Chapter 28. Thain: Lessons to Be Learned

The days fell quickly into a routine of sorts for the young son of Paladin. He ate early breakfast with the Thain--on High Day this would take place on the banks of the nearest fishing stream, where they'd spend half the morning casting for trout and salmon. In the Thain's study, listening to Thain Ferumbras talking about the many concerns of the Thain and Took, Pippin learned how to tie flies, intricate bits of feather and wire to tempt a wary fish to strike. At the same time, the old hobbit was teaching him about the ways of managing Tooks and Tooklanders, what "lures" to use to draw them to do what was best for the Tookland, what strategies worked best, ways of getting stubborn Tooks to come around in their thinking while making them believe it was all their own idea.

The rest of the morning was spent with steward, copying out records, or tutor, learning by heart the history of the Shire as all young gentlehobbits had drummed into their heads by rote: names and dates, mostly, dusty and dry and uninteresting, save the snippets that stirred memory in Pippin of Bilbo's storytelling. Dull names came to life when attached to the lives of real people and places he'd seen, whether with his own eyes or through the storyteller's. But for the most part, dull and dry it was, and the sting of a switch on his palm when he was inattentive, though the tutor dared not hit hard enough to leave a mark.

All the copywork must be done in a fair hand, or else it must be done over, and in this way Pippin learned something of contracts and agreements, rents and records, testaments and tithes, and all the rest of those documents spawned by an orderly society.

Afternoons were more interesting, at least most of them were. There were, of course, the lessons in deportment which included dancing and polite conversation, manners such as how to hold a door open or how to pull out a chair or such accommodations to the fairer sex. Happily these lessons occupied only one day of the week, and the others were filled with shooting and riding and other enjoyable sport, and best of all his sister's husband Isumbold was headmaster for these fine arts that every gentlehobbit worth his salt ought to know.

Shooting was not Pippin's favourite lesson, however. He found it rather frustrating, in point of fact, to try to manage a bow. He could throw a stone with the best of them, striking his target swift and true, but to fit an arrow to the string, draw back and shoot...? The arrow-fetchers learned to stay behind the shooting line when it was Pippin's turn to shoot, venturing out after his arrows only when his quiver was empty. It was that, or crouch behind the target while the arrows whistled past, waiting for a shout of "All clear!"

He took a great deal of good-natured ribbing from his Tookish cousins, though of course no one was truly unpleasant to him. He was, after all, representing the heir to the Thain. One day he would be Thain himself, and they wanted him to remember them kindly when that day came, of course.

On this bright autumnal day he rode round-and-round atop a sleek and well-groomed pony, as Isumbold called out orders. It would have been tempting to drowse as they trotted along, but Isum didn't give them the luxury: They went from walk to trot to canter to cutting down the centre of the ring and changing leads to trotting again... And all the while, Pippin was trying to remember to keep his elbows in, his heels down, his hands in contact with the pony's mouth...

'Halt your ponies!' Isum barked out, and Pippin sat up straight and pulled on the reins, though he hardly needed to. His pony stopped at hearing the command, actually. However, he was congratulating himself on how well he was doing when he was thrown off balance--Hilly's pony, behind him, had not halted, blundering into the hindquarters of Pippin's pony, who took exception to this and kicked out with both heels.

Not to be put off, Hilly's pony dodged the flying hoofs and reached a long neck to snap at the rump of Pippin's pony. A full-scale battle threatened, when Isum manoeuvred his own pony into the middle of the combat, crowding too close to Pippin's pony for that one to get in any more good kicks, even as he landed a sharp blow with his riding crop on Hilly's pony.

When at last order was restored and the ponies were lined up, more or less in a straight line, Isum glared at the class. 'Hilly,' he said.

Hildibold shrugged his shoulders. "Hilly", as his cousins called him, was the son of a healer, just a little younger than Pippin. Entering his tween years, he was old enough to learn the healer's arts, but had asked his father if he might instead learn riding and shooting, following in the footsteps of his beloved older brother Tolibold, who hoped someday to be a messenger for the Thain, or even rise as high as one of the hobbits of the Thain's escort . Mardibold, the eldest son, was already practicing the healing arts, and so the old healer indulged the wishes of his youngest son. He was quite the best rider in the class, and knew it well.

'What was that all about?' Isum said. 'This is not the Battle of Greenfields.'

'Oughter be,' another student snorted to Pippin, but was quelled with a glance from the instructor.

'It's this pony,' Hilly said. 'You call this a riding pony? He ought to be put down and his bones fed to the dogs.'

'If you had proper control...' Isum began, but Hilly dared to argue.

'A stone troll would have a softer mouth,' the tween said, 'and would probably be easier to control! This fellow's mouth has been spoilt, and is hard as iron, or harder...'

But Isum's attention had been drawn by two figures walking past the ring, and he interrupted. 'Verilard!' he called.

The Thain's chief hunter stopped, and his assistant with him. 'Was there something you wanted, Isum?' he said.

'If I might borrow your assistant,' Isum said.

Verilard's assistant stood beside the hunter, head down, staring at his feet, and at Isum's words he hunched his shoulders. The few derisive hisses stopped when the students' eyes met Verilard's glare. 'Ferdi,' the hunter said quietly, laying a hand on his assistant's shoulder. 'Isum would like you to demonstrate...'

'Yes, if you please, Ferdibrand,' Isum said, in his most formal and polite tones.

The hunter's assistant glanced up for a moment, and then down again, but Ferdi had taken in enough, in that glance: Isum was calm, expectant; most of the students wore stony expressions, Hilly openly sneering; Pippin had an eager look--he was one of the few who sought Ferdi out and talked with him. Well, Pippin did almost all the talking, but he didn't seem to mind, and he never teased Ferdi about his silence or his stammering, when he did try to force out a word or two.

Ferdi nodded, still looking down, and ducked through the bars of the ring.

'Hilly, if you please?' Isum said, and Hilly slid from the saddle, presenting the reins to Ferdi with a mocking bow.

Ferdi silently took the reins and turned to Isum, the question that he could not voice plain to read on his face.

'Mount, and show us the gelding's gaits,' Isum said.

Ferdi nodded and mounted, and to Pippin's satisfaction, Hilly's pony was transformed: his head came up, his neck bowed, and without any apparent command on Ferdi's part he stepped out into a walk, made a graceful turn as he reached the fence, and began to circle the perimeter, first at a walk, then trot, then canter. The only movement Ferdi showed was to rise to the trot; otherwise he might have been a statue, for all the watching students saw. And the heretofore jerky motions of the pony were smooth; his neck remained bowed, he was obviously "on" the bit.

'As you see, this pony knows how to go under a rider who understands him,' Isum said. 'Your hands are too heavy, as I've been telling you, Hilly, and he's been fighting you. You have to feel his mouth. This is not a wrestling contest! And all the while you are communicating with your seat, your legs...'

The class watched the previously sulky pony float around the ring a few more times before Isum said, 'Enough, Ferdi. Bring him into the centre.'

Pippin watched with satisfaction as his "useless" cousin, without apparent movement on his part, brought the pony from the fence into the centre of the ring, lining up with the other ponies, and though his pony's ears went back as he came up beside Pippin's pony, he obediently halted before Hilly.

Ferdi dismounted and held out the reins to Hilly.

'Now, Hilly,' Isum said. 'Mount.'

Hilly mounted and the pony's head immediately came up too high.

Without thinking, Ferdi took hold of the rings at either side of the mouth, pulling back.

'Not a game of tug,' Isum said. 'Feel the contact, Hilly.'

Frustrated, the tween jerked on the reins, but Ferdi maintained his grip, and so he took the jerk and not the pony's mouth.

'Loosen your reins, Hilly,' Isum said, and the tween had no choice but to obey, with Isum and all the class staring at him. He loosened, and felt Ferdi's gentle pull-and-give. 'That's, it,' Isum said, more softly, but Hilly heard, and then suddenly Ferdi had let go the rings of the bit, and Hilly was feeling the pony's mouth through the medium of the reins, something he'd not paid much heed to in the past.

But the tween did not revel in the new-found knowledge. He was, at that moment, burning with humiliation. The hunter's half-witted assistant had shown him up--Hilly, the best student in the class!

He'd find a way to make Ferdi pay... But he'd have to be cautious. The Thain's fair-haired lad had defended the half-wit, on several occasions when Hilly or other young Tooks had been mocking him. It would be best to stay on Pippin's good side, considering that he would likely be Thain one day.

'Come along, Ferdibrand,' Verilard said now, and his assistant ducked back through the bars to join him.

'Our thanks, Ferdi!' Isum called. 'You may join our class at any time, for I could use someone to demonstrate proper techniques!'

Ferdi nodded, though he stared at his toes, while Hilly's anger rose. He was often the one called upon to demonstrate to the rest of the class, being the most advanced rider amongst the tweens, and if he'd drawn a decent mount instead of this old nag, today's humiliation would never have happened.

He was glad of the hunter's answer. 'I am sorry,' Verilard said, lifting his cap from his head in salute. 'I cannot spare the lad at the moment.'

'Pity,' Isum said, but he nodded in dismissal and turned back to the class. 'That is all for today,' he said. 'Take them to the stables and give them a good grooming. Old Tom will be checking them over for me, and if I find any of you have shirked you'll find yourselves polishing harness instead of taking tea this day.'

Hilly pulled a wry mouth, but by the time Isum's eyes reached his end of the line he was nodding and smiling, for the instructor's benefit. The students polished the ponies before they rode, and again afterwards. It seemed a waste of time, when they were only going to be turning them out to graze, and the beasts would roll in the grass and the mud and undo their grooming.

He looked forward to the day when he'd have someone else to do the grooming for him. Ferdibrand, for instance. Yes, someday he could afford to be generous. He'd hire the half-wit to keep his ponies shining and clean out the muck from their stalls. It was about all the hobbit was suited for, after all.

He didn't understand Pippin's fascination for the half-wit. Didn't they have diverting times, Pippin and Hilly and a handful of other Tookish tweens? Instead of wasting his time on Ferdi, Pippin ought to be spending his free hours productively. He was a great one for thinking up pranks, for instance, and the chief cook had turned the hungry tweens away, just the other day, when they'd gone to beg a snack after riding. "Too close to teatime." Hah! If Pippin were put on the task, Hilly was confident he'd come up with a good practical joke to pay the chief cook back...