The Adventures of Frodo Gardner
Volume II Through Shadows to the Edge of Night By Dolores J. Nurss
Chapter 20, Part 50 Mattie Heathertoes (December 29, 1451)
“Well, well, well!” Bergil exclaimed. “And by my fortnight’s beard--if it isn’t Mattie Heathertoes!”
“Heathertoes?” Frodo cried, “The rider of the post? Well met, indeed!”
He ran back towards the horse, whose rider sat up lazily and stretched.
“Ey? Did someone, perchance, call me by name?” The hobbit tipped back
the cap that had shaded his pale eyes, blinked at Frodo below him, then
grinned and slid down off the horse’s back. “My word--another hobbit, a
brother of the North Country! The sun, the moon, and all the blinkin’
stars shine on our meeting, friend!” Frodo found himself face to face
with a surprisingly slender fellow of his own kind, all knees and
elbows, with gingery curls and an easy grin displaying
less-than-perfect teeth and all the goodwill in the world. Boots
bundled up the stranger’s feet, which surprised Frodo, but it did seem
to make sense, as he found himself tucking one foot under the other,
trying to warm his toes. The two clasped hands and laughed with
delight, then suddenly embraced right there among the boulders and the
thorns, as long-lost cousins would, which of course they felt like in
that land. “Mattie Heathertoes at your service,” said the post-rider.
“Frodo Gamgee at yours and your family’s.”
“Gamgee, is it--not the Mayor’s son? Then count me doubly honored!” Mattie swept off his cap in an elaborate bow.
Frodo said, blushing fit to die, “Oh please--I travel as a gardener and
a goatherd, not a politician.” He laughed, saying, “No one would let me
into Michel Delving smelling like I do right now.”
“But no one warned me to expect so tall and striking a fellow as stands before me now.”
“I am? I mean, uh, I guess I am, tall that is, for a hobbit, anyway,
but not particularly striking, though, I’d really rather not strike,
not unless you’re an orc, of course, and hey, I’m babbling, aren’t I?”
Mattie chuckled. “It doesn’t matter--anything said in a hobbit-voice sounds sweeter than the larks to me.”
“Come, come, join us...or no. The post must ride swiftly and...” He
stopped. Mattie did not look inclined to ride swiftly anywhere that day.
“Oh, tosh! Not on the Nurnen run. Why do you think I volunteered?
You’ll find no hurry out in these parts, not since the Dark Lord died
and all his whips fell still. You can take your time and enjoy the
scenery, write poetry in your head, and find the breath to sing songs.
I can’t imagine why every post-rider in the business doesn’t vie with
me for the job.” He took his horse by the reins and ambled beside them
as they followed the goats to the next green stretch.
Bergil smiled and said, “The haunted pass might have something to do with it.”
“Oh, that! The wisps of half-forgotten thoughts, phantoms whose hands
pass through the hilts they once gripped in their might. I have my own
way of dealing with ghosts.” He winked. “Mainly, I ignore ‘em. Drives
them crazy, if you ask me.”
“Better them than you,” said Frodo. What a fine twist to his day!
Already the sun felt warmer, the greenery looked brighter, and he could
smell the sweetness of those strange white flowers over the odor of the
goats.
Mattie asked him, “Are you familiar with the Barrow Downs, my friend?”
The sun passed behind a cloud once more. “No more than I have to be,” Frodo said uncomfortably.
Mattie chuckled. “Ah, we hobbits are so predictable! Most of us,
anyway. In my childhood, though, I used to ride through the Barrow
Downs by choice, for the sheer curiosity of it.”
“You didn’t! Really?”
“And why not?” Mattie said with a grin. “It is quite serene by day, you
know, if you take care not to fall asleep there or outlast your stay.
Sometimes, if luck flirts with you, you chance upon jewels sparkling in
the sun like flowers of light, or piles of pale gold coins like an
outcropping of shiny mushrooms.”
Frodo shivered, remembering the wight. “I would not touch such gold or jewels for all the world.”
“Ah, why not? That’s what it’s out there for. Surely the son of a Traveler has heard of Tom Bombadil?”
“More than you might guess.”
“Then you know how he breaks open the haunted hills to expose their treasure to the daylight and destroy their spells--he wants
them pilfered far and wide! If you don’t get greedy, if you take no
more than you need at the time and leave the rest in the grass, it will
bring you no harm. How do you think that the Rangers bought their odd
mug of beer now and then, in the years before the King, when nobody
paid them for the work they did guarding the villages of Arnor?”
“If you have such treasure, why do you ride the post? I thought...” Frodo shut up and blushed.
Mattie looked on him gently. “It’s all right, Frodo. You thought only
hobbits of poor means would take on such work, so far away from home.
And you’d be right, of course.” He smiled sadly. “I had a thirsty
father, you see, who needed all that I could find him to buy comfort
for his aching heart. Not a penny or a bead remains to me.” Mattie
shook his head. “He died years ago, poor soul; he needs no further care
from me.” Then he smiled almost too brightly. “And so he freed me to
seek my fortune on the world’s wide roads--it is not a bad life for one
like me.”
Bergil said, “It should not surprise anyone that a perian could find
happiness even here, before the Poros Pass, where men have died of
fright.”
“Fright is what you make of it, my friend. Besides, ghosts and other
odd spirits, and the old tales that go with them, inspire some of my
best material. A poet and a bard should familiarize himself with
matters ethereal, wouldn’t you say? Here in the Ephel Duath I find good
company for my brightest and my darkest moods.”
Frodo exclaimed, “Did you say bard?”
“I have that reputation, yes.”
“Join us by all means, then! It has been too long since I’ve heard a
good song, Mattie. I’m afraid we go at the pace of a grazing goat,
though, so it might delay you somewhat...”
“Who can deny me a single, splendid afternoon in the presence of my own
kind? I carry just two letters, neither of them marked as ‘Urgent
Business’--as if they ever were, out here. I don’t expect much more
awaits me at the other end.”
“Well, then--stay for dinner! Spend the night!”
Bergil tugged Frodo aside for a moment behind a twist of rock, to
whisper, “I will not deny you the pleasure of your countryman’s
company, but before you hand out any more invitations--especially on my
turn to cook!--I think you should know something.”
“What’s that?”
“Mattie--and I mean him no harm, mind you, I do enjoy his songs--has a bit of a reputation for light fingers.”
“Indeed! Do you mean to say that he’s a thief?”
“Not so loud! Say rather that the usual boundaries between ‘mine’ and
‘yours’...how shall I put it?...escape his notice.” With an ironic
smile Bergil said, “Our Mattie has a sharing heart.”
“How could such a fellow keep his position with the postal service, then? Surely I’d not trust any package home to him.”
“Perhaps because they have no better to replace him. No one else would
want the Nurnen run.” With a fond shake of his head Bergil added,
“Besides, we all would miss his music. We men of Ithilien know his
limits, and we compensate. It would hurt to think of a merry soul like
his chastening in a jail.”
“Ah well, I suppose that he’s good enough in his way. I understand that
Bilbo Baggins tried his hand at burglary for awhile. And they say no
mushroom was ever safe where my namesake went, at least not in his
youth.”
Bergil stared at him with raised brows. “Pippin Took never shared those stories with me! Perhaps you could...”
“Later--our guest must wonder what we’re discussing behind his back.”
“Doubtless he guesses well enough,” Bergil murmured, but went back with
Frodo anyway. Just in time, too, for the goats had cropped the
vegetation down to the cracks of stone it sprang from, and had raised
their eyes to look for more. Bergil clapped Mattie on the shoulder with
a slightly strained grin and said, “‘Tis agreed, then--your road and
ours shall merge for awhile. But mind you walk downwind of us when you
smoke that pipe of yours.”
“Goat-herders objecting to a smell?” Mattie laughed. “My--that is
a first!” Then he rubbed his hands together as they strolled, saying to
Frodo, “So, my brother--what news have you of the north?”
“More about the Shire than Bree, I’m afraid. For one thing--and I think
you need to know this--we have ceased all trade of pipeweed to Rohan
and other parts where it does men no good. Some have reacted rather
violently to hobbits after that, I fear.”
“Indeed...thank you. That does sound useful." Then a vulnerable look passed over his face as he asked, "Any news from Staddle? I hail from there, you know.”
“Just gossip--none too reliable, at that. But did you ever know a fellow called Falco Tunnelly?”
“Fallible Falco? I grew up with him! We used to fish together. Why? What’s he up to?”
“Well, you wouldn’t believe this--I am not sure I do, myself--but they
say that he’s stolen the heart of a woman of the Big Folk, one Cherry
Carter...” And so they chatted as they walked, while Bergil indulged
them and did most of the herding by himself. Eventually, though, Frodo
felt his throat go dry and hoarse from too much talk. When he went back
to one of the pack-goats for some water he passed the gray horse and
its mail-bags--and suddenly remembered why he’d run back to greet
Mattie in the first place.
The post-rider said, “So...do you think that Brandybuck Mercantile might have any interest in...”
“Begging your pardon, Mattie, but before we say any more, you wouldn’t
happen to carry any mail addressed to Frodo Gamgee, would you?”
“Why...yes, of course...what a fool I am to forget--and with only two
letters in the bag, at that! You know, I did think it strange to carry
mail from the Shire’s Mayor to Mordor, but then...”
”Papa? You’ve got mail from Papa?”
“Well yes, it so happens that...”
“Out with it! Please! Now!”
“Hold on...here it is. Fat little bundle, isn’t it? Not at all like what I usually...”
Frodo snatched it from Mattie’s hands and cracked the seal. Oh surely,
surely, Papa would have gotten his first letter by now--what joy, what
relief he must have felt! Even as Frodo grinned with anticipation his
eyes watered to think of the reception his letter must have had, as he
unfurled the parchment and began to read while he walked, oblivious to
a thornbush right in front of him. Bergil soon found he had to shepherd
the feet of one letter-blinded hobbit along with all the goats.
Mattie smiled rather sadly, if any had noticed, as he walked beside the
others, leading his horse to their pace, as always traveling alone.
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