If I heard Canyd murmur, “No hoof, no horse,” once, he said it like a litany as he and Alun attacked their objective. And I got so I would groan in protest the moment he formed the first “No.”
AS THE WEATHER IMPROVED and spring seemed nearer, I hoped in vain that Lord Artos would come to inspect his mares and foals. Bericus came every month, checking each of the twenty Libyans and the foals himself, though he also read Teldys’s laboriously written daily reports. Bericus would ride into the yard on the heavy-boned bay gelding that took him on all his travels, for the horse farm was not the only property Lord Artos had in this area. He would bellow my name and bring me running.
“You get taller every time I see you, lad,” Bericus would say.
In truth I was getting some growth, with all the good food Daphne liked to set upon her table. We even had meat twice a week.
Then Bericus would toss me the reins of the gelding and turn to have a few words with Teldys while I stabled the horse.
“Has Cornix eaten the pony yet?” Bericus might ask as we three strode down to the stables. Lord Artos’s stallion was always the first to be seen on these inspection visits.
I’d have to strip the rug off Cornix-which I did even with my broken arm-for Bericus was thorough. He’d run his hands down each leg to assure himself of soundness, and pat the smooth hide. And after the first time Cornix got hoof rot, Bericus always checked each foot. I was careful to use a powder to prevent it, so he never found another trace of it.
“How long d’you think it’ll take before they grow their own winter coats, Teldys?” Bericus asked. “Won’t be able to pamper them on the march.”
“A year or two,” Teldys said. “They have to adapt. Horses do.”
Then Spadix would nose Bericus for the turnip or parsnip that he always seemed to have in his belt pouch.
“Beggar,” Bericus said, but he provided the treat while Teldys tutted in disapproval. “How’s the arm, Gal-wyn?” He’d teased me the first time he’d seen it splinted.
“Itches something fierce,” I said, but showed him the smooth willow wand that was long enough to help relieve the itching. “Canyd says it’ll mend straight,” I added, in case Bericus might think I couldn’t do right by Cornix.
“Good bones, the lad has,” Teldys said, giving me an affectionate buffet on my good shoulder.
If Bericus had time to spare, he would take a meal with Teldys, where doubtless they discussed other matters. Then he would ask me to saddle up the gelding, and while I did that-awkwardly with the broken arm, but refusing his help-Bericus would often tell me more about Lord Artos’s activities.
“You see, it’s not just the horses the Comes needs, Galwyn. It’s the support of other princes around about us here,” Bericus said. “Most of them haven’t seen these fine Libyans yet, of course, so they have doubts about the effectiveness of Artos’s plans to defeat the Saxons the next time they’re on the move.”
“But surely Lord Artos only has to tell them …”
Bericus laughed. “He’s a grand one for talking, and while he’s with them, they’re all for him. He’s got a way of making men loyal to him.” He looked at me and smiled again. “Of course, the Companions, myself included, are still the only ones who really understand the merits of his great plan to unite all Britons against the Saxons.”
“But-but-” I spluttered, wondering how anyone could listen to Lord Artos and not believe in his strategies.
“It’s the doubters that must still be convinced-against their will, lad. That’s why politics is so important,” Bericus replied with a grin, clapping his hand on my shoulder; and then, unexpectedly, he peered at me. “I do believe you’ve put a full hand in height on you since you came back from Burtigala …” He paused, stepping back to arm’s length, to study me. “Aye, and muscled up, too.” And he squeezed the shoulder I had dislocated twice.
“I’m helping Canyd and Alun,” I said, rather proudly.