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Denethor POV - 1 of 2
In which we observe a day in Denethor's life, and what he finds unspeakable.
Minas Tirith, 1 September, 2979 T.A.
Denethor stood on the roof of the house, shading his eyes from the strong morning sun. It was already hot just an hour past sunrise. This afternoon, Thorongil was to explain to the Steward what he had been doing all spring. The captain had asked leave of the Steward to put off his account until he had inspected Osgiliath, and had received assent. Sunlight glinted off the harness of horsemen riding along the causeway. Thorongil and probably Imrahil. Denethor doubted Halmir would ride in for this. The Lost had nothing but a contemptuous snort whenever Thorongil's name was mentioned. Your audience with your uncle was probably worse than the one with the Steward shall be. The corner of Denethor's mouth twitched at the thought of Halmir dressing down the captain for trying to get into Umbar. He waited until the horses neared the Great Gate before going back into the house. Ere the afternoon's council, there was other business to attend to.
He tapped on the door to Finduilas' room. 'Come in!' She smiled when she saw him, and within her was a radiance to put the sun to shame. Boromir's eyes focused on his father and one hand waved in a circle, but he did not leave off his nursing. 'The cub is nearly done.'
'May I get you something?'
She shook her head. 'My breakfast will wait.' Denethor neatened the room while the baby fed, muttering to himself over the imprecise way Ivrin and Aeluin kept things. Clothes were not folded properly, toiletries were set haphazardly on a shelf, baskets were not neatly stowed away… Finduilas' giggles broke his concentration. She rocked the chair with one foot and looked at him in amusement. 'You know, High Warden, this is not the barracks.'
'I think I need to make a guardsman your maid so the room will be kept clean.' This made her laugh, just as he hoped it would. With an exaggerated sigh, he turned to make the bed. There were two pillows to be punched up, two indentations in the tick to be smoothed. She giggled more behind him while the rocking chair slowly creaked.
Everything needed to be set aright in this room. Bed clothes and hairbrushes were only the start. Discipline was even more necessary here than in the barracks. He had grown neglectful in his habits, forgetting his own rules – he was but a guest in this room, allowed in at her pleasure. He was here to tend her and their child. No care or concern was to enter. His own desires were nothing once past the threshold. When he forgot these rules, disaster followed.
As soon as Boromir finished, Finduilas ate her breakfast, then headed for the women's baths with Moraen and Aeluin. Denethor carried Boromir downstairs to the kitchen. 'Do you have any room left?' he asked his son. Boromir crowed, knowing what was next. Dúlin smiled when Denethor came in, and set out a plate with some food. Denethor sat at the kitchen table, Boromir in his lap and pulled the plate over. 'So, what are you going to paint your face with this morning?' The baby grabbed the orange cube of melon in his fat fist and tried to cram it all into his mouth. When that was gone – equal parts in his mouth, on the table and down his front – he wanted the soft cheese. It was a messy goo, well mixed with preserves, and Boromir loved it.
'He eats more each week,' Dúlin said, smiling proudly at the baby.
'He needs to be eating most of his meals here to give his mother some peace.'
Dúlin frowned. 'She is eating more. Aeluin told me. I make everything she likes best, and put extra butter in it to fatten her up.'
'You let me know if her appetite flags.'
'I will,' the cook solemnly assured him.
'Yáviérë?' Dúlin's cheeks turned pink and she nodded with a giggle. Hunthor had asked Finduilas permission to wed Dúlin a few days ago, and the women were now all bustling about preparing for the celebration. The wedding itself was to be held in the mess hall of the first circle garrison. There were no suitable rooms in the Stewards House for them to live in, but some had been found in a house nearby.
Boromir soon mouthed everything on the plate, had eaten a substantial amount of that, and was now trying his best to pick up and eat the plate itself. 'I think it time for our baths, Morcollë.' Ivrin was given the baby, and Denethor and Beregar headed for the men's baths. Though they had never exchanged another word on the subject, it appeared that his nephew was no longer so eager to cut his throat. He was relieved the young man now knew how they were of kin. Beregar had presented himself a rainy evening in June, face battered from a street fight, and calmly had asked for the truth, accepting Denethor's word with a nod. He then identified the men who had spoken so crudely of Finduilas. They were sent to Halmir in Osgiliath. There had been no repeat of the taunting.
By the time Denethor and Beregar had returned from their wash, Imrahil had walked up from the gate and was bouncing Boromir on his knee while talking to the women. His face was sun-darkened, making the silver hairs on his head seem brighter. Like his father, Imrahil was as smooth-faced as a woman. Denethor supposed it was the Elf blood. Denethor's plan to send Imrahil to the falas with Thorongil had fallen through after the captain's abrupt departure south, so the young prince had spent late spring and summer in Osgiliath. Halmir's reports rarely mentioned him, but the fact that the man was now leading patrols in Ithilien let Denethor know that Imrahil was performing to the Lost's expectations.
'Denethor, good morrow to you!' Imrahil cheerfully said.
'And to you, brother Imrahil. How fares Osgiliath?'
An odd look came to Imrahil's face and departed as quickly. 'Halmir disapproves of everything, so all is well. The hills are quiet.'
'Good. More can wait for the afternoon's council.'
'And I claim my brother for the rest of the morning,' Finduilas quickly interjected, 'so all business can wait for the afternoon.'
Denethor shook his head. 'No. We need to go.' Finduilas' expression became stubborn. 'It will not be long. Imrahil can get reacquainted with his nephew in our absence.'
'I will be here until the council, so go take care of your business, Finduilas,' Imrahil urged.
Before she could protest, Denethor added, 'The healing warden expects to see you this morning.' Finduilas shot him an angry look.
'Healing warden? You must go, sister,' Imrahil sternly said, Moraen and Aeluin adding their agreement. Without a word, Finduilas rose and walked out the door, going downstairs. Denethor bade the others farewell and strode after her. She was silent until they left the tunnel for the main way of the sixth circle.
'I can see Lhûn this afternoon when Imrahil is in council.'
'You promised me you would see Lhûn this morning.'
Finduilas harrumphed and they walked the rest of the way to the Houses in silence. When they entered the courtyard of the Houses, she pulled up short. Thorongil was sitting on a bench on the other side of the greensward, reading from a small book. Finduilas rounded on Denethor. 'Do not pretend you had nothing to do with this!' she hissed at him.
'I pretend nothing.' Thorongil noticed them and stood. 'You are coughing, it is not going away, and the captain's leechcraft is the only healing that has ever made it cease.' Finduilas motioned for Denethor to stay where he was and crossed the green to Thorongil. The captain bowed and the two spoke quietly. Denethor leaned against a column of the arcade, watching their converse as he had done once before in this court. When Finduilas had left him with Thorongil the other day, the man had turned his bright eyes upon Denethor and demanded to know what was wrong. "She is sick, though she denies it. It is not just the child." Denethor could scarcely speak for the shame of Thorongil seeing how poorly he cared for Finduilas. "Her cough returned. None can lift it." Then they had agreed Thorongil would attend Finduilas in the Houses and provide what healing he could.
Finduilas called him over. Crossing her arms on her chest, she gave the men a wry look. 'So, I find a conspiracy between you two. And Lhûn, as well?' Denethor nodded. 'You worry for no reason.'
'Then let us confirm there is no reason, and you may laugh at us as fools,' he quietly answered, offering his arm. With a sigh, she took it and allowed him to lead her to where Lhûn waited, Thorongil trailing a few steps behind.
The healing warden had a younger midwife with her and nodded her head to the captain. 'We have our tools and treatments at hand, Captain Thorongil. Have you any?'
'No, though I may have need of your herbalist afterwards, as I did before. I will wait outside until you have need of me.' With a bow to the healers, Thorongil left. Denethor retreated to a corner of the room and sat on a stool. Finduilas sat at one end of the hard narrow bench the healers used for examining their patients, in profile to him. Lhûn checked Finduilas' flesh, measuring her arms, bosom, waist, buttocks and thighs with a length of ribbon, pleased that the measurements were slightly more than in August. Dúlin is right, you are eating more. Finduilas told Lhûn how often Boromir was nursing and that she had not yet resumed her moon fluxes. The midwife questioned her about her teas and her food, telling Finduilas to eat more meat to strengthen herself for the winter. Lhûn was content with the answers and fetched Thorongil to speak about the coughs.
When he came in, he did not take one of the healer's stools, but sat on the bench next to Finduilas, taking one of her hands into his own. Finduilas' cheeks turned pink and she looked away for a moment. Thorongil sat still, waiting until she looked at him again. His voice was soft, yet all could hear it clearly. 'Lady and friend, it saddens my heart that you are weary.'
'It is less now than it was.'
'And also you have been coughing.' She nodded. 'When did it start?'
'The day Boromir was born. That is when I first coughed.' His brow furrowed. 'I think you all make too much of it.'
The captain did not answer. With his free hand, he touched her temple, his head cocked as though listening for something. His hand moved to touch her throat, seeking a pulse. Finally, it came to rest flat across her chest over her heart. Whatever he found did not please him. 'Turn your back to me and lean slightly forward.' Thorongil placed his hands flat on her back, just below her shoulder blades, fingers splayed. 'Breathe deeply. Again.' His hands moved lower. 'Again. Again.'
Finduilas took a very deep breath which triggered a cough. When she got it under control, Thorongil said, 'Remove your shirt.' The midwife began to protest, but Finduilas cut her off with a gesture. She undid the buttons and ties and slipped the shirt over her head, handing it to Lhûn, then modestly crossed her arms over her breasts. Thorongil grimaced at the sight of her spine and ribs showing so clearly under her skin. He once more placed his hands low on her ribs, telling her to breathe. Both hands moved to one side, then just the fingers of one hand feeling a particular spot. He leaned forward and rested his ear over that spot. After a few heartbeats, he straightened, nodding his head.
'Here. The injury to her lung is located here.'
'Show me,' Lhûn said, coming to kneel next to the bench. Thorongil placed the healing warden's hand over the spot, describing a sensation to feel for. Lhûn closed her eyes, concentrating, then nodded. She placed her ear over the spot and listened as Finduilas coughed again. Thorongil rested his hand on Finduilas' back over her heart until the spasms ceased. Sitting back on her heels, Lhûn sighed. 'Yes, Thorongil, I agree that is the place. I can hear it and feel it. But there is naught we can do for something so deep. What did you do two years ago?'
'I am finished, my lady, thank you.' Thorongil stood and walked a few steps away, keeping his back turned while Finduilas dressed. 'I did nothing save steep herbs to clear away the Black Breath.' Liar. There was something in the set of the man's face, the tone of his voice, that spoke to his falsehood. Denethor did not understand why Thorongil was trying to deceive them. Dark thoughts crept forward and it was difficult to push them away.
Lhûn made a sound of annoyance. 'Then you will have to show the herbalist how to create the mix you used, for it worked very well.'
When Thorongil turned to face them, his face was bland. 'Of course. I fear that there was no true healing, just a balm that finally wore off.' His eyes moved to Finduilas, and a light came to them. 'I am concerned at your weariness, my lady, but advise that you try to gain strength before you are treated with the steeping herbs. They are not without their own risk, being powerful medicines to fight a powerful affliction.'
'Well do I remember, Thorongil, and agree with your counsel.' Finduilas smiled and went to him, placing a kiss on his cheek. 'Thank you, dear friend, for your care.' This made the man smile and duck his head. 'And now, if we are all agreed that I need to rest, eat more, wean my son, and then breathe in the captain's herbs, may I go home to visit Imrahil?' The last was aimed at Denethor.
'Oh, I nearly forgot,' Lhûn said as Finduilas led them to the door, 'Master Laanga asked after you. He said you had not been to the garden, and…'
'No, I haven't. Other things have required my attention.' The coldness in Finduilas' voice surprised Denethor. With thanks to Lhûn for her time, Finduilas walked briskly from the Houses. Denethor motioned for Thorongil to accompany them. When they walked in the front door of the house, Finduilas said, 'I imagine you two will have much to speak of before you meet the Steward. However, you may not have Imrahil.' Giving Denethor a kiss and a meaningful stare, she hurried up the stair and was quickly out of sight. Denethor followed more slowly. On the second floor, he turned aside and left through the Wall Door, Thorongil following him out, and walked to the end of the promontory. Upon the stone, the heat was intense. The east was lost in the haze, though the City sparkled under the sun's rays. When he touched the stone, the City looked askance at the king.
'You're lying.'
'For now.' The bluntness of Thorongil's words made Denethor look at the man. The captain's face was hard and his eyes difficult to meet. 'I do not speak my full mind for I have not been told the full truth myself.' The king's voice was sharp and light glinted off the sweat beaded on the man's brow, making them gems, but none were so bright as his eyes. 'Something has happened. Something momentous.'
We were touched by the mariner. It seemed impossible that Thorongil would not be able to see the change in Denethor, that his sharp glance could not discern a heart's light. Something in him balked at revealing this, even as he knew he should – their altered souls, the presence of this power, the lanyard, the palantír, their plans for the hidden king. If he spoke of one he would not stop until all were explained. But she was well until a year later. It is not the mariner's touch that undid your healing. Denethor shook his head.
Thorongil retreated to the seat in the wall, slumping down in it. 'Keep your silence, then.' The air of command did not leave him, but slipped into a hidden place, the way Thorongil himself would disappear behind a cloud of pipe smoke.
Denethor hopped up next to the captain and sat on the wall itself, feet on the stone bench, ignoring the vast drop behind him. 'As you keep yours. What afflicts her? You know, or you at least guess.'
The Lost gazed at the Tower. 'I don't know. It is not the Black Breath. I am used to that from the garrison. In her lungs, there was a knot or scar that was closed when she expelled the evil. It has reopened. That is what I felt. I will try to close it when she is stronger.' He was silent for several minutes after that. Denethor waited. 'Something else. Like… a bright spot on her heart. I do not understand it. It is beyond me. Tell me how that happened and perhaps I will know a remedy.'
For a long moment, Denethor's heart wavered. Alquallë would say speak. Under his hands, the City looked sternly on the vagabond king, angered at his careless seat upon her, at his wandering. You trust us not. Denethor wrestled with his own obstinacy. Not yet. When it became clear that Denethor was not going to speak, Thorongil shrugged and began speaking of the falas and what he had seen. They sat until the noontide bells tolled and returned to the Stewards House for dinner.
Imrahil gave Thorongil an odd look as they sat down to the meal, but dinner was otherwise uneventful. When done, they bade the women farewell and went to meet the Steward. They were shown to his private rooms, not one of the council chambers. Though the White Rod lay on his desk, Ecthelion bore no other trappings of his office and was dressed very simply. He joked with them while wiping away ink stains on his hands. Once all had a cup of chilled wine, the Steward looked at Thorongil and said, 'So why did you go haring off like that?' Thorongil opened his mouth and Ecthelion held up a hand. 'Make it a reasonable answer. Better yet, make it the truth.' Denethor exchanged a sidelong glance with Imrahil, then both looked expectantly at the captain.
Thorongil inclined his head to Ecthelion. 'Very well, then, the truth, though it flatters no one. My Lord Steward, you have charged me to free a people from bondage, even as you know we have not the strength or arms to do so. High Warden, you are chary with your spies and knowledge. Though you have been to Umbar, it was thirty years ago; I wished to see for myself, for much may have changed. I also wished to cultivate some of my own watchers on the land, and not hear only what the Warden's people have to say.' Thorongil spoke calmly, without a hint of defiance or insolence. 'Though I wish for the defeat of the Corsairs, I will not lead my men into a slaughter. I had to decide this far enough ahead of time to allow us to plan for a different campaign next spring. If we do not take war to Umbar, then they most assuredly will bring war to us.'
'And your decision, Captain?' Ecthelion said crisply.
'We cannot do this. Not now. It will take several campaigns to…'
'You swore you would.' Ecthelion's voice was as calm as Thorongil's. 'It is what the wizard has counseled. Though it destroy us, still we should strive to strike the Shadow's chains from our sundered kin.'
Denethor looked at Ecthelion in disbelief. Are you mad? Do you say this to drive us to rebellion and refusal, and so have your way? There was nothing in the Steward's manner to indicate he was insincere.
The captain finally found his tongue. 'My Lord Steward, if we are destroyed, then we cannot succor those enslaved.'
'We will only become more weak with time, Captain,' Ecthelion gently admonished. 'I have thought long on this, on your wisdom and Mithrandir's, on the counsel of the Warden and the lords of Gondor.' He sighed, and looked as he had at the council of a year before, old and weary, bowed by sadness. 'With you, Thorongil, hope lived for a while to my heart, a balm sorely needed to drive away the fog of despair. But now a more sober sense has returned. I have said before that darkness is beyond us to defeat by our own hands, for it admits of no limit. Even so, we may not submit to it simply because it may overwhelm us. In that is our purpose, to spend ourselves rightly in resistance to our unceasing enemy. All the work of our hands in tribute to our own greatness – it will perish or else stand in mockery of our pride.'
'It is not pride to spend the lives of our people with care, my lord.'
'True! But a life is always spent, and our hope does not lie within this world.'
Thorongil shook his head. 'I do not understand your meaning, my lord.'
'Do you not? I should think a young man like yourself would leap up at these words and rejoice. It is not for us to determine the fate of all that shall be, only to do what lies before us.'
'Is not what lies before us to preserve Gondor?' Denethor said sharply. 'I think that is hardly trying to determine the fate of all.'
'But what is the wherefore of Gondor?' Ecthelion cocked his head, eyes sharp. 'It is to renounce the Shadow. To this end is all our will bent. We cannot defeat it, though we may earn the grace that will defend us from its fury. If we but go and trust that it is right what we do, then we shall be aided. To shrink behind walls and believe ourselves simply in some contest with another power, there is our destruction, for this enemy is beyond us. Not merely what is prudent, but also what is right, that is our charge. That is your charge, Captain.'
Slowly, Thorongil rose from his chair and bowed. 'As you command and as I have sworn, it shall be done.' He sat.
There was a long silence. 'I have set you no simple task, Captain,' the Steward quietly said. 'I do not ask you to go foolishly into battle. Your own captains will advise you. The princes of Dol Amroth will give you command of the Sea. The Warden has unearthed fearsome weapons that will be obedient to your will. Before, too much was uncertain. Now, it is time.'
Thorongil sat upright and still in his chair, gazing at Ecthelion. 'Yes, my lord. It is time.'
The Steward chuckled, eyes twinkling. 'Well, in a manner of speaking. Now it is time to hear of the falas. I have read your reports…'
Denethor barely listened to the words exchanged, still trying to untangle the Steward's argument. That it was a plot by Mithrandir, he had no doubt. The wizard had turned Ecthelion towards the attack in the first place. Denethor found himself hoping that perhaps Mithrandir would lend his power to this task. Your hand is upon the tiller of this voyage, conjuror. I think you will not allow your favorite to fail. This battle, it was intended to secure Thorongil's claim upon the throne. "Your valor will earn you equal honors." It probably made it easier for Ecthelion to treat him with respect, as the Steward knew he would not relinquish rule to Denethor. But we are in agreement, for already have I willed this end. It is my choice.
At the end of the hour, the Steward rose. 'Thank you, gentlemen, for your counsel. Captain, Prince Imrahil, you two will remain a few days in Minas Tirith. I wish to speak more with each of you, and not only of state affairs!' Chatting amiably, he walked them to the door. When Denethor nodded and would have left, the Steward signaled for him to remain. Ecthelion slowly walked back to his desk. 'Is he telling the truth?'
'About what?'
'His travel. His findings.'
'I certainly do not lend him my spies. He is right about that.'
Ecthelion chuckled. 'No, I don't imagine you would. Will it take several campaigns?'
'I expect we will be some time rooting out the Corsair fleet.' Denethor paused, then added, 'You are correct that waiting without action will not strengthen our position.'
'That is not precisely what I said, but you may think so if you wish. I need your attention turned to something else. I am going to have a visitor in a few minutes.'
Denethor's curiosity was piqued. 'Who?'
'You will find out. Stand to the side and watch.' Denethor stationed himself near the hearth, closer to the door than to the Steward. Ecthelion arranged papers on his desk, set out two clean wine cups, and returned two of the three chairs before his desk to their places on the other side of the room. After taking his seat, he reached into his desk and pulled out a sheaf of papers, loosely tied with a red ribbon. The Steward poured himself wine and watched the door, ignoring Denethor. At the quarter-hour bell, there was a knock on the door. 'Come in.'
The door ward bowed. 'Lord Anardil is here to see you, my Lord Steward.'
'Send him in.' Denethor did not remember the name, but could not mistake the face. Isilmo had looked much like his father. Ecthelion stood and gestured for Anardil to approach the desk. 'Lord Anardil, how kind of you to attend me this afternoon.'
'My time is yours, my lord. Though,' he glanced briefly over his shoulder at Denethor, 'I do not wish to intrude upon other business.'
'The Warden will wait, will you not?' The last words were aimed at Denethor and delivered in a testy tone. Denethor bowed deeply to the Steward. This was interesting. Anardil was soon seated and had wine in hand. They exchanged a few pleasantries. Denethor made himself be very still and small so Anardil would forget he was there.
'My lord,' Anardil finally said, 'your summons said you had an important matter to discuss. I would fain know your mind.'
'Ah, yes, well,' Ecthelion's brow wrinkled, and he gestured at a letter sitting on the desk, 'there is a matter which I am not certain the truth of. I received a letter from Lord Morvorin of Ethring. He says that he has asked for the hand of your daughter-in-law, Lady Luinmir, but that you have refused it. This did not sound right, so can you explain to me how the young lord is mistaken? He is given to grand statements.'
Denethor nearly gaped in astonishment at this news. Morvorin? Luinmir? He cast his mind back to the lord's behavior in the last year when he came to the City. Yes. That could be. Anardil shook his head, holding up his hands. 'No! Morvorin is mistaken. He did ask for Luinmir's hand, but it is for her to say yea or nay. She said no.'
'She spurned him?'
Anardil shifted in his seat. 'Not… exactly. I think she would have accepted the match, but her love for her daughter is greater, and she declined for the sake of her child.'
Denethor recognized the false confusion on Ecthelion's face. It was one of the Steward's favorite tactics, to feign ignorance. Then again, there was no reason to believe the Steward would know of Luinmir's fate now that the woman had escaped Maiaberiel's clutches. 'For love of her child? Oh, of course, Isilmo's daughter. Morvorin did not wish another man's child in his house.' He shook his head sadly. 'A foolish man.'
'Noooo…' Anardil was obviously uncomfortable. 'I fear I am at fault, for I could not bear to be parted from my son's only child, the only reminder I have of him.' Ecthelion continued to look at the man in confusion. 'I cannot give away the blood of my house.'
'Of course not! So, little,' Ecthelion picked up the letter, looking for a name. Denethor peered intently. Even across the room, he could tell what hand had addressed that missive, and it was not Morvorin. '…little, Ithilwen!' The Steward smiled at Anardil. 'Named for her father?'
'Yes, and so all the more dear to me.'
Ecthelion sighed softly. 'Anardil, you ask Luinmir to make a cruel choice. A young woman like that should remarry. Can you not be kind to her and allow her child to go with her?'
'No, my lord, I cannot. The child is of my house. My wife's heart would break to lose her granddaughter, and I should be sorrowed. Yes, yes, it is cruel! I deny it not! But will Luinmir not have other children, and we have only this granddaughter?'
'You have other sons.'
'And this is all that remains of Isilmo.' Quite an improvement. I would want to keep her, too.
'I see you will not be swayed,' the Steward sadly said. Anardil shook his head. With another sigh, Ecthelion rose, the other man also standing. 'I beg of you to let your heart be softened by this mother's love, Anardil. It would please us greatly were that to happen.' Anardil bowed his head and left, giving Denethor a wary glance on the way out. After the door shut behind him, Ecthelion said, 'Her name, you fool, is Anna.' With a snort of disgust, he sat, motioning for Denethor to approach. The Steward's hand rested on the top of the ribbon-bound papers, Thorongil's letter face-down on the desk directly before him. 'Tell me, Denethor, how old is the child?'
'She was three on June twentieth.'
'Hmm.' The Steward looked at the papers. 'There is nothing I may do, for Anardil is within his rights.' He picked up the papers and handed them to Denethor. 'Make use of this. Good day, Warden.'
Denethor bowed and returned to the Stewards House, going directly to his study. Removing the cat from the desk, he set down the papers, untying the ribbon. Carefully he paged through them, a slow smile spreading across his face. You do not lend your spies either, my Lord Steward. Debts, dubious contracts, lists of goods that had not paid tariff, extortive rents, usury – this was a very interesting collection of documents. Denethor scooped up the papers and placed them in a drawer, then teased the cat with the red ribbon. 'I think Lord Anardil will be glad to give Luinmir a little gift, don't you, your Majesty?' Someone tapped on the study door. 'Come.'
Beregar entered and held out a note. 'Captain Thorongil charged me to place this in your hand, sir. And Lady Finduilas expects you to come be sociable.'
Denethor opened the note. It was one word long - Tonight. 'I will be down directly.' He looked quickly through the messages in his basket, setting aside the few that looked important – Borondir, Baragund, Marlong – before joining the others downstairs. To his pleasure, Aiavalë was there. Since returning from her southern travels, she had visited the Stewards House regularly to see Finduilas and Boromir. She sat on the couch next to Finduilas, face uncovered. He was struck by how beautiful his eldest sister looked, the unmarred side of her face turned to the room, her cropped hair grown shaggy and soft on her head. The constant veiling of her face over the years had protected her skin from the elements, and it was as smooth and delicate as a young maid's. It occurred to him that any number of men might find her more than worth wooing were they to see her like this. He was not sure he liked that thought.
An ear-splitting screech stopped any further reflection. Boromir had caught sight of him and was trying simultaneously to crawl to Denethor and to hold up his arms so Denethor could pick him up. The result was comical. Denethor scooped the baby off the floor and tossed him up in the air, eliciting more shrieks of delight. Denethor paused to kiss both his wife and his sister before taking a seat at Finduilas' feet, dandling his son in front of him. Aeluin and Moraen sat opposite, Aeluin holding Finiel. The infant was miniscule compared to Boromir. Denethor sat with his knees up so Boromir could stand between them, holding onto Denethor's legs to steady himself.
'Ba! Ba!' Boromir shouted. 'Baba! Baba!'
'There! What did I say?' Finduilas said triumphantly.
'I think you're right, sister,' Aiavalë answered, leaning over Denethor's shoulder. 'What did you say, Morcollë? Tell Auntie Monster what you said!' Boromir laughed and grabbed for her hands, uncaring that he nearly fell on his face. 'Say it. Say "Papa."'
'Baba,' Boromir obediently answered. Denethor became a mountain to climb to reach Aiavalë. 'Ba. Ba. Baba!' The last was said happily and directly to Denethor, when Boromir decided his father's face was more interesting than his aunt's hand.
'He is calling you "Papa!"' Finduilas said. 'He's been saying that all day.'
Denethor gave Boromir a playful shake. 'Is that what you said?' 'Ba!' 'Pa!' 'Ba!' 'Say Papa. Paa. Paa.' 'Babaaaa!' The women were all laughing. Denethor did not care. 'He is just babbling.'
'Oh, no he is not! He sat in the front room and pointed at your study door and said "Baba" several times. He's been asking for you all day.'
It felt good to sit here with his son in his arms and the dearest loves of his life so near they touched him. Denethor's heart was full and content, and he wanted nothing else. The door to the study creaked open, and Beregar and Imrahil entered, bearing wine and juices chilled from ice harvested from the snow fields of Mindolluin. Well, perhaps some drink to slake my thirst… The young men served everyone before flopping on the floor themselves, Beregar at Aeluin's feet in imitation of Denethor, Finiel in his arms, Imrahil sprawled on his back at the hearth end of the rug.
The women took up again their conversation. Denethor listened with half an ear as he and Boromir played games like touch each other's nose, count Papa's fingers, and pinch Morcollë's toes. The women's talk was mostly of Dúlin's wedding and the yáviérë feast. Boromir tired of his games and slid to the floor to crawl over to Imrahil. A wrestling match ensued. Finduilas said she was going to have a harvest fair before the City, with prizes for the finest fruits and vegetables and many stalls for selling wares. Beregar and Imrahil begged for there to be some kind of tourney.
'The garrisons can send in some men and it would be grand, wouldn't it, Denethor?' Imrahil asked, still pinned by his nephew sitting squarely on his chest.
'If we do, I want another archery contest for the women,' Moraen said. 'I will do better this time. No Wren or Hilda!'
'If we invite the garrisons, Marlong will come and so will Wren,' Denethor said absently, trying to get the baby's attention. Moraen sighed in resignation. Finduilas gave him a light kick in the ribs for being thoughtless.
'Will Morvorin attend us on yáviérë?' Imrahil asked Moraen.
'No, I fear not. I asked him if was going to come, and he was short with me in his reply, saying he had his own fief's harvest to attend to.'
Imrahil sat up at Moraen's sad words, gently depositing his nephew on the rug. 'I will scold him for you, if you wish,' he said earnestly. 'He should not speak crossly to you! Were he in my house, his sisters would cuff him soundly for his churlishness.'
'This house as well,' Aiavalë cheerfully added, giving Denethor a light rap on the top of his head.
'He will come at year-end for the Great Council, of course,' Finduilas said briskly.
Moraen shrugged. 'I know not what irks him so, but he has hinted that he may not do that, either. If he will not, then I think I will need to return to Ethring.' Boromir crawled to Denethor and began scaling him again.
'No, you won't. Beregar and I will go fetch him,' Imrahil assured her.
'I do not intend to be in the City at year-end,' Aiavalë announced. 'I am going to be with Wren in Anórien.'
'No you're not. You will both be here, because Marlong will be here.' Denethor glared at Aiavalë over his shoulder.
'You will have to convince Wren of that.'
'You are not riding to Anórien in the middle of winter.' Boromir was almost to his shoulder.
'That is between me and my horse.' Across the rug, Beregar was smirking at the argument, while Moraen stifled a giggle. Before Denethor could summon his next arguments, Boromir started to tumble over his shoulder. He did not want Denethor to hold him, however.
'Mama!' The baby leaned towards Finduilas with every ounce of his will. 'Mama!'
Finduilas laughed and took him. 'So, now you want your mama, do you? I think he is hungry. You gentlemen may go.' She kissed Denethor's temple. 'I am sure you have business to attend to before supper. Your message basket filled this afternoon.'
He stood and kissed her and Aiavalë farewell. 'Yes. Telperien thought it an excellent bed.' As they left the room, Imrahil touched his arm and gave him a questioning look. Denethor gestured for him to follow and went to his study. The cat had dragged the red ribbon into the reports basket with her and was asleep, the ribbon a bright sash across her body. He took a seat and waited for Imrahil to speak.
'I know not what to make of the Steward's words, Denethor.'
Nor do I. Denethor shrugged. 'He speaks of odd things at times. What do you think of Thorongil's words?'
The young man shrugged. 'It is not Father's counsel. The Corsairs do not become less for being left uncontested. I think the captain right that it will take more than one attack.'
'Do you know how Thorongil was received by Halmir?'
Imrahil made a face. 'Badly. Lieutenant Halmir did not greet the captain when Thorongil arrived. Thorongil went to the meeting chamber and they did not come out for over two hours, but no one could hear a word being exchanged. Halmir left the barracks, gathered a patrol, and was gone for two days when the meeting ended. I was told to clean the room afterwards. There were ashes in the grate, so something, some papers, perhaps, were burned. After he returned, the lieutenant was so correct in his address to the captain it obviously was an insult.'
When will you drive them away, Thorongil? They want you back, and plead for you to return. How long before they seek another leader? But, they should follow you and come south, for the north is naught but loss. Perhaps there is nowhere to lead them to. Denethor knew he needed to speak with Halmir and see what other secrets could be pried from the man while he was angry with his nephew. He glanced at Imrahil, who waited patiently for Denethor's next words. The road south goes over the Sea. 'You have been three seasons now in Osgiliath, Imrahil, and two in Anórien. Where now do you think you should be placed?'
'No more in Osgiliath.' The words were swift and strong, and Imrahil's eyes were bright.
'Why not?'
'The smell. The… sight.' The prince's gaze dropped to the desk. 'I always wish to be on patrol to be away from it. Anórien is preferable. Perhaps Pelargir. I have not served Captain Baragund yet.' Denethor did not reply, waiting for more. 'I was on night watch in the ruins. I was not asleep and it was no dream. Not like that. T'was true sight. Osgiliath remade itself around me and no sound did I hear. All that remained of what is now was your bridge. On either shore, fires sprang up, as when the Orcs attacked, and men ran to defend the walls. It was other men, not Orcs, who attacked. Ships, small and silver, stole down Anduin from the north. They came under the city and the gray-cloaked soldiers in them swarmed up from hidden passages, like a fog rising from the river. The gates burst and horsemen thundered over your bridge, forcing people over the sides and into the river. Then the torches entered. I could not hear, but I could smell.' Pause. 'Thorongil led the attack. Or you.'
'I do not intend for you to remain in the ruins.'
'Thank you.'
'As the Steward said, he expects Dol Amroth to command the Sea for Gondor. You will need to ensure that, come spring, you do.'
Imrahil's face brightened. 'What am I to do, Warden?'
'You will not return to Osgiliath. You will ride the falas from now until the winter storms come. Start in Pelargir. You will confer with Baragund, then you will go to the Prince to plan how our fleet will approach Umbar undetected. Secrecy is our greatest weapon, yet we will be hard pressed to keep it, given the number of ships that must be used.' Denethor picked up Baragund's report. 'You will inform me of everything you discuss with the Steward or Thorongil while you are in the City, no matter how trivial. And you are to give your time to Finduilas, for she misses all of the Swans greatly.'
'That takes no order,' Imrahil said, his familiar smile back in place. 'I will do all you ask, Denethor.'
'Good. You may go.' After Imrahil left, Denethor pondered the young prince's waking dream. The ruins bring out the dreams of the Swans. Imrahil, Finduilas and Angelimir had all been seized by a dream of destruction when standing upon the desecrated stone of Osgiliath. He wondered if Adrahil had ever been upon the ruins long enough to dream. There was no mistaking Eldacar's return to Osgiliath, but what of the bridge, and of Thorongil's face, or perhaps his own, at the head of the invaders? He looked at the messages he had set aside earlier, finding nothing of import in them. And fire once again entered the city, and its denizens were cast into the waters below…
He lunged to his feet and went downstairs. The women still talked in Finduilas' study, and on the first floor he could hear Imrahil and Beregar laughing about something. Denethor went out the Wall Door and gazed east. Shadows were creeping across the City from the westering sun and the far reaches of the Pelennor were cloaked in a golden haze. Heat radiated up from the stone. Denethor strode along the wall and down the tunnel. It was only when he stood before Fen Hollen that he knew where he was bound.
Eldacar's tomb was both quiet and cool. The lock on the door had yielded to Denethor's knife easily enough. He walked over to the sarcophagus in the center of the tomb. Upon its lid was a likeness of Eldacar. The small amount of light that came through the door made odd shadows across the carved face. Mongrel king. He looked a man of Gondor. Northman. He had brought a vast cavalry of golden warriors down both sides of Anduin, the sworn men of his maternal cousins. Vinitharya. Gingerly, Denethor reached out and laid his fingers on the stone visage. Under his fingers, the stone murmured of bitterness and blood, of a murdered son and of vengeance. Kin-slayer. Denethor touched his own face, fingertips made cold by the king. Kinsman. He retreated from the grave and sat with his back against a pillar. His own dreams of the Kin-strife returned, and he walked the hills of Emyn Arnen, bow at ready. You fled, and returned to slay your own people for their rebellion. You trusted to the strength of strangers to help you reclaim your throne, and cast aside the Usurper. But Imrahil thought it might be me.
When the light grew too dim to make out Eldacar's face, Denethor returned home. The Pelennor lazed under last light of a late summer sunset, but Minas Tirith was already in dusk. Lanes and alleys echoed with the sounds of people preparing to sit down to supper. The clatter of dishes, the chatter of voices, even a smatter of song filled the air, mixing with the smell of food ready for the table. Within the Stewards House, servants bustled in and out of the dining room. Upstairs, he found Finduilas sitting in the front room, talking to Moraen. She smiled when he came in, then looked at him intently. 'What is on your face, Denethor?'
'There is something on my face?'
'Yes. It looks like Morcollë has painted part of a meal on your cheek.'
'I will wash.' The small mirror in the alcove revealed dirt on his face from the tomb.
Supper was pleasant and leisurely. Imrahil evidently had decided that it was his task to distract Finduilas and Moraen from any worries they might harbor, and there was no end to his amusing tales. He made life in a garrison sound much cleaner and less boring than it was. After the meal, Moraen excused herself to write letters and Imrahil left to meet some other young lords at The Messenger's Rest and drink. Before Denethor could speak, Finduilas said, 'I imagine you will need to meet Thorongil this evening.'
'Yes. We have spoken much already. It will be brief.'
'And the meeting with the Steward? How did that go?'
'Oddly. Thorongil wavers while the Steward insists that we must attack. I intend to find out why the captain is reconsidering.' For a moment, he thought to ask her of Morvorin and Luinmir, then decided he would see what he could find out on his own first. Finduilas gave him a long look, but did not ask any other questions, and fetched Boromir from Ivrin. Denethor was disappointed that his son did not wish to say any words, but played gently with Boromir until the baby fell asleep. Only then did he go to the watchtower to meet the captain. He let Borthand follow and left the pup to watch the tower door.
Thorongil was already there. 'Denethor, thank you for meeting me.'
'Here.' Denethor dug in his pocket and pulled out a pouch. 'There should be plenty for us both. I have had few occasions for a pipe since you left.'
'Ah, you are a friend!' the captain happily exclaimed. Thorongil would not speak further until both of them were settled with lit pipes. 'Thank you for the pipeweed. And for the introduction to the caravan masters.'
'You pleased them. I received word that they would gladly hire you again for a season. Evidently, you have a way with mules.'
The captain's teeth caught the faint light as he grinned. 'I have experience persuading stubborn creatures.'
'Mules must have been a welcome respite,' Denethor dryly answered, eliciting a snort from Thorongil. 'What did you see that makes you doubt?'
'Mmm.' Denethor made himself comfortable in his usual perch on the window sill. 'It was an interesting trip. I should have done this sooner. Your maps are very accurate, more so than the traders' maps.' There was a long pause. 'The goods that are traded at the bazaar at the edge of Umbar are many, beyond anything I have ever seen. They could use pipeweed, though.'
'Arrange a regular shipment of it, and I am sure Ahnkoral would carry it south. If you like, the Steward can give you sole trading rights upon the northern kind in Gondor. It could make some coin for the north.'
'That is worth considering,' Thorongil mused. There was another wait. 'I watched the guards until I knew their watches, then I slipped through their lines. It was another day to the city.' He sighed. 'Flies upon a mûmak, indeed. It is an even larger city than Minas Tirith, as large as Pelargir, and the ships…'
'A forest upon the water.'
'Aye. I crept as close as I dared…'
'Did you enter the city?'
'No. It was too well guarded.' The captain drew deeply on his pipe, letting the smoke out in a long breath. 'I thought… they would look different. Like Haradrim. Foolish.'
'In the streets, you will see more southerners. They are used in the workshops and the shipyards.'
'It is beautiful, just like you said. It should not be, yet it is.'
'You do not think we should attack?'
'If you wish spies placed, then we must. Whatever ships we send, whatever men, they will perish. And I am sworn.' The captain's voice was soft, musing, in argument with himself. 'Is even this test enough?'
'Test enough for what?' The man's silence dragged on so long Denethor thought the question would not be answered.
'That our trust is properly placed. That we will gain an answer for our trials.' The captain tapped ashes from his pipe and prepared a fresh one for himself. 'And what of your trials, Denethor? What has your careful study uncovered?'
You. Were it not for a mouthful of smoke, Denethor might have said the word aloud. He allowed himself time to consider his answer. So much could be said. No one else would hear. It was just the two of them, two captains of Gondor, trying to secure her survival. I know the treasure you carry around your neck, fortune and burden, claim and trap. It is like the cord handed to me. That would not be speaking Thorongil's name or saying who he was, yet he would not escape the noose. Denethor exhaled slowly and drew a breath to speak.
'Have you tamed it?' The king's voice, calm and commanding, required an answer other than what Denethor wished to say. 'Can it be used?'
'I have not found a way to tame it, yet allow it to burn under the water. Oil will serve you better.'
Thorongil sighed. 'Oil will not serve at all. Their ships would need to soak on it for days for it to have any effect. Their sails, perhaps, could be destroyed. That would slow them another season. Maybe.'
'Then we will need to meet them on our shores.'
The captain stood and began pacing. 'The Steward said you had made weapons. Is that so?'
'No. Only the Fire.'
'Is there enough?'
'Enough can be made by next spring,' Denethor cautiously answered.
'And it would work?'
'It burns.'
'Help me, Denethor. We must do this. It is time. To wait longer is to face an invasion that we may not be able to withstand. Yet, all that we have to hand is Dragon Fire. Is it for this purpose?'
The little that Denethor could see of Thorongil's face in the starlight that came through the window made him look like the effigy of Eldacar, all shadows and stark lines. He wondered, were he to touch the man's face, if he would hear the voices of the stone. 'I do not know.'
'You are wiser than I, Denethor. You know the Fire. Should I use it?'
'If you do not?'
'We go to slaughter. Or they shall bear it hence.'
'I know what I think.'
'You must decide for yourself. I shall not counsel you in this.'
'Why not?'
'You wish command. You wish rule. This is it. As Eldacar chose to unleash the Northmen upon Gondor to secure her from Castamir, so must you now choose. As you chose Malantur's fate. Great and small, but the same – it is rule.'
'I obey the Steward's…'
'This is rule, and is for you to decide. You must decide by mettarë. It takes time to produce that much Fire. If you cannot choose, then return north and allow another to do so.'
Thorongil tapped the ashes from his pipe and stuffed it and the pipeweed pouch into a pocket. 'You will have a decision. Good night.'
Denethor finished the last herbs in his pipe before returning home, Borthand on his heels. He paused at a fountain to rinse the taste of the pipeweed from his mouth and drink a dipper of water – the smoke made him thirsty. As he did, Denethor studied the pup. Borthand was a lean stick of a boy, but with a set to his shoulders that gave promise of breadth as he matured. He was Dúnedain, that was certain, not a half-breed. Denethor was reasonably certain that Anardil had frequented whorehouses as much as Isilmo. Either could have sired Borthand. Some man of the City did. The pups quietly increased in their den in the fifth circle. When the boys had to leave their houses, they came to the Lady. Finduilas would not allow any to be turned away. Around the neck of each hung a slender silver chain and upon that was strung a dog's tooth.
'Do you need something, my lord?' Borthand asked. Denethor shook his head. 'Have I displeased you, then? You stare at me.'
'You are near fifteen, yes?'
'I suppose.'
'You will not be a pup much longer.'
'I am of the Hunt,' Borthand answered defensively.
'When pups grow, they leave the den. They hunt new things.' Borthand nodded. 'Where do you think to hunt?'
'The messengers.'
'You would be a messenger?'
'Dunno. To see things. To go fast.'
Denethor nodded, but said no more. Placing the dipper in its niche, he continued home. Finduilas sat in the front room sewing, the cat under the chair. He poured wine and sat at her feet. Telperien was soon in his lap, purring contentedly.
'And?' Finduilas said when he did not volunteer any information.
'He went all the way to Umbar.'
'You two are alike – more curious than the cat. It will be your undoing, you know.'
'Most likely. He confirmed what all other spies have said, that the fleet is vast and powerful. It daunted him as nothing has before. To attack directly is folly, but we will be hard pressed to withstand their assault upon our shores.'
'And what you two have wished for so long, it is finally given to you, and you find you do not want it after all.'
'No. I want it. I know not how to get it. It is out of reach.'
'So alike.' He nodded and sipped his wine, scratching the cat's ears. 'It means Fire.'
'I do not know, yet. That is for Thorongil to decide.'
'You are making him choose.'
'Yes.' Finduilas sighed. 'I will not return Imrahil to Osgiliath. After he is through here, he goes to the falas. Pelargir first, but eventually to Dol Amroth.'
'Linhir? Will he get to see Ivriniel? She would dearly love that!'
Denethor tipped his head back so he could see Finduilas' face. 'As Linhir figures greatly in the defense of the coasts, yes, he will be in Linhir.'
She was smiling at this news, then her face fell and she sighed again. 'Would that I was not so tired, friend. I would go to Linhir myself.'
'Perhaps you would be less tired if you got away from your many duties and spent carefree days with Ivriniel.' He snorted. 'Given that Aiavalë appears to be turning herself into one of the Lost with her wandering ways, she would gladly go with you.'
'Not this year. I cannot travel so far by horse until after the cub is weaned.'
'Then go by ship…'
'No.' Her voice was sharp. 'Never again. I will not go upon the Sea.'
'Then after Boromir is weaned.'
'How much did he eat this morning?' Denethor amused Finduilas with the tale of Boromir's breakfast. It was good to see her smile. Soon she yawned and put away her sewing. 'I am for bed, friend. Are you coming, or have you work to do?'
'All will wait for the morrow,' Denethor assured her as he helped her rise. In her room, Ivrin sat near the cradle, rocking it with her foot while she knitted. Finduilas dismissed her for the night. Denethor helped Finduilas undress and hung her clothes neatly in the press while she climbed into bed. His own garments he folded and placed on a chair not far from the door. A mew at the door reminded him to let the cat in. Telperien wasted no time finding her nest among the pillows. He snuffed the lights before coming to bed.
Finduilas made a noise of contentment much like the cat's purr and nestled against him. Denethor allowed himself a single kiss on her temple. In his own room he could presume to offer a husband's duties; here, he must be chaste. That was how trouble had entered; he had laid cruel and lustful hands upon her when she was still fragile from bearing. He had frightened and grieved her greatly, weakening her. Carefully, his hands caressed her form, all soothing strokes and gentle kneading, encouraging her to relax and sleep. Forgive me. Even if she kissed him, as she had done a month past, he would not allow himself that trespass here. Did I not say, the day we wed, that this room was her haven? How oft have I been tempted to break my own oath and enter without leave? When in by her consent, I behave as crudely as a man in a whorehouse. For this affront, I am gelded. Even wooing her to his bed had not lifted the ban upon him. Until she had forgiven him, he was certain he would remain like that, for his soul would touch hers and know that there was penance yet to do. Her breathing slowed and Finduilas fell into sleep. Denethor soon followed.
He walked through Osgiliath, his feet leaving tracks of blood on the street. The bridges had not been brought down, though some spans were damaged. His quiver was almost empty. The Rangers of Emyn Arnen had shown themselves to be as adept at hunting enemies in stone passages as in the wooded hills. Crossing the final span, he looked down into the River. Whatever had been cast into her in the night of battle had been carried south. The herds of the Northmen covered the eastern Pelennor. The King had returned.
Characters introduced in this chapter, in order of appearance:
- Anardil – Isilmo's father, Luinmir's father-in-law, 74 years old


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Extra fees, oversold tickets, flight delays and cancellations helped to make Spirit Airlines the most complained about airline in the U.S., according to a report this week.
Spirit (SAVE) received the most complaints per passenger last year, the U.S. PIRG Education Fund found.
The group examined complaints made to the Department of Transportation about major U.S. airlines.
Passengers of Spirit were three times as likely in 2013 to lodge a complaint than those flying on Frontier Airlines, which received the second largest number of complaints per passenger. United Airlines (UAL) and American Airlines (AAL) took the third and fourth spots.
Related: 5 airline fees we hate the most
Spirit's fees have been a source of frustration for fliers, said Paul Hudson, president of Flyersrights.org.
Spirit says it is able to offer discounted fares because it lets passengers choose whether or not they want to buy meals or pay to check in their luggage.
"Many of the DoT complaints are driven by customers not fully understanding that we offer unbundled fares that let them control how much they spend," said Maggie Espin-Christina, a spokeswoman for the airline.
A spokeswoman for Frontier Airlines, Kate O'Malley, attributed its elevated complaint level to a one-off event, a program aimed at converting its frequent flier miles to Delta's SkyMiles. Almost 40% of last year's complaints involved the program, she said.
United Airlines, which did better in the PIRG analysis than it did the previous year, said it is "investing significantly" to improve its services and was "pleased to see the latest rankings reflect our progress."
Matt Miller, speaking for American Airlines, noted that the airline faced tough weather conditions early and late in 2013, particularly in Chicago, one of its main hubs.
Related: 'How I'm using my tax refund'
Southwest (LUV) had the best record, with the smallest number of complaints per passenger, PIRG said. It is also the only major carrier to allow passengers to check two bags for free.
Alaska Airlines (ALK), which is one of the most consistently on-time airlines, was also one of the least likely to elicit complaints from its passengers. Other airlines with few complaints per passenger included Delta (DAL), JetBlue (JBLU) and AirTran.
Throughout the airline industry, however, passenger dissatisfaction is on the rise, PIRG found. Among the top complaints: flight delays and cancellations, overbooking, lost baggage, customer service, and mishaps with reservations and ticketing.
While still prevalent, complaints about lost luggage and baggage handling are starting to decrease. PIRG attributed the decline to rising fees, which have prompted many travelers to try and avoid checking in their bags altogether.
The fastest growing complaint category was flight delays and cancellations. On-time performance fell throughout the industry last year, which could explain the uptick, PIRG said.
"Consumers are incredibly frustrated," said Laura Murray, a consumer associate for U.S. PIRG. "Flying isn't fun."

subset: commoncrawl


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Don't you love it when you start experimenting in the kitchen, and you come up with a great new recipe? That's exactly what happened when I put this dish together. You know I love all foods with a Mexican flavor, like chicken enchiladas and black bean enchiladas, but since I had left over pot roast, I thought I would give beef enchiladas a try.
*Scroll down to use print recipe feature and add to your Recipe Box.
I never want to waste any food, but even a delicious pot roast can seem "same old, same old" when served two nights in a row. So, why not cook it once, but then morph it into a new meal so that the leftovers become something fresh and flavorful for your family?
Whether you are new to menu planning or a veteran, you'll find tips and tricks you can use for saving even more money in my new book, Saving Savvy. .
I served ours with Mexican rice (Knorr's packet), Spicy Black Beans, and a green garden salad with shredded carrots, diced tomatoes, and my homemade Taco Salad dressing.
I have come to prefer corn over flour tortillas for enchilada meals, so this fit my tastes wonderfully!
(I topped mine with LOTS of Texas Pete Hot Sauce!)
Recipe developed by Kelly Hancock ©2010 Faithful Provisions. For personal use only. May not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed for capital gain without prior permission from Kelly Hancock.


text:
Slayer guitarist Kerry King knows a thing or two about heavy. Heavy riffs, heavy lyrics, heavy sound - "We didn't write the book on being heavy," he says, "but we might have authored the final chapter."
Speaking to MusicRadar for an exclusive podcast (listen below) from the backstage area during a stop on the Rockstar Energy Drink Mayhem Festival, King waxes philosopical on the art of deepness maximus.
Asked if the band tried to outdo their legendary crushing sound on the forthcoming World Painted Blood, the guitarist says, "There's really no point, because we're as heavy as you can get. What are you gonna do? In my opinion, there's no room for improvement."
Hate Worldwide - the first salvo
At the time of our interview, MusicRadar hadn't heard a lick of music from the new album ("We still haven't technically turned it in to the record company," King says), but yesterday we got a taste of what's to come in the form of Hate Worldwide, a bracing series of jabs and bodyslams which wastes little time knocking one to the floor.
World Painted Blood, due later this year, was produced by Greg Fidleman, and according to King the time contraints put on the band for recording resulted in more of a "retro" vibe. "We couldn't jerk off like we usually do," he says. "We just went in and crammed for the exam."
The guitarist also feels that the record is a more unified effort than some past albums. "[Guitarist] Jeff [Hanneman] was more involved, which makes for a more rounded record," says King. "With Slayer as an entity, it's better when we collaborate."
In this exclusive MusicRadar podcast, King discusses the making of World Painted Blood. In addition, he talks about his BC Rich Signature Series guitars, his beef with the band Killswitch Engage, and he even answers some of your questions. So strap yourself in and enjoy all that is Kerry King.
Download (right-click and Save As...)
Liked this? Now read: 12 best amps for heavy metal, 10 best bass guitars under £300 and The top 10 stompboxes we can't live without


text:
Variety – Emily Blunt is finalizing a deal to join Disney's musical "Into the Woods" that Rob Marshall will direct for the studio.
Chris Pine and Jake Gyllenhaal also are in talks to join the film, which already has lined up Johnny Depp and Meryl Streep.
Film is based on Stephen Sondheim's 1987 Broadway musical. David Krane ("Chicago," "Nine") is the arranger on the film, which will rely on Sondheim's original music.
Musical revolves around a childless baker and his wife who attempt to lift a family curse by journeying into the woods to confront the witch that put the spell on them. Along the way, they encounter Rapunzel, Cinderella, "Jack and the Beanstalk's" Jack Little Red Riding Hood and other classic fairy tale characters.
Blunt would play the baker's wife, the female lead in the film.
There is no production start date yet for the project, but with such a strong cast coming together a greenlight is imminent.
James Lapine penned the script, based on his book for the musical.
John DeLuca, who previously produced Marshall's "Chicago" and "Nine," will serve as producer on "Into the Woods."
Disney declined to comment.
Blunt, who recently wrapped Doug Liman's sci-fi actioner "All You Need Is Kill," with Tom Cruise, that Warner Bros. will release next year, is repped by CAA and Ken McReddie Associates.


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The Penthauze rapper takes a dip into the International pool with this collaboration and Kramium justified his invitation with the delivery of a perfect hook on the love-themed song.
Not surprisingly, Phyno serves most of his rap lines in his native tongue while Kramium spices up the song with some Reggae flavor.
Phyno is widely known as the ambassador of rap music in the Igbo Language. Most of his raps are delievered in Igbo because, according to him, he respects his culture and loves being himself.
However, he adds a bit of Nigerian Pidgin and English in his music. He believes that the elements of music makes it borderless which explains why he reached out to far-away Jamaica, to get the perfect partner for his new single.
The new video is such a beauty to behold, especially because of the beautiful scenes and moments captured in it, that would ultimately endear it to lovers of African and Jamaican music.
Watch video below.


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Show All Answers
If your dog is licensed through the Town, Castle Rock Animal Control should have your address and contact information. Many un-licensed pets are dropped off at the Castle Rock Buddy Center, which is a good place to start. For more information email Animal Control or call 303-663-6100.
(Updated April 16, 2021)
Document the barking (the dog must be barking for 10 minutes or more) on your audio/visual device and call Castle Rock Animal Control at 303-663-6100. Or you may Report a Concern. When prompted to select an issue type choose "Barking dog." The Castle Rock Police Department will be notified of your concern.
Yes, there are no longer breed specific restrictions. Restriction are now based on the dog's behavior.
No, they are only permitted off leach in designated off leash parks.
No, physical leashes are required up to 10 feet long.
Licenses are required for dogs, not cats. Any person owning, keeping or having custody of any dog older than 6 months must obtain a license. More information on licensing your dog can be found at the Pet Licensing website.
No, cats no longer need to be licensed.
Yes, up to 8 (no roosters) and check with your Home Owners Association as community by-laws may prohibit.


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The Presentation of Our Lord and Savior in the Temple
February 2
When the most pure Mother and Ever-Virgin Mary's forty days of purification had been fulfilled, she took her first-born Son to Jerusalem on this, the fortieth day after His birth, that she might present Him in the temple according to the Law of Moses, which teaches that every first-born male child be dedicated to God, and also that she might offer the sacrifice of a pair of turtle-doves or two young pigeons, as required by the Law (Luke 2:22-24; Exod. 13:2; Lev. 12:6-8). On this same day, a just and devout man, the greatly aged Symeon, was also present in the temple, being guided by the Holy Spirit. For a long time, this man had been awaiting the salvation of God, and he had been informed by divine revelation that he would not die until he beheld the Lord's Christ. Thus, when he beheld Him at that time and took Him up into his aged arms, he gave glory to God, singing: "Now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace, O Master. . ." And he confessed that he would close his eyes joyfully, since he had seen the Light of revelation for the nations and the Glory of Israel (Luke 2:25-32). From ancient times, the Holy Church has retained this tradition of the churching of the mother and new-born child on the fortieth day and of the reading of prayers of purification.
The Apodosis of the Feast of the Meeting in the Temple is usually on the 9th of February. This, however, may vary if the Feast falls within the period of the Triodion. Should this occur, the Typicon should be consulted for specific information concerning the Apodosis of the Feast.
Apolytikion of Presentation of Our Lord
First Tone
Hail Virgin Theotokos full of Grace, for Christ our God, the Sun of Righteousness, has dawned from you, granting light to those in darkness. And you, O Righteous Elder, rejoice, taking in your arms, the Deliverance of our souls, who grants us Resurrection.
Kontakion of Presentation of Our Lord
First Tone
Your birth sanctified a Virgin's womb and properly blessed the hands of Symeon. Having now come and saved us O Christ our God, give peace to Your commonwealth in troubled times and strengthen those in authority, whom You love, as only the loving One.
Blessed Feast Day
Share the feast of The Presentation of Our Lord and Savior in the Temple with an icon greeting ecard.


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During the year long ObamaCare debate, there was a spirited debate of the proposition that ObamaCare would cause rationing by the federal government of services and drugs. Government rationed health care services and drugs have evolved from rhetoric to reality.
On July 28th, Senator David Vitter (R-Louisiana) raised drug rationing concerns, because of a Food and Drug Administration (FDA) pending decision to take the cancer drug Avastin off the list of approved drugs for breast cancer. This example of rationing by the FDA of a drug to aid those with cancer is exactly what we should expect under an ObamaCare drug rationing regime.
According to Ben Evans, an AP reporter, in a "news article" that is supposed to be an unbiased news source:
Reviving allegations of government death panels, Sen. David Vitter of Louisiana said Wednesday that an FDA advisory panel's negative recommendation on a contested breast cancer drug amounts to rationing health care. "I shudder at the thought of a government panel assigning a value to a day of a person's life," Vitter said in a press release about the drug Avastin. "It is sickening to think that care would be withheld from a patient simply because their life is not deemed valuable enough."
Conservatives are seeing a trend by the left to play the "Death Panel" card as a means to disparage reasonable argument about rationing. The idea that ObamaCare may lead to rationing is close to reality and the Avastin example shows how ObamaCare cost-benefit analysis will hurt the sick. Senator Vitter never said the words "Death Panel," yet the AP chose to, in essence, put those words in the mouth of Vitter to make the article more interesting and inflammatory. The Senator made an excellent point and many will use this example to push for repeal ObamaCare.
Senator Vitter wrote in a letter to Dr. Richard Pazdur, head of the FDA's Office of Oncology Drug Product, that "based on a review of the FDA Advisory Committee's report on Avastin no new safety concerns were raised with the drug. Rather the Committee's concerns appear to have been based on cost effectiveness." The FDA has a criteria to only approve "clinically meaningful" drugs. Senator Vitter's concern is that cost is a factor in this ambiguous and vague standard. Adopting a de facto government run healthcare system will empower federal bureaucrats to make these types of arbitrary decisions on a mass basis for all Americans. Rationing is a fatal flaw with the intellectual underpinning of ObamaCare.
Vitter further argued:
The decision on whether a patient should use a possible life-extending drug is a decision that should be made solely between a doctor and patient, not a government panel. I find it outrageous that a government panel would put a price on those precious months for the families that are living through the trauma of a losing a mother, wife, sister, daughter, or aunt. Taking Avastin off-label for breast cancer treatment is essentially government rationing.
This is a reasonable argument, yet Vitter was hit by the AP for arguing that the Avastin example is evidence of "Death Panels." Call it what you will, but either way people will be harmed by government bureaucrats making rationing decisions as individuals or on panels.
The FDA's purpose is to protect people from food and drugs that are inherently unsafe or not effective. The idea that cost can be a factor in an FDA decision is outside of the FDA mission. Using cost as a means to ration care and drugs is the exact fear that many conservatives raised concerning the means that the government will use to cut corners and save money under ObamaCare. Avastin should be listed and approved if it lengthens the lives of cancer patients regardless of the drug's cost.
Rationing is happening in Europe. Access to life extending drugs under the government run system in the United Kingdom is difficult. Reports that thousands of cancer patients face an early death because the National for Health and Clinical Excellence (NICE) rejected or only partially endorsed 15 new drugs has caused an uproar in the UK. Conservatives don't want to see that flawed system imposed in the United States.
According to the Daily Mail:
The watchdog totally blocked a quarter of the cancer drugs made available since 2008 and heavily restricted others – despite Government promises to make more treatments available. Medicines rejected include bowel cancer drug Avastin and Nexavar- the only treatment offering any chance of survival for patients with advanced liver cancer.
David Cameron promised to reverse this rationing decisions because of the controversy. People suffering from cancer in the United States are similarly angered by the pending decision of the FDA about the same drug. Americans need to study the UK example so we don't copy a flawed system that bars many lifesaving treatments and drugs for those who are ill because of cost. At least the Brits reversed a bad decision. Too bad the FDA has not indicated that they are having second thoughts about the drug. The Avastin example is of deep concern to those who want cancer patients to get what they need regardless of the cost.
According to Big Government:
In September, the Food and Drug Administration will try to take the anti-cancer drug Avastin "off-label." Avastin is a Stage 4 drug used to battle breast cancer. Avastin is not a cure but has been shown to stop the growth of cancer for an average of five months — meaning some late stage breast cancer victims live beyond five months. But late stage breast cancer patients do not fit into the cost-benefit analysis of the Obama Administration. We told America rationing would happen if the healthcaretakeover bill passed and in September, women with breast cancer will be its first victims.
The FDA concedes that this drug will extend the lives of many who are afflicted with cancer, yet many are concerned that price may the deciding factor in the FDA's pending decision to de-list the drug. If it is de-listed, then Medicare and private insurance companies will not cover the cost of these drugs. The worry is that this evidence of rationing with regard to those in the most need of these costly drugs.
Americans should be having a dispassionate debate on whether ObamaCare will lead to the mass rationing of care and drugs. The left loves to raise the term "Death Panels" because it distracts from the real issues with ObamaCare. Senator Vitter raised an important issue and the Avastin example is evidence of our future under the ObamaCare regime. A future of arbitrary decisions by federal bureaucrats and health care decisions based on cost.


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Welcome Welcome to the Brown County Water Improvement District (BCWID) website. The goal of the site is to provide interesting current and historical information about the regional water district. We hope this website will assist you with information about BCWID. Please feel free to contact us for more information.
The Brown County Water Improvement District (BCWID) owns, operates and maintains Lake Brownwood, providing water for many uses to the region, including a majority of the drinking water from its water treatment plant located in Brownwood. BCWID#1 serves the communities of: Brownwood, Bangs, Brookesmith SUD, Santa Anna, Coleman County SUD, Early and Zephyr WSC 325-643-2609 Main office 325-646-3031 Fax |


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Professional guillotine with EASY-CUT, automatic clamp
Equipped with the new, patented EASY-CUT blade activating bars for convenient and safe cutting. The ergonomic working height of 94 cm guarantees effortless, fatigue-free operation.
Comprehensive SCS safety package: hinged, electronically controlled safety guard on the front table; safety cover on the rear table; main switch and safety lock with key; electronically controlled true two-hand operation; 24 volt controls (low voltage); patented safety drive; automatic blade and clamp return from every position; disc brake for instant blade stop; blade changing device with covered cutting edge; blade depth adjustment from the outside of the machine; easy blade and cutting stick change from the front of the machine without removing covers.
Electric backgauge drive with touch pad for easy setting, multilingual operator guidance and digital display. Measurement readout in cm or inches (display accurate to 1/10 mm or 1/100 inch). 99 programs with 99 steps in each program (up to 15 repeat cuts can be integrated into a program as one single program step). Program runs automatically. 10-button key pad for presetting of measurement. Pre-programmed measurements for A3 to A6 standard paper sizes. Memory key for repeat cuts. Automatic SET function for reference measurement via start button. Programmable EJECT function – for pushing out the paper. Self-diagnostic system with error indication on display. Electronic hand wheel for manual backgauge positioning with infinitely variable speed control (from very slow to very fast).
Electro-mechanical blade and clamp drive. Blade made of German high quality steel. Solid steel blade carrier and adjustable blade guides. Adjustable backgauge with narrow separations and plastic gliders. Optical cutting line with bright and durable LEDs. Two side lays each on front and rear tables.
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- Capacity 1.1 kW blade drive
- 0.32 kW clamp drive
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- Dimensions 1296 x 762 x 1053 mm (H x W x D)
- width with side tables 1349 mm
- Weight 228 kg without side tables
- 237 kg with side tables
Frequently Asked Questions
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Irvine, CA – The University of California is home to many of the country's leading scholars in dozens of fields, and for decades it has been an important laboratory for social change in the United States. It has also been at the forefront of many struggles for political, social, civil and labour rights struggles, as both an incubator of new ideas and practices and as a laboratory in which various attempts to change the balance of power and responsibility between social groups, and between society and government, have played out. So you might not be surprised to learn that as one of the most important May Days in several generations approached last week, the office of the president of the University of California, Mark Yudof, released a statement calling on members of the university community to reflect on how May Day might impact them, and what they could do to commemorate it in a meaningful manner. But would you have imagined that the president suggested that the UC community "avoid all protests"? Yes, that's right, Yudof's office urged UC faculty, students and staff to stay as far away as possible from any sort of commemoration, lest they – wittingly or unwittingly – get into trouble, or even get hurt commemorating the struggles and supporting the rights of the workers upon whose backs this country, and UC, was built. As recounted by my UC Irvine colleague Jon Wiener in The Nation, President Yudof sent a mass email communicating that "various activist groups will stage protests, rallies, and marches across the US on May 1 … The Occupy Wall Street movement has called for a general strike, asking participants to abstain from work and economic activity on the same date". The message was a warning. May Day could bring – God forbid – transport and business disruptions, and even "scuffles with police". At UC, there aren't so much scuffles with police as incidents of police launching unprovoked attacks on peaceful protesters. It's not much different anywhere in the US these days.
Rather than using May Day as an occasion to urge the faculty and students to engage in positive actions – teach-ins, solidarity – with our own staff, many of whom work for close to poverty wages, or to learn about the history of labour rights struggles in US history, we are simply warned to "avoid all demonstrations as a precaution". Such a travel alert is highly unusual for a university community. The last such travel alert was, fittingly, for Japan after the Fukushima earthquake, tsunami and nuclear accident of June, 2011. Supporters of the Occupy Wall Street movement might be cheered that it has instilled such fear at the very height of the nation's intellectual-administrative elite as to be considered a threat on par with a once-in-a-century natural and nuclear disaster. But I don't think that was Yudof's intention. Beware immigrants and workers The letter would be amusing except for the larger context in which he frames his warning: Avoid "cities with a large immigrant population and strong labour groups". In other words, stay away from places with lots of dark people and/or wage-working people, especially those with the nerve to fight for their rights. Instead of using his supposed expertise as a legal scholar on issues related to free speech to call for greater respect by the police for the rights of citizens, Yudof instead offered "tips for reducing your vulnerability". They include "avoid[ing] all large gatherings", because "even seemingly peaceful rallies can spur violent activity or be met with resistance by security forces". But as Wiener so correctly highlights, the letter doesn't stop here. The admonition continues: "Bystanders may be arrested or harmed by security forces using water cannons, tear gas or other measures to control crowds." Most astonishingly, members of the UC community that must travel near protests should "dress conservatively… maintain a low profile by avoiding demonstration areas… [and] discussions of the issues at hand." May Day, not April Fools' Day In essence, the president of UC – in fact, the office of the president; that is, the institutional embodiment of UC's executive authority – is advising members of his community to act like black people in a white neighbourhood forty years ago (or, sadly, in many places in the US, four weeks ago): Dress well, stay low, don't talk to strangers, stay clear of the police, and most of all, don't do anything to draw suspicion to yourself. And for God's sake, don't mess with the one per cent. This is not April 1, it's May 1 we're talking about, and this letter is no joke – even if it elicits a slight smile of incredulity from the reader. It suggests a president and an administration who are completely out of touch with the history and present realities of the larger community and the best interests of those they represent.
To release such a statement is evidence that Yudof is no longer competent to serve in the position he occupies. He should resign as president, and if he will not leave of his own volition, it is well past time for the regents to hand him a pink slip and replace him and the senior university administration with leaders who will protect fundamental freedoms and forcefully advocate for the measures necessary to restore it to its once vaunted position. A record of fighting against free speech Yudof's position on May Day isn't surprising if one views this in the context of his larger record. It merely freshly reflects his unwillingness to support free speech and other basic rights the other 364 days of the year. Under his administration, the situation for these rights has become abysmal at UC, in no small part because of his office's endorsement or encouragement of violations. Everyone has seen the infamous pepper spray video at UC Davis, in response to which he appointed a supposedly independent commission headed by a celebrity former police chief, Bill Bratton, whose company was already under contract with UC to provide security issues, while protecting Davis Chancellor Linda Katehi from the consequences of her policies. In fact, it now seems clear why her position was protected; her attacks on students are precisely what the senior UC administration wants to see. And so, with the smell of pepper spray still in the air, UC students were arrested and are now facing up to 11 years in jail at the urging of the same UC Davis administration that had them pepper-sprayed for – run for the hills – a sit in of the campus branch of US Bank to protest its role in, and profiteering from, the ongoing privatisation of public education at UC. Here it becomes clear how the more well-known prosecution of the so-called "Irvine 11" students, who disrupted a speech by Israeli Ambassador Michael Oren at UC Irvine in 2010, has served as a template for even more aggressive prosecutions of dissenting speech in its wake. This prosecution of peaceful protest is happening, despite the fact that the UC Davis Academic Senate has taken the remarkable step of censuring Chancellor Katehi for her actions during the Occupy protests, with no noticeable impact on either her position at Davis or her policies. Of course, it hasn't occurred to Yudof or other UC officials to protest and even fight against the fact that the more the university is privatised and tuition rises, the more banks such as US Bank rake in profits through student loans. The "office of the president" has the time to offer detailed warnings to May Day travellers, but no time to develop a sophisticated counterattack against the very real threat of a student-loan complex that is eating away at the fabric of higher education.
The only time Yudof uses the power of his office to speak up as a matter of principle or politics is when he feels impelled to defend Israel or Zionist UC students against faculty or students who might criticise the ways in which Palestinians are governed or their rights violated. Here, he has demonstrated an astonishing ability to make accusations that are either ungrounded in fact or flagrantly false, and then simply ignore all requests by those he's accused to correct the record, allowing "fabrications [to] become the public record of note". The most recent response by Jewish students to such attempts to "protect" them from supposedly anti-Israel protests can be found here. And to remedy the supposedly hostile climate, he's attempted to bring in none other than the Anti-Defamation League, one of the most partisan pro-Israel groups in the US, whose record of spying on critics of Israel and launching scurrilous attacks against them has been well known for decades. On the other hand, Yudof has offered not even a faint hint of concern about a clear and politicised violation of academic freedom against a UCLA professor of world cultures, David Shorter. In this case, the chair of UCLA's Academic Senate, Andrew Leuchter, took the extraordinary step of responding directly to a complaint by the right-wing Israel advocacy group AMCHA, which who was critical of Shorter's use of a website on BDS issues as part of a course on the use of global media by indigenous peoples. In doing so, Leuchter conducted his own investigation into the matter, circumventing Senate rules and due process regarding the investigation of supposed faculty misconduct. He then warned Professor Shorter not to use such websites in the future, after which he communicated directly – and falsely – with AMCHA, declaring that Shorter understood "his serious error in judgment has said that he will not make this mistake again". Leuchter's information was a complete fabrication, one based on his misapprehension of a conversation between Shorter and his chair. Worse, such conversations are privileged and should not have been communicated to any outside group, never mind the one attacking Shorter. Yet despite the flagrant nature of the violation of Shorter's due process and academic freedom and the growing media coverage of the scandal, Yudof has remained silent, something he has shown little proclivity to do when it comes to attacks on Israel he feels are in bad taste. Nor has he, or any other senior university official, said anything about ongoing arrests of students who are not even protesting, and in fact attempting to comply with police orders. Such was the case at a March 29, 2012, meeting of the Regents, UC's governing board, when several students were arrested and manhandled by police even though they were not engaged in any protest. In fact, rather than criticise officers for such actions, Yudof walked over and shook their hands. The students were charged with criminal offences and, even more onerously, forced to post bail in excess of $10,000 each, which necessitated their raising $6,000 to pay the fees for their bonds. As UCLA comparative literature professor Katherine King put it to me: "The harm from these police actions radiates beyond their effect on the arrestees. Violently arresting non-violent protesters, strip-searching them and charging them thousands of dollars for their freedom is clearly intended to instill fear in future protesters. It is chilling to free speech, a key ideal of the university." The threat of privatisation More broadly, President Yudof has shown neither a capacity nor a willingness to fight the forces that seek to privatise the University of California in all but name. For well over 150 years, public universities have had as a core mission the provision of services that "promote the wellbeing of communities and states"; privatisation inevitably leads them to "abandon this social contract", a process that has accelerated in the past decade as the share of public universities' revenues derived from state and local taxes has declined precipitously. As the former president of the University of Wisconsin, Katharine C Lyall, explained the implications of this situation, public universities' "mission used to be to serve the public good. But if private donors and corporations are providing much of a university's budget, then they will set the agenda … Public control is slipping away".
The result of such slipping away of public control is that administrators with little understanding of the role of the university in society and almost no relationship with the faculty they are supposed to serve increasingly have the power to reshape the university towards private ends. As the Reynoso Report issued in the wake of the UC Davis pepper spray incident reveals, administrators, and the police who serve them, are today far more concerned with campus order and restricting free speech than with campus safety and its protection; and they are more inclined to see students and faculty as nuisances, if not enemies, rather than the heart of the university. The disaster of privatisation could be averted if the UC had a president who was willing to lead a robust defence of the system and the basic value of public rather than privatised higher education. But even though UC could be returned to its previous high levels of public funding and low tuition with only a modest raise in state taxes, Yudof and the rest of the UC leadership won't even consider advocating such a policy. Instead, they ask "friends" of UC to call the governor of California and ask them to "support a long-term funding plan" for the university without having the courage to say what everyone knows – in the absence of a rapid and large economic recovery, more funding won't come without more tax revenue to pay for it. Whether it's the United States or the University of California, what good is a president who won't speak honestly and directly about the major problems the people he represents must confront? UC as microcosm of federal and local government policies President Yudof's record on these matters is one of bland acceptance – or even advocacy – of de facto privatisation, whose consequences are enforced with greater repression of free and dissenting speech practices at UC. But it is even worse. The UC system under his tenure has become a laboratory for the wider national pattern of criminalising individual conduct at the same time that corporate conduct is given the widest freedoms possible to arrogate the country's wealth away from ordinary people and to the ever more powerful "one per cent". As Bernard Harcourt demonstrates in his recent Guardianop-ed, the Supreme Court increasingly supports a policy universe in which "liberty is sacrosanct for the market, not the citizen". And so early May Day morning, police burst into the apartments of activists across New York City to harass them about the planned May Day protests by Occupy Wall Street. Sadly, it seems they hadn't seen Yudof's message. Of course, they were sleeping in their own beds, so it wouldn't have mattered. It also didn't matter when, back on the Left Coast a few weeks before, students at UC Davis were dragged out of their beds at the exact same hour, handcuffed and had their computers seized by police, just because one of them had the gall to protest at a campus event. Sacramento and New York City might be on opposite coasts, but the increasing derogation of basic rights by those at all levels of official power has the same roots and is part of the same pattern as we see playing out in UC. What we are seeing is criminality rife throughout US economic life, and the criminalisation of civic life. Liberties at UC and the Occupy movement are merely just the biggest, but by no means only, victims. The increasing crony capitalism that dominates the US economyand international global economic relations more broadly, is part of the same process that leads the highest levels of the UC administration to warn people to stay low and avoid protests. "You should feel lucky you're even allowed in here…" is the message, "…even if the price of admission is becoming increasingly steep." Even journalists, film makers and scholars are no longer considered to be constitutionally protected, as the US government has decided it has the authority not only to spy on them without warrants, but to confiscate their computers and other communications and data sources without a warrant and steal their contents for future use in the never ending war onterror democracy. A model of courage With budget cuts, tuition hikes and the poaching of faculty (even by wealthier UC campuses, in a startling lack of professional solidarity), this is an increasingly desperate time for the University of California. Voices throughout the UC system are being raised against the increasing privatisation and attacks on basic academic freedoms, but mostly by those with little if any institutional or administrative power to challenge these processes.
Yudof made sure of this when he eviscerated the power of the Academic Senate to share in the governance of the university in 2009, as UC entered its present crisis. Seemingly inspired by George W Bush's "unitary executive" thesis, Yudof sought and was granted "emergency powers" that allowed him to bypass the norms of shared governance which have long defined the management of the university by faculty and administration. In stark contrast to Yudof's legacy, the most inspiring recent example of leadership at the administrative level has come not from UC but from the California State University system; specifically from the interim president of CSU Northridge, Harry Hellenbrand. In response to attacks on one of his professors, David Klein, by the right-wing Israel-advocacy group AMCHA, Hellenbrand wrote an open letter to the Cal State community which powerfully restated the importance of both academic freedom and free speech, and rather than parroting false information from such partisan groups (as Yudof did with his own recent "open letter to the UC community", fuelled by a similarly spurious AMCHA intervention, a critique of which is available here), Hellenbrand took on and refuted the allegations of the groups attacking the professor in question. Hellenbrand wrote that "many of Klein's critics implicitly fuse the elected policy of the Israeli government with God's covenant with the Jews as a spiritual people and/or ethnic tribe. This consolidation empowers them to denounce, with the fury of Jeremiah, dissent to policy as if it were apostasy. The apostate is censured, not stoned". He goes on to offer harsh criticism of the attempts by groups such as AMCHA and the atply mis-named "Scholars for Peace in the Middle East" for accusing his and other California universities of being hotbeds of "harassment and intimidation" of Jewish students, and for their constant comparisons of criticism of Israel with existential threats against Jews and even impending holocausts. It is impossible to imagine President Yudof emulating such principled behaviour or ever standing up to these groups, or even owning up to his personal participation in their constant dissemination of lies against members of the professoriate who are their perceived enemies.
Hellenbrand's conclusion is a powerful restatement of the fundamental importance of free political speech in the university, and, by extension, in the United States, at this pivotal moment in the history of both. He argues that groups such as AMCHA "would eliminate nearly all political speech that had the slightest trace of public funding in higher education". "Invoking the apparatus of the state to proscribe broad categories of speech in hubs of innovation and disruption such as public universities will have the paradoxical effect of chilling public exchange while heating up zealotry." This is precisely the kind of sophisticated and honest discussion that is so desperately needed and tragically missing at the leadership level of the University of California. Why UC matters Why should the internal problems of the University of California matter to anyone outside the system, or the United States? Because universities, especially public universities, are the canary in the coal mine for determining the health of of society at large. If the foundations of free and open exchange of knowledge and debate over ideas, and tolerance for dissent are repressed inside the so-called ivory towers of academia, the situation in society at large will most assuredly be worse. This is a situation academics in Egypt, Bahrain, China or so many other developing countries know all too well. In this regard, Yudof and other senior administrators of the University of California, the regents who govern the system, and the larger political class in California and across the United States have forgotten that universities were among the first and remain among the last bastions of truly liberal thought – that is, one that encourages critical thinking, free debate and openness and tolerance towards divergent points of view. Moreover, across Europe, the Middle East and Asia, universities are increasing following the corporatised, privatised and efficiency-obsessed model of higher education first blazed in the United States. At the same time, governments reduce and concentrate funding – and corporations increasingly look at universities as adjuncts of their needs rather than incubators and repositories of the common weal. Indeed, in societies otherwise so thoroughly dominated by money and its colonisation of every sphere of private and public life, it is imperative that public universities remain one of the few places where a democratic, non-commodified public sphere can function, one that encourages open research and debate not overly determined by financial or partisan ideological considerations. It's hard to see how societies can address the myriad challenges they face and survive democratically if the great public universities such as UC and its counterparts across the United States and globally continue along their present course. Sadly, the current leadership of the UC is contributing to the rapid deterioration of public discourse and to the stifling of knowledge production, which will be crucial to any possible economic and political renewal in the United States. It might well be too late to stop this process here, but those observing this debacle from the outside would do well to learn from our mistakes before they suffer a similar fate. Mark LeVine is a professor of history at UC Irvine and Distinguished Visiting Professor at the Centre for Middle Eastern Studies at Lund University in Sweden. His most recent books are Heavy Metal Islam (Random House) and Impossible Peace: Israel/Palestine Since 1989 (Zed Books) and The Five Yar Old Who Toppled A Pharoah (University of California, forthcoming). |
Source: Al Jazeera