Black Horses for the King

I'd heard of Aqua Sulis, a big fortified town, from the traders who stopped at my father's villa. It had been a Legion fortress and was supposed still to have hot baths, which the Romans had deemed essential to a proper lifestyle. There had been many fine villas nearby. I wondered if we'd be lucky enough to pass a night at one. And if, considering how I would be taunted by Iswy, I'd have the courage to take a hot bath, were one offered.

We plodded onward until the winter's early dusk caught us, far from the first stopping point on Bericus's map. So we camped in a dense copse of trees, near a small stream. There each of us had to wash the legs of our mounts and, under the scrutiny of Canyd, check for tendons strained by the muddy going and be certain the hooves were clear of any pebbles that might cause lameness. One or two of the mares seemed to have a little heat in their legs, so Canyd brought out his arnica lotion, which could reduce swelling and heat.

One of the three men from Deva-Nestor, a thin little man with bowed legs-was also the cook. He carried enough dry wood in one of his many bundles to heat the thin vinegary wine that legionnaires drank, but we ate our pease porridge cold. I found that dish quite tasty, though the others grumbled. Then we rolled up in our blankets and got such sleep as the conditions allowed. I think I did better than most, having got accustomed to sleeping on the stormy decks of cold ships. I had also reacquired land legs and the ground under me no longer had even the slightest rocking motion.

More pease porridge in the morning, but there'd be rabbit for dinner. Nestor had laid snares the night before, having seen signs of rabbit, and his traps had caught four. Not to be outdone, Iswy brought down five plump pigeons with his sling during the morning. He was incredibly accurate, and he took every opportunity to show off his prowess, even shooting down small birds that had no value for the pot at all.

Though we had other rainy days, we never ate cold food in the evening again. The rivalry between the different groups over supplying the kettle became a matter of honor. As the youngest member, I didn't get the choicer bits, but I wouldn't give anyone the satisfaction of hearing me complain. Occasionally, I was also able to contribute. One evening, I gathered apples from a deserted orchard we passed. And another day, I found cress by a fast-moving stream and nuts windlost from walnut trees.

Whenever we passed a stretch of water that was banked by willows, Canyd insisted that we pause long enough to strip bark from the saplings.

" 'Tis hard enough to come by when it's needed," he said. "The trees be soon asleep, so this is the last chance this year." Carefully he rolled the bark into a wallet he kept for that purpose. "Grand for fevers, it is. Sovereign remedy for aches and pains."

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

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

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

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