“That’s all they is, bone and tendon. For all it’s the most important part of a horse, there’s little flesh. Lose the foot and you’ve lost the horse.”
I grinned at his repetition. He had a variety of phrases expressing the same truism. But I was also impressed by the masterful way his knifepoint depicted each separate part of the whole.
“When we get to the farm, I can show you. I’ve saved a leg and a hoof to illustrate what I mean.” And now he laid a finger alongside his nose. “Like I thought, big horses like them ‘uns are going to need special care. For their hooves. No hoof, no horse.”
I grinned again but said I looked forward to seeing a leg and a hoof-though I didn’t then realize what he meant.
We would all be glad to reach the end of this journey, for the weather had turned raw, with sleet showers more frequent, as well as frost liming the grass in the mornings.
Then, coming out of a fold of the hills, we could see the road running straight to the walled city of Deva.
“About a thousand souls or so,” Bericus replied when I asked him how many lived there. I caught my breath at the thought of so many people living in one place, fortified against raiders as it was. “But we go east, to the farm”-and he pointed with his riding stick. “No need to go into the city at all.”
I was disappointed not to have a chance to wander through a place of that size. I knew it had been a legionary fortress and its stout walls had been repaired many times.
“Don’t worry, lad, you’ll have a chance to see the city later,” Bericus said to console my obvious chagrin. “If only to hear mass.”
The Devan group among us now stretched their mounts’ stride in an effort to reach home by darkness. Spadix could trot with the best of them, and all the Libyans seemed infected by the excitement of their riders.
WE ARRIVED AS DUSK was settling, but we had been seen on our approach through the lush pastures where cattle, ponies, and horses grazed. The geese who were penned during the day by the main gate honked and flapped their wings, telling all who hadn’t heard that there were visitors. Mylather had also used those birds as nightly watchguards: I had scars on the calves of my legs to prove their diligence. Here there were also three big mastiffs, chained to the wall by day. These were let loose at night but knew who should and should not be about the enclosure at odd hours.
I was surprised by the extent of the farm, for the main buildings, like the city, were stoutly walled against intruders. But then an establishment of its prestige would have to be secure from all but the most insistent attacks. Inside the thick walls there were many buildings, including a long low range of stables and barns, as well as cots for the farmworkers. The villa that would house Comes Artos on his visits was extensive, and it was several weeks before there was any occasion for me to enter it. On those rare occasions when I did enter, it reminded me too much of the home I had lost. My uncle had taught me well the humility required by my reduced state, and I would never forget those lessons.
THERE WERE HAPPY REUNIONS for the Devan riders, much time spent examining the fine Libyans by torchlight and lantern. I thought I was seeing double, for a man as like Canyd Bawn as two leaves of the same tree-save for having two sound shoulders-was weaving in and out, stroking each of the Libyans in turn, as if introducing himself to them. Having done so, he gave orders that the horses must be immediately settled. Then there would be time enough to exchange news and have the evening meal, which our coming had interrupted.
“Is he kin to you?” I had the chance to ask Canyd as I led Cornix and Spadix into the great barn.
“Own brother,” Canyd said, his tone hovering between pride and irritation. “Rliodri. He trains the horses, while I keep them sound for him to do so.”
I remembered then that Lord Artos had spoken of this Rhodri.
Cornix and the other three stallions were housed in their own barn, with the three pony stallions already standing at the stud.
“The stalls are big enough, lad,” Canyd said, waving me to lead both stallion and pony inside. “Take whichever one on the left is free.”
I had no sooner swatted Spadix on the rump to enter the stable-for where the pony led, the stallion would easily follow-then I heard a shout.
“What are you doing, idiot?” A dour-faced man rushed down the aisle toward me, brandishing his pronged wooden hay fork. “Such a spavined, ring-boned, misbegotten-“
“Not so fast, Teldys,” Canyd said from the entrance. “Unless of course you want this fine new stall in splinters.”
Teldys grounded his hay fork with a thump, looking from me to Cornix, who was now trying to pull free to join the pony in the stable.
“Ah! Like that, is it? And this is that so-special stallion Lord Artos bade me take extra care of?” His eyes wandered appraisingly over the black Libyan. “Well, I suppose we can see our way clear. Good job we made it larger’n usual. In you go with him, lad … What’dyou say your name was?”
“He’s Galwyn, pledged to be Artos’s man,” Canyd replied before I could open my mouth.
“Is he good enough for this black demon,” Teldys asked, “since he and his pony know the beast so well?”
“Aye. You don’t have to watch him to be sure he does what you tell him,” Canyd said, nodding his head approvingly. “But see for yourself. Don’t take my word for it.”
“As if I’d ever argue with you, you old coper.” And a smile lit the man’s solemn features.
I came to learn that Teldys, who was Lord Artos’s stallion man, actually had a merry temperament; it was just that the bones of his face were long and the flesh on them seemed to be pulled down to his jawline, giving him such a dour look. He had a quick infectious laugh that you couldn’t help grinning at. And he listened. An admirable quality in anyone, as I discovered. I was quick to notice that no one argued with him and every one of the men moved hastily to perform the duties he assigned them.
“So, Galwyn, bed your charges down for the night, now we’ve finally got us all home where we belong.” Canyd winked at me before he turned away to settle Paphin.
When all the horses had been properly bedded, we were taken into the farm kitchen and fed an excellent hot stew with fresh bread, which, I must say, I had missed on the road. And there were pears as well as apples to eat. Not much fresh fruit had come my way since my father had died.
I didn’t mind that I was assigned a cot with the other unmarried men of the farm, and a peg for my scant clothing. The bedstead had a pallet of fresh straw and a good woolen blanket, and I could have slept anywhere that night and not heard the snores around me.
Thus began my service on Lord Artos’s farm near Deva.
Part Three
DEVA
THOSE FIRST FEW WEEKS I COULDNT HAVE been happier in my new home. Though I was a stranger and this a closeknit group, I felt far more comfortable than I ever had on the Corellia. There were, of course, horses to talk about, and at our evening meal that first night Teldys wanted to hear all about our journey to Septimania and the horse fair. He seemed determined to draw every last word of description out of me: of the fair itself, the people and horses at it-every variety, including the black Libyans that Lord Artos had settled on as the proper steed. Teldys’s wife, Daphne, wanted to know more about the outlandish things we had been given to eat. I talked myself hoarse and then realized that I had, and desperately hoped I hadn’t made a bad impression on my very first day. But almost everyone had questions and certainly they listened without fidgeting. On our way to our quarters, I was teased, but not in a mean fashion-more as if they envied me the sights and marvels I had seen.
The routine of a horse farm is much the same everywhere, and I don’t suppose it will change no matter who is Comes, prince, chieftain, consul, or even emperor. Horses must be fed and watered, their stables cleaned, and their bodies groomed and ridden, or themselves turned out to exercise in the fields. One falls into the rhythm of a pattern, so that day follows day and only the weather seems to ch
ange.
Except that roughly five weeks after we arrived at Deva, and for three days in a row, when I went to collect Spadix and Cornix from their field their coats were rough and sticky with sweat, as if they had been run hard. They had been the only two in their pasture, so they hadn’t been competing. And besides, horses don’t run themselves that hard, not ever. The second day, I spoke to Canyd about it and he checked both animals over, puzzled by their condition. He then discussed the matter with Teldys, and the head man was as bewildered as we were. The next morning I could not take offense when Teldys accompanied me as I walked the two out to their field. Before he let them loose, he went over them carefully, noting with a nod of his head that I had given them a good brushing off, which was my evening duty.
He also went with me at dusk to bring them in. Once again they showed signs of having sweated heavily.
“As if they had been galloped from here to Deva and back,” Teldys said, gathering his heavy eyebrows in a frown.
“Or chased,” I said, and looked beyond the hedges that separated the fields.
“A point you have there, lad,” Teldys said with a heavy sigh, also casting his eyes around. “We shall set a watch, then, and see if we can catch whoever.”
We caught no one at that field; I was the eyes that were set to watch, secretly lodged in a tree bordering the field. But that evening, Splendora hobbled back from her pasture and instantly Canyd was called to see what had caused her lameness. I was grooming Cornix when Canyd called me to the door of the box stall. He said nothing as he opened his hand to show me a bloody thorn in his palm.
“Iswy’s here?” I cried. My heart pounded so hard I was sure that it was audible to Canyd.
“A nasty streak that Iswy has in him, and he claiming to be a horseman!” Canyd snorted. “Some of those Cornovian tribesmen are like that. Take a real delight in avenging themselves for the silliest points of honor.”
“But where’s he staying?”
“Oh”-and Canyd threw up one hand, dismissing that consideration-“that one can live off the land. He’s a dead shot with that sling of his. Or he’s mixed in with some of those who roam these parts, picking up what they find whether it’s theirs or no. Couple or three times, we’ve had to patrol the roads from Deva against bands of thieves. Like attracts like, you know.” Then Canyd slapped my back in a friendly fashion. “The important thing is that your bay pony was too smart to be caught twice … and saved the stallion, too, I warrant.”
“But I saw no one. No one in the field, nor in the roadway!” I cried, lest they think I had fallen asleep or been inattentive in my guarding.
“The mares’re fields away from where you were, lad. No fault to you.” Canyd patted my shoulder reassuringly.
“But Iswy’s out there-” I began, distressed at the Cornovian’s vindictiveness. Why should he take so against Cornix? No one else had been able to ride the stallion. Was Iswy that vain of his riding ability? But to avenge himself on a mare simply because I had ridden her now and then? Or was he avenging himself on all of us for his dismissal? Surely he had only been hired to journey with the horses to Deva. Had he expected to be taken on to work here? Or had Prince Cador dismissed him when he had returned? Such thoughts galloped about in my mind, but I spoke none of them aloud.
“We shall take precautions, never you fear, lad. Those animals be too valuable. Teldys will spread the word to watch for a lad of Iswy’s description. He’ll be sent about his business. You’ll see.”
“Splendora?” I asked as Canyd turned away.
“She’s suffered no lasting harm. You’re a good lad. Don’t worry.”
TELDYS SENT A MESSAGE to Bericus concerning the possibility of a band of marauders in the vicinity of the farm. For the next several weeks, we rode out in groups, exercising the Libyans in the fields nearest the buildings. Otherwise they were stablebound, with the mastiffs and geese let loose in the farmyard to warn of intruders at night. And there were men working in every field, mending the hedgerows or doing other “repair” work. Not a meadow that didn’t have some eyes on it every hour of the day.
One night the winds blew such a gale that, in the morning, thick frost rimed bare tree, hedge, and grass. The day was bitterly cold and the footing so treacherous we turned no horse out. Three days the cold snap continued, and we had to break ice from the troughs and from the pond so the horses could drink.
Teldys and Canyd were of the opinion that, with cold winter blowing down over the land, we were unlikely to experience any more unwelcome attentions. I was not so sure: Iswy was sneaky as well as mean. The weather might have defeated him for now, but I intended to keep my eyes and ears open. None of Lord Artos’s black Libyans would fall victim to his wickedness: this I swore to myself.
BY THE TIME THAT YEAR ended in the winter solstice and we at the farm had properly observed the birth of Jesus Christ, I learned the hard way that Canyd was the best bone setter as well as horse coper.
Rhodri required me to learn to ride well enough to handle any of the horses on the farm. And because the Libyans knew me, I had to ride them. I dislocated my shoulder twice falling off Splendora, who had healed sound after the thorn incident. Then I snapped the two bones in my left forearm when Spadix stumbled while we were rounding up the mares and foals prior to a storm. So that fall did what the now-absent Iswy had not-kept me off horses.
Canyd set the arm. His hands were as gentle on a human as on a horse, but I could-do little with the splinted arm. Teldys assigned me to Canyd to do what I could, helping him prepare his herbs and simple remedies for equine ailments. Even with one hand, I could strip bark from river willows. And did-for days.
Unfortunately the injury also prevented me from attending mass at Christmastide in Deva. I sorely missed the joy of the Nativity mass, but only Teldys, Daphne, and their sons braved the wintry roads to make the journey. Still we made merry with the feast prepared by all the women on the farm. They had been cooking for days, each trying to outdo the others with soups, pies, and special dishes of quail, goose, and duck. There were also roast kid, roast suckling pig, venison, and vegetables, then all sorts of honey-sweet cakes, as well as all the
frumenty we could eat. I enjoyed myself, though some of the older men drank too much mead and were very unwell the next day. I was determined to show my reliability in caring for Cornix, so I did not overindulge. Indeed, Canyd and I were the only ones sober enough to do the horses the next morning.
CANYD USED MY CONVALESCENT TIME TO teach me more about The Hoof. From a shelf in his little cot, he brought down the bones of a horse’s leg, with the dried tendons yellow against the dark ivory of the bone. He pointed out the small pastern bone, the navicular, which can easily be chipped enough to lame a horse so badly it has to be put down. The larger pastern bone was in place above them. I could actually move the knee and fetlock of this relic. He had dried out a hoof as well, the flesh carved out so I could see into the coronet band and the horny shell that protects the frog, the inside of it striated with fine vertical lines of hoof horn. The hoof wall was actually no thicker than half the nail of my index finger.
“This is like your own finger-and toenails, Galwyn,” Canyd explained, watching me examine the relic. “See here, where there are ridges? Bad year for this horse. See here, where there are cracks? He wasn’t getting the right feed to keep his bones strong …”
He took the hoof in his hand, turning it around and around, obviously pondering some problem.
“Sorry, lad”-and he handed it back. “There is such a thin wall. One would have to be so careful…”
“Of what?” I prompted when the silence continued.
Canyd inhaled and then tapped the hoof. “You know, don’t you, that all the Libyans are footsore-between hoof rot and cracks?”
I nodded, because it had been the talk of everyone in the cot: How was Lord Artos going to use horses who kept going lame? Ponies might not be big enough but they were sturdy and never had such problems with their feet.
“But it’s all hard,” I said, tapping the shell. “Surely…”
“You’ve scrubbed stables down afore now, lad, and weren’t your nails soft after a day in water?”
‘Tes, they were-but they’re only fingernails, not tough hoof like this.”
“The pony that wore this foot was born and bred on this island. Big and strong as the Libyans are, they will need something to keep their feet up out of constant contact with wet ground. If we could only-” He broke off, frowning to try and catch some elusive notion. Then he reached into a dark corner and brought out some very odd looking pieces of leather. One had strings attached to it. He tapped the surface and I identified it as boiled leather, from which my father’s guards had made their breastplates and the skirts that fell from waistline belts to protect their thighs from arrows.
“D’you know what this might be, lad?”
Some memory struggled to be recalled: something said in Lord Artos’s voice.
“Look at it.” And he pushed the thing into my hand. A rounded piece of boiled leather, all right, a sort of sandal-but for what sort of short and rounded foot… ?
“A sandal for a horse?” Yes, that was what Lord Artos had said of Canyd: He wanted to put sandals on horses to protect the hooves he was always talking about. I picked up the strings. “And these tie it on … ?”
“Good, lad! But leather, as tough as it can be made, is scraped and worn out in several days, and it takes weeks to prepare.”
Then he handed me some flat metal crescents. They, too, had ties, but it didn’t take me a minute to see that going over rough ground would split the thongs and the sandal would come off. Or it would hang by one tie and be a danger to the animal, not a protection.
Black Horses for the King Page 8
