The stables had always been a different world to Gresham. As a young boy when all else had failed he would come here, sometimes just to nestle in the corner of a stall, saying nothing, feeling the companionship of the animal. That strange smell of horse, part musty, part acrid, yet warm and comforting, the smell of a world without lies and deceit, a world where the boundaries were finite and understood. The scuff of a hoof, the sound of easy breath through nostrils. A horse knew what it was on earth to do.
They entered the stables as a grinning lad bowed and opened a door. The sunlight dappled the stalls, and the smell of fresh straw hit them as the light suddenly faded and became warmly encompassing. There was a wide path between the stalls, raised and built out of the same brick as the walls, almost an avenue. The beasts had just been exercised, the rubbing-down just finished. They were superb animals. The older mares and geldings were put out to a farm near Cambridge, left to end their days peacefully rather than die in distress at the slaughter yards of Deptford. Every animal in the stable, from those who could haul Sir Thomas Gresham's cumbersome carriage if ever it were used again, to the finest hunters, seemed at the peak of their condition.
'I have never seen so many fine horses,' said Anna. Gresham sensed that she was moved, was not being sarcastic.
'The stables at Cambridge are even bigger,' Mannion spoke to her, in a low voice. People never raised their voices in the stables, not so much for fear of frightening the horses but rather out of respect for them in their temple.
'Choose one,' said Gresham, on impulse.
'May I see some of them walk out, please?' she asked. Of course she could. Particularly as it was the first time he had ever heard her use the word 'please'. The ostlers were bored, their master hardly ever there, and were pleased to have something to do. The lady was good to look at, and it would be another story for the servants' hall. As for the horses, it would do them no harm to do a little gentle parading. Would she go simply for looks? Or choose the most placid?
First of all she walked the length of the stalls. She waited by each boarded door for the inquisitive head to pop out and examine this new human. She did not flinch when the massive heads bucked and shook from side to side, nor when one animal let out a whinny of protest at some perceived insult. Firmly, and with no hesitation, she put out a delicate hand to stroke several of the heads, muttering words inaudible to Gresham and Mannion. Then she stepped back.
'Can I truly choose any horse?' she asked.
'Yes,' said Gresham.
'Then may I see the big dappled grey walk out, please?'
Gresham and Mannion looked at each other, and grinned. ‘Now that,' said Gresham, 'is a real pick.' The grey was not an obvious choice for a woman, a high seat and a big animal, and it had seemed restless as she approached. Yet it was a glorious creature, a thing of pure beauty, and with a wild look in its rolling eyes. Something unpredictable, a character and a spirit yet an intelligence too.
'Be warned,' said Gresham, who knew every horse in his stable better than he knew himself. 'She can be stubborn, and demands that you talk to her, and while she will let any man or woman sit on her back she will only show her true spirit to the person who masters her. Yet when she is ridden properly, she rides like the wind.'
Walking placidly round the yard, it suddenly stopped, dragged its halter and started to paw the ground.
'Whoa, whoa!' said Gresham gently, walking over and taking the horse from the boy at her head. He dropped the halter to the ground. 'Stand back,' he said quietly.
The grey looked at him for a moment, bobbed her proud head, and then with only the faintest clip-clop of her hoofs turned and walked, with a gentleness at total odds with her bulk, up to Anna. The horse stood by the girl for a few seconds, as if not interested, and then unexpectedly turned its head and nudged her gently under the chin. She turned, at ease, and the horse dropped its great head, nuzzling her again. She stroked it, her own form tiny by comparison. *Well,' said Mannion, 'that's something as I ain't seen before.' 'Would you like to ride out? There's still light, and time,' asked Gresham.
'What, now!' said the girl, and there was an excitement there, a passion. 'What is the horse called?'
'You may rename her,' said Gresham,*but I called her Triumph, because 1 could imagine her hauling a Roman Emperor's chariot as he entered Rome in triumph too;'
The girl looked at the horse, and smiled. Her face changed when she smiled. Another first. 'It is a good name. I will call her Triumph.'
They had found an old riding dress, the maid told him, when they had gone through The House for its female wardrobe, and had just then finished some minor restitching and repair. It was an old dress, they said, but expensive and well preserved. Anna dashed back in to be changed, and in a length of time that made Gresham swear he would never complain again about how long it took a woman to dress, was back in the yard, the cheap, battered sidesaddle she had acquired since arriving in England transferred to the new horse. Gresham stood looking at his ward, clothed in the old dress. The colour had drained from his face.
'I am so pleased we could find a riding dress,' said the elderly maid to Gresham with pride. 'I think it belonged to the Lady Mary, when your late father was her guardian.'
Gresham felt a spasm cut through his body. How annoying. He thought he had cut any link of emotion with his mother. Was this how she had looked as she prepared to ride from The House? An elfin-like shape standing proudly by the bulk of a dappled grey, two things of great beauty united?
Gresham was not fearful for his life, at least not for the present, but it would be inconceivable for form's sake that he and Anna should ride out unescorted. Four men dressed in the dark blue and silver livery of The House accompanied them, one to ride ahead and clear the street, the other three as escort. And Mannion, of course, scorning to wear livery, dressed in a tunic and trousers that made him look either a very well-paid member of the working class or a very badly off member of the middle classes. That was the way he liked it.
Gresham had taken them left out of The House, up along the river to Whitehall rather than into the City. Partly it was through his nervousness at the girl riding an unknown horse through the frenzy and noise of London, partly because the Strand was one of the few paved roads in the city. He need not have bothered. Her seat was superb, and she and Triumph looked to be united in their fluid, easy movement. The horse could be restive, Gresham knew, and, if you could ever ascribe human emotions to animals, seemed to get bored at times. There was no sign of it now. Triumph was concentrating on carrying her new mistress as if she were the only person who mattered in the world. Every person in the prosperous street leading to Westminster and the country's seat of power turned to look at the extraordinary pair, the handsome young man on his superb black mount, the glorious girl controlling effortlessly the great dappled grey. One passer-by started to cheer, as they had on his salt-stained journey earlier, thinking that so dashing a young man must be the Earl of Essex. Then his friend put him right, and he started to cheer anyway. The effect was rather spoilt by. Mannion, riding a nag that looked as if it would die of shame before entering Gresham's stables. Yet Mannion knew that it had the heart of a lion, could gallop all day and would not shift aside if a barrel of gunpowder was blown up before it. Mannion liked appearances to be deceptive. But there was nothing they could do to deceive the next person whose attention they attracted. They were about to turn back when there was the rumbling, trundling roar of a great, heavily escorted carriage from behind them.