CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Take the Adventure, heed the call, now ere the irrevocable moment passes!
Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows
They began to run on, stirred up by Tommy, who blew a few notes on his horn to get them all going, through the choked ditch that lined the boundary, underneath the blackthorn hedge that lay beyond, bursting out in front of Rafe and Sage.
Ajax, overcome with impatience, stood up in a vertical rear, unable to contain his excitement.
Sage clung on, the fit, strong horse moving of his own accord beneath her.
They headed east, and pelted hell for leather across a ploughed field; hounds were able to run over the top of the deep mud, their pads skimming the surface, but the heavier horses’ hooves sank and Rafe diverted Warhorse to the corner of the field, jumped a stile covered in brambles at a precarious angle, ducking to avoid an overhanging branch of an old beech tree, and galloped on.
Sage’s eyes were watering in the cold and her legs were wobbly from so much adrenaline.
Ajax launched himself at the stile, intent on catching up with his stable mate, and she hunched down in the saddle to narrowly miss being swiped off by the tree.
The clever horse landed smoothly, needing no directions, and galloped onwards.
Sage crouched over Ajax’s withers like a jockey; her blood was up now and she felt full of courage sitting on the bold horse.
She managed to catch up with Rafe and side by side they took on a solid post-and-rail fence; it had a steep landing, and they dropped down about six feet into a paddock with a row of wooden stables at the end.
Woolly equine inmates peered out curiously.
An old woman leant against the fence contemplating them.
Hounds cast about in the paddock for a moment and then went screaming happily on, filing through the gaps between the bars of an upright iron gate that was fastened with a large, locked padlock that led out onto the road.
The gate was the only way out and it was at least five and a half feet high.
The fence that they had jumped down over was impossibly high to tackle the other way around and there was wire everywhere else parallel to a high crumbling brick wall that surrounded the little field.
The woman called out in a piercing, nasal voice. ‘You don’t have permission to be in here. This is my field. There’s no way out for you now – looks like you’re well and truly stuck.’ She laughed, a hard, bitter sound, swinging a bunch of keys in her hand.
Rafe, feeling trapped and not liking it, pulled an apologetic face at Sage.
‘I’m sorry. But there’s no other way. The horse will look after you but you must give him a kick coming in.’
‘Oh no, Rafe. No way,’ Sage yelped, fear coursing through her.
The white-painted gate had seven horizontal bars, it was completely upright and made of unforgiving iron railings.
Surely it was not possible? The grass was badly poached around the gate and the mud was deep which would add on more height and make jumping it even more difficult.
Rafe, wrapping his long legs around Warhorse, turned and cantered a small half-circle, and Sage knew he was going for it.
Warhorse cantered quickly towards the gate, Rafe urging him forward.
He leapt gamely out of the mud, rapping the top bar noisily but managing to stay on his feet, landing on the road in a flurry of iron shoes that caused sparks to fly off the tarmac.
Sage sat for a moment, her mind whirring uselessly, not managing to produce another solution.
She was loath to face that terrifying obstacle but unable to think of any other way.
The woman jangled her keys menacingly, her mouth slightly agape as she watched Rafe’s descent onto the road, and Sage knew that it was now or never.
She put a loving hand on the grey horse’s warm neck, just for a moment, and picked up her reins with trembling fingers.
She turned Ajax away from the gate, cantered a circle, and closing one eye, kicked him apologetically in the belly, galloping at the gate.
Ajax, eager to reach his friend who was waiting for him on the road, took off two strides out, soaring into the air like a lark, missing the deep mud and landing neatly on the road without touching the top metal bar.
Sage collapsed on his neck, patting him over and over again.
She could feel her heart pounding through all her layers of woollen clothing, and even though she was furious with Rafe, she found herself grinning at him in exhilaration.
She allowed herself to revel in the pure bliss of being alive for a moment as she sat on the noble horse in the middle of the road.
Rafe leant forward and wiped a dollop of mud from her cheek.
The feverish excitement calmed after a minute and Sage suddenly realized that there were cars coming.
They moved the horses carefully along the road to a wide verge where some other horses and riders were waiting.
‘Madam. Would you like to change horses now?’ A young man in groom’s hunting clothes sat astride an elegant bay thoroughbred mare.
He looked at his feet shyly and the mare twitched her fine, sensitive ears.
Sage looked up, returning to reality, and smiled in surprise.
She looked over to Rafe, who was jumping across from Warhorse onto another bay, a beautiful young thoroughbred gelding.
Cobra, who was being qualified to run in his first point-to-point race, needed to be seen on the hunting field and have his card marked three times in order to get his licence.
Rafe had been given the dubious honour of riding this wild four-year-old to hounds for the very first time.
Rafe cocked his head to one side and smiled at her. ‘Hurry up, woman. Your second horse is a very sweet mare, my mother’s in fact. You’re very privileged to be given the ride. Her name is Rosalie.’
Sage handed the now exhausted Ajax over to the groom, rather regretfully.
‘Thank you very much. He’s been such a good boy.
’ She was legged up onto the mare and before she even had her foot in the second stirrup, Rafe was trotting down the road.
Tommy had caught them up, changed horses and was hacking along to draw the next covert.
Cobra was humping his back and jinking sideways.
They took the track off the road that led back down into the open valley next to the rushing river, directly behind the keen hounds who watched Tommy’s every move closely, waiting for a signal.
Rafe sat easily in the saddle, talking softly to the temperamental horse, slapping him half-heartedly on the shoulder with a large, calm hand when the animal began to buck excitedly.
When Tommy went on to put his hounds into the corner of the wood, Rafe said to Sage, ‘I’m going to go and get the tickle out of his toes – coming?’
Sage thought for a moment. ‘I might go and check on Hal. I’ll catch you up.
’ She preferred to get the feel of this new mare without any of Rafe’s spine-chilling obstacles.
Although, she thought wryly, in the grand scheme of life, she had been through worse, she supposed.
She was glad that she could tell Rafe she did not want to follow him immediately, with the certainty that there would be no fear of judgement or reprisals.
She watched Rafe ask the exuberant gelding to move forward as the horse bucked athletically, his back legs kicking out high above Rafe’s head.
Rafe hardly shifted in the saddle and as the horse put four legs back on the ground, he aimed Cobra at a substantial hedge.
‘This should settle him. I’ll see you in a bit,’ Rafe called as he cantered towards the hedge.
Rafe gave a sharp crack with his hunting whip and the horse, surprised, surged forward.
Cobra cleared the fence, his legs slightly awry and his body a little unbalanced, and he landed steeply on the other side.
Sage rode back to the rest of the field, enjoying the quiet sensitivity of Rosalie but not feeling quite as plucky as she had on the more familiar Ajax.
Walter was now mounted on a fresh big black horse. He led the field to a higher place along the valley so that he had a good vantage point. There were only about twenty horses and riders left in the field now. Constance and Hal were still out, standing next to him, Hal chatting animatedly.
‘Walrus,’ he said. A few of the closer riders hid a smile at Lord Walter’s new nickname, hoping it might catch on.
‘We have matching ponies now.’ Hal had also changed ponies and was now sitting up proudly on the new black pony Liquorice.
‘Mumma!’ he called delightedly, flapping his arms about in greeting.
‘Hello, darling,’ Sage said, her heart full of maternal pride, happy to see him. Hal looked so sweet in his smart clothes on the beautiful pony. ‘How is he getting on? You’ve walked miles, thank you so much!’ She smiled at Constance gratefully.
‘He is so brave, Sage. Walter was just saying he’ll be off the lead rein in no time at all.
The gallant little chap has already jumped a hunt jump that we could not get around, and he and Custard leapt over the brook like AP McCoy.
It’s been great fun. I asked if he wanted to go home at second horses but it was a firm negative.
Would you like a Marmite sandwich?’ Constance produced a squashed brown paper parcel from her pocket.
‘Oh, bless you, no, thank you, Constance. Gosh.’ Turning to Hal, she said, ‘Well done, monkey!’
‘Where’s Rafe got to?’ Walter asked.
‘He’s taken Cobra for a spin – he was a bit lively.’
‘Well done. Best to keep out of the way,’ Walter smiled kindly.
‘He’s got nerves of steel – he makes me feel like a complete wimp,’ Sage admitted.