"THE SWIFT DO NOT HAVE THE RACE…."
Rodger woke up the next day at the first light of dawn, hastily washed and dressed, and crept downstairs to the kitchen. Anna was lighting the fire to prepare breakfast.
"You're up early, Rodger," she said. "I haven't got any porridge cooked yet, but have some bread and butter."
"I'm not hungry, Anna, thank you just the same."
"Not hungry? Since when are you not hungry?"
He grinned at her and reached for the bread. Anna and her husband Reginald had worked for his family since he was a baby. She had attended his birth, in fact. He thus thought of her as a second mother, and it wasn't hard to imagine, because she often acted like one. He buttered a few slices and wrapped them in a cloth to take with him, in hopes that it would satisfy her before she took it into her head to check his fingernails and behind his ears to see if they were clean.
"Where are you off to so early?"
"Taking Starlight for a run." He dashed out the door before Anna could ask any more questions, went to the stable, and saddled his pony. Reggie came out from one of the stalls, pushing a wheelbarrow.
"Out for some exercise?"
"Yes. I-I'm headed to the fair."
"Without the rest of your family? It's a bit early, isn't it? Nothing's going on in town for hours yet."
"It's okay. I-I thought I'd give Starlight a good run first, you know? Work off his energy."
He squirmed in the saddle, reluctant to meet Reggie's frank gaze.
Eleanor's right, I'm no good at lying. If Anna and Reggie don't stop interrogating me, I'll blurt everything out and give away the surprise.
"Then we'll see you there, lad. The missus and I wouldn't pass up the horse race, you know that well enough."
Rodger smiled. "Neither would I," he said, as he turned his pony and rode out of the stableyard.
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"Rodger's left? So early?"
Meg stared out the front door of Gisborne Hall, in the direction of Nottingham, with her arms folded disapprovingly. Guy came up behind her and drew her into his embrace.
"Reg and Anna saw him off this morning at sunrise. He rode straight for town."
"Guy, is he up to something?" She turned to him. "You don't suppose he entered that horse race, do you?"
"What makes you think so?"
"He's been dropping hints lately about how fast Starlight is."
"Starlight is fast. Although Sir Henry's got himself a new mare who—"
"You know I don't want him in that race."
"If he did enter it, does it matter?"
"Guy, it's dangerous. Do you want to see our son get injured, or even killed?"
"You worry too much."
"Oh, excuse me, I'm only his mother."
"Now, Meg, relax. If he did sign up without our knowledge or permission, it's only a race. It's not a joust. There are no sharp, pointy objects involved."
"That's supposed to make me feel better?"
"It should."
"You're impossible."
"You're beautiful."
"Don't change the subject."
"Meg, the boy's growing up. He's only doing what all boys his age do."
"What? Entering dangerous contests?"
"No. Keeping secrets from his parents."
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The streets of Nottingham were quiet when Rodger arrived. Merchants and vendors were setting up their stalls, but only a handful of townspeople wandered aimlessly about while they waited for the day's festivities to begin.
Rodger rode Starlight at a slow canter around the racecourse, taking note of each turn and planning his strategy. He'd watched the races closely for the last several years, trying to figure out what separated the winner from the losers. It wasn't always the horse, he had observed, but its rider, who made the difference.
Some riders spurred their horses on with clumsy kicks and lashes with whips. Others knew how to get the most from their horse without resorting to such harsh incentives, and it was these men that Rodger admired and wished to emulate. He would never whip his pony. The very idea was repugnant to him. He and Starlight understood each other. They were perfectly in tune, and they were friends. They would win the race together.
He hung around the racecourse while he ate his bread and butter, and studied the other riders and their mounts. A few of the horses would never win any race, yet their owners paraded them up and down before the growing crowd of spectators with as much pride as if they had already won.
He saw many well-bred animals, too, but none, in his estimation, to compare with Starlight. One, perhaps, came close—a big chestnut mare. For a moment he felt stirrings of doubt about winning the race. The mare was long-legged, rangy, built for speed. Sir Henry of Mansfield, a breeder of fine riding horses and an acquaintance of the family, was the owner, so he assumed that the man's son Robert was to be the rider. So much the better. An excellent horse, by the looks of her, but matched with a poor rider. He'd seen Robert in the saddle before. He smiled. This evened up his chances a bit.
Rodger led Starlight to the starting line when he saw the judges appear. Other horses and riders followed. The crowd had grown in size by then. The people were now lined up several deep along the course. He scanned the crowd, looking for his family, but as he did so his gaze was caught by a boy, who was not Robert, leading the chestnut mare toward them. Their eyes met as the boy reached the starting line, and Rodger felt a shock of recognition.
It was the boy from the marketplace, the same one who had confronted him almost two years ago and called his father a murderer. He hadn't seen him again since that terrible day. The boy was older, taller, his face more mature, but in his eyes burned the same venomous hatred that Rodger remembered well.
He had no time to react or to speak a word to the other boy, however, for the riders were instructed to move their horses into position. The race was about to begin.
Starlight pawed the ground and snorted, his powerful muscles bunching under the saddle. Rodger had all he could do to hold him back. He looked across once again at the boy on the chestnut mare. The bright blue eyes glared at him, but the banner came down in that instant, and the line of horses surged forward.
Rodger held Starlight back as they rounded the first curve so that he could he survey the field of horses and riders. Some had already fallen well behind and stood no chance of catching up. He passed them easily and pulled up behind the tightly packed group of leaders.
The mare was among them. She was spirited, willing, eager to run, yet the boy whipped her mercilessly and without cause on her neck and flanks. Rodger wanted to tear the whip from the boy's hand and strike him with it. For a moment, the desire to win the race was forgotten in his fury at seeing the animal so cruelly abused.
But it was not only the poor mare who was to feel the sting. As Rodger pulled up between the chestnut and a man on a grey, a sharp pain lashed across his face. Startled, he flinched away. The reflex threw Starlight off balance and nearly cost Rodger his seat.
A kicked-up rock? thought Rodger as he felt blood trickle down his cheek. No, for Starlight was the next one to be lashed, and this time Rodger saw the culprit—not a rock, but the boy with the hate in his eyes. Starlight slid to a halt and reared up. Rodger clutched wildly at his mane to keep from sliding off behind. Several other riders swerved to avoid colliding with them. As Rodger whirled his pony about, the boy turned his head and fixed him with a mocking sneer.
Rodger urged Starlight on, but his heart burned with bitter anger. There was no chance of catching up, he was well behind the leaders now, in amongst the also-rans.
But Starlight had other ideas. He picked up speed as they rounded the last turn. Rodger rose in the saddle, lying low over the pony's neck as Reggie had taught him. Faster and faster, hooves pounding across the turf, the gleaming black pony narrowed the gap. Soon, Rodger and the boy on the mare were in the lead. The finish line was just ahead. Neck and neck they thundered, until Starlight was ahead by a nose, then a full length.
As they passed the boy and the mare, however, he again struck out at them. The whip missed them this time, but it spooked Starlight, and slowed him down enough to allow the chestnut mare to cross the finish line first.
The crowd cheered the apparent winner. Rodger pulled his pony to a walk and patted his sweating neck, but his own face flushed with rage as he wiped the blood from his cheek.
Did anyone see it? Will anyone believe me if I tell them that boy hit me and my horse?
There was no need, as it turned out, to convince anyone. A whispered conference took place between the judges, a group of spectators, and the Sheriff, while the boy lead the mare through the crowd, and ate up his ill-gotten glory.
A moment later the boy and Sir Henry were informed, in front of the whole crowd and by the Sheriff himself, that they had been disqualified for "poor sportsmanship". A couple of sharp-eyed spectators in the crowd, and one of the riders, had seen the first incident, and both the judges and the Sheriff had witnessed the second at the finish line. Rodger and Starlight were therefore declared the winners.
Rodger took his prize from the Sheriff, to the loud applause of the crowd, but his mind wasn't on the victory. He wondered if the defeated and publicly shamed boy would now confront him and start another fight. His stomach churned with dread, but his family closed in around him, and he felt safe once again. No one would dare threaten him while his father and Robin and the other men of his household were there.
"What was that all about?" Uncle Archer wanted to know.
"Rodger, your face!" cried his mother.
"I'm okay, Mother. It's nothing, just a scratch."
"Who is he, the boy who hit you?" Father demanded. "Do you know him?"
Father doesn't remember him, thought Rodger. He doesn't recognize him. He saw him only for a moment in the marketplace. What would happen if—what if I were to tell him he was the same boy who—
"No," Rodger quickly replied. "I don't know him." It wasn't altogether untrue. He didn't know the boy's name, after all.
"Why did he hit you?" asked Mother anxiously. "Why? Rodger, is there something you're not telling us?"
Uncle Robin looked sharply at Rodger, but to Rodger's relief, said nothing.
"Whatever his reason, Sir Henry will be furious that his best horse lost the race because of it," Robin said. "That's punishment enough for the lad. He'll never ride another horse in any race in Nottingham ever again."
"I should hope not!" said Aunt Marian. "What a thing to do! And that poor horse, too."
"Well, if you ask me, I think we should forget the little sneaking cheat, whoever he is, and celebrate Rodger's victory instead," said Archer cheerfully. "Rodger won the race fair and square, without cheating, and I'm proud of him. I'm sure the rest of you are, too. Even you, Meg. How about supper at the Trip tonight? My treat."
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Sir Henry shook his head in disgust as his fingers traced the painful welts that were rising on the mare's shining flanks. His most promising race horse. Now she danced about on the end of her lead, her eyes wide and rolling and her coat lathered in a sweat of fear. It would take months of patient work to settle her down before she could be entered in another race.
A fine animal near to ruined, and my good name disgraced in front of the citizens of Nottinghamshire, and all because of that boy!
He'd hired young Peter to work on his estate as a groom on the urging of the boy's aunt, who was employed as his wife's maid. She'd spoken highly of her nephew to Sir Henry.
"My brother Rowan's boy is a good lad," she'd insisted, "and clever with horses, sir. He just needs something to keep him out of mischief. You know how boys can be, sir. The town boys are a bad influence on him, a bunch of young ruffians they are, but I promise you he'll work hard and please you, sir."
Sir Henry had watched Peter on several occasions as he exercised the horses with the other grooms. Peter was a smallish lad, but strong and fearless on horseback, quite unlike his own son Robert, who, despite the best of teachers, had never been a confident rider. Peter had ridden three of Sir Henry's horses to victory in London and York.
To think I was so impressed with his horsemanship that I considered letting him apprentice with my trainer. After today's disgrace? Never!
He caught sight of Peter coming toward him, in company with Robert.
"You young imp!" Sir Henry bawled at Peter. "You're lucky I don't take a whip to you after that stunt you pulled. You lost me the race, and with my good mare, too."
"It wasn't my fault, sir," was the sullen reply. "It was that Gisborne brat. He—"
"Now you listen to me good. I don't know what sort of quarrel you've got with Sir Guy's son, and I don't care. You leave it home! You don't take it out on my horse and my good name! Go on, now, get out of my sight. You'll never ride one of my horses again, do you hear me?"
Peter scowled at him, and abruptly turned and stalked off, knocking into an equally angry Robert as he did so. Robert grabbed hold of his arm.
"I can't believe you were so stupid, Peter."
"Aw, shut up, Robert!"
"You could've won the race. You didn't need to whip her! You know my father won't stand to see his horses treated like that! He has every right to be angry with you. And what you did to Rodger—"
"I wanted to do it, okay? Showoff rich boy with his fancy horse!"
"My father sold that horse to his family. Starlight was our horse once. And my father and Sir Guy do business together, so I think you'd best lay off Rodger."
"What's his father going to do, kill me like he killed my grandfather?"
Robert shook his head and waved him away.
"If you hate him that much, then go right ahead, you and the rest of the gang. Beat the hell out of him if you want, but I'm backing out."
"Why, you scared you'll get caught?"
"You can disguise yourselves if you want, but he'll know it's you, Peter, and you'll be in big trouble. I'm not helping you. You don't deserve it. You're a cheat and a bully, and you're on your own in this one."
"Fine. Don't need you, anyway."
Peter tore his arm from Robert's grasp, shrugged his shoulders, and walked away. Robert rejoined his father. When he looked behind him, with a twinge of regret and disappointment, Peter had already disappeared.