Before The Cock Crow (First Born of Egypt)

by Simon Raven

‘So did Fielding Gray,’ said Theodosia.

  ‘Who’s that fat man with him?’

  ‘Danny Chead’s father,’ said Aunt Flo, unexpectedly.

  ‘Come to watch his son?’ asked Theodosia.

  ‘He hates his son. But he always comes to this meeting because he was in Hamilton’s Horse. I was here once with Giles Glastonbury – long time ago, before I went broke – and he introduced me to him.’

  ‘I must say,’ said Theodosia, ‘I never saw a scene so proper and peaceful.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Aunt Flo: ‘but God always reserves his nastiest jokes for the nicest occasions. Remember Dickie Mountbatten two years ago? Or Abe Lincoln? Or Julius Caesar, come to that? Boadicea is behaving very decorously,’ she continued, ‘if one considers that there is an attractive grey stallion in the company. Perhaps she don’t like grey. I wonder how many people in all this crowd know she’s in season? The geldings are a grotty lot…except for number three… Alfie Boy.’

  ‘Favourite,’ said Theodosia, ‘according to the board. Even money. With Jack Spratt at two to one, Forceful Horsfall at fours… Boadicea at six to one…and Lover Pie at tens.’

  ‘Marius is taking Lover Pie’s blanket off…out on the course there. He’s hurrying away with it somewhere. Last time,’ said Palairet, ‘he just hung about in the enclosure. Do you think we ought to follow him?’

  ‘No,’ said Theodosia, ‘someone’s coming to meet him…two other stable lads, by the look of it.’ She raised her binoculars. ‘Beautiful faces but villainous kit. I hope they don’t start resenting Marius’ pretty clothes. No. All is well. One of them has taken the blanket…and Marius has gone to stand by the entrance to the paddock, between the paddock and the course. I should have thought he might be needing that blanket at the end of the race but the two other lads are taking it away to the horseboxes. Not that it can be of the slightest importance.’

  ‘And now Jeremy Morrison has gone to talk to Marius,’ Palairet said. ‘I’m beginning to think I’ve been very silly, my lady. Nothing’s going to happen at all.’

  That was what Fielding Gray thought as he stood in the enclosure with Corporal-Major Chead and watched Jeremy approach Marius, take his hand briefly, and begin to talk.

  And that was what Giles Glastonbury thought, as he studied Jeremy and Marius through his binoculars from the Owner’s Box in the stand, whither he had come from the paddock as soon as Danny Chead had ridden Boadicea out on to the course.

  ‘They’re under Starter’s Orders.’

  Giles switched his binoculars to the line of horses on the rim of the downs.

  ‘THEY’RE OFF.’

  On the left-hand corner before the approach to the first fence, Forceful Horsfall takes the lead two lengths clear of Jack Spratt and the mare, Boadicea. All safely over the first fence, though Lover Pie slow in jumping in fifth place and moves back to seventh as they run down the hill towards the second. Forceful Horsfall by three lengths from Jack Spratt, who is in turn a length clear of Boadicea; a gap of three lengths, then Alfie Boy (the four to six favourite), Lack Lustre, Simon Magus and Lover Pie all in a bunch, with Nicholas Christopher (fifty, five-o, to one) three lengths behind them and Japhet (twenty to one) already five lengths behind him. Over the second (a much better jump by Lover Pie) and on downhill towards the third, same order, but fallen at the second Lack Lustre, and Alfie Boy making good ground to come upsides with Boadicea, Nicholas Christopher quickening to join Simon Magus and Lover Pie, Japhet not wanting to race and already tailed off.

  The water jump at the bottom of the slope. Forceful Horsfall at a steady pace in the lead, four clear now from Jack Spratt (the five to two second favourite), nothing to choose between Boadicea and Alfie Boy both a length behind Jack Spratt, Nicholas Christopher over with Lover Pie, Simon Magus sheds rider, Japhet refused. Round the bottom right-hand corner to the next plain fence, Forceful Horsfall still leading by four lengths, Jack Spratt following, two back to Alfie Boy and Boadicea, Lover Pie and Nicholas Christopher three lengths behind them in the rear. Round the bottom left-hand corner, same order, over the open ditch, starting up the hill again, Forceful Horsfall a violent faller at the next fence (opposite Tattersall’s) almost bringing down Jack Spratt, who swerves cleverly round the fallen horse but loses three lengths to Alfie Boy and Boadicea, these two still neck and neck. On up the hill past the Members’ Stand and the winning post: two complete circuits still to run. But on the corner at the top of the hill Jack Spratt shows lame and pulls up, leaving only four horses in the race. As they run along the skyline towards the eighth these are: Alfie Boy (four to six favourite) by half a length; Boadicea (six to one) three lengths clear of Lover Pie (eleven to one in the final betting) who leads Nicholas Christopher (fifty to one) by a neck…

  Raisley Conyngham had watched with satisfaction while the gypsy boys, Milo and Tessa, relieved Marius of Lover Pie’s blanket. Marius will think, thought Raisley, that they will take it to the horsebox and put it in the bucket of disinfectant which I told him would have been prepared by Gat-Toothed Jenny. Then he will start to wonder if he was right to let them have it, as he was ordered to take it to the horsebox himself and return to the entrance of the paddock in time to see the horses run the last two circuits. He knows I require precise obedience, and he will wonder whether even the presence of Milo excuses the change of programme. Also, he will soon begin to wonder who will bring him a second blanket in case of need, and when. In short he will be very jittery indeed.

  At the moment of the ‘Off’, Conyngham put these reflections aside and began to watch the race, with interest but without binoculars, relying on the commentator (Mr J. B. Budden, whom he knew to be a particularly succinct and accurate performer) and on the pithy interjections of Jack Lamprey, who was by his side.

  ‘So far, so fucking good,’ said Sozzler Jack as the four contestants ran past the start on the second circuit and turned the corner at the top of the slope: ‘all we need now is for both of ’em to stand up.’

  As Tessa and Milo walked away from the paddock into the park for horseboxes, Tessa started to vomit.

  ‘It’s that blanket,’ she choked: ‘keep it away from me.’

  As she fell on her knees and went on spurting vomit, Milo flapped air at her with the blanket, much as a second in the corner of a boxing ring flaps air at his principal, save that the blanket, even when folded, was far larger and more cumbrous than the conventional towel.

  Jeremy Morrison had come up to Marius by the entrance to the paddock, and had there started to talk to him, early during the first circuit. At first Marius was very pleased to see him; but then he remembered that he was meant to be watching the race alone, and indeed wasn’t even meant to be watching at all just yet, as he should have been taking Lover Pie’s blanket to the horsebox.

  ‘India,’ Jeremy was saying: ‘perhaps you’ll join me there in the hols. I could send you a ticket.’

  ‘Gosh,’ said Marius, beside himself with worry about his dereliction of duty. ‘Oh ,Jeremy, gosh.’

  By the time the horses still in the race were rounding the top left-hand corner for the second time and were going towards what had been the first fence in the first circuit and was now the ninth, anyone who cared to take his eyes off the course for a moment to look at what was happening by the paddock would have seen a very beautiful fair-haired boy in a dark suit, school tie and black brogues (by which tokens he might have recognised the stable lad who had had charge of Lover Pie before the race) obviously very anxious (presumably about the fate of his horse) in conversation with a large, moon-faced man of about twenty-three years old. Apart from any member of the general public who may or may not have paid attention to this couple, certain interested observers were watching them closely, and were thinking or reasoning or speculating much as follows:

  Fielding Gray, while he saw nothing actually amiss, was surprised by the extreme agitation displayed by Marius.

  Corpy Chead briefly admired both the boy and the young man, with the
tender eye of a part-time (because married) pederast of long standing, who had, however, retired from practice because he considered it ridiculous, in a man of his age, and no longer worth the trouble. Having paid his tribute of theoretical appreciation, the Corporal-Major went back to watching the race, rather hoping that his son Danny would break his neck at the tenth fence, which the survivors in the race were just about to jump.

  Giles Glastonbury, though aware that the conversation was in progress, thought little of it, being much preoccupied with the behaviour of Boadicea, who had suddenly become fretful, pecked badly at the tenth fence and was sharply ‘reminded’ (or so it seemed) by her jockey.

  Theodosia Canteloupe, seeing that Marius was clearly embarrassed and getting no enjoyment from Jeremy’s company, was sad for both of them, because she had once loved, still did love, Jeremy, and thought that such a dismal, jerky conversation was a terrible waste of opportunity. What would she not have given to be standing there talking to Jeremy?

  Aunt Flo had forgotten all about the mission of her party and was concentrating on the outsider, the little chestnut gelding Nicholas Christopher, on whom, unknown to her nephew, she had had a tenner each way on the Tote, having slipped away to do so on the pretext that she was ‘busting for a pee’. Lucky, she thought, that Theodosia hadn’t been busting for a pee too, or she might have accompanied her and fucked up her chance of making the wager. This would have been a pity, because Nicholas Christopher, who had shown a light step and an honest eye in the paddock, was now running very much to the purpose.

  Galahad Palairet, seeing the tête à tête by the paddock in progress, was divided between a wish that nothing would happen (as now seemed likely) and a fear of losing face with Theodosia Canteloupe for having raised a false alarm.

  Raisley Conyngham, who had not allowed for the possibility of anyone’s engaging Marius in conversation, was irritated by his lack of foresight but not badly worried: it should not, he thought, make any difference.

  Milo Hedley, having left the prostrate Tessa for a while to spy out the ground and having duly noticed Jeremy’s presence, opined to himself as Raisley Conyngham had done, that this would make no difference to the planned sequence of events. He also resolved to take any chance that might show itself of retiring somewhere private with Jeremy before the afternoon was done. (‘Now, boy, now.’ ‘Christ, sir, I’m coming, sir, oh Christ.’) He then turned his attention to the race, saw that all four horses still in it were approaching the open ditch at the bottom of the hill, and went back to attend to Tessa. Although it was some while since he had desisted from fanning her with the injurious towel, she was still vomiting in little gobs. Just about right, Milo thought.

  Jack Lamprey, switching his binoculars from Alfie Boy, in the lead, to Lover Pie, now second, and then to Boadicea, a flagging third, chuckled at the skill with which Danny Chead was delivering his deliberately futile reminders. Lover Pie, he thought, would have no difficulty in keeping well clear of Boadicea; and although there was really very little chance of Lover Pie’s suddenly being afflicted with lust en courant, a nice wide gap between the pair was what everybody wanted.

  …And now the runners are halfway up the slope for the second time and over the fence opposite Tattersall’s, Boadicea fourth and last, pretty well tailed off, Nicholas Christopher running easily just behind Lover Pie, Lover Pie tracking Alfie Boy and slowly closing the small gap between them. Alfie Boy past the winning post and starting the third circuit…

  As Alfie Boy went past the entrance to the paddock, Jeremy and Marius were still standing there, awkwardly talking. Jeremy was determined not to leave Marius until he had made some sense of their interview, but he was making no progress – indeed Marius was becoming more jumpy and inconsequent by the second. He cast a frenzied glance at the horses as they passed, realised that Lover Pie was a very promising second and might well take the race, and then said anxiously to Jeremy:

  ‘But what shall I do without his blanket?’

  ‘Blanket?’

  ‘He was wearing one before the race. He’ll need it again at the end. Mr Conyngham said that somebody would bring me one, but they haven’t.’

  Boadicea, now over twenty lengths behind the three leaders, went past Jeremy and Marius in a despairing lollop.

  ‘Where did you put the original blanket?’ Jeremy said.

  ‘I was meant to take it to the horsebox and soak it in disinfectant; Mr Conyngham said that Milo was going to bring me another if it would be needed, but he hasn’t and I think it will be. I suppose that if I’d gone to the horsebox myself as I was told to, I might have found another blanket there.’

  ‘Well, you’d better go now,’ said Jeremy, seeing action as the only cure for this potty babble; ‘I’ll come too.’

  ‘Oh, thank you, Jeremy.’

  As they passed from the paddock and into the park for horseboxes, Milo met them.

  ‘Why are you dressed like that?’Jeremy said.

  ‘Makes a change,’ said Milo; and to Marius, ‘I expect you’ve come for another blanket?’

  ‘Yes, Milo.’

  ‘You’d better take the original one. I haven’t soaked it yet, as there don’t seem to be any more, for some reason.’

  ‘Where is the original one?’

  ‘Lying on the ground over there, near Tessa. She’s just been sick.’

  ‘Oh God.’ Marius walked over to Tessa, who was still lying on the ground and seemed to be dozing. Best left alone, thought Marius. He picked up the blanket, which was flecked with blobs of sick, and started back towards the paddock.

  ‘It’s in a horrible state,’ he said to Milo, as he passed him and Jeremy.

  ‘No time to do anything about that now. You’ll have to make the best of it.’

  ‘I suppose so… Well, goodbye,’ Marius said to Jeremy.

  ‘Goodbye, Marius,’ said Jeremy, who was looking hard at Milo, who was looking hard back. ‘I’ll be in touch one way or the other,’ Jeremy muttered, without taking his eyes off Milo; ‘you’d better get on now, Marius, your horse will be needing that blanket pretty soon.’

  Marius marched miserably away. He had let Jeremy down, he knew that, but he couldn’t help it, he’d been full of the worries of the occasion, particularly of the nagging problem of Lover Pie’s blanket, and unable to concentrate on what Jeremy was saying. Things had not been improved by the manner of their parting; for although Marius had been delighted when Jeremy had offered to come with him to collect the blanket, the whole business had turned rotten when they were met by Milo. Marius, wondering what was going on in the horsebox park, wondering why they hadn’t even looked at him when he said goodbye, decided that he had better think of something, of anything, else. He came to the paddock entrance, hung the blanket on the rails, and turned his eyes to the bottom of the course, where Lover Pie and Alfie Boy were now taking the water jump together, with Nicholas Christopher some three lengths behind them.

  ‘We can go into the horsebox,’ said Milo to Jeremy. ‘Jenny – the head travelling lass – she’s off boozing.’

  ‘Why is Tessa Malcolm lying there like that? Why are you dressed like that?’

  ‘I wanted to see her like that. Filthy and smelly. I wanted to be with her like that.’

  ‘What’s going on, Milo? What’s the matter with Tessa?’

  ‘The smell of a horse blanket has made her sick. Come on, sir: we’ve no time to waste.’

  Giles, having given up watching Boadicea, had set his binoculars on Alfie Boy, who moved very easily over the plain fence in the bottom stretch, turned the last corner neatly, sailed over the open ditch, slipped and crumpled on the far side of it. The race was now between Lover Pie and Nicholas Christopher…who was half a length behind Lover Pie at the open ditch but began to gain inch by inch as they went uphill towards the last plain fence, after which there would be a run in of one hundred and forty odd yards to the winning post.

  Well, thought Aunt Flo, I’m certainly getting a run for my money.r />
  Never mind which of ‘em wins, thought Raisley Conyngham, so long as they both stand up and Boadicea comes past the post a safe third, however distant. With the entire course empty but for the three of them, surely they can manage that.

  Jeremy seems to have given up piquet duty, thought Fielding Gray: he’s left Marius on his own. He started to move across the lawn of the Members’ Enclosure, ostensibly to be opposite the winning post, in fact to be near the Winners’ Enclosure and its entrance. Corporal-Major Chead moved with him, looking back, as he went, to the bottom stretch, where Danny and Boadicea were now clearing the plain fence, very slowly but absolutely safely. Two more chances for him to break his fucking neck now, thought Corpy Chead, the open ditch and the last, some fucking hope…

  ‘Never mind,’ Theodosia was saying to Palairet; ‘you did the right thing to get hold of me. You thought your friend was in danger, even if it turns out that he wasn’t; better safe than sorry.’

  ‘Thank you, my lady.’

  ‘Thea…and it’s been a splendid day out. I think…that that outsider is just going to do it.’

  Sod it, thought Jack Lamprey: I know it don’t matter to Raisley whether or not the Lover wins, but it would have been a nice little coup for the stable – and for me, with two hundred on him at ten to one.

  As lover Pie and Nicholas Chrisptopher approach the last fence, there’s nothing in it between them (though informed spectators, like Jack Lamprey, have sensed that Nicholas Christopher is gaining the advantage). And so to the last and over together, but Nicholas Christopher jumps the better, a huge leap for such a small horse, and begins to go clear…

  Goody gum drops, thought Aunt Flo, as Lover Pie came under pressure but failed to make up any ground, hoorah for Nicholas Christopher, started at fifties, with luck he’ll pay sixties or even seventies on the Tote.