Black Horses for the King

Part Four

THE NEXT MORNING, WHCN DAWN WAS BREAK-ing, we left the farm at Deva, a cavalcade: myself astride Cornix, with Spadix on a lead rope beside us, and Manob on his gray stallion heading the troop. Under bridle, the two stud horses were very well mannered. The other three Libyans were led in the center of the troop.

We made good time that first day, though Spadix had to pump his legs hard to keep up with his friend; still he was tireless even at the canter. So he wouldn't feel worthless, I had him carry my pack of sandals and tools.

We had some days to travel, but we made far better progress than on my journey from Isca. We camped out, for the spring was warming, and Manob preferred camping to the rough inns available on this route.

"I can guard us better on our own. We know who is near and who should not be."

He was a good commander and we ate well, from what was hunted. He did buy bread when we passed villages that had bakers. It was rough bread, but great for soaking up the juices of the stews.

Although every day I mentally reviewed all the things that could go wrong with hooves, none of them occurred on our journey. For the most part, we were traveling on good Roman-built roads. I checked the sandals morning and night, and the nails stayed firm. There was no sign of hoof rot. Manob usually managed to observe this procedure but said little. He did admire the little iron pick I had made to ferret stones and gravel out of the deep frogs. I had a few extras-for they are troublesome objects at times, forever getting lost in the straw-and gave him one.

Spring is always a good time to travel: the weather not too cold for comfortable riding nor the nights too chill to find sleep. Fields were greening with winter-sown crops and there was fresh grass for the horses to graze at night when they were picketed. The blossoming trees, pear and apple, were lovely, and the woods through which we traveled were bursting with buds, bluebells and daisies dotting the ground beneath us. Had I not been so anxious that nothing should go wrong on this journey, I would have enjoyed it even more.

I shall never forget my first sight of the hill on which Lord Artos had built his headquarters, Camelot. It rose out of the ground suddenly, as if a giant's fist had punched up just that much of the earth's surface to form it. The sides were, naturally, cleared of any vegetation, and we could see the course of the zigzag road that led up to the southwest gate, a massive affair of oak planks the width of a man's thigh. Sentries patrolled the top and the wooden palisade that surrounded it, for not all the walls were finished. Of course our approach was noticed and news of our arrival spread.

I was amazed to see horses tearing at breakneck speed down the approach road toward us, weaving through the obstacles of people, laden ponies, and ox-drawn carts. I wondered if they thought our troop was hostile, though everyone knew that the Saxons did not ride, nor had they horses of this quality.

And then-when they got closer-I saw it was Lord Artos himself who led the horsemen, his face broad with smiles, his bright hair golden in the sunlight.

"Galwyn! I wouldn't know you, lad, you've grown so. And able to ride my fine fellow, too."

If his words to me were welcoming, his eyes gleamed as they fell on the big stallion that Manob had assigned to the front of the troop.

He threw his gray's reins to one of his escort, swung lithely to the ground, and beamed up at me where I had halted his stallion. He put one hand proprietarily on Cor-nix's bridle.

"Rhodri's doing, my lord," I said, grinning from ear to ear. I immediately slipped my feet out of the foot plates and my right leg over the back of Cornix, dropping to the ground.

Well, I would never match Lord Artos in height or girth, but I didn't have to look up as far to meet his blue eyes now. And I had brought his fine stallions safely to him. With a bow of satisfaction at that accomplishment, I passed Cornix's reins to his rightful rider.

Lord Artos took them with a grateful smile, and before I could clasp my hands together to offer him a leg up, he had vaulted to Cornix's back.

"Take my horse, Galwyn! Manob, my greetings, and thanks for the safe conduct. Can you help exchange saddles here? Cei, Geraint, Gwalchmei," he said to those who had ridden down with him, "you shall have the pleasure of riding my black horses back to Camelot. I'm eager for your opinion."

The change of saddles was accomplished with alacrity and gave the Comes a chance to try out the war training Rhodri had given Cornix, making the stallion walk from side to side and turn on the forehand, then turn on the hindquarters, all of which Cornix did smoothly. I would remember to tell Rhodri how wide Lord Artos smiled in the testing. Then Lord Artos gave the signal, and as the gray spurted forward instantly with the others, I found myself still in the van as we rode-not quite so furiously-up the road to Camelot.

How they had made it safely down the road at the pace they had come was beyond my understanding. Despite occasional loads of sand and pebbles to improve the footing and provide traction for the heavy carts, the roadway was slippery with mud. We had to thread our way past men and supplies of all sorts. Two of the Libyans, and even some of the troopers' mounts, shied when going by noisy, squeaking, heavy-wheeled drays that were bringing stone, timber, slates, and bricks up the steep and zigzagging slope.

We rode through the great wooden gates. Here the outside wall was finished and thick as a lance was long, well able to withstand any assault the Saxons might try to make. It could probably withstand even the stones of a catapult.

After the main gates, we passed through the outer court and took the next hill at the gallop. At the top, Lord Artos reined to his right, passed an unfinished inner wall, and rode into a large court that was separated from the active construction by a high wall. This somewhat muffled the bustle and the other sounds of building. We of the van followed him, but glancing back over my shoulder, I saw the rest of the troop taking a different direction. Then I looked forward again and had to catch my breath at the magnificence of the several-storied building in front of us.

The Comes kneed Cornix up the wide shallow flight of stairs, the stallion's metal sandals clattering on the stone. Bending over ha his saddle, Lord Artos called out to those within.

"Come, you all, and see how well we shall be mounted to drive Aelle and his sons from Britain!"

Men and women swarmed out of the edifice, startling Cornix so that he reared, pivoted on his hind legs, and came down so hard on his forehand that I was certain even as fine a rider as the Comes would be dislodged. But Lord Artos only laughed, placing such a firm hand on Cornix's neck that the animal came to a full and complete halt, snorting but obedient.

The gray I was on suddenly quieted, and at the same time I felt a pull on the reins. Looking down, I saw a lad in livery with his hand on the bridle. I was about to protest when those Lord Artos had summoned came down the stairs to examine the Libyans more closely.

Rhodri had trained the horses well, for although they rolled their eyes, they remained four square at the halt- almost, I thought, as if they knew they were on display.

"These have been covering all those mares you assembled, Artos?" asked a man-one of the Companions, to judge by his bearing. He ran a knowing hand down Victor's near foreleg. "And is this what made all that clanging?" he cried, fingering the rim of the iron sandal.

"Ah, so Canyd has finally succeeded with the hoof sandal?" And now the Comes glanced at me to verify that.

I nodded. "They are all shod, Lord Artos, to protect their hooves …"

"'No hoof, no horse.'" Lord Artos roared with laughter, slapping his leg in high good humor. "Eh, there, Galwyn?"

I laughed, too, sitting that much straighter because he had singled me out as conversant with his jest.

"Horse sandals?" The phrase was bandied back and forth among the men who each came to inspect the device.

"Now, Artos"-and the first Companion came up to him, frowning-"is all this wise? Is it not one extra problem when facing battle?"

"Ah, Cei, Galwyn here can answer you on that score- can you not?"

I gulped. Cei's blue eyes were very keen and I knew I had to answer him cleverly. "The sandals protect the feet of these big horses, who must bear more weight than even the largest of the ponies, my lord Cei."

"How are they fitted on? Nails? They'll work out, and then the sandal could shift and the horse be lamed …"

"The nails are clinched downward so they cannot work out. The sandal is fitted hot so as to conform to the hoof, for every hoof is different and every sandal is made to fit the hoof…"

"But who is to keep the sandal repaired? Even iron will abrade on stony roadways."

"Men are being trained to this work, my lord."

"And you are one of them, are you not, Galwyn?" Lord Artos said.

"I brought along extra sandals for each of the stallions, and nails. It is a simple matter …"

"Not if the nail goes into the quick of the hoof," objected Lord Cei, but I could see his interest was more curious than critical. He wanted to understand the whole procedure.

"There is a sufficient wall of horn in the hoof, my lord, into which the nail can be sunk. Most smiths are accustomed to trimming hooves. They will know how carefully to go."

"I'd rather have you here to attend to the matter," Lord Artos said.

"Lord"-and now I began to stutter-"I am still in need of much training in the care of the hoof and its ailments. Canyd said-"

"Well, if he has had the training of you, I don't worry at all." Lord Artos dismissed my doubts with a wave of his hand.

"But, Lord Artos, I am not yet completely trained. I could not take on such a responsibility."

"Arlo"-and the Comes raised his voice, gesturing to a young man in livery to come to him-"go to Ilfor the smith and ask him to attend me. Tell him Canyd's finally made those horse sandals he's been threatening to provide. And where are the other sandals, Galwyn? In your packs? Fetch Galwyn's packs, too!"

By then, other Companions had gathered about us, inspecting Victor's sandals, exclaiming over their appearance and purpose. I was required to answer endless questions; and when the smith and my supplies arrived at the same moment, I had to pass around the spare sandals and the nails, plus all the equipment that I used to shape the hoof and nail the sandal on.

Ilfor the smith asked more searching questions than anyone and seemed skeptical of the whole idea, turning a sandal over and over in his big work-scarred hands.

At some point, the Libyans were taken off to be stabled and fed. One of the grooms looked vaguely familiar-the set of his head and the way he hunched slightly. Could it be-Iswy? I wondered. Then I scoffed at myself. This person was taller and bearded. I mustn't be looking for Iswy all over the kingdom. How could someone like Iswy be in Camelot?

Then I was escorted into the building, with little time to assess its wonders while I explained, yet again, about these remarkable horse sandals. I barely had time to eat the evening meal that seemed a feast to me.

When torches were lit and everyone replete with food and wine-though I drank naught but small beer-I was finally allowed a respite from the Companions' searching questions. Only then did I finally sit back and get my bearings.

We were seated in a chamber with a high-vaulted ceiling, at a large round table. This was a departure from the Roman style of dining, though still affording the guests the opportunity to face each other. This table dominated the upper third of the hall. The Conies Britan-norum sat at the top of this round table, his chair larger and more ornately carved than the backless ones in which we of lesser rank were seated.

On the far side of the stone pillars that supported the roof were smaller offices, where the Companions assisted the Comes Britannorum in the management of his domain. Doors led off to other rooms, and a stairway circled up to the upper floors of the building and its annexes. The whole building was a fine place from which Lord Artos would rule his province and send forth his troops of black horses. I had never been in such a grand place, although my father's villa had been accounted a fine home.

I was so tired that I could not pay close attention to the conversations that went back and forth and around the table. I vaguely remember that the talk that evening, as every evening afterward, was inevitably centered on the Comes's plan to unite the neighboring tribes. His arguments had not changed a bit from the plans he had told us those evenings around our campfires on the road to and from Septimania. But his words were spoken with much more conviction: as if he had refined reason and argument after constant debate on the issues.

That evening they were discussing, as well, how to involve the Catuvellavnii, whose lands lay closer to the Saxon menace. Representatives from that province were due to visit Lord Artos soon: one of the reasons he had wanted the Libyan horses here to display. But the discussions-though they were interesting to me hi terms of how Lord Artos won his supporters-were well beyond my attention that night.

When I had finished my meal, I was shown to the guest cubicles, where I was accorded a bed to myself-a luxury I appreciated after six days on the road.

DESPITE MY FATIGUE and the weariness of the previous night's questionings, habit was strong and I was awake at dawn's light. Dressing quietly so as not to disturb the other sleepers, I found my way out of the castle and to the stables.

The early-morning routine was in full progress, most of the horses already watered and fed by then- grooms, even my Spadix. He and Cornix were, of course, stabled together. I wondered who had decided that that was necessary, but I felt that Cornix, and Spadix, had undoubtedly made their wishes known. Someone had even combed the pony's thick mane, and Cornix's sleek coat gleamed with deep blue lights. As usual, Cornix whickered at the sight of me and Spadix added his comments in a shriller tone.

"You didn't need to come," said a lad whom I remembered as the one who had led Comes Artos's gray stallion. He erupted out of the next stall, a pitchfork in one hand. Dark-haired, gray-eyed, and wiry in build, the lad almost seemed to resent my appearance.

"Habit, I fear," I said with what I hoped was a rueful smile. I was a guest hi this place and had no rank at all.

Perhaps I was offending the order of these stables by appearing unasked.

"You're the one who made the horse sandals," he added, more suspicious than ever.

"I'm learning how," I said with emphasis, and saw him relax his guard a trifle. Cornix pushed his nose at me for a caress and ducked his head so I could scratch his ears.

The boy's eyes widened. "He knows you."

"He should. He's been in my charge since Lord Artos bought him at Septimania."

"You went there with the Comes?" His surprise doubled and I could see a grudging respect in his manner, which I couldn't fail to appreciate. I smiled back, warming to the lad, seeing in him traces of what I had been like a scant year before.

"I was, and I sailed back with him, Cornix, and my pony Spadix, here." I could be proud of that adventure.

He gawped, his chin dropping as he was finally impressed by my bona fides. I slapped Cornix familiarly on his strong thick neck.

"I rode Cornix here-until Lord Artos claimed him on the road."

"So that's why you were up on Ravus," he said.

"The gray?"

He nodded.

"Yes, we changed mounts. That's a fine beast! Lovely gaits and a beautiful mouth. Do you have charge of him as well?"

He was ready to be civil now. "I'm Eoain Albigensis," he said, giving his formal name, and we clasped each other's forearms in the fashion of friends. "Are all the Libyans as grandly big as these?"

"Only the best would do Lord Artos," I said, trying to sound more matter-of-fact than pompous. "And the mares are every bit as fine as the stallions. You should see this year's foals. Fifteen were born in February, and every one sturdy. Cornix, here"-and the animal whuffled, pricking his ears forward at the sound of his name-"did his duty by every mare he covered. All of the fifty proven in foal."

"Fifty?" Eoain's eyes bulged at such a prodigious number.

"Well, we have to mount all the Companions on animals as good as these, don't we?"

He nodded his head, eyes still wide. "And you've to make sandals for 'em all?"

I laughed. "I won't be the only one, I assure you."

I was just about to ask him if there was a Cornovian named Iswy working in the stables when the slender young lad Lord Artos had called Arlo appeared in the stableyard, breathless from the speed of his run.

"Eoain, Lord Artos and his Companions will ride out on the Libyans to hunt after mass." Then he noticed me. "You're Galwyn?" he asked, not quite disrespectful, more uncertain. When I nodded, he added, "Because Lord Artos wishes you to wait upon Ilfor the smith after mass. About those horse sandals." Then he pivoted on one heel and raced back the way he had come. Arlo, it seemed, rarely walked anywhere.

"You have a chapel here?" I asked Eoain.

What with my broken arm and then all the work on the sandals with Alun and Canyd, I had not had the opportunity to get to mass at Deva as I had resolved to in the New Year. At the farm, one of the priests-usually an old one who better understood the peculiar attitude toward religion where most of the inhabitants were inclined toward a familiar semipaganism-made the trip to baptize infants or preside at a burial when needed. But they did not hold services. I was, therefore, almost hungry to attend a proper mass in a real church.

"Of course," Eoain said, obviously surprised that I would ask. He pointed to a high slate roof that could be seen from the stableyard, at the other side of the great hall. "Mass will be said shortly, so you'd better hurry."

"But if I'm to go to Master Ilfor-"

"You'd best go to mass first, Galwyn," he said firmly. "Master Glebus does and I will. Lord Artos and his Companions do."

My indecision lasted no longer than his final sentence. So that morning, and every morning thereafter of my stay at Camelot, I stood with the throng of worshipers in a church that was as perfect for Camelot as everything else about Lord Artos's castle. The church faced east and west, with high slit windows letting in a morning light that bathed the whitened walls in glorious shades of lemon yellow and pure white.

It was a joy to me to chant the responses, letting my heart savor the beautiful words. For one brief instant as the mass started, I thought I had forgotten the prayers, but then my tongue worked before my mind and the words came from the heart that had not forgotten them. If others merely mouthed the Latin, having learned the British tongue as their first language, I raised my voice- just slightly-to speak the purer sounds that had been drilled into me. The strength of my voice caused Eoain to give me a wondering look, and he sighed as if in relief.

By the Benedictus, I experienced a profound renewal of spirit, for I had not been aware of how much I had needed the benediction of the mass. I vowed to renew my religious duties with vigor, even if, at Deva, I would have to rise before dawn to attend. At least once a month. I promised that to God, if he would further Lord Artos's cause.

WHEN MASS WAS OVER, the lords made their exit first, passing through the lesser worshipers. Lord Artos cast his eyes to left and right as he proceeded, and he caught sight of me, giving his head a slow nod as if pleased to see me in the congregation. I was all the more glad that I had come this first morning in Camelot. I had been a sorry Christian these past few years and was joyous to have my faith also renewed today: another benefit of my service to Lord Artos.

When we, too, finally processed out of that lovely church into the sunlit morning, it was still early enough.

Mass evidently did not intrude on the business of the day.

Eoain pointed out to me the way to Ilfor's forge. I detoured first to my cubicle and collected my packs of horse sandals and tools. Pausing briefly in the kitchen, I took a handful of the cold meats and bread set out on the trestle tables, and these I munched as I strode to my appointment. The unfinished outer court was already crowded with people and stacks and piles of the supplies which had been among the loads brought in the day before. Workmen were struggling up ladders with tiles; nets of rock were being hoisted to the masons awaiting them on the heights, and carpenters banged merrily away at various other projects.

Alun's forge at Deva had been generous in size but Camelot's was immense: sprawling from one vast cavern to another across the one completed wall of the castle. I don't know how many smiths there were working metal at their anvils, but obviously Ilfor was an important person to have charge of so many.

Master Ilfor, however, broke off the orders he was giving two underlings and whirled on me as if I had lost an entire day's work. I had not seen him at mass and somehow did not think I ever would. Later, I would learn that religious tolerance was a part of Lord Artos's way of dealing with diverse people and attitudes.

"I want to see these sandals of Canyd's," he said, scowling. He had not seemed so critical the night before. But then, Lord Artos had been present. Now I was in the smith's own domain, and considerably inferior to him in rank. When I went to remove some sets from my packs, he shook his thick hand. "No, not ones you brought. Show me how you make them."

'I made," and I stressed that word slightly because Ilfor had the look of a bully and I would no longer let myself be a victim, "all those." I was also feeling extremely charitable after the cleansing effect of hearing mass.

"Show me," he repeated, and he gestured peremptorily at a handily empty anvil at the nearby fire. Then he folded his heavily muscled arms across his chest, obviously skeptical.

I shrugged; diffidence is a good defense against men of his temperament. I knew, as I withdrew my leather apron from my pack and laid out my tools on the anvil's pedestal, that I did not look as much a smith as he. I had neither his bulk nor his sinew. Nor could I fold metal for a sword and hammer the blade into shape, nor make arrows and lanceheads or shields and breastplates as he could. But horse sandals I could fashion quickly, deftly, and have them fit the horse that needed to be shod.

"Where is the horse?"

"Horse?" he asked, widening his eyes. "Why would you need a horse?"

"To fit the sandal to, of course," I replied, undaunted.

"Make the sandal!"

There was no evasion from that command. I shrugged and, walking to where his store of iron was kept, selected a length that would be suitable for a pony sandal. No, not a pony! I realized I had the gray stallion in mind. Why not sandals for Ravus? Lord Artos rode him often.

I had acquired the habit of checking the feet of any horse I rode, assessing how wide, or narrow, a sandal would be to fit the beast. I had done so the day before with Ravus. That trick of observation stood me in good stead now.

I nodded to the bellows boy to stoke up the fire, and I thrust the metal into its reddening coals. I turned it until the center was bright orange and, grabbing it with my tongs, began with my hammer to curve a sandal out of the shapeless length.

There is a joy in working metal, in watching it take the shape you have in your mind-as if you have been able to translate form from mind to matter. I heated and bent the metal several times to obtain the appropriate semicircle. I then heated and flattened it within that form to match the gray's feet. I heated it again to make the nail holes, hammering the iron spike through the pliant metal. Then I thrust it into the water butt and began the second sandal.

All the while Ilfor watched with narrowed and suspicious eyes. But for the fact that I had been accustomed to the constant appraisal of both Alun and Canyd, the doubt and challenge in his face and stance would have made me nervous. Of course, once engrossed in the making of the sandals, I actually forgot him in the rhythm of the work.

When I had finished the set, I looked up at him questioningly. He reached in among the sandals I had brought with me and took out a pair, tied by a thong. These he compared to the ones I had just finished, and snorted.

"Much too small if these are for those Libyan blacks," he said almost contemptuously.

"They have all the sandals they'll need for the year," I said calmly. "I made this set for that gray desert stallion Lord Artos rode yesterday."

"You did?" And his brows went up. At his imperious gesture, the bellows lad came quickly to his side and was told to go ask Master Glebus at the stableyard to send up the gray.

Once again he folded his arms across his chest and waited with the patience of someone who is confident of success in humbling a braggart. And something more. It was as if he knew something about me: something to my discredit. He was waiting to see if I could do what I had so glibly described to the Companions.

I thought suddenly about the young man I had seen last night who had seemed so familiar. Could it have been Iswy after all, putting a word in the smith's ear? I had grown taller; why not Iswy? I hadn't known his age but possibly he was old enough now to have grown a beard, too. But surely a man of Master Ilfor's standing would pay no attention to snide remarks by a groom.

Not to let Ilfor's regard or my own suspicions unnerve me, I took out my sack of horse sandal nails, wedged ones I had made myself to Alun's design. I put hammer and rasp where they would be easily to hand, and then I likewise waited, hands tucked into the ties of my leathern apron.

Master Glebus himself led the gray to us, the bellows lad trotting behind him. The boy's eyes were avid with anticipation of my downfall.

"Sa-sa-sa," I murmured in Canyd's way to the gray, for he didn't like being close to the fire. He twitched his delicate ears back and forth nervously at all the loud clangings and hangings. I stroked his neck and withers, working my hand down the near leg to the fetlock, which I then tugged up. He had a strong deep hoof that needed only a little trimming. But I had something to prove first. I picked a sandal out of the water butt and laid it on the hoof.

I admit to a smile of triumph when I heard a quick gasp of surprise from the lad. I did not look at Ilfor, but Master Glebus certainly noted the excellent fit.

"However did you do that, lad?" he asked. "Why, they fit as if they were made for him."

"They were," I said, letting the hoof down as I confronted Master Ilfor.

He scowled and gestured for me to fit the other front hoof. I changed sides and showed that the second sandal was as close a match to the horse's hoof as ever the first had been.

Ilfor gave one grunt.

"Shall I put the sandals on?" I asked Master Glebus, for he had charge of the horses and it was wise to get his permission.

'Tes, I should like to see how it is done," he said without so much as a glance in the smith's direction. He knew, without being told, what had occurred here in the smithy. His attitude toward me was so positive I began to think that I really hadn't seen Iswy last night. So, with some relief, I threw the first sandal back into the fire to heat, for nailing it on hot made for the best fit.

The gray was not as easy to work on as the Libyans, who had grown to trust me. In fact, he was completely rebellious, despite my best efforts at soothing him. It looked for a while as if he was more likely to leave here sandalless, which made nothing of my gesture in making so perfect a rim for his feet.

But Master Glebus was an old hand at dealing with fractious horses. He wound a stout rope about the end of the gray's nose and twisted it hard. The twitching gave Ravus something to think of other than his feet.

I worked as swiftly as I could with the hot sandals, placing each nail and measuring how it would enter the hoof at the correct angle so as not to prick the tenderer part of the foot. I clinched the nails, pinched off all but enough of the metal to bend down in the clinching, and hammered the ends down into the outside of the hoof. With a final application of the rasp to the nail end, I smoothed the hoof so that no one's hands would be snagged on a jagged metal edge.

Released from the nose twitch, the gray snorted in relief, shaking his head, until he became aware of the extra weight on his hooves. The sandals sent sparks flying from the cobbles and clanged with the energy of his movements, but he could not dislodge them. Gradually he walked into the feel of them.

"Any more you'd like shod, Master?" I asked, more to the horsemaster than to the smith.

Ilfor grunted again. Then suddenly, like the sun appearing on a gray day, a smile appeared on his soot-grimed face, showing large white teeth crooked in a full mouth. He also extended his large hand.

"You do know what you're about in a forge, lad, for all there's little brawn to you," he said. "Neat, tidy, quick." He gave his head a decisive nod, as if he had been reserving his opinion all the while I worked. He took my hand, pumping it and squeezing my fingers in his powerful ones: obviously a man who did not know his own strength.

I caught the sympathetic expression on Master Gle-bus's face, as if he well knew what pressure my hand was experiencing, and so I endured the clasp without wincing. But Master Ilfor's wording-that suggested something had been said to him about me and he had been weighing judgment. Perhaps Eoain could tell me. Now I felt it wiser to reinforce the goodwill where I had it.

"I only do sandals, Master Ilfor, but those I do well," I said with the same simple authority with which Canyd would speak, "serving the Comes Britannorum to my utmost. Just as you do."

Master Ilfor gave another of his grunts but his manner suggested that I had made the right reference: that we both served Lord Artos in our different ways.

"I've a gelding," Master Glebus said, raising one finger tentatively, "badly crippled with seedy toe. Would those iron rims …"

"Just what the sandals are for, Master Glebus," I replied, smiling my willingness.

I SPENT THE ENTIRE DAY in the forge, after first formally requesting permission from Forgemaster Ilfor to use his facilities. I made sandals for cracked, damaged hooves so that the ponies might stride out again pain free. Master Ilfor having made a tactful mention of how much iron he needed to continue his own work, I merely trimmed hooves that were not in such immediate need of sandals.

By the end of the week, I had worked my way through all the horses and ponies connected with Camelot, for many that were not needed on a daily basis were pastured nearby. I even did some of the farm animals that were hauling the carts up the road to the castle. They needed such rims as protection, perhaps more than the riding horses. And I willingly trimmed the feet of oxen, for they had problems as well, treating such puncture wounds and bruises as I discovered.

I was aware that, while I worked, one or another of the other blacksmiths turned up to watch the sandal making and were especially attentive during the fitting. Such scrutiny amused me, for I realized that Ilfor was making sure all his men would know how to fit the sandals. But there was more to it than watching someone else work. Nor would I be here much longer, for I would soon be returning to the farm at Deva.

Ilfor's men, no matter how carefully they watched, needed special training. Lord Artos might have mentioned that he wanted me to stay on, to continue to practice my skill, but I knew how much more I had to learn. When I felt myself to be truly competent, then I would return here.

However, I was very much aware that we all served Lord Artos. Therefore, on the third morning, I approached Master Ilfor and suggested that he might like to have one or two of his smiths work along with me in making and fitting the sandals.

Ilfor at first expressed surprise at my suggestion, as if his men had only been "watching," not memorizing the steps. Then he smiled, rubbing one large ear with two fingers as he realized that I had realized what he was about.

"We both serve Lord Artos," I reminded him, allowing him that much leeway. "We are still learning how best to protect the feet. No foot, no horse!"

He nodded soberly at the saying and immediately delegated four of his apprentices to my tutoring. None of them were at all skeptical about the merits of the sandals, having seen once-lame horses walk, sound, out of the smithy with the fitted sandals.

By chance I heard from Master Glebus that a horse had been put down for a broken leg. So I begged to prepare one hoof so that the students would learn, as I had, from a close examination of a horse foot. A gory task, but essential if I was to be a proper tutor.

I TALKED MORE FOR the next three days than I had ever talked in my life. I sent the apprentices out to find unshod horses to practice on. Although I tried to avoid such a problem, it turned out that the one nail-bind that occurred-from a nail sunk too close to the tender part of the foot-made my four students more conscious of the damage inattention to detail could wreak.

I talked, I explained, I demonstrated. The metal fabrication was never a problem with men already skilled at forge work, nor was making the special tools required to do the actual fitting. But metal is dead; a horse is living. They had to learn how to cope with the horse, the hoof, the hammer, and the nail. Gradually, though, I could see confidence building as they acquired a certain knack in the doing.

Since I was free to move about Camelot, I did so, looking for another glimpse of the man I thought was Iswy. I had none, but then he could have been there and gone: Camelot had constant visitors, each with attendants.

"Don't know anyone by that name," Eoain told me when I got a chance to ask him. "Not among the stable lads."

"Anyone new here-"

Eoain's laugh interrupted me. "New? With all the comings and goings right now? If you're worried about Cornix and your pony, don't. Master Glebus is real careful about who he lets work our horses," he added, pushing out his chest pridefully.

I certainly hadn't seen anyone remotely resembling Iswy since that first glimpse.

"Any Cornovians?" I asked.

Eoain shrugged. "I don't ask such questions." Then he had a thought. "Plenty of people coming in to work out there …" And he waved at the outer courtyard.

"Iswy would work with horses." Unless of course, I added to myself, Bericus had seen to it that no one hired him to care for animals ever again.

Eoain shook his head. "We've had half a dozen lads coming in and out with our guests' horses over the past few days. If he was here, he's gone now."

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 Vari-anus." 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, an 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."