Nightstorm and the Grand Slam (16 page)

“This young talent faces enormous pressure,” Mike Partridge told the crowd. “If she wins this competition, Issie Brown takes home not just Burghley, but also the coveted $350,000 prize that is the Grand Slam. She has everything to ride for – and everything to lose!”

Knowing that the clock was ticking and she needed to pass through the flags within the next minute, Issie
took one last loop, cantering right around the jumps. As she circled, she took a look at the spectators in the stands. There were thousands of them watching her, and hundreds of thousands around the world in front of their televisions, all waiting to see if she could achieve the fabled Grand Slam. She should have been nervous, but as she cantered around to ride through the flags, she felt Storm collect his stride beneath her, his canter becoming energised and bouncy, and a surge of confidence ran through her. A moment ago this horse had felt tired and battle-weary, but in front of the crowds in the arena he suddenly came alive. It was as if the great stallion knew that the thousands of spectators were here just to see him – and he was rising to the occasion.

“C'mon,” Issie said to her horse, “let's show them what you've got.”

Fence number one was the Burghley Towers, a grey castle with lightweight wooden bricks at the top that had got the better of many of the day's competitors. But not Nightstorm. He flew the fence with a clean pair of heels on a perfect forward stride and Issie sat back straight away already looking to the next fence, an
upright, balancing him back before she saw the stride and sent him on.

“Beautifully ridden over fences one and two,” Jilly Jones took up the commentary. “This girl sets up the horse so neatly and just lets the jump come to her. They've got such a natural relationship, these two – look at Nightstorm's ears pivoting as he comes into a fence. He's listening to everything this girl on his back is saying to him…”

Jilly Jones was right. Storm was listening – and Issie was talking to him non-stop, reassuring him the whole way.

“This one is easy, another stride, come on! Good boy!” She coaxed him over fence three, another upright, and then a parallel followed by a tight turn to a very tight upright again and then the sloping rails of the Swedish oxer.

As the course twisted and turned, Issie and Storm seemed to dance their way from jump to jump, every movement fluid and graceful, always on the perfect stride.

But if they made it look easy, the truth was that these fences were taking every last scrap of power and strength
that the pair had left. At the parallel, Issie felt the bay stallion really exert himself to get enough air between him and the fence and she heard his grunt as he landed. He was tiring and she was exhausted; they were hanging on, but could they make it to the end of this difficult course?

At the treble everything went wrong at the first element when they took off from too far back and Issie had to push Storm to make the stallion put in a mammoth stride to take the second fence and then collect up again to get over the third. As they landed, she heard his hind hoof ping against one of the coloured poles. Issie listened for the crash but it never came. They were over the treble and they were still clear, and now over the bridge and the big parallel – clear and clear again!

“Only three fences to go, one rail still in hand!” Mike Partridge reminded the crowd as Issie and Nightstorm set themselves up for the Liverpool.

They were over that. Issie's heart was in her mouth as she approached the double. Hup-one and hup-two! They were through! There was only one fence still to come and as they galloped down on it far too fast she
was talking to the bay stallion all the way. “One more, boy,” she urged him on. “You can do it!”

Storm took off and they were in the air, soaring over the last jump and then down on the other side and through the flags. They had done it! Not a single pole had fallen! They finished on a clear round with no time penalties to remain on an incredible score of 37!

As they raced through the flags, Issie ripped off her riding helmet and waved it wildly in the air to the crowds who were going wild with excitement.

“A standing ovation, and well deserved!” Mike Partridge cried, “because this young rider from Chevalier Point has just made history here at Burghley… Isadora Brown has won the Grand Slam!”

The prize-giving was preceded by a display by the Belvoir Hounds, who were escorted around the arena by the hunt master in a red coat on a strapping grey Irish Hunter.

In the official ceremony that followed, the top five riders entered the ring on horseback with Nightstorm leading the way. Storm wore his navy wool winner's rug adorned with the Burghley logo draped over his saddle and a wreath of white roses around his neck. He seemed particularly pleased about the wreath and gave Issie a sideways look as if to say, “Don't try to take this off me – I'll be eating these back at the stables later.”

The riders dismounted to receive their awards and
Issie watched as Marcus Pearce stepped forward to receive his prize on Velluto Rosso. Marcus had put in a remarkable cross-country and showjumping round to hold his score and when two of the riders ahead of him had dropped a pole in the final phase he shot up the leaderboard to finish in fourth place.

Marcus looked solemn and formal as he bowed regally to the Marquess. Then he looked over at Issie and gave her a wink which almost made her burst into a fit of giggles and she had to work very hard to compose herself before her turn came to step forward and accept the silver Burghley platter.

Holding the trophy in one hand, she turned around waving to the crowds, smiling up at the thousands of spectators who were on their feet, giving the winner of the Grand Slam a standing ovation.

As Issie left the arena, she saw Stella in the wings waving frantically to her with a huge grin on her face. She thought that Stella was excited about the ceremony. It wasn't until the redhead began running towards her that Issie realised it was more than that. “I've just had a call from Kate,” Stella told her. “The operation took longer than they expected and it was complicated…”
she looked at Issie, her eyes shining. “But it turned out brilliantly. Victory made it! He's going to be just fine!”

It was late that evening when Avery guided the horse truck down the tree-lined driveway that led to the stables at The Laurels.

It felt like a lifetime ago that they had left the farm, but it had only been five days. As Avery pulled the truck to a stop in front of the yard Issie leapt out of the cab and lowered the back, jumping in to lead Nightstorm out. When he got to the bottom of the ramp the stallion paused and raised his magnificent head and let out a loud whinny.

“The winner of the Grand Slam is announcing his arrival!” Francoise emerged from the stable block to give Issie a double-cheeked kiss.

“Don't let it go to your head, Storm,” Issie warned as she led him to his stall. “You're not getting any special treatment around here just because you've won the Burghley Horse Trials.”

The stables were almost full that evening. Francoise
had two of her young eventers in the stalls next to Nightstorm, and in the box furthest away from the stallion was the chestnut mare, Mirabelle.

“She is still in foal!” Francoise said with obvious frustration. “If I had known that she would wait this long then I would have come and watched you at Burghley! She was due a week ago – look at the size of her belly!”

Mirabelle's tummy was enormous – but the mare showed no signs of foaling any time soon. She was happily munching on her hay net and looked quite content.

Francoise filled Issie in on the progress of the two young eventers. “Leonardo is jumping beautifully. We'll work on his dressage tomorrow. I have entered you for the Weston Park two-star this weekend.”

“This weekend!” Issie said. “Francoise, I thought I might take a little break! I've just won the Grand Slam!”

“The horses do not care about your trophies,” Francoise informed her. “They still need work. The young ones need you most of all, they will be your future.”

Issie knew this was true. All the same, she had been
hoping that Francoise would at least allow her a moment of celebration before she put her nose to the grindstone again.

“A good rider is always looking to the next fence,” Francoise reminded her as they walked back to the house together. “You never know what you will have to confront next…”

As she said this, Francoise opened the door to the kitchen and Issie saw a huge hand-painted banner strung right across the room with the words
Wham! Bam! Grand Slam!
in giant letters. Beneath the banner was a table covered with plates of food and standing at the front of it, holding a large iced cake, was Avery with Mrs Brown, Hester, Stella, Kate and Marcus.

“Surprise!” Stella said.

“Ohmygod!” Issie looked around the room at her friends. “I had no idea you were going to do this!”

“Well, duh!” Stella said. “That's why it's called a surprise party!”

“You did not think we would let this moment pass by without at least a little party,” Francoise laughed. “Come on, cut the cake!”

The celebrations went on until very late.

“We deserve at least one night off from our training schedules,” Marcus told her, “don't you think?”

Marcus had news of his own. After his performance at Burghley the owners of Velluto Rosso had decided to offer him the ride permanently, and they were moving two of their other horses to the Goldins' stables where Marcus would base himself for the next few seasons.

“We're going to be neighbours,” Marcus told her.

“You can pop in and borrow a cup of hard feed,” Issie replied.

“I'll take you up on that offer,” Marcus said.

It was after midnight when the party finally broke up. Issie stayed up to help Francoise with the dishes. The enormous quantities of food seemed to have somehow magically disappeared, although there was still a slice of carrot cake left. “Storm can have this piece,” Issie said, wrapping the cake in a napkin. “He's earnt it.”

The night air had a hint of autumn chill as she
walked down the path that led to the stable block. Storm must have heard her coming because he was waiting for her with his head over the door. When he spied the cake in her hands he gave a keen nicker. Issie fed him the treat and giggled at the expression on Storm's face as he was overwhelmed by the sweetness of the icing. He shook his head up and down, his eyes wide.

“There's carrots in it,” Issie reassured him, “so it's still healthy.”

She stood there for a while, leaning over the door, not saying a word, admiring the conformation of the big bay, the way his muscles rippled beneath his shining coat as he moved around in the loose box. It would take him a few weeks to recover completely from the rigours of the past few days, but then they would be back on the circuit again. The Olympics were looming on the horizon and there was the four-star in Adelaide coming up too – it would be fun to fly Storm to Australia to compete and they had the funds to do it now. Already their old sponsors Dashing Equine and GG Feeds were muttering about coming back onboard. Not that the Laurels team needed to worry about sponsorship money
too much with the winnings of the Grand Slam soon to be in their coffers.

The official presentation of the Grand Slam trophy – and the accompanying cheque for $350,000 – was scheduled for next week. Maybe then it would all feel real to her, but right now Issie was still in a state of shock. She couldn't believe that she had taken out the greatest prize in the world of eventing. And yet, when she looked at the magnificent bay stallion in front of her, she had the sense that her partnership with Storm hadn't reached its potential. There were more adventures to come, she knew that for certain.

Issie was still gazing at Storm when she heard a bang. The noise didn't worry her at first. It was a horse kicking out, hooves striking against the door of the loose box. Perhaps one of the young geldings was throwing a tantrum, demanding more dinner. It wasn't until she heard a second bang, and an accompanying distraught whinny, that Issie suddenly realised which loose box it was coming from.

Ohmygod! Mirabelle!

In just a few seconds Issie had sprinted down the row to reach the mare. Mirabelle must have been standing up
a moment ago when she kicked out, but now she had collapsed on the straw, her rump facing the door. She was in labour. Issie could tell from the way the mare kept turning her head to look at her flank, giving little grunts of pain and then collapsing down on the straw again.

Entering the box and rebolting it, Issie gently eased her way alongside Mirabelle, talking softly to the mare as she edged around until she was close enough to examine the foal monitor that the mare was wearing around her neck. The device was supposed to alert Francoise that the mare was foaling, but it hadn't activated and by the looks of things, the foal wasn't far away. Mares could give birth very quickly.

Issie had decided that the best thing to do was to run back up to the house to get Francoise, when she noticed something underneath Mirabelle's tail. The foal was already beginning to come. Issie could see the slimy, opaque membrane sac that encased the foal poking out from beneath the mare's tail.

Issie had seen a mare give birth before. She'd been there the night that Storm was born, and as soon as she looked at this foal she knew something was very different about this delivery.

Foals usually came out of the mare front legs first. But this foal's legs were sticking up at a weird angle.

At first, Issie thought the legs were malformed, but, as the mare gave a grunt and the legs pushed out further from beneath her tail, Issie realised that the legs weren't abnormal – they were the
hind legs
. The foal was being born hindquarters first.

Issie's heart began to race. Foals weren't supposed to be born like this! They usually came out with their heads tucked in between their front legs. Once the shoulder was clear, they slipped out very quickly into a wet bundle on the straw. But occasionally, you got a foal that came out back-to-front like this one – and then things got really complicated.

Issie's heart pounded. Foals that were born this way could get stuck. The mare could panic and the risks suddenly became very real for both mother and foal. Mirabelle needed a vet to deliver her foal safely. Issie needed to get Francoise and Kate – now.

“It's OK, girl,” Issie reassured the mare. “Everything's going to be OK, but I have to go and get help. I'm going to have to leave you on your own for a while. I can't do this alone…”

Issie stood up and stepped back towards the door. Turning around to open it, she leapt back in shock. A horse's head was hanging over the loose box door, staring straight at her!

“Ohmygod!” Issie gasped.

It was Mystic. The grey gelding was standing at the door like a marble statue, his coal-black eyes shining as he stood calm and serene, watching over the scene in the stables.

He looked at Issie and in that moment she knew that she wasn't going anywhere. It was as if the grey pony was holding her there with his presence, willing her to stay with the ailing mare. There was no time left, not for the vet or even Francoise. If Issie left now the mare or foal could be dead by the time she got back. If Mirabelle was going to get her foal out alive, Issie would have to be the one to do it.

Lowering herself down beside Mirabelle's hindquarters, Issie kept talking gently to the mare as she took a closer look at the legs inside the membrane sac. Her heart sank. This foal was definitely coming out hind legs first, and there was no time to lose. The longer the foal was trapped at this point, the more risk there was for Mirabelle and her baby.

Getting up again, Issie moved around to the mare's head. “C'mon!” she said firmly, grasping Mirabelle by the halter. “You need to get up.”

Mares often delivered their foals lying down, but when a foal was jammed in tight, with its legs stuck, the only way to get them out was to stick your hands in and pull. And Issie wasn't strong enough to do that if Mirabelle was on the ground – she needed gravity on her side.

Mirabelle didn't want to stand up at first. The mare was in too much pain and she fought against Issie's tugs. But Issie persevered and pulled harder on the halter, growling encouragement at Mirabelle until finally the mare heaved the weight of her enormous belly up off the straw beneath her and got up on her feet.