I was not frightened, but I was ashamed. “I’m sorry,” I said.
The claws retreated, and his arm dropped. “Don’t be,” he said. “I don’t mind telling you.” He looked at me. “But perhaps you mind being told.”
“No,” I said automatically; and then my slow thoughts caught up with me and told me that this was true. “No, I don’t mind.” We looked at each other for a moment. The sun shone through a window, then made its delicate, fawn-footed way across the broad inlaid floor, and found the Beast’s blue velvet shoulders to set on fire. “The sun,” I said abruptly. “Look, it’s stopped raining.” I went over to the window; the Beast joined me. The garden gleamed; the towers of the ancient castle looked young again, baptized by young rain. “I can take Greatheart out after all.”
“Yes,” said the Beast. “I am sure he is looking for you.” The light-heartedness was gone. “I will say farewell to you now,” he continued. “I will see you this evening,” He turned away.
“No—wait,” I said, and put a hand out, but did not quite touch the velvet arm. He paused and looked back at me. “Wait,” I repeated. “Greatheart likes whomever I like. Come with us.”
The Beast shook his head. “Thank you for the kindness of your offer, but no. It is not necessary, and I assure you it would not work. I will see you this evening.”
“Please,” I said.
“Beauty,” he said, “I can deny you nothing. Do not ask this. Greatheart loves you. Do not break his trust in you for no reason.”
“Please,” I said. “I am asking.”
There was a pause, but at last he said, as if the words were dragged from him like a blessing from a black magician, “Very well. I am sorry for this.”
“Come then,” I said. I went out through the door we had come in, and turned down the hall, away from the paintings. The Beast followed. In the usual fashion, I found my room around the next corner, and from there I could easily find the way down the great staircase to the front doors. I paused there and waited for the Beast. When he did not speak his mere presence could be oppressive; I felt as if I were waiting for a storm cloud to catch me up.
We went out into the courtyard together. The air was cool and damp against my cheek. “Not in the stable,” said the Beast. “Give the poor brute room, I will wait for you here.” He walked away from the stable wing to a bench at the edge of the garden on the opposite side, just inside the courtyard, and sat down. I went to fetch my horse.
He was glad to see me, and eager to go outside. I found that now that I had committed myself to this venture, I was frightened, and unhappily inclined to believe the Beast’s predictions. Greatheart had too much sense to walk into the dragon’s mouth merely because I asked him to. But it was too late now. After a moment’s reflection, I put on his saddle and bridle. I had no chance at all of arguing with him from the ground with nothing but a halter and rope for persuasion; mounted, at least I could stay with him—probably—until he could be reasoned with. Oh dear. Why did the Beast have to sound so forlorn just at the wrong moment?
Greatheart was a bit puzzled at being saddled at this hour, but he was willing enough. He was snorting with enthusiasm and pulling at the reins as the stable door opened for us.
I saw the change at once, and mounted hastily at the threshold. As soon as his head emerged, he flared his nostrils and blew, and swung his head towards the bench where the Beast sat. I could feel him turn to iron under my hand, and there was a glimpse of white around his eye. The door closed noiselessly behind us; the last little breath of warm hay-scented air stirred my hair. Great-heart hadn’t taken his eyes off the Beast; he was blowing unhappily, and spume began to form on his lips. I tightened the girths. Well, here we go, I thought, and gathered up the reins.
It took us fifteen minutes to cross a courtyard two hundred feet wide. The horse’s shoulders and flanks were soon dark with sweat; but he went in the direction I insisted on. I whispered to him as he walked, and for the first time in his life he did not cock an ear back at me to listen. He would obey me—but only just; his entire concentration rested on the dark figure sitting on a white marble bench, its arms stretched out across the seat’s back.
Fifty feet from Nemesis Greatheart stopped and would go no farther; we stood like stone in a silent battle of wills. My knees were pressed into the horse’s sides till my legs ached, and my hands on the reins urged him forwards; but his mouth was frozen on the bits, and I could feel a tiny quiver of panic, deep inside him. “Don’t move,” I said, panting, to the Beast, “This is harder than I was expecting.”
“I won’t,” said the Beast, “I did not believe you would come so far.”
At the sound of the Beast’s voice, Greatheart’s nerve broke. He reared up so wildly I threw myself forwards, fearing that he would go over backwards, and his neigh was a scream, sharp as shipwreck. Still on his hind legs, he whirled, nearly unseating me, and in two bounds he was back on the far side of the courtyard it had taken us so long to cross. I found myself yelling, “No, you great ox, stop it, listen to me, rot you, listen to me!” and when I untangled my hands from his mane and pulled again on the reins, his ears flickered and he stopped, shuddering and heaving as if he were at his strength’s end after a long gallop. He turned as he stopped, to look back in terror at the enemy, threw up his head, and took several unhappy steps sideways. The Beast had stood up, presumably when Greatheart had bolted. Now that it seemed that I was more or less in control again, he slowly resumed his seat.
I let the reins fall on the horse’s neck, and leaned forwards to run my hands through his silky mane and down his wet shoulders; and stiffly, as if he had almost forgotten how. he arched his neck and slowly bowed his head. I talked to him, telling him he was a great stupid creature and very silly, and that I knew best; be quiet, relax, have no fear, have no fear, have no fear. His ears flickered back and forth, and he swung a restless head towards the Beast; then at last he stood still, his ears back to listen to me, and I felt him slowly return from cold iron to warm flesh. “Okay,” I said at last. “We’ll try again.” And I gathered up the reins and turned him towards the Beast.
He walked slowly this time too, but only as if he were very, very tired, and his head hung low. He paused once again about fifty feet away from the edge of the courtyard and raised his head a few inches; but when I nudged him forwards he went without demur. “It’s all right now,” I said to the Beast. “He’s ashamed of himself, and he’ll do as I say.”
The last step brought us to the bench; and with a gesture half of resignation and half of despair, Greatheart dropped his head till his muzzle touched the Beast’s knee. “Merciful God,” murmured the Beast. Great-heart’s ears shot forwards at the sound of his voice, but he didn’t move.
I dismounted, and Greatheart turned his head to press it against my breast, leaving streaks of grey foam on my shirt, and I rubbed behind his ears. “You see?” I said to either or both of them, as if I had been sure all along of the outcome. “That wasn’t so bad,”
“I was fond of horses, once,” said the Beast; and his words had a distant sound, as if they echoed down a cold corridor of centuries. I looked at him inquiringly, but said nothing. He replied in answer to what I did not say: “Yes; I have not always been as you see me now.” Not Cerberus, then, I thought absently, still petting my horse; but I did not pursue the question any further. For my own limited peace of mind I preferred to admire the small victory I had just won, and leave the castle’s immense secrets to themselves.