Black Horses for the King

by Anne McCaffrey

  “I think we may have to nail it to the hoof…”

  I gasped, knowing very well how any sort of puncture in the foot could lame a horse.

  “If”-and now Canyd’s gnarled forefinger circled the rim of the hoof-“we very carefully put our nails into this part of the horn…”

  I know I gawked my astonishment at him, and he smiled.

  “Alun and I have been working-oh, years now, I think”-and he grinned at me for all that time spent on vain effort-“on the type of nail that would be slim enough to go in just this area and strong enough to hold a metal rim on the hoof. No hoof, no horse!”

  “I know, I know.”

  “But the time has come, has it not, when those Libyans are goin’ to need somethin’ to protect ‘em. Best we figure it out this time.” He gave an emphatic nod of his head. “Had a pony once with bad cracks in his hooves. Fine pony, save for that, so Alun and me did keep the hoof from spreading with a metal rim … Should have kept on at the proper sort of sandal then.” He frowned then and dismissed me to my evening chores.

  It should not have surprised me that the next day I was ordered to Alun the Smith’s forge, where he did all the metalwork required by the large farm, including making the flat spather swords used by the guards. Alun was the biggest man I had ever seen, with arms like tree trunks and a chest that was as deep and broad as Cor-nix’s. He had a cap of very curly black hair, just grizzling above the ears, and a face with smears of soot generally on the ruddy cheeks. When he smiled, and he was a smiling man, he nearly lost his eyes in the creases of his flesh. He had four great anvils about his big fire, and three apprentices: two were his sons, built on the same generous lines as their father, and one a thinner lad who never smiled the whole time I lived at the Devan farm.

  Alun and Canyd were working at one of the anvils in the forge, once again trying to find a shape of nail to suit the requirements. Round ones had long since been discarded as unsuitable, though I often heard Alun say that he forged the best nails from Venta to Eburacum. I was set to working the bellows, a job I could easily do with the one hand I had to work with. It was not an easy job, though, for the coal fire had to be very hot to heat the iron enough to make it malleable.

  In that forge, I also saw the various shapes of horse sandals that had been devised over the years Alun and Canyd had been experimenting. Sandals with lips three-quarters of the way around that would be hammered down to fit tightly against the outside of the hoof; sandals with long clips that fit halfway up the outside of the hoof. Canyd thought that clamping the clip while still hot and malleable to the horse’s hoof would seal it on. I fretted about red-hot iron being applied to a hoof, but Canyd and Alun laughed at my fears.

  “There’s no feeling to the outer shell. It’s deader’n fingernails, you can be sure o’ that,” Alun told me. “But if it will save the hoof”-and he winked at me, jerking his head at Canyd to be sure I caught the jest-“then that one’ll be happy, now, won’t he?”

  As Canyd laughed at such wit, I was able to smile back. Despite the heat and the smells in the forge-for I was at the back of it, against the wall that ringed the home farm, and constantly inhaling the odd odors of hot metal and coal-I had a sense that these two men were on the brink of an extraordinary accomplishment.

  “Light enough to be lifted, strong enough to protect, sturdy enough to last, and easy to place,” I often heard Alun declare.

  A flanged sandal was finally eliminated, though such a one stayed on an old pony for weeks. It had to be removed because the thick mud of the winter fields seeped in between hoof and metal, causing the old horse to go lame.

  If I heard Canyd murmur, “No hoof, no horse,” once, he said it like a litany as he and Alun attacked their objective. And I got so I would groan in protest the moment he formed the first “No.”

  AS THE WEATHER IMPROVED and spring seemed nearer, I hoped in vain that Lord Artos would come to inspect his mares and foals. Bericus came every month, checking each of the twenty Libyans and the foals himself, though he also read Teldys’s laboriously written daily reports. Bericus would ride into the yard on the heavy-boned bay gelding that took him on all his travels, for the horse farm was not the only property Lord Artos had in this area. He would bellow my name and bring me running.

  “You get taller every time I see you, lad,” Bericus would say.

  In truth I was getting some growth, with all the good food Daphne liked to set upon her table. We even had meat twice a week.

  Then Bericus would toss me the reins of the gelding and turn to have a few words with Teldys while I stabled the horse.

  “Has Cornix eaten the pony yet?” Bericus might ask as we three strode down to the stables. Lord Artos’s stallion was always the first to be seen on these inspection visits.

  I’d have to strip the rug off Cornix-which I did even with my broken arm-for Bericus was thorough. He’d run his hands down each leg to assure himself of soundness, and pat the smooth hide. And after the first time Cornix got hoof rot, Bericus always checked each foot. I was careful to use a powder to prevent it, so he never found another trace of it.

  “How long d’you think it’ll take before they grow their own winter coats, Teldys?” Bericus asked. “Won’t be able to pamper them on the march.”

  “A year or two,” Teldys said. “They have to adapt. Horses do.”

  Then Spadix would nose Bericus for the turnip or parsnip that he always seemed to have in his belt pouch.

  “Beggar,” Bericus said, but he provided the treat while Teldys tutted in disapproval. “How’s the arm, Gal-wyn?” He’d teased me the first time he’d seen it splinted.

  “Itches something fierce,” I said, but showed him the smooth willow wand that was long enough to help relieve the itching. “Canyd says it’ll mend straight,” I added, in case Bericus might think I couldn’t do right by Cornix.

  “Good bones, the lad has,” Teldys said, giving me an affectionate buffet on my good shoulder.

  If Bericus had time to spare, he would take a meal with Teldys, where doubtless they discussed other matters. Then he would ask me to saddle up the gelding, and while I did that-awkwardly with the broken arm, but refusing his help-Bericus would often tell me more about Lord Artos’s activities.

  “You see, it’s not just the horses the Comes needs, Galwyn. It’s the support of other princes around about us here,” Bericus said. “Most of them haven’t seen these fine Libyans yet, of course, so they have doubts about the effectiveness of Artos’s plans to defeat the Saxons the next time they’re on the move.”

  “But surely Lord Artos only has to tell them …”

  Bericus laughed. “He’s a grand one for talking, and while he’s with them, they’re all for him. He’s got a way of making men loyal to him.” He looked at me and smiled again. “Of course, the Companions, myself included, are still the only ones who really understand the merits of his great plan to unite all Britons against the Saxons.”

  “But-but-” I spluttered, wondering how anyone could listen to Lord Artos and not believe in his strategies.

  “It’s the doubters that must still be convinced-against their will, lad. That’s why politics is so important,” Bericus replied with a grin, clapping his hand on my shoulder; and then, unexpectedly, he peered at me. “I do believe you’ve put a full hand in height on you since you came back from Burtigala …” He paused, stepping back to arm’s length, to study me. “Aye, and muscled up, too.” And he squeezed the shoulder I had dislocated twice.

  “I’m helping Canyd and Alun,” I said, rather proudly.

  “No better men to have as exemplars,” he agreed, nodding. “Now politics is how Artos is contriving to keep the kingdom quiet until he is ready to exhibit his new force. You do all you can”-and again he pressed my shoulder-“to further that, and you’ll have the full gratitude of the Comes-and”-he grinned again-“the profound thanks of all of us who will ride to battle on our fine black horses.”

  Bericus swung up into the sad
dle. “One day, when spring is finally here”-and he wound his cloak tightly about him-“you may have a chance to see our new headquarters. It’s slow work but it’ll be a fine place when it’s finished: a base for our cavalry and a place for training the foot soldiers.” He looked off, frowning slightly. “The Saxons remain where they are. It’s the Irish we have to contend with right now. Vale, Galwyn,” he said in farewell as he kneed the gelding forward. “Just keep the Libyans safe and prospering!” he cried over his shoulder.

  As if he needed to tell me. I thought constantly about their safety, Iswy topmost in my mind. Not that we had seen hide or hair of Iswy after that heavy frost. Nor had there been any roving bands stealing from outlying farms or harrying travelers on the roads. Still, I never forgot that particular danger.

  I knew about the danger of Irish raiders, too, living as we did not that far from a favorite landfall of theirs. No wonder princes and chiefs around here were not quite so concerned about Saxon invasions, despite the well-founded rumors that Aelle and his sons intended to expand beyond their pale near Eburacum. The Irish were a problem now; the Saxons only a distant menace.

  Of course, for Lord Artos’s marvelous plan of a swift-moving force to succeed, it would be five or six years before this year’s crop of foals were ready for battle. Would we be given the time? Would enough of the princes join forces with Artos to provide a large enough army?

  In point of fact, the Libyan stallions could have been used in battle right now, since Rhodri had trained them to respond to movements of heel and seat so that a Companion had both hands free for his weapons. And I had to admit I dreaded the day Cornix would be taken from my care, for he was, indeed, the mark of both Comes Artos’s favor and my status on the farm.

  BERICUS WAS NOT the only one who noticed that I had grown taller and stronger. All those hours on the bellows and the generous, good food were having an effect. Further, now that my arm bones had knit, I was excused from pumping the bellows and allowed to help make the horse sandals, which meant much work with a hammer.

  Bericus had listened to both Alun and Canyd explaining about their device: had listened but had not seemed terribly impressed.

  “He only rides the horses,” Canyd said later, when Alun had railed against Bericus’s lack of enthusiasm. “He hasn’t the care of them.”

  “He cared for them on the journey here,” I said. Canyd eyed me a moment. “For his own, but not for all the others who are in our keeping.”

  “Aye, he’s a Companion,” Alun said, altering his position, but I don’t think it was out of deference to my remark. The smith enjoyed opposing Canyd, if only to be contrary. But it was a good-humored antagonism.

  That might even have been what led to an effective horse sandal, because if Canyd suggested one method, Alun would counter with another, totally different. Thus they explored many more possibilities. Boiled leather had long been ruled out as ineffective, and now all their efforts were concentrated on developing an iron rim to somehow attach to the underside of the hoof.

  Once again an older pony was used to test the result. I do remember the look on the pony’s face when he first realized he had something stuck to his hoofs. He kept picking up his hinds and trying to kick off the unaccustomed weight. We had a good laugh at his antics.

  I trotted him out into the cold wet afternoon, he still trying to dislodge the rims and then shying when the iron sandals clanged on stone. He picked his old legs up like a yearling, flicking his front feet. Gradually his kickings subsided as he realized he could not relieve himself of the encumbrances.

  He was turned out again and was watched over the next few days, to be sure the metal plates did not cause lameness or, far more importantly, come off. The fifth day, a hind sandal did get sucked off by the thick mud in the pasture from the heavy spring rains.

  Canyd and Alun passed the lost rim back and forth, noting the way that three of the five nails had come out and were sticking out of the rim. We found the other two in the pony’s foot: they had broken off, but-and this was important-they had not made him lame by remaining.

  “They don’t sit in firmly enough, though, even with the tapering,” Alun said, holding the erring nail up between thumb and index finger.

  “But the other rims stayed on,” I reminded them. “Three out of four is good.”

  “Aye,” Canyd said, “for want of the right nail, the sandal was lost… and so would the horse be.”

  “Maybe”-and Alun pondered this before he spoke again, “maybe-if the nail is turned down-hooked, so to speak-on the outside, it will not pull out as easily.”

  “Aye, that would clinch it in place,” Canyd agreed, nodding.

  “I will make the nail a little longer, then,” Alun said, motioning me to take my position at the bellows to heat up the fire, “to be hammered down on the hoof. It wouldn’t hurt the animal, would it?” Canyd shook his head.

  THIS TIME THE SANDALS remained on a full two weeks.

  “Problem with all these sandals and nails,” Alun said when Canyd and I were jubilant to see success, “is that the hoof of a horse grows, or he rubs the sandal on hard ground and gradually wears the nailhead down… or gets grit between hoof and sandal… or …”

  “You’ve to train men to make the rims,” Canyd said thoughtfully. “You’ve enough work on your hands just making arms an’ tools. A man’d have to be sent along with the horses, an’ with plenty o’ nails, I ‘sped, in case a shoe came loose or got lost.” His wink at me was significant.

  I stared back at him aghast, silently turning my thumb in my own direction.

  “And why not you, lad?” Canyd went on. “You’ve been in on the work since it started.” Then he added slyly, “‘Tis one way to get to be with Comes Artos, isn’t it?”

  I know I must have flushed to realize that Canyd knew of my devotion. But that remark settled my future. I was only glad that Alun agreed, grinning at me with his eyes so lost in the folds of his cheek flesh that only a twinkle remained.

  “But… but… you’ve sons …” I began in humble protest. Even if their suggestion was my dearest wish come true, I was surely not the one to be chosen. “And Ratan, your apprentice-“

  “None of whom can ride well enough to move with an army, lad,” Alun said. “And I’d need them here.” He gestured around the forge, with its buckets of arrowheads waiting to go to the fletcher, and lanceheads, and all the farm paraphernalia. “To do what they’ve been trained up to do.” He nodded emphatically.

  “Still an’ all, you’ll have to train up other lads, like our Galwyn here, to know how to make the horse sandals,” Canyd said.

  “Aye, I will, won’t I? But”-and now Alun pointed his thick burn-scarred finger at me-“you’ll need to know more than just how to make the sandals. That’s only part of the whole.”

  “Aye, ye’ll need to know the foot of a horse, and the leg, and what can go wrong with both. No hoof, no horse.”

  I rolled my eyes at Canyd for that but he, too, waggled a forefinger at me.

  “I know more ways to ease a lameness than stooping legs in water, m’lad, and you’ll have to learn ‘em all.”

  That very day at the evening meal, they approached Teldys, with me in reluctant tow, and asked to have me assigned to them for teaching. Teldys had, of course, been apprised of all their efforts to make a horse sandal, and he even came to inspect the pony who wore the first sets.

  “You’ll be wanting even more iron, then, won’t you?” he said with a sigh of resignation. “D’you know how much it costs these days?”

  “Any that’s spoiled in practice can be melted down and used again,” Alun blithely assured him.

  A CARTER CAME ONTO the farm one day, bearing a message for me from my mother. It had been written before the winter solstice and was a list of her present dissatisfactions, including the fact that my sister Flora had been married and I hadn’t come to be witness.

  Salutations to Galwyn Gains Varianus from his grieving mother, Serena, widow of De
citus Varianus, who is in good health despite her condition and who hopes to find you well.

  Have you forgotten how to write and read so that you do not answer my last letter and give us no word of you since the scrawl that the carter brought us? You should have paid more attention to your tutors when you still had them. But there are others, surely, there in the north where you say you went, who are able to read and could have written on your behalf. Your sisters have persuaded me, against myi better judgment, that it is possible that you were unable to convince your employers to let you come to your sister Flora’s nuptials.

  As this was the first letter I had received from anyone, I had to assume that a previous letter, containing the news of Flora’s imminent wedding, had not reached me. How like my mother to think I could have forgotten how to read and write!

  Lavinia insists that you were unable to come-rather than too lazy to make the journey. But surely you know that it would have been your duty to give your sister’s hand, as you are the legal guardian of both sisters, though I know you are fonder of Lavinia than Flora but she is the elder and deserves your courtesy. You could at least have answered my letter.

  Had you not left the employ of your uncle Gralior you would have been given leave to attend a family Junction. Indeed, he was here where you were not, and still displeased that you left his employ so precipitously. I thought you had been raised with more attention to courtesies and I cannot understand why you would distress your uncle who had great hopes for you in his business.

  That was certainly the first I had heard of his hopes for me.

  We are well enough here, though the winter was cold and I suffered from it badly with my feet and hands swollen with the chilblains you know I always have when I have to bide in an unheated place like this poor little house I must now occupy.

  I am surprised, too, that you have made no attempt to see your family since your father’s unfortunate demise. At least for the Winter Solstice, when it is the habit for families to come together. Not that we had much of a celebration but as much as I could manage. You would have been comfortable enough in the shed but it was most unkind of you not to come to Flora’s wedding. She and Lavinia cried over your absence but I told them what could they expect of a boy who would leave a good position to go the gods knew where with strangers.