Black Horses for the King
- Автор: Маккефри Энн
- Язык: английский
- Жанр: Научная фантастика
Электронная книга - «Black Horses for the King». Краткое содержание книги:
After his father's death, young Galwyn Varianus is apprenticed to his uncle, who puts the boy to work on the high seas. But horses, not ships, are Galwyn's passion. Luckily, a passenger aboard, Lord Artos (later to rule as the legendary King Arthur), is bound for the great horse fair at Septimania. Risking his life, Galwyn abandons his uncle to serve the gallant leader. Galywn's calming way with horses quickly impresses Lord Artos and his men. But what no one expects is how crucial Galwyn will be to their upcoming battles--as he masters the secrets of the iron shoes that will protect the exotic horses' delicate hooves. . . .
"How long d'you think it'll take before they grow their own winter coats, Teldys?" Bericus asked. "Won't be able to pamper them on the march."
"A year or two," Teldys said. "They have to adapt. Horses do."
Then Spadix would nose Bericus for the turnip or parsnip that he always seemed to have in his belt pouch.
"Beggar," Bericus said, but he provided the treat while Teldys tutted in disapproval. "How's the arm, Gal-wyn?" He'd teased me the first time he'd seen it splinted.
"Itches something fierce," I said, but showed him the smooth willow wand that was long enough to help relieve the itching. "Canyd says it'll mend straight," I added, in case Bericus might think I couldn't do right by Cornix.
"Good bones, the lad has," Teldys said, giving me an affectionate buffet on my good shoulder.
If Bericus had time to spare, he would take a meal with Teldys, where doubtless they discussed other matters. Then he would ask me to saddle up the gelding, and while I did that-awkwardly with the broken arm, but refusing his help-Bericus would often tell me more about Lord Artos's activities.
"You see, it's not just the horses the Comes needs, Galwyn. It's the support of other princes around about us here," Bericus said. "Most of them haven't seen these fine Libyans yet, of course, so they have doubts about the effectiveness of Artos's plans to defeat the Saxons the next time they're on the move."
"But surely Lord Artos only has to tell them …"
Bericus laughed. "He's a grand one for talking, and while he's with them, they're all for him. He's got a way of making men loyal to him." He looked at me and smiled again. "Of course, the Companions, myself included, are still the only ones who really understand the merits of his great plan to unite all Britons against the Saxons."
"But-but-" I spluttered, wondering how anyone could listen to Lord Artos and not believe in his strategies.
"It's the doubters that must still be convinced-against their will, lad. That's why politics is so important," Bericus replied with a grin, clapping his hand on my shoulder; and then, unexpectedly, he peered at me. "I do believe you've put a full hand in height on you since you came back from Burtigala …" He paused, stepping back to arm's length, to study me. "Aye, and muscled up, too." And he squeezed the shoulder I had dislocated twice.
"I'm helping Canyd and Alun," I said, rather proudly.
"No better men to have as exemplars," he agreed, nodding. "Now politics is how Artos is contriving to keep the kingdom quiet until he is ready to exhibit his new force. You do all you can"-and again he pressed my shoulder-"to further that, and you'll have the full gratitude of the Comes-and"-he grinned again-"the profound thanks of all of us who will ride to battle on our fine black horses."
Bericus swung up into the saddle. "One day, when spring is finally here"-and he wound his cloak tightly about him-"you may have a chance to see our new headquarters. It's slow work but it'll be a fine place when it's finished: a base for our cavalry and a place for training the foot soldiers." He looked off, frowning slightly. "The Saxons remain where they are. It's the Irish we have to contend with right now. Vale, Galwyn," he said in farewell as he kneed the gelding forward. "Just keep the Libyans safe and prospering!" he cried over his shoulder.
As if he needed to tell me. I thought constantly about their safety, Iswy topmost in my mind. Not that we had seen hide or hair of Iswy after that heavy frost. Nor had there been any roving bands stealing from outlying farms or harrying travelers on the roads. Still, I never forgot that particular danger.
I knew about the danger of Irish raiders, too, living as we did not that far from a favorite landfall of theirs. No wonder princes and chiefs around here were not quite so concerned about Saxon invasions, despite the well-founded rumors that Aelle and his sons intended to expand beyond their pale near Eburacum. The Irish were a problem now; the Saxons only a distant menace.
Of course, for Lord Artos's marvelous plan of a swift-moving force to succeed, it would be five or six years before this year's crop of foals were ready for battle. Would we be given the time? Would enough of the princes join forces with Artos to provide a large enough army?
In point of fact, the Libyan stallions could have been used in battle right now, since Rhodri had trained them to respond to movements of heel and seat so that a Companion had both hands free for his weapons. And I had to admit I dreaded the day Cornix would be taken from my care, for he was, indeed, the mark of both Comes Artos's favor and my status on the farm.
BERICUS WAS NOT the only one who noticed that I had grown taller and stronger. All those hours on the bellows and the generous, good food were having an effect. Further, now that my arm bones had knit, I was excused from pumping the bellows and allowed to help make the horse sandals, which meant much work with a hammer.
Bericus had listened to both Alun and Canyd explaining about their device: had listened but had not seemed terribly impressed.
"He only rides the horses," Canyd said later, when Alun had railed against Bericus's lack of enthusiasm. "He hasn't the care of them."
"He cared for them on the journey here," I said. Canyd eyed me a moment. "For his own, but not for all the others who are in our keeping."
"Aye, he's a Companion," Alun said, altering his position, but I don't think it was out of deference to my remark. The smith enjoyed opposing Canyd, if only to be contrary. But it was a good-humored antagonism.
That might even have been what led to an effective horse sandal, because if Canyd suggested one method, Alun would counter with another, totally different. Thus they explored many more possibilities. Boiled leather had long been ruled out as ineffective, and now all their efforts were concentrated on developing an iron rim to somehow attach to the underside of the hoof.
Once again an older pony was used to test the result. I do remember the look on the pony's face when he first realized he had something stuck to his hoofs. He kept picking up his hinds and trying to kick off the unaccustomed weight. We had a good laugh at his antics.
I trotted him out into the cold wet afternoon, he still trying to dislodge the rims and then shying when the iron sandals clanged on stone. He picked his old legs up like a yearling, flicking his front feet. Gradually his kickings subsided as he realized he could not relieve himself of the encumbrances.
He was turned out again and was watched over the next few days, to be sure the metal plates did not cause lameness or, far more importantly, come off. The fifth day, a hind sandal did get sucked off by the thick mud in the pasture from the heavy spring rains.
Canyd and Alun passed the lost rim back and forth, noting the way that three of the five nails had come out and were sticking out of the rim. We found the other two in the pony's foot: they had broken off, but-and this was important-they had not made him lame by remaining.
"They don't sit in firmly enough, though, even with the tapering," Alun said, holding the erring nail up between thumb and index finger.
"But the other rims stayed on," I reminded them. "Three out of four is good."
"Aye," Canyd said, "for want of the right nail, the sandal was lost… and so would the horse be."
"Maybe"-and Alun pondered this before he spoke again, "maybe-if the nail is turned down-hooked, so to speak-on the outside, it will not pull out as easily."
"Aye, that would clinch it in place," Canyd agreed, nodding.
"I will make the nail a little longer, then," Alun said, motioning me to take my position at the bellows to heat up the fire, "to be hammered down on the hoof. It wouldn't hurt the animal, would it?" Canyd shook his head.
THIS TIME THE SANDALS remained on a full two weeks.
"Problem with all these sandals and nails," Alun said when Canyd and I were jubilant to see success, "is that the hoof of a horse grows, or he rubs the sandal on hard ground and gradually wears the nailhead down… or gets grit between hoof and sandal… or …"