The Silver Horse Page 7

  Reluctantly Emilia agreed. Cosmo cupped his hand for her foot, and threw her up on the mare’s back, then led her away from the encampment towards the racetrack, which had been marked out on the hillside.

  The sun had burnt off most of the mist, so that the Downs were bathed in warm sunshine. Here the slope was not so steep, falling down in a broad sweep towards the valley. Cosmo led Alida around the course, which was shaped like a skewed horseshoe, and was one mile and four furlongs long. The track rose and fell along the undulating flank of the Downs, then climbed steeply to the top of the hill. Emilia could see that the ascent would be hard work at a full gallop.

  ‘You must lift your weight off the horse’s back,’ Cosmo told her. ‘Stand up in your stirrups and lean forward over her shoulders, so she can run freely. The further forward you lean, the easier it will be for her. How is your balance?’

  For answer, Emilia lifted her feet and set them upon Alida’s narrow back, then stood up, balancing easily as the mare walked forward. Then she bent and laid her hands on the mare’s shoulders and did a handstand, her feet pointing straight into the air. Alida, used to Emilia’s tricks, did not even twitch an ear.

  Cosmo snorted. ‘The idea is to be as streamlined as possible, to offer no resistance to the wind,’ he said. ‘You won’t win this race standing on your head.’

  ‘You must admit my balance is good, though,’ Emilia replied sweetly.

  ‘I hope it’s good enough,’ he answered sourly.

  Emilia did a neat somersault, her feet landing where her hands had been, and sat down again.

  After the crest of the hill, the track curved down to the left, falling steeply at one point and dropping into a muddy patch. Cosmo showed her where the ground was firmest, and warned her that many horses slipped and fell here.

  ‘That won’t matter to me,’ Emilia said. ‘They’ll all be behind me.’

  To her surprise, that made Cosmo grin and give Alida a friendly slap on the rump. ‘Let’s hope so,’ he said, sounding quite sincere.

  Past the mud, the path swept down and around, falling another fifty feet, before straightening out for a stretch and then rising gently to the finish line.

  ‘Sit down hard here,’ Cosmo said. ‘Drive her home. If you must, dig in the spurs.’

  ‘I don’t wear spurs!’ Emilia cried.

  ‘You will be,’ Cosmo answered. ‘And I expect you to use them, and the whip, if you need to. Remember, our bargain depends on you winning this race.’

  ‘Alida’s never been spurred,’ Emilia said unhappily.

  ‘Then she’ll leap all the more at their touch,’ Cosmo said. ‘Now, she’ll be full of oats, watch her at the beginning, don’t let her dance or fight the bit too much. Hold her steady, and get her off fast. If you can get out fast, you won’t be eating the other riders’ dirt.’

  Emilia nodded her understanding.

  ‘Remember, horses have two blind spots,’ Cosmo continued, ‘directly before them and directly behind them. She’ll be wanting to look behind her, to see who’s on her tail, but you mustn’t let her. Keep her head steady, and let her know you’re doing the looking for her.’

  Emilia nodded, although she was not at all sure how she was to do this.

  ‘I just hope you know your horse as well as you say you do,’ Cosmo said as they turned back towards the gypsy encampment. ‘You’ve never raced before, you don’t know the stresses it places on you and the horse. Did you know a horse can lose up to twenty-five pounds during a race like this?’

  Emilia did not know. It seemed an awful lot. She patted Alida’s neck apprehensively, and the mare twitched an ear towards her.

  ‘Alida will tire easily on this course,’ Cosmo went on. ‘These hills are tough on any horse, and she’s still only a filly. You’re going to have to judge how much strength she has left in her, and how blown the other horses are, and whether they have any heart left in them. You’re going to have to know, instinctively, the right moment to spur her on for that final desperate effort, and yet not ruin her by whipping her on too hard.’

  Emilia’s heart sank down to the pit of her stomach.

  ‘Can you do all that?’ Cosmo demanded, turning his pockmarked face up to hers, his eyes squinting against the sun.

  ‘I don’t know. I hope so,’ Emilia said. She was beginning to wish she had just ridden on with Luka, and not made this devil’s bargain with Sebastien’s family.

  He shrugged. ‘So do we all.’

  They arrived back at the gypsy encampment, which was a hive of activity, and Cosmo lifted Emilia down. ‘At least you’re a light little thing,’ he said as he put her down on the ground. ‘I just wish I knew you were strong enough.’

  ‘I’m very strong,’ Emilia assured him.

  ‘Aye, for your age perhaps, but you’ll be riding against grown men. You must watch out for them.

  They’ll be as desperate to win this race as we are. Not just gold but reputations ride on a race like this. Do you understand?’

  Emilia nodded.

  Cosmo gave her a little push. ‘Go and eat, rest up a bit. I’ll look after the mare.’

  Emilia was feeling so keyed-up and nervous she could not eat. She put down her bowl after only a few mouthfuls, and followed the other gypsies as they went over to the racetrack, getting ready for the races. They set up makeshift stalls to sell their produce, which mainly consisted of cures for various horse ailments, or home-woven baskets and chair bottoms.

  Already many people had turned up, milling about in their excitement and placing bets with each other. Many were local farmers, or servants, some of whom hung around the gypsy girls, flirting with them. Most were far more interested in the horses. There was a great deal of disappointment at the news of the raid on the gypsy camp, for it necessarily meant fewer horses to be raced. Felipe made much of the disaster, turning down the corners of his mouth, shaking his head, shrugging his shoulders and turning his gaze up to heaven. It did not seem to affect the amount of gambling done on the race, however, for Emilia saw him take a heavy purse from a burly-looking man with very thick, bristling eyebrows and a red scarf, behind the caravans when no one was looking. When Felipe saw Emilia watching, he flickered her a quick wink and pocketed the purse quickly.

  To Emilia’s surprise there were a great many gentlemen in the crowd too. Some were there with their horses, and stood around giving last-minute instructions to their jockeys, who were generally thin young stablehands in livery. None of them were as thin and young as Emilia.

  Others were there to watch, but Emilia saw that they spent a great deal of time huddled in little groups, talking in undertones. Quite a few of these men wore their hair in the long curls of the Cavalier, and had large buckles on their shoes and feathers in their hats. They had a harried look about them, and glanced constantly around them, as if fearing eavesdroppers.

  One in particular caught Emilia’s eye. A tall, blue-eyed man with broad shoulders and an aquiline nose, he was dressed in a green velvet coat that had definitely seen better days. It was worn at the elbows and collar, and had been rather inexpertly mended along one seam. His tall boots were worn too, but carefully blackened and polished, and the lace at his wrists, though darned, was very clean. Although no longer young, he was a handsome man and moved with the upright briskness of a soldier. It was not his soldierly manner that caught Emilia’s attention, however, nor his shabby dress, but the contrast between his very black hair and his fair brows and lashes. Emilia had seen men before with brows much darker than their hair colour, but she had never seen anyone with such black hair who did not have eyebrows to match. It intrigued her. The attitude of the other men towards the black-haired one was also interesting. They acted towards him with great deference, despite his shabbiness, and hung on every word he said.

  Emilia saw the burly man with the red scarf bring a tray of wine and fine crystal glasses, and pour it out for the little group, bowing deeply to the man in green and passing him his glass first. They all raised
their glasses in a silent toast, looking south towards the far-distant sea, then drank deeply, some obviously in the grip of strong emotion.

  Fascinated by their behaviour, Emilia stepped closer, wondering suddenly if they were Royalists plotting the return of the king. It occurred to her that a horserace would be the perfect cover for such a meeting. One of the problems that Royalists had in furthering their plans was that any large gathering of people was banned. All the mail was opened and searched, and even letters written in code were not safe, as Cromwell had expert code-crackers among his staff. So it was very difficult to organise meetings where sympathisers could be introduced and plans made for action. A horserace was the perfect excuse, since people of all kinds came together, and mingled, and talked, and notes could be passed from hand to hand as easily as money. A sharp watch was kept out for the constabulary, and even if the racetrack was raided, the penalty was usually no more than a fine and a reprimand, while the punishment for treason against Parliament was death.

  Emilia had hated the Roundheads ever since they had killed her father, and she had a natural distaste for the puritanical views of those who ruled the country, as it contradicted everything she thought most good and beautiful about life. So she came closer and closer to the Cavaliers, hoping to catch a word or two.

  Suddenly her eyes widened in surprise. Standing there, talking urgently to the lords, was a boy she knew well.

  ‘Tom Whitehorse!’ she cried. ‘What are you doing here?’

  His head snapped round, with a look of fear and horror on his face that she did not understand. He stared at her, not recognising her in her boy’s clothes.

  The gentlemen swiftly looked her up and down, frowning, then nodded curtly to Tom and stepped away.

  ‘Thomas, my boy, we will talk further later,’ the black-haired one said.

  ‘But, my lord!’ There was anguish in Tom’s voice.

  ‘Later. When you have had a chance to catch up with your friend.’ The lord smiled, nodded meaningfully, and walked away.

  Tom stared at Emilia in angry consternation.

  ‘It’s me,’ she said. ‘Emilia Finch. Don’t you recognise me?’

  ‘Emilia!’ He was incredulous. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘I’m racing,’ she said.

  ‘You can’t race, you’re a girl.’

  ‘Not today,’ she said coolly, indicating her breeches with a wave of her hand. She was beginning to regret accosting him.

  He looked scandalised. ‘Surely you’re jesting.’

  ‘No. I’m entirely serious. If I were you, I’d be putting money on me and Alida, because we’re going to win this race.’

  He put up his eyebrows. ‘I’m not here to gamble,’ he said.

  ‘No? Then why are you here?’

  He flushed and bit his lip. ‘Visiting friends,’ he said shortly.

  ‘That man in the velvet coat? But he’s old enough to be your father. Surely he’s no friend of yours?’

  ‘Friend of my father,’ Tom said, his flush deepening.

  Emilia opened her mouth to ask more questions, and he said quickly, ‘He too is visiting in the area. We are staying at the . . . at one of the big houses around here. I’m . . . ah . . . I’m staying only a few days. My host is racing one of his horses today, and we’ve come to watch.’

  Tom waved his hand towards an elderly man in an ornate mulberry coat who was leaning lightly on an ebony stick with a silver knob, as he talked earnestly to the black-haired lord. Neither was paying any attention to the horses.

  ‘Surely he’s not racing himself!’ Emilia said.

  ‘Of course not. His groom will be riding the horse.’

  ‘Of course,’ Emilia said mockingly. ‘How could I be so stupid? Gentlemen do not ride their own horses.’

  Tom stared at her, in half a mind to be affronted, then suddenly grinned. ‘Not in a race they want to win, anyway,’ he admitted.

  Emilia was relieved to see him smile. She could not understand why he had been so fidgety and uncomfortable with her, when they had known each other for years.

  ‘I’d better go,’ she said. ‘My race starts soon. Wish me luck!’

  ‘All right, good luck!’ he said.

  She waved her hand at him and went back to find Felipe and Cosmo. When she turned around a few moments later, Tom was gone.

  Devil’s Bargain

  ‘Where have you been!’ Cosmo cried. ‘The race is about to begin. Come quickly! I’ve got your mare bridled and saddled and raring to go! I’ve given her a good slug of my special brew, and there’s no holding her now.’

  ‘Why, what’s in it?’ Emilia demanded.

  Cosmo moved his hand from side to side. ‘A bit of this, a bit of that. Come on! I’ve found a pair of old boots for you that should fit all right, and I’m lending you my own lucky whip. I’ve won more races than I can tell you with that whip.’

  As he spoke he was leading her quickly through the crowd, until they reached the start of the racetrack, where half-a-dozen horses were milling, held in check by their trainers. Felipe was there, his hand on Alida’s bridle. The mare was sidling and dancing, not liking the unfamiliar taste of the bit in her mouth, or the weight of the saddle on her back. Emilia would not put on the boots, which were wickedly spurred, or take the whip, which made the Hearne men angry with her. She was adamant, however. She had never used such instruments of control on Alida before, and she would not start now.

  In the end Felipe just shrugged. ‘No time for this. Put her up!’

  Cosmo threw Emilia up into the saddle, and she took a moment to familiarise herself with the stirrups, which at first felt quite odd, after a lifetime of riding bareback.

  ‘They give you much more control,’ Cosmo told her. ‘Remember what I told you! Use them!’

  Emilia’s mouth went dry and her mind completely blank. She could not remember a thing Cosmo had told her. Sensing her panic, Alida reared. A few of the grooms seated on the other horses jerked their elbows at her and grinned. Emilia felt a hot flush burn up her cheeks. She brought Alida down sharply, and took the reins into her left hand, so that she could touch the lucky charms at her wrist.

  First she rubbed the coin, the golden crown. The crown is for light and luck and magic. It’s why they call me the Queen of the Gypsies . . . Maggie had said.

  Then Emilia touched the little silver horse, galloping through air.

  The charm of the running horse . . . It is silver, the moon metal, and has the power to charm all the beasts of field and forest, the charm to wheedle that you have, my darling girl.

  Tears stung her eyes at the remembrance of her grandmother’s words.

  ‘Are you ready?’ Cosmo demanded.

  ‘Yes,’ she cried.

  There was a roar from the crowd as Felipe undid his red kerchief and held it high. Alida shied at the sound, but Emilia forced her to the starting line, keeping her knees hard against the mare’s sides. The boys around her were tense and focused, leaning low over their mounts’ necks, yet holding them back firmly. The horses trembled with eagerness, dancing and cavorting, throwing their heads up and down, snorting through their flared nostrils.

  Emilia dropped one hand to stroke Alida’s satiny neck. ‘Run like the wind, my darling girl,’ she whispered.

  The flag dropped. The horses took off. Emilia found herself jostled on all sides. Whips cracked in her ears. Someone elbowed her sharply in the side. She cried out and flinched. Alida’s stride faltered, and the big bay to her right drew ahead. Gritting her teeth, Emilia leant forward, urging Alida on. As the mare’s stride lengthened, she remembered what Cosmo had said, and stood up in her stirrups, lifting her weight clear of the saddle, leaning so far forward she was in danger of banging her chin on Alida’s neck which plunged up and down below her. Most of the horses fell behind. She felt Alida’s head twitch the reins as the mare strove to turn her head, but Emilia held her firm. Ahead of them, the bay mare sent great clods of earth flying back, hitting Emilia
in the face and showering her with mud. Emilia fixed her gaze on the track beyond the mare, and drove Alida forward.

  ‘Fly like the wind, my darling,’ she murmured. ‘Fast as the hot desert wind. God made you to fly like an eagle.’

  Alida responded to her voice, her hooves seeming barely to touch the ground as she surged ahead, her nose at the bay mare’s tail, then at her heaving withers, then racing past her rigidly held head, her white rolling eye. As Emilia galloped past, she felt the sudden unexpected sting of a whip across her face as the rider beside her lashed out. Although she gasped aloud, she did not falter, only lifted herself higher in the saddle so that Alida could begin the hard, heartbreaking gallop up the steep rise of the track.

  Alida’s breath gasped in her throat. Her nostrils flared red as she struggled to suck in air. Emilia felt her hooves sinking into the soggy ground. ‘Come, my darling, my beauty,’ she whispered. ‘Fly for me.’

  She could hear hooves thundering up behind her, could feel the earth shake. ‘Please, darling girl, please . . .’

  Blood was running down her face, and the salt of her sweat stung in the whip cut. Emilia ignored the pain. Alida was faltering. Her heart was pounding so loudly Emilia felt sure she could feel it between her knees. Above them was the green curve of the hilltop, and the blue arc of the sky. Emilia imagined them taking flight into the sky, spreading wings of golden and silver light, and launching off the top of the hill. ‘Come on, darling, come on . . .’ she panted.

  Alida leapt forward, touched the hill’s crest lightly with one hoof, and then surged on down the broad sweep of the track. Emilia’s heart leapt into her throat. She risked a quick glance back. The other horses were galloping down upon her, eyes rolling, chests heaving. Sweat and mud scudded their coats. Some, she saw, were failing badly. They were no threat. But there were two, the big bay mare and another fleet-footed chestnut, bearing down on her at incredible speed. Their riders had their teeth bared in mirthless grins and were wielding their whips cruelly. Emilia just had time to see the blood that ran down the bay mare’s sides before she had to look forward again, sensing a change in Alida’s stride.