Black Horses for the King

by Anne McCaffrey

  “What goes?” I heard Lord Artos cry.

  “If you harm one of those mares, Dolcenus …” Prince Cador roared.

  And the mare reared again.

  Fortunately, Bericus was beside me and together we calmed her, despite the cries and imprecations that colored the air. Her alarm had infected the stallion and the nickering pony. I had to dance out of the way of the foal, who was trying to get under his dam’s belly for safety.

  It took the combined authority of both prince and Comes Artos to restore order. Then they heard Dolcenus’s charge against me while I stood, head down, too humiliated to look beyond the belts of the men encircling me.

  “It was my understanding,” Lord Artos said when Dolcenus paused in his litany of my sins to draw breath, “that Captain Gralior dispatched the boy to be of assistance in our journey. In truth, Galwyn had already been of great help. Knowing that Gralior was due to sail, I had asked if I might have the loan of the boy while Gralior

  was at sea. The boy has knowledge of so many barbarous languages. How was it, Galwyn, that you joined us?”

  When I could not answer, Comes Artos put his hand under my chin and forced me to look at him. Unmanly tears trickled down my cheeks and I could not speak for fear of blubbering.

  “He came on a pony, with a travel cloak and leggings,” Bericus said stoutly. I felt his encouraging hand on my shoulder blade, one hard thumb poking me to speak.

  “He’s a thief as well?” cried Dolcenus. “Branded he must be!”

  “Nonsense,” Prince Cador said. “I knew the boy’s father. Too honorable, too Roman a family to breed thieves. He resisted the temptation to flee to Armorica. Speak up, lad.”

  “Aye, speak, lad,” and Lord Artos’s voice was as kind as his eyes, when at last I dared glance up at them.

  “I bought Spadix with the small gold ring Tegidus thanked me with.”

  “You see, Dolcenus, this boy’s no thief!” said Bericus.

  “And the cloak and leggings with the coins you were kind enough to send me, Lord Artos! Please, I want to serve you, Comes Britannorum.” And I dropped to my knees in the dust, as much because my legs would no longer hold me up as to plead my cause with proper humility. “It is the horses of the land that I know, not the sea!”

  “Is the boy a free man?” Lord Artos asked Dolcenus.

  The man sputtered and stammered.

  “Yes, my lord, I am free. I was only apprenticed to my uncle, not enslaved.” I glared at Dolcenus to make him speak the truth.

  “That is correct,” Prince Cador said when Dolcenus still would not speak for frustration. “I remember the case of Decitus Varianus now. He acted honorably in his circumstances.”

  “The boy’s too good with his tongue to be lost to a barge captain, Lord Artos,” said Bericus. “And he’s got a fine way with seasick horses!”

  “Horses!” cried Lord Artos, grabbing me up from the ground. “We can just make the evening tide if we hurry. Bericus, I’ll leave you in charge.”

  “He is my guest,” Prince Cador said quickly, and Artos raised his hand, grinning, in appreciation of the offer. “There’s a field not far”-and he pointed up the straight track that led from the harbor-“where the horses can be tended until you’ve brought the rest across the sea. My hostlers can help him with this lot.”

  “I’ll count them every morning, Artos,” Bericus said with a broad grin, “to be sure they’re all present and accounted for.”

  Prince Cador laughed. “Oh, I can wait, good Bericus, until I’m offered one.”

  “You’ll join me, then, to drive the Saxons from our lands?” Artos said, with a leap of relief in his voice.

  “You couldn’t keep me away, Artos,” Cador replied. “Now, we’ll just get these poor sea-wrecked creatures to a decent pasture and then we’ll await your return.”

  Artos then placed his hand again on Cador’s shoulder. “Good prince, make what provision is needed to salve the uncle’s wounded pride, and give this port officer something for his attention to duty. Young Galwyn, you come with me!” He transferred his big hand to my shoulder and hauled me along beside him back to the captain. “Can we make the evening tide? You’ve taken aboard supplies?”

  “Even as you ordered, Comes,” the captain said staunchly, pointing to crewmen loading while others were hammering the deck boards back into place.

  WE MADE A SWIFT PASSAGE back to Burtigala with both ships, but the next return voyage was rougher and took its toll on man and beast. One foal broke a foreleg and had to be destroyed. Lord Artos himself severed its jugular vein, not wanting anyone else to have such a sad duty. Then the foal was heaved overboard. Its mare was so miserable, desperately trying to keep her balance, that she was not aware of the loss of her foal. A sailor swabbed the blood off the deck within minutes.

  I was far too busy looking after the mares and my lord Artos to have time to be seasick. When we reached the port on the Exe Biver again, there were messages awaiting Lord Artos such that he could not accompany us on the third trip.

  “Galwyn,” he said when we had the beasts safely on the shore, “had I more men like you, I’d be sure of driving the Saxons forever from our lands.”

  “I thought, Lord Artos, it was the horses you needed to do that,” I said, so relieved that I hazarded an impudence.

  “The horses need men to ride them, Galwyn: men such as you!” And he clamped his great hand on my shoulder, his eyes gleaming with his fervor.

  “My loyalty, my heart, my soul are yours, Comes Artos,” I replied, dropping to my knee and bringing the hem of his garment to my forehead in an act of fealty, “to do with as you will.”

  He raised me to my feet, his eyes fastened on mine. “With men such as you, Galwyn Varianus, on horses such as these, we will be invincible!”

  I trembled, as much with relief that he accepted my oath as from weariness. And he saw that, too.

  “Enough of talk. You men are all exhausted.” To be called a man by the Comes? I straightened my weary self. He went on. “Come, I’ve rooms for you, Bwlch, and the others for the night. And here are Bericus and some of Cador’s men to help with the horses. They will need to be rested, but Cador has put a field at our disposal until we have them all here. Then what a cavalcade they will make on the road to Deva! I can hardly wait to see old Rhodri’s eyes when they light on these fine steeds.”

  Part Two

  The Road to Deva

  THE THIRD AND FINAL VOYAGE WAS THE best and the worst.

  The best because Lord Artos put me in charge of the horses on one ship-Bwlch was on the other. I was both proud of the honor and fearful of failure.

  The worst because we caught the brunt of a fierce autumnal gale for the first two days. Somehow we, and the horses, survived, though all of us were bruised and exhausted. The horses were barely able to drink water when it was offered them. With tattered sails, our two ships limped up the mist-covered Exe to the wharf.

  These crossings to collect the precious stallions and mares had taken us well into the tenth month, and into the misty and often chill weather of the season. So we weren’t surprised by the fog.

  Some keen-eyed watcher must have spotted us despite the weather and sent word, because we had barely secured the ships to the bollards when Bericus came charging off of the mist-shrouded dock on my Spadix. His long legs stuck straight out in front of the pony so they would not trail on the ground. Spadix snorted and came to a stop just as the last deck plank was removed.

  “Thought you might like to see your old friend, Gal-wyn,” Bericus called cheerfully, planting his legs on the ground and all but walking straight off the pony. “Besides”-and his grin was full of mischief-“old Canyd won’t let any of the Libyans be ridden yet.”

  “Who’s Canyd?” I asked.

  Bericus grinned. “He knows all the ails and aches a horse can have and how to cure them.”

  This latest shipment of Libyan horses, heads hanging down with exhaustion, were not as troublesome coming out
of the ship as they had been going in. Of course, Bwlch, Bericus, and I were by now experienced in such transfers, so this one was accomplished speedily. And the men Prince Cador had promised arrived. Each hostler took charge of a weary animal, some of whom were barely able to put one shaky foot in front of the other now they were back on solid ground.

  Reins hitched to a nearby bollard, Spadix gave little encouraging nickers. Whatever he said to the poor creatures, they seemed to prick their ears a bit and whuffle softly, as if reassured by both his presence and his comments.

  Finally, all the horses were safely ashore and Bericus checked each of them.

  “Their legs have stocked up with fluid,” he said, not in the least perturbed. “But some rest and liniments of old Canyd Bawn’s making will soon set them right.” He clasped my shoulder. “You did well, lad. Very well indeed.”

  His words were salve to the effects of sleepless nights and long watches.

  “And I did not?” Bwlch asked in mock outrage.

  “I expect it of you, Bwlch,” Bericus said, with a grin to take the sting out of his words. “Now let’s get these poor creatures to the pasture before they fall down on the hard wharf stones.”

  I moved to take up the lead rope of one of the mares, but Bericus’s big hand on my arm stopped me. He turned me and gave me a little push toward Spadix. “You ride, lad. You’re as liable to fall as one of the horses. You’ll get your land legs back soon, never fear.”

  I must admit that I was relieved to be able to ride. The road, ascending steeply from the harbor and disappearing into the swirling mist, looked more than my wobbly legs could handle. I scrambled astride Spadix with considerable relief and took the lead rope of one of the tottery mares.

  By the time we reached the top of the steep hill, where we crossed the eastbound military road, the mist had dispersed and the day was bright and clear. The harbor seemed completely resident in another land.

  Sighting his field companions, Spadix whickered loudly, announcing the new arrivals. They answered by charging up to the fence to see who was approaching. Horses are curious herd animals and like to do things together. Once again, I was taken with a surge of pride to be part of Comes Artos’s great dream.

  No dream creatures these, pawing at the ground and pressing their broad chests against the restraining rails. These were solid reality. The foals born to them next spring would be just as fine.

  The newcomers, who had wobbled courageously up the hill, now cocked their ears forward, appreciating the audience and glad to be back in the herd that they had formed since leaving Septimania. They even stepped out more surely across the road, sensing the end of their long and momentous journey.

  Prom the small shelter built inside the pasture, several men emerged to greet and inspect the new arrivals. I noticed one man in particular, his one shoulder badly crooked, perhaps from an old injury. His angular face wore a slight smile and his eyes a measuring gaze as he looked from one weary horse to another. Or, to be precise, he looked at their legs. Shaking his head, he returned to the shelter and came out again with a bucket.

  “They be worse than t’others,” he said gloomily to Bericus, who was bringing in his charge, the fourth of the stallions, Victor.

  “They are, but I’ve every faith in your ability to set them right, Canyd.”

  “Whyn’t you bring ‘em to me in good shape, and then we’d be on our way out of here?” grumbled Canyd.

  I watched as he ran a gentle, knowing hand down the sweaty stallion’s shoulder. Then he hunkered to examine the swollen legs. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head as he rose, his eyes on Victor’s deep chest and wide barrel. Lightly he ran his hands everywhere, as if making sure the stallion would recognize him ever after from his touch and his soft “Sa-sa-sa.”

  Victor brought his head up, twisting it around to follow Canyd’s progress. When the old man came forward again, his hand held flat under the stallion’s nose, he placed both hands on the horse’s muzzle and blew into his nostrils, a trick I had seen my father’s head groom do with new animals. Victor had the scent of the man now.

  Canyd went from one horse to the next, checking them over carefully, his tongue continually clicking or making soothing sa-sa noises. I was fascinated by his manner and method; so were the horses, who seemed to recognize him instantly as someone who would do them no hurt.

  “All right,” he said finally, coming back to his bucket, which I saw held cloths soaking in a liquid. It had an astringent smell to it. “Gather ‘round, ye louts. Y*ought by now to know how to tend these poor legs. I want every one of ‘em stooped, properly, now. And I’ll do this fine lad.”

  He looked up at brown Victor, smiling to himself in approval.

  “What’re you standin’ about for, lad? Get busy,” he said, nodding at me and then at the nearest mare. “Nestor, Yayin, Donan, have at it, an’ let’s make these poor storm-tossed beasties comfortable.”

  So I fell to with the others, my own weariness sloughed off with the need to tend my charges.

  While I bathed the swollen legs of Dorcas, the mare I had led, Spadix wandered off, grazing here and there until he found a patch of ground that met with his approval. He dropped to his knees with a huge groan, threw his head down, and began to roll backward and forward, rubbing his backbone against the ground to ease his muscles.

  I heard Canyd’s soft chuckle. “Worth a gold ring for every full turn he makes. Worth a lot, that ‘un.”

  Spadix got to his feet again and shook himself from nose to tail. His exercise completed, he fell to grazing as if that had been his prime object in the first place.

  Myself, I wondered if a good roll on the hard ground would help the unsettled feeling I still had: that a ship’s deck was rocking beneath my feet. Once or twice I had to grab at the mare to steady myself. At least she had four legs to prop herself on: “One in each corner,” as Solvin, my father’s old hostler, used to say-generally about a horse that he felt lacked any other redeeming quality. Dorcas was so enjoying having her legs bathed that she didn’t even notice my grasping.

  “Now, lad, that’ll do for her,” Canyd said, startling me because I had been concentrating on my task and also preventing myself from rolling onto the ground. “There’s a fine cold stream at the end of the pasture, an’ later you can stand her in that. The steeping will take down the filling in short order.”

  I saw that the others had finished and were assembled by the brazier in front of the shelter. Bericus joined us there.

  “I’ve lodgings for you and Bwlch in the village,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder again in a most friendly fashion. “And a hot meal, which you certainly deserve. Soon enough you’ll take your turn as sentry here, but now get your pony. I doubt you’d make the trip on your own legs. Bwlch’s swaying like he’s in a high wind, and you’re not much better.”

  I flushed, deploring my weakness, but his hand tightened briefly on my shoulder and I could see the concern in his eyes.

  That was when I noticed the narrowed gaze of a slightly built lad not much taller or older than myself. He was staring across the brazier fire. A Cornovian: His glance was surly, his narrow head cocked to one side as

  he appraised me, and his thin mouth turned down in a supercilious sneer. I was to learn shortly that his name was Iswy. My first impression of him was of a sly and devious fellow, envious of any attentions that he did not get to share. I never had occasion to change my opinion when our tasks put us in closer association. Then Bericus gestured for me to follow him, Bwlch only too grateful to come with us.

  Perhaps it was Iswy’s hostile attitude, or maybe the return into the concealing fog that had not yet been burned off by the morning sun, but I felt apprehensive as we walked down the shrouded way. The fog closed in behind us and I shivered.

  As we neared the wharf again, the mist on the water was thinning, but my apprehension increased-as if Iswy’s glance still followed me. Several times I looked around furtively at the people passing us on thei
r daily tasks: a baker with his tray of bread, some fishermen with heavy creels, a tanner trotting along, the hides of his burden strapped to his back.

  “What do you expect to see over your shoulder, Gal-wyn?” Bericus asked good-humoredly. “That uncle of yours?” When he saw my startled reaction he added immediately, “Ah, lad, I’m to see that he doesn’t trouble you for any reason. You’re one of us now, you know.”

  “I’m at your side as well,” Bwlch said so staunchly that I relaxed.

  “Fog makes me nervous, too,” Bericus added, and then guided us into the next thatched building.

  From the smell of old beer and wine, I knew the ground floor acted as taberna though it was empty at this time of the day, save for a slave sweeping the floor. Bericus led us to the stairs on one long end, and we could hear a confusion of voices and much clanging of pots coming from the kitchen annex. The loft was divided into rough sleeping quarters, and it was into one of the two front ones that Bericus led us. Eight pallets of straw laid on rough bedsteads limited our walking space, but Bericus made an expansive gesture.

  “Take your pick and I shall keep anyone from disturbing you until you’ve slept yourselves out.” With that he disappeared.

  Bwlch dropped to the nearest bed, stuffing the bag of his belongings under it before he lay flat on the mattress. He gave a huge sigh and, I think, was asleep in the next instant. I was equally glad to lay myself down, although I could not compose myself quite as readily for sleep as Bwlch had. The bed, too, rocked under me, and probably rocked me to sleep as well-for I heard nothing until Bericus roused us to eat our evening meal.

  “But I should have stooped the mare’s legs!” I cried, sitting bolt upright on the straw.

  Bericus and Bwlch both laughed, and I saw two others beyond them smiling at my confusion.

  “All done, and to Canyd’s close satisfaction,” Bericus said. “Tomorrow is soon enough for you to take up your duties. We’ve a feast tonight-the coin I gave the landlord should ensure one-to celebrate the safe arrival-“