“Number Twenty-eight,” called the collecting ring steward.
Jake rode quietly into the ring. During the long wait he had counted Sailor’s plaits, found there were fifteen, his unlucky number, and had quickly undone them, so Sailor’s sparse mane crinkled unbecomingly like Harpo Marx’s hair.
As the horse shuffled in, flea-bitten, head hanging, Ludwig laughed and turned to Rupert: “Do you get your horses from zee knacker’s yard now?”
“May I be Franco with you?” said Rupert. “That is the ugliest horse anyone’s ever seen.”
Helen looked at Jake and repeated her remark about the knight of the sorrowful countenance to Malise, but Malise wasn’t listening either; he was praying.
The audience was losing interest. There hadn’t been enough clear rounds, the Germans were so far ahead it didn’t look as though anyone, and definitely not the Spaniards, would catch them up. The general was talking to his energy minister about oil prices. No one was paying much attention as Sailor cantered towards the first fence.
Tilting at windmills, thought Helen, filled with compassion.
“Never get over it,” said Rupert.
But suddenly this extraordinarily ugly animal shook himself like an old music hall actor who realizes he’s got a capacity crowd, gave a snort of pleasure, and took hold of the bit.
“Christ, look at that,” said Humpty Hamilton as Sailor cleared the first fence.
“And that,” said Billy as he cleared the second.
“And that,” said Malise, resisting a temptation to crow, as he cleared the third.
“And that,” said Helen.
“Jesus, he can really jump,” said Billy. “Look at the way he tucks up his feet.”
The crowd, bored by Spain’s poor performance, suddenly diverted by this extraordinary horse, laughed at first then started to clap and cheer.
“He’s going to get time faults if he’s not careful,” said Mrs. Greenslade, as Jake checked Sailor before the combination, but, pop, pop, pop, over he went.
“Christ,” said Humpty. “That horse must have some good blood in him.”
“Who is zees horse, Malise?” said Ludwig. “It is not permitted, I think, to jump mules. I shall lodge an objection.”
Sailor was over the water. Now there was just the double left.
As he turned sharply to make up time, the sun shone straight into Jake’s eyes, dazzling and blinding him. He had to leave it all to Sailor. The British team held its breath as the horse came trundling down, carefully positioned himself, and cleared both parts beautifully. As he shambled out of the ring to deafening cheers, some people in the riders’ stand could have sworn he winked his walleye. Jake, his face blank, leaned forward, pulling Sailor’s ears, running his hand repeatedly up and down the horse’s curly mane.
“Beginner’s luck,” said Rupert.
“That horse isn’t a beginner,” said Billy. “He looks like an oldage pensioner.”
“He’s got half a time fault,” said Helen, putting C for Clear by Jake’s name. “That puts us in the lead.”
In the collecting ring, Sailor philosophically accepted the ecstatic embraces of Bridie and Tracey, but was more interested in getting his three Polos reward from Jake, who in his turn was trying to hide his elation. Having automatically checked Sailor’s legs for any swelling or tenderness, he loosened his girths and put on his fly sheet.
“Well done,” said Malise. “It’s hard to believe that horse hadn’t walked the course himself.”
And as Humpty, Billy, Lavinia, and both her parents surged round Jake to offer their congratulations, Malise added, “Delighted he’s come good. Completely justified your faith in him. Get Tracey to walk him round in the shade and keep him quiet, and come and have a Coke or something.”
But Jake couldn’t bear to leave Sailor. Using a bucket of water brought by Tracey, he sponged the horse’s head, throat, and neck and between his back legs to cool him down. Putting a hand over Sailor’s eyes, he sprayed his head and ears with fly spray and as it wasn’t wise for the horse to take in quantities of water, he washed his mouth with a sponge to refresh him.
“Belgravia’d have your hand off if you did that,” said Marion, who was walking a sweating Macaulay round the paddock. “He jumped well,” she added, nodding at Sailor.
Was this the first round in peace talks? thought Jake, Marion, one of the Iron Curtain satellites, temporarily making diplomatic overtures towards the West.
“Thanks,” he said.
The second half of the competition was much tougher. The delays had got to the horses and frayed the riders’ nerves. The heat was stifling, the flies even worse. Sipping an ice cold Pepsi in the competitors’ stand, Jake tried to keep calm.
“It’s the first time for ages the Germans haven’t been in the lead after the first half,” said Mrs. Greenslade. “But they’re tremendously good at coming from behind.”
“Sounds fun,” said Rupert, glancing at Helen, who went pink.
The Germans, in fact, came back fighting. Humpty jumped well, but could only manage eight faults. Lavinia had four, to her parents’ ecstasy.
“Bloody boo sucks to you, Wupert,” she said as she came out of the ring.
But the first two Germans had only four faults each.
Then Manfred came in and got only eight faults.
“Rupert’s got to go clear,” said Billy, looking at Helen’s marks and counting on his fingers. “God, I wish I’d taken O level math.”
Down in the collecting ring, Malise told Rupert the same thing: “Macaulay’s a big brave horse. He can do it, if you keep calm and put him right.”
But Rupert was still raging with Jake and Malise, and with Lavinia for being so smug about getting four faults.
Macaulay was a big, brave horse, but he’d suffered when Rupert was angry before, and he sensed Rupert was angry now and it unsettled him. Putting him over an unnecessarily high practice fence, Rupert had banged his fetlocks badly. Macaulay was a brave horse, but he didn’t like being pushed around.
Rupert jumped clear until he came to the seventh fence, a huge oxer, then he turned Macaulay too sharply, put him at the fence wrong, pulling him up a stride too early. Despite a huge and heroic jump, Macaulay couldn’t make it and had the pole down. This unsettled him for the combination. Fighting for his head, he almost ran away with Rupert and had all three elements down, then put a foot in the water, finishing up with twenty faults.
The British team groaned. This was the round they’d have to drop. It would be too much to expect Jake to repeat his brilliant first round. They had been so near beating the Germans; now victory was slipping away like a sock in a gum boot. Rupert rode straight out of the ring, ignoring the cries of bad luck spoken in five different languages, straight past Marion, out of the collecting ring, and back to the stables.
Ludwig came in, stepped on it, and, as expected, went clear without a time fault. It was all up to Jake. If he went clear, they would win by half a time fault. The volatile crowd were disappointed not to have a Spanish win, but they admired the courage of this gypsy boy and his hideous horse, and adopted him as their own. “Magnifico,” they cried half in irony as he came into the ring.
“We’re bloody well going to do it,” whispered Jake into Sailor’s ear as he leaned forward and shortened his reins. Sailor gave three bucks to show he hadn’t fallen asleep and the crowd roared their appreciation.
Off Sailor went towards the first fence, and Billy, despite a blinding headache, felt that rare surge of pleasure which transcends any kind of jealousy when a new star is born.
“You’re right,” he said to Malise. “He’s brilliant.”
Malise, unable to speak because he felt so nervous and choked with emotion, merely nodded.
Suddenly Billy felt someone tugging his sleeve. It was Marion. One look at her horror-stricken face and he followed her down the steps.
“What’s the matter?”
“It’s Rupert. He’s killing Macaulay.”
“Where is he?”
“Back at the stables in the box. He’s bolted the door.”
As Billy sprinted the three hundred yards back to the stables, he was aware of a huge cheer that seemed to
