To Carry the Horn

Chapter 21-2

“What can you tell me about Iona and Brittou?” George asked.

“I’ve never met them. Iona’s raised stock for generations of young folk, and for those lutins who can afford them or who inherit the castoffs. Her manager, Brittou, has a good reputation for fair dealing.”

“I like the look of these, certainly.” The small horses showed the typical conformation of larger horses, just in a smaller size, but the large sturdy ponies had their own distinct grace and presence.

As they rode into the farm lane, a couple of yellow dogs came barking out to greet them. George’s “hush” quieted them down. They looked like blackmouth curs, typical all-round farm dogs.

The stables and farm buildings were wooden, not the ubiquitous stone that George had become used to seeing everywhere. The house, too, was a medium-sized clapboard building, painted white, with a wide porch, sited to get a clear view of the Blue Ridge. Paddocks lined the lane and the yard, and curious heads popped over every fence.

“Quite a greeting,” George said quietly to Benitoe, who chuckled. They dismounted.

The noise of the dogs, suddenly stopped, brought a groom from the nearest stable out to look. He went back in to announce the presence of visitors.

A middle-aged lutin stepped out, wiping his hands on a rag. “I’m Brittou. Are you the new huntsman Ives told me to expect?”

George shook his hand, introducing himself and Benitoe. “We need mounts for my whipper-in and if other lutins decide to give it a try, we’ll need mounts for them, too. But today, we’re looking for three. I’d like to introduce myself to Iona, if I may.”

“Come along up to the house with me, then. We’ll take care of your horses for you.” He waved the groom over to take the horses into the stable.

As they talked, a woman had walked out onto the porch. She was below average height, slender, and gray-haired, like Eurig. She’s of a size to ride her own stock, George thought. Maybe that’s what got her started.

Brittou brought them up the steps and introduced them. “So you’re the new huntsman,” she said, looking him over. “I’m Iona, of course, and I hear you want some of my ponies. I asked Brittou to gather a few for you to take a look at.”

They walked together to one of the paddocks and leaned on the fence. There were seven ponies in a small herd. George had helped find mounts for children in the Rowanton Hunt, and these all looked like Welsh types to his eye, with the refinement you would expect from that breed, but still sturdy and strong like all ponies. “What a wonderful quality,” he said to Iona, who smiled appreciatively.

“I take it you won’t be trying them out yourself,” she said dryly, surveying him from bottom to top, crimping her neck to do it.

“Hardly,” he said, smiling at her quip. “That will be Benitoe’s task. They’ll need to keep up with the rest of the staff horses, but I assume that won’t be a problem?”

“They’re faster than they look, and they’ll outlast your horses in a long hunt.”

“I believe it. Just look at them.” The pony herd was racing around the enclosure out of sheer exuberance.

Brittou returned with the groom and tack, and pulled a pony at random out of the group that immediately trotted over to inspect them. This was a bay mare with a white blaze who stood quietly to be tacked up while Benitoe held her head and made a fuss over her. George extended his senses to her and found her calm and decisive.

Benitoe mounted and tried out her gaits, impeded somewhat by the curious herd that followed along behind them. He asked Brittou to set up a jump for him.

George turned to Iona. “Ifor Moel said he would settle with you directly once we made our choices. Is that agreeable?”

“That’s how we usually do it, for business with the manor.”

“Don’t embarrass me now and charge me double, just ’cause I’m new,” he joked.

“It’ll be a fair price. I hope to get more business from you, if more lutins follow his lead,” she said, nodding her head at Benitoe. “I’d like to see more of them as coachmen, too, like that young Isolda. Some of my cobs would work well in harness.”

“I don’t see how you can bear to part with these lovelies. The way that herd follows along to watch, they’re the most amusing personalities I’ve ever seen in ponies. I’m more used to the ones named Viper or Deathwish, not these sunny specimens.”

“I won’t sell a stubborn pony for a child, and the mean ones don’t get a chance to breed.”

They watched Benitoe take the bay mare over a three foot jump to confirm her basic suitability as a hunt mount. There was nothing to fault.

“Will I see you in the hunt field?” he asked.

“Yes, most of the time. I was there when Iolo was killed and saw you come down from the woods. Look for me next week when hunting resumes.”

Benitoe had moved on to the next pony, a dark bay gelding with black points.

“Would you like to see some of my other stock?” Iona asked.

“Certainly.”

She took him on a tour of one paddock after another. The small herds in each trotted up to greet them, then wheeled along their enclosures like flocks of birds. There were two smaller paddocks with a single pony stallion in each. “These are two of my studs who don’t live well with other stallions.” They were magnificent, with heavily muscled necks and bodies, and a proud carriage, their manes long and flowing.

“You must’ve been doing this for a long time to become so expert at it.”

“For hundreds of years. Even so, each foaling season brings new surprises. I bring in new blood from time to time, of course. And then, my ponies travel everywhere, so I get news from everywhere, too, from the parents who buy them and from the children who learn on them, after they’ve grown. Ponies live a long time, you know, longer than horses.”

“So, not such an isolated country life as it seems, eh?”

“Only when I want it to be.” She pushed off from the fence of the paddock they had reached at the end of the lane. “Let’s see how your lad’s doing.”

They walked back up the lane where the maples were showing their last bit of color before losing all their leaves. Benitoe was trying a white mare. George took a closer look; he was distinctly more mud-covered than when he started.

“Had a spill?” he called.

“That gray one there had her own opinions about the suitable height for a jump and I wasn’t adequately prepared for her reaction.”

“Ah.” The gray looked pleased with herself, but George could sense no vice in her.

“She did eventually take the jump,” Benitoe was quick to add.

“I was sure of it,” George said, with a straight face.

Benitoe dismounted and Brittou and the groom untacked the pony. “That was the last one,” Brittou said.

“So, what do you think of them?” George asked Benitoe.

“They’re all rather wonderful,” he said, including Iona in the response. “Any of them would be fine. If I must pick my three favorites, they would be the first bay mare, the white gelding, and the gray mare.”

“The gray that dumped you?”

“It wasn’t really her fault. They have nice gaits, good temperaments, and great willingness.”

“Iona, what’s your opinion?”

“I think those are good choices. The gray would be a boss mare in the right circumstances, but she’s cooperative as well as smart and strong. That sort of independence could be useful for a whipper-in. The bay is absolutely steady, and the gelding’s a joy to ride.”

“What are their names?”

“The gray is Gwladus. The bay mare’s Eleri, and the white gelding is Halwyn.”

She had Brittou remove the other four, and put halters on the three chosen ones. “Do you have lead ropes?”

George paused as an idea struck him. Could he treat these ponies like a pack of hounds and make a showy splash to attract attention and draw out Iolo’s murderer?

He said, “I was thinking of conducting an experiment. Do you have a larger field we could use? Doesn’t matter if it’s already occupied. We’ll need to mount up ourselves.” He explained what he had in mind to Benitoe, in front of an amused Iona.

They waited for the groom to return with their horses, then they opened the paddock gate to the larger field beyond. George picked up the mental threads from the three ponies, and bonded them into a little herd, with Benitoe’s mount and Afanc included. He treated Gwladus like the boss mare and tried to guide them as a herd the way he wanted them to go. It worked better than he would’ve thought. By using the gray’s natural inclination to lead he was able to treat them almost like a harnessed troika, with the other two horses trailing behind.

Benitoe watched what he was doing, with all his senses. “What will happen when they want to stop and graze, or if they get spooked going through the village?”

“I don’t know. Let’s try to cut through the herd over there.”

Like all the fields, this one had a pony herd, but it had kept its distance, so far. They headed for it at a trot, and the herd swept out of the way and circled around the back to keep an eye on them. Their three ponies didn’t seem to care.

“Alright, let them graze for a few moments without separating, and we’ll see if we can start them up again.”

They dropped their heads to the grass, and the other herd came in curiously to sniff them, now that they weren’t behaving so oddly. After a few mouthfuls, George picked them up again as a group and encouraged them away from the herd. They went willingly.

“Will this work as they go through the village and into the manor yard?” Benitoe asked.

“I have no idea, but wouldn’t it be a fine show if we can pull it off?”

Benitoe grinned with him, and nodded. “Let’s give it a chance.”

They brought their three back to the paddock through the open gate and closed it behind them.

“You’re going to try that, all the way home?” Iona asked.

“Might not work, I grant you. I’d like those lead ropes, just in case.”

“Well, I admire your ambition. I imagine I’ll hear all about it, one way or the other.”

George smiled, “No doubt.”

They brought the three loose ponies up the front yard of the manor and through the curtain wall at a brisk trot and came to a showy stop in front of the stable. Grooms poured out to take charge of all five mounts while George and Benitoe dismounted and walked up to the three ponies, taking them by their halters and making much of them for their cooperation on the long journey.

They had gone through the village at a prudent walk. Riders passing them in the direction of the manor had clearly spread the word, because quite an audience had appeared to watch their arrival. Isolda and Ives joined Benitoe who was pointing out the good points of the ponies, and some other lutins came by to comment. Rhys and Rhian were on hand, to support the hunt, and Brynach and Eurig stood nearby, Brynach with a broad grin on his face. Ceridwen came over to greet George.

“Putting on a show?”

“Can’t hurt any. The more competent I look, the better a target I make of myself. I think this should be a good attention-getter.”

“Even Gwyn came to watch.” They walked over together to him.

“Nice ponies,” he said.

“Yes.” I can be just as laconic as he can, George thought.

“Good recruiting lure for other lutins.”

“I thought so.”

“A big entrance.”

“That was the idea.”

Gwyn looked at him and smiled slightly in appreciation of the verbal volley. “I heard about the summary dismissal of Owen the Leash this morning, at the hand of a lutin.”

“Don’t forget the showdown coming tomorrow morning,” George said. “I’ll make it as public and humiliating as I can, and you should blame it all on me.”

“I haven’t forgotten. You might want to take special guard for the possible consequences.”

George smiled fiercely and leaned forward on his toes. “Let him try something. I’d like to know who he really reports to.”

They watched the ponies being admired for a moment.

Gwyn said, casually. “I may bring a guest hunting tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve asked my brother Edern to join me.”

“We’ll do our best to show you sport, but you know it’s going to be all about training, still,” he said.

“We’ll be spectators only. Don’t worry about us.”