Tales Before Tolkien (51 page)

“You're losing your nerve, Golithos. But why doesn't somebody else try to do him in?”

“I think it's because they're afraid. It's risky, you see. Mother Meldrum says that his castle is three-quarters dungeons. And he keeps six headsmen busy all the time except on Saturday afternoons and Sundays.”

“That fits in with what I've heard of him myself,” said Gorbo, looking anxiously at Sylvia and Joe, who were taking all this in. “But cheer up, Sylvia, we'll soon get out of it. Now, Golithos, what about how to get across the river?”

   

The giant took Gorbo by the arm and led him to the window. “Do you see that tree?” he asked, pointing out a tall pine standing far off.

“Yes, Golithos.”

“Well, that tree's close by the river, and I pointed it out because it's quite useless your trying to get across the river at that point. Or for the matter of that, at any other point, if you understand me.”

“Well, I don't, if you understand me. I can tell you fifty ways how
not
to get across the river. Rouse your wits, Golithos!”

“You make me nervous. And if you do that you'll drive all the fine ideas out of my head. You see the fact is that you don't get
across
the river at all. But, notwithstanding, it's a perfectly easy matter to get to the other side if you know the way how. Now do you see my point?”

“I thought I was something of a born fool, Golithos, but since I've met you I'm quite proud of myself.”

“
Don't
speak to me like that; it gives me the all-overs. Look here, all you have to do is to go
under
the river. You go through a little door.”

“I thought so. You've been a long time coming to it, Golithos. As a matter of fact we came that way, but the little door shut up tight as soon as we got out of it. And there's another door on the other side. How do we get them open?”

“It's quite easy. But I don't quite remember how it's done—now don't get violent! You see it's not exactly difficult; it's only something to do with some little magic spells. You make a circle on the ground and divide it into six parts—or sixteen parts, I forget which. And then you bring some simple little charms—twenty-eight altogether, I think. I know one of them is the toe-nail of the seventh son of a seventh son born on a Friday. And then you repeat something out of a book—oh, if you're going to look at me like that I shall get thoroughly nervous and forget the rest.”

“Look here, Golithos,” said Gorbo, “do you think Mother Meldrum has more sense than you?”

“Oh, yes, she's got ever so much more!
She
knows the way to get the door open.”

“Oh, does she? Then where can we find her?”

“She may come here at any time. You see she comes because I amuse her—at least that's what she says—and if you wait here a day or two she's bound to turn up. I can give you a lovely room upstairs. I'll move the turnips to one side and give you some nearly clean straw to sleep on. I'd give my own bed to the little ones, but I'm afraid the mattress is rather bumpy; I think some brickbats must have got into it. You see I air the mattress every November, and last November I was doing some building, and as there were a few holes in it, you see——”

“Don't worry, Golithos, we'll take your upstairs room. So come and move the turnips.”

   

The upstairs room was much worse than the one below, which is saying something. It was furnished chiefly with turnips and sacks of lime, and these Golithos began to move to one side in a muddle-headed way, while Gorbo sat on the window-ledge and watched him. At length there was a clear space for the straw, which was spread out in the manner advocated for sick horses.

“There!” said Golithos proudly, resting on his hay-fork, “
There's
a bed for you!”

Gorbo only snorted and said nothing, and there was silence for a time.

“Those are dear little children,” remarked Golithos, trying to be amiable and interesting.

“Yes,” said Gorbo shortly.

“It's a long time since I saw any. In my bad old days I saw plenty, as you know, but I thought it best—after I reformed—to keep away from them for a good long time.”

“Sound idea.”

“Yes, wasn't it? But as I say, these are very dear little things, especially the little girl. Do you know,” he went on chattily, “it used to be a saying amongst us in the bad old days that the lighter the hair the tenderer the meat—however, I don't suppose that interests you.”

“Not a bit.”

“Of course not. But I have taken quite a strong liking to these little ones. The little girl is very pretty, and they are both well formed. Not fat exactly. I should describe them as well filled out. Chubby, if you understand my meaning.”

Gorbo slipped down from the window and went down the ladder in a leisurely way. “Tidy up the place properly,” he ordered as he went.

Golithos obediently went on messing about, crooning a little song about a rose that loved a butterfly and faded away.

   

It will probably occur to the thoughtful reader at this point that a change had come over the character of Gorbo. A sense of responsibility, mingled with self-reproach, had brought forth qualities hitherto unsuspected, and though he was to some extent losing his natural desire to please all whom he met by conciliatory speech and helpful ways, he was gaining in ability to make quick decisions, as also in verbal fluency and a capacity for what is known among our famed comedians as back-chat.

He found the children in the cabbage patch trying to amuse themselves with Tiger, but not succeeding very well because they were getting very tired of this dismal place. Their surroundings were horrible—all nettles and cheap-looking vegetables and rank grass and stones, and a high wall (on which were lots of snails) shutting out everything but the sky. Sylvia took the puppy to show to the cow, which was the only nice thing in the place and which lived in a rotten old shed in a corner, and Gorbo then had a chance to talk to Joe.

“Joe,” he said, “I don't want to frighten Sylvia, but you're a man like me. It seems to me that this is not a healthy place to stay in very long. In the first place we'll get bored to screaming fits, and in the second place I'm having doubts of old Golithos.”

“Oo-er!” said Joe, now thoroughly startled.

“Yes, I'm beginning to think he's not so reformed as he thinks he is. Of course it may be only my fancy, but I'm not going to take any risks, and you and Sylvia must keep close by me always. We'll have to stay here a little while because, though it's plain that he won't be able to tell us how to get those little doors open, that old witch may come along at any time, and then I can get it out of her. I'll give her my drinking-horn to tell us how; it's the only thing I've got that's worth anything, but it's got silver on it and perhaps it'll do. But if it's not enough I'm afraid Sylvia will have to give over her little coral necklace. I don't know what witches' charges are, but I should say the two together would be plenty.”

“But won't it be awfully risky staying here?” asked Joe. This was becoming rather more of an adventure than he had bargained for.

“Not so much, because you won't go out of my sight and I've always got my bow tucked under my arm. Of course I could make it quite safe by sending an arrow through his hairy old throat, but somehow I don't quite like to do it until I'm dead certain sure. But don't you worry, Joe. And don't let Sylvia know.”

The day wore on. They had a light supper of cold sliced turnips and some of the milk that was left over from the midday feast. They gave a third part of the milk to Tiger in order to moisten some very hard crusts that Golithos found for him. Tiger did not worry, it was quantity he wanted, not quality, and his little abdomen began to take on bold curves again.

   

The night passed without trouble. The children slept soundly on their straw; Gorbo had made his bed on top of the trap-door so they felt safe enough. But in the morning there was more than a hint that some good old-fashioned trouble was coming.

Said Golithos to Gorbo (taking him quietly aside by the arm), “Would you oblige me by keeping these dear little children always close by you?”

Said Gorbo to Golithos (removing his arm), “I'm going to. But not particularly to oblige you. What's the little game?”

“It is no little game; it is something more serious. You see I have a horrid fear that I may go back to my old disgraceful ways. The sight of these dear little plump things is a very, very great temptation to me, and I want you to help me to fight against it. I don't want you to go away, because if I don't have the temptation there will be no credit in conquering it—and I really hope and believe that I will be able to. Do you know that last night I wanted to have a look at them asleep, but I couldn't open the trap-door. There seemed to be something heavy on it.”

“There was,” said Gorbo.

“I thought so. And then, do you know, I came down and sat thinking about them, and after a time I found myself sharpening a big knife in an absent-minded way. It gave me quite a shock. Now promise me that you will help me to overcome this temptation.”

“Oh, I'll help you,” replied Gorbo.

He called to Sylvia and Joe to come down and to bring Tiger, and then he went with them down the steps to the door in the outer wall.

“Come and open this door, Golithos,” he called.

“Oh, you're surely not thinking of leaving me!” exclaimed Golithos, clumping down after them. “I shall be greatly upset if you run away like that.”

Gorbo jerked out an arrow and laid it on his bow.

“You'll be more upset in a moment perhaps,” he said, “if that door isn't opened before I count ten there'll be three of these sticking out of your silly fat head.”

Golithos jumped for the door and had it open just as Gorbo had counted up to six. As the children passed out, shrinking away from him, he bent down and held out his hand to them.

“Good-bye, little dears,” he said. “Won't you shake hands with an old reformed person? Oh, this
is
unkind!”

Gorbo put his arrow back in the quiver and stood for a moment looking up at him. “You stick to watercress,” he said tauntingly. “Watercress and cold water. A slice of mangel-wurzel for Christmas. That's about your form.”

“You have hurt me,” said Golithos, drawing himself to his full height (seven feet, one inch). His tone was not without a certain dignity.

“Get inside!” shouted Gorbo, slipping out an arrow again. “I'm not so sure I shan't——”

But Golithos had scuttled in and banged the door and locked it. They walked along a narrow stony track that led towards some rising ground. Looking back, they saw the head of Golithos peeping over the top of his wall. So far as they could judge at that distance it had a wistful look.

The Story of Alwina

by Austin Tappan Wright

In a 1977 speech to the Tolkien Society, Tolkien's second son, Michael, recounted that as children he and his brothers and his sister had each had an imaginary island (for which they each had hand-drawn their own maps), which they devised on the advice of their father. Michael's island was filled with railways and airplanes, much to his father's disappointment.

The impulse to have one's own island was shared by Austin Tappan Wright, an American law professor who invented the imaginary country of Islandia (on the southern tip of the equally imaginary Karain subcontinent in the southern hemisphere), with its own history, maps, language, and literature. At his death in 1931 Wright left several unpublished manuscripts, amounting to thousands of pages, relating to his invented country. In scope and in detail his history of Islandia rivals Tolkien's own creation of Middle-earth. One of Wright's manuscripts, a long novel simply titled
Islandia,
was edited and published in 1942. Many ancillary writings about Islandia, comparable to the appendices in
The Lord of the Rings,
still exist, and the following tale, “The Story of Alwina,” first saw print in the anthology
Elsewhere,
edited by Terri Windling and Mark Alan Arnold, published in 1981.

Tolkien appears never to have read Wright's novel, for in a 1957 letter he answered a correspondent's question by saying that he had never before heard of
Islandia.

Excerpted from
Islandia: History and Description
by Jean Perrier, first French Consul to Islandia

Translated by John Lang, first American Consul.

Alwina, on her father's death, was a girl of twenty in a singularly hard situation. No woman had ever before ascended the throne of Islandia. Not for merely personal reasons did she aspire to that honor—the next in order of succession beside herself was her cousin, grandson of Alwin The Lazy, a man of thirty, and a vicious character, but with certain pleasing characteristics. There were greater problems yet: there was the unfortunate breach with the province of Winder to be closed, a question of particular moment because of the growing danger to the nation through the recent development by the Karain of a seagoing force. There was the mystery of the Demiji invasions to be cleared up, and the ever present threat of the undestroyed armies of Kilikash.

Even before the death of her father, trouble began over her succession. It was opposed by Dorn XI and by most of the council on the grounds of her youth and sex, though she had staunch supporters in Mora X and Cabing, a man of great power. Over the opposition of those last two and several others, the council, acting for the National Assembly, had passed a resolution that no woman should succeed. When Alwin died, however, the council was not in session. Alwina's position was bettered thereby, but was still a perilous one. Her first act was a rather doubtful one. At her insistence, Cabing appointed a number of lieutenants sufficient to turn the scale in the council. Cabing's authority theoretically ended with the death of the king who appointed him, but he asserted his right to hold office till a successor was appointed. Alwina by “definite act” reappointed him. The council hastily met, and was at once in an uproar. After a stormy session a vote was passed declaring Alwina's right to succeed. The adherents of Lord Dorn protested against the presence of Cabing and his lieutenants, but without avail. The army certainly backed their leader and queen, and the threat of force therein doubtless limited the Dorn party, for the time being at any rate, to threats. Alwina was declared queen with pomp and circumstance.

Her next step, though perilous, showed her wisdom. Stating that the action of the council, in not being unanimous, filled her with dismay, she called the National Assembly—taking the decision directly to the people of Islandia.

The Assembly met at Reeves in the early summer. There were known to be many who were opposed to Alwina, but twelve thousand came—many to see her, doubtless, because of her famous beauty. Let us remember that they were men unaccustomed to a woman's rule, stern and independent, and that she was but a girl of twenty, whom many graybeards knew as a child under the strict rule of a parent. She must have seemed not unlike their own daughters. But Alwina was mistress of the occasion; she appeared before them not only with the fire of her loveliness and the aegis cast upon her by her beloved father, but with things to say for herself. It is reported that she called attention to Cabing's deeds and his needed reappointment; and adroitly to Dorn's opposition. She then spoke of her father's dying directions to protect the country from the Demiji, to prepare to meet the coming fleets of Karain, and to accomplish reconciliation with Winder. She said she would do this last first and thereby secure a fleet to meet that of Karain. If it was their will that she be queen, she would go at once to Winder. Her directness and activity after her father's well-known procrastination carried the day. With scarcely a dissenting voice she was again declared queen. Though the Dorn party still voiced protests, her position was now unassailable, and soon in the light of what she did dissentient voices died out.

News of the building of ships in Mobono came to Islandia before the sack of Miltain. They appeared off the coast in 1308, but the Karain were still timid at sea and merely landed and took a few prisoners and then departed. Again in 1312, 1316, and 1319, vessels appeared, more bold. And meanwhile, rumors of the construction of a great fleet to capture The City continued to come over the border. It is no wonder that far-seeing eyes in Islandia viewed these developments with fear, and saw in the defection of the people of Winder the possibilities of disaster.

Doubtless with these thoughts in mind more than anything else, Alwina, true to her promise, set out for Winder as soon as her reign received the sanction of the Assembly. A girl of twenty, but full of energy and determination, and with a clear head, she made Cabing and Mora of her train and rode through the fertile spring plains of Bostia, through Loria and Inerria, and from the travellers' hostel at the upper waters of the Cannan River sent word to Tor, at Winder, that she was about to enter his land.

No reply was received. The queen's entourage advised her to turn back and gather men to punish the insult, but she sent a characteristic message: “Alwina is angry at your discourtesy, but the queen of Islandia grieves for the safety of your people and her own.” She followed it with herself, and Tor, with decided bad grace, prepared to receive her. She crossed the high pass between Blyth and Tor's city, and rode down, timing her arrival at noon. It is a scene frequently painted: Tor, sullen and angry, receiving with a few followers the amazingly beautiful queen. She dismounted from her horse, advanced on foot, and without a word embraced and kissed him, saying: “In these times the people of Islandia must love their brothers.” The kiss was thus made an international political event—but still it was a kiss, and Tor a young man, the queen a beautiful woman. Alwina stayed but a very few days at Winder. The welcome to her, grudgingly begun, ended in enthusiasm. She made a great impression on the people of Winder by the fire of her personality, her earnestness and her beauty. When she left, she arranged for the support of the Winder fleet in any eventuality and for the dispatch of vessels later in the season to the East coast, pledging in return a renewal of ship money. Returning to Islandia, she convinced the council of the necessity of this step. As the chronicler says: “She had the appearance of a child, but words of wisdom came from her mouth.” This active young woman then hastened to Miltain and Carran travelling without stop, and roused the people there to the danger threatening them and informed them of the promised coming of ships. The hostility to Winder was strongest in the east, but she smoothed the ruffled emotions of the lords and people there so that a cordial reception to, and harmonious action with, the coming squadron was assured. This task done, and leaving Cabing and Mora behind, she sped south by Dean, Manry, and Searles to Storn, there to meet Tor and his fleet. It was then the month of Austus, and the south west winds were blowing strong. The queen waited a full month, with a small retinue chafing at the delay. News was coming from the south that Karain corsairs were off the coast. Eventually Tor appeared with only half the ships he promised. Alwina and he quarrelled, and finally, in a fury, he made her a prisoner. No doubt he was already enamoured of her, and her position was by no means a safe one. But she was indomitable—she eventually persuaded Tor to release her and proceed on his way. There were larger factors to be considered than her own pride.

In the middle of the month of Septen, Tor set out, with the example of his ancestor to lead him on. There was almost a mutiny, which doubtless roused his nature. While Alwina by rough roads crossed the Ardan hills, Tor rounded Stornsea, and reached Ardan not long after the queen. The quarrel was patched up, and she herself accompanied the fleet on its week's voyage south against head winds to the port of Tire. This journey is the great episode of the Islandian poem on Tor and Alwina. One is tempted to follow the poet and consider them as in the long hours together they reconciled their differences under the force of a growing love. On the other hand, common sense and historical evidence seem to indicate that the queen's whole relation with this man, whom in the end she so completely dominated, was the result of a cold, keen mind, considering only politics.

Karain ships were supposed to be in the Beldon River, and the queen landed; Tor went north again, but success eluded him. By reason of their oars the Karain escaped down the coast. Tor kept on faithfully and eventually surprised four Karain ships plundering farms just north of the forest of Balian. It was first blood for the Islandians. Tor, after his easy victory, sailed on to Carran, and then to Madly Bay, where he refitted with the materials and supplies forwarded by Cabing. No more Karain appeared that season, and no incursion being feared in the season of Windorn, Tor returned home. The indefatigable queen travelled into the far west to investigate conditions there and reconcile herself with the family of her cousins, the Dorns, who had opposed her accession.

Her spies on the border told her that in the next year, some definite move might be expected from Kilikash. During the season called “Leaves,” Kilikash endeavored to open negotiations for the cession to him of Carran and northern Miltain, but Alwina returned his ambassadors without hearing them.

   

The campaigns of the second year of this war were much the same. Kilikash had the advantage of a base south of the mountains, but he was unable to break the lines along the Balian.

The attitude of Tor had been most unsatisfactory—he sent fewer ships than promised, and did not come himself to lead them. In Windorn, Alwina made him another visit, and stayed several months. Queens are not above criticism; many accused Alwina of being his mistress. But the opposite seems nearer the truth—Alwina knew she must marry as a duty she owed her country, but marriage with Tor was not politically desirable unless it achieved a desirable result. Her position as wife of a man hostile to her people would be impossible; until Tor threw his whole strength in her support, it would be folly to unite with him. The worst that she can be accused of is of dangling herself as bait.

The German historian Schlauter has chosen to misread a letter of hers to Mora X, a man of fifty-six then, her most trusted adviser, and one to whom she showed almost a daughterly love: “This man (Tor) breaks my heart,” she wrote from Winder in Febor 1323. “He will and he won't. He loves me and hates the queen. He talks of marriage and I say no. . . . But we are building ships.” The last sentence tells a great deal.

Though news of their betrothal was expected, none came, and Alwina left Winder in early Avrilis for Miltain, and arrived there to learn that Kilikash had broken through, and that his fleet, larger than ever before, was moving up the coast in a compact body. To make matters worse, the Demiji appeared in force in northern Islandia, and on the Matwin opposite Brome. The campaign was well coordinated, all forces being directed towards the unfortunate city of Miltain.

The Karain army kept together until the Beldon was crossed, and then with the fertile plain of Miltain before them spread out far and wide. The fleet passed through the Stanes unopposed and took possession of Endly. The Winder fleet sailed south into Toobey Harbor after picking off a few stragglers of the vastly superior force.

It was a time of trouble for Islandia that cast the thoughts of men back a hundred years. The Karain were better armed with their coats of mail, their ships were less dependent on wind, and the horses of the Demiji were fleeter than those of Islandia. The whole country was not sufficiently roused. Aid was slow in coming to Cabing's hard pressed force, and Tor with his fleet was in no hurry to run into a noose. He rounded Stornsea and put into Ardan bay—and waited.

Kilikash reassembled his troops. An attack was made at Dole, which was only a feint to draw off the Islandians. It was followed by an attempt to storm Miltain, which failed. The Karain fleet was working up the river and had it arrived the city might have fallen—with it the queen. A siege began, and on the arrival of the ships the city was wholly surrounded; Alwina remained, perhaps foolishly, perhaps wisely, and news of her presence came to Kilikash. His demands were even more arrogant: all of Miltain and her person for his harem. The siege was well conducted, but the besieged were indomitable.

   

So things remained till Windorn of the next year. The queen made a daring escape from Miltain and returned to the capital; the season was spent in preparations. Ship-building went ahead everywhere, and as soon as weather permitted a stream of vessels began to round Stornsea and gather at Ardan.

The queen went then to Ardan to put courage and daring into the hearts of all, crying that the Karain would never be defeated until their own city was destroyed and that only a well-prepared fleet could do so. This was too long a look for most.