Anne McCaffrey - Black Horses For The King

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BLACK Horses for the KING

ANNE MCCAFFREY

CAST OF CHARACTERS

GALWYN GAIUS VARIANUS, a Roman Celt; son of Decitus

Varianus, a factor ARTOS, Comes Britannorum (Count of Briton), also a

Roman Celt

BERICUS / BWLCH two of Artos's Companions on the voyage

GRALIOR, captain of the Corellia; Galwyn's uncle by marriage DECITUS VARIANUS,

Galwyn's dead father

PRINCE CADOR OF DUMNONIA (Devon-Cornwall)

ERCUS, landlord at Burtigala

BALDUS AFRITUS, horse trader at Burtigala

TEGIDUS, merchant at Burtigala

PAPHNUTIUS, Egyptian horse trader at Septimania

NICETUS THE ELDER, horse trader

DOLCENUS, port officer at Isca

CANYD BAWN, horse-wise herbalist at Artos's Devan farm

ISWY, Cornovian rider

DECIUS GALLICANUS, rider

EGDYL THE WHITE, rider

NESTOR from Deva

YAYIN from Deva

DONAN from Deva

TELDYS, farm manager

DAPHNE, his wife

ALUN, smith at Deva

RATAN, apprentice smith

MANOB, sergeant of the troop

FIRKIN, rider at Deva

SOLVIN, hostler at Galwyn's father's estate

RHODRI, Canyd's brother and a horse trainer

SERENA, Galwyn's mother

FLORA and LAVINIA, his sisters

ODRAN, Galwyn's stepfather; combmaker

MELWAS, Flora's husband

CALLUS, Galwyn's infant nephew

Artos's Companions at Camelot

CEI

GERAINT

GWALCHMEI

MEDRAUT

DRUSTANUS

CYFWLCH

BEDWYR

ARLO, page at Camelot

EOAIN ALBIGENSIS, stable boy at Camelot

MASTER ILFOR, forge master and armorer at Camelot

MASTER GLEBUS, horse master

BORVO, apprentice smith

MAROS, apprentice smith

PRINCE MALDON, visitor at Camelot

SEXTUS TERTONIUS, armorer

PRINCE GENEIR

GREN, hostler of Prince Geneir

Horse and pony names:

SPADIX, bay pony bought by Galwyn

Libyan stallions: CORNIX, VICTOR, PAPHIN

Libyan mares (sixteen in all): SPLENDORA and DORCAS are the only ones named

RAVUS, gray stallion at Camelot

Historical personalities:

ARTOS (aka Arthur), the Bear, Comes Britannorum or Count of Britain, also dux

bellorum (war leader)

AURELIUS AMBROSIUS, war leader with Vortigern

VORTIGERN, prince who united northern tribes

AELLE, Saxon King in Eburacom (York)

CADOR, Prince of Dumnonia NENNIUS, monk chronicler

SAINT GERMANUS, monk chronicler

GILDAS, monk historian KING MARK, King of Cornwall

Part One

Horse Fair at Septimania

"GALWYN'S FEEDING THE F1SH6S AGAIN," the mate called as I emptied the odorous

bucket overboard. I ignored him, rinsing the bucket in the strong waves that

were following us from Isca Dumnorium.

By now, I was some used to crossing the Narrow Sea, but to have to tend to six

grown men who were not, made me as ill as they. And made me, once again, the

butt of jokes for my uncle's crew. It had taken me a while to learn not to

rise to the mate's lures; he'd leave off his taunts sooner. "Have ye no sea

blood in ye at all? “Have ye no use in the rigging, little use on deck, and ye

can't even keep b'low decks clean."

I was hauling the bucket up, had it nearly to the rail, when a particularly

hungry wave caught and filled it.

The line pulled burningly through my hands. I barely managed to belay it on a

pin and thus not lose it entirely. The mate roared with laughter at my

unhandiness, encouraging the other men of his watch to join him.

"Galwyn, I'd want proof that y'are indeed Gralior's nephew if I'd one like ye

on any ship of mine."

The bucket forgotten, I whirled on him for that insult to my mother.

"Ah, lad, we've sore need of the bucket below," said a deep voice in my ear. A

hand caught my shoulder with a powerful shake to gain my attention and curb my

intent. "Such taunts are the currency of the petty," our noble passenger

continued for my ear alone. "Treat them with the contempt they deserve." Then

he went on in a tone meant to carry, "I tried the salted beef as you

suggested, and it has succeeded in settling my belly. For which I'm obliged to

you. I'll have another plate for my Companions."

I could not recall the Comes's name-a Roman one, for all he was supposed to be

as much a Briton as the rest of us. My uncle treated him with more respect,

even reverence, than he accorded most men, fare-paying passengers or not. So I

was quite as willing to obey this Briton lord without quibble, and to ease his

Companions' distress in any way I could. I hauled up the bucket, which he took

below with him. Then I got more salt beef from the barrel before I followed

him back down into the space assigned the passengers.

Warriors they might be, but on the sea and three days from land, they were in

woeful condition: Two were green under their weathered skins, as they lay

defeated by the roll and heave of the deck beneath them. I did not laugh, all

too familiar with their malaise. They were big men, strong of arm and thew,

with callused hands and arms scarred by swordplay. They'd swords in their

baggage, and oiled leather jerkins well studded with nails. Big men in search

of big horses to carry them into battle against the Saxons. That much I had

gleaned from snatches of then- conversation before the seasickness robbed them

of talk and dignity. Then they clung to their crosses and made soft prayers to

God for deliverance.

"Come now, Bwlch, you see me revived," the war chief cajoled. Bwlch merely

moaned as the salt beef was dangled in front of his face and gestured urgently

to me to bring the bucket. There could be nothing now but bile in the man's

stomach, if that, for he had drunk no more than a sip or two of water all day.

"Bericus, will you not try young Galwyn's magic cure?" The second man-at-arms

closed his eyes and slapped a great fist across his nose and mouth. "Come now,

Companions, we are all but there, are we not, young Galwyn?"

I was mortified that he had remembered my name when I could not recall his and

started to duck my head away from his smiling face. Now I was caught by the

brilliant blue of his eyes and held by an indefinable link that made of me, in

that one moment, his fervent adherent. Ah, if only my uncle had awarded me

such a glance, I could have found my apprenticeship far easier to bear.

"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."

"Will not the legions return, lord, to help us?" I asked hopefully.

Lord Artos gave me a kind smile. "No, lad, we cannot expect them. This we must

do for ourselves. The horses are the key."

"Do horses get seasick?" Bericus asked again, this time pointedly.

"The legions got theirs to Britain. Why can we not do the same?" the Comes

asked with a wry grin.

"But how, lord, will you transport them?" And I gestured at the narrow hatch

to the lower deck. Not even a shaggy Sorviodunum pony could pass through it.

"Ah, now that's the easy part," Artos said, rubbing his big, scarred hands

together. "Cador and I worked that out." My eyes must have bulged at his

casual reference to our prince of Dumnonia, for he gave me another reassuring

smile that somehow included me in such exalted company. "We lift the deck

planks, settle the horses below in pens well bedded with straw, and nail the

planks back on. Simple, sa?"

I was not the only dubious listener; Bericus shook his head and Bwlch covered

his mouth for a cough. But the Lord Artos seemed so sure, and Prince Cador had

the reputation of a formidably acute man.

"How big are the horses from Septimania?" I asked.

Artos put his forearm at a level with his eyes. "That height in the shoulder."

I could only stare at him in amazement. "Surely horses are not meant to grow

that big?"

"Whyever not, Galwyn? When we have"-and Artos gestured to his Companions, all

of whom towered above me, though I was considered the tall one of my kin.

Then my uncle came on deck as the Corellia ran up the mouth of the broad

Gallish river to the harbor at Bur-tigala as if eager to end her journey. I

hoped that there would be a cargo for us to return with, or my uncle's humor

would be sour indeed. On this outbound trip, there had only been a load of

bullhides, though the seven passengers had been a godsend and made the sailing

worthwhile.

"Bring down the mainsheet," shouted my uncle, and he grunted with approval as

the mate sent a kick after one of the sailors who moved too slowly. "Stand by

the anchor and the landing lines. Do you have to be told every time? You, boy,

what are you staring at? Lend a hand. You'll never make a seaman at this

rate!"

I raced to grab up the line, which I was expected to take with me when I

jumped ashore to the wharf, to help secure the ship. In my mind, I rebelled at

"making a seaman," even on a ship that had been bought by gold from my father,

who was helping his wife's brother up in the world: a fact I knew but was

astute enough never to mention even if the knowledge galled me.

"Look lively, you lump of a lad," he shouted at me, though the wharf was still

too far away for me to jump. I'd fallen into the cold waters of the harbor

often enough not to wish to do so now in front of Lord Artos.

I'd never make a seaman, not the sort my uncle wanted. My real value to him,

and the reason he had taken me on in the first place and tolerated my other

shortcomings, was my skill with languages and my ability to translate some of

the barbarous trading dialects. This fluency allowed me to help him find good

cargoes, and thus maintain myself in his good graces.

From childhood, I had been exposed to many foreign tongues. My father, Decitus

Varianus, had been a factor and met folk from as far away as Egypt and Greece

to the east, and some of the roving Nordic folk from the north. An outgoing,

curious child, I had picked up snitches and snatches of many

languages-sometimes hardly knowing what I was saying-but the facility remained

and was improved upon by tutors in Greek and Latin, the Gaelic of our hill

farmers, and indeed, whatever outlandish speech was spoken around me.

"What are you waiting for, Galwyn?" my uncle yelled at me as the distance to

the pier narrowed slowly. It was still too far away, and out of the corner of

my eye, I saw Lord Artos extend a hand as if to stay me from jumping at that

command. "Scared, are you? Son of a bankrupt, taken in by me out of kindness

to my sister-in-law! Are you going to be as much a failure as your father?

Spoiled you are, and I trying to make a man out of you. Jump, I say. Jump!"

The ship was close enough now and I gathered myself for the leap, although,

once again, Lord Artos's hand

lifted to forestall me. But I knew my own abilities, even with all my

limitations being shouted out in a litany.

I landed safely, whipping the line around the bollard and securing it in the

bowline as I had been taught. I was rather pleased with myself, actually,

since the jump had been wider than usual. When I looked back to see if Lord

Artos approved of my feat, my chest swelled a bit to see him nod. Then I

noticed that both Bericus and Bwlch looked less wan and pale. The ship still

rocked in the current, but the fact that they were securely fastened to dry

land again must have nearly restored them.

There was the usual bustle at the pier, with hawkers trying to sell fresh food

and wine, and others offering their services in unloading cargo. My uncle gave

unnecessary orders in a loud voice to impress the landsmen, but he was in no

hurry to off-load the bullhides and show the Corellia to be carrying so little

of value.

My main duty in landing done, I hovered around Lord Artos and his Companions,

helping them with their packs and gear. I was unwilhng to leave their company.

Well, his company.

"Galwyn," my uncle bawled, "make yourself useful for once. Help the lords with

their baggage. And lead them to the Golden Swan. It's the only place in the

port that would suit friends of Prince Cador's. Go with them so the landlord

knows he's to give them his best... Only thing you are good for," he went on,

though not as loudly, "is cackling in whatever it is they speak here! How you

know what's what from all that gabble, I wouldn't know."

He shook his finger at me. "See that you listen well and make sure this Comes

is well taken care of. You hear me, now, Galwyn."

"Yes, uncle ... Of course, uncle ... I understand, uncle," I said whenever I

could insert a word. I tried not to give away how happy I was to carry out

that order. It wouldn't suit Gralior to think he had me doing something I

wanted to do.

Then my uncle, all obsequious, bowed Lord Artos and his Companions down the

plank that served to connect ship to shore.

"The lad knows the way, Lord Artos, and the rough speech that's all the

landlord of the Swan can manage. Not a civil word in that man's head, but

Galwyn will let him know that he will have no more of my trade if he does not

give you of his best." Then, almost snarling at me because Bericus, Bwlch, and

the others were picking up their own travel gear-"Take the packs, Galwyn. Help

them. Don't just stand there with both arms the same length. You're not a

spoiled juvenile now. You work for your living."

Scooting out of the way of my uncle's heavy-sandaled foot, I tried to take one

of the packs from Lord Artos, but his hand restrained me.

"Lead on, Galwyn, lad, there's a good fellow," the Comes said, and gave me a

gentle push.

I caught one glimpse of Gralior scowling at me and hoped that he would have

recovered by the time I returned. Perhaps, I thought traitorously, lean delay.

"And come you right back, Galwyn. There's cargo to unload," my uncle shouted

just as we reached the first dwellings.

WELL, THE GOLDEN SWAN was a distance from the harbor. Even my uncle had to

admit that, and I could always say that it took me a while to get the landlord

to understand exactly what was needed.

In truth, I knew the local dialect so well that I had no trouble at all making

Landlord Ercus understand that these guests were men of quality and rank.

Besides, any fool could have seen that in a glance, and Ercus was no fool.

"My uncle, the good Gralior," I began tactfully, "said that only your inn

would serve the Comes Britannorum and his Companions. You do have rooms

available?"

"Of a certainty I do, young Galwyn," Ercus said, for he could be as tactful as

I. "And as good a meal as any could ask for after a sea voyage."

"Well, they do need your very best food to settle their stomachs, Ercus."

And I reported my conversation to Lord Artos, who smiled and nodded. Then I

went to the business of settling a price for the lodgings and determining how

long they would be needed.

"You are hosting friends of Prince Cador, who trades here often enough for you

to give your best price to these," I said. It took me time enough to argue his

price down, but I did it. Fortunately, Artos had gold rings to pay for his

needs and these were accepted everywhere.

"For the one room large enough to sleep the six of you, he will charge a

quarter ring." I turned to Artos. "Another quarter to feed you, but the wine

you drink is extra. He does have good wine," I added, for I knew Er-cus's

reputation from other inns.

So the prices were settled, and as a meal could be served immediately to the

men made very hungry by the three days' abstinence, I had no choice but to

leave them to it.

I trotted the last few streets so that I would arrive breathless at the ship

and perhaps prove to my uncle that I had arranged matters with dispatch.

THAT NIGHT, AS i LAY on a straw pallet in the hold of the Corellia, which was

still redolent of seasick odors, I thought of Comes Artos's quest. Horses! How

much I missed our horses. Before my father had lost all his substance in two

seasons of disastrous storms, we had had many fine beasts in our stables. I

had owned a fine mettlesome pony whom I had ridden as if we two were a single

centaur. My father's sergeant-at-arms had grudgingly admitted that I was

likely to make a competent horseman, and that was praise indeed from that

stern fellow. What time I had to spare from my lessons and duties as my

father's heir had been spent in the stable.

I ought not even to have thought of horses; they brought back too many painful

memories. But I could scarcely help myself. Fine big strong horses, to be

ridden by fine big strong men! Surely they'd need a horse boy to assist them

on their travels? Surely I could make myself so useful to the Comes

Britannorum that he would beg the loan of me from my uncle. That faint hope

blossomed into determination as I lay there listening to the creaks and groans

of the ship, and the restless slap of the river against her hull.

There is little that travels faster in a seaport town than word of rich

patrons and mad quests. But I only learned of the rumors later, for at first

light my uncle had roused me to accompany him while he bargained for some

suitable cargo. Local wine and oil in amphorae, several bales of fine Egyptian

cotton cloth, and some beautifully tanned and colored Ibernian leather were

acquired by midmorning, and my uncle was not displeased, though never so much

as a word of thanks- much less praise-rewarded my efforts. In truth, I had had

no trouble with the corrupt Latin, larded though it was with the wretched

Ibernian patois.

I was back on board the Corellia when the stable lad of the inn came with a

message for my uncle from Lord Artos. My uncle scowled as he scanned the scrap

of parchment, and then he glanced ominously at me.

"Humph. He's asked for you, boy. Seems as if you did as you were told for once

and saw them well settled at the Swan. Now he needs your tongue to buy mounts

for his journey," my uncle said. "Off you go, and use your wits for Lord

Artos's sake in this matter, too. Prince Ca-dor would have him assisted in

every way, even by such a one as you."

He gave me a light cuff to remind me of my manners, and I scrambled off the

ship and after the inn lad as fast as I could-before the expression on my face

could ruin this opportunity.

Not only did I know languages, I knew horses. Perhaps my notion of becoming

indispensable to Lord Artos had some chance. My uncle had his cargo-with my

help. Could I not now become part of this quest for great warrior horses?

THE Comes AND HIS COMPANIONS had slept late, despite the noise about the busy

inn, and had just finished breaking their fast when I rushed in upon them.

"Ave, Galwyn, well come," Artos said, expansively gesturing me to their table.

It bore little but crumbs, and so many empty platters that I suspected his

Companions had made up for the three days of meals they'd missed. Lord Artos

caught my glance and his grin was mischievous. "I haven't understood a word

that's been said to us. This Ercus, our host, garbles Latin as if he's chewing

tough beef. Signs suffice in ordering a meal, but I'd rather know the price I

must pay for decent mounts and to hire a reliable caravan leader."

"It's my honor, Lord Artos, my honor," I managed to reply, curbing an impulse

to puff my experience in such matters. I would prove it with deeds, not words.

ONCE AWAY FROM THE PORT, Burtigala spread out, sprawling beyond the town

boundaries originally set up by the Roman governors of the province. The

bustling market area was built on the Roman design, despite the cramped tiny

stalls that cluttered the space near the slave pens and along the animal

fields. There were many people about, and I noticed the Companions staring at

the occasional Nubian, black and splendid in richly colored robes; the slim,

swart men whose rolling gait marked them as traders from the Levant; the big

Goths swaggering an arrogant path through the crowds of small-statured folk.

All, in their turn, marked my Lord Artos and his tall, muscular Companions and

slowed their pace so that they did not overrun us. All around were the

jabbering and liquid sounds of many languages, fragments of which I could

identify as we passed the speakers.

"Is it always like this, Galwyn?" Bericus asked out of the side of his mouth.

"It is, sir; only sometimes much more so."

"More so?" Bwlch asked.

"This is not a market day, sir. Or a feast day."

"God has been good?" Bwlch muttered under his breath.

As soon as we reached the animal market, Baldus Afritus pushed his way forward

to meet us, his sizable paunch clearing his path. He wore his oily smile and

smoothed his soiled robes over his belly. I murmured a caveat emptor to Lord

Artos. "Do not overtrust this one, Conies."

"Baldus Afritus at your service, noble lord," the man said unctuously in his

heavily accented Latin, giving a Legion salute that Lord Artos ignored. Baldus

now repeated his introduction in an even more garbled Gallic.

"Mounts," Lord Artos answered in Latin, moving to the rails, where he cast his

eyes over the rugged ponies displayed. "Seven to ride, of at least fourteen

hands of height, and four pack animals."

The smile on Baldus's face increased as he saw a fat profit for the day. "I

have many fine strong ponies that would carry you from here to Rome with no

trouble."

I snickered. Most of Baldus's "fine strong ponies" had no flesh on their

bones, even this late into a fine summer. Their hooves were untrimmed, their

backs scabby with rain rash, and their withers white with old sores from badly

fitting pack saddles. And the majority were so small that Lord Artos's tall

men would have to ride with their knees up under their chins.

"And what do you think of Baldus's offerings?" Lord Artos asked me, his eyes

slightly narrowed as he gazed at me. Baldus watched me, too.

So, as if we were discussing the weather and not the beasts, I gave the lord

my assessment, speaking in our own dear language, of which Baldus knew little.

"Not one that would last the trip?" Artos went on.

"Two only, lord, the bay with the star and snip, and the brown horse with the

white sock on the off-hind."

Lord Artos gave a nod and walked on-despite Bal-dus's protestations-to the

next pen, which, in truth, contained animals in little better shape. I could

almost feel Baldus's stare piercing my shoulder blades.

In that lot, a second sturdy brown looked up to bearing the weight of one of

the Companions as it dozed, hip-shot in the sun.

BY THE END OF THE DAY, after much looking and then considerable checking of

teeth and tendons, backs, and wind-with either Bericus, Bwlch, or me backing a

full dozen to judge their paces-Lord Artos struck a bargain for four. Baldus

and another coper vied with each other, promising that more beautiful,

stronger animals would be brought up from lush pastures farther from Burtigala

so that the noble lords would have the most suitable beasts available. I was

sent off to arrange for grain, a separate field to keep them in, a trustworthy

lad to watch them, and a man capable of trimming their hooves for the journey.

"You've a keen eye, lad," Lord Artos said, laying a friendly arm across my

shoulders as he and the Companions made their way back to the inn, "a light

hand

and a good seat. You're better riding the horses of the land than those of the

sea, aren't you?"

I could only nod, overwhelmed with delight at his praise.

He clapped me companionably. "Will your uncle indulge me with your services

for tomorrow as well? That is, after you've ordered a proper meal from our

barbarian landlord."

THAT EVENING, TO MY SURPRISE and relief-for I had been having a sorry time of

it loading cargo with the crew-Bericus came clattering down to the docks,

leading one of the ponies purchased that morning.

"There's a merchant, an honest man by the look of him," Bericus said after a

courteous greeting to my uncle. "But Lord Artos can make nothing of his

speech. May we have the good offices of young Galwyn? My lord would deem it a

great favor."

It was deftly done, for I saw Bericus slip something into my uncle's palm,

which caused him to smile broadly and summarily gesture me to attend the

Companion.

I was filthy, my cheek bloodied from a crate that happened to slip, and

limping from another that had been purposely dumped on my foot.

"I cannot go to Lord Artos like this," I said, mortified at my state.

"The Comes cannot wait on you!" my uncle said, and before I realized his

intent, he pitched me over the side of the ship. "You'll be clean enough when

you've dried off," he bellowed down at me.

"Why, you sodden son of Mithras," Bericus yelled fiercely, "the lad's needed

sound, not drowned!"

I had been in no danger, since I could swim well, and I was pleased that

Bericus had rounded on my uncle for his treatment of me. I was even more

grateful when Bericus hauled me up out of the water.

"Does he treat you often thus?" Bericus asked in a disgusted undertone.

"I am cleaner," I said ruefully.

Bericus grunted as he lifted a piece of seaweed from my shoulder and deposited

it back in the harbor.

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BLACKHorsesfortheKINGANNEMCCAFFREYCASTOFCHARACTERSGALWYNGAIUSVARIANUS,aRomanCelt;sonofDecitusVarianus,afactorARTOS,ComesBritannorum(CountofBriton),alsoaRomanCeltBERICUS/BWLCHtwoofArtos'sCompanionsonthevoyageGRALIOR,captainoftheCorellia;Galwyn'sunclebymarriageDECITUSVARIANUS,Galwyn'sdeadfatherPRINCEC...

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Anne McCaffrey - Black Horses For The King.pdf

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Anne McCaffrey - Black Horses For The King

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