Canyd kept up his “Sa-sa” while he felt more deeply hi the leg, felt the hoof itself; and then, with his head practically on the ground because the swelling hi the fetlock prevented the pony from tipping his hoof, he looked at the underside of it.
“Hmmmm”-and Canyd pressed both thumbs hard on the frog. Spadix did not react to the pressure. “Not hot. Not sore. That’s good.”
Spadix nodded his head vigorously, as if agreeing. Canyd continued his careful examination: the outside of the hoof again, up to the coronary band; and there, his knowing fingers stopped.
“We didna’ go through thorny bushes, did we, lad?” he asked, of the pony more than of me.
I shook my head vigorously. “We were on roadway all day and I checked his legs last night as I always do. His and Cornix’s. He was sound last night, Master Canyd, he was sound.” I tried not to let my voice break but it did, and then a gentle finger prodded me.
“Did I say ’twas your fault, lad? Nay. But…” And he set his thumb and forefingers carefully to pulling a triangular thorn from the flesh beside the sesamoid bone. With narrowed eyes, he peered at it a long moment and then pushed it at me.
“How could-I mean, it just doesn’t-!” I exclaimed, examining the wicked triangle.
“Indeed, lad, an’ how a clever-footed pony like this ‘un could possibly get such a thorn in his leg is beyond Canyd’s understanding. We won’t talk about that now. Sa?” He cocked his head at me in a cautionary pose. Winked again. “Now get me hot water, my bag, an’ some bran from the sack. We must poultice it to draw the infection.” His voice followed me as I ran to do his bidding.
Had I encountered Iswy on my way I’m not sure what I would have done to the fiend. And he was supposed to be such a great horseman! No real horseman would deliberately injure a horse. Or a pony.
We had the poultice wrapped around the swollen foreleg when Bericus came over to inquire what was wrong. I started to rise, to blurt out my suspicions, when Canyd pinched my leg so hard I had to grab Spadix’s good leg to keep from tipping over.
“Bad?” Bericus asked Canyd, who nodded solemnly. “What?”
“Thorn.” And Canyd gave a diffident shrug.
“Wouldn’t you know!” Bericus sighed, glancing at me-but not in an accusing sort of way: more as if this delay were one more trial to be overcome. Then he strode back to the fire, murmuring to Bwlch.
“Why couldn’t I speak?” I demanded of Canyd. “He’ll think it was my fault.”
“Bericus won’t. He knows ponies. He can also figger things out hisself, you know.” And Canyd chuckled.
“How would he know it was Iswy did this?”
“How do you?” Canyd asked, his eyebrows reaching up his forehead into his thick white hair.
“I heard him. In the woods, asking Bericus to ride Cornix. But Bericus refused him. I heard Iswy cursing and promising that he’d get to ride the stallion one way or another. So he has lamed Spadix on purpose, so I can’t lead Cornix. And no one can lead him from a mare. Nor the other stallions. Not Cornix.”
“Aye, lad, you’ve the answer.”
“And what about Spadix?” A sudden fear coursed through me. I almost wailed as I said, “We can’t leave him behind.”
“True.”
“It’ll be days before Spadix can walk! And Bericus won’t wait on a pony!” I had never been so afraid for another living creature, not even during the roughest days crossing the Narrow Sea, when I had worried so about the foals.
“Now, lad”-and Canyd took my hand in a firm grip of gnarled fingers, waving the index finger of his other hand in my face-“how do you know what a great lord like Bericus will or will not do?” He straightened up. “There, an’ I’ve never knowed the bran to fail me.”
By the time Canyd and I had returned to the fire, Bericus had come to a decision.
“How long before the pony’ll be sound, Canyd?” he asked.
“Two, three days. Ponies is tough.”