25: The Tale of Agwash the Horsetrader

 

In the spring of the year, Agwash the horsetrader went down from Morthlan to the plains, as was his wont, to buy stock for the summer fairs. He came to the village of Vanburth, and there to the house of his old friend Nergol, who was also a man wise in the flesh of horses. Nergol embraced Agwash and seated him under the shade of the fig tree that grew before his house, and called for wine and cakes to be brought for his old friend. Then the two of them discoursed at length upon the mercies of the gods, the follies of men, and the obscene proliferation of taxes.

When Agwash was refreshed, Nergol caused sundry ponies to be led forth and displayed before him, saying, “Oh, Agwash, behold! Observe the straightness of their hocks, the gleam of their coats, the excellence of their respiration!” And Nergol praised the horses in this wise, likening them to legendary steeds of yore.

Agwash turned aside his face and lamented. “Cruel are the gods!” he quoth. “They have brought me to hard times in my old age, when even an honest man may no longer earn his bread by honorable trade. They have reduced the price of horses until they sell for less than pomegranates. But worst of all, they have burdened me with years so that I may observe the friends of my youth decayed and stricken with afflictions of the eyes. Is it that you can yet tell day from night, my old companion?”

Deeming that his friend jested, Nergol slapped his thighs in mirth and then returned to praising the animals he had displayed.

Agwash responded with sadness. “Verily, since coming into the plains, I have not seen a beast worthy to be made into the bindings of books. Every day it grows clearer.” Then he pointed out the signs of worms and the prevalence of colic and bog spavin and sundry other drawbacks that the other had missed.

Nergol called upon his menservants to remove the livestock.

Agwash sighed as his heart were breaking. “Because I am a kindly man and Nergol has been my friend for unnumbered years, I will let folly overrule wisdom in this matter. Yes, I will remove the diseased animals from his field to save him the labor of burying them. And, though my wives would berate me if they heard of this, calling me a sentimental old fool, I will leave him four gold pieces so that my friend may start up in goat herding, or some other line of endeavor more suited to his talents.”

Then Nergol cried out to the gods to witness that Wernok had offered twenty times that much per head for the whole herd, as he needed to improve his blood-line.

Agwash threw himself in the dust, uttering lamentation that his old friend Nergol had so taken leave of his wits as to believe a single word that had passed through the beard of a notorious liar such as Wernok.

And so it went.

Later, when the shadows began to lengthen, the two of them embraced again tearfully, each vowing that he had beggared himself utterly for the sake of his old friend. Nergol called again for wine for his visitor, and they sat once more under the fig tree and drank toasts to better days ahead.

Then said Nergol, “How sad it is that your business has fallen on such hard times, Agwash! Were you in command of the resources you once had, you might even be able to consider making an offer for Twak, for truly there is no horse under Heaven that can compare with Twak.”

Agwash sighed and agreed that the matter was indeed heartbreaking. And although times were hard, he added, it would be a wonderful experience to see a notable horse again, a steed like those they had known in the days of their youth together. He very much doubted that there could be any such horse, though, and he could not imagine what breeder in the district might own it if there was.

Nergol said, “The virtues of Twak are not readily apparent to the eye—or at least not to mine, although I fancy that my sight is still better than yours, as it always was. As to the breeder, the owner of Twak is a man by the name of Pilo, who can commonly be found in the market at this hour of the day. Let us go together, and if you do not agree that Twak is the most remarkable horse that you have ever seen, then I shall deed you back that miserable sack of underweight coins you persuaded me in my folly to accept for my herd. Whereas, if I have spoken truly, then you will double the amount.”

Agwash considered the matter for some time, for he was a cautious man, but eventually he agreed to the terms. So the two of them arose and went unto the marketplace. There they found the man Pilo and the horse Twak, within a crowd of onlookers.

Agwash said, “I will admit that I have never seen a horse so spavined and rack-boned, nor one so old and still able to stand up. These, I posit, were not the terms of our wager.”

“They were not. Now take heed and watch.”

Then Nergol handed a silver coin to the man Pilo, and Pilo gave him in return an oatcake, of the sort that could be purchased in the market at thirteen for a copper farthing.

Nergol addressed the horse, saying, “Twak, this is my old friend Agwash. How many sons does he have?”

Twak began to strike the ground with his hoof, and the man Pilo counted out the strokes. Lo! When the count had come to four, Twak ceased.

Nergol gave Twak the oatcake, saying, “Agwash, you have four sons, and you owe me a bag of gold.”

Agwash was much shaken by this, but he was a cautious man, and he pondered the matter for some time, stroking his beard. At last he shook his head in sorrow.

“I would not have believed an old friend would have contrived such a deceit,” he said. “Clearly the man Pilo was advised before times of the answer you would seek. He is holding the horse’s bridle, and he gave the horse a signal when it was time to cease striking the ground.”

The man Pilo brought out another oatcake from the pocket of his robe, saying, “I see you are a stranger. Because you have doubts, I shall tether Twak to this post, and I shall let you ask another question without further payment.”

So he tethered Twak and stood back, while Agwash braced himself to speak to a horse before so many onlookers. He said, “Twak, how many horses did I buy from Nergol this day?”

Twak struck the ground with his hoof fourteen times and stopped.

Nergol said, “Agwash, Twak is the most remarkable horse you have ever seen. You bought fourteen head and you owe me a bag of gold.”

Then was Agwash sore afraid for his gold. But he considered the matter further, and devised that his old friend Nergol might have guessed what question Agwash would ask of Twak, and might by some means have sent word to the man Pilo beforetimes.

“The man Pilo is a remarkable trainer,” he said, reaching for a silver coin. “I shall ask another question, but he must go where the horse cannot see or hear his signal.”

He expected the man Pilo to object to this condition, but he did not. He gave Agwash an oatcake in return for the silver coin, and then went and stood behind the tent of Mougour the basket maker, out of sight of Twak. Now Agwash saw that all the spectators were smiling, and he was even more afraid. He determined to ask something that no one in the village except himself could know, so that no accomplice in the crowd might signal the answer to the horse.

“Twak,” he said, “I tarried three nights in the town of Pulnk on my way here. How many maidens did I embrace in Pulnk?”

Twak struck the ground four times with his hoof, and all the spectators clapped.

Agwash lamented and tore his beard. “Truly!” he said, “I have never seen so remarkable a horse, and I owe my old friend a bag of gold, may the gods rot his lungs and fill his bowels with worms and sundry arthropods.”

Then Nergol took pity on his distress and spoke to him, saying, “Alas that this horse is beyond price, and the man Pilo will not consider any offer for him. But you, my old friend, are as shrewd a judge of the flesh of horses as I have ever had the misfortune to deal with. I will therefore make this offer to you. It may be that the horse is possessed of a demon. Or it may be that the man Pilo has a secret that would bring great profit to any who might share it. Tarry, then, and observe. If in three days you can tell me how Twak works his wonders, then I shall return both bags of gold to you. But if you cannot, then you shall owe me the same.”

Agwash was sore distressed at the thought of so much gold, but he agreed to the new wager. Straightaway he began to ply the man Pilo with silver coins for the right to ask questions of the horse, and for oatcakes to reward it.

It came to pass that Twak told Agwash how many brothers he had. Twak told him how many pillars stood in the cloister of the palace in Morthlan, the number of beans in a pot, how many were the taverns of Pulnk and the tables in each. Twak stamped once when the right index finger of Agwash was over the scar on his own left arm, although the arm was hidden by a sleeve. Twak told Agwash the month and the day of the month on which his father’s father’s brother had been born.

The horse could answer rightly no matter which way it was facing, whether the man Pilo was in sight or not, or even when Twak was inside a tent with no one but Agwash himself.

That was the first day.

On the second day, Agwash spent no more silver coins on oatcakes, but sat on the shady side of tile marketplace and watched the horse Twak. Yet there was little to see, because no one in the village would venture to doubt Twak’s skill, and therefore only strangers would pander to its expensive taste for oatcakes. One merchant came to ask how many days he must wait to receive a certain important letter he was expecting, but that question Twak refused to answer, so the man Pilo returned the merchant’s silver coin and left the oatcake in his own pocket.

On the third day, in the morning, Agwash went again to the marketplace. There he saw a man leading a fine racing mare. Agwash greeted him in his customary fashion, saying, “Stranger, will you sell me that hack, for my dogs are hungry and need meat?”

The man sighed and explained that the mare was all the goods he possessed in the world, and a bosom friend, also, and his only source of income, for it would win any race at any odds, but that he might consider parting with the mare if a man was rich enough to offer a suitable price.

Agwash led the man and the mare over to Twak, and paid the man Pilo a silver coin, and said, “Twak, what is the lowest price this man will take for this mare?”

Twak struck the ground seven times and Agwash said to the man, “I offer you seven gold coins for the mare.”

The man laughed at so small an offer and said, “Verily, at twenty gold coins it would be robbery.”

“Verily it would,” Agwash said, and went away.

Later that day, the man came to where Agwash sat on the shady side of the marketplace and said he would take seventeen coins. Agwash said, “Seven.”

At the end of the day, the man came again. Weeping, he took the seven gold coins, giving the mare to Agwash.

Then Agwash arose and went to the shop of the maker of pots and purchased from him two pots of the best sort, one orange and one red, and both having lids. Now the sun was close to setting, and Nergol came unto Agwash, saying, “Old friend, can you now tell me how the horse Twak works its wonders, or do you owe me two more bags of gold?”

Agwash said unto him, “Surely an old horsetrader can outwit an old horse, so that you, old friend, will have to return to me the two bags I have already lost to you through folly and the weakness of my judgment.”

Thereupon they went together to the horse Twak and the man Pilo, and Agwash bought two oatcakes. Half the people of the town had come, also, to hear if Agwash the horsetrader could explain how Twak worked his wonders, for he was known as a man wise in the flesh of horses.

Then Agwash showed Twak the orange pot, saying, “Twak, how many beans are there in this pot?”

Twak struck the ground four times as the man Pilo counted, and stopped. Agwash said unto Nergol, “Old friend, do you now look in the orange pot and tell me if this horse has spoken true.”

He did and said, “Verily, there are four beans in this pot, neither more nor less.”

So Agwash gave Twak the first oatcake. Then Agwash showed Twak the red pot and called upon the horse to tell him how many beans were in that pot, also. Twak struck the ground and struck the ground and struck the ground, and the man Pilo called out the count, and when they had reached a hundred, Agwash said to Nergol, “Old friend, do you now look in the red pot and tell us.”

So Nergol looked in the red pot and spoke, saying, “Lo, herein there are but three beans only.” Then Twak stopped striking the ground with his hoof, and the man Pilo returned one silver coin to Agwash because the horse had been unable to tell him how many beans there were in the red pot.

At this, Nergol cried out in lamentation and rent his garments, for he thought he would now have to pay his old friend the two bags of gold that had been wagered. He said, “Alas! Now you know how the horse performs his wonders. Tell me then, and I shall deliver unto you the money that was promised, for there is none more honest under Heaven than Nergol.”

But Agwash said to him, “Nay, I know not. I go now to my tents to gather together two bags of gold, although it be all I possess in the world and my children shall surely starve thereby, and I shall bring the gold to you, my old friend.”

Nergol said, “But you have won the wager.” Agwash said, “Nay, I have lost.” And they argued over who owed whom two bags of gold, while all the people looked on in amazement.

Nergol said, “Thou knowest how the horse works his wonders.”

Agwash said, “I know not. It is true that I have a theory, but it is a mere guess, a supposition, and I may be wrong. Therefore I have lost and I will pay.”

“Tell me your theory,” said Nergol to him, “and you need not pay.”

Agwash said, “Nay, I will not. I will pay thee, old friend, for I, too, am an honest man.”

Nergol tore his beard. “Tell me your theory,” he said, “and I will pay you the two bags of gold instead, and take none from you.”

“I will not,” Agwash said. “I cannot prove that my theory is the truth, and therefore you would call me a liar. Truly, I will not tell you my theory if you pay me ten bags of gold.”

Nergol cried out as if taken by a great pain, and then said, “Five.”

Agwash said, “Eight, and no less.”

And so on.

Thus it came to pass, later that night, when the old friends were alone at Agwash’s tent where no other might see or hear, that Nergol delivered seven bags of gold and three skins of fine wine to Agwash, and Agwash spake to him, saying-

“This be my theory. The horse Twak, I ween, is an old horse, and has been traded many times from owner to owner, and having seen and heard the trading done about it, has learned how to be a horsetrader itself. For when I asked Twak what money a certain man would accept for a mare, the horse Twak began to strike the ground. When it had counted to seven, it stopped, and it came to pass that the man did take seven gold coins for the mare. Now, none knew the truth of that number aforetimes except the man himself, and he did not tell or signal this information to Twak, because that would have been great folly.

“And when you and I, my old friend, were bargaining over the fourteen worthless beasts that I bought from you, I observed that whenever you came to name a sum that you would accept, you paused. You spoke some words, as ‘I might settle for …’ or ‘I would take only …’ and then you would wait until I looked up, yea, until I looked you full in the face, waiting for you to complete the phrase. Now this habit of yours annoyed me greatly, for you learned it from me, myself.”

Nergol said, “So it may be, but I had not thought on it before.”

“Even in thy youth the stench of thy lies nauseated the gods, and you have not repented in your dotage. The reason for this perversion of yours is that you thereby can clearly view my face when you name the number, and thus judge whether I be pleased by the same.”

“The face of Agwash,” Nergol proclaimed, “is like unto the Mountain of White Marble, and none may read upon it what is carven thereon. This is well known throughout all the plains, yea, even unto the River of Crocodiles.”

These words pleased Agwash, but yet he frowned as if they brought him no happiness. “That may be true for the unwashed mass of the people, but it is not true for a wily and unscrupulous rogue such as thee, my old friend. And I think it is not true of the horse Twak. However much a man may seek to hide his feelings so that they do not show on his face or in his bearing, he may reveal himself in small ways that the shrewd observer will note. It may be that neither is truly aware of these signals, and yet they are both sent and received.”

Nergol mused upon this matter and poured more wine for himself and his old friend. “Then explain the two pots that you showed unto Twak, the orange pot that the horse discerned, and the red pot that it could not.”

“Verily it is simple. I knew that there were four beans in the orange pot, for I put them there myself. I had contrived that another’s hand placed the beans in the red pot and then shut the lid before returning it to me, so thereby I knew not how many beans were within. There being then no one in Twak’s sight who knew the answer, the horse observed no signal that it had reached the correct number, and therefore it did not cease from striking the ground.

“Likewise, it could not tell the merchant when he will receive his letter, for no man knoweth the answer.”

Nergol said, “Truly, thou art the greatest cheat and villain between the city Morthlan and the River of Crocodiles, and thou hast beggared me in my old age.”

The next day Agwash went on his way, taking with him all the horses he had bought and all the gold he had acquired, as well, and was content.