Chapter 40: Educating Otho

S.R. 1330

It was not until a week after Bilbo's birthday that the Sackville-Bagginses, as the family had begun calling themselves (though legally speaking, only Otho would be entitled to that name, and even then, not until he came of age) finally moved into Ashcroft, for Longo had ordered extensive renovations. Belladonna was of the opinion that they had waited on purpose in order to miss Bilbo's party; Bilbo was not so certain of that, but it had suited him just as well not to have them there.

He and his mother had, of course, attended the hole-warming, with the appropriate gifts of food for the larder; Belladonna had brought some of her prize-winning pickled cherry tomatoes. All had been civil, and Longo was polite enough considering the condescension in his tone and other than Camellia's constant references to her sister-in-law as "poor, dear Belladonna". Belladonna had managed to keep her temper; years of marriage to Bungo and life in Hobbiton had worn the edges off her Tookish tendency to rash anger. And for the sake of peace Bilbo was only too happy to listen to her ranting as they made their way home afterwards; his mother had an amusing wit when she was being acerbic.

"I can't think what he hopes to accomplish," Bilbo said.

Belladonna laughed. "Ah, Bilbo! He expects his son to be your heir, since you've yet to wed. But I can promise you that your heir looks nothing like that young lout Otho." It was the first time since she had first mentioned it that she had spoken of her dreams, but it was a comfort to them both.

"Well, Otho will be coming to me for tutoring beginning next week. He'll be attending me on Sunday, Trewsday, and Mersday right before Drogo's sessions. Judging by his sullenness I expect him to be difficult." He'd made the schedule that way on purpose, so that he could enjoy working with Drogo afterwards; a bit of jam to take away the bad taste. Drogo loved learning as much as Bilbo had at his age, and was his favorite pupil. He'd never said as much aloud, of course, not even to his mother.

"I'm sure you will do your best, son," she said, as they reached Bag End's front door.

After having a private interview with Otho to determine the state of his knowledge, Bilbo had planned the lad's lessons. Though trying to get him to talk had been like trying to pry a snail from its shell, he had decided on young Otho's strengths and weaknesses. In his understanding of numbers he reminded Bilbo of Mat Lightfoot, who was now doing remarkably well for himself. He thought that perhaps the child was ready for some more advanced mathematics. Otho also knew quite a bit of practical and theoretical husbandry due to his upbringing on a leaf plantation; he would, after all, be heir to the Sackville holdings.

However, he was pitifully ignorant of much of Shire history, and his lack of knowledge of the Baggins side of the family was pathetic. In addition, his writing skills were deplorable; spelling, punctuation and penmanship were all lacking if the sample essay sent by his Sackville tutor was anything to go by.

So he planned to concentrate on genealogy on Sunday and history on Trewsday; he'd incorporate a lot of essays into both subjects in hopes of improving Otho's writing skills, and perhaps as he learned his Family Tree, Bilbo could move away from so much genealogy and add wider subjects for reading and assign some recitations. Mathematics could be on Mersdays, since it seemed to be the one subject the lad seemed to like: a treat at the end of the week.

Sunday morning, Otho arrived, escorted by Ludo Bracegirdle, who worked for Longo. Bracegirdle was more than a servant, he also assisted Longo in business matters, but he clearly was in the role of minding Otho on this day. The Bracegirdles were a prominent family in Hardbottle in the Southfarthing; though the family was on the Roll as one of the Great Families and were still a numerous clan, their fortunes had declined in recent years. Bilbo greeted the hobbit with a handshake, provided him with tea and cakes, and left him to amuse himself in the parlour while Bilbo led the scowling Otho to his study.

Bilbo did his best to maintain a neutral mien and avoid scowling himself as he looked at the young tween. "Is something wrong, Otho?" he asked mildly.

Otho's face grew red with anger. "I am not a faunt to need a nursemaid!" he said.

"Ah! And why did he think that?"

"I didn't want to come," was the reluctant answer. "Papa thought I might skive off my lessons like I did sometimes in the Southfarthing."

Bilbo winced at the crude slang. "Would you have?"

Otho made a scornful snort. "What would be the point? My father would have found out pretty quickly if I didn't show up Ihere/I." The last word was said with a sneer.

"I see. Well, as you are here now, take a seat-" Bilbo indicated the chair next to a small oak table. On the table were paper, ink, quill and a large book with a pale blue cover (the current volume of the Book of Baggins). Otho sat down reluctantly as Bilbo pulled his own chair next to that of his student. "Let us see what you know of your heritage on your father's side. Who was your grandfather?"

"Mungo Baggins."

"And your great-grandfather?"

"Ummm...wasn't his name the same as yours?"

With much effort Bilbo avoided groaning and placing a palm over his face, strong though the urge was. "Not quite," he answered as patiently as he could. "His name was Balbo. You are going to make a family tree. Write "Balbo Baggins" in the middle of the page..."

The two spent nearly an hour working on the Tree, going five generations back from Balbo Baggins and his wife Berylla Boffin, and going forward from him to the current generation. The document was littered with ink splotches and names which had been struck out and rewritten. "Next week you will make a fair copy of this on parchment, so you need to work on your penmanship."

Bilbo went over to the bookshelf and pulled out a small grey volume titled Fallohide: the Founders of the Shire. "You are to read the first half of this before Trewsday; write down any questions you have and bring them and the book with you when you come back."

Otho's scowl, which had vanished while he was actually working on the Family Tree, returned. "Cousin Bardo never gave me homework."

Bilbo mildly replied, "I am not your Cousin Bardo, and I do give homework."

He led the tween back to the parlour where Ludo awaited them. It appeared he had amused himself by reading the Michel Delving Downs, a broadsheet that Bungo had subscribed to. Bilbo kept up the subscription but seldom read it; it was rather boring most of the time, for it mostly consisted of the Mayor's itinerary, a calendar of various Shire festivals and agricultural advice. This particular one also had a discussion of increasing the number of Shirriffs, something that Family Heads would probably vote on at next year's Free Fair during Lithe.

Bilbo looked at Otho. "I will see you on Trewsday. Perhaps you will not need an escort."

Otho wore a dubious look, but had at least enough manners to bow and say, "Yes, Cousin Bilbo."

Ludo also bade Bilbo farewell. Bilbo watched them go down the path with a sigh of relief. It turned into a smile, however, as he saw Drogo approach the gate.

Trewsday was somewhat better; Otho arrived by himself, and only slightly late. He still appeared to be resentful, but he hid it much better. He greeted Bilbo politely and followed him to the study. He was carrying the book in one hand and went straight to his seat at the table, placing the book on it. "I read it all," he said, "not just half." His expression seemed to be smug and yet belligerent at the same time, as if he expected Bilbo to doubt his word.

"Well, Otho, I am pleased to hear it, though somewhat surprised. You did not appear to be happy about having to read it."

"It was more interesting than I thought it would be," he said grudgingly. He looked up. "Cousin Bilbo, do you really believe all that stuff about kings? There aren't any kings!"

"No, there are no kings. But that does not mean that there never were any kings. The existence of King Argeleb II is not in any doubt. The original charter, signed and sealed over thirteen-hundred years ago, is still in existence."

Otho looked at him doubtfully. "Really?"

Bilbo nodded. "It is one of the greatest treasures of the Great Smials, and is kept safely guarded against the dirt, damp, insects and light." He paused to see if his pupil had any more questions, and when it seemed he did not, said "Now you've paper and ink. I would like an essay: no shorter than one page and no longer than three, of your impressions of the book.

The sullen expression was back, but Otho said nothing, and took up his quill to begin writing. Bilbo sat down at his own desk to begin marking some of young Dudo's work. He suffered the long pauses in writing and the frequent loud sighs to pass unrebuked. After all, it was only the second lesson; one couldn't expect miracles. Near the end of the time allotted for the lesson, Otho said, "I'm done." Bilbo got up to go see.

The lad had produced nearly two pages of blotchy and messy writing. Bilbo merely nodded, and said mildly, "You have not been practicing your penmanship. But that is of no matter; you can make a fair copy next Trewsday."

"You mean I'll have to do it all over again?" Otho whined.

"When your penmanship and spelling improve enough, you will only need to do it once, and I will give you parchment to start with." Bilbo took up the essay. "I'll mark your errors." He took another book from the shelf, Early Days in the Westfarthing, "Please read the first chapter. You will not have to write an essay, but you will have to answer questions about it. Now, if you go along to the kitchen, my mother will give you tea and biscuits, to hold you over to elevenses when you get home."

The tween's face brightened at this unexpected treat. "Thank you!" he said, and moved quickly. Bilbo watched him, feeling only slightly more hopeful of his new pupil.

On Mersday, Otho was on time. They spent a few minutes of Bilbo quizzing the tween about what he had read in the history book. Bilbo told him to read two more chapters before next Trewsday. Then he placed a thick book with a worn orange cover and a blue marker in the middle on the table, along with two slates and a stick of chalk.

"Your former teacher wrote that you were quite accomplished with numbers," said Bilbo, "and gave me an idea of where you were."

For the first time Bilbo saw a genuine smile from the lad. "Do you know how to check your own work?"

"Of course I do!" The smile was now tinged with smugness.

Bilbo opened the book to the marked page, which was filled with various types of arithmetic problems. "Shall we see? Use one slate to work as many problems from this page as you can legibly fit onto it. Use the other slate to check your answers. When you are done, tell me and I will look at your work before you erase it and continue. We shall see how far you get before the lessons end."

Otho nodded, and took up his chalk and began. He worked rapidly and with concentration-unlike when he had worked on his essays. In only a few minutes, he called out to Bilbo, who came over to look. The work was much neater than his writing, and every single problem had the correct answer. "Excellent!" Bilbo handed him a soft damp cloth to erase with. "Continue!" They kept on in a like manner until a knock on the study door reminded Bilbo that Drogo and Dudo had arrived for Itheir/I lessons.

Bilbo dismissed Otho with no other homework than to practice his handwriting, for on Sunday he'd be working on his fair copy of the Baggins' Family Tree. "And don't forget to stop by the kitchen for tea and biscuits."

Otho left, giving Drogo a scowling nod as he did so. Bilbo sighed after the lad was out of earshot, and beckoned the other two lads in. Dudo greeted Bilbo with a brief hug and went straight to the bookshelf to take out the book he was assigned to read; at only eighteen he was too young to be trusted with taking it home. Drogo saw Bilbo's expression and said "Don't worry, Cousin Bilbo, it's not your fault-Otho has never liked me."

For the next few weeks, Bilbo began to think he was seeing improvement. Most definitely Otho's work was improving and becoming neater, and he had mastered the Baggins' Family Tree, but he still remained skeptical about the value of history. Bilbo's attempts to get him to read and enjoy tales fell flat. His oft used tactic of pairing one student with another was of no use. At this time, his only students were Drogo, Dudo and Otho, and Otho clearly detested Drogo while Drogo tolerated his cousin with cool disdain. Dudo, of course, was both too young and too frail to be of any help to Otho, even if Otho would have allowed it.

It came to a head one Sunday in early Foreyule. Otho had completed his Family Tree quite neatly, including all of the current generation and going back seven more, even including the Grubbs and the Boffins. Bilbo was considering changing Sundays to botany, which might interest the future heir to a pipeweed plantation. Otho left a little early taking with him a bag of currant scones.

Bilbo was busy looking over the lessons for Drogo and Dudo when he heard a commotion outside, and voices shouting. He looked out his window, and was appalled to see Otho holding the gate to the garden path shut, while little Dudo was screaming at him to let him pass. Drogo was nowhere to be seen. Furious, Bilbo stormed out of Bag End. "Otho Sackville-Baggins, let go of that gate!"

Otho turned, and when he did, the gate at which Dudo had been pushing in vain swung suddenly open, landing Otho on his backside. Belladonna had come out to see what was happening, and she led the now weeping Dudo into the Ismial/I. Bilbo hauled Otho to his feet. The tween glared at him defiantly.

"Otho, I do not allow bullying in my pupils!"

"It was just a joke," the tween muttered.

"An un-funny and malicious joke," Bilbo replied. With that he took the lad by the back of the collar, and began marching him down the lane; they went straight through Hobbiton, Bilbo's face set and angry, Otho's as red as a beet. They arrived at Ashcroft flushed and sweaty in spite of the cold. Bilbo knocked upon the door, and it was opened by a shocked Camillia. She glared at Bilbo, who simply said "We need to speak with you and Uncle Longo."

She gave a huff and led them in to Longo's study, where he was talking with Ludo Bracegirdle and Turpin Sandyman. He had put Ludo in charge of the mill. Longo was not best pleased to be interrupted. Ludo and Turpin took their leave.

"Now, Bilbo Baggins," said Camellia coldly, "What is this all about? What right do you have to drag our son about like that?"

Bilbo took his hand from Otho's collar, and Otho gave a pitiful look at his mother while ostentatiously running his finger under that collar.

"Oh my poor son!" She glared at Bilbo.

"Peace, Camillia!" Longo spoke sharply; she subsided, but her glare was transferred to her husband. Longo ignored her and fixed his son with a gimlet eye. "What did you do?"

Otho dropped his eyes and muttered "I was just joking around," he muttered.

"He was tormenting young Dudo." Bilbo's voice was firm.

"Go to your room, son. Camillia, I will speak alone with my nephew."

Bilbo was surprised that his uncle was being so reasonable. But at Longo's gesture, he sat in the chair across from him. He told Longo what had happened, and elicited a sigh of resignation.

"I had hoped it would be different here. I fear that Otho has not a scholarly temperament."

"In everything except figures, you are correct."

Longo nodded. "It seems to me that perhaps a break is in order. I will make him Ludo's assistant for a while, and then after having to do a real job of work, he might be more willing to go back to his lessons."

"He must apologize to Dudo before I will take him back."

"Understood."

But it never happened. Two days later, a Quick Post rider arrived from the Great Smials. Thain Isengrim III was very ill. Bilbo and his mother headed off for the Tooklands. They did not return until following the investiture of Fortinbras IV after the turning of the year.

Otho was enjoying his position as Ludo's assistant and had no desire to return to his schooling. Bilbo was both disappointed and relieved.