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. . . .
"Those fools have packed their animals so badly that half have sores," was Bericus's plaint, "and they will not attend when we show them how to rearrange the loads properly."
It took me only a few minutes to explain, each to the other, what was amiss, and to set it right.
Then to my everlasting joy, Lord Artos encircled my shoulder with his great arm and led me to their campfire. No matter if I was listed as a runaway apprentice by my spiteful uncle-I would gladly spend the rest of my life on a galley bench to have the mark of Lord Artos's favor now. Bwlch heaped me a huge plate of rabbit stew, which did much to quiet my stomach. And I did not have to stand watch or help the cooks-at least that first night.
THE JOURNEY TO SEPTIMANIA W3S not without its trials: Unusual icy storms in the mountains being the least of them, and steep and rough roads the worst. The best evenings were when we'd sit about the campfire, talking. It was then I learned more about my lord Artos's plans. I also relearned certain historical facts that I probably had had from my tutor but had forgotten-more likely ignored, as I had been an indifferent scholar. The Comes spoke of Aurelius Ambrosius, who had been his mentor-and incidentally, one of the heroes who had followed Voru'gern when that prince had united the northern tribes to drive the Pict invaders back over Hadrian's Wall.
"Which is how the Saxons got invited into Britain," Lord Artos remarked with a rueful smile. "To help repel the Picts. Guests who have long outstayed their welcome."
His Companions nodded in solemn agreement.
"Why had Voru'gern done that?" The question burst from me, usually silent while my betters spoke.
Lord Artos grimaced at me across the fire, his face taking on a gargoyle look in the flames. "We had no other choice," he said, and I knew then he spoke as Comes Britannorum, for he was not old enough to have been part of that victorious force. "The Roman legions that had guarded the Wall for so long had pulled out, and Rome itself did not answer our pleas for assistance." He shrugged. "We had to have reinforcements."
"Hallelujah!" Bericus said with a wicked smile. I later learned that "Hallelujah!" had been the battle cry that Saint Germanus taught Vortigera's troops. Many felt that it had helped Vortigern succeed against the Picts.
"If 'Hallelujah' and the big horses help us drive the Saxons back into the sea, I will shout it at the top of my lungs," Lord Artos said, and all about the fire added, "Amen!"
I said nothing then, mindful that Lord Artos and his Companions wore the crosses of the Christian ethic and spoke of God, rather than gods; and of this I was glad. My uncle and his crew were pagan in their superstitions and I had never had a chance to hear mass in my uncle's employ. At that, I was exceedingly grateful my uncle was not my blood kin, but my mother's younger sister's husband.
My mother had looked down on that marriage as beneath what her sister could have achieved. Only now did I realize that my mother had done very well indeed to have attracted the substantial man my Christian father had been. He had adored her and given her everything she desired. For the first time, I thought how bitter she must be about losing the lovely villa that had been our home, she herself driven off with my two sisters after his death, each carrying naught but shawl-wrapped bundles of personal belongings that would have brought my father's creditors little in their selling.
THE NEXT DAY we traversed the first of the rocky gorges on our way to Septimania. Keeping Spa-dix far from the edges of those sheer-sided drops, I prayed silently but with great vigor and enthusiasm. We lost one pack mule over the side; but while Teg-idus mourned the loss of its burden, by the time we had crossed the last of the mountainous barriers to our destination, he was relieved that it had been the only casualty.
As we came down from those mountains, we could see the vast valley of Narbo Martius spread out, with the huge temporary town of the horse fair making brilliant-colored splotches with its tents-some even made of carpets from Arabia. We were two days early and used that time to settle in, camping apart from but near enough to Tegidus's site to continue the protection agreed upon.
I was sent with Bericus and Bwlch to find provisions from the stalls and tents of local vendors. A barbarous version of Latin was the main language, but I also heard, and stored, the camp jargon with which Latin was basely mixed. Some words and phrases I understood only from their context, but I was quick-minded enough to figure out what was meant.
Then, with Lord Artos and the others, we toured the animals on display: horses, mules, jennies, donkeys, and even a few of the grotesque parodies of horses that are called camels. One spat a green and slimy mass at me- which required me to wash all my clothing in the river. I was careful not to come close enough to one of those beasts again. The Companions were sympathetic, and they did not laugh at my misfortune, as my uncle's crew would have done. In fact, they took careful note not to suffer the same treatment.
But that was a small price for me to pay to see the display of horseflesh: the graceful Barbs with their dish faces and delicate ears that nearly met above their polls; the sturdy little steppe ponies; the small fine-boned animals who enlivened our afternoons with their races.
Bericus lost as much as Bwlch won in wagers on the races. Lord Artos merely enjoyed the sight.
We found the Libyans, finally, late on the second morning-fortunately, before the fair started. By then I had had a chance to become somewhat fluent in the camp jargon and could recognize the words in some of the atrociously accented Latin that was common. Indeed, by the end of the third day, having to translate all sorts of languages and bad accents, my head ached from the effort of concentrating.
Still, the Conies Britannorum had a way with him in dealing with anyone, trader or prince, that seemed to compel respect and foster truth and honesty. He spoke to many, and others sought him out. And really, he was easy to find, for he and his Companions towered over all but the burly blond Goths.
There were displays of the horses, showing then-paces, their skills, even jumping rough barriers to prove their agility. I marveled at the riders, usually slim wiry lads who stayed on the backs of fractious horses that reared and bucked and cast figures above ground as if the riders had been impaled astride. It was glorious and I was all but glutted by so many beautiful horses.
However, I did remember my duty to Lord Artos, and I discovered which one of the many traders could be trusted to sell us horses that were sound, free of vice, and unimpaired by those covert tricks by which clever traders hide defects. The man was an Egyptian, Paphnutius by name, and he was both gratified and pleased that he was the one Lord Artos decided to approach.
Paphnutius was of middle years, with piercing dark eyes and the most astounding hawk's nose on his thin swarthy face. He exuded a courtesy that others lacked.
"Come, effendi," he said, for his Latin was fluent if oddly accented. "Come into my humble tent and we will refresh ourselves. A man must have time to see and to reflect before any business." And he shrugged one shoulder to indicate that business was not as important as courtesy.
The Egyptian's tent was far more sumptuous inside than its exterior suggested.
"Sit, sit, do. Be comfortable," he said, with bows and sweeping gestures of his hand as he pointed to the thick cushions piled upon marvelous carpets. They glowed red and blue in a chamber lit by hanging lamps, which burned a scented oil. Then he clapped his hands. A woman-swathed all in black, so that only her eyes were visible-appeared at that summons; he gave her a curt order in his own language. It was too quick for me to be sure what he said, but I think it dealt with something to drink.