‘That must have been long ago,’ said Túrin. ‘Or so my childhood now seems, and a mist is over it – save only the memory of my father’s house in Dor-lómin. Why would I walk with an elf-maiden?’
‘To learn what she could teach, maybe,’ said Beleg, ‘if no more than a few elven-words of the names of woodland flowers. Their names at least you have not forgotten. Alas! child of Men, there are other griefs in Middle-earth than yours, and wounds made by no weapon. Indeed I begin to think that Elves and Men should not meet or meddle.’
Túrin said nothing, but looked long in Beleg’s face, as if he would read in it the riddle of his words. Nellas of Doriath never saw him again, and his shadow passed from her. Now Beleg and Túrin turned to other matters, debating where they should dwell. ‘Let us return to Dimbar, on the north-marches, where once we walked together!’ said Beleg eagerly. ‘We are needed there. For of late the Orcs have found a way down out of Taur-nu-Fuin, making a road through the Pass of Anach.’
‘I do not remember it,’ said Túrin.
‘No, we never went so far from the borders,’ said Beleg. ‘But you have seen the peaks of the Crissaegrim far off, and to their east the dark walls of the Gorgoroth. Anach lies between them, above the high springs of Mindeb. A hard and dangerous way; and yet many come by it now, and Dimbar which used to lie in peace is falling under the Dark Hand, and the Men of Brethil are troubled. To Dimbar I call you!’
‘Nay, I will not walk backward in life,’ said Túrin. ‘Nor can I come easily to Dimbar now. Sirion lies between, unbridged and unforded below the Brithiach far northward; it is perilous to cross. Save in Doriath. But I will not pass into Doriath, and make use of Thingol’s leave and pardon.’
‘A hard man you have called yourself, Túrin. Truly, if by that you meant stubborn. Now the turn is mine. I will go, by your leave, as soon as I may, and bid you farewell. If you wish indeed to have the Strongbow beside you, look for me in Dimbar.’ At that time Túrin said no more.
The next day Beleg set out, and Túrin went with him a bowshot from the camp, but said nothing. ‘Is it farewell, then, son of Húrin?’ said Beleg.
‘If you wish indeed to keep your word and stay beside me,’ answered Túrin, ‘then look for me on Amon Rûdh!’ Thus he spoke, being fey and unwitting of what lay before him. ‘Else, this is our last farewell.’
‘Maybe that is best,’ said Beleg, and went his way.
It is said that Beleg went back to Menegroth, and came before Thingol and Melian and told them of all that had happened, save only his evil handling by Túrin’s companions. Then Thingol sighed, and he said: ‘I took up the fathering of the son of Húrin, and that cannot be laid down for love or hate, unless Húrin the Valiant himself should return. What more would he have me do?’
But Melian said: ‘A gift you shall now have of me, Cúthalion, for your help, and your honour, for I have none worthier to give.’ And she gave him a store of lembas, the waybread of the Elves, wrapped in leaves of silver; and the threads that bound it were sealed at the knots with the seal of the Queen, a wafer of white wax shaped as a single flower of Telperion. For according to the customs of the Eldalië the keeping and the giving of this food belonged to the Queen alone. ‘This waybread, Beleg,’ she said, ‘shall be your help in the wild and the winter, and the help also of those whom you choose. For I commit this now to you, to apportion as you will in my stead.’ In nothing did Melian show greater favour to Túrin than in this gift; for the Eldar had never before allowed Men to use this waybread, and seldom did so again.
Then Beleg departed from Menegroth and went back to the north-marches, where he had his lodges, and many friends; but when winter came, and war was stilled, suddenly his companions missed Beleg, and he returned to them no more.
CHAPTER VII
OF MÎM THE DWARF
Now the tale turns to Mîm the Petty-dwarf. The Petty-dwarves are long out of mind, for Mîm was the last. Little was known of them even in days of old. The Nibin-nogrim the Elves of Beleriand called them long ago, but they did not love them; and the Petty-dwarves loved none but themselves. If they hated and feared the Orcs, they hated also the Eldar, and the Exiles most of all; for the Noldor, they said, had stolen their lands and their homes. Nargothrond was first found and its delving begun by the Petty-dwarves, long before Finrod Felagund came over the Sea.
They came, some said, of Dwarves that had been banished from the Dwarf-cities of the east in ancient days. Long before the return of Morgoth they had wandered westward. Being masterless and few in number, they found it hard to come by the ore of metals, and their smith-craft and store of weapons dwindled; and they took to lives of stealth, and became somewhat smaller in stature than their eastern kin, walking with bent shoulders and quick, furtive steps. Nonetheless, as all the Dwarf-kind, they were far stronger than their stature promised, and they could cling to life in great hardship. But now at last they had dwindled and died out of Middle-earth, all save Mîm and his two sons; and Mîm was old even in the reckoning of Dwarves, old and forgotten.
After the departure of Beleg (and that was in the second summer after the flight of Túrin from Doriath) things went ill for the outlaws. There were rains out of season, and Orcs in greater numbers than before came down from the North and along the old South Road over Teiglin, troubling all the woods on the west borders of Doriath. There was little safety or rest, and the company were more often hunted than hunters.
One night as they lay lurking in the fireless dark, Túrin looked on his life, and it seemed to him that it might well be bettered. ‘I must find some secure refuge,’ he thought, ‘and make provision against winter and hunger.’ But he did not know whither to turn.
Next day he led his men away southward, further than they had yet come from the Teiglin and the marches of Doriath; and after three days’ journeying they halted at the western edge of the woods of Sirion’s Vale. There the land was drier and barer, as it began to climb up into the moorlands.
Soon after, it chanced that as the grey light of a day of rain was failing Túrin and his men were sheltering in a holly-thicket; and beyond it was a treeless space, in which there were many great stones, leaning or tumbled together. All was still, save for the drip of rain from the leaves.
Suddenly a watchman gave a call, and leaping up they saw three hooded shapes, grey-clad, going stealthily among the stones. They were burdened each with a great sack, but they went swiftly for all that. Túrin cried to them to halt, and the men ran out on them like hounds; but they held on their way, and though Andróg shot at them two vanished in the dusk. One lagged behind, being slower or more heavily burdened; and he was soon seized and thrown down, and held by many hard hands, though he struggled and bit like a beast. But Túrin came up, and rebuked his men. ‘What have you there?’ he said. ‘What need to be so fierce? It is old and small. What harm is in it?’
‘It bites,’ said Andróg, nursing a bleeding hand. ‘It is an Orc, or of Orc-kin. Kill it!’
‘It deserves no less, for cheating our hope,’ said another, who had taken the sack. ‘There is nothing here but roots and small stones.’
‘Nay,’ said Túrin, ‘it is bearded. It is only a Dwarf, I guess. Let him up, and speak.’
So it was that Mîm came into the Tale of the Children of Húrin. For he stumbled up on his knees before Túrin’s feet and begged for his life. ‘I am old,’ he said, ‘and poor. Only a Dwarf, as you say, not an Orc. Mîm is my name. Do not let them slay me, master, for no cause, as Orcs would.’
Then Túrin pitied him in his heart, but he said: ‘Poor you seem, Mîm, though that would be strange in a Dwarf; but we are poorer, I think: houseless and friendless Men. If I said that we do not spare for pity’s sake only, being in great need, what would you offer for ransom?’
‘I do not know what you desire, lord,’ said Mîm warily. ‘At this time, little enough!’ said Túrin, looking about him bitterly with rain in his eyes. ‘A safe place to sleep in out of the damp woods. Doubtless you have such f
or yourself.’
‘I have,’ said Mîm; ‘but I cannot give it in ransom. I am too old to live under the sky.’
‘You need grow no older,’ said Andróg, stepping up with a knife in his unharmed hand. ‘I can spare you that.’
‘Lord!’ cried Mîm in great fear, clinging to Túrin’s knees. ‘If I lose my life, you lose the dwelling; for you will not find it without Mîm. I cannot give it, but I will share it. There is more room in it than once there was, so many have gone for ever,’ and he began to weep.
‘Your life is spared, Mîm,’ said Túrin.
‘Till we come to his lair, at least,’ said Andróg.
But Túrin turned upon him, and said: ‘If Mîm brings us to his home without trickery, and it is good, then his life is ransomed; and he shall not be slain by any man who follows me. So I swear.’
Then Mîm kissed Túrin’s knees and said: ‘Mîm will be your friend, lord. At first he thought you were an Elf, by your speech and your voice. But if you are a Man, that is better. Mîm does not love Elves.’
‘Where is this house of yours?’ said Andróg. ‘It must be good indeed to share it with a Dwarf. For Andróg does not like Dwarves. His people brought few good tales of that race out of the East.’
‘They left worse tales of themselves behind them,’ said Mîm. ‘Judge my home when you see it. But you will need light on your way, you stumbling Men. I will return in good time and lead you.’ Then he rose and picked up his sack.
‘No, no!’ said Andróg. ‘You will not allow this, surely, captain? You would never see the old rascal again.’
‘It is growing dark,’ said Túrin. ‘Let him leave us some pledge. Shall we keep your sack and its load, Mîm?’
But at this the Dwarf fell on his knees again in great trouble. ‘If Mîm did not mean to return, he would not return for an old sack of roots,’ he said. ‘I will come back. Let me go!’
‘I will not,’ said Túrin. ‘If you will not part with your sack, you must stay with it. A night under the leaves will make you pity us in your turn, maybe.’ But he marked, and others also, that Mîm set more store by the sack and his load than it seemed worth to the eye.
They led the old Dwarf away to their dismal camp, and as he went he muttered in a strange tongue that seemed harsh with ancient hatred; but when they put bonds on his legs he went suddenly quiet. And those who were on the watch saw him sitting on through the night silent and still as a stone, save for his sleepless eyes that glinted as they roved in the dark.
Before morning the rain ceased, and a wind stirred in the trees. Dawn came more brightly than for many days, and light airs from the South opened the sky, pale and clear about the rising of the sun. Mîm sat on without moving, and he seemed as if dead; for now the heavy lids of his eyes were closed, and the morning-light showed him withered and shrunken with age. Túrin stood and looked down on him. ‘There is light enough now,’ he said.
Then Mîm opened his eyes and pointed to his bonds; and when he was released he spoke fiercely. ‘Learn this, fools!’ he said. ‘Do not put bonds on a Dwarf! He will not forgive it. I do not wish to die, but for what you have done my heart is hot. I repent my promise.’
‘But I do not,’ said Túrin. ‘You will lead me to your home. Till then we will not speak of death. That is my will.’ He looked steadfastly in the eyes of the Dwarf, and Mîm could not endure it; few indeed could challenge the eyes of Túrin in set will or in wrath. Soon he turned away his head, and rose. ‘Follow me, lord!’ he said.
‘Good!’ said Túrin. ‘But now I will add this: I understand your pride. You may die, but you shall not be set in bonds again.’
‘I will not,’ said Mîm. ‘But come now!’ And with that he led them back to the place where he had been captured, and he pointed westward. ‘There is my home!’ he said. ‘You have often seen it, I guess, for it is tall. Sharbhund we called it, before the Elves changed all the names.’ Then they saw that he was pointing to Amon Rûdh, the Bald Hill, whose bare head watched over many leagues of the wild.
‘We have seen it, but never nearer,’ said Andróg. ‘For what safe lair can be there, or water, or any other thing that we need? I guessed that there was some trick. Do men hide on a hill-top?’
‘Long sight may be safer than lurking,’ said Túrin. ‘Amon Rûdh gazes far and wide. Well, Mîm, I will come and see what you have to show. How long will it take us, stumbling Men, to come thither?’
‘All this day until dusk, if we start now,’ answered Mîm.
Soon the company set out westward, and Túrin went at the head with Mîm at his side. They walked warily when they left the woods, but all the land seemed empty and quiet. They passed over the tumbled stones, and began to climb; for Amon Rûdh stood upon the eastern edge of the high moorlands that rose between the vales of Sirion and Narog, and even above the stony heath at its base its crown was reared up a thousand feet and more. Upon the eastern side a broken land climbed slowly up to the high ridges among knots of birch and rowan, and ancient thorn-trees rooted in rock. Beyond, upon the moors and about the lower slopes of Amon Rûdh, there grew thickets of aeglos; but its steep grey head was bare, save for the red seregon that mantled the stone.
As the afternoon was waning the outlaws drew near to the roots of the hill. They came now from the north, for so Mîm had led them, and the light of the westering sun fell upon the crown of Amon Rûdh, and the seregon was all in flower.
‘See! There is blood on the hill-top,’ said Andróg. ‘Not yet,’ said Túrin.
The sun was sinking and light was failing in the hollows. The hill now loomed up before them and above them, and they wondered what need there could be of a guide to so plain a mark. But as Mîm led them on, and they began to climb the last steep slopes, they perceived that he was following some path by secret signs or old custom. Now his course wound to and fro, and if they looked aside they saw that at either hand dark dells and chines opened, or the land ran down into wastes of great stones with falls and holes masked by bramble and thorn. There without a guide they might have laboured and clambered for days to find a way.
At length they came to steeper but smoother ground. They passed under the shadows of ancient rowan-trees, into aisles of long-legged aeglos: a gloom filled with a sweet scent. Then suddenly there was a rock-wall before them, flat-faced and sheer, forty feet high, maybe, but dusk dimmed the sky above them and guess was uncertain.
‘Is this the door of your house?’ said Túrin. ‘Dwarves love stone, it is said.’ He drew close to Mîm, lest he should play them some trick at the last.
‘Not the door of the house, but the gate of the garth,’ said Mîm. Then he turned to the right along the cliff-foot, and after twenty paces he halted suddenly; and Túrin saw that by the work of hands or of weather there was a cleft so shaped that two faces of the wall overlapped, and an opening ran back to the left between them. Its entrance was shrouded by long trailing plants rooted in crevices above, but within there was a steep stony path going upward in the dark. Water trickled down it, and it was dank.
One by one they filed up. At the top the path turned right and south again, and brought them through a thicket of thorns out upon a green flat, through which it ran on into the shadows. They had come to Mîm’s house, Bar-en-Nibin-noeg, which only ancient tales in Doriath and Nargothrond remembered, and no Men had seen. But night was falling, and the east was starlit, and they could not yet see how this strange place was shaped.
Amon Rûdh had a crown: a great mass like a steep cap of stone with a bare flattened top. Upon its north side there stood out from it a shelf, level and almost square, which could not be seen from below; for behind it stood the hill-crown like a wall, and west and east from its brink sheer cliffs fell. Only from the north, as they had come, could it be reached with ease by those who knew the way. From the ‘gate’ a path led, and passed soon into a little grove of dwarfed birches growing about a clear pool in a rock-hewn basin. This was fed by a spring at the foot of the wall behind, and through a
runnel it spilled like a white thread over the western brink of the shelf. Behind the screen of the trees, near the spring between two tall buttresses of rock, there was a cave. No more than a shallow grot it looked, with a low broken arch; but further in it had been deepened and bored far under the hill by the slow hands of the Petty-dwarves, in the long years that they had dwelt there, untroubled by the Grey-elves of the woods.
Through the deep dusk Mîm led them past the pool, where now the faint stars were mirrored among the shadows of the birch-boughs. At the mouth of the cave he turned and bowed to Túrin. ‘Enter, lord!’ he said: ‘Bar-en-Danwedh, the House of Ransom. For so it shall be called.’
‘That may be,’ said Túrin. ‘I will look at it first.’ Then he went in with Mîm, and the others, seeing him unafraid, followed behind, even Andróg, who most misdoubted the Dwarf. They were soon in a black dark; but Mîm clapped his hands, and a little light appeared, coming round a corner: from a passage at the back of the outer grot there stepped another Dwarf bearing a small torch.
‘Ha! I missed him, as I feared!’ said Andróg. But Mîm spoke quickly with the other in their own harsh tongue, and seeming troubled or angered by what he heard, he darted into the passage and disappeared. Now Andróg was all for going forward. ‘Attack first!’ he cried. ‘There may be a hive of them; but they are small.’
‘Three only, I guess,’ said Túrin; and he led the way, while behind him the outlaws groped along the passage by the feel of the rough walls. Many times it bent this way and that at sharp angles; but at last a faint light gleamed ahead, and they came into a small but lofty hall, dim-lit by lamps hanging down out of the roof-shadow upon fine chains. Mîm was not there, but his voice could be heard, and led by it Túrin came to the door of a chamber opening at the back of the hall. Looking in, he saw Mîm kneeling on the floor. Beside him stood silent the Dwarf with the torch; but on a stone couch by the far wall lay another. ‘Khîm, Khîm, Khîm!’ the old Dwarf wailed, tearing at his beard.
The Children of Húrin Page 9
