Читать книгу Nightstorm and the Grand Slam - Stacy Gregg, Stacy Gregg - Страница 14

Issie felt like she had only just fallen asleep when she was being woken up by the glare of bright sunlight on her face. The canvas flap of the truck had been opened up and it was daylight outside.

“Oops!” Stella quickly shut the canvas behind her again. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to wake you!” She reached across Issie and began rummaging around in a gear bag until she found a roll of gamgee bandage.

Issie sat up, still feeling groggy. “What time is it?”

“It’s nearly ten,” Stella said.

Ten! No wonder the sky had looked so blue. She should have been awake hours ago. The cross-country would be underway already!

“It’s OK. Everything is under control,” Stella said. “Tom told me to leave you to sleep in.”

Nightstorm’s bout of colic had kept Issie up until the early hours of the morning. She hadn’t wanted to leave her horse’s side but at five a.m. Avery finally insisted that she go back and get some sleep.

“Stella will stay with him,” Avery told her. “You need to rest. You’ve still got Victory to ride tomorrow.”

Stella finished packing the gamgee bandages in the kit bag and slung it over her shoulder.

“Storm’s doing much better,” she said, anticipating Issie’s question. “Maurice came to check on him again at around eight this morning and he’s pretty sure that he’s over the worst of it. He might have a few more stomach pains over the next twenty-four hours but he’s going to make a complete recovery.”

“Thanks, Stella,” Issie said gratefully.

Stella looked like she was going to burst into tears. “I’m so sorry, Issie. I should have realised when he wasn’t eating that something was wrong…”

“There was no way you could have known he was going to get colic,” Issie told her.

Stella looked miserable. “You should be riding him today. He would have gone clear around that cross-country course. I know it.”

Issie swallowed down hard on her disappointment. She didn’t want to make Stella feel any worse, but deep down she was devastated. Yesterday she had been in third place after the dressage. Now, her hopes of taking the trophy on the big bay stallion were destroyed. But her chances weren’t completely lost. She still had her second mount to ride. She had to pull herself together, get out of bed and get ready for battle. Victory was due to tackle the four-star course that afternoon.

The green fields of Badminton Estate, usually populated by sheep, were home to over a hundred and fifty thousand spectators on cross-country day. Everywhere that Issie looked there were people crammed up against the rope barriers, all trying to get into the best possible position to see the action.

The Tannoy crackled, then Mike Partridge resumed his commentary. “What a morning it has been! The course here at Badminton has proved to be one of the most challenging in the history of the event and has upset many a combination of horse and rider. Only five clear rounds have been completed so far. Gerhardt Muller on Velluto Rosso is hoping to add to that tally and make it six. He’s clear so far as they head towards the water complex…”

As Issie rode Victory into the warm-up arena, she caught sight of William Fox-Pitt and Piggy French, both mounted up and ready to ride and her heart skipped a beat. The most famous faces in the sport of eventing were here today and the atmosphere in the stadium was electric.

Issie still couldn’t quite believe that she was about to ride one of the most famous cross-country courses in the world!

Don’t think about the pressure, she told herself firmly, focus on the task ahead. She looked across the main arena and concentrated her eye on the first fence, the flowerbed. From there, she let her mind ride the course, mentally cantering and galloping through it, committing to memory the turns and checks that she would make before each obstacle. As she did this, she was only slightly aware that Victory too was beginning to grow tense. The brown gelding was swishing his tail in consternation. Tacked up in his cross-country kit, his front and hind legs smothered with white grease to help him to slide more easily over the solid jumps, he knew that their time had almost come. He was keyed up and anxious to get out on the course and there was already a lather of white sweat on his neck from anticipation as Avery took hold of his reins and led him towards the start box.

“There have been quite a few run-outs at that brush element in Huntsman’s Close,” Avery told Issie as he walked her forward. “Make sure you keep your line to that corner and don’t rush it.”

“OK,” Issie nodded.

“And kick on as you come into the water. You need to get three big strides in before you strike that middle element. A lot of riders have tried to put in a fourth stride and come to grief.”

Even though he had already checked her girth at least five times, Avery now gave it one more final check. Issie noticed that he was trembling a little as he took the girth straps in his hands. Her trainer looked up at her and that was when she saw the concern in his eyes.

Issie knew exactly what he was thinking. The Badminton cross-country course was six and a half kilometres of hard galloping and enormous fences. Considered to be the ultimate test of fitness in a horse, it was also a test of rider stamina – and after last night’s drama in the stables Issie was sleep-deprived and running on empty. Tackling a course like this in her condition was dangerous. All it would take was a moment’s inattention, a fleeting loss of focus, and she would be in big trouble. This fear was etched over Avery’s face. He knew just how challenging this course was and he was desperately worried about her.

“Issie…” Avery began.

She cut him off before he could say anything more.

“Tom, please, don’t. I’ll be fine.”

Issie wasn’t giving up – not now! Victory was still in with a real chance. They had been in eighth place after the dressage but already over the past few hours the cross-country course had taken its toll on the leaderboard. Eliminations and refusals in the top ranks meant that a clear round on the cross-country would elevate Issie up to fifth place at the very least.

Avery saw the look of grim determination on her face and he knew he would never be able to change her mind. “Good luck,” he said. “Remember, if in doubt…”

“I know,” Issie grinned at him, “kick on!”

Avery let go of the reins and Issie had a few final seconds to make her last adjustments, checking her compulsory airtech inflatable vest and setting the stopwatch on her wrist. She had the timer set so that she knew exactly where she needed to be on the clock at the minute markers around the course. It wasn’t good enough to go clear – she would have to avoid time penalties too.

Issie tightened her grip on the reins and urged Victory into the box. The gelding tried to leap forward and Issie had to pull hard on the reins, turning a circle in the box behind the start line.

“Easy, boy,” Issie said to him in a soft voice, “Any minute now…”

She clasped the reins in one hand and placed the other hand on the stopwatch button as the starting steward spoke into his walkie-talkie to confirm that the other competitors out on the course were far enough ahead.

“We’re all clear to jump 12,” the voice at the other end of the walkie-talkie crackled. “You can let the next rider go.”

Issie felt a tight knot of nerves strangling her stomach. This was it.

“OK, line him up.” The steward waited for her to edge Victory forward in the box. “And ready, get set… and go!”

As Victory surged forward across the start line the electronic timer let out a peep. They were off! The crowds in the stands cheered as they came in to take the first fence.

Victory leapt the flowerbed like a seasoned professional, taking the jump with a perfect forward stride. Issie suddenly exhaled and realised that she had been holding her breath until that point. It was always good to get the first jump out of the way. Now she was really doing this. Her nerves were gone and she was totally focused on the ride ahead as they came along the rolling green turf, past the cheering crowd at the grandstand exit, veering to the left to approach jump number two, the massive Higham’s Brush. Victory took this fence precisely, and Issie felt her confidence levels surging. She was so elated that she briefly lost focus and they were only a few strides out from the quarry when she realised they were at full gallop and needed to slow down. There was a massive drop on the far side of this fence and they were taking it too fast!

There was no time to pull up. Issie and Victory flew the fence, jumping far too big and landing halfway down the bank on the other side. Issie quickly recovered and shortened the horse up in time for the next fence, a big log positioned at the top of a bank. They took the log by the skin of their teeth.

Wake up! she told herself angrily. She had to prepare for the fences ahead and be ready each time if she wanted to get around this course in one piece.

At the infamous Huntsman’s Close, she found herself fretting about the big corner hedge. It was set in the shade of some spreading elm trees and it was easy for horses to be bewildered by the tree shadows and unable to see the hedge until the moment it confronted them.

Preparing Victory for the corner, Issie set him back on his hocks after the first element and collected him up so that he had plenty of time to eye up the hedge and take it very neatly on a lovely forward stride.

“Magnificent! Just look at this horse!” Mike Partridge was enthusing to the crowd. “He is absolutely eating this course up. But how will he handle the lake complex? Remember, Isadora only got given the ride on this wonderful eventer when he deposited his rider, Warren Woodfield, in the drink with a spectacular fall into the water at the Adelaide Three-Day event. Warren ended up with a broken back for his troubles and has been out of competition ever since. So, has this horse lost his nerve when it comes to water?”

Coming into the lake complex, Issie already knew the answer to this question. Since then Issie had jumped several three-star water complexes on the horse. She knew that he’d lost none of his nerve.

At the front of the water jump Issie could see two Mitsubishi flatbed pick-up trucks. They were parked tail-to-tail with their flatbeds touching and there were pretty flower planters sitting on their open platforms. However the flowers didn’t in any way camouflage the fact that these were trucks – and they were intended to be jumped!

Squaring up to the massive spread of the pick-up trucks, Issie put her legs on firmly and kicked on to the jump to make sure that there was no doubt in Victory’s mind that they were going over this obstacle. She needn’t have worried. Victory knew exactly what to do and he flew the flatbeds and cantered onwards into the water, taking one-two-three canter strides before leaping the narrow element in the middle of the pond. Then he cantered on and over the last jump and out the other side.

“Beautifully handled!” Mike Partridge was impressed. “A lovely round so far for this young rider!”

Through the water and over the broad barn table and then coming down into the country complex, Issie was really hitting her stride. She had checked her watch at the minute marker as she whizzed by at a gallop and was absolutely smack on time.

They were coming down the long, sweeping run of green lawn to the Farmyard, the last jump before the Vicarage Ditch, when suddenly a whistle blew and a steward in a high-vis jacket stepped out onto the course and waved his hands to tell her to stop.

Issie ignored him at first, thinking that there must be some mistake. Why would a steward be stopping her? She’d done nothing wrong. She had walked this course so many times she knew it like the back of her hand and she was certain that she hadn’t taken a wrong turn.

As she tried to gallop on, another steward appeared on the course and blew his whistle, waving his hands vigorously. There was no doubt about it. They were stopping her.

It wasn’t easy pulling Victory up. The brown gelding had been in full gallop and he knew that there were more jumps to come. He didn’t want to stop, and when he did halt at last his flanks were heaving and he was wet with sweat.

“What have I done?” Issie wanted to know.

“It’s not you,” the steward said. “It’s another rider, further ahead. We needed to stop you to give us time to clear the jump so you can continue.”

Issie’s blood ran cold. She knew the rider directly ahead of her on the course. It was the Austrian competitor Gerhardt Muller, a man who was well known on the circuit and had ridden against Issie just a couple of weeks ago in Kentucky. Today he was on one of his best horses, the much admired liver chestnut mare, Velluto Rosso.

“Is it Gerhardt?” Issie asked the steward. “Is he OK?”

The steward looked uncomfortable, clearly unsure how much he was allowed to say. “He’s had an accident at the Vicarage Ditch. The ambulance is with him now. Keep your horse circling and as soon as we can give you the all-clear we’ll let you go again and you’ll be back on the clock.”

The clock! Ohmygod! When the steward had pulled Issie to a stop, that meant the clock had been stopped on Issie’s round. But Issie hadn’t stopped the watch on her own wrist.

She clicked to pause it now, but it was way too late. She had no idea how many seconds had already ticked by – maybe even a whole minute or more. Now she had no way of keeping track of her time from here around the rest of this course. Even worse, with every minute that ticked by while she waited, Victory was getting cold. They had just been getting into their rhythm but now their momentum had been destroyed. It was the worst possible place to stop because the jumps ahead were the biggest and most demanding on the course. The Farmyard Complex was a series of difficult wooden corners combined with a hay cart. And straight after that was the Vicarage Ditch! She had been hoping to come into that massive spread with a head of steam up after having galloped half the course. Instead, they were walking around in a holding pattern, waiting for the course to clear. The stewards were muttering into their walkie-talkies. She heard one of them say that Gerhardt had been loaded on to the ambulance. She wondered what had happened to him. If the Vicarage Ditch really was jumping badly then maybe she should be taking the long route after all?

The steward spoke once more into his walkie-talkie and then he turned at last to Issie. “They’re about to let you back onto the course again. Get ready…”

A few moments later the whistle blew and Issie was galloping once more. In total, she had spent nearly fifteen minutes being held back. She was now on a horse that was cold and tense as she came in to attack the Farmyard.

Victory stood back a little from the first corner and took it clumsily, but he took the second corner much better and he flew over the third element, the hay cart.

Issie felt a rush of adrenalin as they took the cart and she knew that there was no way they were taking the alternate route at the Vicarage Ditch. They were going straight through.

She gave Victory a quick tap with the whip as they galloped down the approach to the fence, just to let him know that something really big was looming ahead. Victory raised his head at the sight of the massive wooden rail set into the middle of a three-metre-wide ditch. His ears pricked forward and his strides shortened up. They were three strides out when Issie kicked on like crazy and asked him to stretch out once more. Victory powered forward for all he was worth and took the Vicarage Ditch beautifully, soaring over it and landing expertly on the other side. Behind the crowd barriers the spectators went wild. Their cheers followed Issie around the rest of the course as she cleared fence after fence including the famous Shogun Hollow, the Staircase, the Owl Hole and the Rolex Crossing. As they came in to take the final fence in the main arena, the Mitsubishi Garden, the audience were on their feet and hollering their support.

“Flying in over that last fence!” Mike Partridge said. “She’s come in against the odds, but the big question is, has she made it within the time?”