When we had finished our pleasant repast, Paphnutius guided us outside again and, clapping his hands, began the parade of the horses he had for sale.
“The mare is but four years old, and as you see by the foal at foot, she is fertile. This is her second foal.” Then, from a parchment scroll he produced from somewhere in his voluminous robes, he rattled off a long pedigree that seemed to deal more with the performance of the dams than the sires. “She is in foal again, to the same sire.”
This mare was big, wide hipped; and the foal at her foot was certainly five months old, for he had lost his fuzzy foal coat and was strong and lively. And nearly black. Both animals had good confirmation and a fine sheen to their hides.
Paphnutius then gave us the stallion’s pedigree, speaking as fast as he could for some time. “Is he among those you have for sale?” “Oh, no,” and Paphnutius looked almost shocked. “He is renowned for his speed, and much in demand.”
Lord Artos nudged me briefly as the mare and her energetic foal were taken back to the picket line.
“When will she foal, Paphnutius?” he asked as he watched her movements.
“In your springtime. I have the date …” And he consulted his parchment roll. “Ah, yes, she was covered in the third month and then confirmed in foal. Yes, yes, she is a fine mare to breed from.” He looked a little wistful and I wondered why. I didn’t know then that the Egyptians and Arabs preferred mares to stallions. On the other hand, Bwlch looked concerned. “What’s wrong?” I asked discreetly, in our own tongue, lowering my voice so that the Egyptian didn’t hear us.
“Spring at Deva, where Artos plans to send the horses, can be a cruelly cold season. We breed so that the mares will have their foals in late spring. The later the better. At least that one is well enough in foal so she’ll be all right on the sea journey.” Bwlch shook his head, already worried about that leg of the way back to Deva.
The parade of mares, some with foals at foot and others guaranteed in foal, continued. I tried to figure out which ones met with Lord Artos’s approval; his expression remained the same, pleasant, smiling, outwardly favorable, throughout the entire display.
The stallions were shown next, and worked in circles on long lines to show their proud paces. The second one, not much taller than the first, displayed himself with just that little extra flick of his feet, a prouder carriage of his head and tail, an assurance that caught the eye, and a blue gleam to his silky black hide.
“Now, that’s just the one for me,” Lord Artos murmured to Bericus, although he kept his expression bland. “I would name him Cornix.”
“What else, Artos!” Bericus whispered back, and winked at me. Cornix means “raven.” I did not then know that ravens are the birds of good omen for the Comes Britannorum.
Paphnutius had nine stallions, more than were needed; but not all measured up to the criteria in Lord Artos’s mind. Finally the parade ended, and then Lord
Artos singled out his choices of mare and stallion. I missed out on only one mare and one stallion in my private selection.
“Ah, but come into my humble abode, Lord Artos,” Paphnutius said then, bowing and scraping as he led the way, “for you must surely be thirsty. And one cannot discuss matters of such importance out here, where there are so many distractions.”
So we retired again. More of the thick sweet qahwa did indeed moisten a throat made dry by the dust the parade of horses had swirled up around us. I did justice to the sweetmeats, too, and more exotic ingredients were served this time. I don’t remember half of the subtle combinations that passed into my mouth and down my gullet, because I had to concentrate more on the nuances of bargaining.
Memory of my father’s tactics returned to me, and if I say so myself-and Lord Artos was very kindly complimentary that evening-I did very well at this business. Better than I ever did for Uncle Gralior; beatings do not encourage as surely as praise. I also wanted to prove to Lord Artos how indispensable I could be. I did not aspire to become a Companion, for I was too young and would never be of that size, but surely I could serve my lord in many other ways that could further his ends. My instruction in the short Roman swords still favored by soldiers had ended with my father’s death, but perhaps I could retrain and join Artos’s cohort.