The Princess and the Foal

by Stacy Gregg

  Haya is flung upward with a violent jerk that catapults her clean out of the saddle. She flies up in the air and falls hard against the bonnet of the car. At that same moment the rails fall, smashing down right on top of Haya. One of them smacks her arm against the car, while another strikes a glancing blow off her helmet. Haya falls with the rails, tumbling from the car bonnet on to the sand.

  Against the blue sky three flags fly: two are red and gold, one blue and white. They are the last thing Haya sees as she closes her eyes.

  ello, Mama,

  It’s me again; Baba has sent me upstairs to rest. I keep telling him that I am fine and he fusses too much. I have a bit of a headache, that is all, and not from the fall, but spending the day under the hot sun.

  I suppose at the time my fall must have looked quite dramatic. Me lying there, so still on the ground. I was unconscious when they reached me. Ali says it is the only time he has ever known me to be quiet!

  I remember waking up and thinking, Why am I down here? Where is my horse? And I must have groaned out loud because I heard someone say, “She’s awake!”

  I was blinking my eyes because the sun was shining right into them and I couldn’t see. I felt someone putting their arms round me and I must have been a little bit dizzy because I could have sworn it was you. You were holding me and protecting me. I said your name. And then there were people crowded above me, blocking out the sun, and I could see that it wasn’t you at all, it was her.

  Frances was on her knees in the sand, cradling me to her bosom. I don’t think the St John ambulance would have recommended this to be honest; I am not sure that hugging someone that tight is the recovery position. She looked so worried. Not that fake look of concern that I have seen her put on for Baba’s benefit, but really, truly worried about me.

  “Haya! Stay still. Help is coming. It’s all right, you’re going to be all right.” That is what she said over and over. She was crying. I could see the redness and watery tears in her eyes. I tried to push myself up and that was when I felt the pain. It was like a knife stabbing into my right arm.

  I never told anyone, but after you died, I used to play this game in my head. Well, not a game exactly. It was … well, I guess you would call it a negotiation. I wanted you back so badly, I got this idea in my head that I would make a deal with fate. I started bargaining with my fingers at first, counting them off one by one, but I knew that it was not enough. Fingers are not a true sacrifice. And so I shut my eyes and offered fate my arm. Without it, I would never ride again, but I would have you back and it would be worth it.

  I don’t remember why I thought I could make this deal, handing over pieces of me until I could cheat fate. But your death makes no sense, so why would you expect me to be sensible? I was hurting so much and all I knew was that I wanted you back.

  Most kids don’t think about dying. They think they will live forever. But I know death and I know now that you cannot bargain with it.

  After you died, I was so worried about losing Baba too. I was desperately afraid that an assassin’s bullet would claim him, that it would find the way to his heart this time instead of bouncing off the medal on his chest.

  One day, when I was very sad, Baba asked me what was wrong and I told him I was scared for him. He held me close and told me that he understood, that he would never want to lose me either, but I must not let death cast its dark shadow over me.

  Baba said that when the bullet bounced off his chest that day he lost his fear of death forever. He was alive against the odds and only fate could say when his day would come. Until then, he would live bravely in the service of his Kingdom and he would not dwell on it. Fate chooses its course for all of us and that cannot be altered no matter how much we wish we could change things. And if we believe that our fate is already settled, then there is no room for fear.

  Fear was what I saw when Frances held me in her arms and I realised that is how Frances lives her life. She is afraid of everything – of picking up the wrong fork or hurting herself on a horse, of getting mud on the carpet or making the wrong friends. And that is no way to live.

  You taught me to be brave, Mama. You did not let fear hold you back when you got on the helicopter to Tafilah. So, if I am brave today, it is because of you, and Baba.

  My arm was still really aching, but when I tried to wiggle my fingers, I could still move them and I knew that nothing was broken. Taking a deep breath, I pushed myself up, freeing myself from her arms.

  “Haya …” Frances looked so lost, it made me feel as if she were the one who needed to be helped, not me.

  “I’m OK,” I said. “I’m not hurt.”

  Later on, I wished I had said something nicer to her, just this once. But that is not how it is between Frances and me. Maybe she will never understand me, but I think now at least I understand her.

  I was wobbly on my feet as I stood up and I nearly fell back down on the sand again. But then I felt a strong hand at my back, lifting me, and it was Baba, right there beside me.

  “Baba?” I looked up at him. “Where is Bree? Is she OK?”

  And then I saw her. Ali had her by the reins and was leading her back over to me. She had a small cut on her knee from crashing into the car.

  “Is she lame?” Ali asked anxiously.

  I shook my head. “The cut isn’t deep. I don’t think so.”

  Bree nudged me with her nose at that moment, as if to say, “I’m fine.” All the same, I led her across the sand and trotted her to check the leg. She was sound.

  “Leg me up?” I asked Baba.

  “You’re going to try again?” Baba looked worried and he hesitated at first, but I looked him straight in the eye and I said, “Tell fate that it will have to wait for another day.”

  It felt very strange, Mama, to be back up on Bree again. I was still shaking a little as I took up the reins. Luckily it took a while for everyone to leave the arena and for the jump to be rebuilt, so that gave me a chance to focus. Ali came over and he handed me the whip that I had dropped when I fell and then he looked up at me and said, “Try to go over it this time, instead of through it.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” I smiled. I was about to turn Bree away when Baba clasped my hand and held it tight. “Haya.” His voice was calm, full of confidence. “She can do it, Haya. Remember, keep your rhythm all the way to the fence, and then sit up and push her on for the last two strides.”

  And then they were gone and it was just me and Bree alone in the arena once more.

  Bree didn’t seem to be put off by the crash. She was pulling harder than ever on the reins as we circled in to take the upright and I had to check her firmly to say No, I’m in charge. She came back to me after that, settling into a bouncy canter to take the wide spread and then, as we rounded the corner, I saw the sunlight glinting off the car. It doesn’t matter what Santi says, you cannot pretend it isn’t there. It was huge.

  A million things rushed through my mind, Mama. But as I rode down to face the silver car, I felt the way I had on that very first day I rode Bree. I felt like my horse would take care of me. I felt safe. And at that moment I knew we could do it. “Come on, Bree,” I whispered. “Go! Go now!”

  I felt her strides quicken beneath me, her hocks strong and powerful working like pistons, and then she was gathering up. All I could sense was this awesome power as she took one perfect big bold stride to reach the fence and then she flew it. I mean really flew it – we must have cleared those top two rails of the spread with centimetres of air to spare. It was the most amazing feeling, as if we were suspended in the sky. Then I felt Bree grunt underneath me as she kicked out her hind legs to clear the last rail and we came down on the other side.

  I could hear the applause, deafening as thunder, and I knew that the whole stadium had been holding their breath for us. The applause kept coming in waves and it carried us as we rode a lap, with me saluting to everyone, standing up in the stirrups with one hand on the reins, and Bree snorting and fretting at the
bit, her tail held up and flowing behind her like a true Bedouin Arabian.

  As we swooped round on our triumphant lap of the arena, I could see Baba and Ali. They were both clapping so hard and Frances was clapping along with them too and I smiled and waved back to them. Then a cheer rose up from the crowd and I looked up above Baba’s head and I saw them raising my flag, blue and white, fluttering high on the fourth pole.

  I was on such a high when we came back to the stables and everyone ran over to us. Zayn got to me first and he gave me a high five and then he realised that maybe this was the wrong thing to do, and he got flustered, and said, “Well done, Your Royal Highness.”

  I have never been more excited. We had jumped a car!

  “She is the best horse in the world,” I said to Zayn. And I meant it, Mama, she really is.

  There was no time for celebration yet though. The vaulting was still to come and I had to get Bree ready. Zayn helped me to strip off her saddle, while I got the bucket and sponge and worked all over to cool her down. I used the sweat-scraper to get rid of the excess water and she looked so sleek, her coat shining a deep rich bay colour. I felt the smoothness of her and I thought about the bearskin rug. I’d had the chance to master my handstands on the wall with it. But I hadn’t been able to practise since then on Bree. Well, I would get my chance soon enough.

  Bashir’s team went first in the vaulting. Their performance had a lot of yelling and whooping as they rode, but mostly it was the same old tricks.

  Isn’t it strange, Mama? They didn’t want me to ride because I am a girl, but being a girl turned out to be a great advantage in the final event. Bashir and his men were big and heavy, cumbersome on their horses. Zayn and I, on the other hand, were small, nimble and light. We rode out into the arena with me doubling on the back of Yusef’s grey and Zayn doubled on the back of Radi’s chestnut – and proceeded to let our teammates toss us about like we were marionettes and they were playing our strings.

  We vaulted off the horses and then bounced back up again as if the ground beneath us were a trampoline! At one point I stood up on the rump of Yusef’s big grey at a canter and made a flying leap through the air to land neatly behind Attah on his bay mare. Meanwhile Zayn, riding on the back of Radi’s chestnut, leapt from the other direction to land on the back of Yusef’s grey in the spot I had left just moments before.

  We rode backwards, waving to the crowds as we looked back over the horses’ rumps, and then did flips to vault off, planting our feet on the ground as we struck the earth behind their thundering hooves. If the crowd had been cheering for Bashir’s men before, now their applause was reverberating like thunder throughout the stadium, their feet stamping in time to the music. When I looked up at Baba in the Royal Box, there was such a smile on his face. It was as wide as the mouths of the lions at Al Nadwa palace.

  The cheering was so loud in the arena that, when the time came for our finale, I could hardly hear Santi’s words as he jogged Bree into the arena and handed her over to me.

  “God protect you,” Santi said. Then he legged me up and, as Yusef led the team up the centre line to take their last lap of the arena and wave their goodbyes to the crowds, I rode in and suddenly it was just the two of us in front of everyone, Bree and me.

  She is such an amazing horse, Mama. I wish you could have met her. I wish you could see how much I love her.

  “Let us show them the trick,” I breathe to Bree. And I feel her gather herself beneath me and I urge her on so that her canter becomes a gallop. I look down and see the golden sand rushing away beneath her hooves. I know that if I fall this time then fate may take me. But I am not afraid.

  I sit up straight on her back and let go of the reins. My hands stretch out to the sides like an aeroplane. I take another deep breath. I can feel the rhythm of her gallop, the pounding of her hooves, and my heart pounds too, one-two-three.

  I am ready. I brace my hands against her silken coat and I pounce up so that I am like a cat on all fours. I hold myself there for just a moment, getting a grip on her withers, fingers spread wide, my weight in my hands and arms, legs ready to kick off. And then I push hard.

  I think for a moment that I am going to go too far and topple forward on to her neck. But I keep my legs stiffened and my hands hold and the fingers do not slide this time, they stay planted firmly on Bree’s withers. I straighten up, arch my back and stretch my toes to the sky, holding the pose with all of my strength.

  And I know that, no matter what happens, I will not fall.

  rincess Haya Bint Al Hussein was twelve years old when she led the Jordanian Royal Stables team to victory against the Mounted Police in the King’s Cup. It was the first time that Al Hummar had taken the coveted prize in over a decade.

  At age thirteen, Princess Haya was the first female rider to represent Jordan internationally in equestrian sport, winning an Individual Bronze Medal in showjumping at the Pan-Arab Equestrian Games in 1992. She remains the sole female competitor ever to win a medal in Pan-Arab equestrian sport.

  Controversy surrounded Princess Haya’s decision to become a professional showjumper, but her father always supported her unconditionally. When she became the only woman in Jordan to hold a heavy vehicle licence so that she could drive her horses to compete on the European circuit, the King nicknamed her ‘The Trucker’. He loved to hear about her decidedly un-royal experiences and stories of life on the road.

  In 2000, Princess Haya was chosen for the Olympic showjumping team to compete in Sydney and carried the Jordanian flag in the opening ceremony, taking her rightful place among the best athletes in the world. Tragically, King Hussein died just prior to the games.

  Two years later, riding at the World Equestrian Games at Jerez de la Frontera in Spain, Princess Haya met her future husband, Sheik Mohammed Bin Rashid Al-Maktoum, ruler of Dubai. They married in 2004 and have two children, Her Highness Sheikha Al-Jalila and His Highness Sheikh Zayed.

  Today Princess Haya holds one of the highest honours in the equestrian world as the elected head of the International Equestrian Federation – the FEI. Her tenure has revolutionised the role of the presidency and she was voted into an unprecedented second term in 2010.

  Princess Haya’s brother, Prince Ali, whom she once stuck in a dumb waiter, is the Vice-president of the world football association, FIFA, representing Asia.

  In memory of her mother, Her Majesty the late Queen Alia, Princess Haya founded Tkiyet Um Ali in 2003, the first food-aid NGO in the Arab world, and became the Chair of its Board of Directors. She was also the first Arab and first woman to serve as World Food Programme Goodwill Ambassador and has been appointed by the UN as a Messenger of Peace.

  Bint Al-Reeh, the orphaned foal who was raised by the Princess, went on to win many jumping competitions, before living out her days in well-earned retirement at Al Hummar stables.

  About the Author

  Photograph © Carolyn Haslett

  he author of seventeen books, Stacy Gregg has reinvigorated the pony genre with her two popular series Pony Club Secrets and Pony Club Rivals.

  A former journalist, Stacy undertook extensive research, travelling to Jordan with the blessing of Princess Haya. Given unprecedented access to the palaces and royal stables, she conducted lengthy interviews with Her Royal Highness, Her family and friends to bring The Princess and the Foal to life.

  Other books by Stacy Gregg

  Pony Club Secrets series:

  Mystic and the Midnight Ride

  Blaze and the Dark Rider

  Destiny and the Wild Horses

  Stardust and the Daredevil Ponies

  Comet and the Champion’s Cup

  Storm and the Silver Bridle

  Fortune and the Golden Trophy

  Victory and the All-Stars Academy

  Flame and the Rebel Riders

  Angel and the Flying Stallions

  Liberty and the Dream Ride

  Nightstorm and the Grand Slam

  Issie and the Christmas Pony
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  Pony Club Rivals series:

  The Auditions

  Showjumpers

  Riding Star

  The Prize

  www.stacygregg.co.uk

  Click here to order

  Mystic and the Midnight Ride – Book 1 of the Pony Club Secrets series

  Click here to order

  Blaze and the Dark Rider – Book 2 of the Pony Club Secrets series

  Click here to order

  The Auditions – Book 1 of Pony Club Rivals series

  Read on for a sneak peek of ‘Mystic and the Midnight Ride’

  CHAPTER 1

  Please, please let it be sunny tomorrow, Issie had prayed as she went to bed the night before the gymkhana. But when her alarm clock woke her at quarter to six the next morning and she ran to the window there were grey clouds covering the sky Still, there was no sign of rain and when she listened for a cancellation on the radio nothing was mentioned, so she headed out into the pre-dawn light to prepare Mystic for his big day.

  Stella and Kate were already down at the River Paddock. Stella was busily brushing out Coco’s tail, while Kate was sectioning out Toby’s neatly pulled mane so that she could start plaiting it into tiny knots along the top of his neck.

  “You’d better hurry.” Stella smiled. “Tom said he’d be here by seven to help us load them into the truck and take them to the show grounds.”

  Grabbing Mystic’s halter out of the tack room, Issie set off across the paddock. The grass was wet with dew and her riding boots were soaked by the time she reached the spot where Mystic was grazing. The pretty dapple-grey was chewing up great chunks of fresh spring growth and barely bothered to raise his head to acknowledge her.