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Old 05-12-2006, 11:31 AM   #303
Anguirel
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Join Date: Mar 2005
Location: The 1590s
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Away-the streets of Edoras

Cuichelm's rejoinder to Manawyth's invoking of Eodwine's title had led to copious laughter from his armed freemen and sycophants. They had lost no time in hauling Manawyth up and tying him, seated backwards, bound and gagged, to a mule. The streets were none too clean after the Horse Fair and several of the less nobly minded Rohirrim seized handfuls of dung and flung them at him.

Manawyth was afforded a split-second of satisfaction when one of the townsmen aimed ill and struck the tall man-at-arms who had caused the situation full in the face. Incensed, the pompous fellow drew his sword and thrashed the offender with its flat till Cuichelm bade him stop with a lazy glance of prohibition. The Lord turned his horse until he looked the defenceless Manawyth in the eyes.

"We're going to Meduseld, Dunlending. The King and his officers have little love, so I here, for your sort, but I am an influential men, and can probably-since you are friend-moderate the hanging to a mere dismemberment. Or, of course, you could insist on the trial by ordeal and keep us all entertained. The gods know we could use a laugh at court at the moment, what with the abduction of the Queen's cousin!"

Manawyth jerked his legs ineffectually. That cousin had to be the Lady Linduial. He had talked little to her but listened much, and found enough to laugh at slyly in her naive confidence. But he was deeply saddened by the thought that the girl's spirit had punished her so soon. He knew Eodwine and Thornden-who had treated Manawyth with particular justice and kindness-were bold men and would give their all to return the young noblewoman to safety; but he felt incredibly frustrated at his complete inability to help.

The prospect of Meduseld, too, was not comforting, for he was inclined to agree with Cuichelm on the attidude of the King towards Dunlendings. It had been King Eomer who had ordered the merciless reprisals; he was known among Dunlendings, indeed, as "Edigh the Bloodied One." Manawyth had considered resorting to a call for an Ordeal before, but Cuichelm's flippancy decidedly put him off the idea.

Very well then, he thought grimly. You'll have to lose your hands, at best...or elude these forgoil fools, somehow...

***

The somehow, beyond any expectation, arrived. For when Cuichelm and his train were close to the hill topped by the Golden Hall, there was a cry of anger somewhere behind Manawyth's field of vision-that is, in front of Cuichelm-which quickly magnified in size. There seemed to be a considerable crowd blocking Cuichelm's progress, and their shouts now began to be distinctly heard-

"Down with Cuichelm! Down with the Geld!"

"No more taxes! Why should we pay when there's no war on?"

"Down with the Geld! Let the Witena have its say!"

"The King, the King! Where is he? He'd put a stop to this. Justice and the King!"

"The Geld" was a phrase Manawyth remembered a pair of dissatisfied drinkers at the Mead Hall mulling over one night. It was essentially a tax that pressed hard on the common smallfarmers, levied by King Eomer, on the advice of certain nobles, in order to pay for a future war planned, in alliance with Gondor, against Harad. The problem was that in the minds of the populace, the war was a projected, distant and rather improbable idea; the harvest share they were surrendering was rather closer at hand. It seemed that Cuichelm must have been one of the lords who had advocated the Geld, and that a party of Rohirric countrymen were protesting against him. Armed violence was probably not far off.

"Silence, men," Cuichelm bellowed. "The King shall answer your plea as and when he wishes! Go back to your farms and your cursed cattle..."

His voice was drowned out in a cacophony of disordered yells, of anger, pain, surprise and sheer meaningless human noise. Some kind of riot was evidently in order. Cuichelm shouted an order that just about carried-

"Harry them, men! Harry them!"

Then something akin to actual battle came into being. Manawyth could even see some of it now; partisans of Cuichelm clustered round each other, wielding whatever came to hand, the rebels, for that is how they now appeared, attempted to swamp them or pull them from their mounts. It was uncertain who had struck the first blow.

What was certain was that at one stage an angry Rohirric farmer cried, "The King! The King! Stop abusers of justice!" and sliced the cords that bound Manawyth. He fell from the mule in an undignified manner, clueless as to who had rescued him, and scrambled, ignored by all, out of the way. When he was clear of the surging, thronging riot, he ran all the faster. He no longer knew where he was going, but he intended to escape the farce that had caught up with him.
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