Riders (57 page)

Jake didn’t want to watch Rupert on President’s Man. He was getting acquainted with Snakepit. He spent several minutes rubbing his ears, smoothing his sweating, lathered neck, talking to him softly, and giving him pieces of sugar. Faced with the challenge of a new horse, he was too interested to be nervous.

Next minute he was up, determined not to hang on the horse’s mouth. He went on talking to him. Snakepit was so short in front it was like sitting on the edge of a cliff, a cliff that might crumble any minute and turn into an earthquake. He rode quietly round for one of the two minutes left, stroking and still talking, then put him over a jump, letting him have his head. Suddenly, Snakepit seemed to sweeten up.

“What d’you reckon?”

“Very good,” said Fen. “Must be a nice change for him, like a weekend on the Riviera after working in a factory.”

Cheers from the ring indicated Rupert had gone clear on President’s Man, urging him on by sheer brute force and driving power. The horse, however, was upset.

Jake rode Snakepit into the ring. Snakepit tugged at the bridle and found no one hauling him back, so he stopped pulling and gave Jake one of the easiest rides of his life.

As they came to the upright Jake, out of sheer nervousness, hooked him up a stride too short, but Snakepit, reveling in his newfound freedom, made a mighty effort and cleared the fence easily.

“Bloody hell,” said Rupert. “He’d have stopped if I’d done that to him.”

“Looks a different horse,” said Malise in a pleased voice. Having insisted that Jake was selected, he was desperate for him to ride well.

The colonel grunted. “Still going to win my bet.”

At the end of the second round everyone was clear except Jake, who was on fifteen and a half faults. The crowd was beginning to get bored. They wanted trouble, crashes, upsets, and falls. It was Ludwig’s turn to ride Snakepit.

“I vas in two brains vether to ride heem. I’ve got a vife and children,” said Ludwig to Jake, “but after your round, I doubt if I’ll have any trouble wiz him.”

Snakepit, however, thought otherwise. He didn’t like the harsher, more rigid style of the German, who, like Rupert, wouldn’t give him his head. He deliberately knocked down the upright and kicked out the second part of the combination.

Rupert had no trouble going clear on Clara.

Jake, who was warming up President’s Man, couldn’t resist having a look at Dino on Macaulay.

“The American chef d’equipe told him to give Mac a good whack at the water,” said Fen gleefully, “and Dino’s neglected to take off his spurs, too.”

“Jesus, it’s like riding a charging elephant,” muttered Dino to himself. “Hasn’t he got any brakes?”

Macaulay lolloped crossly into the ring, with a mulish expression on his face. “I’m not a seaside donkey giving rides,” he seemed to say, as he ran out at the upright. Then, having been given a clout with the bat, he jumped it, then proceeded to bring the wall tumbling down.

“Joshua at the battle of Jericho,” said Fen. “Oh goodie, Dino’s whacked him again.”

Coming down to the water Macaulay ground to a halt, them jumped the small brush fence with no effort at all, landing with a huge splash in the middle of the water, absolutely soaking Dino. Then he put his head down and started to drink. The crowd, particularly the Lovell children, screamed with laughter.

Dino finished the course and rode out grinning. “I didn’t expect an impromptu shower,” he said to his teammates.

“That round’s probably lost him the championship,” muttered Fen. “He’s a good loser.”

President’s Man was frightened, puzzled, and muddled. Having been broken and trained by Dino, he’d seldom carried other riders. But now he liked the gentle hands and the caressing singsong voice of the man on his back. Trying to imitate Dino’s acrobatic style, Jake managed to coax a beautiful clear out of him.

“Bloody hell,” said Dino, shaking his head. “You’d figure Manny’d want to avenge me after what Macaulay did to me.”

It was the start of the last round. The excitement was beginning to bite, the crowd had woken up.

“This is a gymkhana event,” grumbled Colonel Roxborough. “I’d never have let my Baskerville Boy go in for this.”

“Rupert’s on zero, Ludwig’s got eight faults, Dino eleven, Jake fifteen and a half, but he’s got the easiest round to come,” said Malise, who was busy with his calculator.

Ludwig rode in first on President’s Man. The young horse was really tired and confused now. He had jumped his heart out for three clears and he’d had enough. Like Snakepit, he preferred the gentleness of his last rider. Despite brilliant tactics from Ludwig, he knocked up eight faults.

“Glory alleluia,” said Fen, rushing up to Jake as he mounted Clara, “Ludwig’s got half a fault more than you now.”

Riding Clara was like driving a Lamborghini. With the slightest touch of the leg she seemed to surge forward. Jake had never known such acceleration. He felt humble to be riding such a horse. The crowd were growing restless again. With three clears under his belt, Rupert was obviously going to walk it.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” said Fen with a total lack of sympathy. “Snakepit’s carting Dino.”

Snakepit, thoroughly over the top, galloped around the ring, taking practically every fence with him, notching up twenty-four faults.

“Actually he did bloody well to stay on,” Fen conceded, as Snakepit carried him unceremoniously out of the ring.

“I think I’ve won my bet,” said Colonel Roxborough.

“Looks like a British victory,” said Malise, wishing he felt more elated.

“Rupert used to own that horse,” said the colonel smugly. “He’ll find him a piece of cake.”

Macaulay thought differently. Rupert had decided not to warm Macaulay up. The horse had already jumped three rounds and anyway, when Rupert had gone up to him, Macaulay had promptly flattened his ears, given a furious squeal of rage and recognition, and struck at him like a cobra. Rupert only just jumped out of the way in time.

“Don’t look,” said Fen to Jake. “It’ll only upset you. Concentrate on Clara.”

“I think Rupert needs our help,” said Colonel Roxborough.

Humpty, Malise, Driffield, Colonel Roxborough, Dizzy, and Tracey all stood round Macaulay’s head, holding on to his bridle for grim death as he stood at the entrance to the arena.

They blocked Macaulay’s view as Rupert got onto his back, but he knew instantly. He seemed to tremble in terror, his ears glued to his head, his eyes seemed all whites in a white face.

But with six of them hanging on, he could do nothing.

“In you go,” said Colonel Roxborough. “Good luck.”

They all jumped away as Macaulay shot forward. The moment he got into the ring, he went up on his hind legs, huge feet shadowboxing, his white face suddenly a mask of malevolence. Then he came down.

“Oh, look,” said Fen in ecstasy. “He’s not going to fail us.”

Taking no notice of Rupert’s brutally sawing hands, Macaulay went into a rodeo act, bucking and bucking and cat-jumping and circling in the air, frantic to get Rupert off.

“He ought to join the Royal Ballet,” said Fen.

Ivor’s mouth was open so long a fly flew in. Even Driffield stopped selling his horse.

“Do something,” said Helen frantically to Malise. “He’s going to kill him.”

“With any luck,” muttered Fen.

“Dear God,” said Jake in misery, “I should never have subjected Macaulay to this.”

It was amazing that Rupert stayed in the saddle so long. Macaulay’s mouth was bleeding badly now, bits of red foam flying everywhere. It was quite obvious to the crowd that the great black horse, like a maddened bull, had only one aim in life—to get the rider off his back.

Rupert plunged his spurs in and brought his whip with an almighty thwack down on Macaulay’s quarters.

“You can’t shift me, you black bugger,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Oh-la-la, quelle domage,”
said Fen happily. “
Oh, bien fait,
Macaulay.”

Dino shot her a sidelong glance. “You’re being kind of unsporting,” he drawled, as a final maddened buck sent Rupert flying through the air. It was lucky he let go of the reins. A second later, Macaulay had jammed on his brakes and swung round in pursuit. Rupert had never run so fast in his life. As he dodged behind the wall, Macaulay followed him, squealing with rage, teeth bared. The crowd were in an uproar.

“Stop him,” screamed Helen. “Someone do something.”

Rupert had shot into the oxer now, hiding behind the brush part, peering out from a lot of sky blue cinerarias like Ferdinand the Bull. Macaulay was too fly to be thwarted. He cantered round to the other side, where Rupert was protected only by a large pole, and went for him, darting his head under the pole, missing him only by inches.

Rupert ran out of the oxer, belting towards the combination, taking refuge in the third element, which was a triple, only two hundred and fifty yards from the collecting ring.

“I don’t know why he doesn’t take up athletics,” said Fen. “He’d certainly qualify for the Olympics.”

Malise strode up to the French chief steward.

“You must send in the arena party to head him off,” he said.

“And get them keeled?” said the steward. “He is still within the time limit.”

The squeak of the elimination hooter went off at that moment, making everyone jump out of their skin. Macaulay was prowling around and around the triple, darting his head at Rupert, tail swishing furiously, quivering with rage.

“That horse doesn’t seem very keen on Rupert,” said Ivor Braine.

“Hardly surprising,” said Humpty. “It used to belong to him.”

Four gendarmes entered the ring, gingerly fingering their pistols. Macaulay turned, revving up for another charge. Rupert snatched up one of the poles. It was extremely heavy, like a caber. As Macaulay advanced, Rupert brandished it at him.

The collecting ring steward rushed up to Jake. “I theenk, Meester Lovell, you better go and collect your horse.”

At that moment Macaulay reared up, striking at Rupert, missing him only by inches, knocking the pole from his hands.

Rupert backed away; he had no protection now.

Jake walked into the ring, a small figure, totally insignificant without a horse.

“Watch this,” said Fen to Dino.

As Macaulay turned to go in for the kill, Jake put his fingers to his mouth and whistled. Macaulay stopped in his tracks, looking wistfully at Rupert for a second, then, turning, trotted back across the arena, whickering with pleasure, nudging Jake in the stomach, licking his face. The crowd, having been frozen with terror, suddenly burst into a huge collective roar of laughter.

“Well done,” said Jake softly and, not even bothering to take hold of Macaulay’s bridle, he walked out of the ring. Macaulay trotted after him, giving him great sly digs in the ribs as if to say, “Didn’t I do well?”

Malise turned to Colonel Roxborough. “Even the ranks of Tuscany could scarce forbear to cheer.”

“I’ve just lost a hundred and we’ve lost the championship. I don’t know why you’re looking so bloody cheerful.”

“Tarry a little,” said Malise.

Rupert came out of the ring, his face like marble. Helen rushed forward. “Darling, are you all right?”

“No, I am bloody not,” spat Rupert, pushing her out of the way. “I’m going to object. That was deliberate sabotage on Jake’s part.”

The reporters surged forward, clamoring for a quote.

“What are you going to do, Rupe?”

“Lodge an objection. That horse should be put down instantly. It’s a total delinquent. Jake put it in deliberately to fuck me up.”

He was so angry he could hardly get the words out. The collecting ring was in an uproar.

Malise elbowed his way to his side.

“I’m going to object,” said Rupert.

Malise shook his head. “Can’t make it stand up. Macaulay’s no more difficult a horse than Snakepit. He was all right with all the other riders. He’s like a lamb with the Lovell children.”

“Well, Jake trained him to do it, then. You saw how he called the bugger off when he wanted. He tried to kill me the other night, and he tried to kill me now.”

The reporters were avidly writing down every word.

“The competition isn’t over, Rupert,” said Malise, lowering his voice. “Jake’s got to ride Clara.”

“To hell with him,” snarled Rupert. “If the jury won’t accept an objection, I’ll have the law on him for attempted murder.” And he stalked off in the direction of his lorry.

Jake rode Clara into the ring, holding his hands up high, sitting very straight in the saddle, trying to copy Ludwig’s style of riding.

“It seems a shame to ask you to beat your master,” he said.

“Oh, Clara, please do a cleara,” said Fen.

The crowd had witnessed near tragedy and then high comedy. The commentator had to put everyone back on course. Ludwig had sixteen faults after four rounds, Dino had thirty-five; Rupert Campbell-Black had been eliminated. Jake, after three rounds, was half a fault lower than Ludwig. He could not afford a single fence down if he was to win. He kicked Clara into a canter. Over the first fence she sailed, over the second, over the third. She gave the parallel a clout but the bar didn’t budge. Ludwig, smoking frantically, stood with his back to the arena, the rest of the German team giving him a running commentary.