Black Horses for the King

Part Five

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

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

I studied continually under Canyd, milking him of every scrap of information, determined to transfer his knowledge to my head. Who could know what obscure detail might be of a certain use to Lord Artos? I acquired three new apprentices and found that teaching was the most admirable way to remember, and refine, my own understandings. I fancied myself a good teacher, for my scholars seemed to understand my explanations and my cautions. Particularly about the position of the nails so as not to inadvertently puncture the thin wall of the protective horn and wound the foot with nail bind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ravus and I made many journeys from Deva to Cam-elot. 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 Britan-norum, 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 Cornovi-ans 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 handfuls 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 rider, 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!"

I found myself a space against the wall, wondering when I would be called to take a message, and to whom. But though I listened for my name, I did not hear it. I felt oddly isolated, as if everyone were going to war except me.

So I went back to the forge that Master Ilfor had allotted me, put on the leather apron I used when working, and prepared the fire for any horse that might need his sandals tightened. Then I went back into the great hall to find someone to report to. I couldn't find Master Glebus or Master Ilfor in the surging crowd.

Though I listened, I could not hear where the battle might be, nor where Lord Artos would be going. I caught city names like Corinium, Venonis, and Ratae; I heard discussions of the roads and their surfaces.

"So many can't forage …"

"The road to Durabrivae would be closer …"

"Do we wait or let the others catch us up?"

"Ha! Those mountain men can trot all day long without faltering…"

Torches were lit; men came and went.

I had learned a good deal of geography, and topography, during my messenger days, but some of the places named were unknown to me. Still, the excitement that pervaded the hall was contagious and made me, who seemed to have no part of it, very restless. Then I remembered the messenger's horse and chided myself for not checking on him sooner.

The stableyard was as busy as the castle, with hostlers leading saddled animals out or unsaddled ones in from the fields where extra mounts were kept. In the light of the torches-for the spring evening was closing into darkness-Master Glebus looked distraught, ordering this groom there, that horse saddled immediately, and where would he find more horses to send every which way? And it getting darker by the second.

I slipped in to check on the messenger's horse. He was lying down, nose to the straw, eyes closed. Softly I approached, not wishing to disturb his well-earned rest. I couldn't see well in the darkness, but when I gently touched the curved neck, it was dry and cool. And the animal was so deeply asleep he did not stir under my light touch. The water bucket outside the stall was empty; but the animal would be thirsty when he woke, and with all the excitement his needs might be forgotten. I also brought back a forkful of hay, for he would be hungry, too.

In the bustling kitchen, I found myself some bread and half a fowl to take back to my place in the forge, for I was certain that my services would be needed. There was much activity in and out of the great storeroom in which Master Ilfor kept the products of his hearths: men hurrying in empty-handed and coming out with sheaths of arrows and shields, or with lances and helmets, while others brought out the armor of their lords-helmets, shields, breastplates, arm and leg guards.

It was as I sat on a bench outside the busy kitchen, gnawing the last meat from the bone, that I saw him in the full light of the torches: Iswy, garbed in Cornovian colors, a sling and a bulging pouch of throwing stones hanging from his belt. Arrogantly he strode along. He was taller and he wore a scraggly beard, but his sharp face and close-set eyes had not changed. I almost choked on the meat and my left hand immediately went to the hilt of my knife.

Then I saw that not only did Iswy have his hand on the knife at his belt, but also he was heading toward the stableyard-where he certainly had no business, as a common foot soldier. I nearly choked again, instantly aware of why he had a hand on his knife and what he meant to do with that knife.

Losing his Libyan stallion would take the heart out of Lord Artos.

With all the confusion this night, and so many strangers coming and going, Iswy must have felt that he would be able to succeed in maiming, or killing, the stallion he had so wanted to ride. I darted after Iswy through the milling throng of serving men and attendants.

"Iswy! Stop! I want a word with you!" I called, but my shout was lost in the noise from the busy kitchen and the yard.

I had trouble weaving my way past cooks and soldiers carrying supplies to the waiting wagons. Outside, I caught sight of Iswy, still striding across the courtyard toward the stable block. Again I called out.

"Stop that Cornovian!" This time my shout was masked by the creaking wheels of a heavily laden cart. I lost speed going around it and then tripped over packs that were waiting to be loaded on another cart.

Just then, someone caught my arm, and I had my dagger half out of its sheath before I realized he was finely dressed.

"You are Master Galwyn, the horse-sandal maker?" he asked.

"I am, but I-" I struggled to release myself from his grip.

"My steed"-and he pointed back over his shoulder-"needs your skills."

"Later, later."

"I beg your pardon." But he dropped my arm, dismayed and annoyed by my response.

"Take him to my forge. I must go-" I called over my shoulder at him as I renewed my pursuit of Iswy.

Dodging and weaving, I got to the entrance of the stableyard but could not see Iswy among those bustling about the yard.

"Eoain! To Cornix!" I shouted as I ran as fast as I could toward the corner stable, where Cornix and Spadix were kept.

I heard one short scream, unmistakably a horse's, cut off sharply.

The sound was enough to cause those in the yard to pause in their busy-ness.

"God in heaven!" I cried, and grabbed the nearest man. "Cornix is being attacked!"

"What?" An older groom caught me by the shoulder, swinging me around. "What say you? Oh, pardon, smith. What's the matter?"

Pulling him along with me, I pointed urgently toward the corner stable. "Cornix is being attacked …"

That startled him into action and he ran with me. But even as we raced to the corner stable, I could see the door swinging open.

"Hurry!" We would catch Iswy in the act, but what had happened to Cornix? My heart raced with fear. How could I tell Lord Artos that his battle steed had been spitefully maimed or killed?

"What's the matter?" Master Glebus appeared at my other side, and we all reached the stable at the same time.

I had to grab the door frame to keep upright. It was not Cornix who lay on his side in the straw but my faithful pony, Spadix, a dagger protruding between his eyes, in the thinnest part of a horse's skull. His dark eye was already filming with death.

"God above!" cried Master Glebus. "Who could have done such a wicked thing?"

"Iswy. He's Cornovian. I saw him come this way. No one else would want to kill Spadix."

I turned, looking out over the stableyard, trying to see any figure moving hastily out of the yard-but everyone was converging on us, not running away. "He can't have got far."

Master Glebus acted immediately, shouting for someone to run to the guards and close the gates. "The villain must be apprehended. I cannot have people slaughtering the animals in my care. What does he look like, Galwyn?"

"Wearing Cornovian, a head shorter than I, scraggly beard, slingsman," I said, now boxed into the corner by the press of men coming to see what had happened.

Maybe he'd be stopped at the gate. But there were still so many places in this section of Camelot in which a crafty man like Iswy could secrete himself. Oh, why had that lord stopped me? Why had no one been guarding Cornix?

I knelt beside my faithful old pony and closed his eyes. Then I yanked the knife from his skull and showed the hilt to Master Glebus.

"Aye, Cornovian design," he agreed. Then he put a consoling hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry about this pony."

"Where was Cornix?"

"Lord Artos called for him not long ago, to greet some prince or other and show him off," Glebus said. "A lucky happenstance." When I sighed, he added quickly, "Unlucky for little Spadix. Cornix will grieve for him, too, I shouldn't wonder."

Eoain now pushed through and gasped to see Spadix dead in the hay. Tears sprang to his eyes as he dropped to his knees and began to stroke the pony's neck.

"I should have been here. I should have been guarding him, too. Who did such a vile thing?"

"Iswy, a Cornovian who held a grudge against him, and Cornix, and me."

"Oh!" Eoain looked up at me, tears flowing down his cheeks. He sniffed. "There's a princeling looking for you to put sandals on his horse and he's got Bericus with him. They're both very annoyed."

"Let them be!" I cried.

"Nay, Smith Galwyn!" Master Glebus said, his round face kind but his tone firm. "We go to war, and you've a skill that's needed. Many a man and many a horse will fall before this fight is over. There are many ways of serving Lord Artos." He turned me around and pushed me toward the door.

I did not wish to go to sandal the horse whose owner had kept me from saving my pony. But Master Glebus eyed me more sternly now.

"We'll do what's necessary here, Smith Galwyn." And with that use of my title, he reminded me that I had duties that must be honored.

"You will guard Cornix?"

"With my life," answered Eoain, one hand on his knife hilt, his expression resolute.

BERICUS AND THE PRINCELING met me halfway across the stableyard.

"Galwyn," Bericus began. He was frowning and his manner reproving. "What meant you-"

"Iswy has been here. He killed Spadix because he couldn't kill Cornix."

"What?" Bericus rocked back on his heels, his expression altering to concern. "Is that why the gates were closed? Iswy? Here?"

"In Cornovian colors," I repeated once again, and continued to stride toward my forge and this princeling's needy horse.

"I know his face," Bericus said. "I'll help in the search. He must be found. Lord Artos needs Cornix."

"Oh, he'll be guarded well enough," I said in such a savage tone that Bericus gave me a sharp look. I didn't care. "If Iswy had ridden Cornix to Deva, this wouldn't have happened."

Bericus paused, then said in a kinder tone, "But Iswy couldn't ride the stallion." He turned to the princeling. "Galwyn's news requires urgent action, Prince Maldon. You must excuse me. The smith will tend your horse now."

I did, for that was my responsibility; and the horse had immediate need of my skills, his off-fore so badly worn by travel that I had to build up the outside edge of the sandal to compensate. Prince Maldon said nothing, and he walked off shortly, leaving his groom to hold the warhorse. Borvo and Maros, two of Master Ilfor's apprentices, appeared not long after. From the quick look I gave them, I could see by their expressions that they knew about the killing.

I WORKED THROUGH THE NIGHT. Borvo and Maros, who had been among those watching my first display for Master Ilfor, now forged sandals that I then fit to hooves.

Bericus stopped by to say that a full search for Iswy was under way in Camelot and in the main Cornovian encampment down below.

"Iswy will not escape us," he promised me. "And Cornix and all the other war stallions are being close guarded."

I nodded and went back to work. Iswy had already escaped or was hiding where he was unlikely to be found. Of that I was certain.

But somehow I would find him. I didn't believe he would rest until he killed Cornix, too. I had no doubt that he would try again.

As the cock crowed that dawn, I had the feeling that I must have shod half the horses in Lord Artos's army. I hadn't, but before I could, Master Ilfor entered my forge and hauled me off to my bed. A soldier followed and took a position at my doorway. So the shoer and the shod were all being guarded.

"I'll wake you if there are any problems," he said, and I think I was asleep before he left me.

IT WAS CLOSE TO MIDDAY, from the way the sun was shining in, when I was gently shaken awake by another soldier to tend the lame horse of one of the Atre-batii princes. He had not been shod, so it was not precisely my expertise needed but Master Glebus's. Still, the bounds of traditional duties blurred in emergencies. I roused Borvo, asleep on the floor by my pallet, and we examined the footsore animal.

The horse had split his hoof to the bulb of the foot and it would be weeks before he was sound again. I trimmed as much as I could and contrived a sandal that would relieve pressure on the sorest point of that foot, putting another plate on his right hoof to balance him.

"But what shall I ride to the battle?" I was asked.

"I heard that replacements are being brought in from nearby farms," I said, for Borvo had mentioned that sometime the previous evening.

Three more warhorses arrived. Borvo, Maros, and I stopped long enough to eat and then were back to work. Even those who had been skeptical of the benefit of the iron rims decided then1 horses required them-now!

AND THEN, SUDDENLY, preparations were as complete as possible. A high mass was said that evening for the success of the endeavor; all the lords received the sacrament and special anointings and blessings from the religious community. Everyone who could cram his body into the chapel was included in the final blessing, and certainly in the prayers of all those who would stay behind.

The next morning, at false dawn, shriven, anointed, and blessed, Lord Artos and his Companions mounted their black steeds in the courtyard. The ladies tied favors onto their lances.

Lord Artos himself had no wife yet, though a prestigious marriage was rumored. No doubt, when news of his victory came, the family would be all too willing to align themselves with the dux bellorum.

Borvo and Maros were mounted on two halfbreed Libyans big and sturdy enough for such hefty men. I, of course, had Ravus, who was quivering with excitement. Even our two pack ponies, laden with tools and iron bars, were fractious.

We stood to one side as the Comes Britannorum led his Companions toward the mam road. For once it was empty of its usual traffic.

I don't know who was more surprised, myself or Cor-nix, when he was hauled back on his heels and those behind Lord Artos nearly ran up his back.

"Galwyn Varianus," bellowed my lord, pointing his gloved hand at me. "What are you doing… there?"

I looked about me stupidly.

"Take your position instantly"-and now he pointed to where Bericus, Bwlch, Bedwyr, and Drustanus were trying to control the cavortings of their Libyan stallions. "I want you where we can watch out for you," he said, making me aware that he knew what had happened in Cornix's stable. "The others are to fall in behind my Companions. Immediately behind my Companions." And he scowled at me when I was too startled to move. "Now!"

Ravus moved almost without my urging, as if he felt he knew where he belonged, and Bericus grinned back at me.

"No hoof, no horse!" he exclaimed, eyes dancing with mischief.

I felt cheered for the first time since Spadix died.

THE EUPHORIA OF OUR DEPARTURE lasted us wellinto the day, with only brief stops for horses to rest and men to relieve themselves. We ate in the saddle at the walk. Otherwise we traveled at a good trot, the foot soldiers in the dust behind us but keeping up with the horses for all they had only two legs to go on. I wondered fretfully if Iswy were among them.

The second day, after a night checking loose sandals, I caught what rest I could in the saddle. Once again I blessed Ravus's smooth gaits. But because I slept on horseback, I scarcely recall much of the journey, though I do remember people cheering Lord Artos with "See the black horses! See the big, beautiful black horses!"

I was checking Cornix's hind plate the night we camped outside Ratae when the messenger came galloping up to Lord Artos's tent.

"The Saxons have crossed their borders, Comes." The messenger's voice was hoarse but loud enough to be heard around the camp. "I am to tell you that Aelle and his sons have gone east to Bannovalum. He must turn west, though, to avoid the fens at Metaris Aest."

"Then we'll march to Durobrivae, to Cnut's Dike, and head north along that until we meet these scurrilous invaders," Lord Artos said. "Inform your prince. Blwch, see that this man is fed and provided with a fresh horse."

Bwlch left with the messenger and I finished the stallion's hooves. Cornix was picketed right by Lord Artos's tent-the other Libyans nearby, in the most protected area of the camp. Cornix was in good fettle but he would often neigh wistfully. It would cause my breath to catch in my throat-that he still missed his pony companion. And where was Iswy now?

THE NEXT DAY'S LONG MARCH did get us over the rolling countryside to Durobrivae by late evening. The next morning, we turned north until another messenger arrived. I wasn't close enough to hear what he had to say but Lord Artos seemed very glad of his information, laughing and grinning as he called in his Companions.

Once again I spent the night with Borvo and Maros, checking all the war steeds, though only two needed to have clinches tightened. The camp was not still. I do not think many slept, for the rumors were that we were closing with the Saxons.

I heard other messengers arrive during the night; the spring evening seemed to amplify the sound of hurried hoofbeats.

We moved eastward well before dawn, making our way to a position above the confluence of two rivers. We were on a long slope above them, and they were not in full spate.

"The Saxons are there," I heard Bwlch murmur to Cei. Then the Companion saw me. "Galwyn, you and your smiths stay out of the battle line, but be handy." He pointed to a slight knoll behind us and, dutifully, I motioned the others to follow me as I left Ravus there. The tools in our saddlebags clinked softly against the nails and spare sandals.

Thus it was that Borvo, Maros, and I had probably the best view of the first Battle of the Glein. We spotted the Saxon force crossing the upper river, hundreds of them, with their winged helmets and their huge round shields.

More poured from the opposite bank, wading through the knee-high water. The Saxon horde paused when suddenly our line of archers spread out on the hill crest. I could hear the black horses whinnying-but out of sight below the brow of the hill.

I didn't know much about battle strategy in those days but I certainly trusted Lord Artos's wisdom and foresight. Had he not equipped himself and his Companions with the black horses? Had he not met the Saxons before they could achieve their objective: the domination and control ofallEastAnglia?

Audible now were the war cries of the Saxons as they swarmed up the hill to meet the waiting Britons. I heard the angry hiss as our archers loosed their arrows, to rain down on the oncoming foemen. And then I saw our mountain men step up beside the archers, and watched their lethal showers of stones knock men to their knees.

Still the Saxons charged forward, bellowing fiercely, in a seemingly endless flow across the river, multiplying the force opposing us. Their shouts all but drowned out the neighs of the Libyans.

And then, just when the Saxons were halfway up the hill and the barrage of our arrows and stones had thinned, the black horses moved up and over the brow of the hill, Artos on Cornix in front.

The black stallion reared, pawing the air with his metal-rimmed hooves. I saw the shock and horror on the faces of the leading Saxons. I saw them halt in their tracks as more and more big black horses followed Artos and charged down at them.

I shall never forget that sight-as frightening as I had once imagined it would be, those years ago during my first visit to Camelot. And I was not an enemy suddenly faced with the flaring red nostrils, the bared teeth, the blackness of these monsters. I was not a Saxon with no way to evade flashing, iron-clad hooves.

I cheered loudly, pumping my right arm skyward in a salute to that charge and leaning just slightly to my left. And heard, and felt, something zing past me between arm and head.

I whirled, crouching, hand on my dagger hilt, wondering what missile had so narrowly missed me.

Iswy was already launching himself at me, face contorted, dagger raised. He didn't even see Borvo and Maros instantly coming to my defense.

"No, he's mine!" I shouted at them, and ducked away from my assailant. "He slaughtered my pony!"

I didn't think of Yayin's lessons in dagger fighting: I thought only of avenging Spadix. That lent me a cunning I didn't know I possessed. I noticed that I had the reach of Iswy, for I had grown in arm as well as leg, and the years at the anvil had matured the spindly cabin boy Iswy had once mocked.

He came at me again and I caught his dagger hand, forcing it back, hoping to break it; but somehow he squirmed free and sliced at my belly.

The leather apron I had put on that morning deflected his blade. He cursed wildly.

"I'm not the easy mark I used to be, Iswy." It was my turn to taunt him as we crouched, facing one another and circling, each trying to discover an opening.

Like a snake, he twisted and made to stab at Ravus where the gray was tied to a bush. But Ravus reared, breaking the restraint and trying to run. Maros, for all his bulk, was fast on his feet and caught the trailing reins.

"Horse killer!" I cried. "That takes such a brave man, doesn't it, Iswy? To kill an animal that looks to be protected by you!"

I changed my dagger from hand to hand, making him watch the transfer: a trick Yayin had drilled me in. Then I attacked, just as I had switched the blade once more to the left. Iswy didn't expect that and didn't know which way to lunge. I sliced at his right leg, catching him above the knee with a deep gash.

He staggered back, totally surprised by my strategy. I switched the blade again even as I closed with him, my left hand gripping his right wrist and arm. I struck downward, through his leather jerkin, and into his chest.

"You've-killed-me," he gasped out, sinking to the ground, dead before his body stretched out.

I looked down at him and did not close his sightless eyes. Spadix's death was now avenged. Still gasping from my exertions, I turned away, back to the battle raging on the slope below.

The Companions on the great black horses wielded their swords tirelessly and brought down every Saxon enemy they passed on their way to the Glein. The river was turning red in the sun, with the blood of the wounded and dying.

And then our reinforcements-the troops of half-breed Libyans-charged out of the woods from the left of the river. It was a total rout of Aelle's arrogant horde.

"That were well done, Master Galwyn," said Borvo at my side.

"That were some fight," Maros added.

They were looking at the carnage below, but it wasn't that battle they meant.

"There," I said, pointing to a loose horse, limping badly and dazed as it wandered back up the hill. "We must be about our duties."

We left Iswy's body where it had fallen, where the ravens would find it.

THAT WAS THE FIRST Battle of the Glein, and the only one I fought in. As Master Glebus had said, I had a skill that was of far more service to Lord Artos than that of another swordsman's.

There were twelve great battles in all, the final one at Mount Badon. But though I lifted neither dagger nor sword in any other, I played my part, watching every one of them, and keeping well shod the great black horses of Artos, the Comes Brttannorum.