All the while Ilfor watched with narrowed and suspicious eyes. But for the fact that I had been accustomed to the constant appraisal of both Alun and Canyd, the doubt and challenge in his face and stance would have made me nervous. Of course, once engrossed in the making of the sandals, I actually forgot him in the rhythm of the work.
When I had finished the set, I looked up at him ques-tioningly. He reached in among the sandals I had brought with me and took out a pair, tied by a thong. These he compared to the ones I had just finished, and snorted.
“Much too small if these are for those Libyan blacks,” he said almost contemptuously.
“They have all the sandals they’ll need for the year,” I said calmly. “I made this set for that gray desert stallion Lord Artos rode yesterday.”
“You did?” And his brows went up. At his imperious gesture, the bellows lad came quickly to his side and was told to go ask Master Glebus at the stableyard to send up the gray.
Once again he folded his arms across his chest and waited with the patience of someone who is confident of success in humbling a braggart. And something more. It was as if he knew something about me: something to my discredit. He was waiting to see if I could do what I had so glibly described to the Companions.
I thought suddenly about the young man I had seen last night who had seemed so familiar. Could it have been Iswy after all, putting a word in the smith’s ear? I had grown taller; why not Iswy? I hadn’t known his age but possibly he was old enough now to have grown a beard, too. But surely a man of Master Ilfor’s standing would pay no attention to snide remarks by a groom.
Not to let Ilfor’s regard or my own suspicions unnerve me, I took out my sack of horse sandal nails, wedged ones I had made myself to Alun’s design. I put hammer and rasp where they would be easily to hand, and then I likewise waited, hands tucked into the ties of my leathern apron.
Master Glebus himself led the gray to us, the bellows lad trotting behind him. The boy’s eyes were avid with anticipation of my downfall.
“Sa-sa-sa,” I murmured in Canyd’s way to the gray, for he didn’t like being close to the fire. He twitched his delicate ears back and forth nervously at all the loud clangings and hangings. I stroked his neck and withers, working my hand down the near leg to the fetlock, which I then tugged up. He had a strong deep hoof that needed only a little trimming. But I had something to prove first. I picked a sandal out of the water butt and laid it on the hoof.
I admit to a smile of triumph when I heard a quick gasp of surprise from the lad. I did not look at Ilfor, but Master Glebus certainly noted the excellent fit.
“However did you do that, lad?” he asked. “Why, they fit as if they were made for him.”
“They were,” I said, letting the hoof down as I confronted Master Ilfor.
He scowled and gestured for me to fit the other front hoof. I changed sides and showed that the second sandal was as close a match to the horse’s hoof as ever the first had been.
Ilfor gave one grunt.
“Shall I put the sandals on?” I asked Master Glebus, for he had charge of the horses and it was wise to get his permission.
‘Tes, I should like to see how it is done,” he said without so much as a glance in the smith’s direction. He knew, without being told, what had occurred here in the smithy. His attitude toward me was so positive I began to think that I really hadn’t seen Iswy last night. So, with some relief, I threw the first sandal back into the fire to heat, for nailing it on hot made for the best fit.
The gray was not as easy to work on as the Libyans, who had grown to trust me. In fact, he was completely rebellious, despite my best efforts at soothing him. It looked for a while as if he was more likely to leave here sandalless, which made nothing of my gesture in making so perfect a rim for his feet.