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.