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. . . .
I kneed Ravus into a swerving course to make us a more difficult target. A stone glanced off his flank and he screamed, galloping even faster down the road. A second stone caught me on the right shoulder-the one I had twice dislocated-but by then its force had almost been spent. I gave no thought to my bruises, being far more worried about Ravus, though I didn't dare pull up until we were well down the road. We'd to cross a river farther on. I could stop there and still keep ahead of men on foot. But-what if they had mounts hidden in the woods?
I had traveled this way often enough, it was true, but how had Iswy known? I was almost sick with my fury over the ambush. Of course, this was the quickest route for me to take back to Deva from Isca. Was it mere chance that he'd seen me at Prince Cador's? He was, after all, a subject of Cador.
I forced myself to stop puzzling about Iswy and to think ahead about how I was to avoid pursuit. We should soon come to a stream. I could go either up or down it and come out on rocks farther up, so there would be less danger of being tracked.
Ravus was recovering from his fright by the time we reached the stream, and I could dismount, ignoring the chill of the water and the wetting of my good leather boots. I had to keep Ravus from drinking, hot as he was, and also stop him circling around me, so I could examine the bleeding wound.
It was shallow enough, for which I gave prayerful thanks. I led him upstream to where moss grew on the rocks by the water. There I bathed the wound, pressing handfuls of cold water against it to stem the bleeding, because galloping had made it flow. The wound was also in an impossible place to bandage, but I took moss and pressed it so firmly against the cut that some would stick to the blood and seal it. I waited, listening for any sounds of pursuit, until I was certain the moss would hold. Then I led Ravus upstream until I judged we could safely enter the forest.
I found shelter that night in a glade where Ravus could graze, but I lit no fire and slept very poorly. The moss bandage stayed in place overnight and we continued on our way back to Deva by roads I rarely traveled.
I was going to insist that I be taught how to defend myself, and my horse.
TELDYS HAD ALREADY BEGUN to Worry about me, knowing how swiftly I could make the journey. And when we arrived and I told the story of the ambush, everyone at the farm was concerned. When I asked Teldys if there was anyone on the farm with sword skills, he shook his head.
"None here, lad, nor even weapons to practice with. Come to think of it"-and he paused-'Tayin could doubtless teach you a few tricks with sling and dagger."
Fortunately, Ravus's wound showed no signs of infection, and that pleased Canyd.
"I only did as you would have done, Canyd," I said.
"And you see how right I am," the old man said smugly.
Still, I made a report to Bericus, relating the ambush and my suspicions about the assailants. We now took turns at night as sentries and always had someone in the stableyard to guard the Libyans.
"Iswy was seen at Isca," Bericus told me when he came on his next regular visit to the farm. His expression was grim. "There've been some raids on farmsteads near Ide. Would Iswy know that's where your mother lives?"
"He might. I've stopped there for brief visits before, and"-I sighed-"it's possible my family would have mentioned that I come there now and then on my way back from Prince Cador's. Could you not teach me how to use a sword?"
"I could, if there were time for such training. You are more valuable as a sandalmaker than a soldier or messenger," Bericus said. "You will travel no more alone." When he saw how disappointed I was, he gave me a reassuring buffet on my arm. "Don't be sad about losing mere messenger duties, Galwyn. You and Ravus will be traveling rather more than less, I think."
"Oh?"
He hooked his arm over the railing, for we were outside, by the field where Ravus was grazing.
"We've got to concentrate on mobilizing our army now… Yes," he said in answer to my gasp of surprise. "While I don't believe that Aelle is the devil incarnate, as some might"-and he chuckled at such superstitious-ness-"there are definite indications that he's beginning to call in thanes, and certainly his armorers are busy. Not"-and now he grinned-"as if ours have been lazy these past few years, or haven't learned a few new skills, eh?"
"It's the horses that are going to win for us," I said staunchly.
"And every man who comes to Artos's banner wants one as his battle steed." Bericus turned and gazed out over the fields to where the latest crop of black and dark brown foals were cavorting.
Their antics reminded me of my first view of the Libyans charging down the practice field at Camelot. Just the memory made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Surely the sight of so many would daunt even the barbarian Saxons and send them scurrying back whence they had come!
"Well, we've mounted Gwalchmei, Geraint, Cei, Bed-wyr, Medraut, Drustanus, Bwlch, and Cyfwlch; Prince Cador has three for battle and King Mark two …" I had no more fingers to count on. "All of the other Companions and half the chieftains and war leaders already pledged to support Lord Artos are now riding Libyan stallions."
"There'll be casualties," Bericus murmured, his expression sobering, and he sighed. "But"-and slapping both hands on the upper rail, he turned with renewed vigor to me-"we've more than fifty trained full-blooded Libyans right now. More than enough to cause the Saxons to think again about contesting the field with the Comes Britannorum."
"And Rhodri has ten more to be added to that number. Come, Bericus, he'll be in the training field," I said, and we made our way there.
TWO DAYS LATER, when I had put brand-new rims on those ten young horses, Firkin and I, in a large group of bowmen and slingshot mountain men under Manob's command, made our way to Camelot. I cast my eyes over every single foot soldier who made up that contingent; I almost wished that Iswy were among them so we could settle our enmity once and for all. I was now ready for him.
Following Teldys's advice after the ambush, I approached Yayin and asked him to teach me some defensive tricks with daggers. He could nail a rat to the wall from fifty paces and often did so, since rats were a constant menace in our oat store. Now I carried a well-honed bone-handled knife sheathed in my left boot. Yayin had also offered to teach me how to use a sling, but I hadn't the tune to practice. A dagger would be a more useful weapon.
Manob set us as fast a pace as the foot soldiers could trot. And they seemed indefatigable, those wiry dark mountain men, still able to laugh and joke half the night around the campfire. I, on the other hand, had to check the sandals and hooves of the forty horses and was only too glad to roll up in my blankets at night.
AS WE MADE OUR WAY, we could feel a palpable tension in the villages and towns we passed through. Folks cheered the black horses as if they, in themselves, were the omen of victory over the Saxon hordes.
So I was actually in Camelot the day the exhausted messenger arrived, his horse so lathered that the beast looked gray rather than bay. The rider, of the Atrebatii, was covered with dust, sweat, and lather from his horse, and slid awkwardly from his saddle. He shrugged off assistance, demanding to be taken immediately to Lord Artos.
"They are moving," the man gasped. "Take me to the Comes…"
I went to the horse, who was all but foundered from the bruising pace at which he had been ridden.
Bericus hurried the messenger into the great hall, but the man paused at the top of the steps and looked back over his shoulder.
"Save him if you can!" he cried to me, his face contorted in anguish for the horse he had ridden so hard.
The bellows boy who helped me in Ilfor's forge was to hand, and between us we unsaddled the gasping animal and led him slowly into the stableyard. There we rubbed him down with twists of straw, and massaged his legs, and more carefully soothed his back; it had been rubbed raw in places by the rough saddle, which hadn't enough padding. We cooled him off enough to let him drink without endangering his recovery, and then we placed him in a stable, hock high with fresh straw, where he could rest.