I didn’t quite realize how desperately he wanted that chance until I overheard him pleading with Bericus. I was returning from a call of nature when his voice, raised in supplication, drifted toward me.
“The horse needs to be ridden, Lord Bericus,” Iswy was saying in a wheedling tone. I ducked aside from the path so as not to be seen listening. “Lord Artos would want him to be ridden.”
“Lord Artos will do whatever riding that horse needs, Iswy.”
“But I can stay on anything.” The nasal whine of Iswy’s scratchy voice must have annoyed Bericus as much as it did me.
“That may be true enough, Iswy, but I have specific instructions from Lord Artos, and Galwyn will continue to lead him.”
“I could do that as well, Lord Bericus.”
“Your offer is appreciated, Iswy.” Bericus was obviously moving away from him, because his voice became less distinct.
There was a silence while I stood motionless, lest Iswy know that I had overheard his humiliation. Then he began a flow of soft cursing such as I had never heard before-vicious, promising vengeance from pagan gods on the high and mighty Lord Bericus for denying Iswy his simple request.
I crept back into the camp shaken with apprehension by the malice in his words. I had no doubts at all that he would try to do something irrational and perhaps dangerous, but I did not know what to do about warning Bericus.
I doubled my vigilance, sleeping that night near Cor-nix’s end of the picket line.
I observed nothing unusual. The next morning, however, Spadix’s near foreleg was swollen to the knee and he would not even put his hoof tip to the ground. I couldn’t imagine what he could have done, for he had been sound the night before. He was such a sturdy pony that he was the one least likely to have leg trouble. As I raced for Canyd, seated by the fire with his porridge, I caught just a glimpse of Iswy’s face-and the malicious smile on it.
I faltered in my headlong dash for Canyd, suddenly realizing that even that clever man would be unable to cure my pony before we had to be on the road again that morning. Exactly what Iswy wanted. I would not be able to lead Cornix from a seat on Spadix, so the animal would have to be ridden. And Iswy was acknowledged to be the best rider of us all.
“What is it, lad?” Canyd cried, looking up from his porridge bowl.
“Spadix.” And I tugged at Canyd’s arm. Maybe he had something heroic to cure my pony. “It’s his leg. Swole up like a wasps’ nest.”
“It is?” Canyd rose in one swift movement, putting his bowl aside as he did so, surprise and confusion on his face.
“Oh, come quickly. He won’t even put his toe to the ground.” I pulled on Canyd’s thin wiry arm.
“Easy, lad, easy,” Canyd said, patting my hands to ease their grip on his arm. “I’m comin’, I’m comin’.”
Spadix was beyond Cornix on the picket, and his swollen leg was visible as we approached.
“Sa-sa, lad,” Canyd said, touching Spadix’s rump with a gentle hand as he moved in beside him and crouched by the filled leg. “Sa-sa, now what have ye don’ to yurseP?”
“He didn’t do anything, Canyd. It was done to him!”
Canyd paused hi his examination and squinted up at me. “It was, was it? This pony’s that tired he swole his leg up so as not to lead out Cornix today?” And Canyd winked at me.
Astonished, I was speechless as I watched the wise hands gently press against the leg. Spadix nickered low in pain and tossed his head nervously. I went to his head and began stroking his muzzle, murmuring my own “Sash’s to reassure him. I was proud of being part of those tending Lord Artos’s marvelous horses; but Spadix was mine, and his injury, as spiteful as it was, distressed me
more than I thought possible. Before my father’s heart had failed him, I had had the best ponies money could buy, but I had never felt the kinship with them that I felt for this shaggy plebeian fellow.