The Horse Goddess (Celtic World of Morgan Llywelyn) by Llywelyn Morgan

Author:Llywelyn, Morgan [Llywelyn, Morgan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2010-12-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

The wagoneers wore hooded felt cloaks, pushed back from their shoulders now because of the warmth of the sun. They had only a few wagons, but in true Thracian style they carried as much music with them as they could afford: a lone lyre player who rode with the driver of the third wagon, strumming his instrument and singing the song of the road. He was not an inspired singer, and he had been on the road a very long time. The other men only occasionally sang with him now.

The traders had spears propped beside them in their wagons, but seemed to be without the usual contingent of armed outriders. They were making a desperate push for the nearest trading center, hoping to sell enough goods there to resupply themselves with guards to replace those they had lost on the journey.

Meeting Scythians was a piece of bad fortune, putting them all out of tune. But at least, the leader thought, there were only four men on the horses; perhaps they were no more prepared for battle than the Thracians. Perhaps they were just another band of weary travelers, anxious to get home. He saluted Kazhak as the obvious leader with an elaborate bow and courteous phrases of greeting. He added an effusive compliment about the gray stallion, and Kazhak replied in a cordial manner.

“Do you know that man?” Epona whispered at his shoulder.

“No, but is horse man,” Kazhak answered. “All true horse men are brothers.”

He began conversing with the Thracian in a rough approximation of the man’s own language, though without the musicality of vowels that made Thracian speech so pleasant. Epona had already learned that Kazhak’s gift for languages other than his own was rare among his people, who were suspicious of any foreign customs and ways, but it was a convenient asset for an exploratory expedition. Now she listened with interest, trying to follow the conversation as the two men discussed their animals, exchanging further compliments. She was able to understand more than she expected. Kazhak spoke admiringly of the pair of bay mares pulling the first wagon, and the gray stallion added his own softly nickered comment of praise.

The other three Scythians sat alertly on their horses, ready to follow whatever lead Kazhak gave them. The wagon drivers waited with equal tension.

The Thracian introduced himself as Provaton, nephew of a famed horsebreeder on the Struma. That explained his possession of wagon horses almost as large as Scythian saddle animals, rather than asses or the long-horned cattle sometimes trained to the yoke by southerners.

“Very fine horses,” Kazhak said again. “You want to trade?”

Epona sat rigid behind him. What did Kazhak have to trade for Thracian horses? He would never give up the iron swords, she was certain.

Provaton wrapped the leather reins around the bar provided for that purpose at the front of his box-shaped, four-wheeled wagon, and gingerly stepped down, with the stiffness of a man who has spent many days jolting along rutted roads. He rubbed the small of his back and stretched himself, then approached Kazhak.

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