The dangers one encounters on the leagues between the Lone-Lands and the Ered Luin, and the wretched aspect of the inhabitants cannot be understated. The principal way through the Bree-land is upon the old highway, built by one of their kings, and is long-neglected and crumbling away: it seems the people have retained nothing of the activity and energy of their ancestors, for good roads encourage trade into remote provinces, and this encourages industry and enforcement of order. However, we saw no military posts stationed at any point along this road, and a stranger may consider himself fortunate if he escapes an attack. Between a wood, on the frontiers of the lands of the barbarians, lies a miserable jumbled-up town. It was founded by the Men not too long ago, and I hear tell that the streets are very crowded and dirty. But dirtiness and bustle are no proofs of industry or labor, and the men of this town most likely agitate and torment themselves without doing anything, as they quarrel and menace each other.
The day began well enough, but as I broke my fast, Limiriel coming up to me in haste said some ill-looking men had ventured down the road, assassins she believed them to be, for she heard them discussing plans to waylay and kill a traveler venturing out from the town. But she intervened, and slew them all before they could finish their scheming. This news filled my heart with dread, and I wished to be away quickly.
In the midst of our preparations to leave, we heard some rustling of feet and rough voices. An arrow whistled overhead, followed by a peal of merry laughter. First one man appeared from behind a tree, then another, and another, and it was not until Aranglachelm cried out that we were surrounded, that I noticed more men behind us. Everyone began talking at once! Despite the confusion, I was able to discern the leader of this band of rogues was named Scarlock. He was a bold, impudent fellow, and introduced each of his men with a strange boastfulness. There was a perian amongst the crowd, and Scarlock said Tukko was a fry-cook, and his particular specialty was mushrooms. A most unaccountably dirty-looking cook I thought him, and I wondered if he washed his hands before making meals.
These men wore a particular dress – pantaloons and waistcoats of diverse colours, buskins, attached by cords that reached to the middle of the leg, short but loose mantles of a brown colour. Their shirts were open, and from their belts were suspended swords, daggers, and, on the little one, a spoon and a fork.
Scarlock said that we owed a toll to them, to assist them in their toils of keeping the roads safe from bandits and highwaymen.
Well may we consider to keep the road clear, for surely the Men of these lands have a heavy burden to carry, and we ought to make the road as clear and as smooth as we can. We should make straight paths for the feet of these poor benighted Men, I told Sorontar, who, like Elloen, did not think we should have to pay anything to walk through the forest, and Erdalir and Limiriel wished to kill them as they stood gawking.
But their toll was only twenty silver pennies, and it seemed to me that these Men, in their strange blustering pride, were reduced to beg for money and would not call it as such, but insisted that they earned their pay by calling it a ‘toll’ with the excuse that they are keeping the roads safe. My pity was moved to help them: not twenty silver pennies, no! but a gold coin did I give them.
The grimy, woebegone appearance of the Men, their comical expressions, and their motley costume had rather a ludicrous effect, and I noted how their eyes widened with wonder at the sight of us. Now I realize it was not entirely wonder, but something else, that made the Men stare with such goggle-eyed delight at Linguleth and Nimgileth.
Charity is very good, but only when it is directed with good judgment, and should not encourage indolence and servility, neither should it produce corruption, but I am very sad to say that my donation will likely encourage further vices and crimes which these men, likely inured to every crime, are so tempted to commit. I suppose that their wretchedness gives them a special brand of temerity and a notion that it is their right to take what is not theirs; but that notion leads to worse crimes, and when these types of low Men band together, their greed becomes a trade, a sort of industry where shame is banished from the mind, and if the means of subsistence can be produced without any work, Men will choose to beg, or steal, or kill, rather than to work.
Woe to these “Merry Men of the Woods!“ Should we encounter them on our return, they will atone for their greed and temerity with their lives.
