The Silver Horse (7 page)

He wrote to people he knew all around the country, admonishing them, exhorting them to greater efforts, rallying them to his cause, and informing them of the great work he was doing to rid his parish of those treasonous and heathenish elements that sought to undermine the Great Work, like termites chewing at the foundations of a house.

And so you can see the clear meaning of the verse in which the Lord Our Father declared the great end and design of his mission,
Pastor Spurgeon wrote fluidly,
namely, not that he should ‘condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved'. The first inference is very sweet and comfortable, and known to us all, in that ‘He that believeth is not condemned', that is, he who entrusts his lost and ruined soul into God's hand, although he be a sinner, and a great sinner, he must be absolved and acquitted. God, as his Surety, has
paid the debt, and obtained the discharge under the hand of justice.

Pastor Spurgeon scattered sand on the page, to dry the ink, dipped his quill into the inkpot, and drew another page to him.

The second inference,
he wrote,
is very terrible and awful; and you have it in the understanding of the words, ‘He that believeth not, is condemned already.' For which there is a very relevant reason given, in the close of the verse: ‘Because he hath not believed in the name of the only begotten Son of God.' What this so clearly means is that
not believing
is therefore a capital crime chargeable upon all gospel hearers. Not only is he
condemned
in the eyes of the Lord, he is condemned
already,
for endless eternity.

Pastor Spurgeon paused for a moment, thinking of the godless Egyptians that he had discovered singing and dancing and begging in the marketplace. He remembered the black-haired girl, her feet bare beneath her skirts, the sun warm
on her smooth skin, her sweet voice singing of the rapture of love.

He could not forgive her for her beauty.

Pastor Spurgeon wrenched his attention back to his page, read over what he had written, and then added, writing so strongly his nib tore the page,
Therefore know that those who deny the word of God serve the Devil in filthiness and folly, and for them there can only be one just punishment for their sins, and that punishment is death.

T
he silver horse was no larger than the first knuckle of Emilia's smallest finger. With all four hooves lifted in a gallop, its tail was lifted high like a banner, and its mane flew in the wind. It was warm from lying against the old gypsy woman's skin.

Emilia cradled it in the palm of her hand, staring at it through a swimming haze of tears. Then, her fingers trembling, she hooked the charm onto the golden chain she wore about her wrist, next to the ancient coin her grandmother had given her.

‘An Arab mare in return for an old piece of junk,' Felipe said in an undertone to his brother. ‘It doesn't seem fair.'

Cosmo rubbed his hands together. ‘As long as both parties come out of an agreement happy, that's all that matters.'

But Emilia was not happy. She felt as if her heart was breaking. She had helped Alida struggle out of her mother's womb, she had helped the tiny filly stumble to her feet and find her way to her mother's side, and she had fed the filly her first handful of grain. Girl and horse had never been separated since. Both were orphans, their mothers cruelly wrested from them. Emilia had thought she would rather die than give her mare away.

Yet if she did not give Alida up, she would have no chance of freeing her family. Emilia believed in the story of the six lost charms with all her heart. Felipe Hearne might think the little
silver horse a piece of worthless junk, but Emilia knew that its worth was incalculable, mysterious and unexplainable. To have refused the bargain would have been to have lost all chance of adding it to her chain of charms, and to Emilia, this would have been like condemning her family to death.

‘Now, my wean, it's time to get ready for the race,' Felipe said, his voice surprisingly kind.

‘It's ridiculous to let her ride the mare,' Cosmo said. ‘She's nothing but a child, what does she know about horseracing? She's our mare now, I should be the one riding her.'

‘No,' Emilia said angrily. ‘You want to win, you have to let me ride. She's used to me. No one else has ever ridden her.' Tears spilled down her face, and she wiped them away.

‘She'll have to get used to me eventually,' Cosmo said. ‘If she's as good as you say, we'll be running her whenever we can, to try and earn
back some of the gold we've lost today, thanks to you.'

‘It wasn't my fault,' Emilia protested. ‘Did I take your horses away?'

‘You led that Coldham man to us,' Cosmo said implacably. ‘If it wasn't for you, he'd never have bothered us.'

Emilia's tears ran faster. She took a sobbing breath, to say something furious, but Felipe dropped his hand on her shoulder. ‘Come, child, no need for tears. You'll upset your mare, and we want her happy and eager for the race. It's a shame you've already galloped her this morning, we don't want her to be tired. I'll get her some of my special oats and molasses, and you have a bowl of hot soup and a sup of ale. Nothing heavier, we don't want you weighed down. Cosmo, leave the child be. You've no time to be schooling the mare today anyway, and you'll have plenty of time to get used to her once Emilia's gone.'

‘All right then,' Cosmo said ungratefully, ‘but I'd better be giving her some coaching. We don't want her thrown at the first corner.'

‘Alida wouldn't throw me,' Emilia cried. ‘I haven't had a toss since I was a little girl!'

‘What, last week?' Cosmo said.

She glared at him, fists clenched.

Felipe laughed. ‘Come now, Cosmo, stop teasing her. Emilia, I know you think no one could ride Alida as well as you, but Cosmo's right. It's a tough course. Let him lead you round it slowly, and tell you what he knows.'

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.