My starter was that part of my story had to take place in a filed containing a bull.

Matters of Ignorance

Ilberic Brandybuck rolled over and groaned. Why was his bed so lumpy? And the pillow, it didn’t feel right either. Ilberic punched the pillow and squirmed about trying to get comfortable but to no avail . . . then he remembered.

He cracked one bleary eye open just to make sure. Yes. He was in his own personal pit of despair. A teeny, tiny, primitive, barely furnished room at the Mudfoot’s farm. He huffed as he pulled the rough wool blanket over his head.

"Why me?" he muttered, but in truth he knew the answer to his whispered question. Ilberic scowled at the images that came to his mind of his so-called trial and his unfair imprisonment in the Green Wing of Brandy Hall. Just because he had the sense to put those two cousins in their places. Merry was the Master’s son. Ilberic had been taught his whole life that his father, not Merry’s should have been the Master and he the Master’s son. And now it also looked like that idiot Took cousin of Merry’s would be the son of The Took and Thain of the Shire. Merry had deserved to have his birthday gifts stolen, and it had been the cream on the top, managing to put the blame on the stupid Took. Ilberic could still scarcely believe it was his own siblings who had turned him in to the Master of Buckland. He was still stinging from the hurt of it all, but especially from being sent to this forsaken farm. "High-handed bunch of bossy snobs!" he huffed again as he heard the door to his hovel open.

"It be mornin’ . . . eh . . ." There was a long pause by the soft female voice as she wasn’t quite sure how she should address the lad.

"So what. It’s morning. Mor-NING, by the way." Ilberic’s voice had its usual snide edge. "Not ‘mornin’. It has a "G" on the end. You can’t even speak properly."

Comfrey Mudfoot stood quietly for a moment, unsure of what to do with this lad who had traipsed into the house after her husband last night. He hadn’t said as much as a "hello" before he was demanding to be shown to his room, which he entered, slammed the door and had not come out again for the rest of the evening. Tad explained to her all that had happened at the Hall. She stood her tallest, she and Tad were going to have their hands full.

"It be mornin’, Ilberic Brandybuck, ‘n time to be gettin’ at the chores. You’ll show up ‘n be a help or you’ll be gettin’ no breakfast . . . neither first nor second," she added as the boy opened his mouth, anticipating what he was going to say. She waited for a response but none was forthcoming. "Have ye naught to say?"

Ilberic stuck his nose in the air as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"As ye be a choosin’, Ilberic." Comfrey shut the door behind heself.

It was at the noon meal that Tad and Comfrey next saw Ilberic. He sauntered into the large kitchen, dropped into an empty chair and looked at them expectantly.

They merely looked back at him.

"Well?" Ilberic intoned grandly.

Tad took a large mouthful of his ham and mashed taters, chewing it well and slowly before swallowing. His eyes never left the lad’s the entire time. "Did ya help with the chores?"

"I don’t do chores. I have never done chores. I have no intention of ever doing chores." Ilberic reached for the serving bowl of potatoes. Tad smacked his hand away then moved the bowl out of the lad’s reach.

"Do ya be a babe, lad?"

Ilberic opened and closed his mouth a few times, a bit like a fish out of water, but didn’t say anything. He couldn’t quite get past his hand getting smacked.

"I asked ye a question, Ilberic, ‘n I expect to be answered as ‘tis only polite. I would be expectin’ it from anyone, though I’ll be right quick to admit I expect it more so from a lad what’s been raised up proper at the Hall." Tad folded his hands on the table top and leaned toward Ilberic. "So I’ll be askin’ again, are ye a wee babe in nappies?"

"Have you had to change any nappies?" The boy leaned toward the farmer.

Tad was not intimidated by Ilberic. "Be ya a faunt?"

"What do you think?"

"I be thinkin’ that you are a lad comin’ on near ta his tweens who aught have ‘nough sense in his head ta respect his elders. I be thinkin’ that it may be yer not right in yer head after all ‘cause ya aren’t showin’ respect ta yer elders."

Ilberic’s eyes widened then narrowed. How dare this dolt of an illiterate farmer imply there was anything amiss with his mind?

"I be thinkin’," Tad continued, "that a lad o’ your age aught ta be able ta do as he’s bid. There be no free ride on a workin’ farm, Ilberic. Either ye help out or ya don’t get a share o’ the goods the work produces."

"You wouldn’t dare starve me, you ignorant hobbit!"

In a flash Ilberic was up off the chair, dangling by his shirt front held tightly in Tad Mudfoot’s fist. Tad pulled the now quaking lad to him till their noses were nearly touching.

"Do ya know how ta grow a crop, Ilberic? Do ya know how ta help a animal what’s ailin’ or havin’ trouble with a birthin’? Do ya know what the askin’ price is for hay or barely or oats? Da ya know what a litter o’ weanlin’ pigs should sell for? Do ya know how ta work a forge ta make goods from iron?" Tad shook the lad a bit. "Do ya know any o’ that, Ilberic Brandybuck?"

Ilberic’s eyes were wide with fear. Fear as he’d never felt in all his short life. Was this crazed farmer going to kill him?

"Do ya know how to cook?" Comfrey said in her soft voice. "Do ya know mendin’ ‘n cleanin’? Do ya know how ta keep a well stocked pantry? Do ya . . ." She paused, swallowing at the lump forming in her throat. "Do ya know how ta care for babes or faunts or grownin’ young ones?"

Ilberic shook his head as best he could. Then to his complete amazement, Tad drew him into a firm, yet gentle, hug. Comfrey came over and began to run her fingers through his hair. This didn’t make sense.

"Lad," Tad quietly said. "Just ‘cause we don’t be knowin’ our letters ‘n just ‘cause we talk like country folk doesn’t mean that we be ignorant. Anymore ‘n yer not knowin’ chores ‘n farmin’ makes ya weak minded. Do ye understand me, Ilberic?" The head laying on Tad’s shoulder nodded. "We won’t starve ya, lad, but we do be needin’ ya to help out."

Comfrey felt such pity for this spoiled lad. It had been a waste of his life to this point to not raise him properly. "Have ye ever been needed, Ilberic?"

Ilberic didn’t know what to do with Comfrey’s question. Of course he’d been needed. His mother was always telling him how she needed "her boy". But this seemed to be a different sort of being needed.

" ‘Tis hard to make a farm work proper without help, lad. We truly do be needin’ yer help." Tad added.

"Did . . . did . . ." Ilberic hated to even say the name. "Did Pippin do chores?"

"Aye, that he did. He mucked stalls, fed ‘n watered the stock, helped with the milkin’ ‘n he groomed the ponies. He cleaned tack, cleaned the tack room ‘n my work shed."

Yes, Ilberic thought to himself, Paladin ran a farm. It made sense that Pippin would know about such things. "Grown-ups do such work, don’t they?" he asked.

"Aye."

"If I were a grown-up who had come to be here . . . come to be here to live . . ." Ilberic gulped down some air. His throat had gone tight. He was here to live. He was here until he came of age or he would be hunted down and locked back up in Brandy Hall. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard before speaking again. "You would expect a grown-up hobbit to do chores?"

"We would indeed, if he or she be here ta live ‘n not just here ta visit." Comfrey said.

"Did . . . Pippin like the bedroom?"

Tad laughed lightly. "Young Master Pippin was caught trespassin’. He was sleepin’ in the work shed on a bed o’ straw. Took his meals there as well. But you, well, ye be here ta stay, so we put ya up proper."

Something was starting to happen, though Ilberic was barely aware of it, nor would he have had words for it. When he had been in his room in the Green Wing, one of the servants had said some things to him that had got him thinking about his life differently than he had before, while being away from his mother’s foul attitudes gave his mind the chance to see a different view of life than hers. All he knew was that all of this suddenly felt right. There was something different here. His heart was feeling what his mind could not quite understand. Tad’s embrace; Comfrey’s touch. They were not what he was accustomed to. His mother’s hugs were fiercely selfish, fueled by her dislike and distrust of everyone she knew. Things seemed different here.

aw

"Are there any chores left to do?" Ilberic quietly asked.

"There always be chores, lad," Tad said as he gave Ilberic a squeeze before setting him back in the chair at the table. "Ya just help yerself ta some luncheon ‘n we’ll get ya started on learnin’."

And so it started, the redeeming of Ilberic Brandybuck. It had, as one would expect, it’s ups and downs, even a short life’s habits are hard to break, but it progressed steadily along. It was a few weeks later that Ilberic took it into his head to try something a bit more on his own, as it were. You see, there was this one cow . . .

Ilberic had planned his course of action for a couple of days. Making sure he knew where everything was. Making sure he could get himself up before Comfrey and Tad. He had begun to worry about that really large cow. It never seemed to get brought into the byre like the other cows. It was scruffy and muddy, and it never seemed to get milked as the other cows were.

The eastern horizon barely glowed with the light of the new morn when Ilberic tip-toed out of the farmhouse. He silently shut the kitchen door behind him and ran to the barn. He put a shedding comb and dandy brush in the bucket, grabbed the milking stool then headed to the small pasture that held the large neglected looking cow. Ilberic slowed when he came to the fence. Tad had not said anything to him about this beast. There were plenty of things he had told Ilberic to leave alone, but as the boy hadn’t shown too much interest in doing anything with the animals other than assigned chores, there had been no mention at all of the oversized cow. He stared at the poor shaggy thing, all alone and unkept. Somehow, it reminded the lad of himself. Not that he had ever been so uncared for, but Ilberic had often felt like he didn’t fit in with the other youngsters of Brandy Hall. This huge cow didn’t seem to fit in either. With a nod of his head, Ilberic ducked between the rails of the fence.

"Hello, Cow," Ilberic said cheerfully as he walked up to the rough-haired animal. "I’m going to clean you up a bit and get you milked. You look as though you could use the brushing." He was rather relieved when the beast barely noticed him while continuing to graze. "Tad seems to take such good care of his stock, I really don’t understand why you are such a mess. But I’ve become quite good at grooming, Tad has said as much, so I’ll just give you a right nice goin’ over." Ilberic stopped talking. He had said "right nice" and "goin’". In a moment he was grinning broadly as he stood on the milking stool to reach the high, broad back with the shedding comb. "Listen to me, would you! Ha! By the end of the year no one will know I’m not a hobbit farm-lad born and bred. You really are a muddy mess, do you know that? Doesn’t it itch?"

He worked quickly, if not overly thoroughly, and was soon done with the grooming. Ilberic wiped his sweaty forehead on his sleeve as he set down the brush and comb then reached for the bucket. He hadn’t noticed Tad, who had caught sight of him on his way to the byre, now leaning against the fence.

"Alright now, Cow," Ilberic said as he set the bucket under the cow and himself upon the stool. "I will get this other matter atten . . .ded . . . to." The flow of words trickled to a stop. He stood up, picked up the stool then walked around to the other side of the cow. He set down the stool and sat himself upon it, but the situation was the same on this side as it had been on the other. The cow had no bag, as Tad called it. Ilberic got to his hands and knees, easily crawling under the large cow. He crawled up towards it’s head then back towards the rear. There was something there, not a bag but a . . . a . . . long-ish shaped something with another something like a bag behind it. But the bag surely did not look like those on the ten cows he and Tad milked every morning and evening. "You must be a different kind of cow, Cow. You only have this one long thing and this bag that doesn’t look right. I mean, it hasn’t any spigots. No, that’s not the word." Ilberic thought for a moment. "Teats! There’s the word Tad used. Your bag has no teats, unless I’m just not seeing them." Ilberic reached out and grabbed hold of the bag.

The cow snorted, stomped a hind leg then suddenly Ilberic was hanging by the seat of his breeches about two feet off the ground.

"Let go that lad, ya great daft bugger!" Tad seemed to Ilberic to have appeared out of nowhere. With one hand he had hold of the waist band of Ilberic’s breeches, with the other he was rapping the beast on the head with a stick. "Let him go, Toby! He meant naught by it. Let go!"

"Toby?" Iberic said as Toby finally let go of his seat. Tad carried the boy a bit away from the animal before setting him down on his feet.

"Ya be alright, lad?" Tad took him by the shoulders, eyeing him with concern.

"Toby?"

Tad, seeing the lad was in no distress, let himself smile broadly. "Aye. Did ya not notice somethin’ a bit familiar ‘bout what you was seein’ whilst you was crawlin’ about under there?"

The light of knowledge came into Ilberic’s eyes as his blood rushed into his face. He looked down at his toes pushing around in the grass of the pasture. "Oh. That was . . . his . . . he’s a boy cow."

"Aye, Ilberic. That be Toby, my bull."

"Why do you have a bull, Tad? You don’t get milk from boy animals."

Tad draped his arm around Ilberic’s shoulders as they walked toward Toby to get the things Ilberic had taken into the pasture. "Well, at least ya be knowin’ that much." He tossled the lad’s hair. "Nay, no milk from a bull. But a cow won’t make milk if she hasn’t a calf, and to get a calf . . ." Tad paused in mid reach for the dandy brush. "Ya do know ‘bout . . ."

"Yes!" Ilberic said quickly. He nudged Tad. "I’m not that ignorant."

Tad laughed as he and Ilberic headed for the barn and the morning milking. "No ya aren’t. Ye don’t be near as addled as that lad who followed me home from the Hall."

"No. He didn’t even know a good home when he saw it."