom Strutts and Ponty Greenbelt, the Steward of the Eastern Hundreds. The long column marched along the winding road, past hedgerows bright with the flowers of the early springtime, through leaf-misted copses and around green hills with half-ploughed fields. The flag of the Demesne, carried by Aubrey, fluttered proudly in the van; but Waltrot caught Aldred’s eye, and they shared a sad, fond smile. They were thinking of Mr. Proudfoot, and of how Tim had complained about the burdensome flag.
‘May they rest in peace,’ Aldred said.
‘Yes, sir,’ agreed Waltrot. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘do you want to hear a funny thing? I’ve been that busy, I haven’t had hardly a moment to mention it. But d’you remember how I helped Tim to fix the flag up, and then that red-headed fellow came nigh? Swin Gumasson, who journeyed to Vinyards with us?’
‘I remember him well,’ said Aldred. ‘Poor fellow.’
‘That’s the funny thing. He ain’t dead, he’s alive and well. Though it is my belief that something mighty strange happened to him.’
‘What’s this?’ asked Ferumbras, so Aldred told him about Swin, and Gauriel, and Melohtar, as far as the chance-meeting in the Rediath Mountains; and then Waltrot took up the tale.
‘Seems Lord Melohtar met him somewheres, after we left them, he and that Bishop Erum; they met him out in the wilds and then they saw the Princess too. So Melohtar organised a great hunting party, and they been and went and caught her, and they caged her up and brought her back at last. I heard the bare bones of the tale after I’d been home for a few days, and they made me mighty curious, so I dropped in at The Head. I found my cousin Hal who works there, and I was going to ask him all about it when I found I hardly needed to: he and old Gough grabbed me of themselves.
‘“Walt!” says Hal. “Just the fellow we’re looking for!”
‘“Oh yes?” says I.
‘And Mr. Gough looks around, secret-like, and then bends down and whispers in me ear, “You know Berma the witch, lad, don’t you? Hal says you’ve visited her? You’re one of the ones who can find her cottage.”
‘“Maybe,” says I, “but she won’t be found unless she’s willing.”
‘“My Lord Melohtar’s asking for a guide,” says Mr. Gough.
‘“And for why does he want to meet the old witch?” I asks.
‘“Why, to change his princess-wife back into her own true form!” says Hal with a great big smile on his face. And Mr. Gough draws me a pint of his ale, and brings it to me, and he says:
‘“This one’s on the house, Walt. My lord’s got to go and ask – ask Berma if she’ll do the job. He’s heard that her cottage, Wiccot, is just off the City Road, a few miles out of town, but he also knows that it’s very easy to miss. But if anyone can help him find it, you’re the lad.”
‘So I said as I was willing. It seemed I’d a reputation to live up to. And they laughed, and Mr. Gough told me to come back first thing next day; but I sat around, and then I helped Hal carry the dishes for the banquet they was having, to celebrate the end of the hunt. I wanted to see Swin again. And I saw him. I saw him with my eye. I refilled his cup about ten times. And he was quite polite, and he certainly saw me, but he didn’t know me at all. So I thought, here’s a go: whatever’s happened to you? But I kept quiet, not wanting to intrude. He’s alive and well, Mr. Sherling. Strange, that tale Melohtar told you, ain’t it? About him being cut in pieces and killed by the worm?’
‘Yes,’ said Aldred thoughtfully, ‘exceedingly strange. What about Melohtar himself? Was he there?’
‘He was there, but he didn’t look any too happy.’
‘And did he see you?’
‘He saw me, and I saw him, and he remembered me all right. I minded as how he was going to take us prisoner in the mountains. But he had other things to think about just then.’
‘So you didn’t take him to the witch after all?’
‘No, I did. Leastways, I took ’em to the cottage. I had a feeling in my gut, that for him it was important-like, that I should help, and I was fairly sure he wouldn’t want to arrest me straight away. But he had his eye on me all the way up the road. And you recollect where we all saw her before? You, and me, and Swin, and Mr. Yarnal and all, a twelvemonth back?’
‘Yes, I remember,’ said Aldred.
‘No-one’s lived there for years,’ said Walt Hardedge.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean that we found that cottage, just where it was last year; but when Melohtar and Hal and me got up to it, two weeks since, we found a cottage that nobody ain’t lived in for years. We saw that tub she does her washing in, all decayed, and moss growing on the stump, and the lawn up to your waist. And the gutters sagging down, and the roof half-gone, and the front door rotten. Melohtar kicked it in. Inside ’twas all black and damp and toadstools and snail-trails.’
‘How did Melohtar take it?’
‘He was awful, awful cross. Polite, but simmering like a kettle with the lid screwed down. And I saw he was going to lay his hands on me, so I ducked and dodged out the door, and then made myself scarce. He’s a decent sort, but them great lords don’t like to be made fools of, do they?’
‘None of us does,’ answered Aldred.
‘Anyway, summat’s gone badly wrong there.’
‘But what?’ asked Ferumbras. ‘And what did he do next?’
‘Who’s to tell, sir?’ answered Walt. ‘The next thing I heard was, they were riding off to Dunbury, taking her with them, cage and all. Poor creature!’
For a few minutes they rode on without saying anything. No-one knew what to make of Waltrot’s tale.
‘It makes me wonder about our own wizard,’ said Ferumbras, changing the subject. ‘Do you think he’ll be any help? ...Aldred? Do you think our wizard might vanish on us too?’
‘Sorry!’ said Aldred. ‘My thoughts were elsewhere. What was your question?’
‘Do you think, Mr. Sherling,’ said Aubrey, ‘that your wizard can really help us?’
‘Oh, surely. At least, we’re sunk if he can’t. King Oresgal has twenty soldiers for every one of ours.’
‘You mean,’ said Ferumbras, making horrified calculations, ‘more than forty-eight thousand?’
‘Call it fifty. But we have got a wizard. I don’t know where he is now, but I’m sure he will be of help. He’s grateful to us for getting his shape back again. But I think he still has to figure out his own purpose – what he’s here for, from his own point of view. He’s a sort of accident. The Wizards arose in Midyard in the last Age of the world: that’s why it’s called the Age of Wizards. Their mission was to oppose Sorgrim and all the other agents of evil; and they should have all died out at the end of the Age. Only he was fixed in his fox’s form, kept back, maybe trapped somehow – who knows? Maybe there is a higher Purpose in it. But at least he has to find some kind of purpose first – draw some kind of picture for himself. Then he can judge where we Punchkins fit into it. On the other hand, Hodgekin doesn’t see him that way at all... Hodge knows he’ll come back because Hodge still sees him as a fox on a leash, in Hodge’s power, even in his coat-pocket. But I’m sure that’s wrong.’
‘Say more, Mr. Sherling,’ said Aubrey. Curiosity had been awakened at last!
‘It’s at least as true to say that we, the Punchkins, are in his power. In Mr. Brown’s own cloak-pocket. It’s my feeling, though I don’t know what it means, that that’s how he’ll protect us.’
‘Your own picture,’ said Ferumbras gravely. ‘You see things more deeply than Hodgekin, that is plain.’
Aldred shook his head. ‘You should know that all’s not well between us. He’s touchy and sore. He and I aren’t friends.’
‘Why aren’t you friends?’ asked Ferumbras, and then, as Aldred made no answer, ‘In that case,’ he said, ‘he has all the more reason to be grateful to you. I myself haven’t yet had the heart to thank you for breaking the news of Fortinbras’s death to us – to Marigold and me. It was a task for a true friend and you performed it well.’ Aldred bowed his head. ‘But as if that was not enough – to then take it upon yourself to speak for this new son of mine, this long-lost son – to recommend him, as you did –?’
‘Someone had to,’ said Aldred. ‘He was too proud and too hurt to speak for himself.’
‘Largely my fault, I know, and I will try to make amends. But if you are not friends with him, that showed very great magnanimity. And now I think of it – while you were with us at Bailiwick, did he ever thank you? Has he ever thanked you?’
‘No,’ answered Aldred sadly.
They rode on.