The Last Enchantment - Mary Stewart [189]
He would not have stopped for me, but here the road was edged on the one side by a low ridge of rock, and the other by a steep drop, with the trough blocking the narrow verge. And I had turned my horse so that he stood across the way.
The rider drew rein, holding the restless roan, and saying impatiently: "What is it? If you're fain for company, my good man, I can't provide it. Can't you see who I am?"
"A King's messenger. Yes. Where are you bound?"
"Camelot." He was young, with russet hair and a high colour, and (as his kind have) a kind of prideful arrogance in his calling. But he spoke civilly enough. "The King's there, and I must be there myself tomorrow. What is it, old man, is your horse gone lame? Your best plan is -- "
"No. I shall manage. Thank you. I would not have stopped you for a triviality, but this is important. I want you to take a message for me, please. It is to go to the King."
He stared, then laughed, his breath like a cloud on the icy air. "For the King, he says! Good sir, forgive me, but a King's messenger has better things to do than take tales from every passer-by. If it's a petition, then I suggest you trot back to Caerleon yourself. The King's to be there for Christmas, and you might get there in time, if you hurry." His heels moved as if he would set spurs to his horse, and ride on. "So by your leave, stand aside and let me by."
I did not move. I said quietly: "You would do well to listen, I think."
He swung back, angry now, and shook his whip free. I thought he would ride over me. Then he met my eyes. He bit back what he had been going to say. The roan, anticipating the whip, bounded forward, and was curbed sharply. It subsided, fretting, its breath puffing white like a dragon's. The man cleared his throat, looked me up and down doubtfully, then fixed his eyes on my face again. I saw his doubt growing. He made a concession and a face-saver at the same time.
"Well -- sir -- I can listen. And be sure I'll take any message that seems up to my weight. But we're not supposed to act as common carriers, and I have a schedule to keep."
"I know. I would not trouble you, except that it is urgent that I reach the King, and as you have pointed out, you will get there rather more quickly than I. The message is this: that you met an old man on the road who gave you a token, and told you that he is on his way to Camelot to see the King. But he can only make his way slowly, so if the King wishes to see him he must come to him by the way. Tell him which road I am taking, and say that I paid you with the ferryman's guerdon. Repeat it, please."
These men are practised at remembering word for word. Often the messages they take are from men who cannot write. He began to obey me, without thought: "I met an old man on the road who gave me a token, and told me that he is on his way to Camelot to see the King. But he can only make his way slowly so if the King wishes to see him, he must -- Hey, now, what sort of a message is that? Are you out of your mind? The way you put it, it sounds as if you're sending for the King, just like that."
I smiled. "I suppose it does. Perhaps I might phrase it better, if it will make a more comfortable message to deliver? In any case, I suggest you deliver it in private."
"I'll say it had better be in private! Look, I don't know who you are, sir -- and it's my guess you're somebody, in spite of, well, not looking it -- but by the god of going, it had better be a powerful token, and a good guerdon, too, if I'm to take a summons to King Arthur, however privately."
"Oh, it is." I had wrapped my Dragon brooch in linen, and fastened it into a small package. I handed him this, and with it the second of the gold coins that had sealed my eyelids in the tomb. He stared at the gold coin, then at me, then turned the package over in his hand, eyeing it. He said doubtfully: "What's in it?"
"Only the token I spoke of. And let me repeat, this is important, and it's urgent that you should give it to the King in