A Blood Red Horse (6 page)

Gavin leaped off and, seizing the fox from the jaws of the hounds, cried aloud and sounded his horn. An answer came back from some distance away, but nobody else appeared.

“Only you and I here, sir. It was a good day,” the huntsman said, dismounting and wiping the sweat out of his eyes. Gavin threw the carcass to the hounds.

“It's early yet,” he said, preparing to remount. “Let's go on.”

The huntsman looked regretfully at both the horses. “I don't think so, sir. My horse is done and yours, too, and the other huntsmen are left well behind.”

“Nonsense,” said Gavin. “If you cannot manage, I'll take the hounds on myself. This horse of William's, so he always boasts, never tires.”

“I really don't think—”

“I don't care what you think,” said Gavin. He remounted and blew his horn. The hounds gathered expectantly round him. “We're off.”

Within ten minutes the hounds found again. A fox slipped out of a thicket and plunged across a narrow clearing into another, larger wood. Intoxicated by the new scent, the hounds were soon back in full cry, and Gavin's
spurs once again began to punish Hosanna's sides. The horse responded as best he could and raised a weary gallop. Gavin pushed him harder and harder. Through the woods they crashed, blood now pouring from Hosanna's nose. The fox made a huge circuit, and eventually, just two miles from Hartslove, the hounds killed him. Gavin slid off Hosanna's back to grab the carcass. He shouted long and hard in his lonely victory. It was not until the horse gave a gasp and fell as if dead at his feet that he at last fell silent.

By the time the flat wooden cart had been sent for and Hosanna manhandled onto it, the daylight was long gone. Hal, white and silent, oversaw the dragging of the horse into a loose box instead of his normal stall. Mark was shaking and in tears. Hosanna bore little resemblance to the proud animal that had left the stable that morning. Hal cursed the fact that he had not been more questioning when Mark had come for the horse. The groom had implied that William's consent had been sought and given. If only I had pressed him harder, Hal berated himself. William would never have sent Hosanna out to Gavin without telling me. Now who was going to tell William when he arrived back from Keeper John's that his horse had been ridden into the ground?

Sir Thomas stamped his way to the stables. He was furious. “Do what you can,” he said to Hal, after kneeling down to look at Hosanna. “Spare no expense. I will send white wine from the cellar, and see what Old Nurse knows about soothing pastes for the heart. Put cold water cloths on his legs, and see if the heat and swelling will go down. Where's the farrier?”

“Here, sir.”

“Take the horse's shoes off. Right. We can do no more
for tonight. Come and see me before Master William gets back, Hal. Luckily, that won't be until the morning.” He patted Hal on the head, then turned on Mark. “Stop sniveling, boy. This is a sorry business, but tears won't help.” Humphrey led Mark away.

Hal knelt down to help the farrier. “Light a fire in here, Hal,” said Sir Thomas as he turned to go and find Old Nurse. “The horse will get very cold, and you, too. And don't despair. The horse may pull through. Hard to tell.” He smiled encouragingly, but as he turned away, his face was grim.

Gavin was standing in front of the hearth in the great hall. His face registered nothing.

“You've killed your brother's horse,” said Sir Thomas. “I hope you are ashamed.”

Gavin muttered something about Hosanna seeming willing and having a fine day's hunting.

“Don't you dare speak as if you didn't know what I was talking about,” Sir Thomas interrupted, his eyes gray with rage. “You have thoroughly abused a fine animal. The fact that it is Hosanna, on whom William has worked so hard, adds to your disgrace. Your brother sets a lot of store by that horse and with some justification. By your behavior today you have proved yourself to be dishonorable. I cannot think of anything worse to say to a knight of my household. Now get out of my sight.”

Gavin raced out of the room and almost flattened Ellie as she came running through the door like a whirlwind. She grabbed his arm.

“What have you done,” she cried. “Oh Gavin, what have you
done
? Hosanna is lying there like a corpse. His eyes don't even flicker.” Gavin wrenched himself free and pushed past her, running up the stone stairs.

“Now then,” said Sir Thomas, catching Ellie before she could go after him. “This is a horrible business. We will do what we can, Ellie, but if the worst comes to the worst, we must all be brave for Will's sake. Come, my dear,” he said gently as Ellie started to cry. “Come, come. We must not cry but rather pray to the Virgin that Hosanna pulls through. Let's try to be calm and put our trust in the Lord and Old Nurse's paste.” With this, he took the girl into his arms and allowed himself to wipe away an unwanted tear of his own with her hair.

Hosanna did not die in the night, but the morning brought no improvement in his condition. When William clattered happily into the courtyard just after breakfast with Sir Walter trailing along behind him, he was met by Hal, his eyes hollow.

Hal said nothing but the horse's name before William was off his courser and into the stables. Hosanna's stall was empty. William looked round wildly.

“He's in the loose box,” said Hal from the doorway. William rushed to the horse and fell to his knees. “How did this happen?”

“Master Gavin took him hunting yesterday.”

“What?”

“Master Gavin took him hunting yesterday. He sent Mark for him, and I thought you had agreed.”

William never took his eyes off Hosanna. “What were my last words to you before I left for the stud?”

“You said you were giving Hosanna a rest day.”

William knelt in silent agony. He stroked Hosanna's neck. “Take Sacramenta. Get Keeper John. He may know some old remedies that could help.”

“Yes, sir.” Hal was glad to have something active to do.
He had sat all night massaging the horse's legs, changing the cold cloths, whispering and weeping into Hosanna's ears. The horse had never moved, only groaned occasionally as small drops of blood still emerged from his nose. Hal would never have got through the night if Ellie had not sat with him. They had huddled together, the difference in rank forgotten in their misery.

She appeared now and knelt beside William in silence. Eventually, she got up, stoked the fire, and began to change the cloths herself. The blood seemed to have ceased flowing, and it seemed to Ellie that Hosanna's breathing did not rattle quite so much. Whether this was a good or a bad sign, Ellie did not know.

For the next few days Hosanna was motionless. The three people who loved him most took turns nursing him, but everybody tiptoed about with anxious looks on their faces. Keeper John provided a funnel down which they tried to push a thin mash of linseed and ale, together with concoctions made by Old Nurse consisting of bread, water, and white wine. Most ended up on the straw. Old Nurse knelt down and tried with a small bone spoon. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, the horse remained so gravely ill that Sir Thomas and Sir Walter talked privately about when the end should be called.

Gavin slunk about, eventually preparing to leave on the pretext of being needed in the north. Christmas was a subdued affair, and as soon as it was over, Gavin set off. As he stood waiting to mount Montlouis, Ellie came by dragging a sackful of hay to see if Hosanna could be tempted by the smell. She stopped when she saw Gavin, but was unable to think of anything to say. Gavin stared at her, seemed about to speak, but was put off by Adam Landless and two other
young knights who came down the stone steps and into the courtyard. They were leaving with Gavin and were laughing and joshing among themselves, relieved to be getting away from what they thought was a ridiculous fuss over a horse. Looking round to make sure Sir Thomas was not within earshot, they began to tease Ellie.

“Have you not had enough breakfast, Miss Eleanor? Or are you turning into a horse?” they joked in a good-natured enough way. Ellie found herself surrounded.

“Go away,” she cried. “Go away and leave us in peace.”

“Well really,” said Adam. “I only ask because you've got straw in your hair. Hey, Gavin. You know your father is always asking who will marry this grubby girl? Isn't it supposed to be you? By the Virgin, you will have your hands full. When you have children, they'll probably be foals!”

Ellie tried to pass, but Adam prevented her. “What's the hurry?” he asked. “Gavin, aren't you going to say farewell to your intended, even if she is more worried about that red horse than she will ever be about you?”

The three young men thought it a great jape to pretend to be Hosanna, galloping round and round Ellie, then crashing at her feet as if dying from exhaustion. As they ran, they kicked the sack, and Hosanna's hay went everywhere.

Ellie stood helplessly, praying for Gavin to intervene. But he did nothing, just turned away and fiddled with Montlouis's girth, muttering that Ellie was asking for trouble if she went around dragging sacks as if she were a servant. At last his friends got tired of their sport and, with a few parting ribald remarks, went to find their own horses. As soon as they were round the corner, Ellie plunged her hands into her pockets and eventually found what she was looking for.

“Here,” she said to Gavin, her voice shaking with fury and shame. “Here. I don't want this dog anymore. I hate you.”

Gavin stared at her. “For goodness' sake, Ellie,” he said. “Hosanna is just an animal. William can always get another.”

“You know nothing.” Ellie tried to keep her voice from sounding shrill and silly. “And if you really do think that about Hosanna, I have even more reason for wanting nothing to do with you. If you won't take this dog, I'll just throw it into the gutter.”

Gavin laughed uncertainly. “Do what you like,” he said, and turned back to his horse so that Ellie could not see his face.

Ellie hesitated only for a second, then she let the wooden dog fall from her hand into the ruined hay. Without another word, she turned on her heel and ran toward Hosanna's loose box.

Gavin continued to fiddle with his saddle. Then he called loudly for Humphrey and Mark, shouting that he, for one, was off. Mark came running to help Gavin mount, leaving another groom to bring out the packhorses.

“Hurry up!” barked Gavin. Mark held his stirrup. Gavin put one foot in, hesitated, and looked quickly at the ground. The wooden dog was lying where Ellie had dropped it. Swearing under his breath, Gavin bent down, picked it up, and put it in the pouch that hung from his belt. Then he glared at Mark, mounted Montlouis, and, leaving everybody else to catch him up, galloped over the drawbridge and down the hill on to the north road.

On the fifth day after Gavin left, Hosanna opened his eyes and began to shift himself. Ellie, who had been asleep leaning
on his flank, woke to find herself sliding into the straw. By the time she realized what had happened, Hosanna had hauled himself into a sitting position, his nose resting on his knees. The cloths had fallen off, revealing legs made fat with swellings. Nevertheless, the horse was nibbling at the straw.

“William,” whispered Ellie, then jumped up and ran out. “Get Master William,” she ordered a passing groom. “Quick.” Hal was asleep in the corner, and she kicked him until he woke up.

By the time William, who was snatching a few hours' sleep on the rushes in the great hall, arrived, Hosanna was chewing on a handful of peas. His eyes were dull and his coat matted, but he was halfway up. By evening he was standing, and by the following week he was well enough to walk slowly and stiffly to the river. He stood for hours as the cold running water did its healing work, his head resting on William's shoulder. Little by little his appetite returned. But all was not well. The horse remained very lame. As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months William was obliged to fetch Dargent, the big bay he had rejected from Keeper John's and accept that his beloved Hosanna was finished as a warhorse before he had even begun. After Hosanna had first stood up, William, Ellie, and Hal had got into the habit of starting most sentences with, “When Hosanna is better,” but after a while this began to sound increasingly hollow, even to them. Summer came, and Hosanna was turned out among the buttercups. Every day his legs were massaged and he followed William about. But although he was no longer in acute pain, his once lustrous eyes were sad and his proud demeanor had vanished. It seemed impossible that he would ever again be ridden out of a walk.

Sir Thomas followed the horse's progress carefully and sympathetically. He knew as well as anybody how long a horse's wind and legs could take to heal. But as the leaves began to turn, he was also obliged to think long and hard. Serious political matters were now afoot. The previous year there had been a terrible defeat for the Christian armies at Hattin in the Holy Land. The Christian king of Jerusalem had been taken prisoner and the prized relic of the True Cross stolen and defaced by the Muslims. Even Jerusalem, which the Christians had taken nearly a hundred years before, was back in Saracen hands. News was patchy. Nevertheless, Sir Thomas could see which way the wind was blowing. King Henry, who talked a good deal about a crusade, but was reluctant to go, could not last forever. Richard was his heir, and it was said that he thought of nothing but a holy war. William was already fifteen. He was not a child anymore. If the call to crusade came, it would come for him, too. A decision about Hosanna must be made now. If the horse was never going to be up to the rigors of travel and battle, William's bond with him must be broken. The horse must go elsewhere, and William must not be allowed to visit him or hanker after him. Sir Thomas sighed as he reluctantly made up his mind. It was time to call a halt.

To help soften the blow, Sir Thomas told Ellie before he told William that if Hosanna was not improved by the following spring, he must be taken to the monks. The monks needed horses, too, and their lives were gentle and slow. Abbot Hugh was a good man. Hosanna would be well looked after. William cried out briefly when his father issued instructions, and the stricken boy allowed Eleanor to take his arm as Sir Thomas warned against going to see the horse ever again once he had been left in his
new home. “It could only upset both you and Hosanna,” he said.