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. . . .
Once back at the soothing task of grooming Cornix while he stood, hipshot, eyes closed, enjoying the attention, I quite liked the notion of riding the great stallion all the way to Camelot. I'd grown not only taller but longer and stronger in leg and arm, so I really could control Cornix's explosive habits-most times. I knew he liked me, for he would come to his stall door on hearing my voice, and whicker at my approach. It was comical to see Spadix, who still shared the black's stall, push his nose up beside Cornix, trying to look out over the high stall door. I always greeted my faithful pony first, for he had, in his own small way, been one of the reasons I was here with the horses of the land, and not struggling with the horses of the sea.
However, I was the only one from the farm selected for the journey to Camelot. I was very proud of that, and then was beset with all kinds of conflicting emotions: I wasn't worthy of such trust; would I be able to cope with the responsibility? Would I know how to act at Camelot amidst warriors chosen for their skills, when I had only a small boy's knowledge of arms, and little training as a swordsman?
No one seemed at all surprised that I had been chosen. Indeed Yayin appeared more respectful and even Firkin deferred to me. That was embarrassing. We were all the same here at the farm, weren't we? We all mucked out every day, and exercised horses, and ate and slept together. I wasn't sure which disconcerted me most: being chosen, going, or the responsibility of riding Cornix there.
Before the escorting troop arrived, Daphne took a hand in outfitting me for journey. Inspecting my clothing, she found what I had in deplorable condition, despite my best efforts to keep my garments clean and mended. Riding horses in all sorts of weather does tend to wreak damage on clothing.
So I was clothed in new leggings and smocks for the trip, and given a fine tunic and colored leggings to wear for attendance upon Lord Artos.
"If I learn"-and Daphne shook her finger at me as she, almost reluctantly, handed over the finery, as well as the set of sturdier garments for travel-"that you have ridden in that good tunic, or worn it mucking out after that great black hulk, I'll flay you alive."
What delighted me most were the pair of fleece-lined boots that tied on all the way to my knees. These would help my shins and toes recover from the chilblains that often kept me awake at night. We were having a very cold spring and the itching kept me up, even with the salve Canyd had given me. Everyone was looking forward to warmer weather, when such winter ailments would cease.
THE TROOP ARRIVED-somewhat supercilious, as warriors can be, toward the farmers whom they protected. But the soldiers' attitude changed for the better when they saw the big, bold black Libyan stallions they must escort. The soldiers were properly impressed when they were taken to the fields to see the broodmares and their foals. The foals that they had had at foot last year were yearlings now, and if their glossy black-and-brown coats did not make them stand out from the native ponies, their size did. They were the same height as most of the grown animals at grass.
The captain of the troop, Manob, looked askance at me when I was introduced as Cornix's hostler and veterinary; he nodded more approvingly when Teldys listed my abilities.
Manob's men were a very rough lot and regarded mere farmers with small tolerance and much skepticism. I knew that I would have to prove myself to them on the trip and I was very nervous about that.
In my eyes, however, Manob rose in estimation when he most courteously asked Canyd to check over the feet of the troop's horses.
"Some need their hooves trimmed, and we've one that's walking short." Manob frowned. "But there's no heat in the leg."
"Bring him first," Canyd said, and gestured to me to accompany him.
Immediately Manob bellowed for the trooper to present his mount. Hoping I'd be able to guess right on the cause of lameness, I followed Canyd to the smithy. There we donned the heavy leather aprons that protected us against a horse pulling his foot roughly from our grasp.
I nodded at Alun and his sons, who were finishing the last of the sandals I would be taking with me. The day before, I had sharpened my hoof knives, so my tools were all in the smithy; but I didn't move for them until Canyd gave me another peremptory gesture. When he saw my startled expression, he nodded solemnly.
"Begin this journey as you mean to go on, Galwyn," he said. The use of my name warned me that I would be doing the work while he oversaw it. Well, at least he'd be there now to support-or deny-my ministrations.
"Trot him up," Canyd called, waving his arm at the soldier leading a bright bay pony.
It, too, was larger than the usual moor ponies, and it occurred to me that Lord Artos had been trying before, with some degree of success, to breed size from local animals. But they were still ponies in build: stocky, short-coupled-tough, yes, but not long enough in the leg or big enough in the barrel and chest to support men who were seventeen or sometimes eighteen hands in height.
As I had been taught, I watched for any unevenness of stride.
"He's favoring the near fore," I said, noting when the pony's head bobbed.
Canyd made one of his agreeing sounds.
Even as we watched, the horse's stride leveled. When his rider brought him to a halt in front of us, I had a notion as to the problem.
Running my hand from the pony's shoulder down his leg, I could feel no heat. So I hauled his foot up by the hairy tuft of fetlock. He was, at least, well accustomed to having his feet attended, for he did not resist.
There was just a touch of heat in the sole, at one side. I took my tongs and clamped about that section of the horny hoof. The pony struggled to free his foot but I had it firmly caught between my knees and had set myself, prepared to forestall any resistance. I took a paring knife and carefully, right at the point of tenderness, cut. Almost instantly a gout of dirty gray-yellow fluid gushed out, released by the knife cut.
"What was that?" Manob asked, bending down to observe my handiwork.
"An old puncture wound grown over," I said in exactly the same level tone Canyd used when his guesses were correct. I turned to the rider. "Happens frequently, traveling rough country, no matter how careful you are of their feet. No hoof, no horse."
Canyd cleared his throat but I didn't look at him.
"Soak the foot for half an hour in warm water with a handful of salts in it. Then come back and we'll see if it's all clear."
'Tes, but can he be ridden?" The man evidently did not wish to be parted from his troop.
"He'll be fine. I've something to plug the hole with, a tar-soaked flax that'll keep it clean as well as aid in healing."
After that, Manob regarded me more favorably. I inspected forty-four hooves that afternoon, and trimmed dead horn from most of them, certain that they would leave the farm sound. Fortunately there was only the one lame pony in the troop.
IT WAS WHEN CORNIX was taken to water that evening that the soldiers discovered the sandals. The sound they made on the flags of the courtyard turned every head. Cornix was accustomed to his sandals by now and no longer lifted his feet or tried to kick the iron off his feet.
"By Mithras, what's wrong with that horse?" Manob cried.
"He has horse sandals on," Canyd said. "Made of iron. Needs to be so shod on the wet ground, and the sandals will prove useful in battle as well."
"Sandals for a horse?" Manob stared, round eyed with amusement. Then he guffawed. His men relaxed and grinned, taking their lead from their captain.
"Aye," Canyd said, nodding imperturbably. "Can't get no thorns or punctures through iron."