Then I thought that if he could see he was safe here and the blows were only noise, he might settle. I uncovered his eyes.
And let loose a maniac.
He took one look at the dark confines of his new quarters and reared. I dangled from the end of his lead chain like a rat in a fighting dog’s jaws.
When he came down, I dragged the lead rope through the ring, but he reared once more just as the last spike was being driven into the overhead planks. It missed his poll, but the shock of the point touching his ear startled him motionless with fright and I was able to pull the tether tight so he could not rear again.
I was as trembling and sweaty as he was. But beside him, Spadix nickered, and that seemed to comfort him. I had also brought on board some fresh grass I had pulled on the way to the harbor. This I fed to all the animals, hoping to calm them. I thanked the good Lord that they immediately fell to munching contentedly.
With them quiet, I could hear the muted shoutings as the Companions loaded the other ship with its five equine passengers. It seemed to take such a long time. Finally, I heard feet running along the deck above me and again had to soothe the horses, though I had run out of the fresh grass by then.
At length I felt the unmistakable surge of the ship getting under way and knew that this leg of our journey had begun.
WE DISCOVERED, in the worst way possible, that horses can get seasick, though not as humans do. The stallion covered me with his scourings, though my Spadix-eyes white with fear, all four legs poking out stiffly-did not succumb. Yet it was not a rough crossing by my standards, and both ships stayed within sight of each other the entire way.
Bericus and Bwlch, who sailed in the same ship with me, were rather heartened that they were not affected by the sea motion on this return voyage. Truth to tell, we were all so busy with the horses, soothing them, cleaning up after them, coaxing them to eat the fragrant hay, that we humans simply had no time to be sick.
Lord Artos inspected the horses morning, noon, and night, and had himself rowed across to the second ship to perform the same offices as soon as he was done on ours. Never was I more relieved to see the mouth of the river on the horizon that afternoon. The Exe led to the port just above Isca.
“You’ll be on land before dark, my lad,” I murmured to the stallion. He stood with his head bowed between his splayed front legs, his finely shaped ears drooping to either side of his elegant head, his black coat grimed and rough with sweat though we had groomed him morning and night. Remembering his fine displays on land, it was disheartening to see his proud spirit so low. But then his head lifted suddenly and his nostrils flared as he smelled land.
I could have wished his spirits had taken slightly longer to revive, for he proved his old self when the deck planks were removed and he could see daylight. He trumpeted like a wild thing, pawing and thrashing at his tethers. I had to use my own tunic to cover his eyes while the pony was hoisted ashore first. Then it was the stallion’s turn, and finally the two mares’ and the foal’s.
Cornix was weak, though, from the journey, and had trouble keeping his legs under him. There was an apprehensive look on his face as he staggered first this way and then that, recovering land legs.
“Ave, Comes Artos,” cried a glad voice, and Prince Cador himself came riding down to the dock, more men behind him. “Magnificent, Comes Britannorum!” he exclaimed as he dismounted, throwing his reins to an aide. Appraisingly, he circled the stallion, his face expressing his high opinion. “Truly magnificent. Sixteen hands high if he’s one!”
“Seventeen is more like it, Cador,” Lord Artos said proudly. “Look at the bone of him, the breadth of his barrel, the power in his haunches. Oh, he’s gaunt enough from three days at sea, but we’ll put condition on him soon enough once he’s at Deva. I have called him Cornix.”