Meridon. Philippa Gregory

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СКАЧАТЬ It was a low call from the man on the step of the caravan. I sat up cautiously and shaded my eyes to see him. It was a fine wagon, much bigger than ours and brightly painted. Down the side in swirly red and gold letters it said words I could not read; with a great swirly ‘E’ which I guessed signified horses for there was a wonderful painted horse rearing up before a lady dressed as fine as a queen twirling a whip under its hooves.

      The man’s shirt was white, nearly clean. His face was shaved and plump. He was smiling at me, friendly. I was instantly suspicious.

      ‘That’s thirsty work,’ he said kindly. ‘Would you like a mug of small beer?’

      ‘What for?’ I asked.

      ‘You’re working well, I enjoyed watching you,’ he said. He got to his feet and went inside his wagon, his fair head brushing the top of the doorway. He came out with two small pewter mugs of ale, and stepped down carefully from the step, his eyes on the mugs. He came towards me with one outstretched. I got to my feet and eyed him, but I did not put out my hand for the drink though I was parched and longing for the taste of the cool beer on my tongue and throat.

      ‘What d’you want?’ I asked, my eyes on the mug.

      ‘Maybe I want to buy the horse,’ he said. ‘Go on, take it. I won’t bite.’

      That brought my eyes to his face. ‘I’m not afraid of you,’ I said defiantly. I looked down longingly at the drink again. ‘I’ve no money to buy it,’ I said.

      ‘It’s for free!’ he said impatiently. ‘Take it, you silly wench.’

      ‘Thank you,’ I said gruffly and took it from his hand. The liquid was malty on my tongue and went down my throat in a delicious cool stream. I gulped three times and then paused, to make it last the longer.

      ‘Are you in the horse business?’ he asked.

      ‘You’d best ask my da,’ I said.

      He smiled at my caution and sat down on the grass at my feet. After a little hesitation, I sat too.

      ‘That’s my wagon,’ he said pointing to the caravan. ‘See that on the side? Robert Gower? That’s me. Robert Gower’s Amazing Equestrian Show! That’s me and my business. All sorts I do. Dancing ponies, fortune-telling ponies, acrobatic horses, trick-riding, cavalry charges. And the story of Richard the Lionheart and Saladin, in costume, and with two stallions.’

      I gaped at him. ‘How many horses have you got?’ I asked.

      ‘Five,’ he said. ‘And the stallion.’

      ‘I thought you said two stallions,’ I queried.

      ‘It looks like two,’ he said, unabashed. ‘Richard the Lionheart rides the grey stallion. Then we black him up and he is Saladin’s mighty ebony steed. I black-up too, to be Saladin. So what?’

      ‘Nothing!’ I said hastily. ‘Are these your horses?’

      ‘Aye,’ he said gesturing at the ponies I had noticed earlier. ‘These four ponies, and the skewbald which pulls the wagon and works as a rosinback. My boy’s riding the stallion around the town, crying-up the show. We’re giving a show in the next-door field. Two performances at three and seven. Today and Every Day. By Public Demand. For the Duration.’

      I said nothing. Many of the words I did not understand. But I recognized the ring of the showground barker.

      ‘You like horses,’ he said.

      ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘My da buys them, or trades them. We both train them. We often sell children’s ponies. So I trains them.’

      ‘When will this one be ready?’ Robert Gower nodded to the grey pony.

      ‘Da wants to sell him this week,’ I said. ‘He’ll be half-broke by then.’

      He pursed his lips and whistled soundlessly. ‘That’s fast work,’ he said. ‘You must take a lot of tumbles. Or is it your da who rides them?’

      ‘It’s me!’ I said indignantly. ‘I’ll lunge him all today and I’ll get on him tonight.’

      He nodded and said nothing. I finished the ale and looked at the bottom of the mug. It had gone too quick and I had been distracted from savouring it by talk. I was sorry now.

      ‘I’d like to see your da,’ he said getting to his feet. ‘Be back for his dinner, will he?’

      ‘Yes,’ I said. I scrambled to my feet and picked up the whip. ‘I’ll tell him you want to see him. Shall he come over to your wagon?’

      ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘And when you’ve finished your work you can see my horse show. Admittance Only One Penny. But you may come Complimentary.’

      ‘I don’t have a penny,’ I said, understanding only that.

      ‘You can come free,’ he said. ‘Either show.’

      ‘Thank you,’ I said awkwardly. ‘Sir.’

      He nodded as gracious as a lord and went back to his bright wagon. I looked again at the picture on the side. The lady with the whip and the rearing white horse was dressed as fine as a queen. I wondered who she was and if she was perhaps his wife. It would be a fine life to dress as a lady and train horses in a ring before people who paid all that money just to see you. It would be as good as being born Quality. It would be nearly as good as Wide.

      ‘Hey you!’ he called again, his head stuck out of his caravan door. ‘D’you know how to crack that whip, as well as flick it?’

      ‘Yes,’ I said. I ought to be able to. I had practised ever since I was able to stand. My da could crack a whip so loud it could scare the birds out of the trees. When I had asked him to teach me he had thrown an old rag down on the ground at my bare feet.

      ‘Hit that,’ he had said; and that was as much help as he was ready to give. Days I had stood flicking the whip towards the target until I had gradually strengthened my little-girl wrists to aim the whip accurately at the cloth, and now I could crack it high in the air or crack it low. Dandy had once taken a stalk in her mouth and I had taken the seed head off it for a dare. Only once. The next time we tried it I had missed and flicked her in the eye. I would never do it after that. She had screamed with the pain and her eye had swollen up and been black with a bruise for a week. I had been terrified that I had blinded her. Dandy forgot it as soon as her eye healed and wanted me to crack a whip and knock feathers off her hat and straws out of her mouth for pennies on street corners; but I would not.

      ‘Crack it, then,’ said Robert Gower.

      ‘No,’ I said. ‘It would scare the pony and he’s done nothing wrong. I’ll crack it for you when I’ve turned him out.’

      He nodded at that and a little puff of surprised smoke came from his pipe like a cottage chimney.

      ‘Good lass,’ he said. ‘What’s your name?’

      ‘Meridon,’ I said.

      ‘Gypsy blood?’ he asked.

      ‘My mother was Rom,’ СКАЧАТЬ