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. . . .
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.