The first thing that caught my eye as I drew near Bennie’s property were several tents of various gayly coloured materials and sizes located near the bottom of the pasture. I assumed these harbored the stores of food and drink. The largest of the tents was constructed of a sturdy, white cloth, atop which a large flag decorated with the image of an imposing, green scaled dragon fluttered in the breeze. A banner across the open front flap of the tent proclaimed in a carefully lettered script, "The Finest Ale and Beer, provided by The Green Dragon, Bywater."
I learned later that there had been something of a fierce competition amongst the local public houses as to which would be awarded the right to what is known as an "occasional license," an official, but temporary document allowing a publican to proffer his beverages off premises. Only one was to be sanctioned, on this occasion and as the official with the power to grant such a potentially lucrative permit, Mayor Will Whitfoot had found himself on the receiving end of many tempting offers, as just about every tavern from the Ivy Bush and the Green Dragon to the Golden Perch in Stock and the Floating Log of Frogmorton vied for the rights to occasional license. It was rumoured that the good mayor was now in possession of enough fine spirits to supply countless mayoral banquets for many seasons to come. (But that is another story in itself.)
I picked my way through small throngs of country folk who were trickling onto the property returning greetings here and there and as I passed the Green Dragon tent I caught sight of Sam’s Gaffer and several of his cronies leaning quite comfortably against some barrels of ale and porter that graced the entrance of the makeshift tavern. At the Gaffer’s, "Hullo!" I halted in my progress to the stables and enquired of him as to the whereabouts of Sam.
"Why, ‘e took himself off to the paddock, Mr. Frodo, about twenty minutes ago. But ‘e was wonderin’ when you’d be along."
I decided that it would probably be for the best if I, too, ‘took myself off’ to the paddock. So, I politely declined the invitation to join the Gaffer and company in the pleasures of the ale tent. I followed a well trodden path which showed evidence of its former use by the many imprints of hoofs worn into the packed soil. Of course, I knew that the path led to the barn and paddock and I was sure to find, without fail, Bennie. My instincts proved right. She was there, along with a couple of slightly flustered stableboys, among others, least of which included Sam.
"Where have you been?" The question came simultaneously from Sam and Bennie.
"It does take some time to walk form Bag End to Fanciful Farm, you know. I only just arrived."
"Well, you’re here now and that’s what matters." Bennie replied. There was a look in her eyes that bespoke her relief, as if she might have actually thought that I would toss off the race and relegate myself to the role of onlooker.
We were prevented by any further discussion of my tardiness by the arrival of Lotho. By now the normal colouring of his pock-marked face had returned and he seemed to have recovered his bravado as well. He made a great show of riding his spirited pony into the paddock area ending in a series of tight circles during which his mount bounced lightly on front hooves, accompanied by much grunting and snorting. (From the pony, not Lotho.) Then Lotho loudly requested the services of a stableboy or groom.
Bennie had watched this performance with evident distaste and now she remarked, "You should have brought along your own stable hand. My grooms are too busy with their own duites to attend to showoffs. But you can tether your pony over there." She finished with a curt nod in the direction of a neatly spaced hitching posts, which had recently been added for the benefit of the race participants.
Lotho seemed undisturbed by her comment, merely grinning coldly and doffing his cap to her, before giving his pony a swift kick in the side to urge him to the other end of the paddock.
"That Lotho’s got some eye catchin’ piece o’ ‘orseflesh." Sam worried outloud as he watched the pony in question paw and toss its head.
"Not to worry." Bennie replied. "I know that bloodline, all show and no substance."
Turning my eyes from the flashy steed, I said, "I wonder where Fastred is? I expect he’ll be arriving at any minute."
"Most likely ‘e’s stopped off at the ale tent." Sam surmised.
"Well," I said with a sigh, " I suppose I should look in on Patch."
"Patch is fine. Sam gave him a good grooming early this morning." Said Bennie.
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "How long have you been here, Sam?"
"Oh, ‘bout two or three hours, Oi guess. Oi just wanted to be sure that everything was in order."
"Meaning...he knows how you like to sleep late." Bennie cut in with a laugh.
"Well, Sam I do appreciate it, but you really needn’t have. Besides, I thought you planned on riding , too. Don’t you have enough to do?" I knew that he had intended to ride the mare that his Gaffer had purchased from Bennie some time back.
Sam shrugged. "Weren’t no trouble, and to tell the truth, Oi’m not so sure I’ll be racin’ today. Gingersnap seems to ‘ave other ideas, and she let me know on the way over here." He finished, absently putting a hand to his backside.
It wasn’t long before there was quite a gathering in the paddock area. Entrants seemed to be arriving by the minute, among them my cousins, Merry and Pippin. Falco Boffin was not far behind. I looked around the paddock searching for some sign of Mundee, but as yet, I hadn’t seen her. Some part of me hoped that she had come to her senses and given up her foolish plan to ride. I was positive the girl had no idea of how dangerous this race might really turn out. There was also no sign of Fastred, either. I had to agree with Sam’s theory. Fastred would rather spend time in the pub than in the saddle.
"Come on," Bennie said, taking my arm. "There’s still plenty of time before the race. We have practically the whole afternoon and some of the other games will be starting soon. Let’s grab an ale, a bite to eat and a good seat."
Merry and Pippin decided to hang back at the paddock for a bit and wait for another cousin, Braedon Took who was also entered in the race. As yet, Braedon hadn’t shown up, but Merry and Pip were only inclined to wait so long. The tempting aromas from the various food carts that mingled and wafted in the air was beginning to make Merry’s stomach growl. And Pippin, it seemed, happened to be entered in one of the first events of the day, a foot race that employed a skillful combination of hopping on one foot, stepping though a series of cart wheels laid upon the ground, then finishing with a grand leap over a raised pole. The event was listed as the "Hop, Step and Leap," however, most of the more rustic gentry referred to it, the ‘Hop, Step and Lep.’
I can’t say that Bennie seemed sorry that my two lively cousins wouldn’t be joining us at the moment. However, Sam stepped in and took their place and though she tried not to let on, it was obvious that being bird-dogged by Sam was not exactly her idea of a good time. As we left the paddock in the hands of the harried stable boys, I pondered breifly on the absence of her parents. But I soon learned that Lavender was in the tea tent, which meant that Bodo was most likely in the Green Dragon tent. I wondered if he was keeping company with Fastred...
We followed the smell of sausages and as we waited for the vendor to dispense three plump and juicy servings there came to my ears the unmistakable sound of a familiar lilting voice and the melodious strains of a harp. I excused myself from my companions and walked around the bole of a huge oak tree that sheltered the food cart. There, sitting with her back against the tree, complacently plucking her harp was Sparrow Singswell. The lovely songstress was humming softly to herself as she tuned her instrument and at first she didn’t see me.
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