“Aye, sir,” I said with an encouraging smile for the low-laid Bericus, “we’ll make port soon, and that’s the truth!” For landfall was indeed nigh. I’d seen the smudge on the horizon when I emptied the bucket, though the mate’s taunt had driven the fact out of my mind till now. “We should be up the river to Burtigala by dusk. Solid, dry land.”
“Artos, if the rest of this mad scheme of yours is as perilous as this…” Bericus said in a petulant growl.
“Come now, amicus,” their leader replied cheerfully, “this very evening I shall see you served meat, fowl, fish, whatever viand you wish …” Each suggestion brought a groan from Bericus, and Bwlch tossed his soiled mantle over his head.
“We’re in the river now, lord,” I said to the Comes Britannorum Artos-for his full style came back to me now. I could feel the difference in the ship’s motion. “If you’d come up on deck now, sirs, you’ll not find the motion so distressing as lying athwart it down here.”
Lord Artos flashed me a grin and, hauling the reluctant Bericus to his feet, said, “That’s a good thought, lad. Come, clear your heads of the sick miasma. Fresh air is what you need now to set you right.” He gestured for me to help Bwlch as he went to rouse the rest of his Companions.
They staggered onto deck, almost falling back down the ladder at the impact of the cool air. One and all, they reeled across, with me hard put to get them to the leeward rail, lest they find their own spew whipped back into their faces.
“Look at the land,” I suggested. “Not the sea, nor the deck. The land won’t move.”
“If it does, I shall never be the same,” Bericus muttered with a dark glance toward his leader, who stood, feet braced, head up, his long tawny hair whipping in the wind like a legion pennant. Bericus groaned. “And to think we’ve got to come back this same way!”
“It will not be as bad on the way home, sir,” I said to encourage him.
He raised his eyebrows, his pale eyes bright in amazement. “Nay, it’ll be worse, for we’ll have the bloody horses to tend… on that!” He gestured behind him at the following seas. “Bwlch, d’you know? Can horses get seasick?”
“I’ll be sure to purchase only those guaranteed to have sea legs,” the Comes said with a wink to me.
I looked away lest any of the others misconstrue my expression. For this was August, and the crossing had been reasonably calm. In a month or so the autumn gales could start, and those could be turbulent enough to empty the bellies of hardened seamen.
“Have you far to travel on land?” I asked.
“To the horse fair at Septimania,” Lord Artos said negligently.
“Where might that be, lord?”
His eyes twinkled approval at my question. “In the shadow of the Pyrenaei Mountains, in Narbo Martius.”
“That far, lord?” I was aghast.
“To find that which I must have”-and his voice altered, his eyes lost their focus, and his fists clenched above the railing-“to do what I must do …”
I felt a surge run up from my bowels at the stern purpose of his manner and experienced an errant desire to smooth his way however I could. Foolish of me, who had so little to offer anyone. And yet this Britic war chief was a man above men. I did not know why, but he made me, an insignificant and inept apprentice, feel less a failure and more confident.
“And it is mine to do,” he added, exhaling gustily. Then he smiled down at me, allowing-me a small share of his certain goal.
“I need big strong mares and stallions to breed the warhorses we need to drive the Saxons out of our lands and back into the sea,” he went on. “Horses powerful enough to carry warriors in full regalia, fast and far. For it is the swift, unexpected strike that will cause havoc among the Saxon forces, unaccustomed as they are to cavalry in battle. Julius Caesar used the alauda, his Germanic cavalry, to good effect against the Gauls. I shall take that page from the scroll of his accomplishments and protect Britain with my horsemen. If God is with us, the mares and stallions I need will be at that horse fair in Septimania, bred by the Goths from the same Libyan blood stock that the Romans used.”