“Mya needs waking up,” announced Jeremy. “Sophia ought to get her on her toes.”
“How do you know? You’ve never ridden her,” Mandy began, shrill and argumentative.
“I think the lively bay will win,” Fergus shouted her down. “What do you think, Kate?”
“The cream,” Kate picked him at random, “but I’m going to cheer for Sophia.”
The start was very dramatic. The ponies shot forward, swerving and bucking in an entangled mass. In a moment there were three or four riders on the ground, but they were vaulting back on as fast as they fell off.
Suddenly Sophia emerged from the scrum and set off at a brisk canter. Finding they had a leader, the other ponies decided to join in, four of them with riders. Sophia held her own on the first circuit, but then it became obvious that Mya was tiring. The sleepy bay and the cream pony passed her and fought out a neck and neck finish, no one seemed sure which had won.
The third heat was a fiasco. Except for Andony Komas, the riders seemed much less experienced than in the earlier heats, and a boy with brown curly hair, who rode a very fast, brown pony, raced round the first circuit with an enormous lead, then pulled up, thinking he had won. The spectators shouted at him but he looked at them uncomprehendingly until the other ponies thundered by, then understanding at last, he galloped in pursuit; but it was too late. Andony’s little grey, though carrying much more weight than the other ponies, flew round, neck stretched out, ears back, and won.
The fourth heat started well, but piled up in a nappy heap when they came to the exit corner.
“They don’t use their outside legs. Mrs Kark would soon get after them,” said Fergus.
“Still, it must be difficult, bareback and in head collars. I bet you wouldn’t do any better,” Mandy argued.
“Maybe not, but I’d love to have a go.”
“So would I,” agreed Kate. “But not on an unknown pony. I’d like Bodkin or Seagull.”
“If only Sophia and Nico had been in this heat, they’d have won easily,” moaned Mandy when, on the second lap, most of the ponies made for the exit again, allowing an iron-grey with a large head to win at a leisurely canter.
“You can’t say that, their ponies might have napped too,” Jeremy told her.
Mandy made a face at him, “I can say what I like, and anyway it’s true, isn’t it, Kate?”
“I’m wondering whether to go and look for Sophia now. I must ask her if there’s anywhere you can hire ponies and I might miss her in the crowd at the end.”
“Oh, wait till after the final,” Fergus advised. “Look at the crowd behind us, and they’re six deep all along the rails; you won't see a thing if you move now.”
“Now, don’t you go wandering off on your own, Kate. We don’t want to lose you,” instructed Mrs Brake from her straw bale. “And what’s all this about hiring ponies? You can all ride in Ralston. Surely we’ve come here for the beach and the sun and the swimming; the things we can’t have at home.”
“It would be a different kind of riding,” explained Kate.
“I’d love to ride up into the mountains; you can’t do that in Ralston,” Fergus supported her.
“I don’t think I want to ride miles and miles bare-back in this heat,” objected Mandy.
“Oh, why don’t they get a move on?” asked Jeremy in an irritable voice. “What are they arguing about now?”
“Let’s try a slow handclap,” suggested Mandy.
“It looks as though extra people are trying to get into the final,” said Fergus, standing on the edge of Mrs Brake’s bale and gazing up the course. “Oh, I think he’s letting in the two who dead-heated.”
They watched the five ponies line up. Nico and then Andony on the inside, the cream pony, the sleepy bay and the iron-grey with the large head grouped together on the outside of the course. This time Vrondi was very keyed up. He knew what was coming and pranced and twirled nervously as he waited for the starter’s command. It came, and Nico was quickly away. Andony went with him, the dapple-grey’s head level with Vrondi’s black flank. The cream stayed within striking distance, but the iron-grey and the bay were soon trailing lengths behind.
“Come on, Nico,” Mandy encouraged him. “I want to be able to say I know the winner. I’ll get Dad to take a photograph of us talking and drive everyone at school mad with jealousy.”
No one paid her any attention; they were too intent on the race. Nico, still on the inner rails, held his lead of half a length, with the cream pony two lengths behind Andony. The rider of the sleepy bay had fallen off when his pony swerved towards the exit, but, as the leading three came round for the second time, he remounted and continued, in front, but a lap behind.
The crowd was roaring. Lying low on their ponies’ necks, legs driving, the boys raced on. The dapple-grey was catching up, she drew level with Vrondi. For a moment they raced neck and neck, then she began to tire, strength and youth told and Vrondi started to draw away. The bay was cantering sedately ahead of them in the middle of the course. Andony shouted at him urgently, and the boy hauled on his rope rein, turning the pony towards the inner rails. As they came, galloping flat out for the finishing line, Nico was suddenly trapped – the rails on one side, Andony on the other, the slow pony ahead. He tried to pull out, but Andony urged the dapple-grey to even greater efforts, and Vrondi was going too fast to be controllable in a head collar. He swept on, apparently hoping to force a way through the rapidly-closing gap between the bay and the rails. Before he reached it, the gap vanished, the black pony braked, there was a crash and a splintering of wood as he met the rails. Andony crossed the finishing line and waving one arm above his head in triumph, proclaimed himself the winner.
“Foul! Obstruction, or whatever it’s called in racing,” said Jeremy. “There ought to be a steward’s enquiry.”
“I think Nico’s hurt,” Kate watched anxiously as he slid off Vrondi and then leaned against the pony, his face pale and rigid with pain. Various people ducked under the rails and ran to him. Mr Pappas, looking grim beneath his straw hat, strode down the course to inspect his pony.
Andony, who had been acknowledging the roars of the crowd, sitting on his pony waving his joined hands above his head, set off on a lap of honour.
“It’s maddening not being able to understand,” complained Mandy. “Why doesn’t Sophia come and tell us what’s happening?” A fierce argument had begun between Mr Pappas and the officials; the boy on the sleepy bay defending himself shrilly.
Nico was still massaging his knee but his face had returned to its normal colour. He began to protest too, pointing across the course, arguing vehemently, but he didn’t seem to make much impression on the flint-faced officials, and Andony was allowed to continue his lap of honour.
“Poor Nico, what a shame,” said Kate turning away. “Why don’t we go and find Sophia?” She looked at Mrs Brake. “If we do get lost we can go to the car and wait.”
“I wish I could speak Greek, I’d go and join in. Tell them what we saw,” said Fergus fiercely. “I’d give anything to know what Andony shouted to the boy in front.”
They edged their way out of the crowd and then fought their way into an even thicker one round the course entrance, where all the ponies and riders seemed to have gathered. As they reached Sophia, Nico came limping out, leading Vrondi, and the other riders surged round him, asking questions. Kate and Fergus looked at each other and sighed.
“If I ever come here again I must learn some more Greek,” Kate decided.
“We never go to the same country twice, so it’s pointless,” Jeremy told them. “Besides, most people speak English.”
“Not when anything exciting happens,” argued Kate.
Mandy had squeezed closer to Sophia and was tweaking her T-shirt. “What’s happened? What’s going on? Do tell us!” she demanded.
Sophia turned. “Nothing very good. Andony is to be allowed to have things his way.”
“Oh, he’s not. It’s not fair. Every
one saw what happened, they ought to at least rerun the race.”
“Hear, hear,” added Fergus.
“No hope, I’m afraid. Andony’s father is one of the officials and his uncle’s the mayor. If Mr Anesti – the president of the Horse Society – was here he wouldn’t have got away with it, but no one else is strong enough to stand up to the Komas family.”
“What did Andony shout at the boy on the bay?” asked Fergus.
“To get out of the way, to get on the rails,” answered Sophia.
“Of course Mr Komas says he meant the outer rails, but Nico is sure he didn’t. If he had held his tongue they could easily have passed one on either side of Stephan. And then it was at the very moment when it came to him that he was going to lose, that he shouted.”
“There must be someone you can appeal to,” Jeremy sounded very indignant. “A chairman or vice-president or someone.”
“Mr Anesti is president, chairman and secretary all rolled into one,” said Sophia, shrugging her shoulders hopelessly.
Kate began to ask about hiring ponies. It didn’t seem a very good moment, but she had a feeling that this was one of those days when the right moment never comes.
“There is no riding school or trekking centre on the island,” Sophia answered, “but Mr Pappas might hire out some of his ponies. How many do you need, one for each of you?”
“I’m not sure about Jeremy yet,” Kate told her, “but certainly three.”
“I’ll find out and let you know. My grandfather might let you have Kima, but he is particular over Libertas. Can you all ride? The island way – bare-back and head collars?”
“Yes, Fergus and I ride a lot bare-back. But how will you let us know? Our cottage has no telephone.”
“Can you come to my house tomorrow morning, not too early? It is next to the Ionis Hotel, there is an iron gate into a garden. If you cannot find it ask for the Perdikas, everyone knows us.”
“Thank you very much,” Kate tried to sound as grateful as she felt. “About twelve then.”
“Good. I must go now,” Sophia explained, “something else has happened. That very dark man over there, the one with the smiling face and many gold teeth, is a horse dealer from Athens. It seems he is trying to buy some of the little horses and Nico is very worried, he is afraid that Mr Pappas may agree to sell Vrondi.”
“Did you hear that?” asked Kate, turning to the others as Sophia pushed her way into the group of boys surrounding Nico.
“Yes, it’s awful, because Nico really does seem fond of Vrondi,” said Mandy, “but I suppose Mr Pappas must have other ponies he could ride.”
“You can’t exactly prevent a farmer selling his ponies,” agreed Fergus, “I mean, he breeds them to sell and make money; but it’s certainly not Nico’s day.”
Jeremy, silent and suddenly impatient to get away, led them briskly through the fast-dispersing crowd to the car. Mr and Mrs Brake were already there and had opened all the doors and windows in an attempt to cool it down.
“Well, kids, did you enjoy that? I took some really wonderful pictures,” Mr Brake told them enthusiastically. “And I met a Greek-Canadian back here on holiday. He told me a perfect place for us to have lunch. A taverna on a sandy beach – not a sea urchin in sight – and right off the usual tourist track. Oh, get in,” he added irritably as Jeremy and Mandy began to complain about the scorching state of the car’s interior. “We won’t have time for a swim before we eat if you keep messing about.”
The Bargain
Christine Pullein-Thompson
The dream seemed to last for ever. The bell would not stop ringing though I had already cleared three fences in the junior jumping. Then suddenly I was awake, leaping from my bed, taking the stairs two at a time before picking up the telephone and asking “Who is it? What’s happened?”
“It’s the Longcoombe Police speaking. I’m sorry to disturb you at this unearthly hour. We have three horses which were straying on the B45. We’re told they are yours.”
“Thank you, thank you very much. We’ll collect them. Where are they now?” I asked, my heart beating at a furious rate.
“We’ve got them in the corner of a wheat field behind the Three Bells,” the voice said.
“We’ll be with you in ten minutes,” I cried, replacing the receiver before tearing upstairs again to bang on my brother’s door and cry, “Wake up, Hugh. The ponies are out…”
“All right, all right, I’ll be with you in a minute. Hang on,” he muttered, his voice muzzy with sleep.
Marian, our younger sister, was in the passage now. “I’m coming too,” she told me, pulling a shirt over her head.
“You won’t be able to keep up, and we can’t wait,” I said. Two minutes later we were all dressed and running downstairs. We could have woken our parents, but they would have taken ages asking questions and looking for car keys and the Three Bells is less than half a mile from our house so we did not need transport.
“Who telephoned?” asked Hugh, who is fair and sixteen, two years older than me.
“The police.”
Hugh groaned.
We picked up carrots as we ran and head collars and ropes from the tack room. Dawn was just beginning to break across the sky, there were rabbits everywhere and a hedgehog grunting in the drive.
“They’re behind the Three Bells in a field of wheat,” I explained.
“They’ll get colic then,” shouted Hugh, “and we’ll be fined for letting them stray. How on earth did they get out? I know we shut the field gate.”
We were strung out now – Hugh twenty metres ahead, me in the middle, Marian toiling behind. The road was empty, silent, beautiful. Curtains were drawn in windows; birds were beginning to herald another day with song.
Hugh reached the Three Bells first. A police car was parked outside but now none of us had any breath left for words.
“They are over there,” a tall, bearded policeman told us. “They seem quite docile.”
“They aren’t hurt, are they?” I asked.
He shook his head as we walked round the side of the pub. There were three horses standing shoulder high in wheat, but they were not ours.
“They could have caused a terrible accident,” the policeman continued. “They were wandering down the middle of the road. Five drivers rang the station.”
“They aren’t ours,” my brother said.
“Definitely not,” agreed Marian, not wanting to be left out.
“Who do they belong to then?” asked the policeman after a short silence.
“I have no idea,” said Hugh.
The policeman removed his cap to scratch his balding head. Cocks were crowing now, competing with one another, drowning the birdsong.
“Ours are bay, brown and roan, not liver-chestnut or grey,” said Marian.
“Well, we can’t keep them at the police station, there’s only three rooms and the car park,” said the policeman.
“We can take them home, can’t we, Hugh?” I asked. “We can keep them until their owner turns up.”
“We would be much obliged to you,” the policeman said.
The horses were wearing shabby nylon head collars. Two were liver-chestnuts, almost the same; the other was an elderly-looking grey. They looked kind and friendly, with ribs showing through dull, lifeless coats.
We clipped our ropes on to their head collars.
Our own horses were turned out three fields from our house and I thought thank goodness it wasn’t them, as my brother said, “We’ll have to put them in the stable. And they mustn’t have a lot of water, or the wheat they’ve eaten will swell up inside them. Do you hear, Marian?”
“I’m not an idiot,” she retorted, going first down the road leading a chestnut, while my brother led the grey.
When we reached home, the horses looked pleased with the stables. I gave them a little hay before we went indoors. Our parents were making tea in the kitchen and we told them what had happened.
“Their owner is su
re to ring the police station before long,” Hugh said.
But it did not work out that way. The whole day passed without a squeak from anyone. We fed the horses hay and gave them sips of water and watched for signs of colic which did not materialise.
“I wanted to ride,” wailed Marian at four o’clock. “But I can’t, can I?”
“You can tie Bimbo up,” I suggested. Bimbo is her small brown pony.
“He’ll be upset. He’ll want his loose box,” she said.
When Dad returned from work, he wanted to know why the horses were still with us. “We’re not a charity,” he said. We spent the evening telephoning horsey friends, but none of them knew anything about two matching liver-chestnuts and a dear old grey.
“You can see they’ve been loved by someone even if they look awful now,” I said, as we gave them bulging haynets and buckets of water.
Before going to bed, we wandered across the fields to see our own horses. They were grazing peacefully, unperturbed by the midges that were everywhere.
“Tomorrow we’ll put them in the field with the shelter,” Hugh said.
“Tomorrow the others must be gone,” I answered.
But it was Monday before anyone called and by then we had ridden the three horses gently around the paddock by the house. We had discovered that the grey was well schooled and that the chestnuts could trot at enormous speed. And we had fallen in love with them.
Their owner turned up with two scruffy youths in a big car. He had a red face, a hat on the back of his head, baggy trousers, soft shoes, a flashy tie and teeth patched with gold.
“Where are they then?” he asked getting out of his car heavily, while we stared in horror.
“You mean the horses?” I asked stupidly, my heart pounding, but he had already seen them in the paddock, looking at home there.
“They were to go to the sale on Saturday. The driver called for them, but they weren’t there no more, so he thought I must have changed my mind,” he explained.
“Why didn’t he telephone you?” I asked.
The Pullein-Thompson Treasury of Horse and Pony Stories Page 29