probably wanted to see you fall off—and with that beast, there’s nothing to hold to if you do begin to fall. But if you could accustom him to the action, and train him to keep running while you do it, you might repeat the move and surprise them.”
“That would be splendid! How do you…oh. I am sorry, my lady. It was three bales of green, wasn’t it?”
“Three green single-weight, two double-weight. Perhaps the lord Gwalchmai could teach you how to pick a ring up from the ground from horseback this afternoon. Whyever do you want to do such a thing anyway?”
“If one can do that, one can deal with an adversary who has fallen, or pick up a dropped sword,” Gwalchmai answered at once.
“And if you can ride entirely on one side of the horse,” Gwyn supplemented eagerly, “you can use the horse to shield you during a charge. The enemy may not even see you, or might not cast anyway, if he wants your horse.” He looked at Gwalchmai earnestly, received a nod of assent, then sobered and said, “But I could not trouble the lord Gwalchmai. Truly, noble lord, I know you have much greater matters of concern than that.”
“I have just told the Empress that I have no matters of concern, great or small. And I have a new roan mare that I wish to train for battle. I will take her onto the field behind the stables. Come, if you wish to—that is, if the lady Gwynhwyfar has nothing else for you too.”
“Nothing this afternoon,” I replied at once, pleased that Gwyn should learn riding from his hero. “I need that list of women who will be doing the weaving for us, and the quantities of each color that they want, but you can write that out for me tonight. Very well, Gwyn, three green single-weight, two double; and…” I counted quickly, “five black, natural, single-weight…”
Gwyn hastily scratched down the amounts with his stylus, self-consciously competent, carefully not looking at Gwalchmai. We finished the inventory, checked through the result, and I told Gwyn to make a fair copy of it and sent him off to do so. Gwalchmai watched him go, smiling.
“That is a clever boy,” he told me, “and a daring one.”
“He thinks very highly of you.”
That drew a quick glance. “Does he? He is in love with songs, I suppose. It was a brave deed to come here, and braver still to stay. Most of the other lads in the fortress are cruel to him, though I suppose it is only to be expected.”
“He bears up to it very well. They will tire of teasing him soon, and he will be able to make friends. But I am glad you will spend some time teaching him.”
“Och, that. That is a pleasure. I remember still what it is like to be despised by other children, and it atones for something, teaching him. Though Gwyn is a quicker learner than ever I was—but this is not what I wished to speak to you about.”
I gestured toward the door, and he opened it for me, following me out into the sunny morning air. “Cei is in my house, in a black temper,” Gwalchmai told me. “Shall we walk down to the walls again?”
We did so. It was a lovely day, the perfection of early June. The larks were singing above Camlann, and children played about the houses where women were hanging their washing on the thatch and discussing their neighbors’ affairs. We walked down the hill without speaking, for the day was too fine to burden it with cares so soon. When we climbed the wall and looked out over the fields, the land that had before been raw mud was green—silver with wheat, shimmering with the wind. Gwalchmai stopped, leaning on the battlements, and I stopped beside him. It seemed to me that the breeze must draw away the cramped and manifold care from my mind and scatter it over the rich land. It would not be so dreadful: the worst would not happen. Camlann had survived civil war and Saxon wars; endured poverty and enmity and envy, and it was strong. Its life continued, steady as a pulse-beat, through all the doubts and turmoils of its
“That would be splendid! How do you…oh. I am sorry, my lady. It was three bales of green, wasn’t it?”
“Three green single-weight, two double-weight. Perhaps the lord Gwalchmai could teach you how to pick a ring up from the ground from horseback this afternoon. Whyever do you want to do such a thing anyway?”
“If one can do that, one can deal with an adversary who has fallen, or pick up a dropped sword,” Gwalchmai answered at once.
“And if you can ride entirely on one side of the horse,” Gwyn supplemented eagerly, “you can use the horse to shield you during a charge. The enemy may not even see you, or might not cast anyway, if he wants your horse.” He looked at Gwalchmai earnestly, received a nod of assent, then sobered and said, “But I could not trouble the lord Gwalchmai. Truly, noble lord, I know you have much greater matters of concern than that.”
“I have just told the Empress that I have no matters of concern, great or small. And I have a new roan mare that I wish to train for battle. I will take her onto the field behind the stables. Come, if you wish to—that is, if the lady Gwynhwyfar has nothing else for you too.”
“Nothing this afternoon,” I replied at once, pleased that Gwyn should learn riding from his hero. “I need that list of women who will be doing the weaving for us, and the quantities of each color that they want, but you can write that out for me tonight. Very well, Gwyn, three green single-weight, two double; and…” I counted quickly, “five black, natural, single-weight…”
Gwyn hastily scratched down the amounts with his stylus, self-consciously competent, carefully not looking at Gwalchmai. We finished the inventory, checked through the result, and I told Gwyn to make a fair copy of it and sent him off to do so. Gwalchmai watched him go, smiling.
“That is a clever boy,” he told me, “and a daring one.”
“He thinks very highly of you.”
That drew a quick glance. “Does he? He is in love with songs, I suppose. It was a brave deed to come here, and braver still to stay. Most of the other lads in the fortress are cruel to him, though I suppose it is only to be expected.”
“He bears up to it very well. They will tire of teasing him soon, and he will be able to make friends. But I am glad you will spend some time teaching him.”
“Och, that. That is a pleasure. I remember still what it is like to be despised by other children, and it atones for something, teaching him. Though Gwyn is a quicker learner than ever I was—but this is not what I wished to speak to you about.”
I gestured toward the door, and he opened it for me, following me out into the sunny morning air. “Cei is in my house, in a black temper,” Gwalchmai told me. “Shall we walk down to the walls again?”
We did so. It was a lovely day, the perfection of early June. The larks were singing above Camlann, and children played about the houses where women were hanging their washing on the thatch and discussing their neighbors’ affairs. We walked down the hill without speaking, for the day was too fine to burden it with cares so soon. When we climbed the wall and looked out over the fields, the land that had before been raw mud was green—silver with wheat, shimmering with the wind. Gwalchmai stopped, leaning on the battlements, and I stopped beside him. It seemed to me that the breeze must draw away the cramped and manifold care from my mind and scatter it over the rich land. It would not be so dreadful: the worst would not happen. Camlann had survived civil war and Saxon wars; endured poverty and enmity and envy, and it was strong. Its life continued, steady as a pulse-beat, through all the doubts and turmoils of its
Similar Books
