Black Horses for the King

by Anne McCaffrey

  That was all the reassurance I was likely to find, and really I had far too much else to do to fret over a man who was leagues away from Camelot now-even if he had been here one night.

  MY LAST TWO MORNINGS at Camelot I spent teaching the apprentices what I had learned from Canyd of remedies for common hoof ailments like seedy toe, sand

  cracks, hoof rot, and the puncture wounds that were so prevalent. They listened, but I think that most of them thought that such knowledge was redundant: They would do whatever Master Glebus or the horse’s owner required them to do.

  That was a smith’s view of metalworking but not mine. Nor Canyd’s. However, the apprentices learned much and were no longer as skeptical of my craft. That, in itself, was a huge step forward.

  On my first free afternoon I went to watch Lord Artos and the Companions working the big Libyans, and that was a magical time. The warhorses seemed to enjoy the maneuvers they were asked to perform. What a splendid sight for the watcher! The stallions entered wholeheartedly into the exercise as they charged down the field at imaginary targets. I could guess what the feelings of an enemy might be, faced with those great black steeds, nostrils flaring, teeth bared. Rhodri would be gruffly pleased with my detailed account of the display.

  I spent my evenings listening to the Companions, and listening to the visitors who were mostly trying to avoid joining Lord Artos’s combined army. I remembered what Lord Artos had said that one night when we were around the campfire: that God had given man free will, and it was up to men to make the proper choices in their lives, choices that would lead them to places in heaven. I had not had much time for philosophy on board the Corellia, during the long months in my uncle’s service. Not even at the farm in Deva. But in Camelot I gave much thought to the world and my place in it. Would that I could join the force that Lord Artos was now training! And who would tram me as a swordsman? Maybe as a slingsman, for Yayin was handy with that Cornish weapon. But slingsmen were foot soldiers, and I wanted to ride a Libyan stallion into battle! Ah well, I thought philosophically, at least I have been to Camelot!

  Camelot was such an amazing place, truly every bit as marvelous as I’d been told. I knew myself to be fortunate indeed. So I did not protest when one of the stewards called me from the forge to meet with the Comes the day before I was to leave.

  HE WAS IN THE ROOM that he used as office, seated at a long sturdy table cluttered by scrolls, bits of leather, two sheathed knives, and scraps of parchment covered with notes in a bold script. There were shelves for the scrolls; lances standing propped against one corner; and Lord Artos’s sword, Caliburn, and its scabbard neatly racked up on the wall nearest the door, ready to hand should he be called in an emergency.

  He had before him the scroll I had brought from the farm, enumerating the mares known to be in foal, and to which stallions.

  “Ah, Galwyn, now that you’ve taught Master Ilfor’s men what they need to know”-and he grinned at me, aware as always of all that went on in his castle-“we can continue the good work started by yourself…”

  “More by Masters Alun and Canyd than me, Lord Artos,” I said hastily.

  “I like a modest man, Galwyn.” I straightened my shoulders, for he called me man now, not lad. “But I also give credit where it’s due. It is due you, Galwyn Varianus.” And he extended me a pouch that I could hear clinking as he hefted it.

  “I’m only glad to have been of service, Comes,” I said, keeping my hands behind my back.

  With a swoop, he pulled my right arm forward and firmly placed the pouch in my resistant hand.

  “And worthy of some reward for months of honest service and dangerous work.” He closed my fingers around the leather bag. “I shall not say farewell, Galwyn”-and his eyes twinkled at me-“for undoubtedly we shall need your special skills … once you consider yourself well-enough trained.” His smile was both amused and understanding. “So now I shall merely wish you a safe journey back to Deva. Especially if you will act as messenger with these.” And he passed over a half-dozen tightly wound scrolls, with a long strip of parchment tucked under the thong that bound them together. “The names of the recipients are written on each, and directions to each one on that strip. Your road to Deva takes you close to all. You’ll get a decent meal or a night’s shelter on your way as my messenger.”

  “Of course, Lord Artos-” And then I stuttered to a full stop. I didn’t know how to continue because, of course, the messages should be delivered quickly and Spadix must stay with Cornix. I could only go so fast on foot, for I was not a runner that some are. I did hope to find a farm cart or two or even a wagon train along the way to give my feet a rest.

  Then he burst out laughing. He had the most infectious laugh, so I had to grin back at him. “I’ve taken Spadix from you, haven’t I, for that sentimental barbarian of a Libyan. Well, as my messenger, you must naturally have a suitable mount. He awaits you. I shall look forward to our next meeting, Galwyn Varianus. A hundred more like you at my back, and no Saxon army could withstand us!”

  Thus, chest swelled with pride, I left his presence and hurried out to the courtyard. I would miss Spadix, though not as much as I might once have done; I’d grown too tall to be very comfortable riding him. But he would always have a special place in my heart. After all, he’d carried me bravely into a completely new life.

  I did not, however, anticipate the mount awaiting me-the African gray! And wearing, under the saddle, a pad with Lord Artos’s distinctive device of the bear. Tied to the saddle was a cloak, also in the colors of the man I served, and leathern pouches to protect the scrolls from weather and dust. All would know me for a messenger of the Comes Britannorum and respect me as such.

  Master Glebus himself was there, smiling with great pleasure at my astonishment.

  “Surely there’s some mistake, Master Glebus!” I exclaimed. “He’s much too-“

  “Nonsense, lad, with the new Libyan to amuse the Comes, he is not likely to ride this fellow as much as Ravus needs. He’s also to do his bit with the mares, for we can always use more messenger horses with his turn of hoof and endurance. He’s a good do-er and will keep condition if he only smells oats now and then. Further”-and now Glebus leaned into me with a hand cupping his mouth-“Lord Artos in full regalia is too heavy for his back. The Libyan suits him better in that regard: an animal well up to weight.” He straightened up, winking. “You’re a messenger right now, too, so the gray’s speed is to your advantage. You know your first destination?”

  I glanced down at the slip-it was nearly transparent with all the messages that had been inscribed and then scraped off its surface. My first stop would be outside Aqua Sulis at an armorer’s, one Sextus Tertonius’s, a destination which I could make easily on this fine horse by evening-if I started immediately.

  “You’ll be fed and bedded on the way, lad. No fear of that as the Comes’s messenger.”

  I took the reins from Master Glebus’s hand and vaulted to the stallion’s back. He pranced in place under me until I soothed him with my voice and a hand on the arching crest of his neck.

  “Good speed, lad,” the horsemaster said, stepping back. I pressed my knees into the trembling sides of my mount and began my journey back to the farm.

  AS SOON AS WE HAD MANAGED to descend from the heights of Camelot, I let the fidgeting Ravus have his head and he went forward at a gallop, his hooves ringing against the paving stones. He was fresh and I honestly did want to test his gaits. He was so agile that we had no difficulty in weaving around those on their way to Camelot. I even heard a few cheers.

  I thought I heard an echo of a curse, and looking over my shoulder for fear I had inadvertently caused trouble, I did see another mounted rider some distance behind me. His animal was not as clever footed as mine, and the rider had run right into a team of oxen dragging a sled full of granite.

  I stroked Ravus’s neck, well pleased with his dexterity, and let him continue his gallop. He had sense enough himself to drop down to a canter, a
n easy gait for a rider to relax into.

  I reached my first destination, the armorer’s, where Sextus Tertonius himself greeted me, emerging from the smoky interior of his forge, where hah0 a dozen men were busy at anvil and hearth. He called one lad to take my horse away to be unsaddled and refreshed.

  “For you will surely need to rinse the travel dust from your throat, Galwyn,” Sextus said, and then wrenched his head around at the sound of Ravus’s shod feet on the bricks of his yard. “Whatever is the matter with him?”

  I grinned, signaling the lad to stop. “Sandals to protect his feet from prods and bad surfaces.”

  So, although Ravus was unsaddled, he had to stand about and let me pick up his feet one by one to show Sextus his iron rims.

  Tertonius shook his head, drawing his mouth up into a pucker. “Don’t see the need of such things, lad. Choose a horse with a good strong upstanding hoof and you’ll have no problems, whatever you ride him over. But that Artos”-and he shook his head again-“he’s got a lot of fancy notions in that head of his, as he’d be better without.”

  Sextus Tertonius was the first smith who did not see the benefit of the horse sandals. But he was by no means the last. I only hoped that he would give Lord Artos’s message a more positive response than he’d given the sandals.

  I had a meal while Ravus was washed down, groomed, fed, and readied for me to ride off to my next stop.

  I WAS ENCOURAGED TO STAY under cover that night at my third stop, a villa outside Corinium; indeed, the weather had worsened. But my night’s rest was broken by the dogs barking sporadically all night and by the thunder and lightning of a fierce storm. While I didn’t rise, my hosts did, investigating each new outbreak of alarm. In the morning I asked what had aroused them. “Chicken thieves,” my host said, shrugging. “We’ve foxes as well as ferrets hereabouts and they do go for the chickens.”

  Ravus was as fresh as if he hadn’t done leagues the day before, and I had to let him gallop the fidgets out until he would settle once more to his easy but distance-eating canter.

  In Corinium, too, I took a good-natured dismissal of the horse sandals from the recipient of Artos’s message.

  “And what happens if a nail works loose? You’ve to walk the horse then, haven’t you, to whomever can fix it?”

  “I know enough to do that,” I replied evenly. I had become so used to a positive attitude toward the sandals that such skepticism made me reticent.

  “And weigh yourself down more with hammer and nails, I’ll warrant,” was the reply.

  So I handed over the message, courteously refused any hospitality, and rode on to Glevum. There I delivered the last of my messages, but Prince Geneir insisted that I could take time now to rest my horse and myself before proceeding onward to Deva. I was glad enough, for Glevum is a considerable town and I had a few odd coins to spend, given me by the satisfied owners of horses I had shod.

  I wandered around the market and bought a set of large wooden spoons for Daphne, who was forever breaking hers, generally on the scullery maids’ hands for being sloppy or slow. I bargained hard for a cloak fastener for Canyd and bought a hot meat pie from a vendor. Then I sat on the wall at the edge of the marketplace to watch the folk coming and going. No one so grand as I had seen at Camelot, but it was so rare for me to have a day in which to please myself that I enjoyed the leisure for its own sake.

  When I got back to the prince’s house, there was a huge commotion in the stableyard; Prince Geneir himself was shouting orders. As soon as he saw me, he waved me urgently to him.

  “Someone tried to steal that gray of yours, Galwyn.” A spurt of fear was quickly masked by the outrage I felt.

  “Was the thief caught?”

  Geneir gave an exasperated growl, his fingers rattling the hilt of the sword at his waist. “Slippery as an eel, he was, the moment my hostler remembered that Lord Artos’s messengers travel alone. That’s what the stable lad was told, that you were ready to leave. But the rascal didn’t even know which bridle to use, and that made the boy suspicious, so he asked Gren. When Gren arrived to question him”-and now Geneir was as outraged as I- “he vaults to the gray’s back and tries to ride him out of my yard, bareback and bridleless. But my guards were alert and the gate was shut before he could leave. Gren said he was off the horse, up and over that wall there.” And he pointed to the end of the stable yard where stood a high, vine-covered wall. “I’ve sent guards after him. He’ll not get far.”

  If the would-be horse thief was Iswy, I doubted that-for the Cornovian was as clever as he was sly. We’d not been able to catch him at Deva for all the watching we’d done.

  “What did the man look like? Did anyone see his face?”

  Geneir beckoned his hostler, who was still red faced and puffing with indignation over the affair. “Did you get a good look at his face?”

  “Aye, and a nasty look he had; raging, he was, at being thwarted.”

  “Was he bearded?” I asked.

  The hostler nodded. “Raggedy-like. Tall as yourself, but skinny. Used to horses, though, the way he vaulted up, bareback and all.”

  “D’you know him, Galwyn?” asked Geneir.

  Grimly I nodded, unable to speak for the fury that almost consumed me. First Spadix and Cornix, then Splendora, and now Ravus. So Iswy had been at Camelot, and he had doubtless been the rider I had seen behind me on the road. Quite likely, he was also the intruder who had kept the dogs barking in his attempt to get at Ravus in the stable.

  “It’s appalling that a messenger of the Comes should be hindered or attacked for any reason.” Then a thought occurred to Geneir. “A Saxon spy?”

  “I doubt it,” I said, and then hesitated. A man who would deliberately cause harm to the horses he was supposed to value might grasp at other opportunities to do harm to those he hated. I couldn’t at all be sure that he did not include Lord Artos in the category, but in my estimation Iswy was evil enough to turn treacherous, too. “No, I doubt he would have the opportunity, but he believes himself ill used in the service of Lord Artos,” I said.

  Geneir was clearly waiting for more of an explanation.

  “He tried to injure one of new Libyan stallions on our way to Deva and was sent off without a character. I believe he was guilty of other attempts to harm the Libyans.”

  “Ah, a vindictive type, is he?” Geneir touched his temple, nodding with complete understanding. “Never fear, Galwyn. We’ll find him, and he won’t bother you anymore.”

  “While your guards are after him, I should be on my way,” I said with true regret and some honesty. “I am in Lord Artos’s service, and there is another stop I should make to see if there are messages to be carried to Deva.” Not true, but Prince Geneir accepted it.

  I would have a good start on Iswy even if the Glevum guards did not catch him. And I’d travel by less well used roads so that no one would see me passing.

  That is how I made it safely-and speedily-back to the farm at Deva.

  I told Teldys of the incidents, and any time the dogs barked at night or the geese honked, someone went out to investigate.

  More than a week later, Prince Geneir sent a regretful message that, despite the most diligent of searches, the culprit had not been caught. However, he had been traveling west and south when last sighted. When next Bericus came, unscathed from his latest skirmish with the Irish raiders, I reported Iswy’s activities to him as well.

  “I don’t see Iswy as a spy either,” Bericus said, “but I shall certainly warn Prince Cador and Artos to keep an eye out for him.”

  Part Five

  GLEIN

  A FEW MONTHS OF CONSTANCLY BEING on guard with no incidents or unexplained alarms, we gradually began to relax. While it was certainly an unchristian attitude, I did hope Iswy’s sins had caught up with him somehow, somewhere else. At any rate, I became more engrossed in my training with Canyd and Alun, and in the nurture of the Libyan mares and foals.

  I don’t know where the time went to over the nex
t few years, but months sped past, season sliding into season-from winter to spring, summer to autumn-and then the cycle of tasks to be accomplished began again.

  I studied continually under Canyd, milking him of every scrap of information, determined to transfer his knowledge to my head. Who could know what obscure

  detail might be of a certain use to Lord Artos? I acquired three new apprentices and found that teaching was the most admirable way to remember, and refine, my own understandings. I fancied myself a good teacher, for my scholars seemed to understand my explanations and my cautions. Particularly about the position of the nails so as not to inadvertently puncture the thin wall of the protective horn and wound the foot with nail bind.

  Smiths from distant provinces came themselves or sent other capable smiths for instruction. The farm was so busy that Teldys once complained-though in a teasing manner-that the sandals caused more company than the Libyans. But all were made welcome in Lord Artos’s name.

  “I dunna know why you keep badgering me, lad,” Canyd Bawn said once when I kept after him over a foal’s malformed hoof, which we were trying to reshape with the use of a special sandal. “For I tell ye, ye know as much as I do now.”

  “I’ll never know enough,” I replied fiercely, keenly aware that what I did know would not save the foal or allow him to gambol with the others in the field.

  “Ay, then you’ve learned the most important lesson in your life,” Canyd replied, nodding his head. He patted me on the shoulder. “A good man is what you are, Galwyn.”

  I only half listened to praise from such an unlikely quarter, because I grieved so at this failure.

  “Sa-sa, lad, look at what you have done,” Canyd said, waving at the horses being schooled by Rhodri that day, all of them striding out sound and sure in their sandals.

  Though I was busy enough at the forge, making sandals and teaching others how to, from time to time I was also called on to deliver messages. That these excursions also gave me a chance to demonstrate the horse sandals elsewhere made the trips doubly beneficial. Certainly the state of Ravus’s hooves proved the merit of using the sandals.