Black Horses for the King

by McCaffrey, Anne

• ISBN13: 9780345408815
• ISBN10: 0345408810
• Format: Trade Paper
• Copyright: 1997-09-01
• Publisher: Del Rey

Summary

"This fast-moving historical fantasy by bestselling author Anne McCaffrey traces the beginnings of the British cavalry, as recounted by a boy growing up in exciting and perilous times. "After his father' s death, young Galwyn Varianus is apprenticed to his uncle, who puts the boy to work on the high seas. But horses, not ships, are Galwyn' s passion. Luckily, a passenger aboard, Lord Artos (later to rule as the legendary King Arthur), is bound for the great horse fair at Septimania. Risking his life, Galwyn abandons his uncle to serve the gallant leader. Galywn' s calming way with horses quickly impresses Lord Artos and his men. But what no one expects is how crucial Galwyn will be to their upcoming battles as he masters the secrets of the iron shoes that will protect the exotic horses' delicate hooves. . . .

Author Biography

Anne McCaffrey is one of the world's most popular authors. Her first novel was published in l967. Since then, she has written dozens of books, of which there are more than twelve million copies in print. Before her success as a writer, she was involved in theatre. She directed the American premiere of Carl Orff's Ludus de Nato Infante Mirificus, in which she also played a witch. <br><br>McCaffrey lives in County Wicklow, Ireland, in a house of her own design, Dragonhold-Underhill, so named because she had to dig out a hill to build it.  There she runs a private livery stable, raising and training her beloved horses for horse trials and showjumping.<br><br><br><i>From the Paperback edition.</i>

Excerpts

"Galwyn's feeding the fishes 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 seablood in ye at all? Ye're 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 only managed to belay it on a pin and thus not lose it entirely.
The mate roared with laughter, encouraging the other men of his watch to
join him at my unhandiness.

"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' name, a Roman one for all he was supposed to
be as much a Briton as the rest of us. My uncle had 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 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 their 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
which made of me, in that one moment, his fervent adherent. Ah, if only my
uncle would award 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'd
emptied the bucket, though the mate's taunt had driven the fact out of my
mind. "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, amici," 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 on deck, almost falling back down the ladder at the impact
of the cool air. One and all, they reeled toward the deck, 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 sealegs," 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
in his presence.

"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
war-horses 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 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 which somehow included me in such exalted company. "We
lift the deck planks, settle the horses below in pens, well bedded on
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 Burtigala 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 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 on the wharf to help secure the ship. In my mind, I rebelled
at 'making a seaman' even on a ship which had been bought by gold from my
father, 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 why 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 me 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 out-going, 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! 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' hand lifted to forestall me. But I knew my own
abilities, even with all my limitations being shouted out as a litany.

I landed safely, whipping the line around the bollard and securing it in
the bowline 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 restored them completely.

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 unwilling 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 his 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 pack,
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

---

Excerpted from Black Horses for the King by Anne McCaffrey
All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.