Nightstorm and the Grand Slam (12 page)

Years later, when she reflected on this moment, she would wonder whether the grey pony had actually been there. She had certainly sensed something. But the guard had interrupted them at that crucial moment, fate had intervened and she saw nothing in the darkness. And so she left the stables and went to bed, aiming to get a decent night's sleep, ready to face the cross-country in the morning.

Cross-country began at nine-thirty on the dot and by the time Issie and Victory were preparing to enter the start box there had already been nine riders go around the course. None of them so far had delivered a clear round.

“The track is riding incredibly tight against the clock,” Avery told her as he legged her up onto Victory. “The
only two clear rounds so far have racked up time faults on their scores.”

Issie had known from the start that this course would need to be ridden fast if she wanted to hit the minute markers. But Avery was right – even the quick riders had been found out on this track. She would have to put a bomb under Victory if they were going to make the time.

Kate did a last-minute gear check and then Avery led Issie and Victory forward to the box. Victory loved the cross-country phase and he was so keen that Issie had to restrain him, gripping the reins as the gelding danced about while the steward faffed with his paperwork.

Finally, the steward was ready and he lined them up as the timer was cued. “On your marks, get set, and… go!”

Victory broke from the start box like a racehorse and Issie leaned forward, her eyes already focused straight ahead on the very first jump.

The hayfeeder was one of those uncomplicated fences, perfect for getting a horse into a stride, and Victory flew it without a second thought and powered on in a beautiful gallop to fence two, the flowerbed.

The gelding took it brilliantly and Issie's confidence surged as she pressed her horse on, his strides swallowing up the ground. They would have to be swift around this course – that meant taking the fences fast and taking risks.

At the picnic table Victory flew the massive spread without even slowing down, galloping down the long, green sward ahead, and it wasn't until they were a few strides out from the staircase that Issie hit the brakes. Always the perfect schoolmaster, Victory slowed down on cue so that he was almost trotting as they took the two giant leaps down the bank. Then he changed gear and went back into a gallop, taking a beautiful forward stride into the trakehner.

In the announcer's box, Mike Partridge had been joined for the cross-country phase by former world champion eventer Jilly Jones, as Issie came into fence number six.

“They've nicknamed this sequence of jumps Natasha's Purple Pimples,” Jilly was telling the crowd. “The wooden fences are sponsored by Natty T equestrian clothing – the pimple shape, as you can see, is really round and very narrow for the horses to jump – but
look at the classy way this big brown gelding handles himself, taking the two elements with ease and galloping on now towards the dog leg.”

“He's got a lovely gallop on him,” Mike Partridge took over, “an Australian Thoroughbred, owned originally by Mrs Tulia Disbrowe who sold him recently to a syndicate. He was briefly ridden by Natasha Tucker but now the syndicate have given the ride back to Issie Brown and they are no doubt anxious to see him finish at the top of the leaderboard today – and who better to get him there than this young lady? She's heading into the lake now, and to ride this lake you need maximum control. The horses need to pop down a very steep drop over a brush into the water and then through the water and back out again onto the bank and then just one stride to a second brush at a harsh angle and back around into the water to jump one last element and then an easy canter out of the pond. And look at this! Isadora and Victory have just managed it beautifully!”

Out on the course, Issie could feel that Victory was at full gallop, but as they headed towards the Elephant Trap she put her legs on and asked for even more. They
had just passed a minute marker and were barely keeping up with the clock. They had to keep going at full throttle if they were going to make the punishing time.

The Elephant Trap was a massive jump and a real ‘rider frightener', totally treacherous in appearance. But Issie's blood was up and she was riding with such determination that she barely gave it a glance before Victory popped the rough-sawn wooden fence.

She was less cavalier about the Cheddar Corner, where the jumps were tight triangle wedges set at strange angles on top of tricky, undulating terrain that required killer precision to make it through without a run-out.

She manoeuvred Victory deftly through the cheddar wedges and then, straight after the corners, came a massive log jump that led down a steep bank to a road, and then back up the hill to another rustic corner at a very complex angle.

Victory showed exactly how clever he was at this last corner, negotiating the dips and twists in the turf and taking the jump on a perfect forward stride. Issie put her legs on again straight away, but this time, she didn't feel the response that she'd been hoping for. Victory was flagging! They were less than halfway around this massive
course and if her horse was tiring already, they would never make it in under the time!

As they cleared the next jump, a straightforward hedge, Issie tried once more to push Victory on to gallop harder. When the brown gelding failed to respond she made the decision not to push him. She let him gallop at his own speed, and waited to check his progress at the next minute marker. When she clocked her speed on the stopwatch she saw that they had slipped back by a massive six seconds since the last marker!

Trying not to panic about the time, Issie realised that if Victory was tired then the most important thing was to get him to the finish line. Time penalties seemed unavoidable now. The main thing was to conserve energy so that her horse had enough gas in the tank to make it home.

Some of the biggest jumps on the course were still to come – and the next fence, the Centaur's Leap, would be a real test.

Of all the fences this was the one with the reputation for eliminating more combinations than any other. The massive Centaur's Leap had the same mind-boggling
dimensions as the Gamekeeper's Brush at Kentucky. A deep chasm of a ditch prefaced a hedge that stood almost three metres back from the take-off point. The horses would have to get up a huge head of steam and all their courage to launch themselves from the groundline at the start of the ditch and then fly the hedge without stumbling.

As they galloped in to the Centaur's Leap Issie knew that the gelding was losing speed, but she was sure that he was scopey and experienced enough to make it over this jump. But when she was five strides out she suddenly realised they were coming in on a mis-stride just like they had done in Kentucky!

Issie didn't panic. Instead, she kicked on and growled at Victory and the gelding did exactly what he had been trained to do. He pushed himself forward, took four big strides and then launched himself into the air like a superstar, taking the Centaur's Leap on a perfect forward stride.

On the other side of the fence, Issie gave the big brown gelding a slappy pat on his neck. Victory was frothy with sweat, his breathing coming hard and raspy. The last fence had really taken it out of him. Issie was
no longer looking at the watch on her wrist. Her only concern was getting him home.

The next fence on the course was The Grove. Shaded beneath a spreading canopy of large trees, this fence was deceptive because the horses came in blind, unable to see the jumps hidden in the shadows until they were almost on top of them.

The first jump in the sequence was a massive hedge, then there was a single stride to a big drop and then another stride before the horses had to pop another downhill hedge where the landing fell away sharply on the other side, completing the series. The three jumps required absolute precision as jumping downhill was a dangerous business.

Coming into the first element, Issie slowed Victory down so that he could take a good look at the fence and then urged the gelding with her legs to pop the hedge neatly and put in a good stride before heading down the bank. Victory was really exhausted now, and instead of gathering up his energy in the stride between the bank and the next hedge, he seemed to slump. Issie had to virtually pick him up with her hands to encourage him over the last element. She felt Victory rise up
underneath her, but he was too slow as he tucked up his front legs and suddenly they were in big trouble.

Victory's left foreleg managed to get left behind, caught on the top rail of the hedge. With one leg wrenched backwards, the horse jack-knifed through the air, turning a complete somersault with Issie still on his back.

As he came crashing down on the other side of the jump Issie knew she could be crushed beneath him so she thrust herself free of the saddle and out of the horse's trajectory. She landed to the side of the hedge on her belly and heard the pop and hiss as her airtech jacket inflated to protect her as she skidded on the wet grass. The jacket absorbed most of the shock of the fall and apart from grass-stained knees and ripped riding gloves she was unharmed. Issie stumbled to her feet and looked for her horse. Victory was a few metres away from her, next to the hedge where he had fallen. He was utterly exhausted, his sides heaving in and out like bellows, his whole body wet and foamy with sweat. Issie raced forward to grab him by the reins and lead him out of the path of the fence and that was when she saw that he was holding his front leg aloft. It was the leg that he
had hooked on the fence, and Issie realised that it must have been twisted terribly, stuck behind him as he somersaulted.

She tried to coax the horse to step forward so she could see just how bad the damage was. Victory was holding the leg completely off the ground, unwilling to put it down. She looked at the leg more closely. The point of the elbow was sticking out at a strange angle. Issie's blood ran cold. Victory's leg was broken.

On the sidelines, the crowd who had seen Victory fall had no idea just how serious this really was. But Issie's face was ashen, her voice broken with emotion as she shouted out to the jump steward who was running towards her. “Get the vet! Now!”

Victory was trembling and heaving but mercifully the gelding had the common sense to stay still. Issie moved to the horse's side and reached out to examine the leg. Victory flinched and she took her hand away as she didn't want to upset him, but that brief touch had told her all that she needed to know. She had felt the bone sticking out beneath the skin. The leg was definitely broken. She was certain. And with that
certainty came the awful realisation that this was the end.

This wonderful talented horse who had never given her anything less than his best, who had been her partner all the way around this difficult and exhausting cross-country course and so many courses before this one, had paid the ultimate price for his honesty and courage. “Ohmygod, Victory.” Issie stroked the horse's muzzle. “I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry…”

All Issie could do was to cradle his muzzle in her arms and whisper her anguish as she stood there helplessly waiting for the vet.

It seemed like forever, but it must have been only a few minutes before the emergency vet arrived. He examined the leg and confirmed the diagnosis.

“It's broken at the elbow,” he said solemnly.

Issie looked into Victory's deep brown eyes. His face was so noble and beautiful despite the pain he must have been in. He stood calmly beside her because he trusted her – and she was about to betray that trust in the most awful way imaginable – but what else could she do? She couldn't bear the thought of what was about to happen, but she didn't want this
magnificent horse to suffer. She nodded her permission to the vet.

“I'll go and get the screens then,” he said.

Issie had never seen a horse put down but she knew what the vet meant. The screens were foldaway hospital blinds that vets carried at events like this one and used to erect around the horse so that the animal could be kept private from the crowds when the lethal injection was given.

As Issie watched the vet walk off to his van, hot tears ran down her cheeks. She hugged Victory tight to her chest, trying desperately to be brave for her horse. It was the most awful moment – and it was all being played out in front of thousands of spectators still crowding the sidelines, looking at the injured horse and the rider in floods of tears beside him.

“Issie!” There was a cry from behind the crowd barriers as Kate Knight pushed her way through the throng of spectators. A steward tried to stop her but Issie shouted him down. “Let her through! She's my groom!”

Kate ran down the steep bank, red-faced and panting as she reached Issie's side.

“I was back at the truck getting the cool-down kit
ready when I heard the news,” she managed to gasp. “I ran all the way…”

Kate looked at the tears streaming down Issie's cheeks. “Issie? What is it? What did the vet say?”

“It's broken,” Issie said. “They've just gone to get the screens.”

“Ohmygod!” Kate was shocked. “Issie, no! Are you sure?”

Issie nodded. “I could feel the bone sticking out through the skin.”

“Which bone?” Kate asked, stepping forward closer to the horse. “Do you mind if I take a look at him?”

Issie shook her head silently and Kate began to examine Victory. She was still bent over looking at the leg when the vet returned.

“We'll just take a minute to set the screens up,” he told Issie gently. “He won't have to suffer for much longer…”

“No,” Kate said. “Don't set them up.” The vet frowned at her. “Who are you?”

“I'm Victory's groom,” Kate said. “And I'm also training to be a vet. I don't think this horse needs to be put down.”

The vet took a deep breath. “I don't know what school you're attending, young lady, but it's pretty clear this horse has a broken leg…”

“…at the apex of the elbow,” Kate finished his sentence. “I believe a horse with a very similar injury was recently operated on at the veterinary research institute in Glasgow and enjoyed a full recovery.”

The vet looked taken aback. “That was experimental surgery,” he said, “the technology is still in its early stages…”

“But it worked, didn't it?” Kate replied. “The colt lived. We studied the case at vet school. So if it's worked for one horse, then it can work for another. They can try the same procedure on Victory.”

The vet looked at the anxious faces of the two young women in front of him and realised that he needed to answer this question very carefully. “It would be a long and risky procedure. It would cost a fortune and you might not get the result you want. This horse will probably never compete again.”

“But he would live?” Issie clarified. “If you took him to Glasgow and they did this operation?”

The vet sighed. “It's possible.”

“Then you're not putting up those screens,” Issie told him through gritted teeth. “Go and get a horse box now. I don't care if he never competes again. If we have any chance at all of saving his life then please do whatever it takes.”

The next fifteen minutes became a flurry of activity on the cross-country course. The stewards had radioed back to the start line and all other riders had been stopped. Issie, who had been in the same position at Badminton, knew that the riders would be stressed out by the wait and she felt pressure to hurry so that the competition could resume. If Victory wouldn't be loaded into the box then she knew she would be forced to reconsider her decision.

Luckily Victory seemed to realise that Issie and Kate were trying to help him and when the emergency horse box was towed onto the field the brown gelding didn't resist. He managed to limp into it on three legs and stood willingly as the girls locked him in.

Issie stayed in the box with him for the journey back, feeling anxious about every bump as the Range Rover slowly, carefully towed the horse box back to the stables. Meanwhile, Kate was in the front seat on her mobile
phone talking to the team at the Glasgow Institute. By the time they were back at the stables and Avery had joined them Kate had it all arranged.

“They say they'll need to look at him to assess whether he's a candidate for the surgery,” Kate said. “I have to take him there as soon as possible.”

“Did the surgeons tell you what his chances are?” Avery asked bluntly. “What are the odds that he'll make it through this?”

Kate shook her head. “They sounded positive when I spoke to them but they emphasised that they've only done this procedure once before…”

Avery looked serious. “Victory's in a lot of pain right now, Kate. If this isn't going to work…”

“If I truly thought that he had no chance then I'd say fine, put him out of his misery,” Kate agreed, “but these guys in Glasgow are the best, Tom. At least this gives him a fighting chance.”

“Getting him all the way from here to Glasgow is going to be a mission,” Avery said.

Kate nodded, “We'll need to create a special travelling box inside the horse truck with a support sling to take Victory's weight off the injured leg for the journey. And
we'll need to do it quick. It's a four-hour drive to Glasgow – maybe five hours if we take it slow to protect the leg. If we can get him there tonight in good shape then they may operate first thing tomorrow.”

Avery considered what Kate was telling him and then he pulled out his mobile phone. “I'll get one of the Burghley carpenters who repair the cross-country jumps to secure a partition in the truck and then we can pad it so Victory is comfortable. The sling should be easy, there's a hook that we can attach to the roof…”

Issie was flooded with relief. Avery was in agreement with Kate. They were going to do this!

She turned to Kate. “What can I do?”

“Pack Victory's bags,” Kate told her. “Get his rugs and his hard feed, fill the hay nets and make sure he's got enough water for the journey.”

Issie was only too pleased to be assigned duties. They took her mind off the awfulness of what had just happened. Incredibly, by the time she had assembled everything Victory needed Avery had built a divider panel with padding in the horse truck, with a sling attached to the ceiling, and had hired a driver for the trip. The three of them then gently coaxed Victory onboard.

“The vet has given him a sedative to ease the pain; it should last the whole journey. I'll travel in the back with him and make sure he's OK,” Kate reassured Issie as they attached the sling belt around Victory's belly and hoisted him up in the harness.

“And you'll call us as soon as you get there?” Issie asked.

“Absolutely,” Kate confirmed. She stepped into the loose box and Avery bolted it shut with her inside. Then she waved them goodbye as they shut the ramp, closing her into the back of the truck along with Victory.

Issie and Avery stood and watched as the driver started the engine and slowly eased the truck towards the security gates.

“What if he doesn't cope with the journey to Glasgow?” Issie's lips were trembling as she fought back the tears.

“He'll make it,” Avery replied. “Issie, his chances are good. Kate is with him and the Glasgow team are pioneers in this field—”

Avery suddenly stopped speaking. The horse truck seemed to be stalled at the gates. The driver had been stopped at the security barrier and now he was getting out of the truck cab.

“What the blue blazes is going on up there?” Avery said. “Why has the guard stopped them?”

The security guard and the truck driver were now engrossed in conversation, and a third man standing with the guard caught Issie's attention. He was wearing a dark grey suit and appeared to be issuing directions to the truck driver.

“Oh no, oh no, oh NO!” Issie broke into a run, headed for the truck. They were in trouble – Victory was in trouble. The man at the gates was Oliver Tucker.

Oliver Tucker already had the ramp of the truck lowered and was shouting orders by the time Issie and Avery got there.

“You listen to me!” Oliver Tucker was fuming. “That horse is my property and I am demanding that you take him off right now!”

“Over my dead body!” Kate shot back.

“It's not you that I'm interested in!” Oliver Tucker replied. “It's his dead body that I want!”

“Oliver!” Avery ran up the ramp to intervene. “What
do you think you're doing? Do you want to tell me what on earth is going on?”

“You've got a cheek!” Oliver Tucker rounded on him. “You can't remove this horse without my permission. I own him!”

“You mean the syndicate owns him!” Issie clarified.

Oliver Tucker shot her a filthy glare. “Whatever!” he snarled. “My point is that you don't just ship a horse off for expensive medical treatment without getting the permission of the owners beforehand.”

“We didn't think we needed anyone's permission to save his life!” Kate replied.

“Well, you do!” Oliver Tucker said coldly. “This truck ride alone is going to cost a fortune. Vets' bills at this fancy place you're taking him to will be exorbitant!”

Issie tried to stay calm. She had to give Oliver Tucker the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he didn't understand what they were doing here.

“The Glasgow Institute have state-of-the-art facilities. There's a chance that they can fix the broken leg. Victory won't have to be put down.”

Oliver Tucker looked at her as if she were as thick as a plank.

“And what would be the point of that?” he harrumphed.

“We could save his life,” Issie said.

“I've spoken to the vet who examined him,” Oliver Tucker said. “He said he advised putting him down on the spot and you refused. He says the horse will never compete again – even if he does recover he'll be ruined as an eventer. And he's a gelding so he's useless for breeding. All it amounts to is a total waste of money!”

Issie was incredulous, “Saving his life is hardly worthless!”

“That's up to the syndicate to decide,” Oliver Tucker snapped. “And since I run the syndicate, I say that he's being put down here and now. Get him off the truck.”

“Oliver,” Avery stepped in, “the horse is staying on the truck. Time is vital here. The most important thing is to let the surgeons in Glasgow save his life.”

“The most important thing is my money!” Oliver Tucker retorted. “And I can tell you that you won't be seeing a penny of it. You can't possibly expect my syndicate to pay through the nose for an accident caused by your jockey.”

“What?!” Avery frowned.

“Her!” Tucker pointed an accusatory finger at Issie.
“She's the one who got us into this mess with her sloppy riding. She did this to the horse! It's her fault.”