Storm and the Silver Bridle

by Stacy Gregg

  “Yeah,” Alfonso said casually, “I picked it up from touring with El Caballo—we’re overseas a lot with the horses so most of us know lots of languages. We can all speak English really well.” He picked up Issie’s bag and threw it in the back of the Land Rover and opened the passenger door for her. “Come on, vamos!” he said.

  Issie looked at him blankly and didn’t move.

  “Vamos—that means ‘let’s go’!” Francoise laughed as she offered Issie the front seat next to Alfonso. Francoise and Avery climbed into the back seat, Alfonso put his foot down on the accelerator and the Land Rover roared into life, heading down the cobbled streets, making its way through the busy city towards the outskirts of town.

  Within an hour they had left Seville and the Land Rover began to climb through the forest-clad hills of Andalusia. As Alfonso turned off the main road, pale dust flew up from beneath the car tyres and they began to make their way along remote dirt tracks through the rugged farmland that led to El Caballo Danza Magnifico. The Land Rover bumped and skipped along the potholed road, dust flying in through the open windows. Issie clung on to her seatbelt to stop herself being thrown about as the car bounced around.

  Issie looked over at Alfonso, who was focused on the road. “You know, you don’t look old enough to be driving this car, and you certainly don’t look old enough to be the head of the stables.”

  Alfonso raised an eyebrow. “You’re not happy with my driving?”

  “No, I didn’t mean that!” Issie stammered. “I’m sorry, that came out sounding really rude! I just meant—”

  Alfonso grinned. “It’s OK. I’m just joking. You’re right. I’m only eighteen. Most of the riders at El Caballo are much older than me. But I’ve been in the saddle since the day I was born. It is in my blood.”

  Francoise leaned forward from the back seat to explain. “Alfie is the son of Roberto Nunez, the owner of El Caballo Danza Magnifico. Roberto is one of Spain’s greatest horsemen. He once rode for the Spanish eventing team at the Olympics. As a rider in this country his career remains unrivalled.”

  “But your dad doesn’t ride any more?” Issie said.

  “Yeah, he still rides,” Alfonso shrugged. “He’s the one responsible for training all of our best stallions for the performing school. But he doesn’t like to tour. He prefers the quiet life here in Spain with the herd.”

  “Will Roberto be there when we arrive?” Avery asked.

  Alfonso nodded. “He went out this morning to bring in some of the mares, but he should be there to meet us when we get to the hacienda. It’s not much further now. We’ll be there soon. We’re already on land that belongs to El Caballo. These olive trees that you see around you were planted by us. We grow oranges and olives here in the dry hills and the horses graze down in the valley, where the pasture is better.”

  “How long have you lived here?” Issie asked.

  “All my life,” Alfonso replied. “El Caballo has been my family’s home for two centuries.”

  Francoise spoke up again from the back seat. “This place is steeped in tradition. When I left France and the Cadre Noir de Saumur to come and work here, I did not realise how long it would take to be accepted.” Francoise laughed. “For the first five years they would call me ‘the new girl’. It was a joke, of course, but it took them a long time to grow tired of it. Then, finally, one day, they said ‘she is one of us now’. I have been here for ten years, and sometimes I still feel like I am the new girl…”

  As Francoise was talking the Land Rover had been bumping and bouncing its way along the dirt road through the olive-clad hills. Now, as they came over the crest of the range, Issie looked down into the valley below. The sight that greeted her was one of the most beautiful she had seen in her entire life. The sunburnt fields were dotted with snow-white horses, mares with their coal-black foals at foot. To see these horses running free as a herd was like bringing a fairy story to life.

  “Ohmygod! They are so beautiful!” Issie breathed.

  Francoise nodded. “They are the very best mares. Roberto has a true eye for horses and it is his mastery that has made El Caballo Danza Magnifico stables the most respected in all of Spain. We have almost fifty horses here—stallions, mares and foals. Roberto loves his Spanish-bred Lipizzaners and also the Andalusians and his prized Anglo-Arabs—the bloodline of your mare Blaze.”

  The beauty of the horses was almost eclipsed by the sight of El Caballo itself. The grand, classical Spanish buildings of the hacienda were arranged around a cobbled courtyard with palm trees and fountains, and surrounding the estate was a high wall made of whitewashed stone. The entrance was marked by enormous black wrought-iron gates, which Alfonso drove through while Francoise pointed out the four main buildings of the hacienda.

  “I will give you the full tour later,” she said, “but in the meantime, let me quickly explain.” She pointed to the building straight ahead of them. It was a rich golden mustard colour, the same colour, Issie noted, as the dirt under their car tyres. “That is the mares’ stable block,” Francoise said. Issie peered at the Spanish arches and could make out rows of loose boxes inside, set into archways of mosaic tiles.

  Francoise gestured to the building next to it, which was larger still, with whitewashed walls this time, edged in the same mustard-ochre hue. “Our indoor arena is bigger than an Olympic arena,” Francoise said. “We need as much space as possible to train the horses in the haute école movements and routines for our shows.”

  On the other side of this arena was yet another stable block with Spanish archways at the front. “The stallions’ stables,” Francoise explained. “We like to keep their quarters at a distance from the mares, of course.”

  Alfonso drove around the fountain, doing a lap of the courtyard, and then pulled the car up outside the front door of the most beautiful of all the buildings. It was a two-storey, stately Spanish villa, also with a grand archway surrounding the front door. To one side of the entrance, vines of brilliant orange and hot-pink bougainvillea grew against the white walls, their blooms splashing the villa with brilliant colour. Wrought-iron window boxes on the top floor were filled with candy-pink geraniums, spilling out and tumbling over the ledges. Seville orange trees groomed and shaped into tall topiary, stood on either side of the front steps that led to the door.

  “This is the main house. You will be staying here with us for the duration of your visit,” Francoise said.

  Issie stepped out of the car and gazed around her in disbelief. She smiled at Avery. “Can you believe this place?” she asked.

  “I’ve heard a lot about it, but I’ve never—” Avery began, but he was interrupted by the rumble of horses galloping towards them.

  Francoise looked up at the wrought-iron gates of the compound. “That will be Roberto now. He is bringing in the Anglo-Arabian mares from the far fields in the upper pasture where they have been grazing for the past weeks.”

  The rumble grew louder, and then suddenly Issie saw the first of the Anglo-Arabs appear through El Caballo’s entranceway For a moment her heart leapt—the mare cantering towards her across the cobbled courtyard looked just like Blaze! She was a deep liver chestnut, with a flaxen blonde mane and tail. Behind the mare ran half a dozen others just like her, some of them with matching colts and fillies at their feet. Issie’s smile grew wide as she gazed at the beauty of these mares. They seemed to know exactly where they were going, trotting obediently through the main gates and across the courtyard to the stable block, each of them choosing a different archway to duck and weave through as they headed towards their loose boxes.

  “They are like homing pigeons!” Francoise grinned.

  Issie heard the crack of a stock whip at the gates and saw that there were three men on horseback following the golden chestnut mares. Two of these men were on bay Andalusian horses, beautiful animals with long flowing black manes and elegant arched necks. The third man rode the most beautiful horse, an enormous dapple-grey stallion with a high-stepping trot and th
e most graceful physique of them all. Issie knew the stallion on sight—it was Marius! Nightstorm’s sire.

  The man riding Marius gave orders in Spanish to the other two riders, who followed in on their horses after the mares. Then he wheeled the great, grey stallion about on his hocks and cantered gracefully over to the steps of the villa where Francoise, Alfonso, Issie and Avery stood.

  He leapt down out of the saddle and smiled at Issie. He was a handsome man, with the dark, swarthy skin of a Spaniard, kind eyes and thick waves of black hair. Tall and lean, he wore cream jodhpurs and long black boots. On the pocket of his white shirt a red C had been embroidered with the shape of a red heart set inside it. It was the same symbol, Issie realised, that she had seen branded on the haunches of the horses as they raced in to their stalls. The same symbol too, was printed in blood-red on the golden flag that flew at the gates of the compound. Of course! The C with the heart in the middle was the brand of El Caballo Danza Magnifico, Issie realised. And this man standing in front of them now had to be the owner of El Caballo Danza Magnifico, Roberto Nunez.

  Roberto’s smile faded and he looked serious as he locked eyes with Tom Avery. The Spaniard walked past Issie, Alfonso and Francoise and strode directly towards Avery, his face an unreadable mask. He came closer and closer until the two men were almost nose to nose, and then suddenly his face broke into a broad grin.

  “Thomas! It has been so long! Too long!” His broad hands grabbed Avery by the shoulders and gave him a shake before he enclosed Avery in a swift bear hug.

  The others stood there in stunned amazement as Avery, normally so cool and aloof, hugged him back. “Hello Roberto,” Avery said warmly. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “You two know each other?” Issie couldn’t believe it.

  “Know each other?” Roberto laughed. “Did this old devil not tell you?” He grinned and put an arm around Avery. “This man,” he said, “this man, he is my brother!”

  Chapter 6

  Issie was stunned. Avery was Roberto’s brother?

  Roberto grinned. “Thomas and I haven’t seen each other for twenty years. We met at the World Equestrian Games at Stockholm, Sweden. I was a brash young man, riding for the honour of Spain. Thomas was riding there too—he was the favourite to win against me in the three-day eventing.” Roberto turned to Avery. “It was on the cross-country course there that this man gave up the chance for a medal in order to save my life. This is why I say that he is a brother to me. I trust him completely and I shall never forget the debt that I owe him.”

  Avery shook his head. “You don’t owe me anything, Roberto. Anyway, that debt has been repaid many times since with your kindness.”

  “Wait a minute!” Alfonso was amazed. “You’re the Tom Avery? Wow! Dad has talked about you for years. I never realised when he sent me to pick up someone called Tom from the train that it would be you. Dad has told me the most amazing stories about you.”

  “Stories? What kind of stories?” Issie was in shock. To her, Tom Avery was just her pony-club instructor. Sure, he was great with horses and everything, but the idea of him being some kind of legendary figure in this Spanish household was going to take some getting used to. “Why have you never told me before now that you were friends with the man who owned El Caballo Danza Magnifico?”

  Avery gave her a wry grin. “I still have a few secrets left, Isadora.”

  “Issie is not the only one here who is surprised,” Francoise said tartly “Roberto did not mention this to me either.”

  “Oh, I did not want to bore you with stories of my glory days, Francoise,” Roberto smiled. He looked at Issie. “But this is very rude of me! We should not be standing here on the doorstep. Where are my manners? Young lady, you must be tired after your long journey. Come inside! Francoise will show you to your room so that you can freshen up after your long trip.” Roberto Nunez gestured towards the front door of the villa. “The guest rooms are ready and waiting. I will give you a chance to settle in. I have work to do myself this afternoon—we can all meet again to talk later at dinner.”

  Issie stepped inside the front door of the villa and found it to be even grander than she expected. The polished wood floors were strewn with elaborate Moorish rugs, the walls were painted in bright, earthy shades of ochre and tangerine and covered with antique tapestries and paintings of horses.

  “Follow me,” Francoise instructed, leading Issie past the living room, filled with vases of fresh roses, then the grand dining room and finally the library, its walls lined with books, before they reached the staircase which led to the guest rooms upstairs.

  “I hope you will be comfortable here,” Francoise said, opening the door. The room was beautiful. The walls were rustic plaster, washed in deepest pink, and the bed was covered with rainbow-striped blankets. Enormous mirrors trimmed with silver frames sparkled and glittered in the sunlight that streamed through the wide glass doors leading out to a private balcony.

  “Do you like it?” Francoise crossed the room and drew back the rainbow-striped curtains to reveal a view of the cobbled courtyard below.

  “It’s amazing!” Issie said. “Everything is amazing. It’s so beautiful here!”

  “It is, isn’t it?” Francoise said, gazing out over the hacienda. “When we travel away on tour with the horses we are gone for such a long time, and then to come home to this—it always makes my heart leap when we return here.”

  She pointed towards the stable blocks. “You see over there where we keep the mares? Salome—I mean Blaze—was born right there in those stables, in one of the foaling stalls.”

  Issie stared out of the window and felt a shiver up her spine. She knew Blaze was an El Caballo mare, but it had never occurred to her before now that this farm had once been Blaze’s home. Her beautiful chestnut mare was actually born and schooled here, just as the rest of El Caballo’s horses were.

  “I remember I had only just started working for El Caballo back then,” Francoise said dreamily. “It was foaling season and the mares due to have their babies were brought in each night, and I would sleep in the stables, to keep a close eye on them. Blaze’s dam, Bahiyaa, was the most beautiful of all the mares in our stables so we were all waiting with great excitement to see what her foal would be like. We were not disappointed —when Blaze was born we knew immediately that she was special. Oh, she was the most beautiful foal! I wish you could have seen her then! To witness the arrival of a new life, to see a new foal being born, it is so magical.”

  Issie’s smile melted away as Francoise spoke. She too knew what it was like to be the one to deliver a newborn foal. When Blaze had foaled, it was Issie alone who had been there to help Nightstorm enter the world. In the excitement of her arrival here at El Caballo Danza Magnifico she had briefly forgotten the reason they were here in the first place. Her baby, her Storm, was somewhere here in Andalusia.

  “You must want to rest now,” Francoise was saying. “You have come such a long way. Perhaps you would like to take a siesta? We eat late here in Andalusia—dinner will be served at 10 p.m.”

  “No, Francoise,” Issie said. “I know I should be tired, but I’m not.”

  Francoise smiled. “I understand. I am not either. I tell you what, why don’t you have a shower and change into your jodhpurs? Meet me downstairs in ten minutes and I will take you on a tour of El Caballo and we can talk some more.”

  Ten minutes later, Issie came downstairs to find Francoise also freshly changed with her long black hair slicked back into a wet ponytail. She was wearing the traditional vaquero clothing of the Spanish cowboy—turned-up trousers with brown leather boots, a short cropped jacket known as a chaquetilla, and a wide-brimmed stockman’s hat. Francoise handed Issie a hat too. “Put this on,” she instructed. “The sun is hot here and you’ll need it.”

  Francoise led the way back across the cobbled courtyard. At first Issie thought she was heading to the stables where the mares were, but then they kept walking past the mares’ quarters, and F
rancoise took her past the fountain and through the archway that led to the stallions’ loose boxes.

  Issie had caught a glimpse of the mares’ stables as they went past. They were in the old Spanish style, very traditional, stone stalls as dark and cool as catacombs. She had been expecting the stallions’ quarters to be the same, but in fact they were quite different. On the outside they were classically Spanish too, but inside the loose boxes were all stainless steel and pale wood, sleek and ultra-modern.

  “Roberto loves the history of El Caballo, but he is not always a traditionalist,” Francoise explained as they walked down the row of stalls. “He rebuilt the stallions’ quarters to match the best stables he visited when he was competing on the three-day event circuit in Europe.”

  Francoise reached one hand to the top half of the Dutch door on the first stall, slid the bolt and swung it open. There was a soft nicker from the stall and Marius appeared, craning his neck over the door to greet them.

  “You know Marius, of course,” Francoise said, reaching her hand up to stroke the nose of the grey stallion. Issie looked at Marius. Even though this horse was a fully grown stallion and Storm was still a colt, Issie could already see striking similarities between father and son. If she had ever had any doubts that Marius was Storm’s sire, taking one look at the stallion made her absolutely certain that they shared the same blood. It was evident in the classical topline, the strong neck, shoulders and haunches. Marius was big for a Lipizzaner, almost sixteen-three hands high. Would Storm grow as big as his mighty sire? Would he look like this when he grew up?

  Issie felt a shiver run through her. If she didn’t find out who had stolen Storm, she might not have the chance to see him grow up at all.

  Francoise grabbed a bridle off the hook behind her. “We only have Spanish saddles here, I hope that is OK? They are quite different from the English ones, so I will show you how to tack up…”