The Lame Horse and the Apprentice’s Folly

Noren stepped into a saddlery. By midday, the old saddler had already finished refitting the saddle.

She had selected the largest model, its saddle tree crafted from yew wood. The saddler meticulously adjusted the gullet to perfectly cradle the horse’s frame. Beneath the wooden tree, two layers of linen sweat pads provided cushioning. Both the girth straps and stirrup leathers were fashioned for adjustability. The stirrup plates, recognizing her formidable six-foot stature—which precluded any expectation of dainty feet—had been specially widened and thickened by the blacksmith next door. The saddle itself boasted only two saddle tassels, a sufficient number for securing her belongings.

“Milady, would you care for any additional ornamentation on the saddle?” the old saddler inquired casually, his hands still deftly at work. “Many gentlemen prefer a circlet of small silver embellishments, readily available at the jeweler’s shop across the way.”

“You’ve replaced the bridle as well?” Noren asked, her fingers closing around the reins.

“Indeed,” the craftsman affirmed, offering his explanation. “Several of the leather straps bore unseen fissures; had they been ignored, they might well have snapped mid-ride, causing the horse to bolt.”

“A commendable job,” Noren praised, tossing him a silver coin.

The old saddler caught it with both hands, his weathered face crinkling into a broad smile. “It is my honor to be of service to milady.”

The young woman ran a hand over the horse’s mane, her touch gliding along its back until she reached its hindquarters, where her fingertips lightly tickled a subtle hollow in its defined musculature.

The bay riding horse gave a sudden shiver, then flicked its head back, casting a wary glance at her. On the opposite side of the horse, the old saddler also rose onto his toes, peering over its back to observe Noren.

“Its training seems rather good; at least it shows no signs of agitation,” Noren mused. “Though a cunning merchant had thoroughly swindled her, she found herself moderately pleased with the steed.”

Once the old saddler had secured the tack, he posed another question. “Milady, might you require spurs? Should you desire them, the blacksmith next door can forge iron ones, and our humble shop also stocks ready-made silver-plated and gold-plated varieties, if that is your preference, of course.”

Noren merely shook her head, then led the horse from the courtyard. As she prepared to mount, a young apprentice, emboldened by a sudden surge of courage, blurted out, “You mustn’t ride it!”

“Hold your tongue!” the old saddler immediately snapped, then turned to the young woman, his face twisting into an apologetic smile. “Milady, this apprentice of mine, after merely a few years spent tending horses in the stables, has taken it upon himself to believe your esteemed steed might once have been lame. Should he have caused you any offense, I shall cast him out of my shop this very day and deliver a hefty kick to his backside.”

“Lame?” A delicate arch formed in the young woman’s elegant brows.

Seeing no immediate reprimand from the adult before him, the junior apprentice, summoning his nerve, pressed on, “Yes!”

“Silence, I said!” the old saddler roared, delivering two sharp kicks to the back of the apprentice’s knees, sending him sprawling to the ground. “If anyone is to speak, it shall be I!”

The old saddler bowed deeply, his back hunched. “This young apprentice is ignorant of proper decorum and has presumed to offend milady. However, this horse did indeed suffer a broken leg in the past. While it has since healed, it is incapable of bearing heavy burdens. Should it be forced to carry one…”

Noren regarded this with a measure of skepticism. Having raised horses herself, she possessed the discernment to recognize lameness, and Svein, after all, was no stranger to treating such ailments.

After a moment of contemplation, she called out to the junior apprentice, “You, come here.”

The junior apprentice, startled for a fleeting moment, scrambled to his feet and approached her with utmost deference.

She gestured towards the horse. “You ride it.”

“Me?” The junior apprentice gestured to himself, bewildered.

The young woman nodded.

At this, the old saddler could no longer remain still. He stepped forward, interjecting, “You mustn’t, milady! He has never ridden a horse, nor can he possibly mount *your* horse!”

Noren, however, paid him no mind. “Come, give it a try. Don’t be afraid; I’ll hold the reins.”

Clasping the saddle, the junior apprentice deftly placed his foot in the stirrup and swung himself onto the horse. With Noren guiding the reins, the horse ambled a circle on the hard-packed earth, its movements graceful and steady, utterly devoid of any hint of lameness.

“See?” Noren chuckled, a triumphant smile gracing her lips. “Is it not perfectly sound?”

The old saddler and the now dismounted junior apprentice stood trembling, utterly at a loss for a response.

“Catch!” Noren exclaimed, tossing out a handful of silver coins.

The junior apprentice clapped his hands together, the metallic jingle of the coins sparking an immense delight within him, as if he had suddenly been imbued with boundless strength.

“Consider that your reward!”

Having spoken, Noren herself swung onto the horse’s back, nudged its flanks, and let out a spirited cry: “Ya!”

The junior apprentice clasped his fists to his chest, bowing deeply as he offered, “May God bless you, milady.”

The old saddler’s lips parted, but the words caught in his throat. He watched Noren ride away into the distance, then spun around, his face contorted with fury, to seize the apprentice who was still giddily staring at the silver coins. “Do you realize the colossal trouble you nearly unleashed upon us?!”

A blank expression settled upon the junior apprentice’s face.

“Even if that horse had proved problematic, it would have been a matter for the adults themselves to contend with. But you! With your impudence and avarice, you dared to present your lowly, erroneous opinions to milady! Had something truly gone awry, do you imagine you could have absolved yourself of blame, you imbecile!”

The old saddler’s spittle flew, splattering across the apprentice’s face.

“You had best pray that horse lives to a ripe old age!!”

With that, the old saddler spat out a thick glob of phlegm, his expression a mixture of exasperation and profound disappointment, yet he ceased his tirade. He then let out a weary sigh. “Return to your mother in the countryside for now! I shall summon your cousin to assist me during this period.”

“Grandpa!” the junior apprentice protested, his voice laced with indignation.

The old man’s eyes narrowed into a glare. “No more dawdling! Be gone!”

“Ah…!” A woman’s shriek suddenly pierced the air from the distance, growing steadily louder. “Help! Someone! A horse has crushed someone to death!”

The woman dashed past them, still crying out in alarm.

The old saddler and the apprentice exchanged a terrified glance, their faces instantly draining of all color, turning deathly pale.