by Stacy Gregg
Issie looked at Francoise, her heart racing. “Francoise, how far do you think it is from Vega’s hacienda to the gorge?”
Francoise’s eyes narrowed. She had already guessed what Issie was thinking. “It is about two kilometres, maybe a little more,” she said.
“What are you talking about?” Avery was confused. But the other two knew exactly what Issie was driving at.
“She means the race,” Alfie said. “The Silver Bridle.”
Issie nodded. “Angel totally outran Vega’s horses today. And he was faster than Marius. What if he could do the same in the race?” Issie held her breath for a moment and then she blurted out the words. “I think we should race Angel in the Silver Bridle. I think he can win.”
“Isadora,” Francoise said, “El Caballo Danza Magnifico already has a champion. Marius will be racing for us in the Silver Bridle. It has been decided.”
“But why?” Issie said. “Francoise, you said yourself that Angel has the bloodlines of great racehorses in him. If he’s faster than Marius, then shouldn’t we race him instead?” Francoise shook her head. “Angel has not been in training as Marius has…”
“… and yet he still managed to beat Vega’s horses by at least twenty lengths!” Issie insisted. “You said you’d been riding him, Francoise, galloping him over the hills. Well, it’s worked. He’s fit and he’s ready to race. Besides, we have a whole week yet before the race. We could train him.”
“Oui,” Francoise conceded, “yes, potentially it could be done. What you say is true. Angel is strong and sound but…” she shook her head, “… this is madness. It is not possible for him to race. Alfie is our rider. He is the best in our stables, and you know he cannot ride Angel.” Avery was confused by this. “Why not?” “Because Angel is scared of men,” Alfie responded immediately. And at that moment Issie realised why Alfie looked so distraught when they had been walking the horses back to the stables. Alfie was supposed to ride El Caballo’s champion in the Silver Bridle. But what if Angel were really faster than Marius?
“I can’t ride Angel,” Alfie continued. “Believe me, I’ve tried. He’s thrown me every time I got on his back. Vega using the serreta terrified him. It made him afraid, not just of Vega but all men — including me.”
“It is not uncommon, this fear of men,” Francoise said. “I have known many horses to object to having male riders. But in Angel’s case? It is much more than mere objection. His fear of men is absolute. Angel cannot be ridden by a man.”
“Francoise?” Issie said. “Francoise, what if it wasn’t a man? What if it wasn’t Alfie riding him? What if it was a woman?”
“That is impossible,” Francoise said. “In case you haven’t noticed, my arm is broken — and the race is just a week away. And anyway—”
“I didn’t mean you!” Issie said. “I meant me. I can ride him.”
The Frenchwoman shook her head. “No, no! Let me finish. It is not possible for you or any woman to ride. In the history of the Silver Bridle, the riders for each hacienda have always, always been men. Women do not race.”
Issie furrowed her brow. “So are you saying it’s against the rules for a girl to ride?”
Alfie shook his head. “It’s not the rules, exactly. It’s tradition. But traditions are strong here. You know what my dad is like.”
“But your dad would understand. If Angel is the fastest horse then he’d want Angel to run, wouldn’t he? If it’s not actually against the rules? I mean, if I could convince Roberto, if I could get him to let me ride Angel, then they wouldn’t be able to stop me?”
“No,” Francoise admitted. “They wouldn’t be able to stop you.”
“Then we should ask Roberto to let me ride,” Issie said.
“Now hold on a minute,” Avery said. “Issie, I think you need to get a grip. Roberto will never allow this. The Silver Bridle is not just any horse race, it’s a duel on horseback, a contest where horses and men routinely risk their lives to win.”
“Tom is right,” Francoise agreed. “The men who ride this race are battle-hardened. Once they are in that village square and the bell rings to signal the start, they will fight like animals to win.”
“If I could get a good start and ride Angel like I did today then it wouldn’t matter,” Issie insisted. “We’d be out in front the whole way and no one would even have the chance to touch us.”
“This is crazy even to talk about this,” Francoise sighed. “Even if we were all in agreement, what then? You would still have to convince Roberto.” She paused. “This race is of the utmost importance to him. He has focused all his energy on training Marius for this day. It will be impossible for him to change his mind now.”
“It’s true,” Alfie said. “You’ve seen my father in action, Issie. He’s not a man who is easily persuaded.”
Issie knew this was true. She found the idea of facing up to Roberto scarier than any horse race. Since they had arrived at El Caballo, Roberto had been the perfect host, kind and generous. But there was also something that made Issie nervous around him. Roberto had kept a cool distance from her ever since she arrived. And his conversation in the living room with Avery made it clear that he thought she was… what was the word he used? Impetuous!
To Roberto, Issie was nothing more than a troublesome kid. Convincing him that she was capable of riding in the race was not going to be easy.
“Francoise?” Issie said hopefully. “Will you ask him? Will you tell Roberto that Angel should race?”
Francoise shook her head. “No, Isadora. It would do no good. Roberto thinks you are just a child. If you want him to let you ride, then it is up to you to convince him that you can take on the vaqueros, and beat them at their own game.”
“Francoise is right,” Alfie agreed. “My father is a man of honour. You stand a better chance of winning his respect if you ask him yourself.”
“If you want to race Angel, it is up to you,” Francoise said. “Isadora, you alone are the one. You must talk to Roberto Nunez.”
Chapter 12
The indoor training school at El Caballo Danza Magnifico was a spectacular space. With its vaulted ceilings and horse tapestries hanging at the entranceways, it had the feel of a grand cathedral — one with an Olympic-sized dressage arena in the middle of it.
This training arena was the very heart of El Caballo Danza Magnifico. All the schooling for the haute école horses took place here. The spectacular shows that the Spanish stallions performed around the world required years of training and it all happened right here.
At this very moment the famed El Caballo stallions were in the middle of a training session, rehearsing their latest routine for the upcoming world tour. As Issie entered the school in search of Roberto her eyes fell upon the stallions and the vision took her breath away.
In the arena, twelve perfect, white horses were marching in unison, lifting their legs up in a high, exaggerated Spanish Walk. One by one the stallions wheeled about, pirouetting, striking off at precisely the same time to dance a half-pass back across the sand.
It was a performance that any horse-lover in the world would have paid handsomely to see, and here was Issie, all alone, with a front row seat, watching the greatest performing horses in the business at work.
She gazed on, enraptured, as the elegant stallions, their manes cascading down their necks like white silk, tails flowing behind them like bridal trains, began to circle the arena, showing off their extended trot — their legs flicking out in front of them like ballerinas en pointe, graceful and poised…
“Stop! Stop!” There was a voice over the sound system. The riders, immediately aware that something was not right, pulled their horses up to a halt and turned their heads to look up at the man above them, sitting enclosed in a glass booth that looked down over the arena. Issie looked up there too and saw Roberto, sitting behind the microphone in the booth.
Roberto spoke again into the microphone and his voice echoed out through the speakers in the arena. “Very go
od pirouettes,” he said, “lovely collection! But then what happened when you were doing the extended trot? I expect these horses to look like they are floating above the sand, not just trotting along like it’s a hack in the park! Remember when you ask for the trot to really drive them forward with your hips to get their legs active.”
He muttered something in Spanish that Issie didn’t understand and then spoke again clearly into the microphone. “We’re going to take it from the very start again. This time, I want to see their hooves strike the ground exactly on the beat of the castanets. OK? Let’s take it from the top!”
Roberto was about to say something else when he spotted Issie at the side of the arena. He gave her a wave. “Isadora, you are welcome to come up and join me in here,” he spoke into the microphone. “Use the steps at the back of the arena — the hallway leads you up to the booth.”
Issie did as he said, walking between the rows of tiered seating towards the far corner of the arena until she found the stairwell that led up to the glass viewing booth where Roberto was sitting.
Roberto greeted her warmly with a kiss on both cheeks. “You came to watch the horses train?”
Issie didn’t know what to say. She was too nervous to bring up the real reason for her visit. “Why did you stop them just now?” she asked. “I was watching them do the extended trot and I thought they looked OK. What was wrong with it?”
Roberto shook his head. “It was no good. Not enough elevation, not enough… magic. El Caballo Danza Magnifico has the best horses in the world — watching them perform must be more than just OK.” He stressed the word as if he found it distasteful. “They must be magnificent. It is easy to produce horses that can perform a reasonable pirouette or half-pass, but here we are always striving to reach the utmost levels of the haute école. It is that final polish that will make the crowd gasp with delight or cry with pure joy. This is what we must aim for.”
Roberto beckoned for Issie to take a seat next to him. Then he slid down the yellow button on the control desk in front of him and the lights in the arena faded to black. He pressed another button on the console and the music began once more, the sound of the Spanish flamenco. As the castanets began to strike up, Roberto slid the lights back on, the signal for the horses to enter the ring to start the routine again. Issie watched as they came in single file down the centre line of the arena, peeling off one by one in each direction.
“I’ve seen this before,” she said to Roberto, “in Chevalier Point, when El Caballo was on tour. I saw them perform this routine.”
“We have changed it a little since then,” Roberto said. “There is a whole new dance for the Anglo-Arab mares to perform also.”
He took his eyes off the Lipizzaners in front of him now and turned to look at Isadora.
“Tell me,” he said, “how is Salome? The mare that you call Blaze. Is she happy in your country? She must miss her old life, running with the herd under the heat of the Spanish sun. She is so far from home, it must be very strange for her.”
Issie had never thought about it like that before. As far as she was concerned, Blaze was home. OK, so the mare had grown up here at El Caballo, but she was Issie’s horse now, and she knew Blaze loved her life in Chevalier Point.
“She’s great,” Issie said. “I haven’t ridden her since Storm was born, and it’s winter at home, but when the weather gets better I’ll be able to ride her again.”
Roberto smiled. “She is not an easy mare to ride. Anglo-Arabs can be highly strung and Salome is no exception. It is impressive that you can handle her. Avery tells me that you are a very good rider.”
Issie squirmed nervously. This seemed like a good time to ask Roberto the question that she had come here with. “Roberto, I wanted to talk to you… It’s about the Silver Bridle.”
“What about it?” Roberto stiffened in his seat. He could see that Issie had something important on her mind.
“I know that you think that Marius can win the race,” Issie began, “but what if there was an even faster horse in your stable?”
Roberto shook his head. “Impossible. I am quite certain. Marius is my best stallion. Alfonso has raced him against every horse in my stable to prove it!”
“Not every horse,” Issie said.
Roberto looked at her. “And which horse is it that you suggest? Who do you think is faster than Marius?”
“Angel,” Issie said. “I think Angel should be your champion to race in the Silver Bridle.”
Roberto shook his head. “Did Francoise not explain to you?” he asked. “Angel is afraid of men. All of the men in my stable have attempted to ride him. He will not have a man on his back — not even Alfonso, and he is my best rider.”
“Angel’s scared of men — but he’s not scared of women,” Issie said. “He’s not scared of me. I can ride him, Roberto!”
“You?” Roberto looked hard at her. “How old are you? Fourteen? You are not a grown woman. You are not much more than a child.”
“I’m old enough. I rode him today — he was faster than Marius. You can ask Francoise and Alfie — they’ll back me up.”
Roberto raised an eyebrow. “You raced against Marius?”
“I didn’t mean to race him — it just kind of happened. Alfie and I were riding back across the high pasture and Angel totally beat him to the other side. Marius had a twenty-length lead on us and we overtook him.”
Roberto’s eyes narrowed. “The high pasture? You were near Vega’s hacienda?”
Issie winced at this. She had been hoping Roberto wouldn’t question how she came to be racing against Marius.
“Umm… yeah, Alfie was showing me around. You know, a full tour of the estate,” she offered. It was a feeble excuse, but Roberto seemed to let it slide.
“Anyway, it makes no difference if Angel beat Marius racing on the high pasture,” Roberto continued. “The Silver Bridle is not raced on open fields. This is no ordinary race, it is a street fight, a rough contest, ridden by men who will stop at nothing to win. It is no place for a girl.”
“But Angel can win. I know he can!” Issie said. “Please, Roberto, let me prove it to you. Let Angel race Marius again. We can race on the streets of the square this time and that will prove to you that I can handle it. Then you’ll have to let Angel take Marius’s place in the race.”
Roberto bristled at this. “Have to? I do not have to do anything, Isadora. I understand that this race means a lot to you also — your colt is at stake. Still, it is up to me to decide who races for El Caballo. It is not your choice to make.”
Issie opened her mouth to speak, but Roberto raised a hand. “Wait!” he said. “I did not say no, did I? If Angel is as fast as you say he is, then I want to see it for myself. We shall have a match race as you suggest. Tomorrow we shall take both the horses to the village square and see whether you are right. If your horse can run as fast as he did in the fields, then he will be our champion for the Silver Bridle. But if he does not win, then you must accept it, and stand back and let Alfie and Marius take up the flag for El Caballo instead. Does that sound fair?”
Issie was overcome with excitement. “Thank you, Roberto. Thank you for giving me this chance!”
“You have much courage for one so young.” Roberto smiled at her. “You will need all of it to best my son in this match race.”
“I won’t let you down,” Issie said. “You’ll see. Angel will prove how fast he is tomorrow.”
Roberto raised an eyebrow at this, then he said, “Tell me, Isadora, what will happen if we do win the Silver Bridle?”
“What do you mean?” Issie was confused.
“You will get your colt back,” Roberto said. “And what then? What will you do with him? Take him home to your pony club at Chevalier Point?”
“Why?” Issie said. “Is there something wrong with that? He’s my horse!” She could feel her pulse racing now. What did Roberto mean? Was he planning to try and take the colt off her?
“Do not panic,” Ro
berto said gently. “You must know by now, the colt is yours and no one at El Caballo would dream of taking him away from you.”
“Then why wouldn’t I take him home with me?”
“Because he is already home,” Roberto said. “Isadora, look around you here. You are standing in one of the greatest horse training institutions in the whole world. This is where Nightstorm is meant to be. Leave him here with us and we will train him for you. He can receive schooling here with the best riders in the world. He’ll be taught haute école movements, far above anything that he might learn at pony club. We could fulfil the destiny of his bloodlines, make him a true El Caballo stallion.”
“Why would you do that? What would be in it for you?”
“You know how important Nightstorm’s bloodlines are to us,” Roberto said. “When Nightstorm comes of age, we would use him as a sire across our best mares. His progeny, his colts and fillies, would be invaluable for El Caballo. Then, with Nightstorm’s training completed, and with our fields full of his foals, we could return him to you.”
Issie didn’t know what to say.
“Do not answer me now,” Roberto told her. “Please, take your time and think about it. Search your heart. For you must know that this farm is Nightstorm’s true home. Just as it is still the home of his mother, Salome.”
“Her name isn’t Salome — it’s Blaze,” Issie said, “and her home is with me in Chevalier Point, just like Storm.”
Roberto was quiet for a moment. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft and low. “I can see the great love that you have for your horses, Isadora,” he said. “It burns like a fire in you,” and then he added, “but love does not always mean keeping things close to your heart. Sometimes it can also mean letting them go.”
He looked down at the arena where the stallions were now finishing their routine. The Lipizzaners were taking their bows, each horse lowering itself down on to one knee to bow its head, while the riders on their backs doffed their hats to the imaginary audience.
