I laughed, too, sitting that much straighter because he had singled me out as conversant with his jest.
“Horse sandals?” The phrase was bandied back and forth among the men who each came to inspect the device.
“Now, Artos”-and the first Companion came up to him, frowning-“is all this wise? Is it not one extra problem when facing battle?”
“Ah, Cei, Galwyn here can answer you on that score- can you not?”
I gulped. Cei’s blue eyes were very keen and I knew I had to answer him cleverly. “The sandals protect the feet of these big horses, who must bear more weight than even the largest of the ponies, my lord Cei.”
“How are they fitted on? Nails? They’ll work out, and then the sandal could shift and the horse be lamed …”
“The nails are clinched downward so they cannot work out. The sandal is fitted hot so as to conform to the hoof, for every hoof is different and every sandal is made to fit the hoof…”
“But who is to keep the sandal repaired? Even iron will abrade on stony roadways.”
“Men are being trained to this work, my lord.”
“And you are one of them, are you not, Galwyn?” Lord Artos said.
“I brought along extra sandals for each of the stallions, and nails. It is a simple matter …”
“Not if the nail goes into the quick of the hoof,” objected Lord Cei, but I could see his interest was more curious than critical. He wanted to understand the whole procedure.
“There is a sufficient wall of horn in the hoof, my lord, into which the nail can be sunk. Most smiths are accustomed to trimming hooves. They will know how carefully to go.”
“I’d rather have you here to attend to the matter,” Lord Artos said.
“Lord”-and now I began to stutter-“I am still in need of much training in the care of the hoof and its ailments. Canyd said-”
“Well, if he has had the training of you, I don’t worry at all.” Lord Artos dismissed my doubts with a wave of his hand.
“But, Lord Artos, I am not yet completely trained. I could not take on such a responsibility.”
“Arlo”-and the Comes raised his voice, gesturing to a young man in livery to come to him-“go to Ilfor the smith and ask him to attend me. Tell him Canyd’s finally made those horse sandals he’s been threatening to provide. And where are the other sandals, Galwyn? In your packs? Fetch Galwyn’s packs, too!”
By then, other Companions had gathered about us, inspecting Victor’s sandals, exclaiming over their appearance and purpose. I was required to answer endless questions; and when the smith and my supplies arrived at the same moment, I had to pass around the spare sandals and the nails, plus all the equipment that I used to shape the hoof and nail the sandal on.
Ilfor the smith asked more searching questions than anyone and seemed skeptical of the whole idea, turning a sandal over and over in his big work-scarred hands.
At some point, the Libyans were taken off to be stabled and fed. One of the grooms looked vaguely familiar-the set of his head and the way he hunched slightly. Could it be-Iswy? I wondered. Then I scoffed at myself. This person was taller and bearded. I mustn’t be looking for Iswy all over the kingdom. How could someone like Iswy be in Camelot?
Then I was escorted into the building, with little time to assess its wonders while I explained, yet again, about these remarkable horse sandals. I barely had time to eat the evening meal that seemed a feast to me.
When torches were lit and everyone replete with food and wine-though I drank naught but small beer-I was finally allowed a respite from the Companions’ searching questions. Only then did I finally sit back and get my bearings.
We were seated in a chamber with a high-vaulted ceiling, at a large round table. This was a departure from the Roman style of dining, though still affording the guests the opportunity to face each other. This table dominated the upper third of the hall. The Conies Britan-norum sat at the top of this round table, his chair larger and more ornately carved than the backless ones in which we of lesser rank were seated.