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 secondswhen 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.
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 secondswhen 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.
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