Beregond took Frodo to see Caradan's quarters in the guards' hall first. The room was small, but neat and plain, fit for a soldier to sleep in. Beregond informed him that the young lieutenant had been found lying on the floor beside the bed, but no sign of this tragedy could be seen on the stone. No blood had been spilled in the young Man's final minutes of life, and any spew of sickness had long since been cleaned up. Frodo saw no sign that Caradan had drunk anything here on the night of his death; the captain's theory that the young Man had been poisoned at the tavern was probably correct.
When he looked through the chest at the foot of the bed, Frodo found little out of the ordinary for a guardsman to have--extra uniforms and civilian clothes, small personal arms, a few books, an empty flask. The only remarkable object was a delicate silver bracelet--too delicate for a Man's wrist--crafted to look like a bird with outstretched wings. A gift intended for a lady, Frodo surmised, or else a keepsake from one.
Most of the citadel Guard were on duty at that hour, or abroad on business elsewhere in the city, but at Frodo's request, Beregond managed to find one guardsman who'd been a friend of Caradan's and had been with him at the Steward's Arms on that fatal night. Beregond had already questioned his guardsmen about the ale Caradan had drunk, and how easy it might be for anyone to put poison into an unwatched tankard; Frodo passed on such questions, and instead asked the guard if he had any idea who could have wanted Caradan dead. Had anyone borne a grudge against him?
No, Caradan had no enemies. He was popular and well-liked by all who served with him or under his command. "We've talked of it amongst ourselves," the guard admitted, "and there's only one we can think of who'd be bettered by Caradan's dying... though Captain Beregond doesn't like to hear it said."
"I won't hear it said," Beregond responded grimly, "not against one of my own men until I am shown it is so by undeniable proof."
No name was mentioned, but Frodo knew who they were talking about. Cirandil was right; his friends among the guards suspected him. "Did Caradan have a girl-friend or lady-love?" he asked, thinking of the bracelet he'd found.
The young guard grinned at the question. "One or two." Apparently, Caradan was as popular with the maidens of the city as he was among the guards.
"Shall I show you where Lord Carathir died next?" Beregond offered as he and Frodo left the guards' hall.
"Yes, please. There's something I've been curious about since I first heard of Carathir and his son," Frodo said. "They both died within the citadel, but in their bed or bed-chamber. Did Councilor Carathir live here?"
"The family of Carathir owns a grand house on the sixth level, not far from Mithrandir's, but it has been closed for years," Beregond answered. "Lord Carathir found it troublesome to maintain so large a household for himself alone once his lady had died and his son and nephew had grown and were in the Guard. Since he spent most of his days within the citadel, he chose to spend his nights in his chambers here too."
"Do all the councilors have private chambers at their disposal?"
"Yes. I will take you there." They went around behind the great hall to a smaller courtyard. There were other buildings here, including a long, low one which swept around the southern end of the small courtyard in a semi-circle beneath the outer wall of the citadel, connected to the back of the great hall by a long, covered gallery. "If a meeting of the Council goes well into the night, or goes on for days, the councilors like to have a place to lay their heads and rest for an hour or two without having to walk down through the city streets and return again. Some use their chambers little, while others like Carathir make them a second home." They went into the long, low building and down the curved hallway to a locked door; Beregond unlocked it and held the door open for Frodo to go inside. "Here you see Carathir's chamber."
It was a richly-appointed room--large to a hobbit's eyes, but probably just adequately big enough to contain the minimum of necessary comforts for a Gondorian nobleman: a tall-posted, curtained bed and oaken wardrobe, an armchair before a screened fireplace, a desk, a number of books on shelves that rose from floor to ceiling on one side of the fireplace, and a small, floridly carved cabinet on the other. A light layer of dust lay on the upper surfaces of the furniture.
"Has anything been changed since the night of his death?" Frodo asked.
"Carathir has been dead more than two months," answered Beregond. "We did not know then that it was murder. The sheets were taken from the bed, and a few papers carried from the desk, as they were of need to others in the Council. An empty mug left at the bedside was removed. Otherwise, nothing has been changed."
Frodo looked around the room, opening the drawers of the desk and wardrobe to examine the contents. When he opened the little cabinet, he found a set of glass decanters containing wines and colorful liqueurs, and six pewter goblets; he picked one up to find it clean of any residue. All were clean--none had been used on the last night Carathir had spent here; he'd had no company. Frodo then took up a decanter half-full of greenish liquid and removed the stopper to sniff: the scent was crisp and pungent, but not unpleasant. Would he recognize the smell of nightshade? Did it have a distinctive scent? He'd have to ask the herbalists.
"Carathir drank none of those wines on the night of his death," Beregond spoke behind him. "Each has been tested, and none are poisoned."
"How did he take the poison?" As Frodo turned to the captain with this question, he noticed an old, ringed stain on the varnished wooden armrest of the chair, where a damp, hot, cylindrical object had been set down. "You mentioned a mug. What was in it?"
"Lord Carathir was accustomed to take a posset made of warm brandy with spices to ease his sleep. I believe that the poison was given in his drink that evening. The spices would disguise any odd taste."
"Where did he get the brandy, if not from here?" Frodo indicated the row of decanters.
"The posset was made in the kitchens, and brought to Carathir's chamber. The servants knew he would ask for it nightly, and had it made ready when he called for it."
"His servants, or the citadel's?"
"The citadel's. Some are assigned to attend the councilors and other guests. They keep these chambers in order, wash the laundry, and see to their wants while they dwelt within these halls. Carathir kept no servant of his own after he came to live here. All food and drink, save his private stores, was brought to him from the kitchens that serve all the citadel, from the King and Queen to the scullions."
They left Carathir's chamber and passed through the gallery to visit the citadel kitchens, which sat behind Merethrond, the Hall of Feasts. The kitchen staff were busy, as Frodo guessed they were from daybreak to night, to feed so many people. The midday meals were being prepared now: enormous copper pots full of stew and vegetables simmered; dozens of roasting fowl turned on spits over a vast pit of glowing embers; and maidservants rushed about with platters, bowls, and tankards. It had been crisply cool outdoors, but it was sweltering in here; Frodo could only imagine what it must be like in summer.
When the head-cook noticed the visitors, she came to see what they wanted. Beregond presented Frodo as "the King's Investigator," and explained their errand.
"May I speak to the servants who attended Lord Carathir?" Frodo requested.
The cook consented to send them, though she added, "But you may be sure, Lord Carathir never was poisoned by any food that came from my kitchen!"
Frodo and Beregond went into the servants' dining hall. A few minutes later, the butler who saw to the steaming of the brandywines came in. He was very sorry about Lord Carathir's dying, he said, but there'd been nothing wrong with the brandywine his lordship was accustomed to drink. Carathir had had his mug from the same bottle of brandy every night, and it had been finished off by others since his death; no harm had come to anyone else from it. No, he could remember nothing remarkable about that last night. Everything had gone just as usual. He'd warmed the brandy at the regular hour, added the spices--nutmeg, cloves, and others from the kitchen stores; Frodo might see them if he wished--and sent a maidservant to Carathir's chambers with it.
"Which maidservant took it to him?" asked Frodo.
"I don't recall which it was," the butler answered. "These girls come and go so quickly. This one was new to the King's service, for she had to be told where his lordship's chambers were. All the maids who've served here for a time know where the councilors' rooms are."
They asked around the kitchens, but couldn't find the maid who had taken Carathir his mug of spiced brandywine that night. When questioned, none would admit to doing it. Were they afraid? Frodo wondered. The maid who'd done it might think she'd be blamed if she confessed to carrying that drink, even if she had no knowledge of the poison within it. Or was the maidservant who'd brought Carathir his brandy no longer here?
"Is there anything else you wish to see this morning?" Beregond asked after they'd left the kitchen.
"Only Cirandil, if he's about."
"He is on duty within the citadel. I would have sent him to serve elsewhere during this troubling time, but he insisted on remaining here to perform his duties as if nothing was changed. Perhaps that is best, and it commends him well that he wishes to stay and brave the worst of it." There was a distinct note of pride in the captain's voice.
Cirandil was standing guard at the White Tower of Ecthelion. Beregond relieved him briefly from his duty to speak to the King's Investigator.
"I hope you can tell me about your cousin Caradan," Frodo explained to the young man. "You were brought up together, in the same house, weren't you? Almost as brothers?"
"Yes, that's so," Cirandil answered solemnly. "Caradan was as a elder brother to me."
"I know what that's like," Frodo said, thinking of Merry. "You must've been quite close to him, and knew him better than anyone else. You knew his secrets."
"If he had an enemy who wished to kill him, I know nothing of that," the young guardsman replied. "I wasn't here when he died."
"I don't wish to ask you about that. This is something else, something personal. I gather that your cousin was well liked by the ladies."
"Indeed, he was," Cirandil said dryly.
"Was there anyone he was particularly fond of? It may have nothing to do with his death, but I found a curious object in his quarters today--a bracelet--and I'd like to know more about it. It's a silver circlet shaped as a sort of bird, open at one side for a lady's wrist to pass through. Do you know anything about it?"
Frodo thought this a fairly innocuous line of questioning, but it seemed to strike a nerve; at the mention of the bracelet, Cirandil grew wary. "Yes," he answered, "I know them well."
"Them?" Frodo echoed; he had only found one.
"They are a matched pair of pledge bracelets. They belonged to my Aunt Rainelde."
"Caradan's mother?"
Cirandil nodded. "They've been in our family for generations. It is a tradition that the eldest son gives one to his chosen lady when he plights his troth to her, and the other on their wedding day. When both bracelets are worn together, the two doves clasp and the wings embrace. My uncle gave them to Aunt Rainelde when they were wed. At her death, they were passed on to Caradan, to present to his bride."
"Was he betrothed?" asked Frodo. "I only saw one bracelet. Who did he give the other to? Do you know?"
Again, Cirandil's reaction surprised him. The young man looked almost angry. "Yes, I know," he answered tersely, "and if you don't mind, I have my duties to attend to and no wish to gossip about my dead cousin." With this, he turned on one boot-heel to return to his place in the White Tower. Frodo considered going after him, but decided to let the matter drop for now. He would pursue it later, if he didn't find the answer elsewhere.
His path had taken him in a full circle around the great hall; he and Beregond had begun at the guards' hall on its eastern side, and the White Tower lay on its northwestern corner, beside the fountain and white tree. Frodo returned to the front of the great hall just as the Council concluded its morning session. The councilors were dispersing, some heading across the vast courtyard toward the entrance to the tunnel, others standing together and talking. Larengar was speaking with a small group of his fellow councilors, but when he saw the hobbit, he broke away from the others and swept toward Frodo, a beatific smile on his broad face.
"Ah, Ringbearer! We'd heard that you were abroad on your investigations today. With some success, I hope."
"It's really too soon to tell," Frodo replied. "I've only just begun to look around."
Although there was no one standing near enough to overhear their conversation, Larengar bent with his hands upon his thighs, so that his face was nearer to Frodo's, and he lowered his voice. "Some of the Council have questioned the King's wisdom at having an outside investigator brought in, but I say that it is our duty to aid you in discovering who has committed these monstrous deeds in any way we can. You may consider me at your service."
"That's very kind of you, sir."
"I will tell you this, in hopes it will help you: Not everyone wept at Carathir's death. He was a dear friend of mine, and I grieve at his passing--but others, I am sure, feel no sorrow."
"Are you referring to anyone in particular?" Frodo asked, amazed at this confidential statement.
"I've no wish to cast aspersions upon anyone," Larengar said virtuously, "but you've only to ask who Carathir argued with the most, and the worst."
"The King told me that Carathir often disagreed with the younger members of the Council," said Frodo.
"Ah," said Larengar. As he stood up straight, he turned to glance at Imatibin, who stood on the steps leading up to the great door, talking with a Man whom Frodo hadn't seen before. "You have your answer. But I pray you pardon me--I have matters to attend to before the Council reconvenes this afternoon." He bowed to the hobbit, and went on his way.
Imatibin had kept an eye on them during their conversation; once Larengar had gone, he raised a hand to beckon Frodo. As Frodo came closer, he saw that the other Man was as dark and thin as Imatibin was, but clean-shaven while Imatibin wore a trimmed beard. "This is my brother, Erlotibin," Imatibin introduced his companion once Frodo had come up the steps to join them. "He is not of the Council, but has a place at court as the King's Master of Scribes. I was just telling him about your arrival, and how you will find the person responsible for these poisonings. I wish you all luck, Frodo. It must be quite a task for you--no matter how skilled an investigator you are in your homeland, you are unfamiliar with Minas Tirith. You don't know the ways of the city."
"Yes," Frodo admitted; he'd thought the same himself more than once since he'd come here, but he didn't like hearing it said by someone else. The Man seemed to be suggesting that he was out of his depth, and made Frodo wonder if he was among the councilors who doubted the King's wisdom in bringing him here.
"You must want aid and advice," said Imatibin.
"As a matter of fact, I would welcome any help," Frodo answered.
"I can help you on one matter, at least. I saw you were speaking with Lord Larengar."
"Imati-" Erlotibin said in a soft, warning tone.
Imatibin turned to silence his brother. "No, I must speak the truth. There is something I must tell the King's Investigator--I'm sure he'll want to know. He'll find it interesting." He turned back to Frodo. "Larengar has told you what great friends he and Carathir were, hasn't he?"
Frodo nodded.
"Yes, I thought as much. He makes a point of it whenever the opportunity presents itself. But for all the mournful sounds Larengar makes about the death of his dear friend Carathir, the two had their differences."
"I've been told that everyone quarrels in the Council," said Frodo. He was beginning to see the purpose behind Imatibin's offer of "help." It was the same, apparently, as Larengar's.
"And so they do," Imatibin agreed with a laugh. "A councilor who keeps his opinions to himself is worthless as an advisor. No, little one--I meant quarrels outside the council-chamber, of a more personal nature. We heard them shouting at each other one evening not long before Carathir's death. Didn't we, Erlo?"
"I want no part in this," his brother responded.
"Never-the-less, we did see it," Imatibin insisted. "They were in the cloisters before the guests' hall, where Carathir spent his last days."
"What were they arguing about?" Frodo asked.
"We were not near enough to hear their words," said Erlotibin.
"We couldn't hear all they said, but I distinctly heard the name of Caradan spoken more than once," Imatibin added quickly. "Their argument must have been over Carathir's son, who is also dead now. If you wish to know more about it, Frodo, you'll have to ask Larengar yourself."
After the two brothers had gone, Frodo rejoined Beregond, who stood waiting for him near the fountain and the white tree.
"They both wanted to tell me how the other quarreled with Carathir," Frodo told him, and laughed. "Your councilors smile so pleasantly and speak so kindly, but they are as insidious as adders!"
"Words are their craft," said Beregond. "They use them to make things plain, or to conceal the truth."
Frodo looked up at the Man, who towered over him. "Tell me please, Captain: When you were in charge of this investigation, did you suspect one of the Council of having a part in these poisonings?"
"I did wonder," Beregond admitted. "I can name no names--not because I wish to be discreet, but because it was no more than a thought that crossed my mind. I spoke to Larengar and Imatibin and to other members of the Council after Carathir's death. They did not speak so boldly against each other then, but I saw the looks that passed from one to another. I saw that they were wondering too."
"But you could go no further?"
"No. One does not question a great noble of the city without good reason. I had none." They rose and began to walk toward the tunnel to the sixth level. "Perhaps you will find reasons to question them, Frodo. Is there anything else you wish to do today?"
"Not just now, thank you. I'd like to go home and rest for awhile before I call upon the Queen." It had been a busy morning, and he was feeling rather tired. "I must think about what I've learned so far, and what I need to do next."
"I'll come to Mithrandir's house for you tomorrow morning," said Beregond. "Tell me where you wish to go, and I'll go with you."
"That's very kind, but you don't need to accompany me everywhere," Frodo replied.
"I must," said Beregond. "It is what my king asks of me. He loves you dearly, little one, and would not see you endangered in his service."
"Endangered?" echoed Frodo. "How?"
"Your presence and purpose is well known throughout the city," Beregond explained. "Whoever has committed these three murders would not hesitate to kill a fourth, especially if that fourth seeks him."
"Oh." Frodo had been thinking of the poisoner as Bregilde, a woman already dead--but the person who had hired her was still alive and might resort to the further use of poisons, or to violence, if he was threatened with discovery.
"Such a small creature as you are can hardly defend himself against a murderer," Beregond continued.
"I think you'll find that hobbits are stronger than they appear."
"Your kinsmen, perhaps. I know well the brave deeds done by both Peregrin and Meriadoc... but you are not like them, Frodo. You are not so hearty," Beregond said bluntly. "Wherever you go, I shall go with you. It is worth my life if I let you come to harm."
Frodo realized that he had acquired a bodyguard as stubbornly determined to protect him as Sam was, although from very different motives. "Very well," he consented. "Come for me tomorrow, after breakfast."
"And where will we go?" asked Beregond.
"I don't know yet. I'll tell you then."
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