The Leopard Unleashed by Elizabeth Chadwick

Author:Elizabeth Chadwick
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: ePub Bud (www.epubbud.com)
Published: 2010-12-01T00:00:00+00:00

The Welsh Marches, February 1140

The stink of burning horn filled the farrier’s small corner of Woolcot’s crowded bailey as he pressed a red-hot horseshoe on to Gorvenal’s near hind hoof. Although unable to feel the fierce heat of the glowing iron, the stallion hated having shoes fitted and tried to snap and kick. His endeavours were thwarted by the confining English frame in which the farrier had sensibly secured him.

‘Hold him, lad!’ the sweating man grunted over his shoulder to the youth standing at Gorvenal’s headstall. ‘Earl Renard’s got a long journey come the morrow.’ Hissing gouts of steam vapoured the air as he plunged the shoe into a kilderkin of cold water.

‘Where then?’ The apprentice fished into pouch on his belt and brought out a sticky brown object which he offered to the horse.

‘Down to Ravenstow with the the Lady Elene first, so one o’ the knights was telling me, then across to the Fenlands in payment of his feudal service to the King, and there’s trouble brewing over there, mark me.’ The older man’s voice was constricted because he was doubled over, tacking on the horseshoe. ‘Some bishop’s turned rebel and the King’s set to deal with him.’

‘Can’t my lord Renard get himself excused? He’s got enough to deal with here.’ The youth gave another of the brown, sticky lumps to the horse.

‘Best to show willing in the early days.’ The farrier straightened up to pick another fistful of nails from his bench. ‘What’re you giving him there?’

The youth grinned. ‘Dried dates. My Lord filched them from the locked cupboard in the kitchens last night especially for this. He said it would sweeten him if he started acting up.’ He groped in his scrip and tossed one over.

The farrier examined it dubiously. ‘Looks like a piece of sheep-shit,’ he pronounced, but put it in his mouth anyway, before resuming his task.

‘Tastes all right though.’ The boy bit the date in two and offered half to the horse.

‘Anything would taste all right to a glutton like you,’ the farrier growled. ‘Here, make yourself useful and throw me that rasp.’

Cup of wine in one hand, platter of bread and cheese in the other, Elene looked down at her sleeping husband and wondered if she should wake him. It was long past dawn, but he had not ridden in from Caermoel until well after compline, and had not stopped to rest until he literally fell into bed somewhere around midnight.

She tiptoed round to the coffer and carefully put down cup and platter. The soft clunk of wood on wood caused him to stir and turn over. His hair needed cutting and he was bearded again, the growth a rich, beech-red that gave a markedly strange aspect to his appearance. He more resembled one of her shepherds than a marcher lord, but then, she thought, glancing ruefully down at her own homespuns, she looked nothing like a great lady, nor at this moment did she particularly want to be one. The last

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