But Master Glebus was an old hand at dealing with fractious horses. He wound a stout rope about the end of the gray’s nose and twisted it hard. The twitching gave Ravus something to think of other than his feet.
I worked as swiftly as I could with the hot sandals, placing each nail and measuring how it would enter the hoof at the correct angle so as not to prick the tenderer part of the foot. I clinched the nails, pinched off all but enough of the metal to bend down in the clinching, and hammered the ends down into the outside of the hoof. With a final application of the rasp to the nail end, I smoothed the hoof so that no one’s hands would be snagged on a jagged metal edge.
Released from the nose twitch, the gray snorted in relief, shaking his head, until he became aware of the extra weight on his hooves. The sandals sent sparks flying from the cobbles and clanged with the energy of his movements, but he could not dislodge them. Gradually he walked into the feel of them.
“Any more you’d like shod, Master?” I asked, more to the horsemaster than to the smith.
Ilfor grunted again. Then suddenly, like the sun appearing on a gray day, a smile appeared on his soot-grimed face, showing large white teeth crooked in a full mouth. He also extended his large hand.
“You do know what you’re about in a forge, lad, for all there’s little brawn to you,” he said. “Neat, tidy, quick.” He gave his head a decisive nod, as if he had been reserving his opinion all the while I worked. He took my hand, pumping it and squeezing my fingers in his powerful ones: obviously a man who did not know his own strength.
I caught the sympathetic expression on Master Gle-bus’s face, as if he well knew what pressure my hand was experiencing, and so I endured the clasp without wincing. But Master Ilfor’s wording-that suggested something had been said to him about me and he had been weighing judgment. Perhaps Eoain could tell me. Now I felt it wiser to reinforce the goodwill where I had it.
“I only do sandals, Master Ilfor, but those I do well,” I said with the same simple authority with which Canyd would speak, “serving the Comes Britannorum to my utmost. Just as you do.”
Master Ilfor gave another of his grunts but his manner suggested that I had made the right reference: that we both served Lord Artos in our different ways.
“I’ve a gelding,” Master Glebus said, raising one finger tentatively, “badly crippled with seedy toe. Would those iron rims …”
“Just what the sandals are for, Master Glebus,” I replied, smiling my willingness.
I SPENT THE ENTIRE DAY in the forge, after first formally requesting permission from Forgemaster Ilfor to use his facilities. I made sandals for cracked, damaged hooves so that the ponies might stride out again pain free. Master Ilfor having made a tactful mention of how much iron he needed to continue his own work, I merely trimmed hooves that were not in such immediate need of sandals.
By the end of the week, I had worked my way through all the horses and ponies connected with Camelot, for many that were not needed on a daily basis were pastured nearby. I even did some of the farm animals that were hauling the carts up the road to the castle. They needed such rims as protection, perhaps more than the riding horses. And I willingly trimmed the feet of oxen, for they had problems as well, treating such puncture wounds and bruises as I discovered.
I was aware that, while I worked, one or another of the other blacksmiths turned up to watch the sandal making and were especially attentive during the fitting. Such scrutiny amused me, for I realized that Ilfor was making sure all his men would know how to fit the sandals. But there was more to it than watching someone else work. Nor would I be here much longer, for I would soon be returning to the farm at Deva.
Ilfor’s men, no matter how carefully they watched, needed special training. Lord Artos might have mentioned that he wanted me to stay on, to continue to practice my skill, but I knew how much more I had to learn. When I felt myself to be truly competent, then I would return here.