by Rocky Bills
“I cut it out just now as I found it alive, but stuck.”
A shocked Fulk gasped, “Stuck! No wonder it was stuck! Look at the size of it! I have seen smaller two-year-olds!”
“Fulk, I would greatly appreciate it if you could go to the herdsman and get some fresh goat’s milk and a few nursing bottles so this young fellow can get his first meal.” Fulk looked at me totally different than he ever had before. I actually thought I could see a bit of respect in his gaze. This would be something totally new for Fulk, since, he thought he was the best at everything. The only thing that kept him from trying to push me around is that I was so much bigger than he was. Although Fulk was tall for his age, I had always been taller and stout, often mistaken for a grown man at my current age of 12 years. “What say you, Fulk, can you help me out here?” I called out.
“Oh, sure, sure, I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Still staring at me like a curiosity, Fulk finally closed his mouth, turned, and started running.
With the excitement of Fulk’s hasty departure, all the horses started their clamoring again like a bunch of nosy old hens. I couldn’t help but chuckle, which did not go unnoticed by the new foal. He looked up at me and let out a little choppy bellow of his own. I smiled and said, “Well, young man, at least you have already found humor—a most important thing, humor.” I started tidying the stall, the young colt tagging along, bracing itself against my side. He looked at my face and kept his ears trained on my voice as if trying to remember everything I said.
After cleaning the stall the best I could, I took my charge into the stall directly across from Siren’s. As soon as we came out of the stall and began crossing the aisleway, the entire stable went silent. All horses froze, their eyes on the new colt as if he were the most unusual beast to walk the earth. With all ears and eyes trained on him, he simply stopped and turned, looked down the double-lined row of horse heads and gave out a shockingly loud and defiant bellow. It was as if he was announcing his own arrival, the arrival of their new king, king of all he surveyed. I thought to myself, What a handful this fellow is going to be. Perhaps he just doesn’t know that humility is a virtue. We made it to the new stall without event, but the stable remained silent for a long time. Several minutes passed before any of the horses made small talk again. Even then, it was very subdued, as if they were in some kind of shock. I said, “Well, at least you make a lasting impression, young man!”
It was a very short time before Fulk returned with feed bottles and fresh goat’s milk. He prepared a bottle and secured the soft leather nipple on it. I placed the nipple in the colt’s mouth and was quite pleased to see him take to it right away. After about a minute, though, he refused to take any more milk. Curling his upper lip back, he stuck his head straight up in the air as if smelling something nasty. He lowered and turned his head, which was level with my face, and coughed, spewing milk directly into my face. Fulk immediately roared with laughter. The warm milk dripped from my face onto all my clothes, mixing with blood, birthing fluid, and any other foul material I managed to pick up in the last couple of days. The colt nickered as if to say 'unacceptable, how dare you!' A laughing Fulk said, “It seems your new colt has a sensitive, educated palate, Gamel.” Fulk’s expression soon turned serious, no doubt remembering the morning’s lesson in manners, and he said, “Gamel, I have an idea. I’ll be right back.” Fulk returned with a small jug of something and proceeded to pour some of the contents into the wooden milk bucket. He then used a stick to mix the secret ingredient thoroughly. In no time he had prepared a second bottle and handed it to me.
“If this is a trick, Fulk, there will be hell to pay and then some!”
“It’s no trick; just try it, and he will like it. I guarantee it!”
I took the bottle and tried to get the colt to suckle it. He turned his head up in the air and rolled his lips back, telling me once again that my offering was nasty. He lowered his head and looked at me with his defiant blue-black eye. I said, “It’s good, really!” I even turned up the bottle and allowed some of the milk to pour into my mouth. The colt watched me with his ears trained on me as if I were trying to trick him. To my surprise, it was quite tasty, as Fulk had doused it with honey. I then felt the rumble in my belly and remembered how hungry I was. I latched on to the bottle and drew mouthfuls with vigor. The next thing I knew, the colt had his lips on the bottle and was trying to take it away from me. I asked, “Oh, you want it now, do you?” The colt bent his ears back and nickered demandingly. As I placed the nipple in his mouth, I said, “You know, we really need to work on your manners, young man!” The colt totally ignored me as he greedily sucked the bottle dry in record time. As soon as I removed the first bottle, Fulk handed me another. Soon the colt was full and yawning, like the stuffed youngster he was. He stumbled over to a corner and collapsed in a heap, placed his chin on the ground, and promptly went to sleep.
“The honey was a great idea, Fulk. Thank you,” I said.
“No problem, anytime.”
I did not know it at the time, but this moment marked an important turning point in our relationship, which would mean so very much in the future.
“Could you keep an eye on him? I suddenly feel the need to bathe and change,” I said.
Fulk stifled a chuckle. “Go ahead. I will watch the youngling while you go get cleaned up.”
Without any hesitation, I bolted for my quarters and suddenly realized sunrise was long past. I grabbed a change of clothes and headed for the nearby brook. I stripped, jumped into the water, and started rubbing my arms, face, and neck where the dried gore clung. Where the crud was resilient, I used sand as an abrasive to rub it off. I rolled my soiled clothes into a ball, tucked them under my arm, and started walking back to the stables.
I was passing the kitchen when I heard someone drop a cooking pan with a loud clatter. I heard a high-pitched, annoying female voice. “You there, Gamel, hold right where you are!” Through the kitchen door ran pretty Basilea, with her bright gold locks trailing close behind her.
“You, sir, did you forget something? Are you rude or just daft?”
I couldn’t help but stare at her, her beautiful golden hair, high cheekbones, and full lips. “I’m so very, very sorry, Basilea! Whatever I have done to injure you and put a frown on such a perfectly beautiful face, I am truly repentant for such a crime!” I could see a small smile start to form on her lips.
From the kitchen, I could hear someone say, “God save us from the smooth-talking, fancy men such as that one!”
Unfortunately, Basilea had also heard it and soon snapped back into her attack mode. With a forced frown, she said, “Sir, you obviously don’t even remember you were to take me for a walk last night. You send no word, nothing. Just leave a girl standing in the doorway broken-hearted!”
Again from inside the kitchen, “That’s more like it!”
I had no idea I had made such a date, but I probably had and then forgotten all about it. I immediately decided to turn this situation around to my advantage. “My fairest lady, I did not mean to slight you and humbly beg your forgiveness. I would rather poke a sharp stick in my own eye than see worry upon such an, an…exotic and beautiful face as your own!” Now she was smiling and fighting back a laugh as best I could tell.
From the kitchen again: “God save us all; spent too much time listenin' ta the guards that one has!”
Ignoring the interference of the voice, I continued, “I ask only that we sit for a moment while I tell you some most tragic news, my lady, as I feel a bit faint from lack of sleep and food.” I maneuvered Basilea to the kitchen doorway steps and waited for her to sit. I almost collapsed upon the steps next to her. In perfect position to be heard through the open kitchen windows, I intended to give the kitchen staff far more than they bargained for. Eavesdropping and meddling in affairs not their own was very rude.
I began telling my yarn, explaining how the queen of the horses, Siren, was always my charge at birthing because no one else liked her. I
got this far and my rapscallion mood quickly turned somber. I truly tried to make light and take advantage of the situation, but as my voice became shaky and my eyes filled with tears, I soon felt this whole idea a very bad one. I could no longer look at Basilea, but looked out into space while I droned on with my detailed and somewhat grotesque story. It actually felt good to tell someone about my feelings, so I did not leave anything out. With tremors in my voice and tears of sorrow freely flowing, Basilea and other nosy people learned of my own personal tragedy and triumph, with all the gut-wrenching pain, then the emotional revival via the birth of the new king of horses. At the end of my story, I looked at Basilea to find her face streaked with tears and her linen dress water-spotted in many places. “I am so very sorry; I have upset you with my silly tale of woe is me, woe issss meeee.”
Basilea wiped her eyes and turned to look at me. “Give me your clothes, sir; I will see to them myself.”
“I prefer not to, fair princess, as they are covered in gore and a foulness that has yet to be discovered or even described by man.” Well, that sounded more like it. My mood had started to lighten. Unfortunately, the kitchen busybodies also fell victim to my tale of emotional tragedy. I heard several comments to the effect of: “Saddest thing I ever heard!” and “Poor boy having to go through all that by himself.” Also, “How sad! An honorable lad that one is!” Comments often were followed by the distinctive sound of a nose being blown. Well, my work was complete here, and I needed to get back. With a lighter heart and the satisfaction of knowing I had more than gotten even with those out to make trouble for me, I rose and prepared to make my goodbye speech. I suddenly felt lightheaded, and everything went black for an instant. I could feel my body swaying from side to side but could not balance.
I do not remember falling, only waking up to the worried look of beautiful Basilea leaning over me. She was holding my hand with both of her own. For the first time, I really noticed how unsettling her eyes were. “Gamel, are you awake? Good sir, are you all right?” she asked when she saw my eyes open.
“Am I in Heaven? Surely I am, for I see two bright emeralds with bright comets dancing upon the edges. Oh, oh, no please don’t be troubled, my dear princess. Sorrow upon your face is like a rain cloud that dares to spoil the most beautiful of all sunsets!” Basilea’s face instantly changed from concern to a bright smile.
One of the kitchen hens cackled, “Oh hell, he’s back; must make this crap up while he sleeps!” Laughter erupted around a somewhat sizable group.
I sat up and looked around. “How long have I been out?”
“Only about five minutes, good sir,” Basilea answered.
“Oh, my goodness, I really need to get back. The king of all horses may awaken any time you know!” I slowly stood up and was shocked to realize that my head had been resting in the fairest lap of Basilea the Beautiful. If I would have realized this sooner, I would have stayed there longer; much, much longer! Life can sometimes be filled with such pleasant surprises. I bent down to retrieve my soiled clothes, but Basilea waved me away.
“Your clothes will be cleaned, folded, and placed in your room. No more debate! If they cannot be cleaned, then I will make you new ones, good sir.”
“Unfair, I say, as no mere mortal man should dare banter with such exotic beauty. Ladies, I bid you fondest farewell. Fairest princess, be assured that life will simply be endured and time freely wasted until I am once more in your fond company.”
It seemed like a good time to take my leave. With a gracious bow, I turned and took off at a slow run to the barn. Still in earshot, I heard one of the kitchen ladies say, “Is it suddenly hot out here? Does anyone know da king’s penalty fer ruinin' a child? Oh my goodness, I think I be a child molester.” The roar of laughter from the kitchen workers could be heard to some distance, and even herders at the cattle pens turned to see what was so funny.
Chapter 2
Upon returning to the stables, I found Fulk sitting on the ground in front of the colt’s stall. He was filthy, with a torn shirt and ripped breaches. He just looked up at me and said, “I’m glad you’re back.”
“What goes on here; what happened?” I asked.
“He woke up!”
I went to the stall door and looked over the top. The feed trough and water bucket lay splintered and scattered throughout the stall. Straw was strewn everywhere as if a great battle had taken place. In the middle of the stall stood the colt, pawing at the floor, head down, ears pinned back. I said, “Well, young man, I see you have been busy in my absence.” Upon hearing my voice, his body snapped to attention, head high in the air, ears trained on the origin of the sound. He let go a loud whinny. I stepped into the stall and approached the colt, who immediately lipped my arm and raised his head high in the air, curling his lips back to check my scent. Satisfied with my scent, he lowered his head and walked to me on his still-wobbly legs. He placed his head against my chest and let go a soft nicker in the form of a greeting. I asked Fulk if he could help me prepare another feeding and started collecting the pieces and shards that were left of the former stall furnishings. The colt stayed close to me as if he were attached by a rope, watching my every move, ears pricked up and trained on me at all times. To my surprise, he bent his head down and picked up a piece of the shattered wood, wobbled over to the stall door, and dropped it on the other side as he had seen me do. “Oh, but you are a smart one, you are.” While I patted his snow-white neck and praised him, he stood erect with head held high as if praise were being exalted upon some pompous, arrogant royal. “Oh, but you are also full of yourself, you are!” I said with a chuckle. The colt just turned his back on me and walked away as if the jibe was totally insignificant. “Arrogant bastard, you are!” Following my remarks, the colt let out a most distasteful bellow, no doubt some sort of curse in horse language.
The second feeding was uneventful, with the colt stuffing himself as a pig would. With his belly stuffed to exploding, he wobbled over to a place where straw was piled high and collapsed with his legs under himself. With his nose to the ground, he promptly began snoring. By this time, word of the unexpected colt had spread through the entire hold. People from various areas and occupations throughout the hold were happening by to see this new curiosity. It was not long before I heard people acknowledging the hold lord’s arrival. The small crowd parted, and there, standing at the stable door, was Sayer with Lord Goodwin. I presumed that I might be in trouble for not waiting for Sayer to remove the foal from his dam, but my spirits lifted when both men stood in the door, looking at me with huge smiles across their faces. I said, “Good morning, my lord, Marshal Sayer. Please allow me to present your new stud colt, the last descendent of Queen Siren, lord and master over all that he surveys!”
“Well done, Gamel. Well done, my boy! I am in your debt. Thank you for saving the foal when all had seemed lost!” a smiling Goodwin said.
“Thank you, my lord. I hoped you and Marshal Sayer would not feel ill towards me for attempting the procedure without waiting, but I felt time was running out, and I had to act quickly or lose the foal.”
“You took the right actions, son,” Sayer told me. “You had observed such a procedure before, knew what must be done, and acted without hesitation in saving the beast.”
“Thank you, Marshal Sayer. I could not have done it without your teaching.”
Lord Goodwin and Sayer were looking at the snow-white colt with intense scrutiny.
“Sayer, the colt is huge! No wonder it could not be birthed,” Goodwin said.
“Aye, my lord, I had feared that there was the possibility of this happening. I feared the horses used to get both the sire and dam had a very large horse bred to a smaller horse. In such cases, it is unusual but possible that the large growth traits from both bloodlines emerge in the offspring, creating a freakishly large foal.”
“I wish now that I had listened to your warnings, Sayer. But for that, the beloved Siren would still be among us.”
The three of us
just stood there in our awkward, somber silence for some time. We all felt great loss and pain but would not dare show it in front of one another. I was to break the silence first. “Marshal Sayer, I must make repair to Siren’s body before burial. She should not go to her final rest defiled.”
“Yes, Gamel, do what you must. The grave is not yet ready,” Sayer answered.
“Young Gamel, I understand that you were Siren’s handler these past years. Be at ease knowing that Siren will be honored with all dignity and respect. A place is being prepared in the main garden for her burial, and a stone is to be commissioned for a marker,” Goodwin told me.
“That is grand, my lord, truly grand!”
Lord Goodwin and Sayer unlatched the stable door and gained entrance to the stall for a closer look at the stud colt. The sound of the latch alerted the colt, who was fully awake now. His eyes enlarged, and his ears trained toward the sound as he rose to a standing position. Remarks from the crowd exclaimed disbelief throughout. “Craggy me, look at the size of 'im!” “Biggest newborn I ever seen!” and “He will be a monster, he will!” were some of many that I heard. I was standing close to the middle of the stall as Goodwin and Sayer moved to close the gap between us. Without notice, the colt was between me and the two men. In another instant, he charged Lord Goodwin and head butted him in mid-torso, knocking him into Sayer and sending both men down in a tangle. By this time, the colt was screeching as horses do when engaged in combat and circling me. I pushed and shoved to get the colt to the farthest corner of the stall, then went to the aid of my lord. I stammered, “My lord, my lord, are you all right?” Both men had struggled to their feet and began to regain their bearings when I noticed movement from the left side of the stall. The colt had changed position to avoid me and was starting to charge the two men once more. When about 10 feet from his intended victims, he raised up on his hind legs and began screeching and flailing with his front hooves as he moved forward. Given there was no chance for escape, I jumped in front of the colt, raised my arms high in the air, and yelled the first thing that came to my lips, “BACK, back, you demon, spawn of the Devil!” I have no idea why I said this. I probably remembered it from some sermon the local church bishop preached, but it worked. The colt stopped his screeching and came down on all fours. He then positioned himself between me and my masters. I said, “My lord, I am sorry; are you all right?”
