“Oh, him?” And Bwlch dismissed the man with a wave of his hand. “He’s not been on at you about those iron sandals of his, has he, Artos?”
“The subject comes up periodically,” Lord Artos said.
“We’ll have to travel fast over all kinds of ground. I meant to ask Paphnutius if he knew anything about such devices.”
“Too late now,” Bwlch said philosophically. “Though I saw no horses at Septimania with rims.”
“Rims?” I asked, curious. I had never heard of the term in connection with horses.
“Iron costs money,” Lord Artos said with an indifferent shrug.
Then the companions who had been hunting for the evening meat returned, and I heard no more about such sandals.
BY THE NEXT DAY, the mare could walk out well enough for us to continue.
On a fine bright warm afternoon, we came down out of the hills on the track past the farm where I had bought Spadix, and we saw Burtigala Port in the distance. I could just make out the masts of ships at anchor, and suddenly dread returned to me: What would I do if I encountered my uncle?
My anxiety deepened as we came closer to the town. Mounted as I was on the tall mare named Splendora, I could see over the heads of pedestrians, and I scanned the ships for the familiar lines of the Corellia. To my intense relief she was not in port.
Then there was the business of settling the horses for the night and taking up residence in the same inn that Lord Artos had patronized just weeks before. Again my talents as interpreter were needed to assure us of proper accommodations and a good evening meal. Landlord Ercus, undoubtedly remembering how well Lord Artos had treated him before, was all-obliging. I wanted to know but could not bring myself to ask the man if the Corellia had docked recently.
THE NEXT MORNING I was up at the crack of dawn, peering down through the mists that swirled up from the sea; but there were no new ships tied up at the dock. Somewhat heartened, I went to the field with grain to feed the horses before anyone else usurped the task. I had them all watered and fed before a sleepy Bericus arrived.
“Ho, Galwyn, you deserved to lie and get your growth sleep,” he said, ruffling my hair. “You’ve no need to do more than your share of the work. Have you a mind to join us for mass?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said with enthusiasm. In a town as large as Burtigala there would be a place for Christians to worship, but as long as I had been on board the Corellia I had never dared ask my uncle’s permission to attend mass.
The church was small and dark, and the priest mumbled the Latin. I think he was somewhat nervous about having such fine lords in the congregation that morning. I had to keep reminding myself of my good fortune as I made the proper responses.
During the rest of the day I was too busy to worry about my uncle. Prince Cador had requisitioned two fat sloops in which the Comes could ship his all-important mares and stallions across the Narrow Sea. The ships awaited our arrival. Both were half again the size of the Corellia, far newer and better maintained. The sails were not patched, the lines looked fresh and showed no splicings, the paint on the hulls had recently been scrubbed, and there probably wasn’t a barnacle anywhere underwater. Their masters had also, according to instructions from Prince Cador, made certain preparations for this special cargo. The deck planks had been removed above the cargo area, which was just deep enough to accommodate Cornix, the tallest of the Libyans, and wide enough for four or five horses. They would be loaded head to tail, side by side, so that each would be cushioned by its mates against the roll and yaw of a rough sea. The inside of the hull had been padded with straw-filled mattresses as another safeguard against injury. The horses at least would be spared the wind and weather on deck and, with any luck, arrive unscathed at their destination.