Black Horses for the King

by Anne McCaffrey

  Ravus and I made many journeys from Deva to Camelot. If I saw Lord Artos at all on those occasions-and I would try to-he would solemnly ask me if I felt I had learned enough yet to come to Camelot.

  “I am at your service at all times, Lord Artos,” I would reply.

  “So you are, good Galwyn, so you are!” he would say, one hand gripping my shoulder with what I liked to think was appreciation.

  Once I rode all the way to Londinium with an urgent message for Artos from the princes of the Atrebates and Cantiacii. They needed his reassurance that he and his Companions would help keep the Saxons from moving south into their lands. I was told to verbally repeat the written message. It was an honor for me to do so.

  Many of these journeys were not made at the headlong pace that pushed both Ravus and me to our limits. Those more leisurely trips were when we traveled to acquaint someone new with horse sandals. Most frequently, however, I went to Prince Cador’s principal residence, for his horses required constant attention and his smith would not take time out from weapons manufacture to forge sandals. He didn’t consider them important.

  Prince Cador was one of Lord Artos’s staunchest supporters, and when he was not fighting off invaders, he traveled much on the Comes’s behalf, arguing with other local princes and tribal leaders to join the noble cause and drive the Saxons back to the sea. His horses always seemed to lose their rims at awkward moments, requiring the prince to stay wherever he was until I could reach him to repair the problems. I began to suspect this was a ploy when three times in a row, the sandal was merely loose and a nail only needed to be tapped hard to solve the problem. But then, some people are difficult to persuade, and the silver-tongued prince of the Dumnonium liked nothing better than to sway men’s minds to his thinking. I kept my counsel, though I often saw Prince Cador’s amused eyes on me, as if he knew what was in my thoughts.

  It was time again for Britons to take charge of their own defenses. Artos, as Comes Britannorum, was the obvious dux bellorum, since he had attracted many of the best warriors to his company.

  ONE ADDED ADVANTAGE of my trips to, and with, Prince Cador was that these journeys allowed me to take occasional detours to keep my promise to my sister, Lavinia. And show off to my mother that I was now Lord Artos’s messenger: in a position of trust to one of the most important men in Britain.

  “That’s a fine horse you’re riding these days,” Odran said, admiring Ravus, the first time I rode the gray to Ide.

  “So you’re back again,” my mother said disagreeably as she came to the door.

  “Only briefly, Mother.” I peered around into the house to see if Lavinia was near.

  “See the grand horse Galwyn is riding now,” Odran said, pointing to the saddlecloth and the bear insignia. “That’s the Comes’s device,” he added, obviously impressed.

  “I ride as his messenger,” I said proudly. Even Mother’s usual disapproval could not dim the honor of that.

  “So what can bring you here?” she demanded, waving dismissively to the small settlement by the old Roman fort.

  But Lavinia, having heard my voice, came dashing around from the back of the house to throw her arms about my neck. “Galwyn! Galwyn! How grand to see you again! And Flora’s had her baby, a strapping son, and Melwas so proud, too….”

  “Can you stop long enough for a meal?” Odran hesitated when he heard my mother sniff. “Surely, wife, we can spare your only son a mug of beer.”

  “… Oh, and such a grand horse as you’re riding now! You have come up in the world, haven’t you, Galwyn?”

  Lavinia said, lifting my spirits after my mother’s cool reception. “There’s a shady spot on the other side of the house where we can put your fine horse.” She tried to wrest the reins from my hand.

  “I’ll do that,” I said, smiling at her to show I appreciated her willingness.

  “Then I’ll get that beer for you.” Odran made it plain to my mother that I was welcome in his eyes, if not in hers.

  “I shall find Flora, then,” Lavinia said. “She’s dying to show you her son. They named him Gallus … after you … for your gold ring,” she added in a whisper so Mother didn’t hear. But her eyes were merry as well as grateful. “She’ll be so glad to see you, Galwyn.”

  I loosened Ravus’s girth and secured him to the tree, with a handful of grass to content him. Odran then ushered me into his house.

  “Why did you have to take up with that warmongering Artos?” my mother asked, letting Odran pour mugs of the beer as she seated herself on the fireside stool.

  “All Britain will one day be glad of the Comes Britannorum, Mother.”

  She gave a sniff.

  “Then you think that the Saxons will invade-” Odran began.

  “How would Galwyn know that, Odran?” she demanded. “He’s only a messenger.”

  Odran raised his eyebrows and gave a little sigh. He was a good, patient man and my opinion was that my mother had been lucky indeed to find such a one.

  I did not dispute her opinion of Lord Artos; there was no point. The sad fact was that, in my traveling, I had discovered many folk of the same mind. They firmly believed that the Saxons wouldn’t come if no one irritated them. Fortunately, the majority were taking Artos seriously, especially as there were more rumors about Aelle and his sons increasing their soldiery. Sometimes these rumors were embroidered with lurid details about Saxon habits.

  Flora arrived, breathless with carrying her sturdy child. She bore greetings and apologies from Melwas, who was slaughtering that day and could not come.

  So I spent a very pleasant few hours with my sisters and Odran, playing with my nephew.

  Before I left that afternoon, Flora had a quiet word with me. Lavinia, now sixteen, was sincerely attracted to a young farmer and wished to marry him. But she had no dowry and his family needed what wealth a wife might bring.

  “You were so good to give Melwas and me that gold ring, but we’ve used it all to improve the shop,” she said, her face twisted with regret-but her unspoken question was all too clear.

  I smiled back, for I was able to press into her hand four gold coins-of an old Roman minting-that I had in niy pouch, received for messages I had delivered.

  “Oh!” Flora exclaimed, turning them over, unable to believe I could have so much to give. “But Mother will-” And she half turned back to the house, for I was watering Ravus.

  I took out a gold ring and showed it to her. “This I will give Mother,” I said, and then I closed her fingers over the coins. “You see to Lavinia’s dowry.”

  “Oh, Galwyn, you are so good to us. Uncle Gralior certainly would never have parted with this many coins.” She put them carefully away.

  “He’s been to see you again?”

  Flora made a face. “Too often. How you stood Uncle so long I shall never know! You’re much better off as a messenger, even if Mother cannot see it.”

  I presented the ring to my mother on my departure, and she was so surprised that I had gold to give her that I thought I would never be able to take my leave.

  “You will pass by again this way, won’t you, my son?” she said, quite full of smiles now, and patting my chest with her hands.

  I noticed that she tucked the ring into the bosom of her dress as unobtrusively as possible. Odran might never profit from that generosity, but I could not find it in my heart to blame my mother. She had been accustomed to luxuries, and this austere life-for all she had a roof over her head and food on the table-must have been difficult for a proud woman to bear. I felt the better for sharing my good fortune with my blood kin.

  SOI LEFT THE OLD FORT Ide with a cheerful heart and set Ravus into a canter. I thought to reach the wayside inn where I often stopped well before dark.

  Following the winding road through the dense forests, I was not particularly surprised to come around a bend and find trees fallen across the track. I approached at a trot, for I wanted to see if there might be a way around the trunks; if not, how wide a jump it
would be for Ravus.

  We were about four strides away from the trees when suddenly men jumped out of the bushes, yelling and waving stout cudgels.

  “Get him!” screamed a voice I had not heard in a long time but instantly recognised. Iswy!

  “Bring down the horse! Get him!”

  I clapped my heels to Ravus’s side and the brave horse plunged forward and soared over the trunks, clearing them on the far side by a length or more.

  “Go after him! Aim for the horse! Bring it down!”

  Leaning down on Ravus’s neck to make myself a smaller target, and urging the gray to his best speed, I did glance over my shoulder at my attackers. Three were clambering over the trees, then-cudgels hindering their movements. Two, however, were whirling slingshots over their heads, and that was a real threat, for Cornovians were famous for their accuracy with sling and stone.

  I kneed Ravus into a swerving course to make us a more difficult target. A stone glanced off his flank and he

  screamed, galloping even faster down the road. A second stone caught me on the right shoulder-the one I had twice dislocated-but by then its force had almost been spent. I gave no thought to my bruises, being far more worried about Ravus, though I didn’t dare pull up until we were well down the road. We’d to cross a river farther on. I could stop there and still keep ahead of men on foot. But-what if they had mounts hidden in the woods?

  I had traveled this way often enough, it was true, but how had Iswy known? I was almost sick with my fury over the ambush. Of course, this was the quickest route for me to take back to Deva from Isca. Was it mere chance that he’d seen me at Prince Cador’s? He was, after all, a subject of Cador.

  I forced myself to stop puzzling about Iswy and to think ahead about how I was to avoid pursuit. We should soon come to a stream. I could go either up or down it and come out on rocks farther up, so there would be less danger of being tracked.

  Ravus was recovering from his fright by the time we reached the stream, and I could dismount, ignoring the chill of the water and the wetting of my good leather boots. I had to keep Ravus from drinking, hot as he was, and also stop him circling around me, so I could examine the bleeding wound.

  It was shallow enough, for which I gave prayerful thanks. I led him upstream to where moss grew on the rocks by the water. There I bathed the wound, pressing

  handmls of cold water against it to stem the bleeding, because galloping had made it flow. The wound was also in an impossible place to bandage, but I took moss and pressed it so firmly against the cut that some would stick to the blood and seal it. I waited, listening for any sounds of pursuit, until I was certain the moss would hold. Then I led Ravus upstream until I judged we could safely enter the forest.

  I found shelter that night in a glade where Ravus could graze, but I lit no fire and slept very poorly. The moss bandage stayed in place overnight and we continued on our way back to Deva by roads I rarely traveled.

  I was going to insist that I be taught how to defend myself, and my horse.

  TELDYS HAD ALREADY BEGUN to Worry about me, knowing how swiftly I could make the journey. And when we arrived and I told the story of the ambush, everyone at the farm was concerned. When I asked Teldys if there was anyone on the farm with sword skills, he shook his head.

  “None here, lad, nor even weapons to practice with. Come to think of it”-and he paused-‘Tayin could doubtless teach you a few tricks with sling and dagger.”

  Fortunately, Ravus’s wound showed no signs of infection, and that pleased Canyd.

  “I only did as you would have done, Canyd,” I said.

  “And you see how right I am,” the old man said smugly.

  Still, I made a report to Bericus, relating the ambush and my suspicions about the assailants. We now took turns at night as sentries and always had someone in the stableyard to guard the Libyans.

  “Iswy was seen at Isca,” Bericus told me when he came on his next regular visit to the farm. His expression was grim. “There’ve been some raids on farmsteads near Ide. Would Iswy know that’s where your mother lives?”

  “He might. I’ve stopped there for brief visits before, and”-I sighed-“it’s possible my family would have mentioned that I come there now and then on my way back from Prince Cador’s. Could you not teach me how to use a sword?”

  “I could, if there were time for such training. You are more valuable as a sandalmaker than a soldier or messenger,” Bericus said. “You will travel no more alone.” When he saw how disappointed I was, he gave me a reassuring buffet on my arm. “Don’t be sad about losing mere messenger duties, Galwyn. You and Ravus will be traveling rather more than less, I think.”

  “Oh?”

  He hooked his arm over the railing, for we were outside, by the field where Ravus was grazing.

  “We’ve got to concentrate on mobilizing our army now… Yes,” he said in answer to my gasp of surprise. “While I don’t believe that Aelle is the devil incarnate, as some might”-and he chuckled at such superstitious-ness-“there are definite indications that he’s beginning to call in thanes, and certainly his armorers are busy. Not”-and now he grinned-“as if ours have been lazy these past few years, or haven’t learned a few new skills, eh?”

  “It’s the horses that are going to win for us,” I said staunchly.

  “And every man who comes to Artos’s banner wants one as his battle steed.” Bericus turned and gazed out over the fields to where the latest crop of black and dark brown foals were cavorting.

  Their antics reminded me of my first view of the Libyans charging down the practice field at Camelot. Just the memory made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Surely the sight of so many would daunt even the barbarian Saxons and send them scurrying back whence they had come!

  “Well, we’ve mounted Gwalchmei, Geraint, Cei, Bed-wyr, Medraut, Drustanus, Bwlch, and Cyfwlch; Prince Cador has three for battle and King Mark two …” I had no more fingers to count on. “All of the other Companions and half the chieftains and war leaders already pledged to support Lord Artos are now riding Libyan stallions.”

  “There’ll be casualties,” Bericus murmured, his expression sobering, and he sighed. “But”-and slapping both hands on the upper rail, he turned with renewed

  vigor to me-“we’ve more than fifty trained full-blooded Libyans right now. More than enough to cause the Saxons to think again about contesting the field with the Comes Britannorum.”

  “And Rhodri has ten more to be added to that number. Come, Bericus, he’ll be in the training field,” I said, and we made our way there.

  TWO DAYS LATER, when I had put brand-new rims on those ten young horses, Firkin and I, in a large group of bowmen and slingshot mountain men under Manob’s command, made our way to Camelot. I cast my eyes over every single foot soldier who made up that contingent; I almost wished that Iswy were among them so we could settle our enmity once and for all. I was now ready for him.

  Following Teldys’s advice after the ambush, I approached Yayin and asked him to teach me some defensive tricks with daggers. He could nail a rat to the wall from fifty paces and often did so, since rats were a constant menace in our oat store. Now I carried a well-honed bone-handled knife sheathed in my left boot. Yayin had also offered to teach me how to use a sling, but I hadn’t the tune to practice. A dagger would be a more useful weapon.

  Manob set us as fast a pace as the foot soldiers could trot. And they seemed indefatigable, those wiry dark mountain men, still able to laugh and joke half the night around the campfire. I, on the other hand, had to check the sandals and hooves of the forty horses and was only too glad to roll up in my blankets at night.

  AS WE MADE OUR WAY, we could feel a palpable tension in the villages and towns we passed through. Folks cheered the black horses as if they, in themselves, were the omen of victory over the Saxon hordes.

  So I was actually in Camelot the day the exhausted messenger arrived, his horse so lathered that the beast looked gray rather than bay. The r
ider, of the Atrebatii, was covered with dust, sweat, and lather from his horse, and slid awkwardly from his saddle. He shrugged off assistance, demanding to be taken immediately to Lord Artos.

  “They are moving,” the man gasped. “Take me to the Comes…”

  I went to the horse, who was all but foundered from the bruising pace at which he had been ridden.

  Bericus hurried the messenger into the great hall, but the man paused at the top of the steps and looked back over his shoulder.

  “Save him if you can!” he cried to me, his face contorted in anguish for the horse he had ridden so hard.

  The bellows boy who helped me in Ilfor’s forge was to hand, and between us we unsaddled the gasping animal and led him slowly into the stableyard. There we rubbed him down with twists of straw, and massaged his legs, and more carefully soothed his back; it had been rubbed raw in places by the rough saddle, which hadn’t enough padding. We cooled him off enough to let him drink without endangering his recovery, and then we placed him in a stable, hock high with fresh straw, where he could rest.

  I couldn’t help noticing that his hooves were badly broken. He might yet recover but whether he would have any hoof left on the off-fore I didn’t know, for it was cracked the worst of the four. No hoof, no horse.

  I missed some of the early excitement, but by the time the bellows boy and I returned to the courtyard, the place was chaotic: men and lads rushing here and there; horses stamping and neighing, infected by their riders’ excitement. I couldn’t find Lord Artos in the mob, though I could hear his almost jubilant voice barking orders and occasionally bellowing great waves of laughter.

  The waiting was over.

  The scribes wrote so fast I wondered anyone could read their scrawls, but the written confirmation would scarcely be necessary. The bearers would have the meat of the news they bore-“Come with your men and your weapons. The Saxons are massing. The time is now!”