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.