Isolde: Queen of the Western Isle by Rosalind Miles Read Free Book Online Page B

can ask them yourself."
~~~
    The sun high in the sky, not a breath of rain, all the pathways clear now that spring had come—any man would be glad to ride out on a day like this. And any horse would be dancing about on its toes, snuffling the sweet air with delight at the chance of a gallop through the woods. Any except this sorry bunch of nags, dull-eyed and stark in the coat, hanging their miserable heads over their stable doors as if it were their last day on earth.
    Yet what could he do? Cursing, the stable master patted the last hairy rump, and stepped out of the stable with a sense of defeat. This one had been the last hope and now it was gone. Bad enough to have no horse in the stable for any master, but worst of all for Earl Sweyn.
    Trembling outside in the yard was the groom, a runt of a youth already too friendly with the Earl's heavy hand. Meeting the huge, fearful eyes in the pale, starved face, the stable master jerked his head toward the barn.
    "Hop it, lad," he said not unkindly. "Make yourself scarce till the Earl's gone. The mare's lame, all right. No sense in letting him take it out on you."
    Twitching like a rabbit, the boy bolted for cover and the stable master watched him go. Even the grooms here were the worst to be had. Oh, the place was fine enough for a king, with its handsome cobbled courts and an array of towers and battlements any lord would be proud to call his own. Only a man like Sweyn would think of trying to run a nobleman's castle like a tightfisted churl.
    "Wake up, man!" came a harsh, cawing voice behind. "Where's my horse?"
    "My lord?" The stable master turned as slowly as he dared. "Cast a shoe, sir, and torn her sole. She can't be ridden today."
    "Cast a shoe?" The lean, choleric figure in front of him slapped his whip balefully against his boot. "She was shod only last week."
    The stable master kept his gaze steady and made no response. Every lad in the yard knew that the Earl used the worst farrier for miles around, in his eternal quest to pinch a few pence. Only the best of everything for himself, of course—the finest leather for his boots, even for his whip, and burnt velvet for his habit with a rich cloak to match—not bad for a man who couldn't spare a farthing to keep a good horse on its feet.
    The Earl read his silence and glowered, hunching his short body like a crow about to strike. "What about the gray?" he said menacingly.
    "Spavined, sir. Like I told you, he shouldn't have been sent out in the fields."
    "Well, the big bay then, that great useless brute!"
    The stable master stared stolidly ahead. "Got the bots." He lifted his hand and began to count on the fingers of one hand. "The chestnut's shoulder-shotten and the gelding—"
    "Shoulder-shotten, spavined, they'll have the staggers next! Keep your horse cant to yourself, dolt, and hold your tongue. Are you telling me there's no horse to ride today?"
    "Yes, sir."
    And that'll mean old Tom gets another night in the hovel where he's lived for the last forty years, thought the stable master with satisfaction, watching the same realization pass over the thin face with its beak of a nose, clenched mouth, jutting cheekbones, and cold black eyes. All the castle knew that the Earl was going to cast out the old herdsman and his wife and not a soul dared defend them for fear of sharing their fate. But the Gods had given them a reprieve today. "My lord! My lord!"
    It was one of the guard, running from the lookout tower. "There's a troop of men coming, sir," he cried, "a hundred knights and more, with a great lord at their head and a lady in white and gold." The Earl stood thunderstruck. "What banner?"
    "A red dragon rampant on a white ground—it's the King, sir, with Queen Guenevere!"
    "King Arthur? Gods above, no!"
    The Earl bunched his hands and bit back a scream. The King and a hundred knights, coming here? Blanching, he saw a month's provisions gone, every living thing slaughtered to fill a hundred hungry mouths. God's blood