CONSTANTINE

Constantine was frightened, but he could not let the mares see. He was also filled with rage, and that he did allow all of them to witness. If they questioned—dared to question—the trembling of his legs or the rolling of his eyes, let them think it only rage that these humans had dared to lay hands on him and other members of his herd.

It was easy to squash the fright and let the anger come forward, because the woman would not stop talking. The Woman Who Smelled of Dead Roses. Constantine had heard Florian speak of her; she was the mother of his rider, That Anthea filly. And now this mother had stolen him! The herd stallion! She had taken mares—Buttercup and Blossom and Campanula—and had dared to threaten them with injury! There was also a human filly, fragile and weeping into the mane of Blossom, by whom she was greatly loved. And Brutus, that strong and stoic stallion, ridden by the Caillin MacRennie!

Brutus had leaped to defend his herd stallion, to help guard the mare Campanula, and so had been taken as well. Marius would be punished when Constantine returned, for he had run away and not gone to Constantine’s aid. Now they were all, save the coward Marius, in this clanking, grinding, stinking metal machine, and the woman would not stop talking.

She told Constantine that he would be taken from the Now King, his king, calling the Now King a “beardless boy” and a “weakling,” and telling Constantine that he would be given, like a lump of sugar, to a new king. She spoke of a mighty bearded king in a faraway land who would make Constantine great, who would give him battles to win.

Constantine trembled with rage.

The Woman Who Smelled of Dead Roses had the Way, but yet she understood nothing.