Sauron Defeated (45 page)

nothing dreamy this time. I just made a lucky shot and landed on the mark. I don't know whether Arry had solved it himself before he dropped it, but I think not; for if he had, he would have included it in the stuff he showed us. It's quite plain what held him up: it was too easy. He was looking for something remote and difficult, while all the time the solution was right on his own doorstep. He thought it was Numenorean, I guess; but actually it is Old English, Anglo-Saxon, his own stuff!

The script is, I suppose, Numenorean,(71) as Arry thought. But it has been applied by someone to ancient English. The proper names, when they're not Old English translations, are in the same script, but the letters are then quite differently used, and I shouldn't have been able to read them without the help of Arry s texts.

'I wonder who had the idea of writing Anglo-Saxon in this odd way? Old Edwin Lowdham seems at first a likely guess; but I'm not so sure. The thing is evidently made up of excerpts from a longish book or chronicle.'

'Well, come on!' cried Frankley. 'How you philologists do niggle! Let's see it, and tell us what it says!'

'Here it is!' said Ramer, taking three sheets out of his pocket and handing them to Frankley. 'Pass it round! I've got a copy.

The original is only a small octavo page as you see, written on both sides in a large hand in this rather beautiful script.

'Now, I said to myself: "If this is in one of Arry's languages, I can't do anything with it; no one but he can solve it, But he failed, so probably it isn't. In that case, what language is it most likely to be, remembering what Arry told us? Anglo-Saxon.

Well, that's not one of my languages, though I know the elements. So when I'd made a preliminary list of all the separate letters that I could distinguish, I trotted round to old Professor Rashbold at Pembroke,(72) though I didn't know him personally.

A grumpy old bear Arry has always called him; but evidently Arry has never given him the right sort of buns.

'He liked mine. He didn't care tuppence about what the stuff said, but it amused him to try and solve the puzzle, especially when he heard that it had defeated Arry. "Oh! Young Lowdham!" he said. "A clever fellow under that pothouse manner.

But too fly-away; always after some butterfly theory. Won't stick to his texts. Now if I had had him as my pupil, I should have put some stiffening into him." Well, starting out with my guess that the stuff might be Anglo-Saxon, old Rashbold didn't take long. I don't know his workings. All he said before I left was: "Never seen this script before; but I should say it was a consonantal alphabet, and all these diacritics are vowel-signs.

I'll have a look at it." He sent it back to me this morning, with a long commentary on the forms and spellings, which I am not inflicting on you, except his concluding remarks.

'"To sum up: it is in Old English of a strongly Mercian (West-Midland) colour, ninth century I should say.(73) There are no new words, except possibly to-sprengdon. There are several words, probably names and not Old English, that I have not succeeded in getting out; but you will excuse me from spending more time on them. My time is not unlimited. Whoever made the thing knew Old English tolerably well, though the style has the air of a translation. If he wanted to forge a bit of Old English, why did not he choose an interesting subject?"

'Well, I solved the names, as I told you; and there you have the text as old Rashbold sent it back, with the names put in.

Only as my typewriter has no funny letters I have used th for the old thorn-letter. The translation is Rashbold's too.

Hi alle sae on weorulde oferliodon, sohton hi nyston hwet; ah aefre walde heara heorte westward.... forthon hit swe gefyrn arkdde se AElmihtiga thaet hi sceoldan steorfan 7 thas weoruld ofgeofan.... hi ongunnon murcnian.... hit gelomp seoththan thaet se fula deofles thegn se the AElfwina folc (Zigur) nemneth weox swithe on middangearde 7 he geas-code Westwearena meht 7 wuldor .... walde healecran stol habban thonne Earendeles eafera seolf ahte...... Tha cwom he, (Tarcalion) se cyning up on middangeardes oran 7 he sende sona his erendwracan to (Zigure): heht hine on ofste cuman to thes cyninges manraedenne to buganne. 7 he (Zigur) lytigende ge-eadmedde hine thaet he cwom, wes thaeh inwitful under, facnes hogde Westfearena theode ..... swe adwalde he fornean alle tha (Numenor)iscan mid wundrum 7 mid tacnum .... 7 hi gewarhton micelne alh on middan (Arminaleth)(75) there cestre on thaem hean munte the aer unawidlod wes 7 wearth nu to haethenum herge, 7 hi ther onsegdon unase[c]gendlic lac on unhalgum weofode ... Swe cwom deathscua on Westfearena land 7 Godes bearn under sceadu feollon .... Thes ofer feola gera hit gelomp thaet (Tarcalione) wearth aeldo onsaege, thy wearth he hreow on mode 7 tha walde he be (Zigures) onbryrdingum (Avalloni) mid ferde gefaran. Weron Westfearena scipferde sweswe unarimedlic egland on there sae .... ah tha Westfregan gebedon hi to thaem AElmihtigan 7 be his leafe tosprengdon hi tha eorthan thaet alle sae nither gutan on efgrynde, 7 alle tha sceopu forwurdan, forthon seo eorthe togan on middum garsecge .... swearte windas asteogon 7 AElfwines seofon sceopu eastweard adraefdon.

Nu sitte we on elelonde 7 forsittath tha blisse 7 tha eadignesse the iu wes 7 nu sceal eft cuman naefre. Us swithe onsiteth deathscua. Us swithe longath..... On aerran melum west leg reht weg, nu earon alle weogas wo. Feor nu is leanes lond. Feor nu is Neowollond (76) thaet geneotherade. Feor nu is Dreames lond thaet gedrorene.

All the seas in the world they sailed, seeking they knew not what; but their hearts were ever westward.... because so had the Almighty ordained it of old that they should die and leave this world.... they began to murmur.... It afterwards came to pass that the foul servant of the devil, whom the people of the ?AElfwines name (Zigur), grew mightily in middle-earth, and he learned of the power and glory of the Westware (Dwellers in the West) .... desired a higher throne than even the descendant of Earendel possessed ...... Then he, King (Tarcalion) landed on the shores of middle-earth, and at once he sent his messengers to (Zigur), commanding him to come in haste to do homage to the king; and he (Zigur) dissembling humbled himself and came, but was filled with secret malice, purposing treachery against the people of the Westfarers.....

Thus he led astray wellnigh all the (Numenore)ans with signs and wonders.... and they built a great temple in the midst of the town (of Arminaleth) on the high hill which before was undefiled but now became a heathen fane, and they there sacrificed unspeakable offerings on an unholy altar ... Thus came death-shade into the land of the Westfarers and God's children fell under the shadow .... Many years later it came to pass that old age assailed (Tarcalion); wherefore he became gloomy in heart, and at the instigation of (Zigur) he wished to conquer (Avalloni) with a host. The ship-hosts of the Westfarers were like countless islands in the sea .... But the West-lords prayed to the Almighty, and by his leave split asunder the earth so that all seas should pour down into an abyss and the ships should perish; for the earth gaped open in the midst of the ocean.... black winds arose and drove away AElfwine's seven ships.

Now we sit in the land of exile, and dwell cut off from the bliss and the blessedness that once was and shall never come again. The death-shade lies heavy on us; longing is on us.....

In former days west lay a straight way, now are all ways crooked. Far now is the land of gift. Far now is the?prostrate land that is cast down. Far now is the land of Mirth that is fallen.

'Well, old Rashbold may not have found that interesting. But it depends what you're looking for. You people at any rate will find it interesting, I think, after the events of that night. You will notice that the original text is written continuously in bold-stroke hand (I don't doubt that the actual penman was old Edwin), but there are dividing dots at intervals. What we have is really a series of fragmentary extracts, separated, I should guess, by very various intervals of omission, extremely like Arry's snatches of Avallonian and Adunaic. Indeed this stuff corresponds closely to his (which in itself is very interesting): it includes all that he gave us, but gives a good deal more, especially at the beginning. You notice that there is a long gap at the same point as the break between his Text I and II.

'Of course, when old Rashbold said "the style has the air of a translation", he simply meant that the fabricator had not been quite successful in making the stuff sound like natural Anglo-Saxon. I can't judge that. But I daresay he is right, though his implied explanation may be wrong. This probably is a translation out of some other language into Anglo-Saxon. But not, I think, by the man who penned the page. He was in a hurry, or like Arry trying to catch the evanescent, and if he had had any time for translation he would have done it into modern English.

I can't see any point in the Anglo-Saxon unless what he "saw"

was already in it.

'I say "saw". For this stuff looks to me like the work of a man copying out all he had time to see, or all he found still intact and legible in some book.'

'Or all he could get down of some strongly visualized dream,'

said Dolbear. 'And even so, I should guess that the hand that penned this stuff was already familiar with the strange script.

It's written freely and doesn't look at all like the work of a man trying to copy something quite unknown. On your theory, Ramer, he wouldn't have had time, anyway.'

'Yes, it's a pretty puzzle,' said Frankley. 'But I don't suppose we shall get much forrarder (77) without Arry's help. So we must wait in patience till September, and hope for a light beyond the sea of Scripts. I must go. The scripts that are waiting for me are much longer and hardly more legible.'

'And probably more puzzling,' said Stainer. 'Surely there's no great mystery here, in spite of Ramer's attempts to create one.

Here we have a specimen of old Edwin Lowdham's queer hobby: the fabrication of mythical texts; and the direct source of all Arry's stuff. He seems to have taken after his father, in more senses than one; though he's probably more inventive linguistically.'

'Really you're unteachable, Stainer,' said Dolbear. 'Why do you always prefer a theory that cannot be true, unless somebody is lying?'

'Who am I accusing of lying?'

'Well, wait until September, and then say what you've just said slowly and carefully to Arry, and you'll soon discover,' said Dolbear. 'If you've forgotten everything he said, I haven't. Good night!'

RD. PF. RS. MGR. NG.

Night 69. Thursday, 25 September, 1987.

There was a large meeting in Jeremy's rooms. Jeremy and Lowdham had reappeared in Oxford only the day before, looking as if they had spent all the vacation examining rather than holidaymaking. There were eight other people present, and Cameron came in late.

After the experiences of June 12th most of the Club felt a trifle apprehensive, and conversation began by being jocular, in consequence. But Lowdham took no part in the jesting; he was unusually quiet.

'Well, Jerry,' said Frankley at last, 'you're the host. Have you arranged any entertainment for us? If not, after so many weeks, I daresay several of us have got things in our pockets.'

'That means that you have at any rate,' said Jeremy. 'Let's have it! We want, or at least I want, some time to tell you about what we've been doing, but there's no hurry.'

'That depends on how long your account of yourselves is going to take,' said Stainer. 'Did you do anything except drink and dawdle about the countryside?'

'We did,' said Lowdham. 'But there's no special reason to suppose that you'ld be interested to hear about it, Stainer.'

'Well, I'm here, and that indicates at least a faint interest,'

said Stainer.

'All right! But if the Club really wants to hear us, then it's in for one or two meetings in which we shall take up all the time.

Pip will burst, I can see, if he has to wait so long. Let him let his steam off first. What's it about, Horsey?'

'It'll explain itself, if the Club really wants to hear it,' said Frankley.

'Go on! Let's have it! ' we said.

Frankley took a piece of paper out of his pocket and began.

The Death At last out of the deep seas he passed,

and mist rolled on the shore;

under clouded moon the waves were loud,

as the laden ship him bore 4

to Ireland, back to wood and mire,

to the tower tall and grey,

where the knell of Cluain-ferta's bell (79)

tolled in green Galway. 8

Where Shannon down to Lough Derg ran

under a rainclad sky

Saint Brendan came to his journey's end

to await his hour to die. 12

'0! tell me, father, for I loved you well,

if still you have words for me,

of things strange in the remembering

in the long and lonely sea, 16

of islands by deep spells beguiled