When the deals had been completed, Paphnutius himself took us to a compatriot, Nicetus the Elder, several tents away to secure the remaining few horses that were needed. And there, with appropriate ceremonies, view-ings, and bargainings, the remaining Libyans were purchased.
I was so excited that I could not sleep that night. I kept creeping out of our shelter to see if the Libyans were still picketed. Bericus was on watch.
“We won’t lose them, Galwyn,” he reassured me, and pointed out his sentry companion on the other side of the line. “Get your rest. You’ve earned it.”
THE NEXT DAY Lord Artos sold off the now-unneeded ponies, for he would mount his men on some of the new acquisitions and lead the others. Spadix was not among those sold, because, he said, “I have no right to dispose of Captain Gralior’s property.”
I contrived not to look in his direction at that. Spadix was not my uncle’s but truly mine, bought with the gratuities I had earned. However, this was not the time to mention that fact. And there was another reason to keep my pony. Cornix was the most unbiddable of the stallions-so wild he had had to be roped, tied, and twitched before a round bit could be inserted between his snapping jaws and a stout bridle attached to his head. Yet he was unexpectedly calm in Spadix’s company. The sight of that little bay imp, who could easily stand beneath the stallion-and did so during the worst of the rains-was as ludicrous as it was beneficial.
The big mare that I now bestrode was nowhere near as comfortable to sit on as my short-coupled pony, and she had a foal at foot besides. It was a well-grown colt of some seven months, and he would reach up to nip my legs or heels if he felt I was interfering with his feeding. His dam was so broad in the withers I could barely get my legs around her and felt split apart when she trotted. Whereas the mate and his crew would have laughed their sides sore to see me, the Companions’ smiles were good natured and not at my expense.
The stallions took much handling and I was glad that I was relegated to riding the more placid tempered mares. The stallions needed the firm hand and strong legs of the Companions to keep them under control. Bwlch and Bericus were considerable horsemen, the other Companions hardly less so. But Lord Artos was their superior, sitting lightly balanced on Cornix’s black back, swaying slightly from the hips while the stallion cavorted or reared or bucked as it shied at the slightest unusual object on the track. He was well named, for like the raven, he was often without a foot to the ground, half in flight from some imagined terror.
Sometimes I think we traveled farther sideways and backward than forward, and yet we made good time on the return trip. Perhaps because we knew the way now, and its various hazards, and so could avoid them.
Once again, it was the conversations of the evening and the singing that entranced me. Bericus had a good tenor voice. Often Lord Artos would ask him for a special melody or song. On board the Corellia, I had forgotten about the music we used to have; my father and mother had kept a sweet-voiced slave who played the lyre while we dined with guests. The work chanteys that Gralior’s men had sung as they hauled up sail or worked the capstan bar were coarse and repetitive, not truly music to my ear.
One of the mares bruised her foot on the rough gravel of the next-to-last pass we had to traverse. We had to wait a day, standing her in the cold running water of a stream to ease the soreness.
We spent a lot of time hanging about watching her when all the other tasks an open-air camp requires were done.
“No hoof, no horse,” Lord Artos said at one point, grinning broadly at Bericus, who raised his eyes heavenward.
“Eh?” was Bwlch’s only response to this cryptic remark.
“And what’ll old Canyd say about these hooves, Artos?” Bericus asked.
“Oh, him?” And Bwlch dismissed the man with a wave of his hand. “He’s not been on at you about those iron sandals of his, has he, Artos?”
“The subject comes up periodically,” Lord Artos said.
“We’ll have to travel fast over all kinds of ground. I meant to ask Paphnutius if he knew anything about such devices.”
“Too late now,” Bwlch said philosophically. “Though I saw no horses at Septimania with rims.”
“Rims?” I asked, curious. I had never heard of the term in connection with horses.
“Iron costs money,” Lord Artos said with an indifferent shrug.
Then the companions who had been hunting for the evening meat returned, and I heard no more about such sandals.
BY THE NEXT DAY, the mare could walk out well enough for us to continue.
On a fine bright warm afternoon, we came down out of the hills on the track past the farm where I had bought Spadix, and we saw Burtigala Port in the distance. I could just make out the masts of ships at anchor, and suddenly dread returned to me: What would I do if I encountered my uncle?
My anxiety deepened as we came closer to the town. Mounted as I was on the tall mare named Splendora, I could see over the heads of pedestrians, and I scanned the ships for the familiar lines of the Corellia. To my intense relief she was not in port.
Then there was the business of settling the horses for the night and taking up residence in the same inn that Lord Artos had patronized just weeks before. Again my talents as interpreter were needed to assure us of proper accommodations and a good evening meal. Landlord Ercus, undoubtedly remembering how well Lord Artos had treated him before, was all-obliging. I wanted to know but could not bring myself to ask the man if the Corellia had docked recently.
THE NEXT MORNING I was up at the crack of dawn, peering down through the mists that swirled up from the sea; but there were no new ships tied up at the dock. Somewhat heartened, I went to the field with grain to feed the horses before anyone else usurped the task. I had them all watered and fed before a sleepy Bericus arrived.
“Ho, Galwyn, you deserved to lie and get your growth sleep,” he said, ruffling my hair. “You’ve no need to do more than your share of the work. Have you a mind to join us for mass?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said with enthusiasm. In a town as large as Burtigala there would be a place for Christians to worship, but as long as I had been on board the Corellia I had never dared ask my uncle’s permission to attend mass.
The church was small and dark, and the priest mumbled the Latin. I think he was somewhat nervous about having such fine lords in the congregation that morning. I had to keep reminding myself of my good fortune as I made the proper responses.
During the rest of the day I was too busy to worry about my uncle. Prince Cador had requisitioned two fat sloops in which the Comes could ship his all-important mares and stallions across the Narrow Sea. The ships awaited our arrival. Both were half again the size of the Corellia, far newer and better maintained. The sails were not patched, the lines looked fresh and showed no splicings, the paint on the hulls had recently been scrubbed, and there probably wasn’t a barnacle anywhere underwater. Their masters had also, according to instructions from Prince Cador, made certain preparations for this special cargo. The deck planks had been removed above the cargo area, which was just deep enough to accommodate Cornix, the tallest of the Libyans, and wide enough for four or five horses. They would be loaded head to tail, side by side, so that each would be cushioned by its mates against the roll and yaw of a rough sea. The inside of the hull had been padded with straw-filled mattresses as another safeguard against injury. The horses at least would be spared the wind and weather on deck and, with any luck, arrive unscathed at their destination.
We had some time, I can tell you, getting the horses into this area. As the most placid of the five who were to be loaded in the first ship, Spadix was hoisted in first. During that operation, he whickered nervously, despite my shouts of encouragement from where I stood in the well of the ship.
“Easy, Spadix, that’s fine, I’m here. You’re not in danger!” I shouted, though I felt that/was in some danger. If the belly sling slipped, then Spadix would come crashing down on me. Still I didn’t let that conc
ern color my voice as I kept reassuring him. As soon as I could reach, I got hold of one hind hoof, then quickly I transferred my grasp to his front legs, stroking them as he settled to the deck, wild eyed, ears pricked, and nostrils flaring in his panic.
“There, lad, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” I said, stroking his sweaty neck and gentling him out of his fright.
“Let’s not delay, shall we, Galwyn?” Lord Artos called down to me. “We’ve four more to get in there, and then five in the other ship before dark, you know.”
Stepping lively then, I unfastened the sling from Spadix and gestured for it to be hoisted out and away, as I walked the shaky-legged pony to his place against the starboard side of the ship.
The foal came next, and it was paralyzed with fear, so stiff-legged I could barely coax it to walk off the sling. His dam followed, in haste to answer the frightened neighs of her foal. I tied her next to Spadix. The foal pushed in against her, urgently needing to suckle, and she became calmer, although she kept her head up and stared about, wide eyed.
Although the sides of the hold had been cushioned with straw-filled mattresses, the overwhelming odors in this part of the ship were a combination of sea, oil, and the tar with which the sides of the ship were caulked.
Surely the mare had smelled much the same combination when she had been sailed across the Middle Sea. And maybe that’s what was causing her distress.
The second mare was loaded almost without incident, though she snorted with nervousness at her strange new stable. Then I heard a good deal of shouting from the wharf as loud directions were issued by Lord Artos, with Bwlch and Bericus adding suggestions as to how to load Cornix.
“Blindfold!” Lord Artos cried. “He won’t fear what he can’t see. Where’s something to blindfold him? I don’t care if it’s your best tunic, it’ll cover his eyes.”
“Hobble his feet, or he’ll kick the lad to death as soon as he feels solid ground.”
“Solid ground?” That came from Bwlch with a loud bark of laughter. “What’s solid about a deck?”
“Hold him!”
“Watch his teeth! We should have tied his mouth shut, too.”
The men began hauling the stallion on board. Craning my neck, I could see his black bulk, blindfolded and leg-tied, swinging in over the deck. Fortunately he didn’t squirm as the mare had, though his sweat dripped down on my head. The lead chain dangled and I positioned myself to grab it.
“Whatever you do, Galwyn, don’t remove that blindfold,” Lord Artos called over the side.
“What about the hobbles?” I got hold of the long lead and carefully backed away from where Cornix would settle. He was swinging in the hoist and his teeth were bared, nostrils flaring red.
“Rear ones, I guess,” Lord Artos replied, though his tone was dubious.
I got those off as the stallion was still being lowered, and since he was not the brightest horse I had ever met, he didn’t realize his hind feet were free. He was also so confused that I was able to push him against the port side of the ship where he was to be tied. But I guess I didn’t tie him to the ring soon enough. Nor did the sailors manage to get the deck planks down before he realized what was happening. Even I could feel that subtle compression of air above me as the planks were slammed back over the opening. The hammering made him nervous and he flinched with every blow.
Then I thought that if he could see he was safe here and the blows were only noise, he might settle. I uncovered his eyes.
And let loose a maniac.
He took one look at the dark confines of his new quarters and reared. I dangled from the end of his lead chain like a rat in a fighting dog’s jaws.
When he came down, I dragged the lead rope through the ring, but he reared once more just as the last spike was being driven into the overhead planks. It missed his poll, but the shock of the point touching his ear startled him motionless with fright and I was able to pull the tether tight so he could not rear again.
I was as trembling and sweaty as he was. But beside him, Spadix nickered, and that seemed to comfort him. I had also brought on board some fresh grass I had pulled on the way to the harbor. This I fed to all the animals, hoping to calm them. I thanked the good Lord that they immediately fell to munching contentedly.
With them quiet, I could hear the muted shoutings as the Companions loaded the other ship with its five equine passengers. It seemed to take such a long time. Finally, I heard feet running along the deck above me and again had to soothe the horses, though I had run out of the fresh grass by then.
At length I felt the unmistakable surge of the ship getting under way and knew that this leg of our journey had begun.
WE DISCOVERED, in the worst way possible, that horses can get seasick, though not as humans do. The stallion covered me with his scourings, though my Spadix-eyes white with fear, all four legs poking out stiffly-did not succumb. Yet it was not a rough crossing by my standards, and both ships stayed within sight of each other the entire way.
Bericus and Bwlch, who sailed in the same ship with me, were rather heartened that they were not affected by the sea motion on this return voyage. Truth to tell, we were all so busy with the horses, soothing them, cleaning up after them, coaxing them to eat the fragrant hay, that we humans simply had no time to be sick.
Lord Artos inspected the horses morning, noon, and night, and had himself rowed across to the second ship to perform the same offices as soon as he was done on ours. Never was I more relieved to see the mouth of the river on the horizon that afternoon. The Exe led to the port just above Isca.
“You’ll be on land before dark, my lad,” I murmured to the stallion. He stood with his head bowed between his splayed front legs, his finely shaped ears drooping to either side of his elegant head, his black coat grimed and rough with sweat though we had groomed him morning and night. Remembering his fine displays on land, it was disheartening to see his proud spirit so low. But then his head lifted suddenly and his nostrils flared as he smelled land.
I could have wished his spirits had taken slightly longer to revive, for he proved his old self when the deck planks were removed and he could see daylight. He trumpeted like a wild thing, pawing and thrashing at his tethers. I had to use my own tunic to cover his eyes while the pony was hoisted ashore first. Then it was the stallion’s turn, and finally the two mares’ and the foal’s.
Cornix was weak, though, from the journey, and had trouble keeping his legs under him. There was an apprehensive look on his face as he staggered first this way and then that, recovering land legs.
“Ave, Comes Artos,” cried a glad voice, and Prince Cador himself came riding down to the dock, more men behind him. “Magnificent, Comes Britannorum!” he exclaimed as he dismounted, throwing his reins to an aide. Appraisingly, he circled the stallion, his face expressing his high opinion. “Truly magnificent. Sixteen hands high if he’s one!”
“Seventeen is more like it, Cador,” Lord Artos said proudly. “Look at the bone of him, the breadth of his barrel, the power in his haunches. Oh, he’s gaunt enough from three days at sea, but we’ll put condition on him soon enough once he’s at Deva. I have called him Cornix.”
“Appropriate enough for you, my friend,” Cador said with a grin, glancing heavenward as if to see if any ravens were among the birds circling above. Then the prince turned to watch the first of the mares to be offloaded. “By Epona, the mares’re up to his quality as well!” His bright light eyes widened as the mare swayed on feet made unsteady by her days at sea.
Bericus was at her side, giving her sufficient mass to lean against while she scattered her front legs. Then she whinnied wildly for her foal, who was already thrashing about in the hoist sling, nickering frantically for reassurance.
The prince clouted Lord Artos affectionately on the shoulder. “I believe you now, Artos-for I had my doubts before, I’ll be frank. But these are splendid animals.” Then he leaned closer to the Comes. “How long do you think it will be before we all can be mounted o
n such warhorses as these?”
I was struck by the look that suffused the features of the Comes Britannorum, that look of far seeing: not of trance or dream, but of a reality waiting just ahead of him. “Five, six, seven years, and there won’t be a warrior without a black horse of this quality to carry him to battle against the Saxons. A stalh’on such as Cornix here can cover thirty, forty, maybe fifty mares without loss of fertility. And these are eager to do their duty. Each of the mares is also in foal, so any colts may also stand if they’re up to the standard I mean to have.”
“Aye, the Saxons will have to beware!” And the prince’s expression turned grim. He pulled Artos to one side for private conversation. Out of the corner of my eye-for I was busy feeding the mare hanks of grass pulled from the roadside-I could see all the elation of success bleed from the Comes’s face. I was saddened to see the change.
Suddenly my shoulder was seized in a fierce and painful grip. Startled, I tried first to twist free, and then to see who had made me captive.
“I have you, Galwyn Varianus!” Dolcenus bellowed, and there was no escaping the grip of the big, burly port officer. “Scurrilous wretch! Runaway apprentice! You’ll come with me, vile ingrate, and stay in the lockup until your uncle returns.”
It was too late for me to rue my stupidity. I should have known that Dolcenus would arrive to see what manner of strange cargo was being hoisted ashore in his precinct. I would have been safe aboard the ship; now my brave adventure was at an end. I could almost feel the manacles of a galley slave tightening about my wrists.
It was in fact Bericus’s huge hand that prevented Dolcenus from hauling me summarily away. That and the now-frightened mare whose lead rope I still held. She reared and Dolcenus released me, shouting at the top of his lungs for me to be recaptured immediately, and yelling for help against this resistance to his authority.
Black Horses for the King Page 4
