Black Horses for the King

by Anne McCaffrey

  I should comment here that, although we met few travelers on the road, those we did meet were amazed by the size of our horses. And envious. But the sight of Prince Cador’s armed men, as well as Bericus’s casual mention that Comes Artos owned the horses, dissuaded anyone from trying to part us from our mounts.

  In fact, several small parties of traders asked to join our band for safety’s sake. Raiders from Ireland were not uncommon in this area, and one elderly trader remarked bleakly that he had moved westward since the Saxons had raided too often and too close to Eburacum for his peace of mind, much less any profit. Morning and evening, he also continually increased the number of gold rings he offered Bericus to purchase one of the Libyans. He ended up offering a staggering price for one of the foals if none of the mares would be sold him-though he also complained he would have to wait three long years for his purchase to be worth what he was giving.

  We had to pass three days at Corinium when the youngest of the stallions, the one we called Paphin, was kicked by a mare he tried to mount. Once again, it was Canyd’s potions that set him right. I was fascinated by Canyd’s fund of knowledge. Old Solvin would have listened as closely as I.

  Paying attention to the old man’s “sermons”-which is how Iswy sneeringly referred to Canyd’s descriptions of the treatments-did nothing to ingratiate me with the others.

  ISWY WAS AN EXCELLENT RIDER, as tight to the back of his mare as a limpet to a ship’s hull. He had good hands as well, and certainly a feel for a horse, but riding was his obsession: preferably having a chance to back every horse in our cavalcade. He especially wanted a chance to ride Cornix, because no one else had.

  I didn’t quite realize how desperately he wanted that chance until I overheard him pleading with Bericus. I was returning from a call of nature when his voice, raised in supplication, drifted toward me.

  “The horse needs to be ridden, Lord Bericus,” Iswy was saying in a wheedling tone. I ducked aside from the path so as not to be seen listening. “Lord Artos would want him to be ridden.”

  “Lord Artos will do whatever riding that horse needs, Iswy.”

  “But I can stay on anything.” The nasal whine of Iswy’s scratchy voice must have annoyed Bericus as much as it did me.

  “That may be true enough, Iswy, but I have specific instructions from Lord Artos, and Galwyn will continue to lead him.”

  “I could do that as well, Lord Bericus.”

  “Your offer is appreciated, Iswy.” Bericus was obviously moving away from him, because his voice became less distinct.

  There was a silence while I stood motionless, lest Iswy know that I had overheard his humiliation. Then he began a flow of soft cursing such as I had never heard before-vicious, promising vengeance from pagan gods on the high and mighty Lord Bericus for denying Iswy his simple request.

  I crept back into the camp shaken with apprehension by the malice in his words. I had no doubts at all that he would try to do something irrational and perhaps dangerous, but I did not know what to do about warning Bericus.

  I doubled my vigilance, sleeping that night near Cor-nix’s end of the picket line.

  I observed nothing unusual. The next morning, however, Spadix’s near foreleg was swollen to the knee and he would not even put his hoof tip to the ground. I couldn’t imagine what he could have done, for he had been sound the night before. He was such a sturdy pony that he was the one least likely to have leg trouble. As I raced for Canyd, seated by the fire with his porridge, I caught just a glimpse of Iswy’s face-and the malicious smile on it.

  I faltered in my headlong dash for Canyd, suddenly realizing that even that clever man would be unable to cure my pony before we had to be on the road again that morning. Exactly what Iswy wanted. I would not be able to lead Cornix from a seat on Spadix, so the animal would have to be ridden. And Iswy was acknowledged to be the best rider of us all.

  “What is it, lad?” Canyd cried, looking up from his porridge bowl.

  “Spadix.” And I tugged at Canyd’s arm. Maybe he had something heroic to cure my pony. “It’s his leg. Swole up like a wasps’ nest.”

  “It is?” Canyd rose in one swift movement, putting his bowl aside as he did so, surprise and confusion on his face.

  “Oh, come quickly. He won’t even put his toe to the ground.” I pulled on Canyd’s thin wiry arm.

  “Easy, lad, easy,” Canyd said, patting my hands to ease their grip on his arm. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’.”

  Spadix was beyond Cornix on the picket, and his swollen leg was visible as we approached.

  “Sa-sa, lad,” Canyd said, touching Spadix’s rump with a gentle hand as he moved in beside him and crouched by the filled leg. “Sa-sa, now what have ye don’ to yurseP?”

  “He didn’t do anything, Canyd. It was done to him!”

  Canyd paused hi his examination and squinted up at me. “It was, was it? This pony’s that tired he swole his leg up so as not to lead out Cornix today?” And Canyd winked at me.

  Astonished, I was speechless as I watched the wise hands gently press against the leg. Spadix nickered low in pain and tossed his head nervously. I went to his head and began stroking his muzzle, murmuring my own “Sash’s to reassure him. I was proud of being part of those tending Lord Artos’s marvelous horses; but Spadix was mine, and his injury, as spiteful as it was, distressed me

  more than I thought possible. Before my father’s heart had failed him, I had had the best ponies money could buy, but I had never felt the kinship with them that I felt for this shaggy plebeian fellow.

  Canyd kept up his “Sa-sa” while he felt more deeply hi the leg, felt the hoof itself; and then, with his head practically on the ground because the swelling hi the fetlock prevented the pony from tipping his hoof, he looked at the underside of it.

  “Hmmmm”-and Canyd pressed both thumbs hard on the frog. Spadix did not react to the pressure. “Not hot. Not sore. That’s good.”

  Spadix nodded his head vigorously, as if agreeing. Canyd continued his careful examination: the outside of the hoof again, up to the coronary band; and there, his knowing fingers stopped.

  “We didna’ go through thorny bushes, did we, lad?” he asked, of the pony more than of me.

  I shook my head vigorously. “We were on roadway all day and I checked his legs last night as I always do. His and Cornix’s. He was sound last night, Master Canyd, he was sound.” I tried not to let my voice break but it did, and then a gentle finger prodded me.

  “Did I say ‘twas your fault, lad? Nay. But…” And he set his thumb and forefingers carefully to pulling a triangular thorn from the flesh beside the sesamoid bone. With narrowed eyes, he peered at it a long moment and then pushed it at me.

  “How could-I mean, it just doesn’t-!” I exclaimed, examining the wicked triangle.

  “Indeed, lad, an’ how a clever-footed pony like this ‘un could possibly get such a thorn in his leg is beyond Canyd’s understanding. We won’t talk about that now. Sa?” He cocked his head at me in a cautionary pose. Winked again. “Now get me hot water, my bag, an’ some bran from the sack. We must poultice it to draw the infection.” His voice followed me as I ran to do his bidding.

  Had I encountered Iswy on my way I’m not sure what I would have done to the fiend. And he was supposed to be such a great horseman! No real horseman would deliberately injure a horse. Or a pony.

  We had the poultice wrapped around the swollen foreleg when Bericus came over to inquire what was wrong. I started to rise, to blurt out my suspicions, when Canyd pinched my leg so hard I had to grab Spadix’s good leg to keep from tipping over.

  “Bad?” Bericus asked Canyd, who nodded solemnly. “What?”

  “Thorn.” And Canyd gave a diffident shrug.

  “Wouldn’t you know!” Bericus sighed, glancing at me-but not in an accusing sort of way: more as if this delay were one more trial to be overcome. Then he strode back to the fire, murmuring to Bwlch.

  “Why couldn’t I speak?” I demanded of Ca
nyd. “He’ll think it was my fault.”

  “Bericus won’t. He knows ponies. He can also figger things out hisself, you know.” And Canyd chuckled.

  “How would he know it was Iswy did this?”

  “How do you?” Canyd asked, his eyebrows reaching up his forehead into his thick white hair.

  “I heard him. In the woods, asking Bericus to ride Cornix. But Bericus refused him. I heard Iswy cursing and promising that he’d get to ride the stallion one way or another. So he has lamed Spadix on purpose, so I can’t lead Cornix. And no one can lead him from a mare. Nor the other stallions. Not Cornix.”

  “Aye, lad, you’ve the answer.”

  “And what about Spadix?” A sudden fear coursed through me. I almost wailed as I said, “We can’t leave him behind.”

  “True.”

  “It’ll be days before Spadix can walk! And Bericus won’t wait on a pony!” I had never been so afraid for another living creature, not even during the roughest days crossing the Narrow Sea, when I had worried so about the foals.

  “Now, lad”-and Canyd took my hand in a firm grip of gnarled fingers, waving the index finger of his other hand in my face-“how do you know what a great lord like Bericus will or will not do?” He straightened up. “There, an’ I’ve never knowed the bran to fail me.”

  By the time Canyd and I had returned to the fire, Bericus had come to a decision.

  “How long before the pony’ll be sound, Canyd?” he asked.

  “Two, three days. Ponies is tough.”

  Bericus sighed again. “Much as I hate to leave you, lad, we’ve got to move on today,” he said, and I nodded, feeling a numbness; but I really did understand. “We’ll leave you provisions and you can follow at your own pace. It’s a good road all the way to Glevum from here. And you’re sure to catch up with us before Bravonium, or by Virconium at the very latest.” He put one hand on my shoulder and gave me an encouraging shake. “We must make good time while we have the weather.”

  “I understand, Lord Bericus.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Iswy’s smug expression, and I drew in a deep breath to steady myself against the hatred I felt for him.

  And so I had to watch as the camp was cleared, packs secured to the ponies, the mares and stallions bridled or haltered. I stood holding Spadix’s lead rope. I tried not to look in Iswy’s direction, not to see the triumph on his face when he was given the stallion to ride.

  But it was Bericus himself who stood at the stallion’s side for a leg up.

  I held my breath, for although I knew that the Companion was a very good horseman, he was not the master that Comes Artos was. The stallion jibed under him, bucking in place at the unaccustomed weight on his back, snorting and arching his neck, trying to pull against the reins. Finally he moved out, still snorting and sidling. I really shouldn’t have taken note of the apprehension on Bericus’s face. Nor noticed the way Bericus tucked his long legs as tightly to the stallion’s sides as he could. I think that was part of the trouble; the rider was saying “go” when he meant “no.”

  They had no sooner got to the head of the column than Cornix squealed, got his head down, and bucked. Three mighty heaves of his big frame, and Bericus was sprawled on the ground.

  Someone tittered. Both Canyd and I looked in Iswy’s direction but he had his head turned away.

  Cornix did not run off, as everyone seemed to have expected; for immediately they had spread out to catch him. He trotted back the way he had just come, ears pricked, and then stopped to stretch his neck toward Spa-dix, beside me. He whuffled as if asking why Spadix was not moving out. I quietly caught the trailing reins.

  Bericus was shaken by his fall; dusty but not hurt. There was a rueful expression on his face as he brushed himself off and came back for the stallion.

  “Iswy!” he called, taking the stallion’s reins from my hand, and I shivered with the unfairness by which Iswy had got the ride. “Let’s see if you can stay astride. Unless anyone else wants to try?” And he grinned as he glanced about the circle of men.

  “He won’t stay up either,” Canyd said in a low voice meant only for my hearing.

  “He won’t?”

  Canyd chuckled and folded his arms across his chest. “Watch.”

  Boldly, and with a very smug smile on his face, Iswy ignored the helpful hand Bericus held out and, gathering the reins in one hand, vaulted neatly to the stallion’s back. The stallion flicked his fine ears and shifted his feet, but he stood there. I groaned softly, disappointed in Cornix’s loyalties. Decius brought up Bericus’s customary mount and gave the Companion a leg up. I heard what could only have been a sigh of relief from the man, and then he gave the order to move out.

  Iswy guided Cornix in behind Bericus’s horse. As he did so, he shot a self-satisfied glance over his shoulder at me, standing by my poor lame pony.

  He got no more than a few lengths from us when Cornix abruptly twisted, dropped his shoulder, and sent Iswy plowing his length in the dust. Canyd contented himself with a snort but I had to turn away so Iswy couldn’t see the breadth of my smile.

  The look on the Cornovian’s face as he sprang up from the roadway was vicious. As he followed the stallion back to Spadix, I saw his hand go briefly to the slingshot looped over his belt.

  “Easy now, lad,” Canyd said to him in an urgent low tone, for Iswy had tried to grab the stallion’s reins in a vindictive manner.

  But Cornix could take care of himself, and he moved sideways-just as Iswy lunged for his reins a second time. Swift as a serpent, Iswy put his hand on a faggot of wood left for me by the fire, and he brandished it at the stallion, who merely flung up his head and backed.

  Bericus caught the upheld wood from Iswy’s hand and then flung it far away.

  “If I ever see you …” Bericus’s face tightened with anger. “Take the sack by Galwyn’s feet and get on your way. You are dismissed from service.”

  “But-but-” Iswy protested, screwing his face up and dropping to one knee.

  Canyd reached down for the sack and tossed it deftly to Iswy’s bent figure.

  Bericus swung his right leg over his stallion’s back, dropping to the ground in a fluid movement. Grabbing Iswy up from the dust, he pushed the sack into his hands and spun him about, shoving him off in the direction we had come.

  We all watched silently as Iswy, head bowed in dejection, walked slowly down the road. Once he turned, hand raised toward Bericus, hoping for a last-minute reprieve; but even Decius and Egdyl regarded him with hostility.

  When the small figure had reached the roadway and disappeared from view, Bericus turned to the others.

  “Set up the camp again,” he said, heaving a gusty sigh.

  I felt worse than ever and hung my head, but Canyd gave me a shake.

  ” ‘Tis not you, lad, but that black devil who’s called the turn of the die. I’ve seen it afore with highstrung animals.” And he walked away, shaking his head at such whimsical behavior.

  WE CHANGED THE POULTICE twice that day in the hopes of extracting the poisonous humors from

  Spadix’s leg. I brought him the best grass I could find, and some clover for Cornix, which he liked especially. When no one was looking or in hearing distance, I stroked the stallion’s neck and told him what a very clever, loyal friend he was.

  Midafternoon, Bwlch burst back into camp, just ahead of a farmer and a heavy two-wheeled cart drawn by two stout ponies.

  “We’ve only to get the pony into the cart-he’ll fit, I know!” Bwlch exclaimed, his face flushed with delight in his solution. “And the farmer has agreed to take us down the road until Spadix can walk out himself.”

  The farmer seemed overwhelmed by all the excitement, open mouthed, digging the toes of his worn sandals into the dust. But when it came time to bargain for his services and the use of his cart and the ponies to draw it, he miraculously recovered his wits.

  “For all I’ve to do at m’farm, an’ none but me to do it, good lord…”
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br />   Bericus attempted not to look so pleased at this encouraging answer, and the bargaining lasted a long time, with me holding my breath for fear that the farmer would be too greedy, and for fear that any price would cost Comes Artos more than my pony was worth, even if Cornix would not move out of his company. Then hand smacked hand and the deal was concluded.

  Fortunately the back of the cart could be removed and now formed a ramp, which Spadix gamely hobbled up in response to my ardent encouragement. He then looked around from his vantage point, hi mild surprise to find himself on a level with the bigger horses. I had to perch on an uncomfortable corner of the cart, but Cornix led like a lamb, just as long as Spadix was nearby. We proceeded in this fashion for three days, until the swelling had subsided and Spadix was able to put his foot to the ground.

  I don’t know who was happier to see the last of the farmer and his heavy cart: myself, Bericus, or Spadix.

  THE BEST PART OF those three days was Canyd’s company, for the old hostler decided to ride with me. I believed I’d asked a simple question, like why Spadix’s leg had swollen only to the knee, and I was suddenly being taught the construction of the leg and the hoof.

  “Without a hoof, you’ve no horse, lad.”

  There was no longer any doubt in my mind that Lord Artos had been quoting old Canyd that night on the way to Burtigala.

  “Care for then-feet,” he went on, “an’ ease the tiredness of their legs, an’ you’ve a horse to carry you. ‘Tis the foot that carries the pony an’ you.”

  I got interested, as much because it was a way of passing the slow hours of our marching as because I found that I wanted to know more. Old SolvLn had said that horses would teach you something new every day of your life and you’d never get to know all there was to learn of them. If any came close to such total knowledge, it was surely Canyd.

  Occasionally another rider would pass close enough to the cart to hear these lessons, and he’d roll his eyes sympathetically. But I did not for a moment consider Canyd Bawn’s words boring.

  That first evening, Canyd drew sketches in the dirt near the firelight, delineating the bones and tendons of a horse’s leg.