Chapter Text
“I am the Ambassador of Sauron the Great, and I will not be treated like this!”
“And yet it must be so. No disrespect is intended, and there are others you see in this room who will have to leave now, for none who are not part of the Council may be present when it weighs up a matter of state.”
“I care not what rules apply to others. Do you realise how exceptional this offer is? Sauron the Great is extending a hand of friendship to your little country.”
Hamûjil raised his own hand in a delicate gesture of appeasement. His eyes sought the face of a young woman who stood nearby, and she smiled.
“Our customs, Ambassador,” said Hamûjil, “are our own and we do not change them to suit strangers, no matter their rank. The Council will speak behind closed doors. My wife, if it pleases her, will take you around the sights of our city, and afterwards you are invited to join us for our feasting. If this is not to your liking, you can withdraw to the chambers prepared for you, where ease and comfort await you. Thus say I, Archseraph of Kûz.”
Sauron’s ambassador looked for a moment as if he would strike the Archseraph, but he mastered his anger and spoke in guarded tones: “So be it. I shall go around your city with your wife.”
“…if it pleases her,” Hamûjil added.
“It pleases me,” said the young woman. She regarded the ambassador with her calm, dark eyes. “You have declined to tell us your name, but I see no reason not to tell you mine. I am the Seraphine Majani. If you follow me, we will set off straight away. Your guards meanwhile may go and refresh themselves in the halls of the servants after their long labour.”
“Long labour?” The ambassador sneered. “They have but stood behind my chair. Are the people of Kûz so feeble that they consider it toil to stand guard by their masters?”
“Standing while others sit on cushions of silk may seem more arduous to those who stand than to those who sit,” said the Seraphine with a smile. “Come now. The city is peaceful and safe. I will take a couple of guards of my own, which should suffice for us both. Surely you do not fear me?”
It would have been hard indeed to think of something to fear from Majani, who was small of stature and soft of face, and whose limbs, clad in sunset colours, moved with the languor of a fine lady accustomed to leisure and luxury. Whether he was truly convinced by the Seraphine’s assurance or whether he simply could not think of a reply, in any case the ambassador gave his guards a sign of dismissal and walked with Majani out of the Council Chamber, down the grand stairs and out onto the plaza in front of the palace.
Here a number of chariots were always held in readiness for the royal household. They appeared to be wrought of gold and it seemed impossible that even without any passengers such a heavy weight could be pulled by the bini, the dainty horses of Kûz, that stood in harness, but in truth they were merely painted golden and were woven of a kind of reed. This reed was tough but lightweight and it grew in abundance along the shores of the Sea of Calma, not twelve miles to the west, and the Kûzeen found many uses for it in their homes and places of business. In the streets of Levare, many such chariots moved about, though only those of the royal household were painted gold and upholstered in red and green silks, since red, green and gold were the colours of the Seraphs.
“Ahead of us you see the Avenue of Peach Trees,” said Majani as she took the reins. “It leads all the way through the city to the far end where the Houses of the Powers are. You are in luck and will see Levare at its best, for the peach trees are in bloom, and the sun has come out today after many days of rain. How fortunate that you arrived just as the Council was assembling for their spring meeting!”
A shrill shriek tore through the air.
“No need to flinch” said Majani. “That was one of the peacocks that roam the palace gardens. They are as noisy as they are beautiful.”
“I did not flinch,” said the ambassador.
-oOoOo-
The Council Chamber had been crowded with all the guards, the messengers, the entourages of the Archseraph and the Seraphine; indeed because there had not been seats enough for all, many had been lining the walls, obscuring the precious silk hangings. But all had left now apart from those for whom this chamber was designed, and the heavy cedar doors were closed.
In the sudden silence, Hamûjil willed his hands to lie lightly and still on the armrests of the Peacock Throne. His Council was arrayed around him in a wide half circle. Most of them were Kûzeen: the Wardens, Mayors and Guild Leaders, as well as the two insitters, chosen by lot for this one session only. They all wore, men and women alike, the brightly coloured tunics and loose-fitting pants that were the customary garb of the Kûzeen, some of silk and some of wool, depending on their means. But there was also the gaunt figure of the Guardian in his deep blue robe, and behind him stood, as was her preference, the leader of the Tree Women. The chair next to the Guardian was empty.
“My friends,” Hamûjil said, “I will hear you all in turn. Speak your minds clearly and without fear of embarrassment. Who will be first?”
Baja rose up, the Mayor of the port of Mil Nahara. “I counsel caution,” she said. “We know so little of this Sauron, and of this country of Mordor of which the ambassador speaks. The alliance he proposes may be a boon, or it may be a trap. We should decide nothing until we find out more. The Wanderer is not here today. It is he who knows most of the lands that lie to the west. We should consult him when he returns from his travels. Let us delay. The ambassador, if he pleases, may stay with us as an honoured guest.”
“This ambassador will not put up with delay tactics,” said young Leyo, the newly elected Leader of the Guild of Artisans. “Nor will he be satisfied with an evasive answer. And why should he be? His master seems powerful and yet eager to learn from us. We have many skills to teach. He says he has gifts to offer. Let us welcome him and sign a treaty that will increase our might and our wealth.”
“Hear, hear!”
“I agree with Master Leyo,” said the Mayor of Najûn. “We have always thrived because we have lived in friendship with all our neighbours, and now the chance offers to build a friendship with a power far away. I do not see how this could be anything but good for us. What kind of trap could it possibly be? This country is two thousand miles away. At best there will be an exchange of messengers and a little trade. We have nothing to fear and everything to gain.”
Several of the Kûzeen hummed and nodded in agreement, but now the Warden of Hill stood up. His name was Olan, and his charge was the easternmost region of Kûz: Hill on the slopes of the Orocarni, the Red Mountains. He was a stout man of middling age, big for a Kûzeen, with a booming voice. He had held the office of Warden for nearly fifteen years and, like the people of Hill who gave him their vote, he remained sceptical of the New Way.
“My friends,” he began, though some on the Council did not view him with a friendly eye. “I am surprised at how many of you seem to know nothing of Sauron. I cannot claim to know much, but I know that his name is evil and that the arrival of this ambassador spells trouble for Kûz. You have seen how this man conducted himself here in this very room, how he raised his voice at the Archseraph. Has the New Way made us so feeble that we accept such an insult, even reward it? Are you willing to put your trust in people who show us no respect? What good could possibly come from this? No, no, we must take a firm stand, though we should be in no doubt that perils lie ahead.”
Some who had nodded first at Leyo’s speech now seemed to be swayed and murmured in Olan’s support, and others looked thoughtful but not convinced. To some of them, it seemed a matter of little importance, while there were still other questions to discuss of improving the North Road and of devising a message to the dwarves regarding the price of iron, and already the afternoon was wearing on. None stood up after Olan sat down, and they looked towards the Archseraph to see if he would propose coming to a vote. But Hamûjil looked at the Guardian.
“Alatar, what say you?”
The Guardian arose. He was as unlike the Kûzeen seated around him as a cat is unlike a rabbit. They were short, and many of them a little plump, but he was tall, and lean from many years of living a simple life in the Sacred Cave. His skin was darker than theirs and there was not a hair on his head or his face. “I have much to say on this matter. More than you would care to hear, no doubt, on this sunny day. I am afraid you are all mistaken. Olan is right, it is not true that we know little about Sauron. There are those of us who know him all too well. If you have never asked the Tree Women why they came to this part of Middle-earth, perhaps you should ask now. That is, if Fimbrethil is willing to tell the story.”
“I am willing.” The councillors turned in their seats to look at the Tree Woman. She swayed a little, as her kind always did when at rest, and her cap of budding leaves nearly touched the high ceiling of the chamber. “I will tell you about the gardens we had in the West…”
-oOoOo-
“And here we honour the great Powers to whom we owe everything, the Powers of Light, of Air, of Earth, of Water and of Life. The holy ones live here in the grounds and they have dedicated their lives to wisdom and to contemplating the Powers, but all the people of Kûz may visit the Houses, and we get many pilgrims. But I see I have tired you with too much lore. Forgive me. Let us return to the palace.”
Majani spoke a short word and the bini turned the chariot around. The sun was now shining in their faces, but it was softened by a haze that rose from the inland sea, and it was far advanced in its descent to the horizon, pink and orange rather than white and burning. It glinted on the silver spires of the palace, almost a mile away.
The ambassador had said little while Majani had driven him through the streets of Levare, capital of the “little country” Sauron wished to befriend. In times of old, she had told him, the seat of the Archseraph was in the city of Najûn, some four hundred miles to the North of Levare. Najûn sat on a narrow point of the Navan peninsula on a plateau between two steep hills, and in ancient times when Kûz was still troubled by quarrels with the dwarves and by fierce beasts from the mountains, Najûn was thus sheltered and easy to defend. But those threats were far in the past now, and the people of Najûn had flourished and grown, crowding a city with no space to expand. So the Archseraph Damûjil, great-great-grandfather to the current Archseraph, had conceived a new capital in the fertile plains of the South, and had willed it to be a place of great beauty, and of easy life for all who dwelled there.
The City of Bridges, as Levare was also known, was built by a canal set in an oval shape all around the inner town, with five shorter canals cutting across it and dividing the inner town into six so-called rungs. In the Sixth Rung, closest to the palace, stood the mansions of the foremost families, while the Fifth Rung held mostly public buildings like the library, the infirmary and the baths. The Second Rung was the site of the main market and of many shops and workshops. In the other rungs were found the homes of the Kûzeen and in the First Rung also many guesthouses for pilgrims and visitors. Further homes lined the far side of the oval canal; this was the outer town, connected to the inner one by many bridges. Altogether some fifteen-thousand people lived in Levare.
Majani had spoken, and pointed, and made sure that the ambassador saw the great seashell shape of the Tower of Knowledge where the three Seekers and their adherents strove for deeper understanding, and the throngs in the market place, and the big store houses, and the splendour of the carvings on the five marble bridges over which the Avenue of Peach Trees crossed the canals. The main thoroughfares of Levare, she had told the ambassador, were adorned with patterns of a pale red paint that not only added beauty, but gave a faint light in the night and enough warmth to keep the streets free from snow and ice in the winter. Majani had extolled the virtues of the rooftop gardens that crowned many of the houses, and had shown him workshops where the “feeble” Kûzeen were busy with many crafts. He had been obliged to observe the potters and the glass blowers, the silk weavers and stone masons, and those who bent, carved and braided the stronggrass, as the Kûzeen called the stems of a fast-growing plant from their southern woodlands. See these fine benches that offer succour to our people as they walk through our town! Look upon the great pyramids of oranges and the myriad bundles of fresh greens at the market stalls! Smell the rich scent of cloves, of cinnamon, of pepper and of mace! Listen to the music flowing from the doors of the coffee houses! Behold! Regard! Admire!
But finally she had mercy on him, and as they drove back on the Avenue of Peach Trees towards the palace, she kept silent and let the city speak for itself. The peach blossoms shimmered in the late light, and gently snowed their petals onto the grass below. The canals were busy with rowing boats, the streets with people walking, and here and there with bini-drawn chariots. Some folk waved a greeting at the Seraphine, but most were engrossed in their own affairs.
“Your husband the Archseraph,” said the ambassador after a while, “bears a heavy burden for one so young. We know that his mother died not a year ago. He has little experience of statecraft. I hope you will advise him well and urge him to look with favour on our offer. Such an offer is not likely to be made again.”
Majani turned towards the ambassador, whose face she had barely regarded during their outing. He was not ill-favoured, but his skin was pale, paler even than that of the Krâ who lived on the other side of the inland sea. As if to reassure herself, Majani glanced at the warm brown skin of her own hands. She smiled, but she did not look back at the ambassador.
“The old Archseraphine taught my husband in statecraft from an early age. But that is beside the point. In this matter, it is the Council who will decide, not the Archseraph.”
The ambassador scoffed. “Your ruler’s will does not hold sway over his advisors?”
“So say our laws, and they have served us well.”
Nothing more was spoken between them until they reached the palace.
-oOoOo-
When Fimbrethil had finished her tale, the faces of the Kûzeen were grave with dismay, and some felt foolish and wished they could take back the words they had spoken earlier.
“Some of this was known to me,” said Hamûjil, “and the names of Sauron and Mordor are to the Seraphs as a menace on the edge of hearing or a shadow in the corner of our eye. But I never thought that across all the miles that lie between us, Sauron would think of us and try to lay his finger on us. Alatar, you have counselled me in the past that it was enough for me to be warned against Sauron. Will you not now tell us all you know?”
“All I know? Do these good people not wish to return home to their tables and their beds? Even of Sauron I know more than could be told before the week is out. But this only you need to hear: He was once the servant of Morgoth, the great Enemy who waged war on the Valar, the very Powers I have taught you to revere. Morgoth was overcome by the Powers, and Sauron is the greatest force for evil that now remains in Middle-earth. His hatred is bent towards the West, and from the East he seeks to draw the strength of armies he needs to battle those who oppose him. Do not become a tool in his hand.”
There were mutterings of “No!” and “Of course not” but Warden Olan raised a hand to speak.
“It is as I feared. Sauron is evil and powerful and there can be no doubt about this since we have heard now how he destroyed the land of the Tree Women. I am no longer so convinced though that we should take a firm stand. Who knows what he might do if we risk his wrath in rejecting his offer. Should we not seek to appease him?”
“You cannot appease Sauron,” replied Alatar, “and his wrath falls on everyone in the end, unless they become his willing slaves. But his mind looks ever towards Gondor, and he finds servants in many places. You are not a war-like people, and this alliance he offers I believe to be only his little gamble. He has no real need of us. Let us hope that this and the two thousand miles of steppe between us will be or protection.”
Hamûjil looked around the chamber, and as none of the councillors showed a desire to speak, he arose from the Peacock Throne.
“We have heard what we had to hear,” he said. “Now let us vote, and as we vote, remember the Way of Light to which we are committed.”
-oOoOo-
There was feasting that evening in the palace, and though the Council had made a decision, none spoke about it as it was the Archseraph alone who could make such a proclamation. The ambassador tried this guild leader and that mayor, but all they said was to wait for the Archseraph to speak. He urged Majani to tell him, but she only laughed and said she didn’t know herself. And so he had to feign good graces and sit at the table eating and drinking wine and listening to the chatter all around him. Would the cranes return before the geese or after? Was the Seraphine’s newest poem her best yet? Whose summer house by the inland sea was in need of repair? The ambassador clenched his jaw and swallowed more bitter words than sips of wine.
At last the following morning Hamûjil sent word to assemble again in the Council Chamber and there he sat with Majani to his left and the ambassador to his right. Once again the room was crowded. Most who sat or stood there did not yet know what would be announced, and they shared their speculations with each other. But the councillors took care that their faces gave no clue.
Then Hamûjil arose and spoke.
“Honoured ambassador. Citizens of Kûz. I thank you for following my call to this meeting. Hear then what I, Archseraph of Kûz, have to say. This is the decision of the Council of Kûz: We thank Sauron the Great for the offer of an alliance he has sent us through his ambassador. We have used all our wisdom to weigh up this offer and we have decided to decline. We have no need of his support, nor do we wish to diminish our independence. But we hope he will, as a gesture of our goodwill, accept our gifts.”
Hamûjil made a sign and a number of attendants stepped forward and set down in front of the ambassador open boxes that contained bales of bright silk, ornaments of silver filigree, delicate vessels of coloured glass, and other works of Kûzar skill. But the ambassador now dropped all pretence of courtesy, and he jumped up from his seat and kicked at the boxes.
“Sauron does not want your trinkets!” he snarled. And that same hour, he departed.