The others who made up the twenty-man escort of the black Libyan horses were the sort who would get on with any job of work that was set them: Five were soldiers of Conies Artos’s legion and chosen for their skill in horsemanship. Six had been lent by Prince Cador for the same reason. Canyd Bawn was the Comes’s man and had come down from Deva especially to help the fine new steeds travel. He had brought with him three men. They were not unfriendly but they sat somewhat apart from the other two groups, who were more apt to mingle than the Devans. I was neither fish nor fowl: not high enough in rank to intrude on the Companions, nor naturally included with any of the others.
However, I came to the conclusion that it was Canyd whose goodwill I needed most. Gaming his respect would mean strict attention to his orders about the care of the horses. He was not the sort who bantered with others around the campfire, where he, like I did for another reason, listened intently without comment.
By the end of the first week, Bericus was eager to start the journey, but he had to wait until Canyd would allow the horses to proceed.
“They’re fine animals, sir,” Canyd said, cocking his head. “But that mare, now, she’s a touch colicky with the strange grass scratching her belly. I wouldn’t want to start the journey with her liable to come down. Wouldn’t do for her to tie up her guts …”
“But when they’re colicky, you walk them. Why not walk them out on the journey?” Bericus asked.
“It’s not only the lass I worry about, sir, but yon stallion-Victor, you call him. He hasn’t settled to his food and nothing pleases him. No condition back on his bones yet, and that’s not good for a long journey either, not when we’ll be changing grass and water holes every night. It’s a long way to Deva from here.”
“We can take hay from here and feed him that on the road,” Bericus suggested.
Canyd raised one gnarled finger in warning. “As well to wait a day or two more and see him settled than go through all that rigamarole.”
“It’ll be a long-enough journey, and the weather none too clement this time of the year…”
“True, true,” Canyd said, nodding affably. “A day or two more is all.”
Bericus sighed but was obviously bound by Canyd’s advice. Then he cast me a significant look, nodding toward Spadix, and when it occurred to me that this was Sunday, I understood. We mounted, and some distance farther on the road were joined by Bwlch, also on his way to the little church in Isca. There, I am sure, all our prayers were to have a safe journey-soon!
If, on my return, I caught snide looks and remarks, I had retained sufficient joy from the mass to ignore them. I would have thought that some of Cador’s men were Christian, for there were many monasteries in Cordovici, though I remembered some talk around the campfires about how many had divorced themselves from Roman ways when the legions had not come to our assistance.
WE PREPARED TO DEPART two days later, at dawn, gathering for the last time around the fire, our gear all tied and ready. Bericus unfolded a parchment map, tilted it toward the light, and glanced at me, for he knew that I had been taught to read. By such an action, sadly, he left me open to more jibes by those who could not.
“There are forts and villas along this road where we will be welcome,” he said, one finger pointing the direction we would take. “We will not always have to sleep out, but always”-and he paused, looking around at everyone-“always the safety of the horses is the first priority. We have over three hundred millepassus to go, and Lord Artos has allowed three weeks to accomplish the journey, barring accidents.” Again he gave a keen glance of his pale eyes around the circle. “We will have no accidents.” The response was hearty from most of his listeners, though I caught Iswy’s sly look and the skeptical one that Gallicanus gave Egdyl. The three men from Deva-Nestor, Yayin, and Donan-looked far more optimistic, but they knew the road, having just traveled it to Isca.