Frodo woke the next morning before Merry, and went back to his own room to wash and dress. He apologized to his cousin for disturbing him when they met again for breakfast. "It was very silly of me. I should be used to sleeping alone. Half the time, anyway."
"It was hard for me at first too, but I got used to it... after awhile," Merry admitted. "I do know what it's like, Frodo. If you're troubled or lonely, or anything, you're always welcome to come to my room, any time you like."
Beregond arrived while they were finishing their breakfasts, and asked Frodo where he wanted to go today.
"First," Frodo told him, "I'd like to see where the herbalist Bregilde died. Can you show me?"
"I will take you there," said Beregond. "All is as it was when she was found. After the woman's body was removed, I had her rooms kept locked, since we expected you to arrive in a day or two. I thought you'd wish to see it."
"I'd also like to learn something of how she spent her final hours. Do you know who saw her last? Who found her?"
"It was a girl who summoned me, a niece of the dead woman."
"You mean Methilde?"
"Yes, that's her name."
Frodo had been planning to speak to Methilde later in the day, but as long as these two points of inquiry converged, he might as well begin with her. After he had seen Merry off on his errand to the Steward's Arms, Frodo went with Beregond to the Houses of Healing and asked to see Methilde.
When the apprenticed herbalist came out to meet them, Frodo explained his purpose to her and asked if she would come with them. Methilde agreed, and the three of them walked down through city to the second level, to the rooms her great-aunt kept over a baker's shop. The pleasant smells of freshly baked bread and pastries followed them up the stairs to the first floor; Frodo thought he'd have to stop and buy something to bring back with him. At least, he and Merry would have afternoon tea.
Bregilde's rooms were a strong contrast to the spacious and elegant chambers of Carathir and the orderly guardman's quarters of his son. The two rooms the old woman lived in were small and low-ceilinged--Beregond had to duck his head to pass through the doorway--and cluttered with the possessions of a long lifetime. Bregilde had kept herbs and flowers growing in a number of pots on the flat window-sills, but no nightshade, Frodo observed. She also had an extensive collection of dried herbs in jars set on the shelves over the fireplace, remedies for countless common ailments, familiar even to one who knew as little of medicine as he did: willow bark, dandelion leaves, ginger root, kingsfoil, tansy. There was one small clay jar empty, with only a few fragments of broken leaves left at the bottom.
The bed was unmade, and a deep dent down the middle of the mattress showed where Bregilde had last lain. "She died in bed?"
Methilde nodded. "It was there I found her, as if she were still asleep..."
"Did you live here with her?" Frodo asked. There didn't seem to be room for another person.
"No," said the young woman. "My family keeps a house in the third level. When Aunt Bregilde didn't appear at the Houses of Healing that morning, I was sent to call upon her and see if she was ill."
"You touched nothing?"
"Only Aunt Bregilde, to be sure that she was dead. I opened the shutters, there-" she indicated the window on the wall opposite the foot of the bed, "to bring more light into the room. When I saw the mottling on her face, I knew what had happened. I'd heard the herb-master speak of the lord and his son who were poisoned, and how they appeared. I called out the window to a boy in the street, and sent him for the Captain." She bowed her head to indicate Beregond.
Unlike Carathir's last drink, the mug Bregilde had been drinking from was still sitting on the little table beside the bed; Frodo picked it up to find the remains of a yellowish liquid with a faint but distinct and familiar scent and traces of honey at the bottom. He next examined a small pot sitting on the hob above the ashes of the fire. Bregilde had been brewing something and had strained it through a sieve, which sat on the hearth. The sieve was filled with a mushy-looking golden-brown mess of boiled flower buds and shredded vegetable matter, dry and crusted at the edges but still slightly damp at the middle. That distinct and familiar scent was stronger here.
"Chamomile and ginger tea," Frodo identified it.
"Yes," said Methilde. "On evenings when I came to sit with her and she taught me her craft, she would make a pot of tea for us both."
"Were you here the night before she died?"
"I was, but I left for home earlier than usual. That pot was still boiling when I bid my aunt good night."
"'Twas fortunate you didn't stay to drink it!" said Beregond.
"I've thought so myself," the girl replied solemnly. "If you've no further need of me, Frodo, Captain Beregond, I ought to return to my duties. They'll be wondering where I am."
"One last thing, before you go, please," Frodo requested. "Can you tell me about the taste of nightshade? Would it be noticeable in spiced brandywine, or ale, or chamomile tea?"
"Taste? I've been told that the leaves of the plant have a bitter taste, but the berries are sweet when ripe. They are a dangerous temptation to children." Methilde considered it. "No, if berries were used, Aunt Bregilde wouldn't have tasted them in her tea. She might think she'd put in too much honey." An odd expression crossed her face, as if she were about to weep, and she left them quickly.
"You thought it was in the tea too, when you were first here?" Frodo asked Beregond after Methilde had gone.
"Yes, I did, but this was to be your investigation, and so I left it for you to see."
"Can we have that mess of boiled buds examined for poison?" Frodo didn't know how this would be done, but Beregond had mentioned testing the wines in Carathir's rooms. Surely the same process could be done with the chamomile dregs? "And the jars on the shelves, as well, to see that they all contain only what they appear to?"
"Of course," said Beregond. "I will send one of my men to gather them."
When they left Bregilde's rooms, Frodo went into the bakery below to purchase some currant buns and ask the baker's family, who lived at the back of the shop, about their neighbor upstairs. It was a terrible thing, they all agreed--and to happen just above them! No, they hadn't heard anything amiss that night. They had seen no one go up to her rooms that evening, but the entrance to the stair was in the alley beside the bakery, and they wouldn't necessarily see a visitor come or go at that hour.
On their way back up the curving streets of the city, they stopped at the Stewart's Arms on the third level. Merry was still there, sitting at the otherwise empty bar and chatting with the tavern-keeper, who had given him a pint tankard of ale even though the place was not officially open.
"Have one yourself, Captain--you and the little lad?" the tavern-keeper offered as Beregond and Frodo were admitted by the his daughter, a dispirited-looking girl who also worked as a barmaid.
"We're here on the King's business," Beregond replied.
"Now, I'm sure the King wouldn't mind if you refreshed yourselves while you're about on his business," the keeper insisted. "Master Meriadoc had no objection to a pint, so there's no reason why you shouldn't either."
"Think of it as second breakfast," Merry said with a grin, and had another sip of his drink.
"We can do that as well. Ilsethe, love, will you go and fetch a bite to eat for our guests?"
The girl said, "Yes, Father," and went into a storeroom behind the bar. The tavern-keeper invited his guests to take seat at a table before he went down into the cellar to fetch some of his best ale. Merry brought his half-finished ale over to the table to join them.
"Did you ask?" Frodo murmured to his cousin in an undertone as Merry climbed up onto the bench beside him.
"I did. He says he's hired no new maid-servants since mid-winter. As to other women, he recalls no one remarkable. 'Tis a favorite haunt of soldiers, but they see quite a lot of women here, young and old."
Beregond overheard this exchange. "Maid-servants?" he repeated, then asked the same question Gandalf had: "You suspect a woman, Frodo? Why?"
"From what I've observed, anyone might enter the citadel kitchens, or come and go here," Frodo answered. "It seems to me that a woman might do so more easily than a man. On a busy night, there are so many serving-women rushing about. In such a crowd, who would notice one more handling drinks?"
"But if that's so, how was the old herbalist poisoned?" Beregond asked. "There was no crowd of people in her room, nor any maid-servant. She was alone, save for her niece. Did she have another visitor? You asked the bakers if she did."
"I thought it possible," said Frodo. "If the niece left earlier than usual, the aunt might've been expecting company, someone she didn't want Methilde to meet. Or Bregilde brewed the poison in her tea to take it deliberately and sent Methilde away before she drank it. She might've had nightshade at hand. There was an empty jar among her dried herbs."
Both Beregond and Merry stared at him. "I begin to follow your thoughts," said the captain. "The herbalist supplied the poison before she became a victim of it herself?"
"I may be wrong in thinking it," Frodo admitted, "but I can connect her death to Lord Carathir's and his son's no other way."
"But why would she do it?" asked Merry.
"Perhaps for personal reasons of her own that we haven't learned of yet, or she may have been hired to act as an agent or confederate of another who wished them harm. Or she might've done no more than supply the poison, and later regretted her part in it--and was got out of the way, or removed herself. There may be another woman in this-" He gave his cousin a quick, warning glance; Merry must know who he was referring to, but he would not give a name before the Captain of the Guard.
He still thought foremost of Bregilde, but another possibility had occurred to him. If Tharya and Cirandil were acting together, she could have dispensed the poison while he was safely far from the city. Could she be mistaken for a serving maid?
At first, he would have said no. A striking-looking young woman of noble birth would surely be noticed and remembered if she'd come here. Now, he reconsidered. Tharya was striking, yes, but was that primarily because of her courtly style of dress--the flowing gowns with hanging sleeves and skirts that trailed the ground--and that long, black hair falling freely to her waist? Dressed so, a lady of the citadel who went into the lower levels of the city would immediately be recognized for what she was. But what if she were dressed like an ordinary girl..?
He considered the barmaid, whom he could just glimpse through the open storeroom door as she gathered bread, sausage, and cheese to go with their "second breakfast" ales. Her hair was braided and wound into a knot at the nape of her neck, and her head was covered by a kerchief. Her skirts were shorter than those worn by the ladies of the court, several inches above her ankles, and her laced boots looked much more sturdy than the court ladies' slippers. Would Tharya be noticed if she came into the tavern dressed in the same way, or would she be taken for a common maiden of the city?
"What woman?" asked Beregond, breaking into his thoughts. "And who do you think engaged the herbalist?"
"I couldn't say..."
"What odd answers you give! 'I think,' 'I believe,' 'It may be so.' First it's one thing, then another."
"That's because I know nothing as a certainty, Captain Beregond," Frodo answered. "'Til I do, it's only guesses. I haven't even met all my chief suspects yet! I may be entirely wrong from beginning to end."
The tavern-keeper returned from the cellar with two tankards full of ale. "There you are!" he said as he set the ales down before them. "Nothing but the best for the King's Men, and his halflings too. May you have great success in your business for him. We're hoping to see this awful matter settled as quickly as possible and the murderer brought to justice, aren't we, Ilsethe?" He turned to his daughter as she brought out the platter of food, and received a mumbled reply. "You see how it is--my poor girl's been as gloomy as a dark day since the poor lieutenant died, and I know just how she feels. It does an alehouse's reputation no good to have people say a man was poisoned by its drink. We used to be crowded here with the city Guard night after night, and now most of the lads are too afraid to enjoy their ale, for fear they'll be next. You'll find there's not a drop wrong with those."
"I've certainly felt no ill effects," laughed Merry, who had nearly finished his pint.
"Don't get too tipsy, Merry," Frodo cautioned him. "I have more work for you this afternoon. Will you go and see Lady Eowyn? Ask her if it's convenient for her to go riding with us tomorrow." Beregond looked concerned at this, and Frodo added, "You needn't accompany us, Captain. The Lady is a valiant warrior, and so is my cousin. They will protect me from any harm."
Ilsethe set the platter down on the table. As she laid out the food, Frodo noticed the bracelet she wore on her wrist: a delicate silver band, with a flourish like a stylized bird with outstretched wings. It was the twin to the one he had seen in Caradan's quarters.
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