Black Horses for the King Read online

  “Lead on, Galwyn, lad, there’s a good fellow,” the Comes said, and gave me a gentle push.

  I caught one glimpse of Gralior scowling at me and hoped that he would have recovered by the time I returned. Perhaps, I thought traitorously, lean delay.

  “And come you right back, Galwyn. There’s cargo to unload,” my uncle shouted just as we reached the first dwellings.

  WELL, THE GOLDEN SWAN was a distance from the harbor. Even my uncle had to admit that, and I could always say that it took me a while to get the landlord to understand exactly what was needed.

  In truth, I knew the local dialect so well that I had no trouble at all making Landlord Ercus understand that these guests were men of quality and rank. Besides, any fool could have seen that in a glance, and Ercus was no fool.

  “My uncle, the good Gralior,” I began tactfully, “said that only your inn would serve the Comes Britannorum and his Companions. You do have rooms available?”

  “Of a certainty I do, young Galwyn,” Ercus said, for he could be as tactful as I. “And as good a meal as any could ask for after a sea voyage.”

  “Well, they do need your very best food to settle their stomachs, Ercus.”

  And I reported my conversation to Lord Artos, who smiled and nodded. Then I went to the business of settling a price for the lodgings and determining how long they would be needed.

  “You are hosting friends of Prince Cador, who trades here often enough for you to give your best price to these,” I said. It took me time enough to argue his price down, but I did it. Fortunately, Artos had gold rings to pay for his needs and these were accepted everywhere.

  “For the one room large enough to sleep the six of you, he will charge a quarter ring.” I turned to Artos. “Another quarter to feed you, but the wine you drink is extra. He does have good wine,” I added, for I knew Er-cus’s reputation from other inns.

  So the prices were settled, and as a meal could be served immediately to the men made very hungry by the three days’ abstinence, I had no choice but to leave them to it.

  I trotted the last few streets so that I would arrive breathless at the ship and perhaps prove to my uncle that I had arranged matters with dispatch.

  THAT NIGHT, AS i LAY on a straw pallet in the hold of the Corellia, which was still redolent of seasick odors, I thought of Comes Artos’s quest. Horses! How much I missed our horses. Before my father had lost all his substance in two seasons of disastrous storms, we had had many fine beasts in our stables. I had owned a fine mettlesome pony whom I had ridden as if we two were a single centaur. My father’s sergeant-at-arms had grudgingly admitted that I was likely to make a competent horseman, and that was praise indeed from that stern fellow. What time I had to spare from my lessons and duties as my father’s heir had been spent in the stable.

  I ought not even to have thought of horses; they brought back too many painful memories. But I could scarcely help myself. Fine big strong horses, to be ridden by fine big strong men! Surely they’d need a horse boy to assist them on their travels? Surely I could make myself so useful to the Comes Britannorum that he would beg the loan of me from my uncle. That faint hope blossomed into determination as I lay there listening to the creaks and groans of the ship, and the restless slap of the river against her hull.

  There is little that travels faster in a seaport town than word of rich patrons and mad quests. But I only learned of the rumors later, for at first light my uncle had roused me to accompany him while he bargained for some suitable cargo. Local wine and oil in amphorae, several bales of fine Egyptian cotton cloth, and some beautifully tanned and colored Ibernian leather were acquired by midmorning, and my uncle was not displeased, though never so much as a word of thanks-much less praise-rewarded my efforts. In truth, I had had no trouble with the corrupt Latin, larded though it was with the wretched Ibernian patois.

  I was back on board the Corellia when the stable lad of the inn came with a message for my uncle from Lord Artos. My uncle scowled as he scanned the scrap of parchment, and then he glanced ominously at me.

  “Humph. He’s asked for you, boy. Seems as if you did as you were told for once and saw them well settled at the Swan. Now he needs your tongue to buy mounts for his journey,” my uncle said. “Off you go, and use your wits for Lord Artos’s sake in this matter, too. Prince Ca-dor would have him assisted in every way, even by such a one as you.”

  He gave me a light cuff to remind me of my manners, and I scrambled off the ship and after the inn lad as fast as I could-before the expression on my face could ruin this opportunity.

  Not only did I know languages, I knew horses. Perhaps my notion of becoming indispensable to Lord Artos had some chance. My uncle had his cargo-with my help. Could I not now become part of this quest for great warrior horses?

  THE Comes AND HIS COMPANIONS had slept late, despite the noise about the busy inn, and had just finished breaking their fast when I rushed in upon them. “Ave, Galwyn, well come,” Artos said, expansively gesturing me to their table. It bore little but crumbs, and so many empty platters that I suspected his Companions had made up for the three days of meals they’d missed. Lord Artos caught my glance and his grin was mischievous. “I haven’t understood a word that’s been said to us. This Ercus, our host, garbles Latin as if he’s chewing tough beef. Signs suffice in ordering a meal, but I’d rather know the price I must pay for decent mounts and to hire a reliable caravan leader.”

  “It’s my honor, Lord Artos, my honor,” I managed to reply, curbing an impulse to puff my experience in such matters. I would prove it with deeds, not words.

  ONCE AWAY FROM THE PORT, Burtigala spread out, sprawling beyond the town boundaries originally set up by the Roman governors of the province. The bustling market area was built on the Roman design, despite the cramped tiny stalls that cluttered the space near the slave pens and along the animal fields. There were many people about, and I noticed the Companions staring at the occasional Nubian, black and splendid in richly colored robes; the slim, swart men whose rolling gait marked them as traders from the Levant; the big Goths swaggering an arrogant path through the crowds of small-statured folk. All, in their turn, marked my Lord Artos and his tall, muscular Companions and slowed their pace so that they did not overrun us. All around were the jabbering and liquid sounds of many languages, fragments of which I could identify as we passed the speakers.

  “Is it always like this, Galwyn?” Bericus asked out of the side of his mouth.

  “It is, sir; only sometimes much more so.”

  “More so?” Bwlch asked.

  “This is not a market day, sir. Or a feast day.”

  “God has been good?” Bwlch muttered under his breath.

  As soon as we reached the animal market, Baldus Afritus pushed his way forward to meet us, his sizable paunch clearing his path. He wore his oily smile and smoothed his soiled robes over his belly. I murmured a caveat emptor to Lord Artos. “Do not overtrust this one, Conies.”

  “Baldus Afritus at your service, noble lord,” the man said unctuously in his heavily accented Latin, giving a Legion salute that Lord Artos ignored. Baldus now repeated his introduction in an even more garbled Gallic.

  “Mounts,” Lord Artos answered in Latin, moving to the rails, where he cast his eyes over the rugged ponies displayed. “Seven to ride, of at least fourteen hands of height, and four pack animals.”

  The smile on Baldus’s face increased as he saw a fat profit for the day. “I have many fine strong ponies that would carry you from here to Rome with no trouble.”

  I snickered. Most of Baldus’s “fine strong ponies” had no flesh on their bones, even this late into a fine summer. Their hooves were untrimmed, their backs scabby with rain rash, and their withers white with old sores from badly fitting pack saddles. And the majority were so small that Lord Artos’s tall men would have to ride with their knees up under their chins.

  “And what do you think of Baldus’s offerings?” Lord Artos asked me, his eyes slightly nar
rowed as he gazed at me. Baldus watched me, too.

  So, as if we were discussing the weather and not the beasts, I gave the lord my assessment, speaking in our own dear language, of which Baldus knew little.

  “Not one that would last the trip?” Artos went on.

  “Two only, lord, the bay with the star and snip, and the brown horse with the white sock on the off-hind.”

  Lord Artos gave a nod and walked on-despite Bal-dus’s protestations-to the next pen, which, in truth, contained animals in little better shape. I could almost feel Baldus’s stare piercing my shoulder blades.

  In that lot, a second sturdy brown looked up to bearing the weight of one of the Companions as it dozed, hipshot in the sun.

  BY THE END OF THE DAY, after much looking and then considerable checking of teeth and tendons, backs, and wind-with either Bericus, Bwlch, or me backing a full dozen to judge their paces-Lord Artos struck a bargain for four. Baldus and another coper vied with each other, promising that more beautiful, stronger animals would be brought up from lush pastures farther from Burtigala so that the noble lords would have the most suitable beasts available. I was sent off to arrange for grain, a separate field to keep them in, a trustworthy lad to watch them, and a man capable of trimming their hooves for the journey.

  “You’ve a keen eye, lad,” Lord Artos said, laying a friendly arm across my shoulders as he and the Companions made their way back to the inn, “a light hand

  and a good seat. You’re better riding the horses of the land than those of the sea, aren’t you?”

  I could only nod, overwhelmed with delight at his praise.

  He clapped me companionably. “Will your uncle indulge me with your services for tomorrow as well? That is, after you’ve ordered a proper meal from our barbarian landlord.”

  THAT EVENING, TO MY SURPRISE and relief-for I had been having a sorry time of it loading cargo with the crew-Bericus came clattering down to the docks, leading one of the ponies purchased that morning.

  “There’s a merchant, an honest man by the look of him,” Bericus said after a courteous greeting to my uncle. “But Lord Artos can make nothing of his speech. May we have the good offices of young Galwyn? My lord would deem it a great favor.”

  It was deftly done, for I saw Bericus slip something into my uncle’s palm, which caused him to smile broadly and summarily gesture me to attend the Companion.

  I was filthy, my cheek bloodied from a crate that happened to slip, and limping from another that had been purposely dumped on my foot.

  “I cannot go to Lord Artos like this,” I said, mortified at my state.

  “The Comes cannot wait on you!” my uncle said, and before I realized his intent, he pitched me over the side of the ship. “You’ll be clean enough when you’ve dried off,” he bellowed down at me.

  “Why, you sodden son of Mithras,” Bericus yelled fiercely, “the lad’s needed sound, not drowned!”

  I had been in no danger, since I could swim well, and I was pleased that Bericus had rounded on my uncle for his treatment of me. I was even more grateful when Bericus hauled me up out of the water.

  “Does he treat you often thus?” Bericus asked in a disgusted undertone.

  “I am cleaner,” I said ruefully.

  Bericus grunted as he lifted a piece of seaweed from my shoulder and deposited it back in the harbor.

  “The evening’s warm enough that you should dry out on the ride back. Your tunic is certainly thin enough,” Bericus added, and shot one more fierce glance at my uncle, whose back was to us.

  We mounted, and the pony’s warm back took some of the chill of the harbor water out of me.

  TEGIDUS WAS THE NAME of the merchant, and his language was Gallic, though of a dialect I had heard but once, in my father’s house many years before. He, too, wished to buy horses at Septimania, though his search was not for the same breed as ours. “Ours,” indeed! How brash I was! He had trade to exchange as well, and he had worried about arriving safely in Septimania until he heard of the

  Comes Artos and his Companions, such obviously valiant warriors. He had come as far as Burtigala by ship, in a fair-sized party, and he hoped that if the Companions joined him he could start the long journey in two days’ time. They had but to finish buying mounts and pack animals, as they had brought their own supplies.

  “I believe the man,” Lord Artos said, smoothing his beard around his smile. “What is your opinion, young Galwyn?”

  “Mine, sir?”

  “Do you think him honest?”

  “He is who he says he is, Lord Artos, for my father had dealings with him many years ago. I remember the name, and that the dealings were well conducted.”

  “Tell Tegidus that we would be glad to join him and his band, and we will set out tomorrow as soon as we have mounts.”

  “My lord, we could go now to the farm and buy the ponies before Baldus gets them and doubles the price, as he will if he knows there is a demand.”

  Lord Artos peered at the darkening sky. “Is there time?”

  “Enough if you ride now!”

  The twinkle returned to the Comes’s eyes, and his beard framed a wide smile. “Inform Tegidus of your suggestion. We can offer him a mount to accompany us.”

  Bericus procured torches from the landlord, and the four of us were mounted and riding down the road in less time than it takes to tell it. We roused the herder from a bed he was loath to leave; he stood in the doorway, scratching himself.

  “I’ve an early start in the morning to the market at Burtigala,” he whinged, but brightened when he heard Tegidus clink his bag of coin.

  “Perhaps we can save you that long journey and provide more profit than you would realize from Baldus,” I said, winking.

  “Ah, that one! Skin you of your hide and sell your meat for beef, he would!”

  Granted, it is not generally advisable to buy ponies in the dark, but knowing hands can find curb and splint, and check hoof, tooth, and condition. These were sturdy mountain stock with flesh on their bones, hard hooves, and good frogs, and young enough to be easily resold on return. They were sure of foot, too, for which I was thankful as Bericus and I raced them up and down the hill to test their wind.

  Before the glass could be turned for the new day, we left the farm, each leading four well-grown ponies. My arms were nearly pulled out of their sockets by the time we reached Burtigala, my legs ached with the strain of holding me on the withers of my own mount, and my thighs were chafed from the rough saddle pad.

  “How is that you speak my tongue so well?” Tegidus asked me as we turned the animals out in the rented paddock.

  “I saw you in the house of my father.”

  “Did you? And he was …”

  “Decitus Varianus,” I said, although my throat went tight in memory of my father and those happier days.

  “Ah! You’re the little lad who chirped so happily in any language he heard.” Tegidus’s white-toothed smile was briefly illuminated by the sputtering torches. “I was sorry to hear of your father’s death, lad. You are well employed with Lord Artos, but you have been more than helpful to an old friend this day.” He tucked something in my hand that I, in turn, lodged in my belt, too weary to dispute the unnecessary vail or set his notion of my employment to rights.

  I DO NOT RECALL HOW, but I seem to have spent the night in Lord Artos’s chamber, on a pallet by the foot of the bed he shared with Bwlch and Bericus.

  Knowing that the loading of my uncle’s ship continued that morning, I was somewhat concerned for my absence.

  “Nonsense, lad,” Lord Artos said. “Bwlch will return with you to spare you reproaches, but you have been of invaluable assistance to me, which is as Prince Cador charged your uncle. You have done no wrong.”

  When Bwlch and I reached the ship, the crew were already busy hauling bales and amphorae up the gangplank. My uncle’s expression when he saw me gave me pause, though it turned courteous enough when he bowed and smiled at Bwlch.

  “Yo
u have our thanks, lad,” Bwlch said loudly as I handed over the reins of the pony I had ridden. As he took the lead from me, he pressed some coins in my hand, grinned, and winked, then clattered off, his long legs dangling almost to his mount’s knees.

  Hastily I concealed the coins in my belt. Just in time, too, for my uncle was hauling me by the ear back up the plank, cursing under his breath.

  “Your fine friends are gone now, lad, and you’ll do the work you were hired for.”

  I do not know what put my uncle in such a bad mood, for I had done the work I was hired for, in dealing for the cargo. Yet I still had to help load. It was a weary, weary day, with cuffs and blows and kicks to speed me at tasks. I did my best, but sometimes it seemed they left the most unwieldy lots for me, heavy beyond my strength; and then they laughed as I strained and heaved with little avail. I paid dearly that day for those hours with Lord Artos.

  I would have paid twice the price, had it been asked.

  I WAS SO EXHAUSTED by nightfall that I could not summon the energy to eat. Instead I crept into a space between deck and cargo where few could find me. In the dark, I transferred the coins and the gold ring Tegidus had given me into my worn empty pouch and tucked all safely back under my belt. As soon as I laid my head down, I was asleep.

  The cold roused me, even buffered as I was between bundles and deck. The clammy sort of cold that suggests a dense fog. Groaning, I realized that my uncle’s humor-for he had planned to sail with the morning tide-would scarcely improve. I could not stay hidden all day, however preferable that would be. When I heard the others stirring and grumbling at the weather, I crept out, shivering. Hunger drove me to the galley, and though I did manage to snatch a heel of bread, the cook put me to work immediately. I was struggling with a sack of the beans he intended to soak for the evening meal when the little pouch fell from my belt.

  The first mate saw it and snatched it up. “Ah, what have we here? Light-fingered is he, too, this bastard scum of a Cornovian?”

  I do not know what prompted me, save that I had had enough of him and of my miserable existence on the Core/to, with only the prospect of more of the same until my spirit was completely broken.