“Tell Tegidus that we would be glad to join him and his band, and we will set out tomorrow as soon as we have mounts.”
“My lord, we could go now to the farm and buy the ponies before Baldus gets them and doubles the price, as he will if he knows there is a demand.”
Lord Artos peered at the darkening sky. “Is there time?”
“Enough if you ride now!”
The twinkle returned to the Comes’s eyes, and his beard framed a wide smile. “Inform Tegidus of your suggestion. We can offer him a mount to accompany us.”
Bericus procured torches from the landlord, and the four of us were mounted and riding down the road in less time than it takes to tell it. We roused the herder from a bed he was loath to leave; he stood in the doorway, scratching himself.
“I’ve an early start in the morning to the market at Burtigala,” he whinged, but brightened when he heard Tegidus clink his bag of coin.
“Perhaps we can save you that long journey and provide more profit than you would realize from Baldus,” I said, winking.
“Ah, that one! Skin you of your hide and sell your meat for beef, he would!”
Granted, it is not generally advisable to buy ponies in the dark, but knowing hands can find curb and splint, and check hoof, tooth, and condition. These were sturdy mountain stock with flesh on their bones, hard hooves, and good frogs, and young enough to be easily resold on return. They were sure of foot, too, for which I was thankful as Bericus and I raced them up and down the hill to test their wind.
Before the glass could be turned for the new day, we left the farm, each leading four well-grown ponies. My arms were nearly pulled out of their sockets by the time we reached Burtigala, my legs ached with the strain of holding me on the withers of my own mount, and my thighs were chafed from the rough saddle pad.
“How is that you speak my tongue so well?” Tegidus asked me as we turned the animals out in the rented paddock.
“I saw you in the house of my father.”
“Did you? And he was …”
“Decitus Varianus,” I said, although my throat went tight in memory of my father and those happier days.
“Ah! You’re the little lad who chirped so happily in any language he heard.” Tegidus’s white-toothed smile was briefly illuminated by the sputtering torches. “I was sorry to hear of your father’s death, lad. You are well employed with Lord Artos, but you have been more than helpful to an old friend this day.” He tucked something in my hand that I, in turn, lodged in my belt, too weary to dispute the unnecessary vail or set his notion of my employment to rights.
I DO NOT RECALL HOW, but I seem to have spent the night in Lord Artos’s chamber, on a pallet by the foot of the bed he shared with Bwlch and Bericus.
Knowing that the loading of my uncle’s ship continued that morning, I was somewhat concerned for my absence.
“Nonsense, lad,” Lord Artos said. “Bwlch will return with you to spare you reproaches, but you have been of invaluable assistance to me, which is as Prince Cador charged your uncle. You have done no wrong.”
When Bwlch and I reached the ship, the crew were already busy hauling bales and amphorae up the gangplank. My uncle’s expression when he saw me gave me pause, though it turned courteous enough when he bowed and smiled at Bwlch.
“You have our thanks, lad,” Bwlch said loudly as I handed over the reins of the pony I had ridden. As he took the lead from me, he pressed some coins in my hand, grinned, and winked, then clattered off, his long legs dangling almost to his mount’s knees.
Hastily I concealed the coins in my belt. Just in time, too, for my uncle was hauling me by the ear back up the plank, cursing under his breath.
“Your fine friends are gone now, lad, and you’ll do the work you were hired for.”