The trees shaded Geoffrey from above as he gave pursuit on horseback. He was in the forest of Chetwood, just east of Bree. He did not know he was pursuing, but only the reason why. Earlier that morning a hobbit from Staddle had come running through the town of Bree crying out desperately. Geoffrey was riding through the town and happened across him. The hobbit was almost completely round with silvery hair. Geoffrey had dismounted and tried to make sense of the tearful little fellow. “They” had taken his daughter from Staddle in the night and rode off with her into the Chetwood. Who “they” were was unknown. All that he could learn from the bumbling hobbit was that she was a “pretty thing” with golden hair. Without question, Geoffrey rode off towards the wood.
He had a clue as to where to look. That clue was his intuition. There were several ruins scattered around this forest, and these often served as refuges for outlaws and others of that ilk. First he rode to the Crumbled Court, which stood next to Staddle. He did not expect to find anything here, and he was right. So he rode on. He wondered why a hobbit would be of any interest to anyone. Her father was not particularly rich, so it was unlikely that the intention was to ransom her. He passed through Combe and came into the forest itself.
Riding through the forest, where bears and wolves lurked, he eventually came to a ruin which stood to the north. Its walls stretched far and stood tall, the biggest ruin in Bree-land – so Geoffrey assumed. It reminded him somewhat of Esteldín, ancient yet strong. But it seemed to be deserted from the outside. That was, until a whistling noise could be heard coming towards him. In an instance, Geoffrey was on the floor. His horse had been struck by an arrow. Before he could get to his feet, something grabbed his arms and dragged him towards the ruin. It was two burly men who restrained him. Through a tall archway they went, into the ruin. Inside there were a number of brigands there, who jived and mocked Geoffrey with their foul tongues. Several fires were lit around the place, and these brigands drank around them. Geoffrey was led across a stone bridge that reached across a ditch. This part of the ruin was raised, and was more complete than the outer wall. Geoffrey guessed that in its day, this was likely a keep and the walls were its defences. Large stars were engraved into the floor, the walls and the pillars of this place. The same star that the Rangers wore on their cloaks. The remnants of a tower stood at the far side, and that is where the two men dragged him. Once they had pulled him up the stairs, they threw him down onto the floor. Inside this old tower there stood a hobbit. But it was not the golden-haired lass whom he had come for. It was a male, with black curly hair and a ragged waistcoat that had certainly seen better days. On his belt a dagger was sheathed. His face was pale; eyes cold and sagged.
‘Who is this?’ the hobbit snapped in a very unfriendly tone. Geoffrey had never known a hobbit to sound unfriendly. This was the leader of these brigands. A hobbit! Geoffrey had never heard the likes before.
‘We found ‘im snoopin’ around, sir.’ One of the burly men replied. ‘Been ridin’ through the forest all day, only t’come ‘ere.’
The hobbit now laughed sinisterly. ‘Ah yes. I think I know what he seeks.’
He pointed over to the corner where a little figure sat, bound by her hands and feet by rope. Her hair was golden, but her face was bruised and bloody. She wept quietly, but seemed to quiver as the hobbit approached her, running his pale fingers through her locks.
‘You will let her go now, and I might not cut the hair from your toes.’ Geoffrey threatened, looking proud despite his restrained circumstances.
‘Let her go?’ the hobbit cackled. ‘No, no. I’ve been through quite a lot of trouble to get her here, and intend to make the most of her before sending her back. Dead or alive, I have not yet decided.’
She wept more at this thought, and this made him smile. ‘What is your name, saviour of maidens?’ he asked mockingly.
‘Geoffrey Redstem.’ He replied. With that, the two men restraining him muttered to each other and loosened their grip slightly. The hobbit nodded and smirked.
‘Ah, yes. I have heard of you. Well met, Geoffrey Redstem! I am Candro Banks.’
Geoffrey now turned to the weeping lass in the corner. ‘What is your name?’ he asked in a reassuring and calm tone.
‘Geranium Mugwort.’ She said with a sniff. Her voice was sweet, yet faltered slightly in fear. Candro struck her with the back of his hand.
‘I did not give you permission to speak, girl.’ He spat.
‘Why are you doing this, Candro? What do you gain from taking her from her family?’ Geoffrey asked, with his eyes squinted in resentment of this little bully.
‘Why! Because I love her, of course. We used to live in Staddle together as children and I would constantly bring her flowers. But she was an ingrate! Always more interested in other boys. Then one day… I lost my temper and attacked her. Only a few kicks and punches, though. But the whole village chased me away and I’ve been an outlaw since. These are my men!’
‘Ah, so because she did not love you back, you have resorted to stealing her and tying her down?’ Geoffrey asked in a rather sarcastic tone.
‘You know nothing, Longshanks. She will love me, in time. Then we can go home, back to Staddle.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Geoffrey replied. And with that, he struck his elbows into the stomachs of the two men who restrained me. They fell to the ground, clutching their bellies with tears in their eyes. One of them carried Geoffrey’s long sword which he took back. Now he faced Candro, who was trembling more the Geranium. He pulled out his dagger and held it up to her throat.
‘Back away, Longshanks! Or I’ll cut her.’ He cried.
‘Cut her? Is that how you treat those who you claim to love? If you were not such a petty and bitter little fool, then maybe others would return your love.’ Geoffrey replied, approaching the two slowly.
For a moment, Candro looked as though he agreed with Geoffrey, but then he pulled the lass closer to him. ‘Men! Kill this intruder!’ he yelled out.
A moment later, a number of brigands came to the ruined tower armed with axes and swords. Geoffrey made quick work of them all, and the others in the camp fled. Now it was only Geoffrey, Candro and Geranium.
‘Let her go now, Candro. Put an end to all of this.’ Geoffrey urged.
Candro shook his head manically. ‘No, no! If I cannot have her then no one will!’
He raised his dagger, ready to cut into Geranium’s neck. But Geoffrey’s blade caught it just in time. Running his sword down the length of Candro’s dagger, he cut the hobbit’s hand. Candro cried in pain and fell to the ground in tears, wailing like a child. Geoffrey picked the dagger up from the floor, and cut Geranium’s bonds. Her wrists and ankles were raw from the rope. She was too weak and frail to even walk, so Geoffrey picked up her. She was far lighter than he expected. With the same rope that had restrained her, Geoffrey had Candro’s wrists bound and walked him along like a dog. He whined and complained, but Geoffrey paid no notice to him. Eventually he found a horse in the camp that the fleeing bandits had left behind. He placed Geranium on top of it before mounting himself, sitting behind her. Now he rode back into the forest with Candro running behind them, still tethered by the rope.
‘What will you do to me?’ he asked, panting heavily.
‘I will do nothing, apart from deliver you to justice. You are going to the jail of Bree, where you might face a trial for your crimes.’
‘No!’ he wailed. ‘I won’t last in a cell, or a trial. Please! I have money, if you will release me.’
‘Plead all you wish, but you shall not pay for your crimes with gold. I have no interest in your bribes.’
So they rode through the forest of Chetwood, with Candro in tow. Geranium was returned to her father in Staddle, who offered Geoffrey gold and bags of crop. He turned down these offers, but took afternoon tea with them instead. Candro was handed over to the Watch, and at his trial he was sentenced to a decade in prison – on the charge of kidnap and banditry. He never set foot in Staddle again.
