Black Horses for the King

I thought suddenly about the young man I had seen last night who had seemed so familiar. Could it have been Iswy after all, putting a word in the smith's ear? I had grown taller; why not Iswy? I hadn't known his age but possibly he was old enough now to have grown a beard, too. But surely a man of Master Ilfor's standing would pay no attention to snide remarks by a groom.

Not to let Ilfor's regard or my own suspicions unnerve me, I took out my sack of horse sandal nails, wedged ones I had made myself to Alun's design. I put hammer and rasp where they would be easily to hand, and then I likewise waited, hands tucked into the ties of my leathern apron.

Master Glebus himself led the gray to us, the bellows lad trotting behind him. The boy's eyes were avid with anticipation of my downfall.

"Sa-sa-sa," I murmured in Canyd's way to the gray, for he didn't like being close to the fire. He twitched his delicate ears back and forth nervously at all the loud clangings and hangings. I stroked his neck and withers, working my hand down the near leg to the fetlock, which I then tugged up. He had a strong deep hoof that needed only a little trimming. But I had something to prove first. I picked a sandal out of the water butt and laid it on the hoof.

I admit to a smile of triumph when I heard a quick gasp of surprise from the lad. I did not look at Ilfor, but Master Glebus certainly noted the excellent fit.

"However did you do that, lad?" he asked. "Why, they fit as if they were made for him."

"They were," I said, letting the hoof down as I confronted Master Ilfor.

He scowled and gestured for me to fit the other front hoof. I changed sides and showed that the second sandal was as close a match to the horse's hoof as ever the first had been.

Ilfor gave one grunt.

"Shall I put the sandals on?" I asked Master Glebus, for he had charge of the horses and it was wise to get his permission.

'Tes, I should like to see how it is done," he said without so much as a glance in the smith's direction. He knew, without being told, what had occurred here in the smithy. His attitude toward me was so positive I began to think that I really hadn't seen Iswy last night. So, with some relief, I threw the first sandal back into the fire to heat, for nailing it on hot made for the best fit.

The gray was not as easy to work on as the Libyans, who had grown to trust me. In fact, he was completely rebellious, despite my best efforts at soothing him. It looked for a while as if he was more likely to leave here sandalless, which made nothing of my gesture in making so perfect a rim for his feet.

But Master Glebus was an old hand at dealing with fractious horses. He wound a stout rope about the end of the gray's nose and twisted it hard. The twitching gave Ravus something to think of other than his feet.

I worked as swiftly as I could with the hot sandals, placing each nail and measuring how it would enter the hoof at the correct angle so as not to prick the tenderer part of the foot. I clinched the nails, pinched off all but enough of the metal to bend down in the clinching, and hammered the ends down into the outside of the hoof. With a final application of the rasp to the nail end, I smoothed the hoof so that no one's hands would be snagged on a jagged metal edge.

Released from the nose twitch, the gray snorted in relief, shaking his head, until he became aware of the extra weight on his hooves. The sandals sent sparks flying from the cobbles and clanged with the energy of his movements, but he could not dislodge them. Gradually he walked into the feel of them.

"Any more you'd like shod, Master?" I asked, more to the horsemaster than to the smith.

Ilfor grunted again. Then suddenly, like the sun appearing on a gray day, a smile appeared on his soot-grimed face, showing large white teeth crooked in a full mouth. He also extended his large hand.

"You do know what you're about in a forge, lad, for all there's little brawn to you," he said. "Neat, tidy, quick." He gave his head a decisive nod, as if he had been reserving his opinion all the while I worked. He took my hand, pumping it and squeezing my fingers in his powerful ones: obviously a man who did not know his own strength.

I caught the sympathetic expression on Master Gle-bus's face, as if he well knew what pressure my hand was experiencing, and so I endured the clasp without wincing. But Master Ilfor's wording-that suggested something had been said to him about me and he had been weighing judgment. Perhaps Eoain could tell me. Now I felt it wiser to reinforce the goodwill where I had it.

"I only do sandals, Master Ilfor, but those I do well," I said with the same simple authority with which Canyd would speak, "serving the Comes Britannorum to my utmost. Just as you do."

Master Ilfor gave another of his grunts but his manner suggested that I had made the right reference: that we both served Lord Artos in our different ways.

"I've a gelding," Master Glebus said, raising one finger tentatively, "badly crippled with seedy toe. Would those iron rims …"

"Just what the sandals are for, Master Glebus," I replied, smiling my willingness.