"Splendora?" I asked as Canyd turned away.

   "She's suffered no lasting harm. You're a good lad. Don't worry."

   TELDYS SENT A MESSAGE to Bericus concerning the possibility of a band of marauders in the vicinity of the farm. For the next several weeks, we rode out in groups, exercising the Libyans in the fields nearest the buildings. Otherwise they were stablebound, with the mastiffs and geese let loose in the farmyard to warn of intruders at night. And there were men working in every field, mending the hedgerows or doing other "repair" work. Not a meadow that didn't have some eyes on it every hour of the day.

   One night the winds blew such a gale that, in the morning, thick frost rimed bare tree, hedge, and grass. The day was bitterly cold and the footing so treacherous we turned no horse out. Three days the cold snap continued, and we had to break ice from the troughs and from the pond so the horses could drink.

   Teldys and Canyd were of the opinion that, with cold winter blowing down over the land, we were unlikely to experience any more unwelcome attentions. I was not so sure: Iswy was sneaky as well as mean. The weather might have defeated him for now, but I intended to keep my eyes and ears open. None of Lord Artos's black Libyans would fall victim to his wickedness: this I swore to myself.

   BY THE TIME THAT YEAR ended in the winter solstice and we at the farm had properly observed the birth of Jesus Christ, I learned the hard way that Canyd was the best bone setter as well as horse coper.

   Rhodri required me to learn to ride well enough to handle any of the horses on the farm. And because the Libyans knew me, I had to ride them. I dislocated my shoulder twice falling off Splendora, who had healed sound after the thorn incident. Then I snapped the two bones in my left forearm when Spadix stumbled while we were rounding up the mares and foals prior to a storm. So that fall did what the now-absent Iswy had not-kept me off horses.

   Canyd set the arm. His hands were as gentle on a human as on a horse, but I could-do little with the splinted arm. Teldys assigned me to Canyd to do what I could, helping him prepare his herbs and simple remedies for equine ailments. Even with one hand, I could strip bark from river willows. And did-for days.

   Unfortunately the injury also prevented me from attending mass at Christmastide in Deva. I sorely missed the joy of the Nativity mass, but only Teldys, Daphne, and their sons braved the wintry roads to make the journey. Still we made merry with the feast prepared by all the women on the farm. They had been cooking for days, each trying to outdo the others with soups, pies, and special dishes of quail, goose, and duck. There were also roast kid, roast suckling pig, venison, and vegetables, then all sorts of honey-sweet cakes, as well as all the

frumenty we could eat. I enjoyed myself, though some of the older men drank too much mead and were very unwell the next day. I was determined to show my reliability in caring for Cornix, so I did not overindulge. Indeed, Canyd and I were the only ones sober enough to do the horses the next morning.

   CANYD USED MY CONVALESCENT TIME TO teach me more about The Hoof. From a shelf in his little cot, he brought down the bones of a horse's leg, with the dried tendons yellow against the dark ivory of the bone. He pointed out the small pastern bone, the navicular, which can easily be chipped enough to lame a horse so badly it has to be put down. The larger pastern bone was in place above them. I could actually move the knee and fetlock of this relic. He had dried out a hoof as well, the flesh carved out so I could see into the coronet band and the horny shell that protects the frog, the inside of it striated with fine vertical lines of hoof horn. The hoof wall was actually no thicker than half the nail of my index finger.

   "This is like your own finger- and toenails, Galwyn," Canyd explained, watching me examine the relic. "See here, where there are ridges? Bad year for this horse. See here, where there are cracks? He wasn't getting the right feed to keep his bones strong ..."

   He took the hoof in his hand, turning it around and around, obviously pondering some problem.

   "Sorry, lad"-and he handed it back. "There is such a thin wall. One would have to be so careful..."

   "Of what?" I prompted when the silence continued.

   Canyd inhaled and then tapped the hoof. "You know, don't you, that all the Libyans are footsore-between hoof rot and cracks?"

   I nodded, because it had been the talk of everyone in the cot: How was Lord Artos going to use horses who kept going lame? Ponies might not be big enough but they were sturdy and never had such problems with their feet.

   "Those big Libyans have nice long hooves but they are accustomed to rocky and sandy surfaces. We have more bogs and marshes hereabouts, an' I mislike what the wetness does to these hooves, especially with such a high frog, where the mold likes to settle."

   "But it's all hard," I said, tapping the shell. "Surely..."

   "You've scrubbed stables down afore now, lad, and weren't your nails soft after a day in water?"

   'Tes, they were-but they're only fingernails, not tough hoof like this."

   "The pony that wore this foot was born and bred on this island. Big and strong as the Libyans are, they will need something to keep their feet up out of constant contact with wet ground. If we could only-" He broke off, frowning to try and catch some elusive notion. Then he reached into a dark corner and brought out some very odd looking pieces of leather. One had strings attached to it. He tapped the surface and I identified it as boiled leather, from which my father's guards had made their breastplates and the skirts that fell from waistline belts to protect their thighs from arrows.

   "D'you know what this might be, lad?"

   Some memory struggled to be recalled: something said in Lord Artos's voice.

   "Look at it." And he pushed the thing into my hand. A rounded piece of boiled leather, all right, a sort of sandal-but for what sort of short and rounded foot... ?

   "A sandal for a horse?" Yes, that was what Lord Artos had said of Canyd: He wanted to put sandals on horses to protect the hooves he was always talking about. I picked up the strings. "And these tie it on ... ?"

   "Good, lad! But leather, as tough as it can be made, is scraped and worn out in several days, and it takes weeks to prepare."

   Then he handed me some flat metal crescents. They, too, had ties, but it didn't take me a minute to see that going over rough ground would split the thongs and the sandal would come off. Or it would hang by one tie and be a danger to the animal, not a protection.

   "I think we may have to nail it to the hoof..."

   I gasped, knowing very well how any sort of puncture in the foot could lame a horse.

   "If"-and now Canyd's gnarled forefinger circled the rim of the hoof-"we very carefully put our nails into this part of the horn..."

   I know I gawked my astonishment at him, and he smiled.

   "Alun and I have been working-oh, years now, I think"-and he grinned at me for all that time spent on vain effort-"on the type of nail that would be slim enough to go in just this area and strong enough to hold a metal rim on the hoof. No hoof, no horse!"

   "I know, I know."

   "But the time has come, has it not, when those Libyans are goin' to need somethin' to protect 'em. Best we figure it out this time." He gave an emphatic nod of his head. "Had a pony once with bad cracks in his hooves. Fine pony, save for that, so Alun and me did keep the hoof from spreading with a metal rim ... Should have kept on at the proper sort of sandal then." He frowned then and dismissed me to my evening chores.

   It should not have surprised me that the next day I was ordered to Alun the Smith's forge, where he did all the metalwork required by the large farm, including making the flat spather swords used by the guards. Alun was the biggest man I had ever seen, with arms like tree trunks and a chest that was as deep and broad as Cor-nix's. He had a cap of very curly black hair, just grizzling above the ears, and a face with smears of soot generally on the ruddy cheeks. When he smiled, and he was a smiling man, he nearly lost his eyes in the creases of his flesh. He had four great anvils about his big fire, and three apprentices: two were his sons, built on the same generous lines as their father, and one a thinner lad who never smiled the whole time I lived at the Devan farm.

   Alun and Canyd were working at one of the anvils in the forge, once again trying to find a shape of nail to suit the requirements. Round ones had long since been discarded as unsuitable, though I often heard Alun say that he forged the best nails from Venta to Eburacum. I was set to working the bellows, a job I could easily do with the one hand I had to work with. It was not an easy job, though, for the coal fire had to be very hot to heat the iron enough to make it malleable.

   In that forge, I also saw the various shapes of horse sandals that had been devised over the years Alun and Canyd had been experimenting. Sandals with lips three-quarters of the way around that would be hammered down to fit tightly against the outside of the hoof; sandals with long clips that fit halfway up the outside of the hoof. Canyd thought that clamping the clip while still hot and malleable to the horse's hoof would seal it on. I fretted about red-hot iron being applied to a hoof, but Canyd and Alun laughed at my fears.

   "There's no feeling to the outer shell. It's deader'n fingernails, you can be sure o' that," Alun told me. "But if it will save the hoof"-and he winked at me, jerking his head at Canyd to be sure I caught the jest-"then that one'll be happy, now, won't he?"

   As Canyd laughed at such wit, I was able to smile back. Despite the heat and the smells in the forge-for I was at the back of it, against the wall that ringed the home farm, and constantly inhaling the odd odors of hot metal and coal-I had a sense that these two men were on the brink of an extraordinary accomplishment.

   "Light enough to be lifted, strong enough to protect, sturdy enough to last, and easy to place," I often heard Alun declare.

   A flanged sandal was finally eliminated, though such a one stayed on an old pony for weeks. It had to be removed because the thick mud of the winter fields seeped in between hoof and metal, causing the old horse to go lame.

   If I heard Canyd murmur, "No hoof, no horse," once, he said it like a litany as he and Alun attacked their objective. And I got so I would groan in protest the moment he formed the first "No."

   AS THE WEATHER IMPROVED and spring seemed nearer, I hoped in vain that Lord Artos would come to inspect his mares and foals. Bericus came every month, checking each of the twenty Libyans and the foals himself, though he also read Teldys's laboriously written daily reports. Bericus would ride into the yard on the heavy-boned bay gelding that took him on all his travels, for the horse farm was not the only property Lord Artos had in this area. He would bellow my name and bring me running.

   "You get taller every time I see you, lad," Bericus would say.

   In truth I was getting some growth, with all the good food Daphne liked to set upon her table. We even had meat twice a week.

   Then Bericus would toss me the reins of the gelding and turn to have a few words with Teldys while I stabled the horse.

   "Has Cornix eaten the pony yet?" Bericus might ask as we three strode down to the stables. Lord Artos's stallion was always the first to be seen on these inspection visits.

   I'd have to strip the rug off Cornix-which I did even with my broken arm-for Bericus was thorough. He'd run his hands down each leg to assure himself of soundness, and pat the smooth hide. And after the first time Cornix got hoof rot, Bericus always checked each foot. I was careful to use a powder to prevent it, so he never found another trace of it.

   "How long d'you think it'll take before they grow their own winter coats, Teldys?" Bericus asked. "Won't be able to pamper them on the march."

   "A year or two," Teldys said. "They have to adapt. Horses do."

   Then Spadix would nose Bericus for the turnip or parsnip that he always seemed to have in his belt pouch.

   "Beggar," Bericus said, but he provided the treat while Teldys tutted in disapproval. "How's the arm, Gal-wyn?" He'd teased me the first time he'd seen it splinted.

   "Itches something fierce," I said, but showed him the smooth willow wand that was long enough to help relieve the itching. "Canyd says it'll mend straight," I added, in case Bericus might think I couldn't do right by Cornix.

   "Good bones, the lad has," Teldys said, giving me an affectionate buffet on my good shoulder.

   If Bericus had time to spare, he would take a meal with Teldys, where doubtless they discussed other matters. Then he would ask me to saddle up the gelding, and while I did that-awkwardly with the broken arm, but refusing his help-Bericus would often tell me more about Lord Artos's activities.

   "You see, it's not just the horses the Comes needs, Galwyn. It's the support of other princes around about us here," Bericus said. "Most of them haven't seen these fine Libyans yet, of course, so they have doubts about the effectiveness of Artos's plans to defeat the Saxons the next time they're on the move."

   "But surely Lord Artos only has to tell them ..."

   Bericus laughed. "He's a grand one for talking, and while he's with them, they're all for him. He's got a way of making men loyal to him." He looked at me and smiled again. "Of course, the Companions, myself included, are still the only ones who really understand the merits of his great plan to unite all Britons against the Saxons."

   "But-but-" I spluttered, wondering how anyone could listen to Lord Artos and not believe in his strategies.

   "It's the doubters that must still be convinced-against their will, lad. That's why politics is so important," Bericus replied with a grin, clapping his hand on my shoulder; and then, unexpectedly, he peered at me. "I do believe you've put a full hand in height on you since you came back from Burtigala ..." He paused, stepping back to arm's length, to study me. "Aye, and muscled up, too." And he squeezed the shoulder I had dislocated twice.

   "I'm helping Canyd and Alun," I said, rather proudly.

   "No better men to have as exemplars," he agreed, nodding. "Now politics is how Artos is contriving to keep the kingdom quiet until he is ready to exhibit his new force. You do all you can"-and again he pressed my shoulder-"to further that, and you'll have the full gratitude of the Comes-and"-he grinned again-"the profound thanks of all of us who will ride to battle on our fine black horses."

   Bericus swung up into the saddle. "One day, when spring is finally here"-and he wound his cloak tightly about him-"you may have a chance to see our new headquarters. It's slow work but it'll be a fine place when it's finished: a base for our cavalry and a place for training the foot soldiers." He looked off, frowning slightly. "The Saxons remain where they are. It's the Irish we have to contend with right now. Vale, Galwyn," he said in farewell as he kneed the gelding forward. "Just keep the Libyans safe and prospering!" he cried over his shoulder.

   As if he needed to tell me. I thought constantly about their safety, Iswy topmost in my mind. Not that we had seen hide or hair of Iswy after that heavy frost. Nor had there been any roving bands stealing from outlying farms or harrying travelers on the roads. Still, I never forgot that particular danger.

   I knew about the danger of Irish raiders, too, living as we did not that far from a favorite landfall of theirs. No wonder princes and chiefs around here were not quite so concerned about Saxon invasions, despite the well-founded rumors that Aelle and his sons intended to expand beyond their pale near Eburacum. The Irish were a problem now; the Saxons only a distant menace.

   Of course, for Lord Artos's marvelous plan of a swift-moving force to succeed, it would be five or six years before this year's crop of foals were ready for battle. Would we be given the time? Would enough of the princes join forces with Artos to provide a large enough army?

   In point of fact, the Libyan stallions could have been used in battle right now, since Rhodri had trained them to respond to movements of heel and seat so that a Companion had both hands free for his weapons. And I had to admit I dreaded the day Cornix would be taken from my care, for he was, indeed, the mark of both Comes Artos's favor and my status on the farm.

   BERICUS WAS NOT the only one who noticed that I had grown taller and stronger. All those hours on the bellows and the generous, good food were having an effect. Further, now that my arm bones had knit, I was excused from pumping the bellows and allowed to help make the horse sandals, which meant much work with a hammer.

   Bericus had listened to both Alun and Canyd explaining about their device: had listened but had not seemed terribly impressed.

   "He only rides the horses," Canyd said later, when Alun had railed against Bericus's lack of enthusiasm. "He hasn't the care of them."

   "He cared for them on the journey here," I said. Canyd eyed me a moment. "For his own, but not for all the others who are in our keeping."

   "Aye, he's a Companion," Alun said, altering his position, but I don't think it was out of deference to my remark. The smith enjoyed opposing Canyd, if only to be contrary. But it was a good-humored antagonism.

   That might even have been what led to an effective horse sandal, because if Canyd suggested one method, Alun would counter with another, totally different. Thus they explored many more possibilities. Boiled leather had long been ruled out as ineffective, and now all their efforts were concentrated on developing an iron rim to somehow attach to the underside of the hoof.

   Once again an older pony was used to test the result. I do remember the look on the pony's face when he first realized he had something stuck to his hoofs. He kept picking up his hinds and trying to kick off the unaccustomed weight. We had a good laugh at his antics.

   I trotted him out into the cold wet afternoon, he still trying to dislodge the rims and then shying when the iron sandals clanged on stone. He picked his old legs up like a yearling, flicking his front feet. Gradually his kickings subsided as he realized he could not relieve himself of the encumbrances.

   He was turned out again and was watched over the next few days, to be sure the metal plates did not cause lameness or, far more importantly, come off. The fifth day, a hind sandal did get sucked off by the thick mud in the pasture from the heavy spring rains.

   Canyd and Alun passed the lost rim back and forth, noting the way that three of the five nails had come out and were sticking out of the rim. We found the other two in the pony's foot: they had broken off, but-and this was important-they had not made him lame by remaining.

   "They don't sit in firmly enough, though, even with the tapering," Alun said, holding the erring nail up between thumb and index finger.

   "But the other rims stayed on," I reminded them. "Three out of four is good."

   "Aye," Canyd said, "for want of the right nail, the sandal was lost... and so would the horse be."

   "Maybe"-and Alun pondered this before he spoke again, "maybe-if the nail is turned down-hooked, so to speak-on the outside, it will not pull out as easily."

   "Aye, that would clinch it in place," Canyd agreed, nodding.

   "I will make the nail a little longer, then," Alun said, motioning me to take my position at the bellows to heat up the fire, "to be hammered down on the hoof. It wouldn't hurt the animal, would it?" Canyd shook his head.

   THIS TIME THE SANDALS remained on a full two weeks.

   "Problem with all these sandals and nails," Alun said when Canyd and I were jubilant to see success, "is that the hoof of a horse grows, or he rubs the sandal on hard ground and gradually wears the nailhead down... or gets grit between hoof and sandal... or ..."

   "You've to train men to make the rims," Canyd said thoughtfully. "You've enough work on your hands just making arms an' tools. A man'd have to be sent along with the horses, an' with plenty o' nails, I 'sped, in case a shoe came loose or got lost." His wink at me was significant.

   I stared back at him aghast, silently turning my thumb in my own direction.

   "And why not you, lad?" Canyd went on. "You've been in on the work since it started." Then he added slyly, "'Tis one way to get to be with Comes Artos, isn't it?"

   I know I must have flushed to realize that Canyd knew of my devotion. But that remark settled my future. I was only glad that Alun agreed, grinning at me with his eyes so lost in the folds of his cheek flesh that only a twinkle remained.

   "But... but... you've sons ..." I began in humble protest. Even if their suggestion was my dearest wish come true, I was surely not the one to be chosen. "And Ratan, your apprentice-"

   "None of whom can ride well enough to move with an army, lad," Alun said. "And I'd need them here." He gestured around the forge, with its buckets of arrowheads waiting to go to the fletcher, and lanceheads, and all the farm paraphernalia. "To do what they've been trained up to do." He nodded emphatically.

   "Still an' all, you'll have to train up other lads, like our Galwyn here, to know how to make the horse sandals," Canyd said.

   "Aye, I will, won't I? But"-and now Alun pointed his thick burn-scarred finger at me-"you'll need to know more than just how to make the sandals. That's only part of the whole."

   "Aye, ye'll need to know the foot of a horse, and the leg, and what can go wrong with both. No hoof, no horse."

   I rolled my eyes at Canyd for that but he, too, waggled a forefinger at me.

   "I know more ways to ease a lameness than stooping legs in water, m'lad, and you'll have to learn 'em all."

   That very day at the evening meal, they approached Teldys, with me in reluctant tow, and asked to have me assigned to them for teaching. Teldys had, of course, been apprised of all their efforts to make a horse sandal, and he even came to inspect the pony who wore the first sets.

   "You'll be wanting even more iron, then, won't you?" he said with a sigh of resignation. "D'you know how much it costs these days?"

   "Any that's spoiled in practice can be melted down and used again," Alun blithely assured him.

   A CARTER CAME ONTO the farm one day, bearing a message for me from my mother. It had been written before the winter solstice and was a list of her present dissatisfactions, including the fact that my sister Flora had been married and I hadn't come to be witness.

   Salutations to Galwyn Gains Varianus from his grieving mother, Serena, widow of Decitus Varianus, who is in good health despite her condition and who hopes to find you well.

   Have you forgotten how to write and read so that you do not answer my last letter and give us no word of you since the scrawl that the carter brought us? You should have paid more attention to your tutors when you still had them. But there are others, surely, there in the north where you say you went, who are able to read and could have written on your behalf. Your sisters have persuaded me, against myi better judgment, that it is possible that you were unable to convince your employers to let you come to your sister Flora's nuptials.

   As this was the first letter I had received from anyone, I had to assume that a previous letter, containing the news of Flora's imminent wedding, had not reached me. How like my mother to think I could have forgotten how to read and write!

   Lavinia insists that you were unable to come- rather than too lazy to make the journey. But surely you know that it would have been your duty to give your sister's hand, as you are the legal guardian of both sisters, though I know you are fonder of Lavinia than Flora but she is the elder and deserves your courtesy. You could at least have answered my letter.

   Had you not left the employ of your uncle Gra-lior you would have been given leave to attend a family Junction. Indeed, he was here where you were not, and still displeased that you left his employ so precipitously. I thought you had been raised with more attention to courtesies and I cannot understand why you would distress your uncle who had great hopes for you in his business.

   That was certainly the first I had heard of his hopes for me.

   We are well enough here, though the winter was cold and I suffered from it badly with my feet and hands swollen with the chilblains you know I al-

ways have when I have to bide in an unheated place like this poor little house I must now occupy.

   I am surprised, too, that you have made no attempt to see your family since your father's unfortunate demise. At least for the Winter Solstice, when it is the habit for families to come together. Not that we had much of a celebration but as much as I could manage. You would have been comfortable enough in the shed but it was most unkind of you not to come to Flora's wedding. She and Lavinia cried over your absence but I told them what could they expect of a boy who would leave a good position to go the gods knew where with strangers.

   I close this now. Vale, your grieving mother.

   The letter was both infuriating and depressing. It was true that Lavinia and I had always been the best of friends, but I would certainly have been happy to have attended Flora's wedding, to see her happy. Even if it had meant being in Uncle Gralior's company. Obviously he had filled my mother's head with nonsense. "Hopes for my future" indeed! I was a lot better off with strangers than I had been on my uncle's ship.

   I moped over her unkind words and accusations. Begging a piece of vellum from Teldys, I started to compose an appropriate response, not quite denouncing Gra-lior for the mean and brutal man he was but making it plain to her that I was in a much better situation in Lord Artos's service.

   Teldys watched me struggling with the letter each evening and finally leaned toward me across the table.

   "To your mother, is it?" And when I nodded, he added, "Sometimes these explanations are best made in person. There are those four horses Rhodri's been training for Prince Cador. You go with them and make it all right with your mother. She's at Ide, is she not? That's not far out of the way."

   I was very grateful, for I would never have asked for such a favor. And so I went off with Firkin and Yayin to lead the horses. Yayin also had a personal problem this visit would solve: a chance to see his father, who had suffered a bad sword wound.

   We delivered the horses and agreed to meet up on the road back to Deva the next day: Firkin went with Yayin.

   MOTHER HAD TAKEN a second husband, a nice-enough man, a combmaker who was so skilled that people sent for combs of his making from as far away as Londinium.

   His two-roomed cottage, close up against the walls of the old fort, was snug if certainly not what my mother had had when my father was alive. Odran had made every effort to improve the place and had even managed to have water from the old Legion aqueduct piped to a cistern just outside the door, so Mother did not have far to go to fetch the household water.

   I was both disappointed and gratified that my mother didn't immediately recognize me. It was my younger sister, Lavinia, who shrieked in welcome and rushed into my arms to weep all over my chest.

   "Galwyn, Galwyn, it is you!" Vinny exclaimed over and over. "Mother, it is truly Galwyn! Don't you know your own son?"

   Mother blinked rapidly at me and it was not the first time that I thought my mother did not see well beyond the tip of her nose.

   "Well, you certainly took your time making your way here," she said, folding her hands across her waist as if she did not wish me to see that she was plumper now. "Your uncle was terribly upset. At first he thought you had drowned at Burtigala and no one had bothered to tell him."

   "But didn't my message reach you?" I asked, though I did not think she had grieved for me.

   It was Lavinia who sniffed again. "Gill the carter brought it but it didn't arrive until weeks after you gave it to him. But we were so relieved, weren't we, Mother? Did you get ours about Flora's marriage?"

   "I got that one only eight days ago."

   Mother sniffed. "I paid good coin to be sure it reached you in time."

   "I'm sorry, Mother, but it didn't. I came as soon as I could. We had to deliver some horses to Prince Cador."

   "Prince Cador, is it?" She sniffed again. "And Lord Artos. No wonder my sister's husband wasn't good enough for the likes of you."

   "Oh, Mother, you just won't admit that Uncle Gralior is a mean, nasty man," Vinny said, shooting me a glance of encouragement. "Even when your own sister tells you the truth."

   Mother made a sound that was so close to Spadix's snort of disgust that I had to cough suddenly.

   "Oh, you must be thirsty," Vinny said anxiously.

   "Come, we've small beer and a fine soup that Lavinia has made us," Odran said, gesturing for me to settle myself on the bench. "You can stop long enough for that, can't you?"

   "I've only a few hours to spare," I said, which was not the truth; but Mother was scarcely welcoming.

   "A few hours!" my mother said scoffingly. "And it's years since we've seen you."

   "That's because Uncle Gralior would never give him enough time to visit us, Mother," Lavinia said with pointed sweetness. "I'll just slip around and tell Flora that you're here. She worried about you, too, Galwyn."

   I loosened the girth of the pony I was riding, wishing that it could have been one of the Libyans, to prove to my mother that I was in far better service now than with that wretched uncle of mine.

   Flora, well married and with a child under her apron, wept with joy at seeing me and dragged forward her husband, the local butcher, who had supplied the meat for the stew we then ate. When I realized how eager my sisters were to know all about my recent adventures, I was quite willing to talk. And when I noticed that both Odran and Melwas, Flora's husband, were listening as avidly, I relaxed and began to enjoy myself.

   For all her disclaimers, my mother indulged in few of her disparaging sniffs until I mentioned my work with Canyd and Alun.

   "It is as well that your father is not here to listen to you prating about smithing." And she made her disdain obvious by looking down her nose at me.

   "It is an honest trade," Odran said quickly. "You know how well Ide's smith lives."

   That silenced her, but I had had enough. The meal was ended and I could take my leave without giving of-fense to anyone. I said all that was polite to Melwas and Flora, slipping to her the last of my gold rings as a wedding gift. Then I had to promise Lavinia faithfully that I would return whenever I could.

   "I don't care what Mother says," Vinny murmured as I tightened my pony's girth. "I think your work sounds fascinating, and you were always fond of horses. And that's proper enough for a Varianus. Do come back anytime you can, Galwyn," she added so plaintively that I hugged her tightly and repeated my promise.

   "I can't say when, of course, Vinny-" "I know ..." she said, her voice trailing off unhappily, but she was all smiles again when I turned back to give her a final wave.

   Yayin was all smiles, too, when he and Firkin arrived at our meeting place. His father was recovering, if slowly. I think he had had the better visit. But we all traveled back with lighter hearts.

   NOT A WEEK LATER, I found that I was to start my new profession far sooner than was planned; for just as spring was brightening the grassy meadows and I was coming to grips with the intricacies of my special training with both Canyd and Alun, a message came from Comes Artos. He wanted all four stallions to be brought to him as quickly as possible at Camelot, which was what he had named his new headquarters. He wanted to show the quality of the stallions to those who doubted then1 use in his strategy.

   "It says here he's sending a troop to escort the stallions and whatever of the larger mounts Rhodri may have trained and ready. And see here, you're to come." Teldys's thick forefinger tapped at the paragraph. '"The pony and his rider must come, too, if Cornix will not travel without their company.'"

   Being sent from Deva also took care of my recurring nightmare: that Iswy would return to harass the Libyans once again, now that the weather was more clement. Then, of course, since I was such a worrier, I wondered if he would learn that the stallions had gone to Camelot and seek them out there.

   "Bericus will be leading the troop?" I asked.

   "Not likely," Teldys replied. "Don't you remember his last message? That he'll be away this month on service with Prince Cador? The Irish are raiding again."

   I had forgotten and, for one moment, was downcast. I had hoped to have the support of Bericus both on the way and hi Camelot.

   "But... but..."

   "But, but, but," Alun mocked me, smiling to show how pleased he was for my sake, "you'll do well enough."

   "But if a horse should lose a sandal..." I protested.

   "Who better than you to nail it back on?" Alun clapped me so stoutly that I staggered off balance, while Canyd smoothly caught my arm to restore my footing. "In truth, who else can we send? And you'll know what to do."

   "But... but..." I was aghast at such responsibility. It would be my task to see that the priceless stallions arrived sound as well as safe. What if something happened to one of them, despite every precaution I could take?

   Teldys held up his hand. "If Alun and Canyd say you're the one to go, you are."

   I stopped protesting then. Because even I had to admit that I'd had more training than any of the others, no matter how inadequate I felt myself to be. Still, I was in a state of considerable apprehension, my mind continuing to dredge up, in increasingly horrific variety, all the disasters and accidents to which horses are prone.

   Mind you, while they were readying the stallions and the pack animals for the journey, Canyd and Alun added to my apprehensions, battering me with tfs and whens and circumstances and how to repair hooves and which remedies to use for what travel problem.

   Then, to my total consternation, Rhodri told me this time I would ride Cornix and lead the pony.

   "You're far too heavy now to ride that pony such a distance. And with his short legs, he'd be holding the cavalry to his pace. Not wise," Rhodri said. "Since he's still the stallion's stablemate, he must go, or unsettle Lord Artos's pride and joy. No, you lead him this time."

   I was aghast. My ability to stay on a horse had unproved, my reflexes sharpened by the desire to avoid more broken bones. And it was true that I had ridden Cornix from time to time and he seemed to be less fractious with me astride him than others.

   "But... but..." Why was I putting up so many objections to having my most private dreams come true: to ride Cornix to Camelot; to see Lord Artos again; to be able to prove how useful I could be to him?

   My thoughts were interrupted by a dig in the ribs from the mischievous Yayin, one of the unlucky riders who'd been thrown when trying to school the stallion. "And haven't you always been whispering in that pony's ear to tell Cornix to treat you nice?"

   "I never-!" I turned on Yayin in self-defense. He jumped backward, grinning, and I realized he was only joking so I managed to laugh.

   "Naw," said Firkin, "he just smears his saddlecloth with that smelly glue."

   "That stalh'on knows just how much he can get away with, with Galwyn up," another suggested slyly.

   "Not when I'm teaching him, he doesn't," Rhodri said sternly, and the lads pretended to cower before the trainer's displeasure. Then Rhodri put a companionable arm about my shoulders. "The horse trusts you, as you've had the care of him. I'd rather have someone he knows on his back for the journey than any stranger."

   Once back at the soothing task of grooming Cornix while he stood, hipshot, eyes closed, enjoying the attention, I quite liked the notion of riding the great stallion all the way to Camelot. I'd grown not only taller but longer and stronger in leg and arm, so I really could control Cornix's explosive habits-most times. I knew he liked me, for he would come to his stall door on hearing my voice, and whicker at my approach. It was comical to see Spadix, who still shared the black's stall, push his nose up beside Cornix, trying to look out over the high stall door. I always greeted my faithful pony first, for he had, in his own small way, been one of the reasons I was here with the horses of the land, and not struggling with the horses of the sea.

   However, I was the only one from the farm selected for the journey to Camelot. I was very proud of that, and then was beset with all kinds of conflicting emotions: I wasn't worthy of such trust; would I be able to cope with the responsibility? Would I know how to act at Camelot amidst warriors chosen for their skills, when I had only a small boy's knowledge of arms, and little training as a swordsman?

   No one seemed at all surprised that I had been chosen. Indeed Yayin appeared more respectful and even Firkin deferred to me. That was embarrassing. We were all the same here at the farm, weren't we? We all mucked out every day, and exercised horses, and ate and slept together. I wasn't sure which disconcerted me most: being chosen, going, or the responsibility of riding Cornix there.

   Before the escorting troop arrived, Daphne took a hand in outfitting me for journey. Inspecting my clothing, she found what I had in deplorable condition, despite my best efforts to keep my garments clean and mended. Riding horses in all sorts of weather does tend to wreak damage on clothing.

   So I was clothed in new leggings and smocks for the trip, and given a fine tunic and colored leggings to wear for attendance upon Lord Artos.

   "If I learn"-and Daphne shook her finger at me as she, almost reluctantly, handed over the finery, as well as the set of sturdier garments for travel-"that you have ridden in that good tunic, or worn it mucking out after that great black hulk, I'll flay you alive."

   What delighted me most were the pair of fleece-lined boots that tied on all the way to my knees. These would help my shins and toes recover from the chilblains that often kept me awake at night. We were having a very cold spring and the itching kept me up, even with the salve Canyd had given me. Everyone was looking forward to warmer weather, when such winter ailments would cease.

   THE TROOP ARRIVED-somewhat supercilious, as warriors can be, toward the farmers whom they protected. But the soldiers' attitude changed for the better when they saw the big, bold black Libyan stallions they must escort. The soldiers were properly impressed when they were taken to the fields to see the broodmares and their foals. The foals that they had had at foot last year were yearlings now, and if their glossy black-and-brown coats did not make them stand out from the native ponies, their size did. They were the same height as most of the grown animals at grass.

   The captain of the troop, Manob, looked askance at me when I was introduced as Cornix's hostler and veterinary; he nodded more approvingly when Teldys listed my abilities.

   Manob's men were a very rough lot and regarded mere farmers with small tolerance and much skepticism. I knew that I would have to prove myself to them on the trip and I was very nervous about that.

   In my eyes, however, Manob rose in estimation when he most courteously asked Canyd to check over the feet of the troop's horses.

   "Some need their hooves trimmed, and we've one that's walking short." Manob frowned. "But there's no heat in the leg."

   "Bring him first," Canyd said, and gestured to me to accompany him.

   Immediately Manob bellowed for the trooper to present his mount. Hoping I'd be able to guess right on the cause of lameness, I followed Canyd to the smithy. There we donned the heavy leather aprons that protected us against a horse pulling his foot roughly from our grasp.

   I nodded at Alun and his sons, who were finishing the last of the sandals I would be taking with me. The day before, I had sharpened my hoof knives, so my tools were all in the smithy; but I didn't move for them until Canyd gave me another peremptory gesture. When he saw my startled expression, he nodded solemnly.

   "Begin this journey as you mean to go on, Galwyn," he said. The use of my name warned me that I would be doing the work while he oversaw it. Well, at least he'd be there now to support-or deny-my ministrations.

   "Trot him up," Canyd called, waving his arm at the soldier leading a bright bay pony.

   It, too, was larger than the usual moor ponies, and it occurred to me that Lord Artos had been trying before, with some degree of success, to breed size from local animals. But they were still ponies in build: stocky, short-coupled-tough, yes, but not long enough in the leg or big enough in the barrel and chest to support men who were seventeen or sometimes eighteen hands in height.

   As I had been taught, I watched for any unevenness of stride.

   "He's favoring the near fore," I said, noting when the pony's head bobbed.

   Canyd made one of his agreeing sounds.

   Even as we watched, the horse's stride leveled. When his rider brought him to a halt in front of us, I had a notion as to the problem.

   Running my hand from the pony's shoulder down his leg, I could feel no heat. So I hauled his foot up by the hairy tuft of fetlock. He was, at least, well accustomed to having his feet attended, for he did not resist.

   There was just a touch of heat in the sole, at one side. I took my tongs and clamped about that section of the horny hoof. The pony struggled to free his foot but I had it firmly caught between my knees and had set myself, prepared to forestall any resistance. I took a paring knife and carefully, right at the point of tenderness, cut. Almost instantly a gout of dirty gray-yellow fluid gushed out, released by the knife cut.

   "What was that?" Manob asked, bending down to observe my handiwork.

   "An old puncture wound grown over," I said in exactly the same level tone Canyd used when his guesses were correct. I turned to the rider. "Happens frequently, traveling rough country, no matter how careful you are of their feet. No hoof, no horse."

   Canyd cleared his throat but I didn't look at him.

   "Soak the foot for half an hour in warm water with a handful of salts in it. Then come back and we'll see if it's all clear."

   'Tes, but can he be ridden?" The man evidently did not wish to be parted from his troop.

   "He'll be fine. I've something to plug the hole with, a tar-soaked flax that'll keep it clean as well as aid in healing."

   After that, Manob regarded me more favorably. I inspected forty-four hooves that afternoon, and trimmed dead horn from most of them, certain that they would leave the farm sound. Fortunately there was only the one lame pony in the troop.

   IT WAS WHEN CORNIX was taken to water that evening that the soldiers discovered the sandals. The sound they made on the flags of the courtyard turned every head. Cornix was accustomed to his sandals by now and no longer lifted his feet or tried to kick the iron off his feet.

   "By Mithras, what's wrong with that horse?" Manob cried.

   "He has horse sandals on," Canyd said. "Made of iron. Needs to be so shod on the wet ground, and the sandals will prove useful in battle as well."

   "Sandals for a horse?" Manob stared, round eyed with amusement. Then he guffawed. His men relaxed and grinned, taking their lead from their captain.

   "Aye," Canyd said, nodding imperturbably. "Can't get no thorns or punctures through iron."

   The captain's expression altered to a thoughtful one. Then he dismissed the matter with a shrug. "Doesn't happen that often."

   "Often enough to leave you short of a man or two, I don't doubt," Alun said. "No hoof, no horse."

   "They all done like that?" Manob asked.

   Canyd nodded.

   "They nailed on?" Manob was quick wilted.

   "And placed on the hoof hot, for the best fit," Canyd admitted blandly.

   "Horse lets you?"

   "Hmmm. They know what's good for 'em," Canyd said, giving the animals more credit for sense than humans.

   "What happens if one does come off on the journey?"

   "That's why Galwyn goes with you," Canyd said, delighting in the expression on the captain's face.

   "He made the horse sandals?" Manob regarded me skeptically.

   I knew I looked young, for I hadn't much in the way of face hair yet, but he didn't have to regard me as one would a child not yet out of leading strings.

   "Indeed, he's right handy with hammer and tongs," Canyd said, in a sort of oblique warning.

   "Seems to be," Manob remarked.

  

   Part Four

   Camelot

   THE NEXT MORNING, WHCN DAWN WAS BREAK-ing, we left the farm at Deva, a cavalcade: myself astride Cornix, with Spadix on a lead rope beside us, and Manob on his gray stallion heading the troop. Under bridle, the two stud horses were very well mannered. The other three Libyans were led in the center of the troop.

   We made good time that first day, though Spadix had to pump his legs hard to keep up with his friend; still he was tireless even at the canter. So he wouldn't feel worthless, I had him carry my pack of sandals and tools.

   We had some days to travel, but we made far better progress than on my journey from Isca. We camped out, for the spring was warming, and Manob preferred camping to the rough inns available on this route.

   "I can guard us better on our own. We know who is near and who should not be."

   He was a good commander and we ate well, from what was hunted. He did buy bread when we passed villages that had bakers. It was rough bread, but great for soaking up the juices of the stews.

   Although every day I mentally reviewed all the things that could go wrong with hooves, none of them occurred on our journey. For the most part, we were traveling on good Roman-built roads. I checked the sandals morning and night, and the nails stayed firm. There was no sign of hoof rot. Manob usually managed to observe this procedure but said little. He did admire the little iron pick I had made to ferret stones and gravel out of the deep frogs. I had a few extras-for they are troublesome objects at times, forever getting lost in the straw-and gave him one.

   Spring is always a good time to travel: the weather not too cold for comfortable riding nor the nights too chill to find sleep. Fields were greening with winter-sown crops and there was fresh grass for the horses to graze at night when they were picketed. The blossoming trees, pear and apple, were lovely, and the woods through which we traveled were bursting with buds, bluebells and daisies dotting the ground beneath us. Had I not been so anxious that nothing should go wrong on this journey, I would have enjoyed it even more.

   I shall never forget my first sight of the hill on which Lord Artos had built his headquarters, Camelot. It rose out of the ground suddenly, as if a giant's fist had punched up just that much of the earth's surface to form it. The sides were, naturally, cleared of any vegetation, and we could see the course of the zigzag road that led up to the southwest gate, a massive affair of oak planks the width of a man's thigh. Sentries patrolled the top and the wooden palisade that surrounded it, for not all the walls were finished. Of course our approach was noticed and news of our arrival spread.

   I was amazed to see horses tearing at breakneck speed down the approach road toward us, weaving through the obstacles of people, laden ponies, and ox-drawn carts. I wondered if they thought our troop was hostile, though everyone knew that the Saxons did not ride, nor had they horses of this quality.

   And then-when they got closer-I saw it was Lord Artos himself who led the horsemen, his face broad with smiles, his bright hair golden in the sunlight.

   "Galwyn! I wouldn't know you, lad, you've grown so. And able to ride my fine fellow, too."

   If his words to me were welcoming, his eyes gleamed as they fell on the big stallion that Manob had assigned to the front of the troop.

   He threw his gray's reins to one of his escort, swung lithely to the ground, and beamed up at me where I had halted his stallion. He put one hand proprietarily on Cor-nix's bridle.

   "Rhodri's doing, my lord," I said, grinning from ear to ear. I immediately slipped my feet out of the foot plates and my right leg over the back of Cornix, dropping to the ground.

   Well, I would never match Lord Artos in height or girth, but I didn't have to look up as far to meet his blue eyes now. And I had brought his fine stallions safely to him. With a bow of satisfaction at that accomplishment, I passed Cornix's reins to his rightful rider.

   Lord Artos took them with a grateful smile, and before I could clasp my hands together to offer him a leg up, he had vaulted to Cornix's back.

   "Take my horse, Galwyn! Manob, my greetings, and thanks for the safe conduct. Can you help exchange saddles here? Cei, Geraint, Gwalchmei," he said to those who had ridden down with him, "you shall have the pleasure of riding my black horses back to Camelot. I'm eager for your opinion."

   The change of saddles was accomplished with alacrity and gave the Comes a chance to try out the war training Rhodri had given Cornix, making the stallion walk from side to side and turn on the forehand, then turn on the hindquarters, all of which Cornix did smoothly. I would remember to tell Rhodri how wide Lord Artos smiled in the testing. Then Lord Artos gave the signal, and as the gray spurted forward instantly with the others, I found myself still in the van as we rode-not quite so furiously-up the road to Camelot.

   How they had made it safely down the road at the pace they had come was beyond my understanding. Despite occasional loads of sand and pebbles to improve the footing and provide traction for the heavy carts, the roadway was slippery with mud. We had to thread our way past men and supplies of all sorts. Two of the Libyans, and even some of the troopers' mounts, shied when going by noisy, squeaking, heavy-wheeled drays that were bringing stone, timber, slates, and bricks up the steep and zigzagging slope.

   We rode through the great wooden gates. Here the outside wall was finished and thick as a lance was long, well able to withstand any assault the Saxons might try to make. It could probably withstand even the stones of a catapult.

   After the main gates, we passed through the outer court and took the next hill at the gallop. At the top, Lord Artos reined to his right, passed an unfinished inner wall, and rode into a large court that was separated from the active construction by a high wall. This somewhat muffled the bustle and the other sounds of building. We of the van followed him, but glancing back over my shoulder, I saw the rest of the troop taking a different direction. Then I looked forward again and had to catch my breath at the magnificence of the several-storied building in front of us.

   The Comes kneed Cornix up the wide shallow flight of stairs, the stallion's metal sandals clattering on the stone. Bending over ha his saddle, Lord Artos called out to those within.

   "Come, you all, and see how well we shall be mounted to drive Aelle and his sons from Britain!"

   Men and women swarmed out of the edifice, startling Cornix so that he reared, pivoted on his hind legs, and came down so hard on his forehand that I was certain even as fine a rider as the Comes would be dislodged. But Lord Artos only laughed, placing such a firm hand on Cornix's neck that the animal came to a full and complete halt, snorting but obedient.

   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.

   "I'm learning how," I said with emphasis, and saw him relax his guard a trifle. Cornix pushed his nose at me for a caress and ducked his head so I could scratch his ears.

   The boy's eyes widened. "He knows you."

   "He should. He's been in my charge since Lord Artos bought him at Septimania."

   "You went there with the Comes?" His surprise doubled and I could see a grudging respect in his manner, which I couldn't fail to appreciate. I smiled back, warming to the lad, seeing in him traces of what I had been like a scant year before.

   "I was, and I sailed back with him, Cornix, and my pony Spadix, here." I could be proud of that adventure.

   He gawped, his chin dropping as he was finally impressed by my bona fides. I slapped Cornix familiarly on his strong thick neck.

   "I rode Cornix here-until Lord Artos claimed him on the road."

   "So that's why you were up on Ravus," he said.

   "The gray?"

   He nodded.

   "Yes, we changed mounts. That's a fine beast! Lovely gaits and a beautiful mouth. Do you have charge of him as well?"

   He was ready to be civil now. "I'm Eoain Albigensis," he said, giving his formal name, and we clasped each other's forearms in the fashion of friends. "Are all the Libyans as grandly big as these?"

   "Only the best would do Lord Artos," I said, trying to sound more matter-of-fact than pompous. "And the mares are every bit as fine as the stallions. You should see this year's foals. Fifteen were born in February, and every one sturdy. Cornix, here"-and the animal whuffled, pricking his ears forward at the sound of his name-"did his duty by every mare he covered. All of the fifty proven in foal."

   "Fifty?" Eoain's eyes bulged at such a prodigious number.

   "Well, we have to mount all the Companions on animals as good as these, don't we?"

   He nodded his head, eyes still wide. "And you've to make sandals for 'em all?"

   I laughed. "I won't be the only one, I assure you."

   I was just about to ask him if there was a Cornovian named Iswy working in the stables when the slender young lad Lord Artos had called Arlo appeared in the stableyard, breathless from the speed of his run.

   "Eoain, Lord Artos and his Companions will ride out on the Libyans to hunt after mass." Then he noticed me. "You're Galwyn?" he asked, not quite disrespectful, more uncertain. When I nodded, he added, "Because Lord Artos wishes you to wait upon Ilfor the smith after mass. About those horse sandals." Then he pivoted on one heel and raced back the way he had come. Arlo, it seemed, rarely walked anywhere.

   "You have a chapel here?" I asked Eoain.

   What with my broken arm and then all the work on the sandals with Alun and Canyd, I had not had the opportunity to get to mass at Deva as I had resolved to in the New Year. At the farm, one of the priests-usually an old one who better understood the peculiar attitude toward religion where most of the inhabitants were inclined toward a familiar semipaganism-made the trip to baptize infants or preside at a burial when needed. But they did not hold services. I was, therefore, almost hungry to attend a proper mass in a real church.

   "Of course," Eoain said, obviously surprised that I would ask. He pointed to a high slate roof that could be seen from the stableyard, at the other side of the great hall. "Mass will be said shortly, so you'd better hurry."

   "But if I'm to go to Master Ilfor-"

   "You'd best go to mass first, Galwyn," he said firmly. "Master Glebus does and I will. Lord Artos and his Companions do."

   My indecision lasted no longer than his final sentence. So that morning, and every morning thereafter of my stay at Camelot, I stood with the throng of worshipers in a church that was as perfect for Camelot as everything else about Lord Artos's castle. The church faced east and west, with high slit windows letting in a morning light that bathed the whitened walls in glorious shades of lemon yellow and pure white.

   It was a joy to me to chant the responses, letting my heart savor the beautiful words. For one brief instant as the mass started, I thought I had forgotten the prayers, but then my tongue worked before my mind and the words came from the heart that had not forgotten them. If others merely mouthed the Latin, having learned the British tongue as their first language, I raised my voice- just slightly-to speak the purer sounds that had been drilled into me. The strength of my voice caused Eoain to give me a wondering look, and he sighed as if in relief.

   By the Benedictus, I experienced a profound renewal of spirit, for I had not been aware of how much I had needed the benediction of the mass. I vowed to renew my religious duties with vigor, even if, at Deva, I would have to rise before dawn to attend. At least once a month. I promised that to God, if he would further Lord Artos's cause.

 

WHEN MASS WAS OVER, the lords made their exit first, passing through the lesser worshipers. Lord Artos cast his eyes to left and right as he proceeded, and he caught sight of me, giving his head a slow nod as if pleased to see me in the congregation. I was all the more glad that I had come this first morning in Camelot. I had been a sorry Christian these past few years and was joyous to have my faith also renewed today: another benefit of my service to Lord Artos.

   When we, too, finally processed out of that lovely church into the sunlit morning, it was still early enough.

   Mass evidently did not intrude on the business of the day.

   Eoain pointed out to me the way to Ilfor's forge. I detoured first to my cubicle and collected my packs of horse sandals and tools. Pausing briefly in the kitchen, I took a handful of the cold meats and bread set out on the trestle tables, and these I munched as I strode to my appointment. The unfinished outer court was already crowded with people and stacks and piles of the supplies which had been among the loads brought in the day before. Workmen were struggling up ladders with tiles; nets of rock were being hoisted to the masons awaiting them on the heights, and carpenters banged merrily away at various other projects.

   Alun's forge at Deva had been generous in size but Camelot's was immense: sprawling from one vast cavern to another across the one completed wall of the castle. I don't know how many smiths there were working metal at their anvils, but obviously Ilfor was an important person to have charge of so many.

   Master Ilfor, however, broke off the orders he was giving two underlings and whirled on me as if I had lost an entire day's work. I had not seen him at mass and somehow did not think I ever would. Later, I would learn that religious tolerance was a part of Lord Artos's way of dealing with diverse people and attitudes.

   "I want to see these sandals of Canyd's," he said, scowling. He had not seemed so critical the night before. But then, Lord Artos had been present. Now I was in the smith's own domain, and considerably inferior to him in rank. When I went to remove some sets from my packs, he shook his thick hand. "No, not ones you brought. Show me how you make them."

   'I made," and I stressed that word slightly because Ilfor had the look of a bully and I would no longer let myself be a victim, "all those." I was also feeling extremely charitable after the cleansing effect of hearing mass.

   "Show me," he repeated, and he gestured peremptorily at a handily empty anvil at the nearby fire. Then he folded his heavily muscled arms across his chest, obviously skeptical.

   I shrugged; diffidence is a good defense against men of his temperament. I knew, as I withdrew my leather apron from my pack and laid out my tools on the anvil's pedestal, that I did not look as much a smith as he. I had neither his bulk nor his sinew. Nor could I fold metal for a sword and hammer the blade into shape, nor make arrows and lanceheads or shields and breastplates as he could. But horse sandals I could fashion quickly, deftly, and have them fit the horse that needed to be shod.

   "Where is the horse?"

   "Horse?" he asked, widening his eyes. "Why would you need a horse?"

   "To fit the sandal to, of course," I replied, undaunted.

   "Make the sandal!"

   There was no evasion from that command. I shrugged and, walking to where his store of iron was kept, selected a length that would be suitable for a pony sandal. No, not a pony! I realized I had the gray stallion in mind. Why not sandals for Ravus? Lord Artos rode him often.

   I had acquired the habit of checking the feet of any horse I rode, assessing how wide, or narrow, a sandal would be to fit the beast. I had done so the day before with Ravus. That trick of observation stood me in good stead now.

   I nodded to the bellows boy to stoke up the fire, and I thrust the metal into its reddening coals. I turned it until the center was bright orange and, grabbing it with my tongs, began with my hammer to curve a sandal out of the shapeless length.

   There is a joy in working metal, in watching it take the shape you have in your mind-as if you have been able to translate form from mind to matter. I heated and bent the metal several times to obtain the appropriate semicircle. I then heated and flattened it within that form to match the gray's feet. I heated it again to make the nail holes, hammering the iron spike through the pliant metal. Then I thrust it into the water butt and began the second sandal.

   All the while Ilfor watched with narrowed and suspicious eyes. But for the fact that I had been accustomed to the constant appraisal of both Alun and Canyd, the doubt and challenge in his face and stance would have made me nervous. Of course, once engrossed in the making of the sandals, I actually forgot him in the rhythm of the work.

   When I had finished the set, I looked up at him ques-tioningly. He reached in among the sandals I had brought with me and took out a pair, tied by a thong. These he compared to the ones I had just finished, and snorted.

   "Much too small if these are for those Libyan blacks," he said almost contemptuously.

   "They have all the sandals they'll need for the year," I said calmly. "I made this set for that gray desert stallion Lord Artos rode yesterday."

   "You did?" And his brows went up. At his imperious gesture, the bellows lad came quickly to his side and was told to go ask Master Glebus at the stableyard to send up the gray.

   Once again he folded his arms across his chest and waited with the patience of someone who is confident of success in humbling a braggart. And something more. It was as if he knew something about me: something to my discredit. He was waiting to see if I could do what I had so glibly described to the Companions.

   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.

   I SPENT THE ENTIRE DAY in the forge, after first formally requesting permission from Forgemaster Ilfor to use his facilities. I made sandals for cracked, damaged hooves so that the ponies might stride out again pain free. Master Ilfor having made a tactful mention of how much iron he needed to continue his own work, I merely trimmed hooves that were not in such immediate need of sandals.

   By the end of the week, I had worked my way through all the horses and ponies connected with Camelot, for many that were not needed on a daily basis were pastured nearby. I even did some of the farm animals that were hauling the carts up the road to the castle. They needed such rims as protection, perhaps more than the riding horses. And I willingly trimmed the feet of oxen, for they had problems as well, treating such puncture wounds and bruises as I discovered.

   I was aware that, while I worked, one or another of the other blacksmiths turned up to watch the sandal making and were especially attentive during the fitting. Such scrutiny amused me, for I realized that Ilfor was making sure all his men would know how to fit the sandals. But there was more to it than watching someone else work. Nor would I be here much longer, for I would soon be returning to the farm at Deva.

   Ilfor's men, no matter how carefully they watched, needed special training. Lord Artos might have mentioned that he wanted me to stay on, to continue to practice my skill, but I knew how much more I had to learn. When I felt myself to be truly competent, then I would return here.

   However, I was very much aware that we all served Lord Artos. Therefore, on the third morning, I approached Master Ilfor and suggested that he might like to have one or two of his smiths work along with me in making and fitting the sandals.

   Ilfor at first expressed surprise at my suggestion, as if his men had only been "watching," not memorizing the steps. Then he smiled, rubbing one large ear with two fingers as he realized that I had realized what he was about.

   "We both serve Lord Artos," I reminded him, allowing him that much leeway. "We are still learning how best to protect the feet. No foot, no horse!"

   He nodded soberly at the saying and immediately delegated four of his apprentices to my tutoring. None of them were at all skeptical about the merits of the sandals, having seen once-lame horses walk, sound, out of the smithy with the fitted sandals.

   By chance I heard from Master Glebus that a horse had been put down for a broken leg. So I begged to prepare one hoof so that the students would learn, as I had, from a close examination of a horse foot. A gory task, but essential if I was to be a proper tutor.

   I TALKED MORE FOR the next three days than I had ever talked in my life. I sent the apprentices out to find unshod horses to practice on. Although I tried to avoid such a problem, it turned out that the one nail-bind that occurred-from a nail sunk too close to the tender part of the foot-made my four students more conscious of the damage inattention to detail could wreak.

   I talked, I explained, I demonstrated. The metal fabrication was never a problem with men already skilled at forge work, nor was making the special tools required to do the actual fitting. But metal is dead; a horse is living. They had to learn how to cope with the horse, the hoof, the hammer, and the nail. Gradually, though, I could see confidence building as they acquired a certain knack in the doing.

   Since I was free to move about Camelot, I did so, looking for another glimpse of the man I thought was Iswy. I had none, but then he could have been there and gone: Camelot had constant visitors, each with attendants.

   "Don't know anyone by that name," Eoain told me when I got a chance to ask him. "Not among the stable lads."

   "Anyone new here-"

   Eoain's laugh interrupted me. "New? With all the comings and goings right now? If you're worried about Cornix and your pony, don't. Master Glebus is real careful about who he lets work our horses," he added, pushing out his chest pridefully.

   I certainly hadn't seen anyone remotely resembling Iswy since that first glimpse.

   "Any Cornovians?" I asked.

   Eoain shrugged. "I don't ask such questions." Then he had a thought. "Plenty of people coming in to work out there ..." And he waved at the outer courtyard.

   "Iswy would work with horses." Unless of course, I added to myself, Bericus had seen to it that no one hired him to care for animals ever again.

   Eoain shook his head. "We've had half a dozen lads coming in and out with our guests' horses over the past few days. If he was here, he's gone now."

   That was all the reassurance I was likely to find, and really I had far too much else to do to fret over a man who was leagues away from Camelot now-even if he had been here one night.

   MY LAST TWO MORNINGS at Camelot I spent teaching the apprentices what I had learned from Canyd of remedies for common hoof ailments like seedy toe, sand

cracks, hoof rot, and the puncture wounds that were so prevalent. They listened, but I think that most of them thought that such knowledge was redundant: They would do whatever Master Glebus or the horse's owner required them to do.

   That was a smith's view of metalworking but not mine. Nor Canyd's. However, the apprentices learned much and were no longer as skeptical of my craft. That, in itself, was a huge step forward.

   On my first free afternoon I went to watch Lord Artos and the Companions working the big Libyans, and that was a magical time. The warhorses seemed to enjoy the maneuvers they were asked to perform. What a splendid sight for the watcher! The stallions entered wholeheartedly into the exercise as they charged down the field at imaginary targets. I could guess what the feelings of an enemy might be, faced with those great black steeds, nostrils flaring, teeth bared. Rhodri would be gruffly pleased with my detailed account of the display.

   I spent my evenings listening to the Companions, and listening to the visitors who were mostly trying to avoid joining Lord Artos's combined army. I remembered what Lord Artos had said that one night when we were around the campfire: that God had given man free will, and it was up to men to make the proper choices in their lives, choices that would lead them to places in heaven. I had not had much time for philosophy on board the Corellia, during the long months in my uncle's service. Not even at the farm in Deva. But in Camelot I gave much thought to the world and my place in it. Would that I could join the force that Lord Artos was now training! And who would tram me as a swordsman? Maybe as a slingsman, for Yayin was handy with that Cornish weapon. But slingsmen were foot soldiers, and I wanted to ride a Libyan stallion into battle! Ah well, I thought philosophically, at least I have been to Camelot!

   Camelot was such an amazing place, truly every bit as marvelous as I'd been told. I knew myself to be fortunate indeed. So I did not protest when one of the stewards called me from the forge to meet with the Comes the day before I was to leave.

   HE WAS IN THE ROOM that he used as office, seated at a long sturdy table cluttered by scrolls, bits of leather, two sheathed knives, and scraps of parchment covered with notes in a bold script. There were shelves for the scrolls; lances standing propped against one corner; and Lord Artos's sword, Caliburn, and its scabbard neatly racked up on the wall nearest the door, ready to hand should he be called in an emergency.

   He had before him the scroll I had brought from the farm, enumerating the mares known to be in foal, and to which stallions.

   "Ah, Galwyn, now that you've taught Master Ilfor's men what they need to know"-and he grinned at me, aware as always of all that went on in his castle-"we can continue the good work started by yourself..."

   "More by Masters Alun and Canyd than me, Lord Artos," I said hastily.

   "I like a modest man, Galwyn." I straightened my shoulders, for he called me man now, not lad. "But I also give credit where it's due. It is due you, Galwyn Vari-anus." And he extended me a pouch that I could hear clinking as he hefted it.

   "I'm only glad to have been of service, Comes," I said, keeping my hands behind my back.

   With a swoop, he pulled my right arm forward and firmly placed the pouch in my resistant hand.

   "And worthy of some reward for months of honest service and dangerous work." He closed my fingers around the leather bag. "I shall not say farewell, Galwyn"-and his eyes twinkled at me-"for undoubtedly we shall need your special skills ... once you consider yourself well-enough trained." His smile was both amused and understanding. "So now I shall merely wish you a safe journey back to Deva. Especially if you will act as messenger with these." And he passed over a half-dozen tightly wound scrolls, with a long strip of parchment tucked under the thong that bound them together. "The names of the recipients are written on each, and directions to each one on that strip. Your road to Deva takes you close to all. You'll get a decent meal or a night's shelter on your way as my messenger."

   "Of course, Lord Artos-" And then I stuttered to a full stop. I didn't know how to continue because, of course, the messages should be delivered quickly and Spadix must stay with Cornix. I could only go so fast on foot, for I was not a runner that some are. I did hope to find a farm cart or two or even a wagon train along the way to give my feet a rest.

   Then he burst out laughing. He had the most infectious laugh, so I had to grin back at him. "I've taken Spadix from you, haven't I, for that sentimental barbarian of a Libyan. Well, as my messenger, you must naturally have a suitable mount. He awaits you. I shall look forward to our next meeting, Galwyn Varianus. A hundred more like you at my back, and no Saxon army could withstand us!"

   Thus, chest swelled with pride, I left his presence and hurried out to the courtyard. I would miss Spadix, though not as much as I might once have done; I'd grown too tall to be very comfortable riding him. But he would always have a special place in my heart. After all, he'd carried me bravely into a completely new life.

   I did not, however, anticipate the mount awaiting me-the African gray! And wearing, under the saddle, a pad with Lord Artos's distinctive device of the bear. Tied to the saddle was a cloak, also in the colors of the man I served, and leathern pouches to protect the scrolls from weather and dust. All would know me for a messenger of the Comes Britannorum and respect me as such.

   Master Glebus himself was there, smiling with great pleasure at my astonishment.

   "Surely there's some mistake, Master Glebus!" I exclaimed. "He's much too-"

   "Nonsense, lad, with the new Libyan to amuse the Comes, he is not likely to ride this fellow as much as Ravus needs. He's also to do his bit with the mares, for we can always use more messenger horses with his turn of hoof and endurance. He's a good do-er and will keep condition if he only smells oats now and then. Further"-and now Glebus leaned into me with a hand cupping his mouth-"Lord Artos in full regalia is too heavy for his back. The Libyan suits him better in that regard: an animal well up to weight." He straightened up, winking. "You're a messenger right now, too, so the gray's speed is to your advantage. You know your first destination?"

   I glanced down at the slip-it was nearly transparent with all the messages that had been inscribed and then scraped off its surface. My first stop would be outside Aqua Sulis at an armorer's, one Sextus Tertonius's, a destination which I could make easily on this fine horse by evening-if I started immediately.

   "You'll be fed and bedded on the way, lad. No fear of that as the Comes's messenger."

   I took the reins from Master Glebus's hand and vaulted to the stallion's back. He pranced in place under me until I soothed him with my voice and a hand on the arching crest of his neck.

   "Good speed, lad," the horsemaster said, stepping back. I pressed my knees into the trembling sides of my mount and began my journey back to the farm.

   AS SOON AS WE HAD MANAGED to descend from the heights of Camelot, I let the fidgeting Ravus have his head and he went forward at a gallop, his hooves ringing against the paving stones. He was fresh and I honestly did want to test his gaits. He was so agile that we had no difficulty in weaving around those on their way to Camelot. I even heard a few cheers.

   I thought I heard an echo of a curse, and looking over my shoulder for fear I had inadvertently caused trouble, I did see another mounted rider some distance behind me. His animal was not as clever footed as mine, and the rider had run right into a team of oxen dragging a sled full of granite.

   I stroked Ravus's neck, well pleased with his dexterity, and let him continue his gallop. He had sense enough himself to drop down to a canter, an easy gait for a rider to relax into.

   I reached my first destination, the armorer's, where Sextus Tertonius himself greeted me, emerging from the smoky interior of his forge, where hah0 a dozen men were busy at anvil and hearth. He called one lad to take my horse away to be unsaddled and refreshed.

   "For you will surely need to rinse the travel dust from your throat, Galwyn," Sextus said, and then wrenched his head around at the sound of Ravus's shod feet on the bricks of his yard. "Whatever is the matter with him?"

   I grinned, signaling the lad to stop. "Sandals to protect his feet from prods and bad surfaces."

   So, although Ravus was unsaddled, he had to stand about and let me pick up his feet one by one to show Sextus his iron rims.

   Tertonius shook his head, drawing his mouth up into a pucker. "Don't see the need of such things, lad. Choose a horse with a good strong upstanding hoof and you'll have no problems, whatever you ride him over. But that Artos"-and he shook his head again-"he's got a lot of fancy notions in that head of his, as he'd be better without."

   Sextus Tertonius was the first smith who did not see the benefit of the horse sandals. But he was by no means the last. I only hoped that he would give Lord Artos's message a more positive response than he'd given the sandals.

   I had a meal while Ravus was washed down, groomed, fed, and readied for me to ride off to my next stop.

   I WAS ENCOURAGED TO STAY under cover that night at my third stop, a villa outside Corinium; indeed, the weather had worsened. But my night's rest was broken by the dogs barking sporadically all night and by the thunder and lightning of a fierce storm. While I didn't rise, my hosts did, investigating each new outbreak of alarm. In the morning I asked what had aroused them. "Chicken thieves," my host said, shrugging. "We've foxes as well as ferrets hereabouts and they do go for the chickens."

   Ravus was as fresh as if he hadn't done leagues the day before, and I had to let him gallop the fidgets out until he would settle once more to his easy but distance-eating canter.

   In Corinium, too, I took a good-natured dismissal of the horse sandals from the recipient of Artos's message.

   "And what happens if a nail works loose? You've to walk the horse then, haven't you, to whomever can fix it?"

   "I know enough to do that," I replied evenly. I had become so used to a positive attitude toward the sandals that such skepticism made me reticent.

   "And weigh yourself down more with hammer and nails, I'll warrant," was the reply.

   So I handed over the message, courteously refused any hospitality, and rode on to Glevum. There I delivered the last of my messages, but Prince Geneir insisted that I could take time now to rest my horse and myself before proceeding onward to Deva. I was glad enough, for Glevum is a considerable town and I had a few odd coins to spend, given me by the satisfied owners of horses I had shod.

   I wandered around the market and bought a set of large wooden spoons for Daphne, who was forever breaking hers, generally on the scullery maids' hands for being sloppy or slow. I bargained hard for a cloak fastener for Canyd and bought a hot meat pie from a vendor. Then I sat on the wall at the edge of the marketplace to watch the folk coming and going. No one so grand as I had seen at Camelot, but it was so rare for me to have a day in which to please myself that I enjoyed the leisure for its own sake.

   When I got back to the prince's house, there was a huge commotion in the stableyard; Prince Geneir himself was shouting orders. As soon as he saw me, he waved me urgently to him.

   "Someone tried to steal that gray of yours, Galwyn." A spurt of fear was quickly masked by the outrage I felt.

   "Was the thief caught?"

   Geneir gave an exasperated growl, his fingers rattling the hilt of the sword at his waist. "Slippery as an eel, he was, the moment my hostler remembered that Lord Artos's messengers travel alone. That's what the stable lad was told, that you were ready to leave. But the rascal didn't even know which bridle to use, and that made the boy suspicious, so he asked Gren. When Gren arrived to question him"-and now Geneir was as outraged as I- "he vaults to the gray's back and tries to ride him out of my yard, bareback and bridleless. But my guards were alert and the gate was shut before he could leave. Gren said he was off the horse, up and over that wall there." And he pointed to the end of the stable yard where stood a high, vine-covered wall. "I've sent guards after him. He'll not get far."

   If the would-be horse thief was Iswy, I doubted that-for the Cornovian was as clever as he was sly. We'd not been able to catch him at Deva for all the watching we'd done.

   "What did the man look like? Did anyone see his face?"

   Geneir beckoned his hostler, who was still red faced and puffing with indignation over the affair. "Did you get a good look at his face?"

   "Aye, and a nasty look he had; raging, he was, at being thwarted."

   "Was he bearded?" I asked.

   The hostler nodded. "Raggedy-like. Tall as yourself, but skinny. Used to horses, though, the way he vaulted up, bareback and all."

   "D'you know him, Galwyn?" asked Geneir.

   Grimly I nodded, unable to speak for the fury that almost consumed me. First Spadix and Cornix, then Splendora, and now Ravus. So Iswy had been at Camelot, and he had doubtless been the rider I had seen behind me on the road. Quite likely, he was also the intruder who had kept the dogs barking in his attempt to get at Ravus in the stable.

   "It's appalling that a messenger of the Comes should be hindered or attacked for any reason." Then a thought occurred to Geneir. "A Saxon spy?"

   "I doubt it," I said, and then hesitated. A man who would deliberately cause harm to the horses he was supposed to value might grasp at other opportunities to do harm to those he hated. I couldn't at all be sure that he did not include Lord Artos in the category, but in my estimation Iswy was evil enough to turn treacherous, too. "No, I doubt he would have the opportunity, but he believes himself ill used in the service of Lord Artos," I said.

   Geneir was clearly waiting for more of an explanation.

   "He tried to injure one of new Libyan stallions on our way to Deva and was sent off without a character. I believe he was guilty of other attempts to harm the Libyans."

   "Ah, a vindictive type, is he?" Geneir touched his temple, nodding with complete understanding. "Never fear, Galwyn. We'll find him, and he won't bother you anymore."

   "While your guards are after him, I should be on my way," I said with true regret and some honesty. "I am in Lord Artos's service, and there is another stop I should make to see if there are messages to be carried to Deva." Not true, but Prince Geneir accepted it.

   I would have a good start on Iswy even if the Glevum guards did not catch him. And I'd travel by less well used roads so that no one would see me passing.

   That is how I made it safely-and speedily-back to the farm at Deva.

   I told Teldys of the incidents, and any time the dogs barked at night or the geese honked, someone went out to investigate.

   More than a week later, Prince Geneir sent a regretful message that, despite the most diligent of searches, the culprit had not been caught. However, he had been traveling west and south when last sighted. When next Bericus came, unscathed from his latest skirmish with the Irish raiders, I reported Iswy's activities to him as well.

   "I don't see Iswy as a spy either," Bericus said, "but I shall certainly warn Prince Cador and Artos to keep an eye out for him."

   Part Five

   GLEIN

   A FEW MONTHS OF CONSTANCLY BEING on guard with no incidents or unexplained alarms, we gradually began to relax. While it was certainly an unchristian attitude, I did hope Iswy's sins had caught up with him somehow, somewhere else. At any rate, I became more engrossed in my training with Canyd and Alun, and in the nurture of the Libyan mares and foals.

   I don't know where the time went to over the next few years, but months sped past, season sliding into season-from winter to spring, summer to autumn-and then the cycle of tasks to be accomplished began again.

   I studied continually under Canyd, milking him of every scrap of information, determined to transfer his knowledge to my head. Who could know what obscure

detail might be of a certain use to Lord Artos? I acquired three new apprentices and found that teaching was the most admirable way to remember, and refine, my own understandings. I fancied myself a good teacher, for my scholars seemed to understand my explanations and my cautions. Particularly about the position of the nails so as not to inadvertently puncture the thin wall of the protective horn and wound the foot with nail bind.

   Smiths from distant provinces came themselves or sent other capable smiths for instruction. The farm was so busy that Teldys once complained-though in a teasing manner-that the sandals caused more company than the Libyans. But all were made welcome in Lord Artos's name.

   "I dunna know why you keep badgering me, lad," Canyd Bawn said once when I kept after him over a foal's malformed hoof, which we were trying to reshape with the use of a special sandal. "For I tell ye, ye know as much as I do now."

   "I'll never know enough," I replied fiercely, keenly aware that what I did know would not save the foal or allow him to gambol with the others in the field.

   "Ay, then you've learned the most important lesson in your life," Canyd replied, nodding his head. He patted me on the shoulder. "A good man is what you are, Galwyn."

   I only half listened to praise from such an unlikely quarter, because I grieved so at this failure.

   "Sa-sa, lad, look at what you have done," Canyd said, waving at the horses being schooled by Rhodri that day, all of them striding out sound and sure in their sandals.

   Though I was busy enough at the forge, making sandals and teaching others how to, from time to time I was also called on to deliver messages. That these excursions also gave me a chance to demonstrate the horse sandals elsewhere made the trips doubly beneficial. Certainly the state of Ravus's hooves proved the merit of using the sandals.

   Ravus and I made many journeys from Deva to Cam-elot. If I saw Lord Artos at all on those occasions-and I would try to-he would solemnly ask me if I felt I had learned enough yet to come to Camelot.

   "I am at your service at all times, Lord Artos," I would reply.

   "So you are, good Galwyn, so you are!" he would say, one hand gripping my shoulder with what I liked to think was appreciation.

   Once I rode all the way to Londinium with an urgent message for Artos from the princes of the Atrebates and Cantiacii. They needed his reassurance that he and his Companions would help keep the Saxons from moving south into their lands. I was told to verbally repeat the written message. It was an honor for me to do so.

   Many of these journeys were not made at the headlong pace that pushed both Ravus and me to our limits. Those more leisurely trips were when we traveled to acquaint someone new with horse sandals. Most frequently, however, I went to Prince Cador's principal residence, for his horses required constant attention and his smith would not take time out from weapons manufacture to forge sandals. He didn't consider them important.

   Prince Cador was one of Lord Artos's staunchest supporters, and when he was not fighting off invaders, he traveled much on the Comes's behalf, arguing with other local princes and tribal leaders to join the noble cause and drive the Saxons back to the sea. His horses always seemed to lose their rims at awkward moments, requiring the prince to stay wherever he was until I could reach him to repair the problems. I began to suspect this was a ploy when three times in a row, the sandal was merely loose and a nail only needed to be tapped hard to solve the problem. But then, some people are difficult to persuade, and the silver-tongued prince of the Dumnonium liked nothing better than to sway men's minds to his thinking. I kept my counsel, though I often saw Prince Cador's amused eyes on me, as if he knew what was in my thoughts.

   It was time again for Britons to take charge of their own defenses. Artos, as Comes Britannorum, was the obvious dux bellorum, since he had attracted many of the best warriors to his company.

   ONE ADDED ADVANTAGE of my trips to, and with, Prince Cador was that these journeys allowed me to take occasional detours to keep my promise to my sister, Lavinia. And show off to my mother that I was now Lord Artos's messenger: in a position of trust to one of the most important men in Britain.

   "That's a fine horse you're riding these days," Odran said, admiring Ravus, the first time I rode the gray to Ide.

   "So you're back again," my mother said disagreeably as she came to the door.

   "Only briefly, Mother." I peered around into the house to see if Lavinia was near.

   "See the grand horse Galwyn is riding now," Odran said, pointing to the saddlecloth and the bear insignia. "That's the Comes's device," he added, obviously impressed.

   "I ride as his messenger," I said proudly. Even Mother's usual disapproval could not dim the honor of that.

   "So what can bring you here?" she demanded, waving dismissively to the small settlement by the old Roman fort.

   But Lavinia, having heard my voice, came dashing around from the back of the house to throw her arms about my neck. "Galwyn! Galwyn! How grand to see you again! And Flora's had her baby, a strapping son, and Melwas so proud, too...."

   "Can you stop long enough for a meal?" Odran hesitated when he heard my mother sniff. "Surely, wife, we can spare your only son a mug of beer."

   "... Oh, and such a grand horse as you're riding now! You have come up in the world, haven't you, Galwyn?"

   Lavinia said, lifting my spirits after my mother's cool reception. "There's a shady spot on the other side of the house where we can put your fine horse." She tried to wrest the reins from my hand.

   "I'll do that," I said, smiling at her to show I appreciated her willingness.

   "Then I'll get that beer for you." Odran made it plain to my mother that I was welcome in his eyes, if not in hers.

   "I shall find Flora, then," Lavinia said. "She's dying to show you her son. They named him Gallus ... after you ... for your gold ring," she added in a whisper so Mother didn't hear. But her eyes were merry as well as grateful. "She'll be so glad to see you, Galwyn."

   I loosened Ravus's girth and secured him to the tree, with a handful of grass to content him. Odran then ushered me into his house.

   "Why did you have to take up with that warmongering Artos?" my mother asked, letting Odran pour mugs of the beer as she seated herself on the fireside stool.

   "All Britain will one day be glad of the Comes Britan-norum, Mother."

   She gave a sniff.

   "Then you think that the Saxons will invade-" Odran began.

   "How would Galwyn know that, Odran?" she demanded. "He's only a messenger."

   Odran raised his eyebrows and gave a little sigh. He was a good, patient man and my opinion was that my mother had been lucky indeed to find such a one.

   I did not dispute her opinion of Lord Artos; there was no point. The sad fact was that, in my traveling, I had discovered many folk of the same mind. They firmly believed that the Saxons wouldn't come if no one irritated them. Fortunately, the majority were taking Artos seriously, especially as there were more rumors about Aelle and his sons increasing their soldiery. Sometimes these rumors were embroidered with lurid details about Saxon habits.

   Flora arrived, breathless with carrying her sturdy child. She bore greetings and apologies from Melwas, who was slaughtering that day and could not come.

   So I spent a very pleasant few hours with my sisters and Odran, playing with my nephew.

   Before I left that afternoon, Flora had a quiet word with me. Lavinia, now sixteen, was sincerely attracted to a young farmer and wished to marry him. But she had no dowry and his family needed what wealth a wife might bring.

   "You were so good to give Melwas and me that gold ring, but we've used it all to improve the shop," she said, her face twisted with regret-but her unspoken question was all too clear.

   I smiled back, for I was able to press into her hand four gold coins-of an old Roman minting-that I had in niy pouch, received for messages I had delivered.

   "Oh!" Flora exclaimed, turning them over, unable to believe I could have so much to give. "But Mother will-" And she half turned back to the house, for I was watering Ravus.

   I took out a gold ring and showed it to her. "This I will give Mother," I said, and then I closed her fingers over the coins. "You see to Lavinia's dowry."

   "Oh, Galwyn, you are so good to us. Uncle Gralior certainly would never have parted with this many coins." She put them carefully away.

   "He's been to see you again?"

   Flora made a face. "Too often. How you stood Uncle so long I shall never know! You're much better off as a messenger, even if Mother cannot see it."

   I presented the ring to my mother on my departure, and she was so surprised that I had gold to give her that I thought I would never be able to take my leave.

   "You will pass by again this way, won't you, my son?" she said, quite full of smiles now, and patting my chest with her hands.

   I noticed that she tucked the ring into the bosom of her dress as unobtrusively as possible. Odran might never profit from that generosity, but I could not find it in my heart to blame my mother. She had been accustomed to luxuries, and this austere life-for all she had a roof over her head and food on the table-must have been difficult for a proud woman to bear. I felt the better for sharing my good fortune with my blood kin.

   SOI LEFT THE OLD FORT Ide with a cheerful heart and set Ravus into a canter. I thought to reach the wayside inn where I often stopped well before dark.

   Following the winding road through the dense forests, I was not particularly surprised to come around a bend and find trees fallen across the track. I approached at a trot, for I wanted to see if there might be a way around the trunks; if not, how wide a jump it would be for Ravus.

   We were about four strides away from the trees when suddenly men jumped out of the bushes, yelling and waving stout cudgels.

   "Get him!" screamed a voice I had not heard in a long time but instantly recognised. Iswy!

   "Bring down the horse! Get him!"

   I clapped my heels to Ravus's side and the brave horse plunged forward and soared over the trunks, clearing them on the far side by a length or more.

   "Go after him! Aim for the horse! Bring it down!"

   Leaning down on Ravus's neck to make myself a smaller target, and urging the gray to his best speed, I did glance over my shoulder at my attackers. Three were clambering over the trees, then- cudgels hindering their movements. Two, however, were whirling slingshots over their heads, and that was a real threat, for Cornovi-ans were famous for their accuracy with sling and stone.

   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

handmls 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.

   I couldn't help noticing that his hooves were badly broken. He might yet recover but whether he would have any hoof left on the off-fore I didn't know, for it was cracked the worst of the four. No hoof, no horse.

   I missed some of the early excitement, but by the time the bellows boy and I returned to the courtyard, the place was chaotic: men and lads rushing here and there; horses stamping and neighing, infected by their riders' excitement. I couldn't find Lord Artos in the mob, though I could hear his almost jubilant voice barking orders and occasionally bellowing great waves of laughter.

   The waiting was over.

   The scribes wrote so fast I wondered anyone could read their scrawls, but the written confirmation would scarcely be necessary. The bearers would have the meat of the news they bore-"Come with your men and your weapons. The Saxons are massing. The time is now!"

   I found myself a space against the wall, wondering when I would be called to take a message, and to whom. But though I listened for my name, I did not hear it. I felt oddly isolated, as if everyone were going to war except me.

   So I went back to the forge that Master Ilfor had allotted me, put on the leather apron I used when working, and prepared the fire for any horse that might need his sandals tightened. Then I went back into the great hall to find someone to report to. I couldn't find Master Glebus or Master Ilfor in the surging crowd.

   Though I listened, I could not hear where the battle might be, nor where Lord Artos would be going. I caught city names like Corinium, Venonis, and Ratae; I heard discussions of the roads and their surfaces.

   "So many can't forage ..."

   "The road to Durabrivae would be closer ..."

   "Do we wait or let the others catch us up?"

   "Ha! Those mountain men can trot all day long without faltering..."

   Torches were lit; men came and went.

   I had learned a good deal of geography, and topography, during my messenger days, but some of the places named were unknown to me. Still, the excitement that pervaded the hall was contagious and made me, who seemed to have no part of it, very restless. Then I remembered the messenger's horse and chided myself for not checking on him sooner.

   The stableyard was as busy as the castle, with hostlers leading saddled animals out or unsaddled ones in from the fields where extra mounts were kept. In the light of the torches-for the spring evening was closing into darkness-Master Glebus looked distraught, ordering this groom there, that horse saddled immediately, and where would he find more horses to send every which way? And it getting darker by the second.

   I slipped in to check on the messenger's horse. He was lying down, nose to the straw, eyes closed. Softly I approached, not wishing to disturb his well-earned rest. I couldn't see well in the darkness, but when I gently touched the curved neck, it was dry and cool. And the animal was so deeply asleep he did not stir under my light touch. The water bucket outside the stall was empty; but the animal would be thirsty when he woke, and with all the excitement his needs might be forgotten. I also brought back a forkful of hay, for he would be hungry, too.

   In the bustling kitchen, I found myself some bread and half a fowl to take back to my place in the forge, for I was certain that my services would be needed. There was much activity in and out of the great storeroom in which Master Ilfor kept the products of his hearths: men hurrying in empty-handed and coming out with sheaths of arrows and shields, or with lances and helmets, while others brought out the armor of their lords-helmets, shields, breastplates, arm and leg guards.

   It was as I sat on a bench outside the busy kitchen, gnawing the last meat from the bone, that I saw him in the full light of the torches: Iswy, garbed in Cornovian colors, a sling and a bulging pouch of throwing stones hanging from his belt. Arrogantly he strode along. He was taller and he wore a scraggly beard, but his sharp face and close-set eyes had not changed. I almost choked on the meat and my left hand immediately went to the hilt of my knife.

   Then I saw that not only did Iswy have his hand on the knife at his belt, but also he was heading toward the stableyard-where he certainly had no business, as a common foot soldier. I nearly choked again, instantly aware of why he had a hand on his knife and what he meant to do with that knife.

   Losing his Libyan stallion would take the heart out of Lord Artos.

   With all the confusion this night, and so many strangers coming and going, Iswy must have felt that he would be able to succeed in maiming, or killing, the stallion he had so wanted to ride. I darted after Iswy through the milling throng of serving men and attendants.

   "Iswy! Stop! I want a word with you!" I called, but my shout was lost in the noise from the busy kitchen and the yard.

   I had trouble weaving my way past cooks and soldiers carrying supplies to the waiting wagons. Outside, I caught sight of Iswy, still striding across the courtyard toward the stable block. Again I called out.

   "Stop that Cornovian!" This time my shout was masked by the creaking wheels of a heavily laden cart. I lost speed going around it and then tripped over packs that were waiting to be loaded on another cart.

   Just then, someone caught my arm, and I had my dagger half out of its sheath before I realized he was finely dressed.

   "You are Master Galwyn, the horse-sandal maker?" he asked.

   "I am, but I-" I struggled to release myself from his grip.

   "My steed"-and he pointed back over his shoulder-"needs your skills."

   "Later, later."

   "I beg your pardon." But he dropped my arm, dismayed and annoyed by my response.

   "Take him to my forge. I must go-" I called over my shoulder at him as I renewed my pursuit of Iswy.

   Dodging and weaving, I got to the entrance of the stableyard but could not see Iswy among those bustling about the yard.

   "Eoain! To Cornix!" I shouted as I ran as fast as I could toward the corner stable, where Cornix and Spadix were kept.

   I heard one short scream, unmistakably a horse's, cut off sharply.

   The sound was enough to cause those in the yard to pause in their busy-ness.

   "God in heaven!" I cried, and grabbed the nearest man. "Cornix is being attacked!"

   "What?" An older groom caught me by the shoulder, swinging me around. "What say you? Oh, pardon, smith. What's the matter?"

   Pulling him along with me, I pointed urgently toward the corner stable. "Cornix is being attacked ..."

   That startled him into action and he ran with me. But even as we raced to the corner stable, I could see the door swinging open.

   "Hurry!" We would catch Iswy in the act, but what had happened to Cornix? My heart raced with fear. How could I tell Lord Artos that his battle steed had been spitefully maimed or killed?

   "What's the matter?" Master Glebus appeared at my other side, and we all reached the stable at the same time.

   I had to grab the door frame to keep upright. It was not Cornix who lay on his side in the straw but my faithful pony, Spadix, a dagger protruding between his eyes, in the thinnest part of a horse's skull. His dark eye was already filming with death.

   "God above!" cried Master Glebus. "Who could have done such a wicked thing?"

   "Iswy. He's Cornovian. I saw him come this way. No one else would want to kill Spadix."

   I turned, looking out over the stableyard, trying to see any figure moving hastily out of the yard-but everyone was converging on us, not running away. "He can't have got far."

   Master Glebus acted immediately, shouting for someone to run to the guards and close the gates. "The villain must be apprehended. I cannot have people slaughtering the animals in my care. What does he look like, Galwyn?"

   "Wearing Cornovian, a head shorter than I, scraggly beard, slingsman," I said, now boxed into the corner by the press of men coming to see what had happened.

   Maybe he'd be stopped at the gate. But there were still so many places in this section of Camelot in which a crafty man like Iswy could secrete himself. Oh, why had that lord stopped me? Why had no one been guarding Cornix?

   I knelt beside my faithful old pony and closed his eyes. Then I yanked the knife from his skull and showed the hilt to Master Glebus.

   "Aye, Cornovian design," he agreed. Then he put a consoling hand on my shoulder. "I'm sorry about this pony."

   "Where was Cornix?"

   "Lord Artos called for him not long ago, to greet some prince or other and show him off," Glebus said. "A lucky happenstance." When I sighed, he added quickly, "Unlucky for little Spadix. Cornix will grieve for him, too, I shouldn't wonder."

   Eoain now pushed through and gasped to see Spadix dead in the hay. Tears sprang to his eyes as he dropped to his knees and began to stroke the pony's neck.

   "I should have been here. I should have been guarding him, too. Who did such a vile thing?"

   "Iswy, a Cornovian who held a grudge against him, and Cornix, and me."

   "Oh!" Eoain looked up at me, tears flowing down his cheeks. He sniffed. "There's a princeling looking for you to put sandals on his horse and he's got Bericus with him. They're both very annoyed."

   "Let them be!" I cried.

   "Nay, Smith Galwyn!" Master Glebus said, his round face kind but his tone firm. "We go to war, and you've a skill that's needed. Many a man and many a horse will fall before this fight is over. There are many ways of serving Lord Artos." He turned me around and pushed me toward the door.

   I did not wish to go to sandal the horse whose owner had kept me from saving my pony. But Master Glebus eyed me more sternly now.

   "We'll do what's necessary here, Smith Galwyn." And with that use of my title, he reminded me that I had duties that must be honored.

   "You will guard Cornix?"

   "With my life," answered Eoain, one hand on his knife hilt, his expression resolute.

   BERICUS AND THE PRINCELING met me halfway across the stableyard.

   "Galwyn," Bericus began. He was frowning and his manner reproving. "What meant you-"

   "Iswy has been here. He killed Spadix because he couldn't kill Cornix."

   "What?" Bericus rocked back on his heels, his expression altering to concern. "Is that why the gates were closed? Iswy? Here?"

   "In Cornovian colors," I repeated once again, and continued to stride toward my forge and this princeling's needy horse.

   "I know his face," Bericus said. "I'll help in the search. He must be found. Lord Artos needs Cornix."

   "Oh, he'll be guarded well enough," I said in such a savage tone that Bericus gave me a sharp look. I didn't care. "If Iswy had ridden Cornix to Deva, this wouldn't have happened."

   Bericus paused, then said in a kinder tone, "But Iswy couldn't ride the stallion." He turned to the princeling. "Galwyn's news requires urgent action, Prince Maldon. You must excuse me. The smith will tend your horse now."

   I did, for that was my responsibility; and the horse had immediate need of my skills, his off-fore so badly worn by travel that I had to build up the outside edge of the sandal to compensate. Prince Maldon said nothing, and he walked off shortly, leaving his groom to hold the warhorse. Borvo and Maros, two of Master Ilfor's apprentices, appeared not long after. From the quick look I gave them, I could see by their expressions that they knew about the killing.

   i WORKED THROUGH THE NIGHT. Borvo and Maros, who had been among those watching my first display for Master Ilfor, now forged sandals that I then fit to hooves.

   Bericus stopped by to say that a full search for Iswy was under way in Camelot and in the main Cornovian encampment down below.

   "Iswy will not escape us," he promised me. "And Cornix and all the other war stallions are being close guarded."

   I nodded and went back to work. Iswy had already escaped or was hiding where he was unlikely to be found. Of that I was certain.

   But somehow I would find him. I didn't believe he would rest until he killed Cornix, too. I had no doubt that he would try again.

   As the cock crowed that dawn, I had the feeling that I must have shod half the horses in Lord Artos's army. I hadn't, but before I could, Master Ilfor entered my forge and hauled me off to my bed. A soldier followed and took a position at my doorway. So the shoer and the shod were all being guarded.

   "I'll wake you if there are any problems," he said, and I think I was asleep before he left me.

   IT WAS CLOSE TO MIDDAY, from the way the sun was shining in, when I was gently shaken awake by another soldier to tend the lame horse of one of the Atre-batii princes. He had not been shod, so it was not precisely my expertise needed but Master Glebus's. Still, the bounds of traditional duties blurred in emergencies. I roused Borvo, asleep on the floor by my pallet, and we examined the footsore animal.

   The horse had split his hoof to the bulb of the foot and it would be weeks before he was sound again. I trimmed as much as I could and contrived a sandal that would relieve pressure on the sorest point of that foot, putting another plate on his right hoof to balance him.

   "But what shall I ride to the battle?" I was asked.

   "I heard that replacements are being brought in from nearby farms," I said, for Borvo had mentioned that sometime the previous evening.

   Three more warhorses arrived. Borvo, Maros, and I stopped long enough to eat and then were back to work. Even those who had been skeptical of the benefit of the iron rims decided then1 horses required them-now!

   AND THEN, SUDDENLY, preparations were as complete as possible. A high mass was said that evening for the success of the endeavor; all the lords received the sacrament and special anointings and blessings from the religious community. Everyone who could cram his body into the chapel was included in the final blessing, and certainly in the prayers of all those who would stay behind.

   The next morning, at false dawn, shriven, anointed, and blessed, Lord Artos and his Companions mounted their black steeds in the courtyard. The ladies tied favors onto their lances.

   Lord Artos himself had no wife yet, though a prestigious marriage was rumored. No doubt, when news of his victory came, the family would be all too willing to align themselves with the dux bellorum.

   Borvo and Maros were mounted on two halfbreed Libyans big and sturdy enough for such hefty men. I, of course, had Ravus, who was quivering with excitement. Even our two pack ponies, laden with tools and iron bars, were fractious.

   We stood to one side as the Comes Britannorum led his Companions toward the mam road. For once it was empty of its usual traffic.

   I don't know who was more surprised, myself or Cor-nix, when he was hauled back on his heels and those behind Lord Artos nearly ran up his back.

   "Galwyn Varianus," bellowed my lord, pointing his gloved hand at me. "What are you doing... there?"

   I looked about me stupidly.

   "Take your position instantly"-and now he pointed to where Bericus, Bwlch, Bedwyr, and Drustanus were trying to control the cavortings of their Libyan stallions. "I want you where we can watch out for you," he said, making me aware that he knew what had happened in Cornix's stable. "The others are to fall in behind my Companions. Immediately behind my Companions." And he scowled at me when I was too startled to move. "Now!"

   Ravus moved almost without my urging, as if he felt he knew where he belonged, and Bericus grinned back at me.

   "No hoof, no horse!" he exclaimed, eyes dancing with mischief.

   I felt cheered for the first time since Spadix died.

   THE EUPHORIA OF OUR DEPARTURE lasted us wellinto the day, with only brief stops for horses to rest and men to relieve themselves. We ate in the saddle at the walk. Otherwise we traveled at a good trot, the foot soldiers in the dust behind us but keeping up with the horses for all they had only two legs to go on. I wondered fretfully if Iswy were among them.

   The second day, after a night checking loose sandals, I caught what rest I could in the saddle. Once again I blessed Ravus's smooth gaits. But because I slept on horseback, I scarcely recall much of the journey, though I do remember people cheering Lord Artos with "See the black horses! See the big, beautiful black horses!"

   I was checking Cornix's hind plate the night we camped outside Ratae when the messenger came galloping up to Lord Artos's tent.

   "The Saxons have crossed their borders, Comes." The messenger's voice was hoarse but loud enough to be heard around the camp. "I am to tell you that Aelle and his sons have gone east to Bannovalum. He must turn west, though, to avoid the fens at Metaris Aest."

   "Then we'll march to Durobrivae, to Cnut's Dike, and head north along that until we meet these scurrilous invaders," Lord Artos said. "Inform your prince. Blwch, see that this man is fed and provided with a fresh horse."

   Bwlch left with the messenger and I finished the stallion's hooves. Cornix was picketed right by Lord Artos's tent-the other Libyans nearby, in the most protected area of the camp. Cornix was in good fettle but he would often neigh wistfully. It would cause my breath to catch in my throat-that he still missed his pony companion. And where was Iswy now?

  

THE NEXT DAY'S LONG MARCH did get us over the rolling countryside to Durobrivae by late evening. The next morning, we turned north until another messenger arrived. I wasn't close enough to hear what he had to say but Lord Artos seemed very glad of his information, laughing and grinning as he called in his Companions.

   Once again I spent the night with Borvo and Maros, checking all the war steeds, though only two needed to have clinches tightened. The camp was not still. I do not think many slept, for the rumors were that we were closing with the Saxons.

   I heard other messengers arrive during the night; the spring evening seemed to amplify the sound of hurried hoofbeats.

   We moved eastward well before dawn, making our way to a position above the confluence of two rivers. We were on a long slope above them, and they were not in full spate.

   "The Saxons are there," I heard Bwlch murmur to Cei. Then the Companion saw me. "Galwyn, you and your smiths stay out of the battle line, but be handy." He pointed to a slight knoll behind us and, dutifully, I motioned the others to follow me as I left Ravus there. The tools in our saddlebags clinked softly against the nails and spare sandals.

   Thus it was that Borvo, Maros, and I had probably the best view of the first Battle of the Glein. We spotted the Saxon force crossing the upper river, hundreds of them, with their winged helmets and their huge round shields.

   More poured from the opposite bank, wading through the knee-high water. The Saxon horde paused when suddenly our line of archers spread out on the hill crest. I could hear the black horses whinnying-but out of sight below the brow of the hill.

   I didn't know much about battle strategy in those days but I certainly trusted Lord Artos's wisdom and foresight. Had he not equipped himself and his Companions with the black horses? Had he not met the Saxons before they could achieve their objective: the domination and control ofallEastAnglia?

   Audible now were the war cries of the Saxons as they swarmed up the hill to meet the waiting Britons. I heard the angry hiss as our archers loosed their arrows, to rain down on the oncoming foemen. And then I saw our mountain men step up beside the archers, and watched their lethal showers of stones knock men to their knees.

   Still the Saxons charged forward, bellowing fiercely, in a seemingly endless flow across the river, multiplying the force opposing us. Their shouts all but drowned out the neighs of the Libyans.

   And then, just when the Saxons were halfway up the hill and the barrage of our arrows and stones had thinned, the black horses moved up and over the brow of the hill, Artos on Cornix in front.

   The black stallion reared, pawing the air with his metal-rimmed hooves. I saw the shock and horror on the faces of the leading Saxons. I saw them halt in their tracks as more and more big black horses followed Artos and charged down at them.

   I shall never forget that sight-as frightening as I had once imagined it would be, those years ago during my first visit to Camelot. And I was not an enemy suddenly faced with the flaring red nostrils, the bared teeth, the blackness of these monsters. I was not a Saxon with no way to evade flashing, iron-clad hooves.

   I cheered loudly, pumping my right arm skyward in a salute to that charge and leaning just slightly to my left. And heard, and felt, something zing past me between arm and head.

   I whirled, crouching, hand on my dagger hilt, wondering what missile had so narrowly missed me.

   Iswy was already launching himself at me, face contorted, dagger raised. He didn't even see Borvo and Maros instantly coming to my defense.

   "No, he's mine!" I shouted at them, and ducked away from my assailant. "He slaughtered my pony!"

   I didn't think of Yayin's lessons in dagger fighting: I thought only of avenging Spadix. That lent me a cunning I didn't know I possessed. I noticed that I had the reach of Iswy, for I had grown in arm as well as leg, and the years at the anvil had matured the spindly cabin boy Iswy had once mocked.

   He came at me again and I caught his dagger hand, forcing it back, hoping to break it; but somehow he squirmed free and sliced at my belly.

   The leather apron I had put on that morning deflected his blade. He cursed wildly.

   "I'm not the easy mark I used to be, Iswy." It was my turn to taunt him as we crouched, facing one another and circling, each trying to discover an opening.

   Like a snake, he twisted and made to stab at Ravus where the gray was tied to a bush. But Ravus reared, breaking the restraint and trying to run. Maros, for all his bulk, was fast on his feet and caught the trailing reins.

   "Horse killer!" I cried. "That takes such a brave man, doesn't it, Iswy? To kill an animal that looks to be protected by you!"

   I changed my dagger from hand to hand, making him watch the transfer: a trick Yayin had drilled me in. Then I attacked, just as I had switched the blade once more to the left. Iswy didn't expect that and didn't know which way to lunge. I sliced at his right leg, catching him above the knee with a deep gash.

   He staggered back, totally surprised by my strategy. I switched the blade again even as I closed with him, my left hand gripping his right wrist and arm. I struck downward, through his leather jerkin, and into his chest.

   "You've-killed-me," he gasped out, sinking to the ground, dead before his body stretched out.

   I looked down at him and did not close his sightless eyes. Spadix's death was now avenged. Still gasping from my exertions, I turned away, back to the battle raging on the slope below.

   The Companions on the great black horses wielded their swords tirelessly and brought down every Saxon enemy they passed on their way to the Glein. The river was turning red in the sun, with the blood of the wounded and dying.

   And then our reinforcements-the troops of half-breed Libyans-charged out of the woods from the left of the river. It was a total rout of Aelle's arrogant horde.

   "That were well done, Master Galwyn," said Borvo at my side.

   "That were some fight," Maros added.

   They were looking at the carnage below, but it wasn't that battle they meant.

   "There," I said, pointing to a loose horse, limping badly and dazed as it wandered back up the hill. "We must be about our duties."

   We left Iswy's body where it had fallen, where the ravens would find it.

   THAT WAS THE FIRST Battle of the Glein, and the only one I fought in. As Master Glebus had said, I had a skill that was of far more service to Lord Artos than that of another swordsman's.

   There were twelve great battles in all, the final one at Mount Badon. But though I lifted neither dagger nor sword in any other, I played my part, watching every one of them, and keeping well shod the great black horses of Artos, the Comes Brttannorum.

  

   AFTERWORD

 

   Although farriery as a profession was not established as a guild in England until 1160, under Baron de Fer, horseshoes as such were used even in Caesar's days. The Worshipful Company of Farriers is still going in Hereford, training up masters in the art to shoe the horses of today for their various tasks.

   Unfortunately iron does not last well, so few examples of early horseshoes-or sandals, as they were indeed called-have been preserved. However, it is true that a blacksmith was an extremely important craftsman, since he made weapons for defense as well as other important tools.

   It is also very true that the Libyan horses that Arthur is reputed to have bought in the horse fair at Septimania would have had foot problems, carrying the weight of large, well-armed men and moving over surfaces different to the ones in their native country. Though Hollywood would have us believe fifth-century knights wore full-body suits of armor, they actually used only breastplates, and leg and arm guards such as the Roman soldiers had, and carried heavy swords and shields. That gear alone required big, strong horses to bear them any distance. Such weight, as well as the uneven and wet terrain, would have caused hoof problems. Britain in those days tended to be wetter and warmer than it is now.

   I feel it is reasonable that horseshoes would have had to be developed for the purpose of keeping Arthur's cavalry sound. "No hoof, no horse" is still a farrier's truism. And there would have needed to be men knowledgeable about hooves and iron, to make such aids.

   It is historically true that someone like Artos, a Comes Britannorum and dux bellorum (war leader), existed in the latter part of the fifth century and the early part of the sixth century. This leader united the tribes of Britain to defend themselves against the Saxons invading from their base at York. I prefer to keep to the historical facts, such as they are, in this extrapolation. These facts include the strong Roman and Christian religious practices current in those times.

   I have not included Merlin in this story because he is not historically mentioned by contemporary chroniclers, namely Gildas and Nennius, who are reputed to have lived when Artos did. Nor have I bothered resetting the age-old triangle of Arthur, Guinevere, and Lancelot. Arthur is not thought to have married before the first of his great battles, when his fame would have made him a fine match. Guinevere is purported to have come from a prestigious family of Roman Celts, and marriage with Arthur would have enhanced her family's reputation as well as shown support to his efforts.

   Since this is my story, about a facet of those times, I can deal with such facts as I choose from those available. But all the farriery details have been checked by Master Farrier Joseph Tobin, Associate of the Worshipful Company of Farriers, and those facts concerning horses in general by my daughter, Georgeanne Kennedy, Irish Certificate of Equine Sciences and British Horse Society Assistant Instructor.

   The reading I did on my own.

   Dragonhold-Underhill Wicklow County, Ireland, 1995