Time to Pay

by Lyndon Stacey

  ‘So have you dusted off your bowler hat and boots?’ Giles teased.

  ‘Bowler hat? Where have you been for the last century?’ his sister demanded. ‘Gideon’s got a black jacket though, haven’t you?’

  ‘Have you?’ Eve asked, intrigued.

  ‘I have, actually. I bought a second-hand one last year when I had to take a horse to the New Forest Show, for a client. It was a heavyweight hunter that used to get ring fright and go into high-speed reverse in the middle of the arena.’

  ‘And did you sort it out?’

  ‘Yeah, I think it was more a rider problem.’

  ‘And the rest!’ Pippa exclaimed. ‘He only went and won reserve champion hunter!’

  ‘Well, I can’t claim any credit for that. It was a good-looking horse.’

  ‘And it went like a dream.’

  ‘So you’ve got the gear,’ Lloyd said, bringing the subject back to hunting. ‘If you’re riding Blackbird, you ought to put a green ribbon in his tail.’

  ‘Very pretty,’ Eve murmured.

  ‘It’s to warn the other riders that he’s untried and might be unpredictable,’ Pippa explained. ‘If you know you’ve got an excitable animal that’s likely to kick, you use a red ribbon instead.’

  ‘So what exactly does a drag hunt consist of? What’s actually dragged, for instance?’

  ‘Right,’ Lloyd was now in his element. ‘Basically the hounds follow a scent laid down twenty minutes or half an hour before the start . . .’

  ‘I think this is where I go and sort the dessert out,’ Pippa cut in, rising to her feet.

  Lloyd didn’t seem to notice. ‘They used to use aniseed mixed with animal droppings, or even human urine, but nowadays we use a special chemical crystal, mixed with water and oil. The runner dips a cloth in it and then runs along dragging it behind. If we want a fast run they keep it pretty continuous, but to make it more realistic and challenging for the hounds, they can double back or leave breaks in the trail, or splash through water, you know the sort of thing.’

  ‘So do you know where the runner is going to go, or is it a surprise to you?’

  ‘No, we have to plan it in advance. Because we’re on private land, we have to keep to the areas that the farmer or landowner specifies, to avoid damaging crops or disturbing livestock. Also, there are jumps along the way; sections of clipped hedge or fences and walls that are safe to jump, so they have to be included. Each trail, or line – as we call them – is usually around two to three miles long, and there are maybe three or four of them in a day’s hunting, sometimes more, with breaks in between.’

  ‘It sounds exciting,’ Eve said. ‘Are spectators allowed?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ Gideon groaned.

  ‘Yes. We get quite a few on a fine day,’ Lloyd told her.

  ‘So do you use foxhounds?’

  ‘We do, but you can use any type of hound, really; beagles, otterhounds, bloodhounds. Although bloodhounds just follow a human scent, of course. They call it hunting the clean boot.’

  ‘OK, so what happens if the foxhounds come across a fox while they are following a trail? Would they chase that instead?’

  ‘Almost certainly.’

  ‘So what happens then? Can you stop them?’

  ‘Well, it’s not easy, but it can be done,’ Lloyd said, adding with a twinkle, ‘but usually we all have to ride after them to try to get them back. It can take absolutely ages . . .’

  Eve wasn’t stupid.

  ‘I imagine it might,’ she said. ‘So all this stuff about hunting people being out of work was rubbish, was it? They’re still busy hunting.’

  Gideon’s breath hissed between his teeth as he cringed in anticipation.

  ‘Absolutely not!’ Lloyd said forcefully. ‘Drag hunting’s all very well, but it can never completely take over from the real thing. For one thing, a drag hunt covers a much bigger area, so where there might have been two or three foxhound packs, there’s now only one drag hunt. That’s a sixty per cent cut in employment before you start . . .’

  By the time Pippa returned with a large tiramisu and a jug of cream, Gideon and Giles, who had heard Lloyd’s political pitch before, were bordering on comatose, and even Eve, to whom it was apparently new, was beginning to look as though she wished she’d not asked. She had played devil’s advocate to start with, but it soon became obvious that she was sparring with an obsessive.

  ‘Time up!’ Pippa said, placing her burden on the table. ‘Put the soap box away, Lloyd.’

  ‘I surrendered five minutes ago, but I don’t think he noticed,’ Eve said laughing. ‘He’s a natural for politics, I’ll give him that.’

  ‘Oh, sorry! You should have stopped me.’

  ‘A chance would have been a fine thing,’ Giles remarked, good-humouredly. ‘Once you get going you don’t stop for breath!’

  Lloyd put his hands up. ‘OK. I won’t say another word. But you really should come and watch a drag hunt, anyway. And if you do, come and find me before the off, and I’ll tell you where the best vantage point is likely to be.’

  ‘OK, I’ll do that,’ Eve said, and Gideon was surprised and a little dismayed to see that she seemed to be seriously considering it.

  The morning of Gideon’s drag-hunting debut dawned with watery sunshine and a low-lying mist, but by eleven thirty when the Tarrant and Stour Drag Hounds met at Catsfinger Farm near Sherborne, it was shaping up to be a beautiful day.

  Gideon and Pippa had boxed the horses to the meet, with Eve following on behind in her car, and now joined the fifty or so other members of the field on the half-moon of pea-shingle in front of the farmhouse. Most of the horses were plaited and all the riders wore breeches, boots and jackets; some black, and some hacking jackets in shades of olive and fawn. The huntsman, his two whippers-in and Lloyd himself, as Field Master, all wore the traditional scarlet coats.

  ‘It’s called “hunting pink”,’ Pippa told Eve. ‘Don’t ask me why, it’s just one of those things.’

  ‘Perhaps, in years gone by, the coats faded,’ she suggested practically. Then waving a hand in the direction of a corpulent middle-aged man with a florid complexion, she said to Gideon, ‘Look, I’m going to hitch a lift in that kind man’s Range Rover. Lloyd introduced us – he says he knows the best vantage points – so I’ll be off in a minute. By the way, did I tell you, you look extraordinarily dashing in that get-up?’

  ‘That’s what I said,’ Pippa agreed.

  ‘Well, I should hope I do, after the hours of blood, sweat and tears I spent tying this stock,’ Gideon put in, fingering the neat white neckcloth.

  ‘You did?’ Pippa exclaimed. ‘I like that! You’d still be standing in front of the mirror now, if I hadn’t taken over!’

  ‘I bring out her maternal instincts,’ he said in an aside to Eve, and then swayed sideways to dodge a slap.

  Eve laughed and moved away to find her cross-country taxi service, looking, in corduroy trousers, Aran jumper and a waxed jacket, as though this was the way she spent every weekend.

  Their hosts, the owners of the oddly named Catsfinger Farm, moved among the mounted throng with trays bearing mulled wine and nibbles, and the hounds, with their wide-smiling faces, milled around getting under everyone’s feet.

  Blackbird was undeniably excited, but being extraordinarily good. He stood beside Skylark, looking alert and handsome, with his black mane plaited and his feet oiled, and fairly quivering with nervous anticipation. So far it had been Pippa’s horse, Skylark, who was the more fidgety, every so often diving his head downwards to try and loosen her grip on the reins, and once suddenly swinging his quarters towards Gideon’s mount, causing him to shy violently sideways in his turn.

  ‘Get that bloody animal under control!’ someone exclaimed furiously from behind Gideon, and after steadying Blackbird, he turned to see a good-looking young man scowling blackly at him from the back of a tall bay horse.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Bloody first-timers!’ the man muttered. ‘It�
�s you should be wearing the ribbon, not the bloody horse!’

  ‘It was my fault,’ Pippa called across. ‘I’m sorry. My horse barged into him. He didn’t kick out, did he?’

  ‘No thanks to matey here.’

  ‘Look, it was nobody’s fault,’ Gideon said. ‘And no-one got hurt, so shall we drop it? I did apologise, after all.’

  But the rider on the bay obviously didn’t want to be mollified. He kicked his horse forward, leaning towards Gideon as he passed.

  ‘You just make sure you keep out of my way,’ he muttered.

  Gideon raised an eyebrow at his departing back.

  ‘Charming!’

  ‘But it wasn’t even your fault,’ Pippa protested, bringing Skylark round and alongside Blackbird, who glanced crossly at the other horse. ‘Or mine, come to that. Some idiot backed into Sky – that’s what started it. I can’t believe that guy was so rude to you . . .’

  Gideon shrugged. ‘Forget it. He’s not worth it.’

  ‘Who isn’t?’ Lloyd rode his brown horse up on the other side of Pippa, leaned across and kissed her.

  ‘Some moron who threw a wobbly because Blackbird nearly bumped his horse.’ She explained what had happened, for Lloyd’s benefit. ‘He was way out of line!’ she finished hotly.

  ‘I’m sorry. D’you want me to have a word with him?’ Lloyd offered. ‘Which one was it?’

  ‘It was . . .’ Pippa twisted in her saddle to scan the other riders. ‘It was a man on a big bay horse. Damn! I can’t see him now.’

  ‘It really doesn’t matter,’ Gideon said.

  Lloyd looked at his watch. ‘Well, I’d better go and get this thing under way,’ he said. ‘You ready?’

  This last was directed at Gideon, who nodded. ‘As I’ll ever be.’

  Lloyd rode to the edge of the gravel and stood in his stirrups, raising his voice to call, ‘Can I have your attention please?’

  Gradually the chattering died away and everyone turned expectantly towards him.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, settling back into the saddle. ‘We’ll be moving off in approximately five minutes, so please drink up and don’t forget to tighten those girths. For those of you who are riding with us for the first time, I’ll just run through the rules of the chase . . .’

  Watching Lloyd, as he addressed the field, Gideon was reluctantly impressed. From the occasional comments, it was clear that he was regarded with both liking and respect by the regulars amongst them.

  Most of what he had to say, Pippa had already explained to Gideon, though Lloyd added a few pointers about etiquette and went on to say that those on less fit horses could, by dint of a short hack, miss out the third line of the day and meet up with the rest of the field at the break, ready to start the final one.

  ‘Just follow Penny, with the white armband. She’ll take you through,’ he advised, waving at a trim, grey-haired lady on a grey horse, who waved back. ‘The first line isn’t particularly taxing. There are two biggish gates – fences five and eight – but there are alternatives. Again, look for Penny. Well, that’s it for the first line. We’re hunting twelve couple of hounds, and your dragsman for the day, back by popular demand, is Steve Pettet. Have a great day, and our hosts have promised us a slap-up tea at the end of it.’

  A concerted cheer greeted this last piece of information, and almost immediately the huntsman, who’d been waiting a little way off, blew a series of short notes on his horn, riding his horse down the gravel drive towards the road. At once the hounds began to percolate through the forest of equine legs, as if they were all attached by some invisible thread to the man in the red coat.

  The note of the horn had a similar effect on both horses and humans. All talking stopped. The riders sat up straight and shortened their reins, and the horses pricked their ears, tossed their heads and began to sidle impatiently. Even Gideon, who had hitherto had no close association with hunting, felt a thrill buzz through him, and Blackbird was almost transfixed with excitement, head high and nostrils flaring. Gideon ran his gloved hand down the damp black neck, and spoke quietly to him.

  When the last hound had joined its fellows in the dash after the huntsman, the two whips fell in behind to chivvy the stragglers, and Lloyd swung his horse round to follow. Within moments, the whole field was on the move.

  Gideon held back, intending to tuck in at the rear of the field, and, for a moment, he thought Blackbird was going to explode. He began to move rapidly up and down on the spot like a footballer warming up, his hooves churning the shingle, but when Gideon gave him the office to move he settled into a bouncy jog next to Skylark.

  Gideon and Pippa followed the other riders through a gateway and into a field, and from there they watched while the huntsman led the hounds to the start of the trail. Almost immediately a lemon and white dog gave tongue, its tail – or stern, as it was known in the hunting world – waving high. Two more hounds went to join it, adding their voices, and suddenly the whole pack was in full cry, heading across the grass to a low rail in the corner. The huntsman blew the ‘Gone Away’ and put his horse at the rail, and after a suitable interval Lloyd led the field in pursuit.

  That first line of the day passed in something of a blur for Gideon. The unseen dragsman had laid a short and clear opening trail, and the hounds hunted it briskly. As the field set off, Blackbird’s excitement finally bubbled over, and not all Gideon’s soothing powers could stop him giving a series of quite sizeable bucks going towards the first fence. Gideon wrapped his long legs round the horse and hung on grimly. Luckily the rail was no more than three feet high, with only the shallowest of ditches on the far side, and seeing it at the last moment, the black horse had no problem negotiating it. This done, he settled into a ground-covering stride and applied himself enthusiastically to working his way to the front of the field.

  Five hedges, two post and rail fences, and both the gates later, Gideon brought the horse to a halt at the end of the line, in time to see the huntsman showering the pack with some kind of biscuit or dried meat from his saddlebags.

  The hounds scrabbled eagerly for their reward, a seething mass of hard-muscled brown, yellow and white bodies and waving sterns, until every last morsel was gone and their heads came up, grinning broadly, tongues lolling.

  Gideon patted Blackbird’s hot neck and looked down at his heaving flank. The horse was breathing deeply, but not excessively so. The fifteen-minute break should easily see him ready to tackle the second run.

  ‘I’m looking for the guy on the black horse who said he was going to ride quietly at the back of the field,’ a voice said, and he turned to find Pippa steering Skylark towards him through the other horses.

  Gideon grinned.

  ‘The black horse had other ideas.’

  ‘So I noticed. Did he cart you?’

  ‘Actually, no. But he was going so well, it seemed a shame to stop him. I didn’t want to risk him starting bucking again. He jumped like a stag!’

  ‘He looked smashing,’ Pippa agreed. ‘I’ve already had an offer for him. Someone who saw us together at the meet and asked about him.’

  ‘Did you accept?’

  ‘Of course not,’ she said with a quick frown. ‘He’s yours. And, even if he wasn’t, you know what a pig he is normally. He’s a real one-person horse. Oh, here’s Lloyd . . .’

  ‘How did you enjoy that?’ Lloyd asked, coming up to Gideon.

  ‘It was brilliant – once this fella settled down.’

  ‘Good.’ Lloyd looked genuinely pleased, and Gideon wondered if he’d misjudged the man. ‘There’s a couple of biggish fences in this next line, but nothing you can’t handle. Just watch for the ditch on the other side of the long hedge, it gets wider the further right you go. But it’s flagged, so just keep between them and you’ll be fine. Oh, well, I’d better go and do my little speech. I hope Dan’s got my second horse waiting at the next stop; Badger will have had it by then, won’t you, old boy?’ He tugged on one of the horse’s plaits, causing him to shak
e his head in irritation.

  Five minutes later, after Lloyd had repeated the information about the ditch to the assembled riders, the huntsman marshalled the hounds and they all hacked the hundred yards or so to the start of the next line.

  This time, when the field set off, Gideon was ready for Blackbird, and foiled a half-hearted attempt to buck by hauling his head up and driving him forward. As the first fence flashed a good foot below the black’s belly, Gideon really began to enjoy himself. Pippa ranged up alongside at one point, and they flew a substantial hedge side by side.

  ‘He’s going beautifully,’ she called across, and Gideon smiled and nodded.

  Moments later they were separated, and Gideon took the next bank and ditch in the company of a woman on a breedy chestnut and a man on a tall, heavily built bay. As they crossed the next field, the bay horse accelerated and Blackbird instinctively lengthened his stride to keep up. The chestnut fell behind, and a grey took its place.

  As they thundered along, three abreast, Gideon could see Lloyd up in front, taking the next fence, a solid-looking post and rail with a ditch on take-off.

  The horses either side of him were very close now – unnecessarily so, Gideon thought, as they approached the rails – their stirrups clashing with his. Three strides out, they suddenly surged forward, catching him unawares and gaining almost a length on Blackbird. With a shout of ‘Hup!’ the bay and the grey rose smoothly into the air and, way too early, Gideon’s horse rose with them.

  They were in flight for an eternity. It didn’t seem to Gideon that Blackbird had a hope of clearing the rails from where he’d taken off, but somehow he did it. He pecked heavily on landing, his muzzle somewhere down by his front hooves, and Gideon fell forward onto his neck, but the next moment they were up and away again.

  Gideon regained his seat, gathered up his reins and took a pull.

  The man on the grey looked back and called airily, ‘Sorry, mate.’

  Gideon didn’t trust himself to answer.