Author Archives: Ollamh

A Moon disfigured

17 Wednesday Dec 2025

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As always, dear readers, welcome.  And perhaps welcome to a little Tolkien puzzle.

On parade, soldiers of the early 20th century could be peacocks for finery.

But then they met the new technological reality of heavy machine guns

and increasingly heavy artillery

and, in time, even the danger of being spotted from the air,

so soldiers not only dug in,

but modified their uniforms, making themselves less visible.

(Gerry Embleton)

After the war, most armies, except for special guard units,

 never went back to being peacocks, abandoning a bright tradition which went back to the 17th century.

(Richard Hook)

Even in the 17th century, soldiers not wearing the same-colored clothing might distinguish themselves from their enemies by what would be called “field signs”, like wearing a strip of cloth on one arm, or sticking a particular piece of a plant or even a scrap of paper in your hatband.

(Henri IV, 1553-1610, king of France, was famous for the white plume he always wore in his hat.)

Before this, soldiers might wear the distinctive colors of their commanders (usually noblemen), called “livery”—

(Angus McBride)

Here we can see that Sir Edward Stanley has given this archer clothing in his colors of green and mustard-yellow, while the Earl of Surrey provided his soldiers with his colors of green and white.  You’ll also notice that the archer has some distinctive badges on the front of his coat—an eagle’s claw and crowns.  These are personal indicators of Sir Edward, heraldic markers to indicate to whom the archer belonged.

In the days before distinctive military dress, heraldry—the use of emblems to mark out one knight, and perhaps his followers, from another—had been developed to a high level.  When everyone was covered in metal,

such emblems were a way to identify a knight—and if he had issued similar emblems to his soldiers, a way to identify the troops he had brought and commanded at a battle.

As emblems developed, there also developed a person with a specialized skill to identify them—a herald.

He himself, as you can see, wore distinctive clothing, which also helped him in his other role as messenger between military opponents—he was considered as a neutral and could therefore pass freely.  (For more on heralds, see “Herald-ry in Middle-Earth”, 30 March, 2016 here:  https://doubtfulsea.com//?s=herald&search=Go )

Tolkien himself belonged to the age of drab—

(Here’s what that uniform would have looked like in color—although this is a much higher level officer—looks to be a major—JRRT was commissioned as a second lieutenant and eventually promoted to first lieutenant )

but was well aware of earlier flashiness and we can see it in his description of the guards at Denethor’s gate—even though he sees their outfits as a throwback, just like British soldiers ever returning to bright red uniforms—except for the monarch’s guards:

“The Guards of the gate were robed in black, and their helmets were of strange shape, high-crowned, with long cheek-guards close-fitting to the face, and above the cheek-guards were set the white wings of sea-birds; but the helms gleamed with a flame of silver, for they were indeed wrought of mithril, heirlooms from the glory of old days.  Upon the black surcoats were embroidered in white a tree blossoming like snow beneath a silver crown and many-pointed stars.  This was the livery of the heirs of Elendil, and none wore it now in all Gondor, save the Guards of the Citadel before the Court of the Fountain where the White Tree had grown.”  (The Return of the King, Book Five, Chapter 1, “Minas Tirith”)

(from the Jackson films—as you can see, the helmet fits the description, but the surcoat has disappeared and, instead, the Tree, stars, and crown have been shifted to the breastplate, removing the dramatic contrast between the black cloth and white embroidered emblems which JRRT intended)

As well, although the orcs wear no livery—no uniforms or even part-colored clothing—they do have badges—the white hand of Saruman

(perhaps suggesting that he has his hand over everything?  I think of the “Armada Portrait” of Queen Elizabeth the First here—just look at the quiet statement in her hand)

and the red eye of Sauron,

(Angus McBride—perhaps implying that, like Big Brother, Sauron has his eye on you?)

but then there’s a new one, only mentioned once, which provided the title for this posting and the puzzle—

“Two liveries Sam noticed, one marked by the Red Eye, the other by a Moon disfigured with a ghastly face of death…” (The Return of the King, Book Six, Chapter 1, “The Tower of Cirith Ungol”)

What is JRRT up to here?  Minas Morgul,  the “Tower of Black Sorcery”, the center of this gateway into Mordor,

(Ted Nasmith)

had been built as Minas Ithil, “the Tower of the Moon” and it’s clear that those having that badge must come specifically from that place, and a mockery of its previous Gondorian name, which is interesting because the rest of Sauron’s forces appear to wear only the Red Eye.  Yet, if we can trust an orc, we may have the sense that Sauron doesn’t appreciate deviation, as Grishnakh asks rhetorically of Ugluk:

“They might ask where his strange ideas came from.  Did they come from Saruman, perhaps?  Who does he think he is, setting up on his own with his filthy white badges?  They might agree with me, with Grishnakh their trusted messenger; and I Grishnakh say this:  Saruman is a fool, and a dirty treacherous fool.  But the Great Eye is on him.”  (The Two Towers, Book Three, Chapter 3, “The Uruk-hai”)

So what’s going on here?  Certainly there’s rivalry between Saruman’s orcs and Sauron’s, but just how deep does orc rivalry go?  When Sam arrives at the Tower of Cirith Ungol, he finds it a battleground and, climbing into the tower itself he hears two orcs arguing, Shagrat, the captain of the Tower, and Snaga, one of his men.  Snaga says:

“You won’t be a captain long when They hear about all these goings-on.  I’ve fought for the Tower against those stinking Morgul-rats, but a nice mess you two precious captains have made of things, fighting over the swag.” (The Return of the King, Book Six, Chapter 1, “The Tower of Cirith Ungol”)

So, seeing that emblem on a shield, with “a Moon disfigured with a ghastly face of death”, just whose face is that?  And whose death?

As ever, thanks for reading.

Stay well,

If you were to come up with your own livery, what would it be?—sometimes knights made visual puns—like Sir Roger de Trumpington—

Think about that, pencil in hand, and remember that there’s always

MTCIDC

O

PS

For more on livery, see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Livery

There has been some wonderfully imaginative work done on heraldry in Tolkien.  Here’s a link to get you started:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Heraldry_of_Middle-earth   

On the Roads Again—Once More

10 Wednesday Dec 2025

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As always, dear readers, welcome.

“The Road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began.
Now far ahead the Road has gone,
And I must follow, if I can,
Pursuing it with eager feet,
Until it joins some larger way
Where many paths and errands meet.
And whither then? I cannot say.”

as Bilbo sings, on his way away from the Shire to Rivendell.

(JRRT)

We, however, are currently standing at the broken bridge

at Osgiliath,

(from The Encyclopedia of Arda)

but, through the magic of the internet, we’ll hop over the Anduin and continue our journey along the roads of Middle-earth, this time to the worst possible place (unless you’re an orc)—

(Alan Lee)

Mordor.

To get there, we walk the old road which, in the days before Sauron’s previous invasion attempt, ran from Minas Anor (the “ Tower of the Sun”—now Minas Tirith, “Tower of Guard”),

(Ted Nasmith)

to Minas Ithil (the “Tower of the Moon”)—now Minas Morgul  (the “Tower of Black Sorcery”).

(another Ted Nasmith)

This will lead us eastwards to the crossing of the Ithilien north/south road, where there is a much- abused seated figure—

“The brief glow fell upon a huge sitting figure, still and solemn as the great stone kings of Argonath.  The years had gnawed it, and violent hands had maimed it.  Its head was gone, and in its place was set in mockery a round rough-hewn stone, rudely painted  by savage hands in the likeness of a grinning face with one large red eye in the midst of its forehead.  Upon its knees and mighty chair, and all about the pedestal, were idle scrawls mixed with the foul symbols that the maggot-folk of Mordor used.”  (The Two Towers, Book Four, Chapter 7, “Journey to the Cross-roads”)

(and one more Ted Nasmith.  Notice—except for the figure’s size, perhaps, which here wouldn’t be called “huge” nor its chair “mighty”—how carefully the artist has paid attention to the text—typical of Nasmith’s always fine work.)

Frodo and Sam pause here, but we’ll keep moving eastwards on the road towards Minas Morgul.

(the Hildebrandts, with a very different view of it and of Gollum)

We don’t appear to have a description of this road, but, if you’ve read the previous postings on roads, you’ll know that I would like to imagine that it’s not just a worn dirt track,

but the sort of thing which the Romans built all over their empire,

but now grassgrown and abandoned, like the figure at the crossroads.

Frodo, Sam, and Gollum skirt Minas Morgul, climbing around it, and we’ll join them, although we’ll avoid the tunnel in which Shelob lives,

(and one more Ted Nasmith)

to come down into Mordor itself.

(Christopher Tolkien)

This is, to say the least, a very bleak place,

(in reality, this is Mt Haleakala National Park, on the island of Maui)

but it seems heavily populated with camps of orcs and Sauron’s allies.

“As far as their eyes could reach, along the skirts of the Morgai and away southward, there were camps, some of tents, some ordered like small towns.  One of the largest of these was right below them.  Barely a mile out into the plain it clustered like some huge nest of insects, with straight dreary streets of huts and long low drab buildings.”  (The Return of the King, Book Six, Chapter 2, “The Land of Shadow”)

(Alan Lee)

There are clearly roads, at least in the northern area—

(from the Encyclopedia of Arda)

and when Frodo and Sam disguise themselves as orcs,

(Denis Gordeev)

they make their way along a major one, only to be taken for potential deserters and driven into an orc marching column.

(Denis Gordeev)

Before they reach such a road, however,

“…they saw a beaten path that wound its way under the feet of the westward cliffs.  Had they known, they could have reached it quicker, for it was a track that left the main Morgul-road at the western bridge-end and went down by a long stair cut in the rock to the valley’s bottom.” (The Return of the King, Book Six, Chapter 2, “The Land of Shadow”)

We’ll follow them down this path and eventually reach a road:

“…at the point where it swung east towards the Isenmouthe  twenty miles away.  It was not a broad road, and it had no wall or parapet along the edge, and as it ran on the sheer drop from its brink became deeper and deeper.”  (The Return of the King, Book Six, Chapter 2, “The Land of Shadow”)

When Frodo and Sam are picked up and driven along in the column,

(John Howe)

we can now see that the column is headed for Isenmouthe and the entrance to the northernmost part of Mordor, Udun,

(from Karen Wynn Fonstad, The Atlas of Middle-Earth)

but the two manage to escape just before the entrance, dropping

“…over the further edge of the road.  It had a high kerb by which troop-leaders could guide themselves in black night or fog, and it was banked up some feet above the level of the open land.”  (The Return of the King, Book Six, Chapter 2, “The Land of  Shadow”)

(perhaps something like this on the right?)

Frodo and Sam now try cutting across open country, which, although full of places to hide, is hard going—

“As the light grew a little [Sam] saw to his surprise that what from a distance had seemed wide and featureless flats were in fact all broken and tumbled. “  (The Return of the King, Book Six, Chapter 3, “Mount Doom”)

The going, however, is simply too rough for them in their current condition, and they return to the road, as will we, approaching Orodruin (Mt. Doom), where, for the first time since finding a spring on the eastern slope of the Mountains of Shadow, they find water—

“All long ago would have been spent, if they had not dared to follow the orc-road.  For at long intervals on that highway cisterns had been built for the use of troops sent in haste through the waterless regions. 

In one Sam found some water left, stale, muddied by the orcs, but still sufficient for their desperate case.”   (The Return of King, Book Six, Chapter 3, “Mount Doom”)

Struggling to the foot of Mt. Doom (Orodruin), Sam discovers a path—our last road in this series of postings—which is actually part of Sauron’s road from the Barad-dur to the volcano.

(from the Encyclopedia of Arda)

“…for amid the rugged humps and shoulders above him he saw plainly a path or road.  It climbed like a rising girdle from the west and wound snakelike about the Mountain, until before it went round out of view it reached the foot of the cone on the eastern side.”  (The Return of King, Book Six, Chapter 3, “Mount Doom”)

Finally coming to the path, they find

“…that it was broad, paved with broken rubble and beaten ash” The Return of King, Book Six, Chapter 3, “Mount Doom”)

But, before the eagles come to rescue Frodo and Sam, we’ll take our own eagle back to the door where our roads began.

(the Hildebrandts)

As always, thanks for reading.

Stay well,

Remember how perilous it may be to step out your front door,

And remember, as well, that there’s always

MTCIDC

O

PS

For a bit more on the roads of Middle-earth, see:  https://thainsbook.minastirith.cz/roads.html

(Not) Crossing Bridges

03 Wednesday Dec 2025

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Welcome, dear readers, as always.

We’ve been traveling along the roads of Middle-earth in the last two postings, but we’ve taken a pause at Osgiliath,

(from the Encylopedia of Arda)

before our trip across the Anduin and beyond.

Frodo and Sam had crossed the Anduin by boat, much farther upstream,

(John Howe)

(Encyclopedia of Arda)

but the bridge here is broken—

and the real reason why it’s broken may lie, not in this Middle-earth, but in our own Middle-earth and far in the past, in the early history of Rome.

The earliest Italic settlers of the area had been farmers, who built communities on seven hills to the east of the Tiber River and farmed the land below.

To their north was an older civilization, the Etruscans,

who were, culturally, a more sophisticated people.

They were also a more powerful military people

(Giuseppe Rava)

and eventually took over Rome for about a century (616-509BC).

Their last ruler of the city, Tarquinius Superbus (“Tarquinius the Arrogant”), was ejected, however, in 509BC, but did not leave quietly, going to the Etruscan king, Lars Porsena, in another Etruscan town, Clusium (Etruscan “Clevsin”),

for help.  Porsena marched on Rome—

(Peter Connolly)

but, after this, ancient histories diverge—and so will we, as we pause once more at that bridge—the Pons Sublicius—the first bridge at the crossing of the Tiber.  As Lars Porsena moved against the city, the Roman militia came out to fight and were defeated.

Their only chance to save Rome, they believed, was to break down the bridge and three Romans, led by a lower-rank officer, Horatius, held back the Etruscans with two higher-rank officers while that was done.

Under Etruscan pressure, the other two began to retreat, but Horatius stood his ground, even though wounded more than once, until he had word that the bridge had been broken.  Upon that news, he turned, leaped into the Tiber, and swam to the other bank.

(Richard Hook)

At least one of our sources, Titus Livius (59BC-17AD), is doubtful about all of this, especially because Horatius was said to have done his swimming in full armor, but it fits into a regular story-pattern for Romans, in which a Roman suffers bravely—all for the sake of Rome.  A favorite in this pattern was the story of Regulus, a Roman official, who, being allowed by his Carthaginian captors to return to Rome to deal with terms for a prisoner exchange, spoke against it in Rome, then returned to his captors to meet an unpleasant end.  (For more on Regulus see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marcus_Atilius_Regulus_(consul_267_BC) )

Long after Rome’s empire was history—and legends—Horatius’ story survived and, in Victorian England, had become a literary staple because of the poem “Horatius ”, the first chapter in Thomas Babington Macaulay’s  (1800-1859)

 Lays of Ancient Rome (1842).

This also became a schoolboy staple, a popular favorite for memorizing and reciting in a world and time in which public poetic recitation was common.  (Winston Churchill claimed that he had once won a school prize for doing so.  See:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Horatius_Cocles  You can have your own copy of the first edition of Macaulay to recite from here:  https://archive.org/details/macaulaylaysofancientrome/page/n7/mode/2up  )

As a Victorian schoolboy, Tolkien

would have had a double exposure to this story, then:  first, in his copy of Livy’s history of Rome, Ab Urbe Condita, and then in Macaulay—which is why, rereading this passage, in which Boromir details Gondor’s rearguard action against Mordor, I saw what may have been the ultimate source for Tolkien’s bridge:

“ ‘Only a remnant of our eastern force came back, destroying the last bridge that still stood amid the ruins of Osgiliath.

I was in the company that held the bridge, until it was cast down behind us.  Four only were saved by swimming:  my brother and myself and two others.’ “ (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 2, “The Council of Elrond”)

Thanks, as ever, for reading.  Next posting:  the third and last part of the little series on Middle-earth roads, where we’ll leap over the Anduin and move east.

Stay well,

Building bridges is always better than breaking them–just ask a Roman,

And remember that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

On the Road(s) Again—Again

26 Wednesday Nov 2025

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Welcome, dear readers, as always.

“While in the merry month of May, from me home I started
Left the girls of Tuam so sad and broken hearted
Saluted father dear, kissed me darling mother
Drank a pint of beer, me grief and tears to smother

Then off to reap the corn, leave where I was born
Cut a stout black thorn to banish ghosts and goblins
Bought a pair of brogues rattling o’er the bogs
And fright’ning all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin”

Another road song—this time an Irish one—and we’ll be continuing, in this posting, to follow the roads of Middle-earth, rocky and otherwise.

(This is a very catchy song and you can read the whole lyric here:  https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/dubliners/rockyroadtodublin.html   (although you’ll notice a couple of small discrepancies between the written lyric and the sung one) before you listen to Liam Clancy and Tommy Makem performing it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vb2Xw424W0M&list=RDVb2Xw424W0M&start_radio=1  For something about the history of the song, see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rocky_Road_to_Dublin )

We had stopped our exploration at the ruined bridge at Tharbad—

(the so-called Ponte Rotto (“Ruined Bridge”) in Rome—actually the Pons Aemilius—here’s a very interesting article about it and other bridges in Rome:   https://www.througheternity.com/en/blog/hidden-sights/rome-most-beautiful-historic-bridges.html  )    

Tharbad had once been a Numenorean city, with an impressive bridge which spanned the River Gwathlo (“Greyflood”), but

“A considerable garrison of soldiers, mariners and engineers had been kept there until the seventeenth century of the Third Age.  But from then onwards the region fell quickly into decay; and long before the time of The Lord of the Rings had gone back into wild fenlands.  When Boromir made his great journey from Gondor to Rivendell…the North-South Road no longer existed except for the crumbling remains of the causeways, by which a hazardous approach to Tharbad might be achieved, only to find ruins on dwindling mounds, and a dangerous ford formed by the ruins of the bridge…” (JRRT/Christopher Tolkien, Unfinished Tales, 277)

I wonder whether, when thinking of ruins, Tolkien had in mind the towns of southern Belgium destroyed by German shelling in the Great War, such as Ypres, which he would have walked through in 1916–

The road south from Tharbad, then, we can presume, was more like the Greenway farther north—grassgrown and abandoned.

Using our map, we can see that the old road traveled through the Gap of Rohan,

(both this and the map above are derived, ultimately, from the Tolkiens’ map, but I haven’t seen this credited to anyone)

with Isengard off to its left,

(the Hildebrandts)

and, farther on, Helm’s Deep to its right,

(JRRT)

although I doubt that either was visible from the road, Isengard in particular being up the valley of the Isen.

JRRT has left us a useful description of the Fords of the Isen—

“There the river was broad and shallow, passing in two arms about a large eyot [from Old English, igeoth, “small island”], over a stony shelf covered with stones and pebbles brought down from the north.”  (Unfinished Tales, 372—there is a long and detailed account here, 372-390, including the heroic death of Theodred, son of Theoden.  This fills in the period when members of the Fellowship come to the defense of Helm’s Deep and Gandalf is abroad, looking for aid, while Merry and Pippin are rallying the Ents.)

Down from Helm’s Deep would also be Edoras,

(Alan Lee—notice, by the way, that the usual image of the wall of Edoras isn’t the spindly palisade shown in the films, but a solid stone wall, of the sort JRRT must have meant when he wrote:  “Following the winding way up the green shoulders of the hills, they came at last to the wide wind-swept walls and the gates of Edoras.”  (The Two Towers, Book Three, Chapter 6, “The King of the Golden Hall”)

and the road to Gondor and Minas Tirith.

(Ted Nasmith)

But we should pause here—as a hidden road will appear to our right—indicated to the Rohirrim in their ride south to the rescue of Minas Tirith by Ghan Buri Ghan, chief of the Woses (aka Wild Men—descendants  of pre-Numorean settlers of Gondor).

(Hildebrandts)

(This is taken from a large and elegant map which you can see here:  https://i.pinimg.com/originals/70/bc/b6/70bcb6ccc3a0ed5068d6ce15fb5a09a4.jpg )

As he describes it:

“ ‘Road is forgotten, but not by Wild Men.  Over hill and behind hill it lies under grass and tree, there behind Rimmon and down to Din, and back at the end to Horse-men’s road…Way is wide for four horses in Stonewain Valley yonder…but narrow at beginning and at end.  Wild Man could walk from here to Din between sunrise and noon.’ ”  (The Return of the King, Book Five, Chapter 5, “The Ride of the Rohirrim”)

And the narrator continues:

“It was late in the afternoon when the leaders came to wide grey thickets stretching beyond the eastward side of Amon Din, and masking a great gap in the line of hills that from Nardol to Din ran east and west.  Through the gap the forgotten wain-road long ago had run down, back into the main horse-way from the City through Anorien; but now for many lives of men trees had had their way with it, and it had vanished, broken and buried under the leaves of uncounted years.” (The Return of the King, Book Five, Chapter 5, “The Ride of the Rohirrim”)

A “wain” is a wagon

(This is the center of John Constable’s “The Hay Wain”, 1824, but it can give you an idea of what JRRT had in mind—picture this loaded with building stone instead of hay.)

and it’s clear that what we’re seeing here is an old quarry road, which led from stone quarries down to Minas Tirith, to build its walls.

But, speaking of walls, we’re about to come up against one:  the Rammas Echor, or great circuit of wall that surrounded the Pelennor:

(from the Encyclopedia of Arda site)

“Many tall men heavily cloaked stood beside him, and behind them in the mist loomed a wall of stone.  Partly ruinous it seemed, but already before the night was passed the sound of hurried labour could be heard.”

As you can see from the map, this was a very long wall (“For ten leagues or more it ran from the mountains’ feet and so back again…” —   a standard for a league is about 3 miles, so the wall is about 30 miles—about 48km–long) , and I’ve always imagined it as looking rather like Hadrian’s Wall in northern England, some 80+ miles long (about 129km), as it appeared when finished.

There were larger gates in the area called the Causeway Forts, but there were clearly single, smaller gates as in the image above, as the text tells us:  “…and the men made way for Shadowfax, and he passed through a narrow gate in the wall.” (The Return of the King, Book Five, Chapter 1, “Minas Tirith”)

I suppose that we could circle around the wall, and then we’d have to get onto the causeway—that’s a kind of elevated road—

(This is the stone causeway leading to St.Michael’s Mount, in Cornwall, southwest England, with the tide coming in—or going out.  You can read about St.Michael’s Mount here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Michael%27s_Mount )

which leads to the ruined city of Osgiliath

where, alas, the bridges are broken (“And are not the bridges of Osgiliath broken down and all the landings held now by the Enemy?”  (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 8, “Farewell to Lorien “)

(Norris Rahming, 1886-1959)

and where we’ll stop for today, but pause at the site of one of those bridges in our next.

As ever, thanks for reading.

Stay well,

In James Joyce’s Ulysses, one of the main characters, Stephen Dedalus, calls a pier

a “disappointed bridge”—would you agree?

And remember that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

On the Road(s) Again

19 Wednesday Nov 2025

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“Just can’t wait to get on the road again
The life I love is makin’ music with my friends
And I can’t wait to get on the road again
And I can’t wait to get on the road again”

As always, welcome, dear readers.  This is from a Willie Nelson, a US country and western singer’s,

virtual theme song, and it seemed to fit where this posting wanted to go.

Having just written two postings about traveling to Bree, it struck me just how many Western adventure stories, as a main element of the plot, require the characters to travel, often long distances.  (I’m sure that there are lots of Eastern stories which do this, too—see, for example, Wu Cheng’en’s (attributed) Journey to the West, which appeared in the 16th century—see, for more:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Journey_to_the_West  You can read an abridged translation  of this at:  https://www.fadedpage.com/books/20230303/html.php ) 

Such adventures are commonly quests—that is, journeys with a particular goal and are commonly round- trip adventures.  (For more on quests, see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Quest )

There are lots of folktales with this pattern, but the literary begins for us with the story of Jason, and his task of finding the Golden Fleece and bringing it back to Greece.  (You can read a summary of the story here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Golden_Fleece  The full Greek version we have of the story is from a 3rd century BC poem, the Argonautica of Apollonius of Rhodes, which you can read in a translation here:  https://archive.org/details/apolloniusrhodiu00apol   And you can read about the poem itself here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Argonautica  )

(Jason delivering the fleece to King Pelias—for more on Pelias, who is actually Jason’s uncle, see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pelias )

Then there’s the Odyssey, a later story, in mythological time, in which the main plot is that of Odysseus, a Greek and ruler of the island of Ithaka, who, having participated in the war against Troy, spends 9+ years of many adventures getting home to his island once more.

It’s no wonder, then, that Tolkien, originally destined to be a classicist, in telling a long story to his children, would make it a quest.

This quest would take the protagonist, Bilbo Baggins, from his home in the Shire hundreds of miles east, to the Lonely Mountain (Erebor) and back.

(Pauline Baynes—probably JRRT’s favorite illustrator—and whom he recommended to CS Lewis, for whom she illustrated all the Narnia books.  You can read about her here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pauline_Baynes )

In the last two postings, we first followed Bilbo eastwards to Bree—only to find that, in The Hobbit, there is no Bree.  We then retraced our steps and followed Frodo and his friends as they journeyed in the same direction, although this time with more success.

(Ted Nasmith)

Part of Frodo’s trip (with some detours), took him along the Great East Road, which ran through the Shire,

(Christopher Tolkien)

crossing the Greenway ( the old north/south road—more about this in a moment) at Bree and proceeding eastwards from there–

(Barbara Strachey, The Journeys of Frodo, 1981)

although Frodo and his friends, led by Strider,

(the Hildebrandts)

took an alternate route from there to Weathertop.

Because I’m always interested in the physical world of Middle-earth, I try to imagine what, in our Middle-earth, either suggested things to JRRT, or at least what we can use to try to reconstruct something comparable. 

For the Great East Road, because it was constructed by the kings of Arnor, and had a major bridge (the Bridge of Strongbows—that is, strong arches), across the Brandywine,

(actually a 16thcentury Ottoman bridge near the village of Balgarene in Bulgaria.  For more on Bulgarian bridges, some of which are quite spectacular, see:  https://vagabond.bg/bulgarias-wondrous-bridges-3120 )

I had imagined something like a Roman road, wide, paved, with perhaps drainage on both sides.

The Romans were serious engineers and roads could be very methodically laid out and built.

Latest research suggests that they may have constructed as many as almost 200,000 miles of roads (299,171km)—not all so elaborate, and some were doubtless improved local roads, but a vast number (see for more:  https://www.sciencealert.com/massive-new-map-reveals-300000-km-of-ancient-roman-roads ) were of the standard construction.

This may have been true once, but the road Frodo and his friends eventually reach doesn’t sound much like surviving Roman work—

“…the Road, now dim as evening drew on, wound away below them.  At this point it ran nearly from South-west to North-east, and on their right it fell quickly down into a wide hollow.  It was rutted and bore many signs of the recent heavy rain; there were pools and pot-holes full of water.”  (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book One, Chapter 8, “Fog on the Barrow-downs”)

Following the road, however, has made me consider just how many miles of roads we actually see in Middle-earth and over which various characters travel and how they might appear.  Just look at a map—

(cartographer? clearly based on JRRT and Christopher Tolkien’s map)

The Great East Road (named “East-West Road” there) is drawn and identified, and we can see the North Road (as “North-South Road”), but these are hardly the only roads in Middle-earth and certainly not in the story, and, as we’re following Frodo & Co. on their journeys, I thought that it would be interesting to examine some of the others—the main ones, and one nearly-lost one.

So, when Frodo and his friends eventually reach the edge of Bree, they’re actually at a crossroads—

“For Bree stood at the old meeting of ways:  another ancient road crossed the East Road just outside the dike at the western end of the village, and in former days Men and other folk of various sorts had traveled much on it.  ‘Strange as News from Bree’ was still a saying in the Eastfarthing, descending from those days, when news from North, South, and East could be heard in the inn, and when the Shire-hobbits used to go more to hear it.”

With the fall of the northern realm of Arnor about TA1974, however, things had changed:

“But the Northern Lands had long been desolate, and the North Road was now seldom used:  it was grass-grown, and the Bree-folk called it the Greenway.”  (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book One, Chapter 9, “At the Sign of the Prancing Pony”)

We’re not given a detailed description of this road—was it like what I had imagined the Great East Road might have looked like, Roman and paved, but overgown?

If so, it led back to the city of Tharbad to the south, which had had its own elaborate bridge at the River Greyflood—

“…where the old North Road crossed the river by a ruined town.”

Of this bridge we know:

“…both kingdoms [Arnor and Gondor] together built and maintained the Bridge of Tharbad and the long causeways that carried the road to it on either of the Gwathlo [Greyflood]…”  (JRRT Unfinished Tales, 277)

It must have been massive—could it have looked something like this?

(the 1ST century Roman bridge at Merida, Spain—you can read about it here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Puente_Romano,_M%C3%A9rida )

As we also know, it had fallen into ruin, becoming only a dangerous ford, as Boromir found out, losing his horse there on the way north (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 8, “Farewell to Lorien”)

(the “Ponte Rotto” (“ruined bridge”) actually the 2nd century BC Pons Aemilius.  You can read about it here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pons_Aemilius  This is a 1690 painting by Caspar van Wittel, a very interesting and talented man, and you can read about him here:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caspar_van_Wittel   )

We’ll pause here, however, waiting, perhaps, for a drought,

before we continue down the road towards Gondor…

Thanks for reading, as always.

Stay well,

Don’t cross any bridge till you come to it,

And remember that there’s always

MTCIDC

O

To Bree (Part 2)

12 Wednesday Nov 2025

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As always, welcome, dear readers.

In “To Bree (Part 1)”, we had followed Bilbo & Co.

(Hildebrandts)

(Hildebrandts)

eastwards,

but only as far as Bree, echoing the remark in The Lord of the Rings:

“It was not yet forgotten that there had been a time when there was much coming and going between the Shire and Bree.” (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book One, Chapter 9, “At the Sign of the Prancing Pony”)

Oddly, however, although I supposed that we were traveling through the East Farthing

(Christopher Tolkien)

through Frogmorton and Whitfurrows,

to the Bridge of Strongbows,

(Stirling Bridge, actually—for more see:  https://www.historicenvironment.scot/visit-a-place/places/stirling-old-bridge/ )

the description in The Hobbit was wildly different:

“Then they came to lands where people spoke strangely, and sang songs Bilbo had never heard before.  Now they had gone on far into the Lone-lands, where there were no people left, no inns, and the roads grew steadily worse.  Not far ahead were dreary hills, rising higher and higher, dark with trees.  On some of them were old castles with an evil look, as if they had been built by wicked people.”  (The Hobbit, Chapter 2, “Roast Mutton”) 

with, eventually, a surprise for us Bree-bound folk:  no Bree.

So, back we went to the Green Dragon, in Bywater, where Bilbo started and now we begin again, with Frodo.  Times have changed, however, and unlike the innocent Bilbo, we are in a different world, where Mordor isn’t just a distant place name and its servants are looking for Baggins.

(Denis Gordeev)

Frodo doesn’t take the Great East Road,

(Christopher Tolkien)

but cuts across country, narrowly avoiding one of the searchers,

(Angus McBride)

taking shelter with a local farmer, and finally reaching the ferry across the Brandywine just ahead of his pursuers.

Although this is a very indirect route, Frodo and his companions eventually reach Bree, but even though I would love to meet Tom Bombadil,

(the Hildebrandts)

I prefer a direct route, so we’ll continue on the Great East Road, cross the Bridge of Strongbows, and head eastwards. 

(from Barbara Strachey, The Journeys of Frodo, a much-recommended book, if you don’t have a copy)

So what do we see?  

Over the bridge—and here’s another possibility for it, the Clopton Bridge at Stratford-upon-Avon—

(you can see more of Stratford and the shire—Warwickshire, that is—here:  https://www.ourwarwickshire.org.uk/content/catalogue_wow/stratford-upon-avon-clopton-bridge-2 )

the road runs, not surprisingly, due eastwards and here, consulting our map,

 is the Old Forest to our right,

described, by our narrator, as Frodo and his friends see it on their detour away from the Great East Road:

“Looking ahead they could see only tree-trunks of innumerable sizes and shapes:  straight or bent, twisted, leaning, squat or slender, smooth or gnarled and branched; and all the stems were green or grey with moss and slimy, shaggy growths.” (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book One, Chapter 6, “The Old Forest”)

Keep in mind, however, that we’re seeing it through a long line of trees planted alongside the road, probably as a windbreak.

We know that they’re there because Merry says:

“ ‘That is a line of trees,’ said Merry, ‘and that must mark the Road.  All along it for many leagues east of the Bridge there are trees growing.  Some say they were planted in the old days.’ “ (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book One, Chapter 8, “Fog on the Barrow-downs”)

As we travel farther along the road, if we look to our right, through the trees, we then come to the edge of the Barrow-downs,

with their ancient standing stones

and tumuli—

where Frodo and his friends almost end their trip.

(Matthew Stewart)

But we haven’t strayed, as they did, and, passing the Downs, we see, again on our right:

“The dark line they had seen was not a line of trees but a line of bushes growing on the edge of a deep dike, with a steep wall on the further side.”

A dike is a ditch, usually with an earthen embankment made from the spoil of the ditch.  There are several of these in England, like Offa’s Dyke—

The narrator adds:

“…with a steep wall on the further side”

and I’m presuming that that is the earthen embankment, with:

“…a gap in the wall” through which Frodo and friends rode and

…when at last they saw a line of tall trees ahead…they knew that they had come back to the Road.”

If you’re read the first part of this posting, you will know that I’ve been assuming that that Road, laid in ancient times to a stone bridge and beyond, would be like a Roman road, and be paved,

if a bit weedy, but now we find:

“…the Road, now dim as evening drew on, wound away below them.  At this point it ran nearly from South-west to North-east, and on their right it fell quickly down into a wide hollow.  It was rutted and bore many signs of the recent heavy rain; there were pools and pot-holes full of water.”

Does this suggest that it was, at best and in the past, simply a dirt road, through well-kept?  Or is it a very run-down road, worn and covered over with leaves and dirt, the ancient blocks gradually becoming separated under the weight of centuries, allowing for pot-holes?

In any event, we now continue our journey with Frodo and his compantions until–

“…they saw lights twinkling some distance ahead.

Before them rose Bree-hill barring the way, a dark mass against misty stars; and under its western flank nestled a large village.  Towards it they [and we] now hurried desiring only to find a fire, and a door between them and the night.”

We’re not in Bree yet, however, as:

“The village of Bree had some hundred stone houses of the Big Folk, mostly above the Road, nestling on the hillside with windows looking west.  On that side, running in more than half a circle from the hill and back to it, there was a deep dike with a thick hedge on the inner side.  Over this the Road crossed by a causeway; but where it pierced the hedge it was barred by a great gate.  There was another gate in the southern corner where the Road ran out of the village.  The gates were closed at nightfall; but just inside them were small lodges for the gatekeepers.”  (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book One, Chapter 9, “At the Sign of the Prancing Pony”)

We’ve seen a dike just now, at the Great East Road, but now we have to add a hedge

and a gate.

Once inside, however, lies the Prancing Pony

(Ted Nasmith)

and one more pint before bed.

As always, thanks for reading.

Stay well,

Read road signs carefully,

And remember that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

To Bree (Part 1)

05 Wednesday Nov 2025

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Welcome, as always, dear readers.

For me, one of the great pleasures of The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings is that they are both so wonderfully imagined.  Consider the beginning of The Hobbit, for example, where the opening could just have been the bare line “In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit.” Instead, it continues:

“Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry, bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat:  it was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort.”

(JRRT)

And even this is not enough, as it continues:

“It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle.”

And it will go on for an entire paragraph beyond that sentence, listing rooms and even explaining why some are preferred.

Even with so much detail, I sometimes find myself wanting more—often more of the outside world.  In this posting, then, I thought that we might take a trip to Bree and spend some time sightseeing as we go.  Via the Great East Road, this is about 100 of our miles (160 km), according to the very useful website of Becky Burkheart (which you can visit here:  https://www.beckyburkheart.com/traveltimesinmiddleearth ).

Why Bree?  To quote The Lord of the Rings:

“It was not yet forgotten that there had been a time when there was much coming and going between the Shire and Bree.” (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book One, Chapter 9, “At the Sign of the Prancing Pony”)

If we use both The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings together, however, we’ll soon encounter some difficulties, as we shall see.

Our starting point for Bilbo is the Green Dragon Inn, in Bywater. 

(Christopher Tolkien)

Tolkien doesn’t describe the inn, but, using a real inn, we might imagine the Green Dragon as looking something like this–

(This is the White Lion in Barthomley, in Cheshire, built in 1614.  You can read more about it and about Barthomley here:   https://drive.google.com/file/d/1oeQEpGsXlN1A_4T8nOhUwpggDA_pEFTM/view )

Just to the south of Bywater is the spot where the Hobbiton road meets the Great East Road.  Again, Tolkien gives us no description, but there may be a hint as to this road in the original grant of the Shire by Argeleb II in TA1601:

“For it was in the one thousand six hundred and first year of the Third Age that the Fallohide brothers, Marcho and Blanco, set out from Bree; and having obtained permission from the high king at Fornost, they crossed the brown river Baranduin with a great following of Hobbits.  They passed over the Bridge of Strongbows, that had been built in the days of the power of the North Kingdom, and they took all the land beyond to dwell in, between the river and the Far Downs.  All that was demanded of them was that they should keep the Great Bridge in repair, and all other bridges and roads, speed the king’s messengers, and acknowledge his lordship.”   (The Lord of the Rings, Prologue I, “Concerning Hobbits”)

We’ll cross the bridge a little later in our journey, but we might start with the road.  That it’s sometimes called “the Great East Road” suggests that it’s more than a dirt path.

Could Tolkien have been thinking of the bits of surviving Roman road which crisscross England?  Most are now buried under modern roads, but, here and there some are still available on the surface, as here—

and perhaps we can use this as a model. As an ancient stone road, it would certainly fit in with the ancient stone Bridge, as we’ll see.

Just beyond the spot where the lesser road meets the greater, we see marked on our map, the “Three Farthing Stone”.  A “farthing” is a “four-thing”—that is, a quarter, and it marks the spot where three of the quarters, the four farthings, of the Shire meet.  This appears to be modeled on the “Four Shire Stone” in our Middle-earth

which you can read about here:  https://thirdeyetraveller.com/four-shire-stone-tolkien/ )

And, from here, we head eastwards—and meet our first difficulty.  Here’s the description in The Hobbit—

“At first they had passed through hobbit-lands, a wide respectable country inhabited by decent folk, with good roads, an inn or two, and now and then a dwarf or a farmer ambling by on business.”

That fits our Shire map:  we might be traveling through Frogmorton and Whitfurrows, villages which might look like this—

but then there’s—

“Then they came to lands where people spoke strangely, and sang songs Bilbo had never heard before.  Now they had gone on far into the Lone-lands, where there were no people left, no inns, and the roads grew steadily worse.  Not far ahead were dreary hills, rising higher and higher, dark with trees.  On some of them were old castles with an evil look, as if they had been built by wicked people.”  (The Hobbit, Chapter 2, “Roast Mutton”) 

The bridge is just ahead, but “dreary hills”?  “old castles”? 

And you can really see the difference here between the two books.  Tolkien had yet to discover much of the East Farthing and was simply penciling in something which we might think of as “travel filler”, to indicate that the expedition was riding eastwards, but the trip was already becoming more difficult.

And then we come to the (here unnamed) bridge:

“Fortunately the road went over an ancient stone bridge, for the river, swollen with the rains, came rushing down from the hills and mountains in the north.”

As this is the first bridge mentioned, I’m going to assume that this is the “Bridge of Strongbows/Great Bridge” mentioned in Argeleb II’s grant to the original hobbit settlers.

(This is the Roman Pont Julien in southeastern France—over a bit drier patch than described in the book.  For more on this ancient bridge, see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pont_Julien )

Once over this bridge, we’re in a different world.  We reach another river:

“Then one of the ponies took fright at nothing and bolted.  He got into the river before they could catch him…” 

Then, attempting to camp in the rain, Bilbo and the dwarves spot a fire, go to it, and find trolls.

(JRRT)

With the trolls dealt with by Gandalf, we move on to Rivendell–

(JRRT)

and suddenly we realize that:   there’s no Bree!

It’s at the crossroads of the Great East Road and what the locals call “the Greenway”, the old north/south road, now long overgrown,

but, somehow, Bilbo and the dwarves have not encountered it.  The reason is clear, of course:  just as the Tolkien of The Hobbit had yet to discover the East Farthing, so, too, he had yet to discover Breeland.

So, it looks like we have to turn around, back to the Green Dragon, stop for a pint, as any hobbit would,

and try again—in “To Bree (Part 2”).

As always, thanks for reading.

Stay well,

When approaching a crossroads, be prepared for anything—especially monsters with questions–

And remember that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

A Plague o’ Both—No, o’ All Your Houses!

29 Wednesday Oct 2025

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As always, dear readers, welcome.

It’s almost Halloween again, one of my favorite holidays, when children dress up in various costumes and wander the streets in groups, demanding treats and threatening tricks,

while older people, themselves in costume, attend parties.

People dress up as monsters, vampires, and superheroes, but, recently, I’ve also seen a few of these—

a costume which you can actually buy on Amazon.

It’s a very haunting image:  crowlike, and yet not, and it struck me as an interesting basis for this year’s Halloween posting.

But what is it?

If you don’t know, I’ve given you a clue in that (modified) quotation I’ve used as a title.

In Act III, Scene 1, of Shakespeare’s The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet, 1591/95, as the 2nd Quarto (1599) has it,

Romeo’s best friend and perhaps the sanest character in the play, Mercutio, has been mortally wounded.  Dying, he curses both of the feuding families, wishing that a plague would take them both.

In Shakespeare’s England, this was not a random remark.  Since its original appearance, in 1348, when it may have killed as many as 40-60% of the population, the Black Plague (aka the Black Death) had

reappeared over the next couple of centuries, killing 30,000 in London, in 1603 alone,

before its grand finale (or nearly), in 1665-6,when it was responsible for perhaps 100,000 deaths there.

(And, in 1666, came the great fire, which destroyed much of the city—it’s a wonder that everyone surviving didn’t attempt to flee to anywhere as far away as they could.

For the fire, I recommend J. Draper’s short presentation here:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4bvB_gJThYk   with one correction.  She says that the artist/engraver Wenceslaus Hollar was Dutch when, in fact, he was a Czech.  See:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wenceslaus_Hollar  Otherwise, I have nothing but praise for Draper, who does proper research and wanders the London area , looking for odd and interesting aspects of London’s—and English—history which she then presents in creative ways.  For her grim and striking view of the Black Death, see:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ybh1jSZLIKY  )

Medieval science was not really even in its infancy—although there were highly intelligent and thoughtful men struggling to look at the world without superstition or religion, like Friar Roger Bacon, 1214-1294.

(an imaginary image—we have no known portrait)

Medical science, such as existed, followed the classical world and believed that communicable diseases were spread through miasma—that is, through “bad air”,

which isn’t such a far-fetched idea:  rotting things, dead things, stink, so death and bad smells are easily associated.

In fact, the Black Plague was—and is–a bacterium, Yersinia Pestis,

which lives in the gut of fleas,

which inhabited what was called the “black ship rat”,

which traveled on trading vessels from the Far East in the 14th century,

and eventually came, either directly on rats, or indirectly by a human carrier, to England, causing havoc on and off, for several centuries.

Needless to say, in a packed city, like London,

rats and their passengers could easily spread out and, in doing so, would spread the bacterium through the bites of those fleas. 

Medical men of that world, however, could make no such connections.  They only saw the horrible symptoms—including the swelling of the lymph nodes, attempting to defend the body—the buboes of bubonic plague—

(This is such a gross image that I almost didn’t include it, but it’s very helpful in explaining what exactly was going on in the body, so…)

The plague produced fever, chills, vomiting, violent headaches—and all that doctors could do was what they did for almost anything:  try to balance the humors—the basic elements of the body—which included bleeding, a treatment which actually weakened the body.

Because the real agent of contagion wasn’t understood, doctors could only be brave and deal with their patients as best they could—and contract the disease themselves—or could attempt to protect themselves, which brings us to this image again—

(appropriately titled “the clothing against death”, implying the Black Death)

This diagram

(with some strange English—it appears to be a translation—I’ve seen one copy in which the text is in Russian– gives you a general idea of how a doctor might attempt to ward off infection, including basics which had to do with bad air, like carrying a pomander—a little vessel containing strong-smelling herbs to fend off that air—

which someone might carry simply to ward off the bad smells of a time when streets in cities often had the equivalent of open sewers, as well as might be employ ed as a fashion accessory—for more on pomanders, see:   https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pomander )

as well as that beaky thing—which is really a kind of early surgical mask

combined with a pomander—the beak being stuffed with those protective herbs.  And, as who knows what can get in through the eyes, add crystalline lenses to the beak.

Gloves and a long coat, sometimes waxed, probably as much for water-proofing as against floating miasma, and a broad-brimmed hat to cover the head, complete the outfit.  Oh—and a rod for probing the infected, plus a light source—medieval/Renaissance houses being notoriously dim. 

Note, however, that, whoever designed this modern version hadn’t done quite enough research:  that’s a 19th-century kerosene lantern.  Here’s a lantern of a sort which would be likely—

(This is an Elizabethan image of a city watchman, armed with a spear, followed by a dog, and carrying a bell to sound the hours.)

And so, when you see someone dressed like this at a party, you can confidently ask, “Tell me, doctor, is the plague spreading and should I flee the city?”

although he may respond by offering you not a pomander, but one of these, instead.

Thanks, as always for reading.  Happy Halloween, if you celebrate it.

Stay well,

Avoid miasma like the plague,

And remember that, as always, there’s

MTCIDC

O

PS

There is now some argument about the gear of such doctors.  See:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Plague_doctor  and https://www.livescience.com/plague-doctors.html   Plague could actually take several forms.  See:  https://www.britannica.com/science/plague   Because cemeteries—and grave-diggers were often overwhelmed, mass graves in unconsecrated ground began to be common—and now are sometimes happened upon unexpectedly.  See recent London plague pit discoveries:  https://www.cityam.com/after-crossrails-gruesome-discovery-weve-mapped-every-one-londons-plague-pits-do-you-work/

It’s in Writing (2:  I’st a Prologue, or a Poesie for a Ring?)

22 Wednesday Oct 2025

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As always, dear readers, welcome.

The first part of this posting began as far from Middle-earth and its history as possible:  the Biblical lands of our Middle-earth and the story of the ancient prophet, Daniel and specifically the event which gained Daniel his position in the court first of Belshazzar, the Babylonian king, and then in that of his conqueror/successor, Darius the Persian.  Uniquely for early prophecy, Belshazzar hadn’t been warned that he would be deposed by any of the accepted means—the reading of the flight of birds

or the reading of animal intestines, for example,

(This is a bit of Etruscology, being a bronze model of a sheep’s liver believed to be used as a guide to interpreting what an Etruscan priest might find on an actual sheep’s liver.  For more, see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haruspex )

but by a message written by a detached hand on an interior wall of his palace.

(Rembrandt—as I said in the first part of this posting, having no idea of what real Babylonians looked like, the artist went for the Magi look)

When Belshazzar’s own scribes and prophets could make nothing of it, Daniel was brought in as a consultant and delivered the grim message that the words—which were potentially chillingly ambiguous—signalled not only the end of Belshazzar’s reign, but of his kingdom.  (For more on this, see:  https://www.christianitytoday.com/2024/11/andrew-wilson-spirited-life-daniel-writing-on-wall-babylon/   For a wonderful 12th-century version of the story and a little on Daniel’s experience in the court of Darius, see:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Djf0DFkH7mA&list=RDDjf0DFkH7mA&start_radio=1 )

In that posting, I suggested that Daniel’s story not only confirmed his role as prophet, but, for the posting, that he was literate, which would have marked him out in a world in which literacy was a specialized skill, like being a boatwright.

(This is from one of my favorite medieval mosaics, the story of Noah and the Ark from the cathedral of Monreale in Palermo—for more see:  https://www.christianiconography.info/sicily/noahBuildsArkMonreale.html )

This, in turn, had led to considering literacy in Middle-earth, chiefly among hobbits, and, in particular, the literacy of one rather unlikely hobbit, Sam Gamgee.

(Robert Chronister)

For more on this, see that earlier posting, “It’s in Writing (1)” 15 October, 2025, but my conclusion, based upon the final chapter of The Lord of the Rings, “The Grey Havens”, was that, as the story of Daniel makes Daniel literate in order to elevate him to a level of prophetic importance, so JRRT makes Sam literate in order to allow him to be the author who will complete the story of the Ring.  

That posting briefly examined hobbits and even suggested some evidence of literacy among dwarves, but it was never meant to be a full inventory of mentions of literacy in Middle-earth—although I think that that would be a very interesting project and well worth doing—and one thing it omitted entirely was any mention of literacy in Mordor. 

Did Orcs read and write, for example?

(Alan Lee)

Considering the conversation of people like Ugluk and Grishnakh, it would seem that they were mainly oral, as much of their and other talk is based upon what they hear, rather than read. (“ ‘What are they wanted for?’ asked several voices.  ‘Why alive?  Do they give good sport?’ ‘No!  I heard that one of them has got something, something that’s wanted for the war…”  The Two Towers, Book Three, Chapter 3, “The Uruk-hai”—for more on Orcs and gossip, among other things, see “Scuttlebutt”, 27 October, 2021)

And yet there’s this:

“The brief glow fell upon a huge sitting figure, still and solemn like the great stone kings of Argonath.  The years had gnawed it, and violent hands had maimed it..Upon its knees were idle scrawls mixed with the foul symbols that the maggot-folk of Mordor used.”  (The Two Towers, Book Four, Chapter 7, Journey to the Cross-roads”)

The “maggot-folk of Mordor” must certainly be the Orcs and “idle scrawls” suggests graffiti, like the World War 2-era favorite–

(For more on orcs and graffiti, see “Ugluk was Here”, 14 December, 2016—for more on Kilroy see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kilroy_was_here )

So what did they write in?  Pippin, while a prisoner of the Orcs, notices that they seem to speak different languages—or at least dialects—but employ the Common Speech to understand each other:

“To Pippin’s surprise he found that much of the talk was intelligible; many of the Orcs were using ordinary language.  Apparently the members of two or three quite different tribes were present, and they could not understand one another’s orc-speech.”  (The Two Towers, Book Three, Chapter 3, “The Uruk-hai”)

Can we presume, then, that the “idle scrawls” were in the writing system called the Tengwar, as “[its letters] had spread over much of the same area as that in which the Common Speech was known” (The Lord of the Rings, Appendix E, II, “Writing”)?  Or possibly the runic Cirith, as “[it] became known to many peoples, to Men and Dwarves, and even to Orcs, all of whom altered it to suit their purposes and according to their skill or lack of it.”

But what about the Black Speech?

“It is said that the Black Speech was devised by Sauron in the Dark Years, and that he had desired to make it the language of all those that served him…”

however—

“…after the first overthrow of Sauron this language in its ancient form was forgotten by all but the Nazgul.  When Sauron arose again, it became once more the language of Barad-dur and of the captains of Mordor.”

It was the formal language of the top of the chain of command, then, but, as JRRT had written earlier of Sauron’s first attempt to make it the official language, “he failed in that purpose” and the Orcs picked and chose what they found useful and nothing more.  (See The Lord of the Rings, Appendix F, “Of the Other Races”)

Save for what might be the Black Speech in a curse (“Ugluk u bagronk sha pushdug Saruman-glob bubhosh skai”, says one menacing Orc to Pippin– The Two Towers, Book Three, Chapter 3, “The Uruk-hai”), when we hear it, it’s Gandalf, reciting what he read when he “set the golden thing in the fire a while” (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 2, “The Council of Elrond”). 

And this brings us back to reading and writing.  Why was there writing on that particular ring? 

Not being a party to its maker’s mind, this is only my guess, but I think that it may have had several possible purposes.

First—and this seems the most obvious—comes from something Gandalf says, repeating a remark made by Saruman:

“ ‘The Nine, the Seven, and the Three…had each their proper gem.  Not so the One.  It was round and unadorned, as it were one of the lesser rings; but its maker set marks upon it that the skilled, maybe, could still see and read.”  (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 2, “The Council of Elrond”). 

Thus, Sauron had written on it to distinguish it from the other rings—and this writing was seemingly to be seen only by Sauron, as Isildur suggests:

“It was hot when I first took it, hot as a glede [a hot coal], and my hand was scorched, so that I doubt if ever again I shall be free of the pain of it.  Yet even as I write it is cooled, and it seemeth to shrink, though it loseth neither its beauty nor its shape.  Already the writing upon it, which at first was as clear as red flames, fadeth and is only barely to be read.”

Isildur’s explanation for this fading was:

“The Ring misseth, maybe, the heat of Sauron’s hand, which was black and yet burned like fire.” (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 2, “The Council of Elrond”). 

The second purpose, then, might be that The Ring mirrored, in a way, its master, the inscription legible to him because it took its heat from his hand and, with that removed, it cooled, eventually, into silence.  Isildur had guessed that heat might revive it (“…maybe were the gold made hot again, the writing would be refreshed”) but it was Gandalf, having read Isildur’s suggestion, who did, by placing it into an environment like to its original.  That it would lose that inscription if the Ring were removed from its owner’s hand might also suggest a third purpose, which lies in what the writing actually said:

“One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them.”  (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book One, Chapter 2, “The Shadow of the Past”)

Although Gandalf says that this formed part of “a verse long known in Elven-lore”, the Ring itself was meant to be the master ring:

“He only needs the One; for he made that Ring himself, it is his, and he let a great part of his own former power pass into it, so that he could rule all the others.”

Thus, though it may have been part of a “verse long known in Elven-lore”, it sounds to me like a kind of spell Sauron would have chanted as he made the Ring, not only putting “a great part of his own former power” into it, but binding the lesser rings to it, as the words written on the Ring may have eventually been part of later tradition, but, logically, must have been his words long before they became part of that tradition.

These might have been Sauron’s purposes, but they also serve the narrative.  As Bilbo’s ring, passed down traumatically to Frodo, is “round and unadorned”, Gandalf has to have some way to prove to himself and to Frodo that this ring is the Ring.

(Alan Lee)

When Gandalf begins explaining to Frodo in detail about it and about Bilbo’s connection to it, he first mentions that

“A mortal…who keeps one of the Great Rings, does not die, but he does not grow or obtain more life, he merely continues, until at last every minute is a weariness.”

and Bilbo, says Gandalf, “…was getting restless and uneasy.  Thin and Stretched, he said.”

He speaks further about his worries about Bilbo and then tells Frodo that “There is a last test to make”, meaning in his confirmation that this is the Ring.

That last test takes place when, reluctantly, Frodo hands the Ring to Gandalf, and Gandalf throws it into the fire on Frodo’s hearth, where, when Frodo picks it up, he spots “fine lines, finer than the finest pen-strokes, running along the ring, outside and inside:  lines of fire that seemed to form the letters of a flowing script” and that script says:

“Ash nazg burbatuluk, ash nasz gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.”

“One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the Darkness bind them.”  (translation by Gandalf—earlier quotations from The Fellowship of the Ring, Book One, Chapter 2, “The Shadow of the Past”, the Black Speech from Book Two, Chapter 2, “The Council of Elrond”  For more on the Black Speech, see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Speech )

For Gandalf, that inscription is the final element in his understanding of just what, long ago, Bilbo picked up in the tunnels under the Misty Mountains.  He explains that it’s “only two lines of a verse long known in Elven-lore”, but those two lines are apparently all that’s necessary.

But where might the idea for an inscription have come to JRRT from originally?  I have no proof, but, as a medievalist, Tolkien might have been aware of what we find in medieval bling and is later picked up in Hamlet.

If you, like me, are a Shakespeare fan, you may recognize the subtitle of this posting as a sharp little remark by Hamlet in Act III, Scene 2 (you can read it here in the First Quarto of 1603:      https://internetshakespeare.uvic.ca/doc/Ham_Q1/complete/index.html ).  Hamlet is making fun of a very brief prologue before The Murder of Gonzago, the “play within a play” (renamed “The Mousetrap” by Hamlet) by which he hopes to force his uncle, Claudius, to reveal his guilt in the death of Hamlet’s father, but it’s the second half of that line, “a Poesie for a Ring” which provides an answer to my question.

What Hamlet is suggesting is that the prologue is as clumsy as the poetry found within a ring (although occasionally on the outside) usually given by one lover to another in the late medieval era at least into the 18th century, like this one—

where inside is written “When this you see, remember me.”

(For more, see:  https://web.archive.org/web/20080611125813/http://www.wartski.com/Posy%20ring%20messages.htm )

Often called “posy rings” (a contracted form of “poesie”, as in the Shakespeare quotation), there are hundreds of surviving examples—here are only a small number from the Ashmolean Museum in Oxford—

The texts vary, from what appears confident–“In thee my choice I do rejoice”—to the less so:  “I live in Hope”, but the general purpose of these little gifts is clear, if less sinister than Sauron’s.  They are meant to remind someone that someone else is thinking of them.  The difference, however, is that, if there’s one thing you wouldn’t want, it would be to have the Eye of Sauron looking in your direction.

Thanks, as always, for reading.

Stay well,

Consider what Orcs might write on their rings,

(Alan Lee)

And remember that, as ever, there’s

MTCIDC

O

PS

For a little more on posy rings, see the monograph by John Evans, “Posy-Rings” (1892) at https://ia800704.us.archive.org/5/items/PosyRingsEvans/evans-j-posy-1892-00011597.pdf

It’s in Writing (1)

15 Wednesday Oct 2025

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As always, dear readers, welcome.

Belshazzar, the king of the Babylonians, was having a lovely party—

“Baltassar rex fecit grande convivium optimatibus suis mille: et unusquisque secundum suam bibebat aetatem.”

“Belshazzar held a great banquet for a thousand of his elite and each one was drinking according to his time of life.”
But, wishing to up the fun, he decided to make the party a bit more lavish—

Praecepit ergo jam temulentus ut afferrentur vasa aurea et argentea, quae asportaverat Nabuchodonosor pater ejus de templo, quod fuit in Ierusalem, ut biberent in eis rex, et optimates ejus, uxoresque ejus, et concubinae.

“And so now, being drunk, he ordered that the golden and silver vessels which Nebuchadnezzar, his father, had carried away from the temple which had been in Jerusalem be brought in so that the king and his nobles and his wives and concubines might drink in them.”

[“fuit” here is the perfect form and might be translated “has been”, but that form can suggest a permanent state, the pluperfect, suggesting that there would be no more Jerusalem.]

and then things go very wrong–

“In eadem hora apparuerunt digiti, quasi manus hominis scribentis contra candelabrum in superficie parietis aulae regiae: et rex aspiciebat articulos manus scribentis.”

“In the same hour, there appeared fingers, like a man’s hand, opposite the lampstand, writing on the surface of the wall of the royal hall, and the king was staring at the joints of the hand writing.”

(Rembrandt—who clearly had no idea what the real Babylonian king would have worn, but settled for something right out of the visit of the Magi, which was undoubtedly good enough for his audience, who would have had no more idea than he did)

Needless to say, this was a bad omen, but one his own counselors couldn’t interpret, as the message was not in Babylonian.  His queen, however, recommended that a Jewish interpreter, Daniel, be summoned, who arrived and interpreted the writing, which may have included some rather fancy word-play, but which meant:  “You are not long on the throne and your kingdom is about to become the property of the Persians.”

(All Latin translations are mine from Section 5 of “The Book of Daniel”.  The Latin text is from Jerome’s 4th-century translation, which you can read, with an English translation, here:     https://vulgate.org/ot/daniel_5.htm  For more on the message, see:   https://www.christianitytoday.com/2024/11/andrew-wilson-spirited-life-daniel-writing-on-wall-babylon/   For more on the historic Belshazzar—an ironic name as far as the ancient Hebrews must have been concerned, as it means “[the god] Bel [aka Baal] protect the king” which the Book of Daniel indicates that he certainly didn’t!—see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Belshazzar )

Behind this story lies not only the status of Daniel as prophet and interpreter, and the idea that the Hebrew God is not to be messed with, even by kings, but also, for this posting, the importance of writing—the omen isn’t, like so many others, based on the flight of birds or the liver of a sheep or the behavior of chickens,

(for more on such practices see:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Augury )

all things which the ancient world would have thought significant–but on something handwritten (literally) on a palace wall.  This is clearly so unusual that its significance is immediately multiplied, and which, since Daniel can not only interpret it, but, to do so, he can read it, tells us something more about Daniel:   he is literate.

Because we in the modern West live in such a literate world ourselves, it’s sometimes hard to understand earlier worlds where literacy was not the norm.  Could Belshazzar read?  Probably not:  that was the job of technical people, scribes,

(These are actually Sumerians, but can stand in for Babylonian scribes, as the Babylonians used the writing system, cuneiform,

which the Sumerian scribes had invented.)

whom rulers could call upon when needed, as we see in ancient and medieval societies in general.  Literacy was a skill, like carpentry or masonry, and limited in the number of people who could practice it.  Could this have been true in Middle-earth, based as it is upon the medieval world of our Middle-earth, as well?

Gondor appears to have had a long tradition at least of extensive record-keeping, as we hear from Gandalf:

“And yet there lie in his hoards many records that few even of the lore-masters now can read, for their scripts and tongues have become dark to later men.” (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book Two, Chapter 2, “The Council of Elrond”)

As for the Rohirrim, I would guess that, although there may have been some literacy, much of their past—and possibly their present—was preserved in oral tradition, as Aragorn says of Meduseld:

“But to the Riders of the Mark it seems so long ago…that the raising of this house is but a memory of song.” (The Two Towers, Book Three, Chapter 6, “The King of the Golden Hall”)

And Theoden says to Aragorn:

“Will you ride with me then, son of Arathorn?  Maybe we shall cleave a road, or make an end as will be worth a song—if any be left to sing of us hereafter.”  (The Two Towers, Book Three, Chapter 7, “Helm’s Deep”)

In the Prologue to The Lord of the Rings, we are told that the Hobbits as a whole had had potential literacy for some time, in fact, from their days of moving westwards towards what would become the Shire:

“It was in these early days, doubtless, that the Hobbits learned their letters and began to write, after the manner of the Dunedain, who had in their turn long before learned the art from the Elves.”  (The Lord of the Rings, Prologue I, “Concerning Hobbits”)

As in the case of other medieval worlds, however, this was seemingly not general literacy, although rather than being the possession of a specialized class, as in Babylon or ancient Egypt,

it might, instead, have been a mark of class.

Consider Sam Gamgee.  His father is the gardener for Bilbo Baggins and Sam is his assistant.

(Robert Chronister)

From his position—and from the way he addresses his “betters” as “Mister”, while they address him by his first name—it’s clear that Sam and his father are not of the same social class as the Bagginses.   And so, when the Gaffer says:

“Mr. Bilbo has learned him his letters—meaning no harm, mark you, and I hope no harm will come of it.”  (The Fellowship of the Ring, Book One, Chapter 1, “A Long-Expected Party”)

This appears to be what we might call a mark of that class difference:  Bilbo, a ‘gentleman” can read, although, as we hear of no academies in the Shire, presumably through home-schooling, implying that there was at least one other person in his family’s household who could also read and who had taught him.  Considering the Gaffer’s potential uneasiness about it—why should there be harm in being able to read?—I think that we can imagine that the Gaffer himself could not—and himself was aware of the class distinction (Sam might get ideas “above his station”?).

And yet it’s to Sam that Frodo passes the book begun so long ago by Bilbo:

“ ‘Why, you have nearly finished it, Mr. Frodo!’ Sam exclaimed.  ‘Well, you have kept at it, I must say.’

‘I have quite finished, Sam,’ said Frodo.  ‘The last pages are for you.’ “ (The Return of the King, Book Six, Chapter 9, “The Grey Havens”)

Daniel’s literacy gives him the ability to read the Hebrew God’s warning to Belshazzar, establishing his importance in the story (which continues, as he becomes the confidant and friend of the new king, Darius.)

And here we see the real reason JRRT had given Sam literacy:  not that he might read Bilbo/Frodo’s efforts, but that he might write and therefore complete the story of The Lord of the Rings, and thus add one more element to his importance in the narrative.

In our next posting, however, we will examine another use of writing and reading—and a much less benign one.

Thanks, as always for reading.

Stay well,

Delight in the fact that you can read,

And remember that there’s always

MTCIDC

O

PS

As to evidence of general literacy in the Shire, we see, in “The Scouring of the Shire”, some public notices—a sign on the new gate on the bridge over the Brandywine (“No admittance between sundown and sunrise”) and an anonymous hobbit calls out “Can’t you read the notice?”  In the watch house just beyond we see:   “…on every wall there was a notice and list of Rules”. As far as I can tell, however, these are the only public signs we see in Middle-earth and seem to me more about Authority than literacy.   Just the fact that they’re there must have an effect upon cowed hobbits, even if they can’t read.

PPS

For completeness sake, although we have only bits and pieces of dwarvish, we can say that at least some dwarves were literate, evidence being the fragmentary account of the reworking of Moria which the Fellowship find in the Chamber of Records there,

as well as the inscription on Balin’s tomb. (for more on JRRT’s work on recreating that fragmentary record, the so-called Book of Mazarbul, see: “Aging Documents”, 31 July, 2024)