“You? A boy of what, nary fifteen years?” The stablemaster laughed loudly and several men standing nearby turned to look. “It’s yer death then, just know that we don’t be callin’ yer ma to come collect what’s left of ya!”
She led her horse in the direction the man had pointed, her legs shaking slightly. Her first obstacle was already overcome, that of speaking to someone and passing herself off not only as a lad, but also as someone who belonged here. Now she only need prove herself in the race.
That was far easier imagined than performed, Marjorie quickly learned.
“Name, boy?” the registrar demanded gruffly when she approached the rough-hewn table that served as the official’s window. Marjorie wracked her brain, caught entirely off guard by the request.I’d not thought of a name!she fretted.
“Jonathan,” she replied in a deep voice, hoping she sounded both more like a man and older this time. The registrar paused, then looked up at her with an irritated expression.
“Jonathan?” he repeated, his tone sour. “Yer horse’s name is Jonathan?”
“Uh, no sir. Tis my name,” she replied while others around her chuckled.
“No one gives two sheets about yer name, lad. Yer just a useless rider. Ya think these fine folks are placing their bets on yer name? What’s the horse’s name?” he roared. Marjorie wanted to run.
For a moment, she considered the consequences. What if someone should recognize her horse, and know his name? She would be discovered, and the outcome would be disastrous.
“Boy? If yer not here to sign up, move aside and make room for the riders!” the man shouted. She had no time to think.
“Valiant.”
“Are ya sure this time?” he pressed, mocking her with his gruff tone. “I wouldn’t want to go puttin’ down the wrong name now, seein’ as how no one would get paid out if Jonathan should win the race.”
“I’m sure of it,” she replied in a forceful voice. “Tis my horse, and his name is Valiant.”
“Fine. Yer in the second race. Outside lane farthest from the wall. Stay off the track til yer race is called.” He handed Marjorie a slip of paper that only had the two numbers for her race and her lane, then waved her away with his hand. “Next rider! Step up!”
She was jostled by the crowd of riders as they pressed forward. “Watch it, wretch!” one of them said angrily as he pushed her aside, nearly making her lose her footing.
She moved away from the table only to walk backwards into another man who was waiting for the races to begin. “Move aside, ya filthy lad!” he shouted, raising a hand as though he would strike her but then pulling it back at the last second. His gesture, only meant to intimidate her, had the desired effect.
After recovering her senses, Marjorie sought out a place that would be out of the way to wait and watch. It took no small amount of effort, but she finally found a spot away from the rough crowd that still gave her a good vantage point to see the events unfold. From here, she hoped to watch the comings and goings without ending up underfoot, literally.
The longer she stood around the filthy meeting place, the less sure of herself she became. Everywhere she looked, seemingly angry men and pitiful horses meandered about, all waiting for something to happen. Her resolve was beginning to waver, and more than once she considered slipping away and out of sight. She knew not what the penalty might be though, considering those who had placed their bets already.
Had anyone bet on Valiant? He certainly cut a much finer figure than any other horse here, just by his healthy appearance alone, let alone his obvious strength. But that did not have any bearing on how well he would fare against horses who were accustomed to racing. Marjorie was determined to pay close attention to the first race and see what advantage they might have.
When the first race finally got underway, her heart very nearly stopped beating in her chest. The frightened and confused horses were whipped by their riders within an inch of their lives, each determined to reach the finish line not through sheer speed but by destroying those around them. The goal seemed less to achieve victory than to ensure that no one else even made it across.
When the victor trotted away and the remaining horses followed behind, several stable boys scurried out to grab the bridles and calm the terrified beasts down. More than once she was certain a lad would be trampled underfoot, but they seemed to know what they were doing.
“Second race! Line ‘em up!” the registrar bellowed from his station, and the crowd of men pressed against the rope once again to watch the race. Marjorie hoisted herself into the saddle and led Valiant to the starting line, waiting to give the other horses and riders a wide berth.
To her left, Marjorie could see the other horses stomping nervously as they waited for the start. To his credit, Valiant stood firm, not at all unnerved by the antics of what he surely considered to be inferior horses. He knew his task, which was whatever his mistress required.
Suddenly, the starter shouted, “Be off!” and the field of horses surged out of line. Marjorie had been prepared for the start and had already determined not to get caught in the fray of whips and churning hooves. Valiant could best any of these horses, she knew, and she gave pause for only a second to let the throng tangle themselves ahead of her. A fraction of a moment late, she gave Valiant a gentle kick and pressed the heel of her right leg against his flank, the signal for him to break into a canter.
With a soft cry and a flick of his reins against his neck, Marjorie told him to break into a run. She rose up out of the saddle and crouched over his neck, letting him move beneath her without the added burden of her weight against his back.
Valiant flew. The secret rides tearing across her father’s estates had served both horse and mistress well. Marjorie was not the least bit unnerved by the speed or the rush of air that nearly cost her the covering over her hair, but instead she lowered her head and let Valiant take charge.
Within seconds, they’d caught the other riders. After a few more seconds and some very careful maneuvering to avoid a spill, they’d passed the cluster of struggling animals. Shouts of surprise and anger behind her told her she was leaving the others in a haze of churned up mire.
As Marjorie and Valiant easily rounded the last curve of the oblong track, she chanced a look back at the other horses. They were just far enough away that she felt her first moment of relief since sneaking down the staircase only a short time ago. As they crossed the finish line, she eased back on Valiant’s reins and felt him begin to slow beneath her.
“What are you doin’, lad?” the official bawled in a rage. “Tis two laps! Go! Move!”
Marjorie almost faltered in her confusion, but somehow Valiant seemed to understand and took up again. The thundering of hooves behind him told him the race was not yet finished. She nudged his flank again and rose up from her saddle when he lurched forward, clutching at the hair of his mane in desperation before letting go and placing her balled fists against either side of his neck.
