As Cristen and Hugh came up to the forge, the big, dark brown stallion snorted and aimed a kick right at the smith’s head.
With a sharp curse, the smith leaped out of the way.
“Oh dear,” Cristen said. “Is Byrony up to his tricks again?”
“He hates getting shoes, especially on his hind feet,” Nigel said. He looked at Hugh. “He’s been this way ever since I bought him and it seems that every time we shoe him he gets worse.”
Hugh watched for a few minutes as the blacksmith picked up Byrony’s off hind and tried to hammer in another nail.
The horse kicked out again.
Again the blacksmith leaped out of the way and cursed.
“You’re holding his foot too high and it’s hurting him,” Hugh said quietly.
The blacksmith, a stocky man wearing a leather apron, looked at Hugh truculently. “I been shoeing horses for fifteen years and more. I’m holding his foot like I always do.”
“He is probably more sensitive than other horses, and he is not willing to suffer,” Hugh said. “You need to work with him differently.”
The blacksmith glared at Hugh.
Nigel said, “What do you suggest?”
“If I were you, I would begin by getting him used to having his feet picked up without pain,” Hugh said. “Just lift them slightly for one or two seconds when you bring him back to his stable after a ride. Praise him. Give him a treat. Gradually you should be able to increase the amount of time he will allow you to hold them. Just be careful you don’t lift them too high.”
Nigel frowned skeptically.
“Why not try it?” Hugh said. “You have nothing to lose. The way you are going now, you soon won’t be able to get a shoe on him at all.”
“Hugh is right, Father,” Cristen said. She rubbed Byrony’s soft nose. “Poor fellow,” she said. “Is Giles hurting you?”
The horse snorted, as if he agreed.
“Not as much as he is hurting me, my lady,” the blacksmith said gloomily.
“The more you fight with him over this, the more frightened and defensive he will become,” Hugh said.
“I suppose it’s worth a try,” Nigel conceded. “He’s a good horse, but he will be useless to me if he can’t be shod.”
“If you want, I will work with him,” Hugh said. “I have always gotten along well with horses.”
“Very well,” Nigel said after a minute. “Thank you, Hugh.”
“Shall I finish this shoe, Sir Nigel?” the blacksmith asked. “There’s only the one more nail to put in.”
“Aye, finish it, but try not to lift his leg so high.”
“Aye, Sir Nigel,” the blacksmith returned even more gloomily than before.
By the time Giles finally managed to get the last shoe on Byrony, it was time for dinner. Nigel, Cristen, and Hugh left the blacksmith’s hut and began to walk toward the bridge that connected the bailey to the castle.
“This afternoon I thought I would show you some of the farms that belong to Somerford,” Nigel said to Hugh as they crossed the last part of the bridge, the drawbridge. The two men were walking side by side. Cristen was behind them with her dogs.
“That would be enjoyable,” Hugh replied courteously.
“And tomorrow morning I will conduct a knightly practice session, which I hope you will join,” Nigel went on. “We have been working hard for the last few weeks to prepare for the tournament.”
Hugh’s chin lifted. “Tournament?” he said. “What tournament are you talking about? Tournaments have been outlawed in England for years.”
“Well, strictly speaking, it is not a tournament at all, although in many ways it mimics one,” Nigel returned. “It is held every year at Chippenham Castle by Earl Guy in conjunction with the fair put on by the town in honor of their local saint.”
The guards on the inner wall were changing. The men who had just been relieved of duty were descending the steps from the sentry walk to the courtyard.
Hugh said, “Surely you do not expect me to accompany you to this tournament?”
“Why not?” Nigel replied. “It will be the perfect opportunity for you to see your old home.”
They stepped off the drawbridge onto the hard-packed dirt of the courtyard.
Hugh was frowning.
“You can go to Chippenham as part of my retinue of knights,” Nigel said reasonably. “There will be no reason for you to stand out from the others. It is a perfect opportunity for you to see the earl and to judge for yourself whether or not I have exaggerated your resemblance to him. It will also give you a chance to visit the castle where you spent the first seven years of your life.”
Hugh did not reply.
“You have nothing to lose and everything to gain,” Nigel said.
Still Hugh said nothing.
Cristen moved up to walk beside him.
“I have to go, too,” she said with resignation. “Lord Guy likes to have ladies present to admire all the manly exhibitions.”
A corner of Hugh’s mouth twitched with amusement.
“You don’t sound as if you approve of these ‘manly exhibitions,’” he said.
“Everyone sweats so much,” Cristen said.
Hugh’s mouth twitched again.
She added, “And the festivities in the castle hall tend to get rather boisterous.”
“Guy’s hall is well known for its debauchery,” Nigel said disapprovingly. “He keeps a large household and there is always much gaming and intemperance. Chippenham was a very different place under the old earl. Roger was an austere, ascetic man. The two of them may look alike, but temperamentally no brothers could be more different.”
“Cristen told me earlier that Earl Roger had been on crusade,” Hugh said. “I did not know that.”
Nigel sighed with faint exasperation. “It is the greatest pity that this present generation has forgotten the names of all the great men who retook Jerusalem for the church. Let me tell you, Hugh, that Roger de Leon, your father, was the one who first breached the gates of the holy city. He was a living legend among his own generation.”
“I see,” Hugh said. His face was closed and still.
“The last time we were at Chippenham, Father had to rescue me from the unwelcome embrace of a very large, very drunken knight,” Cristen said. “This year, you can look after me as well, Hugh.”
He smiled down at her. “I should be glad to,” he said.
6
The rain held off until Simon of Evesham and his escort of five knights were almost at the doors of the Benedictine convent in Worcester.
“God’s bones,” Simon said to the young knight who rode by his side. “Ten more minutes and we would have escaped it.” He scowled with annoyance and pulled the hood of his light wool cloak up over his head.
“I don’t mind the rain,” Philip replied. “I think it feels refreshing. The road has been so dusty that my throat hurts.” He held his face up to the sky as if he would drink in the flow of water cascading from the dark clouds above.
Simon grunted and pulled his hood even further forward. “All I can say is that there had better be a good reason for my sister to have sent for me at such a time. I don’t want to be away from Evesham for long. I expect to have news any day now that Earl Robert has landed.”
There was a stream in front of them, with a narrow bridge that required their party of six to file across it one by one.
Ducks floated on the rain-dappled, greenish water and an old boat was moored along the far shore.
When they had reached the other side of the bridge and Philip was once more riding next to Simon, the young knight said, “It’s been a long wait, almost a full year since the earl formally renounced his allegiance to Stephen and declared for Matilda.”
“Aye, well, he had to settle his estates in Normandy before he could come back to England,” Simon said.
The rain began to fall harder.