Part Four
Camelot
THE NEXT MORNING, WHCN DAWN WAS BREAK-ing, we left the farm at Deva, a cavalcade: myself astride Cornix, with Spadix on a lead rope beside us, and Manob on his gray stallion heading the troop. Under bridle, the two stud horses were very well mannered. The other three Libyans were led in the center of the troop.
We made good time that first day, though Spadix had to pump his legs hard to keep up with his friend; still he was tireless even at the canter. So he wouldn’t feel worthless, I had him carry my pack of sandals and tools.
We had some days to travel, but we made far better progress than on my journey from Isca. We camped out, for the spring was warming, and Manob preferred camping to the rough inns available on this route.
“I can guard us better on our own. We know who is near and who should not be.”
He was a good commander and we ate well, from what was hunted. He did buy bread when we passed villages that had bakers. It was rough bread, but great for soaking up the juices of the stews.
Although every day I mentally reviewed all the things that could go wrong with hooves, none of them occurred on our journey. For the most part, we were traveling on good Roman-built roads. I checked the sandals morning and night, and the nails stayed firm. There was no sign of hoof rot. Manob usually managed to observe this procedure but said little. He did admire the little iron pick I had made to ferret stones and gravel out of the deep frogs. I had a few extras-for they are troublesome objects at times, forever getting lost in the straw-and gave him one.
Spring is always a good time to travel: the weather not too cold for comfortable riding nor the nights too chill to find sleep. Fields were greening with winter-sown crops and there was fresh grass for the horses to graze at night when they were picketed. The blossoming trees, pear and apple, were lovely, and the woods through which we traveled were bursting with buds, bluebells and daisies dotting the ground beneath us. Had I not been so anxious that nothing should go wrong on this journey, I would have enjoyed it even more.
I shall never forget my first sight of the hill on which Lord Artos had built his headquarters, Camelot. It rose out of the ground suddenly, as if a giant’s fist had punched up just that much of the earth’s surface to form it. The sides were, naturally, cleared of any vegetation, and we could see the course of the zigzag road that led up to the southwest gate, a massive affair of oak planks the width of a man’s thigh. Sentries patrolled the top and the wooden palisade that surrounded it, for not all the walls were finished. Of course our approach was noticed and news of our arrival spread.
I was amazed to see horses tearing at breakneck speed down the approach road toward us, weaving through the obstacles of people, laden ponies, and ox-drawn carts. I wondered if they thought our troop was hostile, though everyone knew that the Saxons did not ride, nor had they horses of this quality.
And then-when they got closer-I saw it was Lord Artos himself who led the horsemen, his face broad with smiles, his bright hair golden in the sunlight.
“Galwyn! I wouldn’t know you, lad, you’ve grown so. And able to ride my fine fellow, too.”
If his words to me were welcoming, his eyes gleamed as they fell on the big stallion that Manob had assigned to the front of the troop.
He threw his gray’s reins to one of his escort, swung lithely to the ground, and beamed up at me where I had halted his stallion. He put one hand proprietarily on Cor-nix’s bridle.
“Rhodri’s doing, my lord,” I said, grinning from ear to ear. I immediately slipped my feet out of the foot plates and my right leg over the back of Cornix, dropping to the ground.
Well, I would never match Lord Artos in height or girth, but I didn’t have to look up as far to meet his blue eyes now. And I had brought his fine stallions safely to him. With a bow of satisfaction at that accomplishment, I passed Cornix’s reins to his rightful rider.