“Lovely stench you have discovered,” joked Mirdirin as they began to head through the fields. On either side of them, cattle gazed. The sounds of their bells as they moved created a cacophony of melodies. A few happy herding dogs watched them as they passed, their tongues hanging about out of their mouths as they kept one eye on their charges and another on the newcomers.
“I cannot believe how badly this place stinks,” murmured Glorfindel. “I mean, I know horse manure is bad, but this is just terrible.”
“Just think – all this can be yours,” joked his herald. They continued down the path, which at times was blocked by a young heifer who was inclined to rest on the rocks rather than on the grass. “How many do you think he will sell to us?”
“Hopefully enough,” said Glorfindel. He was nudged off the path by a snorting steer. “Yes, I know this is your home. I am going as fast as I can.” He considered giving the bovine a shove, but upon seeing the tips of the horns, he changed his mind. “I am still shocked that you found a buyer for the stone so quickly, and for such a good price.”
Mirdirin had returned by late afternoon, hefting with him a substantial sack of gold which was double-bagged due to its weight. “As I said earlier, I refuse to tell you who purchased it.”
“I know.” Glorfindel’s first question had been exactly that, but Mirdirin would not give the name of the buyer. Glorfindel’s attempts to find out anyhow had been fruitless. “I can see why Penlodh built towers to live in. The smell would permeate even the thickest walls of a house built low to the ground.”
They had already passed the dairy, which was located at the front gates of Penlodh’s land. Its placement allowed to the milkmaids the convenience of being close to the marketplaces. As they had gone along, they watched groups of cows being paraded to the dairy and back to the fields. Now that they were on the other side of the pasture, they noted that the cattle led inside the large structures did not return from them.
Between the pasture and the towers, these were tanneries and slaughterhouses, all smelling worse than the cattle did. Glorfindel held his sleeve over his nose as they passed, while Mirdirin lifted a handkerchief to his face. “If I have a vote in any of this, I am very much inclined to say we should stick with dairy cows to begin with.”
It was not difficult to request an audience with Penlodh once they were within the tower. Instead of climbing up to his chambers, they waited on the entry level of the tower until a page brought him down. “Good evening,” he greeted them, rather puzzled by their arrival. “Usually no one comes out here to see me; they all wait until I am at the King’s tower for something. I commend you on your bravery in navigating the pasture,” he told them.
Penlodh was a tall elf; taller even than Erestor, or Maedhros, or Finwe. It could well be claimed that he stood over all Eldar, and had the best chance of looking a Vala square in the eye. Glorfindel was quite relieved when they were offered a place to sit down in an adjoining room, for he would never have been one to boast of height. “I hope you do not mind the intrusion. I have something of a business proposal to discuss with you.”
“With me? Really?” Penlodh smiled. “I am astounded to hear that. I thought you had all of your assets tied up in horses.”
“I do, and yet, not entirely.” Glorfindel took a deep breath. “I need, well, I want—I am interested in—“
“What Lord Glorfindel wishes to convey is, he is interested in the purchase of thirteen head of cattle – one bull, a dozen milking cows. He has interest in the dairy industry, and may later pursue the idea of leather and beef, all dependant upon this initial venture.” Mirdirin, now having Penlodh’s focus, continued. “Now that he has promised to keep in his employ all those gravely injured in the recent battle, there is a need for additional income. We are not looking to decrease your profits in any way; we wish only to take care of those within our fiefdom.”
“Thirteen head is an unlucky number. I will sell you twelve, or fourteen, but not thirteen,” warned Penlodh. “However, the number still seems quite low – are you attempting only to break even?”
“Essentially,” said Mirdirin. “And, as this was unexpected, we may only have the funds to cover seven or eight anyhow.”
Penlodh nodded thoughtfully. “I see this as a blessing,” he finally said. “Many of my best herders were killed in the war. I am running out of land, and so have taken to sending out more veal than there is need for.” Penlodh thought for another moment, then pointed at Glorfindel. “Veal. That is what you are going to concentrate your efforts on.”
Mirdirin and Glorfindel exchanged a look, and Mirdirin said, “As simple as that sounds, Lord Glorfindel has no slaughterhouse on his land.”
“Yes, but I have several. We can draw up a contract – you raise the cattle, and then bring them here to be slaughtered. The ones you are looking to find jobs for will be unable to slaughter them anyhow, so building such a thing on your land would be a ridiculous thing.” Penlodh rubbed his chin. “I suspect the reason you thought a dairy would be ideal was so that the many stall left empty from the horses that did not return would not go unused.”
“Something like that,” said Glorfindel.
Penlodh nodded to himself. “Here is what I think we should do. I will sell you the dairy cows; I will not sell you a bull. The first veal herd sent to you will be my own; you will be able to use them to learn how to take care of them. In a year’s time, they will be sent back – and in that time, some of the dairy cows you have will have calved and then the cycle will begin again, though those will be yours. Instead of building your own slaughterhouse, you can bring them back here and we will work out some sort of contract.”
“I would suggest an eighty-twenty arrangement upon their sale in the market,” said Mirdirin.
“Seventy-thirty, and we will tan the hides and deliver the leather back to you,” Penlodh countered.
Mirdirin held back a moment, waiting for Glorfindel to answer. “I find that reasonable,” he said in an attempt to prompt Glorfindel.
“Veal... that comes from baby cows,” said Glorfindel, somewhat upset.
Penlodh nodded. “That is why I suggested veal; you will not have time to become attached to the animals. If you raised beef... well, you would probably end up keeping the whole herd as pets.” When Glorfindel looked away with a rueful smile, Penlodh added, “If you are going to raise dairy cows, you have to raise veal. It is the necessary evil of dairy; some of the veal calves would otherwise starve.”
“How shall we proceed?” asked Mirdirin. “Neither of us has purchased many cows before.”
“I think it would be best if you choose your cows by taste,” replied Penlodh. “Come back this evening in about three or four hours. We have a dining hall in the second tower; dinner is complimentary for you this evening. I will have one of my best cooks prepare some of each type of veal and pair it with cheeses and desserts from those same types of cows. That will give you a better idea of which type you like the best – there are six breeds of dairy here, and two hybrids.”
“Interesting – I always assumed they were all just cows,” admitted Glorfindel.
“Each has a different flavor. Once you have decided what you like best, we can go from there.” Penlodh stood, as did Glorfindel and Mirdirin. “Oh, and, if you like, bring Lord Salgant with you. I know he is a friend of yours, and he has an excellent palate and will not lead you wrong. Besides,” he added as they were led to the front door, “he would be downright enraged to find out I was giving away free food and he was not invited.”
“The latest news is that Voronwe is off the council for the year as well,” announced Salgant as the third set of selections was placed upon the table. As with the previous two, the portion set before Salgant was larger than those given to Glorfindel and Mirdirin. “His wife told him yesterday, after he spent much of the remaining time at lunch talking about how lucky he was not to have to find someone to step in for his house. How brilliant is that?”
“I think it is wonderful,” said Glorfindel honestly. “A whole new generation of Gondothlim.”
“Yes, but the way I hear it, everyone is having girls. What is your wife having?” asked Salgant as he cut off a large portion of meat from one of his cutlets.
Glorfindel shook his head. “She does not know yet. I think, well, I had a dream that it was a girl.”
“Probably another girl, then,” answered Salgant sagely. “Dreams like that do not often lie.”
With a frown, Glorfindel sampled the cheese from this third set. Though he had practically fallen in love with the adorable little girl from his dream, he still had his heart set on an heir. It was recommended to wait until one child was grown before the next came along, however, his parents had not heeded such advice, nor had some other couples he knew. If indeed Tauniel was carrying his daughter, Glorfindel hoped it would not take too much convincing for her to agree to a second try as quickly as possible.
It took a few hours, and many plates of food, before a particular breed was chosen. It was one of the hybrids, in fact, though luckily it was a type that was very expensive. Penlodh took them through the pastures, carrying with him a torch and an iron. Upon learning what Glorfindel’s funds were, Penlodh branded seventeen cows and rounded up nine calves. Instructions were given, a contract drawn up earlier was signed, and Mirdirin and Glorfindel herded twenty-six head of cattle back to the horse stables in nearly complete darkness.
When the adventure was over, Glorfindel opted to ride one of his horses back to the tower. Mirdirin accompanied him on another. Since the fall of Lemon Drop in the great battle, Glorfindel had found it hard to choose another mount. His stallion’s progeny did not connect with him the way Lemon Drop had, but a horse that had returned with them from the battle was fast becoming his favorite.
Many had told him she was the horse of King Fingon, though he had not seen the old king ride her in battle. She kept herself from the other horses, chased off would-be suitors, and held her head high when offered what she considered sub-par treats. The only fact that led him to believe the rumors to be true was in asking King Turgon if he knew the name of his brother’s horse. It was this name that she responded to, though only to Glorfindel, as if she knew exactly who was master of all the stables.
“Hold, Speranza.” The horse slowed to a stop. Glorfindel slid down from her back; he had yet to place a saddle or bridle on her, and somehow, it seemed her glory as a warhorse would diminish if he did so. “Mirdirin, do you mind taking her back? I think she would rather detest being kept in the king’s stables for the night.” Speranza snorted in agreement.
“Of course.” Mirdirin hopped down onto the ground and approached Glorfindel cautiously. “I have a confession to make.”
Glorfindel tilted his head. “Oh?”
“It is about the money. I took the jewel to be appraised this morning, but when I took it from my pocket, I caught the inscription on the back of the setting, and I left immediately.” He lowered his voice. “I saw the names inscribed upon the back. Your secret would have been revealed. It puzzles me, though. You are a prince of the Noldor; why do you hide that?”
“I am no prince,” answered Glorfindel, almost laughing. “The names upon the back were once my parents; they are dead to me now.” He swallowed hard. “How did you acquire the money?”
Mirdirin pressed his toe against the ground, leaving a little trail in its wake. “Remember that whole bit about the taxes that you disliked so much?” Mirdirin took a step back when he saw Glorfindel glare. “I did not force it of them! I went around and I explained, and everyone was more than generous – they wanted to help. They gave more than asked. They-- oh... damn, I should have known this would happen.” Mirdirin tied off his mount’s reins at the nearest post and then lead Glorfindel off into the gardens.
Glorfindel’s eyes had watered as the explanation unfolded, and by the time he was sitting on a stool in the garden, he was wiping away the tears. “Now how am I going to repay all of them? I do hope you kept an accounting of it all.”
“Listen to me, Glorfindel! They do not want to be repaid – they did this because they love you. Your people love you.” Mirdirin turned away, affected by the emotion Glorfindel was showing. “Look,” he said finally. “Just take the money. You have to; anyhow, it is already spent. I will still refuse to tell you who gave what; I instructed them not to say a word, either. What you are doing you are doing for them. It was a one-time thing. I will not do it again, but, we had to do something.”
Mirdirin reached into his pocket and pulled something out. It spun and dangled on the chain, and even in the darkness, caught what light it could. The brilliant green light sprang forth from it. “This is yours.” Mirdirin lifted the chain up in both hands. “It belongs to you.” He slipped it down over Glorfindel’s head, so the jewel now rested over Glorfindel’s chest. “I will wager it is all you have left of who think you once were, and who I know you still are. Keep it, Angrodion, for while the heirs of Finwe’s house still walk these streets, there is hope yet for the rest of us.”
