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“No, sir,” said Léof. Tell the tale – Ghem escaped – men at arms needed. Got it. And he took his leave, mounted his horse, and rode off towards Meduseld. His reproach for Eodwine had all but faded, seeing how worn Eodwine had appeared for those few moments. Responsibility seemed to ride heavily on his shoulders, at times like these, but he was still, no doubt, the most lordly man he had ever met.
Of course, that may be about to change, with him taking a message to the king himself. Léof started at the thought, and at his stiffened body Æthel halted in the middle of the road, drawing a curse from the man behind him. Jolted back to his senses, he nudged Æthel forward again, calling, “Sorry, sir” back over his shoulder.
It was obvious now – he couldn’t believe the thought hadn’t occurred to him before, although he had been more focused on the message than its place of delivery. Of course “to Meduseld” meant “to the king.” But he was hardly in any shape to go before a king! His clothes were both dusty from the stables and smudged with dirt from the battle. Perhaps he would not go before the king himself – but he rather doubted it.
Well, Eodwine thought he was fit for the job, anyway. That would be sufficient.
It was not a long ride, and at the top of the hill Léof left Æthel and ascended the broad steps up to the doors of the hall with growing trepidation. At the top he was stopped by the door warden. “What is your name, and what business do you have with the king?”
“I bring a message from Eodwine, Eorl of the Middle Emnet. I am Léofric, his ostler.”
“Very well, then. Have you any weapons?”
Léof spread his arms. “None.”
And the great doors to the hall opened, and Léof was permitted to enter. The long hall was unlike anything Léof had ever seen before, and only with effort did he keep himself from gawking once his eyes had adjusted to the dimmer interior. At the other end of the hall he stopped at what he deemed an appropriate distance from the two seated figures of King Éomer and his queen.
He was much relieved when the king spoke first, relieving him of the need to find something to say. “Greetings to you, Léofric. What message do you have?”
He found himself speaking before he even had time to wonder how his name had gone ahead of him so quickly. “It is more of a tale than a message, lord,” he began, and at Éomer’s gesture to continue, he began the story. He was no bard, he held the interest of all there as he told the story of Rilef’s arrival, and Eodwine’s venture out into the country, and the outlaws and the battle. The final part he was forced to skim over, since he only knew the barest details himself: “After locking the three remaining outlaws in the cellar, somehow they escaped, and while two have now been secured again, the one called Ghem has escaped into the city. It is this that the Lord Eodwine wishes you to know, and that he wishes word to be put out that he seeks more men at arms who will be well rewarded so that such a problem will not occur in the future.”
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