The Fall of Númenor, page 11
But Erendis answered: ‘Say rather: “Two years I will take, whether you will or no.” Take two years, then! But no more. A King’s son of the blood of Eärendil should also be a man of his word.’
Next morning Aldarion hastened away. He lifted up Ancalimë and kissed her, but though she clung to him he set her down quickly and rode off. Soon after the great ship set sail from Rómenna. Hirilondë he named it, Haven-finder; but it went from Númenor without the blessing of Tar-Meneldur; and Erendis was not at the harbour to set the green Bough of Return, nor did she send. Aldarion’s face was dark and troubled as he stood at the prow of Hirilondë, where the wife of his captain had set a great branch of oiolairë, but he did not look back until the Meneltarma was far off in the twilight.
All that day Erendis sat in her chamber alone, grieving; but deeper in her heart she felt a new pain of cold anger, and her love of Aldarion was wounded to the quick. She hated the Sea; and now even trees, that once she had loved, she desired to look upon no more, for they recalled to her the masts of great ships. Therefore ere long she left Armenelos, and went to Emerië in the midst of the Isle, where ever, far and near, the bleating of sheep was borne upon the wind. ‘Sweeter it is to my ears than the mewing of gulls,’ she said, as she stood at the doors of her white house, the gift of the King; and that was upon a downside, facing west, with great lawns all about that merged without wall or hedge into the pastures. Thither she took Ancalimë, and they were all the company that either had. For Erendis would have only servants in her household, and they were all women; and she sought ever to mould her daughter to her own mind, and to feed her upon her own bitterness against men. Ancalimë seldom indeed saw any man, for Erendis kept no state, and her few farm-servants and shepherds had a homestead at a distance. Other men did not come there, save rarely some messenger from the King; and he would ride away soon, for to men there seemed a chill in the house that put them to flight, and while there they felt constrained to speak half in whisper.
One morning soon after Erendis came to Emerië she awoke to the song of birds, and there on the sill of her window were the Elven-birds that long had dwelt in her garden in Armenelos, but which she had left behind forgotten. ‘Sweet fools, fly away!’ she said. ‘This is no place for such joy as yours.’
Then their song ceased, and they flew up over the trees; thrice they wheeled above the roofs, and then they went away westwards. That evening they settled upon the sill of the chamber in the house of her father, where she had lain with Aldarion on their way from the feast in Andúnië; and there Núneth and Beregar found them on the morning of the next day. But when Núneth held out her hands to them they flew steeply up and fled away, and she watched them until they were specks in the sunlight, speeding to the sea, back to the land whence they came.
‘He has gone again, then, and left her,’ said Núneth.
‘Then why has she not sent news?’ said Beregar. ‘Or why has she not come home?’
‘She has sent news enough,’ said Núneth. ‘For she has dismissed the Elven-birds, and that was ill done. It bodes no good. Why, why, my daughter? Surely you knew what you must face? But let her alone, Beregar, wherever she may be. This is her home no longer, and she will not be healed here. He will come back. And then may the Valar send her wisdom – or guile, at the least!’
When the second year after Aldarion’s sailing came in, by the King’s wish Erendis ordered the house in Armenelos to be arrayed and made ready; but she herself made no preparation for return. To the King she sent answer saying: ‘I will come if you command me, atar aranya [Father King]. But have I a duty now to hasten? Will it not be time enough when his sail is seen in the East?’ And to herself she said: ‘Will the King have me wait upon the quays like a sailor’s lass? Would that I were, but I am so no longer. I have played that part to the full.’
But that year passed, and no sail was seen; and the next year came, and waned to autumn. Then Erendis grew hard and silent. She ordered that the house in Armenelos be shut, and she went never more than a few hours’ journey from her house in Emerië. Such love as she had was all given to her daughter, and she clung to her, and would not have Ancalimë leave her side, not even to visit Núneth and her kin in the Westlands. All Ancalimë’s teaching was from her mother; and she learned well to write and to read, and to speak the Elven-tongue with Erendis, after the manner in which high men of Númenor used it. For in the Westlands it was a daily speech in such houses as Beregar’s, and Erendis seldom used the Númenórean tongue, which Aldarion loved the better. Much Ancalimë also learned of Númenor and the ancient days in such books and scrolls as were in the house which she could understand; and lore of other kinds, of the people and the land, she heard at times from the women of the household, though of this Erendis knew nothing. But the women were chary of their speech to the child, fearing their mistress; and there was little enough of laughter for Ancalimë in the white house in Emerië. It was hushed and without music, as if one had died there not long since; for in Númenor in those days it was the part of men to play upon instruments, and the music that Ancalimë heard in childhood was the singing of women at work, out of doors, and away from the hearing of the White Lady of Emerië. But now Ancalimë was seven years old, and as often as she could get leave she would go out of the house and on to the wide downs where she could run free; and at times she would go with a shepherdess, tending the sheep, and eating under the sky.
One day in the summer of that year a young boy, but older than herself, came to the house on an errand from one of the distant farms; and Ancalimë came upon him munching bread and drinking milk in the farm-courtyard at the rear of the house. He looked at her without deference, and went on drinking. Then he set down his mug.
‘Stare, if you must, great eyes!’ he said. ‘You’re a pretty girl, but too thin. Will you eat?’ He took a loaf out of his bag.
‘Be off, Îbal!’ cried an old woman, coming from the dairy-door. ‘And use your long legs, or you’ll forget the message I gave you for your mother before you get home!’
‘No need for a watch-dog where you are, mother Zamîn!’ cried the boy, and with a bark and a shout he leapt over the gate and went off at a run down the hill. Zamîn was an old country-woman, free-tongued, and not easily daunted, even by the White Lady.
‘What noisy thing was that?’ said Ancalimë.
‘A boy,’ said Zamîn, ‘if you know what that is. But how should you? They’re breakers and eaters, mostly. That one is ever eating – but not to no purpose. A fine lad his father will find when he comes back; but if that is not soon, he’ll scarce know him. I might say that of others.’
‘Has the boy then a father too?’ asked Ancalimë.
‘To be sure,’ said Zamîn. ‘Ulbar, one of the shepherds of the great lord away south: the Sheep-lord we call him, a kinsman of the King.’
‘Then why is the boy’s father not at home?’
‘Why, hérinkë [little lady],’ said Zamîn, ‘because he heard of those Venturers, and took up with them, and went away with your father, the Lord Aldarion: but the Valar know whither, or why.’
That evening Ancalimë said suddenly to her mother: ‘Is my father also called the Lord Aldarion?’
‘He was,’ said Erendis. ‘But why do you ask?’ Her voice was quiet and cool, but she wondered and was troubled; for no word concerning Aldarion had passed between them before.
Ancalimë did not answer the question. ‘When will he come back?’ she said.
‘Do not ask me!’ said Erendis. ‘I do not know. Never, perhaps. But do not trouble yourself; for you have a mother, and she will not run away, while you love her.’
Ancalimë did not speak of her father again.
The days passed bringing in another year, and then another; in that spring Ancalimë was nine years old. Lambs were born and grew; shearing came and passed; a hot summer burned the grass. Autumn turned to rain. Then out of the East upon a cloudy wind Hirilondë came back over the grey seas, bearing Aldarion to Rómenna; and word was sent to Emerië, but Erendis did not speak of it. There were none to greet Aldarion upon the quays. He rode through the rain to Armenelos; and he found his house shut. He was dismayed, but he would ask news of no man; first he would seek the King, for he thought he had much to say to him.
He found his welcome no warmer than he looked for; and Meneldur spoke to him as King to a captain whose conduct is in question. ‘You have been long away,’ he said coldly. ‘It is more than three years now since the date that you set for your return.’
‘Alas!’ said Aldarion. ‘Even I have become weary of the sea, and for long my heart has yearned westward. But I have been detained against my heart: there is much to do. And all things go backward in my absence.’
‘I do not doubt it,’ said Meneldur. ‘You will find it true here also in your right land, I fear.’
‘That I hope to redress,’ said Aldarion. ‘But the world is changing again. Outside nigh on a thousand years have passed since the Lords of the West sent their power against Angband; and those days are forgotten, or wrapped in dim legend among Men of Middle-earth. They are troubled again, and fear haunts them. I desire greatly to consult with you, to give account of my deeds, and my thought concerning what should be done.’
‘You shall do so,’ said Meneldur. ‘Indeed I expect no less. But there are other matters which I judge more urgent. “Let a King first rule well his own house ere he correct others,” it is said. It is true of all men. I will now give you counsel, son of Meneldur. You have also a life of your own. Half of yourself you have ever neglected. To you I say now: Go home!’
Aldarion stood suddenly still, and his face was stern. ‘If you know, tell me,’ he said. ‘Where is my home?’
‘Where your wife is,’ said Meneldur. ‘You have broken your word to her, whether by necessity or no. She dwells now in Emerië, in her own house, far from the sea. Thither you must go at once.’
‘Had any word been left for me, whither to go, I would have gone directly from the haven,’ said Aldarion. ‘But at least I need not now ask tidings of strangers.’ He turned then to go, but paused, saying: ‘Captain Aldarion has forgotten somewhat that belongs to his other half, which in his waywardness he also thinks urgent. He has a letter that he was charged to deliver to the King of Armenelos.’ Presenting it to Meneldur he bowed and left the chamber; and within an hour he took horse and rode away, though night was falling. With him he had but two companions, men from his ship: Henderch of the Westlands, and Ulbar who came from Emerië.
Riding hard they came to Emerië at nightfall of the next day, and men and horses were weary. Cold and white looked the house on the hill in a last gleam of sunset under cloud. He blew a horn-call as soon as he saw it from afar.
As he leapt from his horse in the forecourt he saw Erendis: clad in white she stood upon the steps that went up to the pillars before the door. She held herself high, but as he drew near he saw that she was pale and her eyes over-bright.
‘You come late, my lord,’ she said. ‘I had long ceased to expect you. I fear that there is no such welcome prepared for you as I had made when you were due.’
‘Mariners are not hard to please,’ he said.
‘That is well,’ she said; and she turned back into the house and left him. Then two women came forward, and an old crone who went down the steps. As Aldarion went in she said to the men in a loud voice so that he could hear her: ‘There is no lodging for you here. Go down to the homestead at the hill’s foot!’
‘No, Zamîn,’ said Ulbar. ‘I’ll not stay. I am for home, by the Lord Aldarion’s leave. Is all well there?’
‘Well enough,’ said she. ‘Your son has eaten himself out of your memory. But go, and find your own answers! You’ll be warmer there than your Captain.’
Erendis did not come to the table at his late evening-meal, and Aldarion was served by women in a room apart. But before he was done she entered, and said before the women: ‘You will be weary, my lord, after such haste. A guest-room is made ready for you, when you will. My women will wait on you. If you are cold, call for fire.’
Aldarion made no answer. He went early to the bedchamber, and being now weary indeed he cast himself on the bed and forgot soon the shadows of Middle-earth and of Númenor in a heavy sleep. But at cockcrow he awoke to a great disquiet and anger. He rose at once, and thought to go without noise from the house: he would find his man Henderch and the horses, and ride to his kinsman Hallatan, the sheep-lord of Hyarastorni. Later he would summon Erendis to bring his daughter to Armenelos, and not have dealings with her upon her own ground. But as he went out towards the doors Erendis came forward. She had not lain in bed that night, and she stood before him on the threshold.
‘You leave more promptly than you came, my lord,’ she said. ‘I hope that (being a mariner) you have not found this house of women irksome already, to go thus before your business is done. Indeed, what business brought you hither? May I learn it before you leave?’
‘I was told in Armenelos that my wife was here, and had removed my daughter hither,’ he answered. ‘As to the wife I am mistaken, it seems, but have I not a daughter?’
‘You had one some years ago,’ she said. ‘But my daughter has not yet risen.’
‘Then let her rise, while I go for my horse,’ said Aldarion.
Erendis would have withheld Ancalimë from meeting him at that time; but she feared to go so far as to lose the King’s favour, and the Council5 had long shown their displeasure at the upbringing of the child in the country. Therefore when Aldarion rode back, with Henderch beside him, Ancalimë stood beside her mother on the threshold. She stood erect and stiff as her mother, and made him no courtesy as he dismounted and came up the steps towards her. ‘Who are you?’ she said. ‘And why do you bid me to rise so early, before the house is stirring?’
Aldarion looked at her keenly, and though his face was stern he smiled within: for he saw there a child of his own, rather than of Erendis, for all her schooling.
‘You knew me once, Lady Ancalimë,’ he said, ‘but no matter. Today I am but a messenger from Armenelos, to remind you that you are the daughter of the King’s Heir; and (so far as I can now see) you shall be his Heir in your turn. You will not always dwell here. But go back to your bed now, my lady, until your maidservant wakes, if you will. I am in haste to see the King. Farewell!’ He kissed the hand of Ancalimë and went down the steps; then he mounted and rode away with a wave of his hand.
Erendis alone at a window watched him riding down the hill, and she marked that he rode towards Hyarastorni and not towards Armenelos. Then she wept, from grief, but still more from anger. She had looked for some penitence, that she might extend after rebuke pardon if prayed for; but he had dealt with her as if she were the offender, and ignored her before her daughter. Too late she remembered the words of Núneth long before, and she saw Aldarion now as something large and not to be tamed, driven by a fierce will, more perilous when chill. She rose, and turned from the window, thinking of her wrongs. ‘Perilous!’ she said. ‘I am steel hard to break. So he would find even were he the King of Númenor.’
Aldarion rode on to Hyarastorni, the house of Hallatan his cousin; for he had a mind to rest there a while and take thought. When he came near, he heard the sound of music, and he found the shepherds making merry for the homecoming of Ulbar, with many marvellous tales and many gifts; and the wife of Ulbar garlanded was dancing with him to the playing of pipes. At first none observed him, and he sat on his horse watching with a smile; but then suddenly Ulbar cried out ‘The Great Captain!’ and Îbal his son ran forward to Aldarion’s stirrup. ‘Lord Captain!’ he said eagerly.
‘What is it? I am in haste,’ said Aldarion; for now his mood was changed, and he felt wrathful and bitter.
‘I would but ask,’ said the boy, ‘how old must a man be, before he may go over sea in a ship, like my father?’
‘As old as the hills, and with no other hope in life,’ said Aldarion. ‘Or whenever he has a mind! But your mother, Ulbar’s son: will she not greet me?’
When Ulbar’s wife came forward Aldarion took her hand. ‘Will you receive this of me?’ he said. ‘It is but little return for six years of good man’s aid that you gave me.’ Then from a wallet under his tunic he took a jewel red like fire, upon a band of gold, and he pressed it into her hand. ‘From the King of the Elves it came,’ he said. ‘But he will think it well-bestowed, when I tell him.’ Then Aldarion bade farewell to the people there, and rode away, having no mind now to stay in that house. When Hallatan heard of his strange coming and going he marvelled, until more news ran through the countryside.
Aldarion rode only a short way from Hyarastorni and then he stayed his horse, and spoke to Henderch his companion. ‘Whatever welcome awaits you, friend, out West, I will not keep you from it. Ride now home with my thanks. I have a mind to go alone.’
‘It is not fitting. Lord Captain,’ said Henderch.
‘It is not,’ said Aldarion. ‘But that is the way of it. Farewell!’
Then he rode on alone to Armenelos, and never again set foot in Emerië.
When Aldarion left the chamber, Meneldur looked at the letter that his son had given him, wondering; for he saw that it came from King Gil-galad in Lindon. It was sealed and bore his device of white stars upon a blue rondure. Upon the outer fold was written:
Given at Mithlond to the hand of the Lord Aldarion King’s Heir of Númenórë, to be delivered to the High King at Armenelos in person.
Then Meneldur broke the seal and read:
Ereinion Gil-galad son of Fingon to Tar-Meneldur of the line of Eärendil, greeting: the Valar keep you and may no shadow fall upon the Isle of Kings.
