leading string to the Earl’s head groom.
“Lady Roxana, daughter of The Bald Galloway!” His voice boomed out as if he were announcing a princess at a ball.
The noblemen and all the horseboys waited tensely. Titus Twickerham looked to the Earl of Godolphin with questioning eyebrows. The Earl nodded. And so, bristling with importance,the spidery figure of the groom led Lady Roxana down the ramp and into the paddock. Slowly, gently, as if he were unveiling a statue, he lifted her hood and threw off her scarlet blanket.
An awed silence fell over the little company. Then, as though the wall of a dike had given way, there was a torrent of noise. Jeweled hands broke into spontaneous applause. Every voice shouted in admiration.
The Earl of Godolphin laughed aloud. Here, at last, was the answer to his dream!
Except for her tail, which was a smoky plume, Roxana was the shininess of white marble in the sun. And she wore no housings at all, only a halter made of silken rope, and across the browband were tiny rosettes of blue satin.
Roxana pawed the springy turf. She seemed glad that the jolting, jarring ride was over. A high whinny escaped her.
Suddenly there was an answering whinny, so shrill and joyous it sent shivers racing up and down Agba’s spine.
“Aha!” spoke up one of the noblemen. “Hobgoblin is already welcoming his mate.”
A smile played about Agba’s lips. The whinny of welcome had come from Sham, not from Hobgoblin.
For a full moment Roxana alerted. Her head went up; her tail went up; her ears pricked. The noblemen gasped. If Roxana had been beautiful before, she was a living statue now.
Agba’s heart melted. He had intended to hate Roxana, but all the hate was washed away.
“What symmetry!” exclaimed the Duke of Bridgewater.
“She is built like a fawn!” cried Lord Villiers.
“Aye. Exquisitely made,” said the Earl of Marmaduke. Agba scarcely heard their remarks. Way down at the end of the stables he saw Sham’s head thrust out. He watched Roxana toss her mane at him, like a girl tossing her curls. He heard her whinny, this time softer, fuller, than the last.
Now there were two answers. The deep, grunting neigh of Hobgoblin and the ecstatic bugling of Sham.
“Twickerham,” the Earl spoke tensely, “ Hobgoblin shall meet his mate. Have him brought out.”
Again the paddock was bathed in stillness. It was so quiet that Agba could hear a leaf drifting lazily to earth. A goldfinch flew overhead in yellow arcs, spinning a thin thread of song.
Titus Twickerham’s words rang in Agba’s ears. A mare worthy of Hobgoblin. That overfed monster! Agba could stand the unfairness no longer. He ran to Sham’s stall. He threw wide the door. Out streaked a tongue of golden fire. It was Sham, trumpeting to the skies, Sham tasting his freedom with a wild leap. He overtook Hobgoblin being led out of his stall. He whirled around and challenged the king of Gog Magog. Hobgoblin jerked his head into the air, breaking the catch of his lead rope. For one deathly still moment the two stallions faced each other. Then they charged, the noisy thudding of their bodies lost in savage screams.
The grooms were benumbed, stupefied. For seconds they were unable to move. Then they all began running at once, getting in each other’s way, throwing bucketfuls of water at the furious stallions. It was useless—like trying to smother a forest fire with hearth brooms. The air crackled and ripped with the sound of flailing hooves and snorts and shrieks.
Sham was little and quick. His legs were steel rods. He danced on them, making fierce thrusts. Hobgoblin was like a great war horse beside Sham. Now he swung his lumbering body around and gave a tremendous kick with all the power of his hindquarters.
Agba saw Sham drop down on the ground to miss the blow. In a second he was up again, spinning around to face Hobgoblin, beating at him with his flinty hooves. He saw Sham open wide his mouth and use his strong young teeth,
“Lady Roxana, daughter of The Bald Galloway!” His voice boomed out as if he were announcing a princess at a ball.
The noblemen and all the horseboys waited tensely. Titus Twickerham looked to the Earl of Godolphin with questioning eyebrows. The Earl nodded. And so, bristling with importance,the spidery figure of the groom led Lady Roxana down the ramp and into the paddock. Slowly, gently, as if he were unveiling a statue, he lifted her hood and threw off her scarlet blanket.
An awed silence fell over the little company. Then, as though the wall of a dike had given way, there was a torrent of noise. Jeweled hands broke into spontaneous applause. Every voice shouted in admiration.
The Earl of Godolphin laughed aloud. Here, at last, was the answer to his dream!
Except for her tail, which was a smoky plume, Roxana was the shininess of white marble in the sun. And she wore no housings at all, only a halter made of silken rope, and across the browband were tiny rosettes of blue satin.
Roxana pawed the springy turf. She seemed glad that the jolting, jarring ride was over. A high whinny escaped her.
Suddenly there was an answering whinny, so shrill and joyous it sent shivers racing up and down Agba’s spine.
“Aha!” spoke up one of the noblemen. “Hobgoblin is already welcoming his mate.”
A smile played about Agba’s lips. The whinny of welcome had come from Sham, not from Hobgoblin.
For a full moment Roxana alerted. Her head went up; her tail went up; her ears pricked. The noblemen gasped. If Roxana had been beautiful before, she was a living statue now.
Agba’s heart melted. He had intended to hate Roxana, but all the hate was washed away.
“What symmetry!” exclaimed the Duke of Bridgewater.
“She is built like a fawn!” cried Lord Villiers.
“Aye. Exquisitely made,” said the Earl of Marmaduke. Agba scarcely heard their remarks. Way down at the end of the stables he saw Sham’s head thrust out. He watched Roxana toss her mane at him, like a girl tossing her curls. He heard her whinny, this time softer, fuller, than the last.
Now there were two answers. The deep, grunting neigh of Hobgoblin and the ecstatic bugling of Sham.
“Twickerham,” the Earl spoke tensely, “ Hobgoblin shall meet his mate. Have him brought out.”
Again the paddock was bathed in stillness. It was so quiet that Agba could hear a leaf drifting lazily to earth. A goldfinch flew overhead in yellow arcs, spinning a thin thread of song.
Titus Twickerham’s words rang in Agba’s ears. A mare worthy of Hobgoblin. That overfed monster! Agba could stand the unfairness no longer. He ran to Sham’s stall. He threw wide the door. Out streaked a tongue of golden fire. It was Sham, trumpeting to the skies, Sham tasting his freedom with a wild leap. He overtook Hobgoblin being led out of his stall. He whirled around and challenged the king of Gog Magog. Hobgoblin jerked his head into the air, breaking the catch of his lead rope. For one deathly still moment the two stallions faced each other. Then they charged, the noisy thudding of their bodies lost in savage screams.
The grooms were benumbed, stupefied. For seconds they were unable to move. Then they all began running at once, getting in each other’s way, throwing bucketfuls of water at the furious stallions. It was useless—like trying to smother a forest fire with hearth brooms. The air crackled and ripped with the sound of flailing hooves and snorts and shrieks.
Sham was little and quick. His legs were steel rods. He danced on them, making fierce thrusts. Hobgoblin was like a great war horse beside Sham. Now he swung his lumbering body around and gave a tremendous kick with all the power of his hindquarters.
Agba saw Sham drop down on the ground to miss the blow. In a second he was up again, spinning around to face Hobgoblin, beating at him with his flinty hooves. He saw Sham open wide his mouth and use his strong young teeth,
Similar Books
