Duff walked steadily along the road with a sure-footed gait, long stride, and an even temperament. Athos held the leads of the mares that followed behind, all tethered to one another. The sun was out, but the weather remained cool as the month of April continued. February had been wet, cold, and shadowed with constant clouds and fog. March had been worse. And then, as though just a few days could make such a difference, the moment April arrived, the leaves on the trees sprouted and green buds became evident on branches and stems. Grasses started to change and the narrow stream that followed along the path of the road pooled in sections, and water trickled over and around the stones.
Puffy white clouds dotted the sky like a painter's rendition of a peaceful landscape. The sun's rays caused shadows to elongate as the day wore on. The clip-clop of horse hooves filled the air as steel struck stone, and unshod hooves struck compacted dirt. The mares walked and looked at the landscape, the birds that fluttered, and occasionally the wild animals that stood at attention and watched the horses. Deer perked their large ears forward and quickly scampered off. Marmots stood on their hind legs and watched with interest as the horses walked by, and wild hares hopped across the road and dodged into the dried bushes.
Athos tried, but failed to keep from comparing his new mount to Roger. After spending nearly a lifetime together, the separation was harder than he had expected. Roger deserved more than what Athos could provide for him. A lame horse was a dead horse in the military. When one went down, another was quickly pulled in to replace him. There was a sadness to it, but Athos was fortunate: Roger would spend the rest of his days being pampered and enjoying the lovely mares his breeding entitled him to. His lineage would continue through his foals, but more importantly, through Athos' memories.
Soldiers knew better than to form attachments to their horses, but every soldier did. A good war horses was the difference between life and death, and Roger had saved Athos' life more times than he could remember. He knew without a doubt he would never be able to replace the old horse, no matter how hard he tried. And to compare Duff to a legend was impractical, cruel, and unfair. Athos rubbed his face, scratched behind his ear, and watched the sun slowly descend. He looked ahead and identified an outcropping that would provide water and early spring grass that was beginning to thicken due to its water source.
Athos dismounted, hobbled the mares and allowed them to graze along the water's edge, and he secured Duff to the tie line between two trees. He had drunk his fill, and now grazed on the grass while Athos started a fire, placed his ground-covering beneath the heavy branches of the cork oak tree, and removed a bottle of wine, salted meat, and dried fruits from his saddlebags.
The fire danced along the dried wood, smoke and sparks filtered upward and disappeared within the branches. The lights of the evening sky reflected off the water and the subtle ripples glimmered with shades of pinks, oranges, and reds. Athos took a deep breath, listened to the meat warm on the flat stone and he chewed on dates, dried figs, and apples. The evening hours were peaceful, and he listened to the rock doves, the owls as they hooted, and the wolves in the distance that howled as the sky darkened. Even the squirrels chattered as they jumped from branch to branch and caused the stems and leaves to flutter with each passing romp.
Athos sat back, rested his elbows on his knees, and watched the flames. He lost himself in time and in memories. He was a practical man and understood the value of good decisions, no matter how difficult they were to make. He took a bite of a date, tossed the seed into the fire, and ran his fingers through his hair.
The king's celebration of spring was just around the corner and the city would come alive with activities. He could spend days celebrating and sharing his excitement with his most trusted courtiers and the people within the city he loved. Louis was a good king. Like most men, he made a few bad decisions, but he tried to do what was right despite the influences around him. Athos could see it, and he could empathize with the king regarding those decisions. Choices were never black and white, but muddied and constantly weighed. Sometimes it was between the good and the bad, the mundane and the trite, and other times choices weren't choices at all.
Athos pulled the cloth stopper from the bottle and took a healthy swig from the glass. The fermented grapes, seasoned with spices and hints of orange, caused him to smile and look more closely at the bottle. He would return to Paris with a new mount and answer the questions posed to him by his brothers, who would understand his choices, but question his need to make them alone. Roger had been with him longer than anyone. The old horse was a testimony to friendship, partnership, and devotion.
Athos looked between his knees and hung his head. Time was a cruel mistress, unforgiving, and devastating. He turned to his right when he felt a nudge to his left shoulder and looked at Duff, whose lead lay loose in the grass. The horse nudged him again, stepped closer, and smacked his lips toward the bottle of wine.
"What do you want?" Athos said, knowing the horse wouldn't answer, but feeling as though he would try. Again, Duff smacked his lips, perked his ears forward, and stretched his long neck toward the bottle. Athos frowned, lifted the bottle, and raised his eyebrows. "This is going to be a problem."
Duff nudged his shoulder again and then reached for the bottle, but Athos pulled it out of reach. He pushed himself to his feet, grabbed his saddlebag, and removed an old pewter cup. He poured some wine into it and then winced when Duff stepped onto his bedroll to get closer. Athos lowered the cup and then held it as Duff maneuvered his lips and tongue into it and nipped at the lip.
"There's barely enough wine in Paris for me, much less the both of us," Athos said, and chuckled as he poured more wine into the cup. He held it and tipped it upright for Duff to drink and then took a long pull from the bottle himself. "To Roger," he said, and then took another drink and poured the remaining wine for Duff. "To old friends and new beginnings." He quirked a smile as Duff again nipped at the lip and tossed his head after he had finished his drink. He released the cup, lowered his head, and ripped at the grass that grew between the roots of the tree. "You need a new name⦠Duff will not work for you."
Athos looked at his ground covering, that now lay in disarray. He grabbed his horse's lead and led him back to the tie line. He secured it, ran his hand along the horse's neck, then straightened his bedroll, and retook his seat. He lay back, folded his fingers behind his head, and looked through the branches at the moon that shined.
