Quarterdeck(8)

‘So we seem t’ have made up our mind to go ridin’ at last.’ A sarcastic bellow came across the ring to him. ‘We start wi’ the walk.’

The horse plodded in a circle, and Kydd’s confidence grew.

‘Back straight, Mr Kydd.’ He forced his spine to rigidity and completed another circle. ‘Jehosaphat Moses! Keep y’r back supple, Mr Kydd. Let y’r hips rock with the horse, sir!’

The trot was more to his liking with its brisk motion, but the horse whinnied with frustration at the tight rein and Kydd eased it a little.

A gate was opened into a larger field, and Renzi began to canter. Kydd followed behind, feeling the thud of hoofs through the animal’s frame and hearing snorts of effort coming from the great beast beneath him. It was exhilarating, and he relaxed into it. The horse seemed to sense this and responded with a more fluid, faster motion.

‘Well done, Mr Kydd!’ he heard. ‘“Collected an’ light in hand”, we say.’

As he turned he saw the woman pull out a large fob watch. ‘To me!’ she demanded impatiently.

Kydd felt the horse respond to his signals with knee and reins and suddenly was reluctant to finish for the morning. Impulsively, he clapped his knees to the beast’s barrel-like sides. After a brief hesitation the horse responded and broke into a gallop. Instinctively Kydd acted as he would aloft, his standing crouch that of a topman leaning forward to hand a billowing sail. The horse stretched out down the length of the field. Now wildly excited, Kydd caught a glimpse of figures staring at him as he thundered past. The wind tore through his hair, the din of hoofs and the animal’s rhythmic movements beat on his senses.

A gnarled wooden fence spread across his vision. As they hurtled towards it, Kydd considered an emergency turn to larboard. Far behind him a faint bellow sounded: ‘Bridge y’r reins! Bridge your reins!’ but he was too far gone. The horse threw itself at the rails. There was a momentary muscular tensing, a lunge into space, then all was quiet for a heartbeat before the beast landed with a mighty thud and a jerk.

Kydd stayed aboard as the horse raced away through nondescript winter-brown bracken and into the woods beyond. It hesitated in mid-stride, then swerved on to a woodland path, Kydd ducking to avoid whip-like branches.

He became aware of hoofbeats out of synchrony with his own, and indistinct shouting. He guessed it would be Renzi following, but dared not look behind. He shot past a gaping greenwood forager, then reached a more substantial lane across their path.

The horse skidded as it negotiated a random turn, but the mud slowed it, and the gallop became less frantic. It panted heavily as it slowed to a trot. Renzi caught up and grasped the reins. ‘How are you, brother?’

Kydd flashed a wide grin. ‘Spankin’ fine time, Nicholas, s’ help me,’ he said breathlessly, his face red with exertion.

Renzi hid a grin. ‘And what has happened to your decorum, sir?’

‘Oh? Aye, yes. Er, a capital experience, sir.’

They rode together for a space. The lane widened and a small cottage came into view ahead. ‘Do dismount, old fellow, and ask directions back,’ Renzi suggested. Gingerly, Kydd leaned forward to bring his leg across the saddle, but in a flash he had toppled backwards into the black winter mud, still with one foot in a stirrup.

The horse stamped and rolled its eyes as Kydd got ruefully to his feet and trudged down the garden path to the door.

It was answered by a stooped old man with alert bright eyes. Before Kydd could speak, he smiled. ‘Ah, Master Kydd, I do believe? Thomas Kydd?’

‘Aye, y’r in the right of it,’ Kydd said. ‘That is t’ say, you have th’ advantage of me, sir.’

The man feigned disappointment. Kydd’s face cleared. ‘O’ course! Parson Deane!’ It seemed so long ago that, as a boy, he had taken delight in going to the lakeside with the old man and his dog after duck. ‘I hope I find you in health, sir,’ he said. The parson glanced up at Renzi, who was still mounted. ‘Oh, sir, this is Mr Renzi, my particular friend. Mr Renzi, this is the Rev’nd Deane.’

Renzi inclined his head. ‘My honour, sir. Our apologies at this intrusion, we merely seek a more expedient way back to our manège.’

Deane’s face creased in pleasure. ‘I shall tell you, should you come inside and accept a dish of tea while Thomas tells me where he’s been spending his days.’

They left the horses to crop grass outside the garden fence and went into the parson’s house. Deane looked at Kydd keenly, clearly enjoying his sparse recital of his impressment and subsequent adventures. ‘So now you’re an officer?’