White Horse Talisman (14 page)
“Exploring. Want to come? We're going up the ramparts to watch from there.”
“I'll ask.” Thomas crossed his fingers and ran back to his mother. “Mama. Please may I go with the other boys? Please, please! Georgie and Joe and Albert are here. We are going to scale the ditch and climb the ramparts so we can watch from there. I'll be careful. I promise. Please let me go.” He held his crossed fingers behind his back and wished as hard as he could.
His mother glanced over at the waiting group and recâognized them as fellow villagers. She looked around at the stalled carriages and nodded.
“Thank you, Mama! Thank you!” Thomas uncrossed his fingers and ran back to Joe.
His mother slumped back on the seat and closed her eyes.
“Quick, before she changes her mind,” Thomas muttered. The small group of boys melted through the crowds and took off, sprinting over the fields.
They panted to a stop at the rim of the great ditch. Thomas eyed the steep sides with misgiving. Joe waved an imaginary sword over his head, gave a war whoop and plunged down into the ditch like a Saxon warrior. The other boys copied him.
Thomas manfully waved his willow switch and followed. He slipped and slid and felt the seam of his breeches give. But he didn't care. He was Thomas the Terrible invading Uffington Castle. He reached the bottom and looked up the steep grassy slope to the top of the ramparts. It was a long way up. Clenching his switch between his teeth, Thomas scaled the slope, hanging on to tufts of grass and sticking the tips of his shoes into any suggestion of a hollow.
His breath rasped in his throat. Dust stung his eyes and burrs and grass stains covered his breeches. He raised his eyes and gave a sigh of relief. He was within an arm's length of the top. But he had relaxed too soon. Without warning his foot slipped and he felt himself begin to slide backward.
“Help!” he yelled.
Joe's grinning face appeared over the edge. His arm shot out and grabbed Thomas by the collar of his shirt. He heaved. Thomas sputtered and coughed, as the neck of his shirt half choked him. Both boys sprawled on the grass.
Gasping, Thomas rolled over and thumped his thanks on Joe's back. They scrambled to their feet. The other boys were far ahead, yelling their excitement.
“'Tis a grand fair!” Thomas exclaimed. He could hardly begin to take in the amazing wonders spread below him.
Booths filled the inner plateau. Flags fluttered and thin remnants of music floated through the air â flutes, whistles, panpipes, and the intermittent beating of the tabor.
“Look!” Thomas pointed to a stilt walker striding above the crowd and an organ grinder with a monkey collecting pennies in its cap. “I don't know what to watch first.”
He goggled at a bear dancing around a stake, then laughed at a team of jugglers running through the crowd snatching parasols and kerchiefs from passersby and tossing them into the air.
“Come on, Tom. Let's see it all.” Joe darted along the ramparts. Thomas followed.
“There are hundreds of carriages parked by the entrance,”
Thomas gasped. He had never seen so many vehicles in one spot.
His nose twitched. Enticing smells rose from nearby food booths. Warm pies and fresh bread, pork chitterlings and baked apples â the aromas made his mouth water. He sniffed hungrily. “I bet those are Granny Bates' pies,” he said. “Come on, Joe. I'll buy you one.”
They slid down the bank on the seats of their pants and darted into the crowd. The two boys dodged past people in their Sunday best, tripped over a pair of fighting dogs and followed their noses to the pie booth.
“Two pies, please.” Thomas proudly held out his sixpence.
He sank his teeth into the fragrant pastry. Hot gravy burnt his lips and ran down his chin, but it was delicious. “Mmmm, steak, kidney and mushroom. Mother should hire Granny Bates as our cook,” he mumbled. “This is better than anything our housekeeper makes.”
“Come and see the scouring,” said Joe, his voice muffled by pie. Pastry flakes covered his chest.
Thomas laughed and looked down at his own clothes. Spots of gravy and a thousand crumbs joined the grass stains and burrs. His mother would have a fit when she saw him again, so he might as well make his adventure a good one.
He followed Joe back up the ramparts.
The downs fell away to the valley as usual, but today the White Horse could hardly be seen. The carving was covered with hundreds of men. Some were on their hands and knees scraping away the top layer of chalk. Others were trimming the edges of the figure with sharp knives. Still more men toiled uphill from a nearby quarry, carrying buckets of fresh white chalk. This was poured on the cleaned areas and tamped into place with stout poles. The empty buckets were filled with the scrapings and taken back downhill. The work was done in respectful silence.
Thomas watched in fascination. “Is your father helping?”
“'Course he is,” said Joe proudly. “He's been scouring since his fourteenth birthday. I'll do the same.”
“Me too.” Thomas straightened his back. “I'm seven now, but I'll be fourteen next scouring.”
Joe drew himself up taller. “When Pa's dead I'll take over his job like he did from Grandpapa. I'll be the next Eye Maker,” he boasted.
Thomas hesitated. He didn't want to seem ignorant, but his mother had not told him much about the scouring.
“What's that?”
“He's the man who scrapes the eye clean. It's the most important job of the scouring,” said Joe. “It's done first. Pa did it yesterday. He collects the eye scrapings in a bucket and mixes them with some fresh chalk. He has to ride with the bucket to the Vale of the Red Horse. The red mare is being scoured too. Pa stamps his scrapings into the eye socket of the red mare. He stays overnight and rides back here for the end of our scouring festivities. He'll be back this afternoon.”
The booming call of the Blowing Stone sounded from the far side of the earthworks. People obeyed the call, streaming out to stand along the edge of the slope into the Manger.
“Come on, Thomas. That's the signal for the first race.” Joe started to run. “They're going to chase the cheese down the Manger.”
“Wait for me!” Thomas struggled to keep up. He made it through the ditch in one piece, then crawled on his hands and knees through the legs of the crowd to sit beside Joe on the very edge of the Manger.
Fourteen stalwart young men stood flexing their muscles at the head of the steep drop.
Thomas gasped. “They're never going to run down there, are they?”
“They are.” Joe grinned. “Pa said they ran horses down in the old days. But I don't believe that.”
“Me neither!” Thomas's eyes were as round as Granny Bates' pies.
A bear of a man, wearing the striped apron of a butcher, rolled a large wheel of cheese to the head of the Manger. The contestants readied themselves in a ragged line behind it. The chairman of the games appeared, riding a white horse. He reined in and held out a red handkerchief.
“Cheese!” hollered the chairman.
The butcher pushed the cheese wheel over the edge of the slope. It bounced from hillock to hillock in gigantic leaps.
“Go!” the chairman shouted as he dropped the red handkerchief.
The lads leapt forward.
Some lost their footing right away, rolling and sliding down the steep slope. Others tottered and stumbled, out of control. The race was between two young men who threw their bodies well back, dug in their heels at every step and kept their balance. One was a fair-haired lad from Wantage and the other a dark-haired gypsy.
Thomas hooted and hollered. “I bet the gypsy wins, don't you, Joe?”
“Naw. Look at the legs on that Wantage lad. They're strong as tree trunks.”
The crowd egged the pair on and the race looked like a dead heat until they reached the bottom. Then the gypsy showed his speed. He sped like a racehorse to the cheese, touching it a full body length ahead of his rival.
The Blowing Stone sounded again, louder and more urâgent. It blew and blew, the sound booming around the vale.
The startled crowd moved back into the earthworks to see what was happening.
Thomas felt brave now. He pushed and wriggled as well as Joe. He elbowed through legs and slipped between voluâminous skirts until he found himself at the center of the fair, pressed up against the stage built for the wrestling.
Two men stood on the stage.
“'Tis Pa.” Joe sounded startled. “He looks right upset.
Something must be wrong.” He waved to attract his father's attention, but his father did not look down.
“Who's the other man?” asked Thomas.
“The town crier from Wantage,” Joe replied.
The town crier rang his hand bell. “Hear ye! Hear ye!” he bellowed.
The music stopped. The crowd fell silent.
“Hear ye the words of the Eye Maker. Take note, for the news be dreadful.”
Joe's father took a deep breath, stepped forward and shouted as loudly as he could, “Dear friends and neighbors, I have just returned from the Vale of the Red Horse. Sadly ⦠the red mare is no more.”
A gasp rose from the audience. They strained to hear more.
“The landowner refused to do his duty,” Joe's father conâtinued. “He would not give the gold to supply the scourers with their bread and ale.”
A scatter of boos sounded, and silence fell.
Joe's father swallowed hard. “The scourers ⦠they proâtested ⦠but the landowner grew angry. Last night ⦠he harnessed his horses ⦠and ploughed the red mare under.” His voice cracked. “Her like will ne'er be seen again.”
Sadness and shock rippled through the crowd. Handkerâchiefs fluttered as some of the ladies wiped their eyes. But the shocked silence prevailed. The crowd was waiting.
“Is the same thing going to happen to our horse?” Thoâmas whispered.
Joe trod on his foot. “Shhhh, listen.”
“Hear ye! Hear ye!” the town crier bellowed once more. “Lord Craven-Smythe, who willingly supplies the bread and ale for our scouring, has made a decree. Let it be known that he will seek help from the government of this fair land. He will ask the House of Lords to pass laws to preserve our ancient White Horse forever.”
The Blowing Stone's note echoed again and again as the crowd roared its approval and broke into spontaneous song.
“We'll glorify the king.
We'll glorify the king.
We'll leap the downs, and ride the wind,
And glorify the king.”
Thomas and Joe stood in the center of the crowd.
“The poor red mare. That's not right,” said Thomas. “Someone should make her again. Come on, Joe. Help me wish. Let's do horse magic.”
The two boys faced each other and linked the little finâgers of their right hands. They closed their eyes and chanted, “We wish, we wish, but ne'er in vain. We wish the red mare back again.” They unclasped their little fingers, held them up and spat over them.
CCC
The vision shimmered and faded.
Chantel sniffed, her eyes full of tears.
The red mare was
ploughed under. That's why she never came back. How aw
â
ful.
She wiped her eyes and sniffed again.
Equus whickered softly
. But you are the Magic Child.
You will raise her for me. You will make Thomas's wish
come true.
Was Thomas really my ancestor?
He was.
Wow. I'm glad I liked him.
Equus gave a bray of laughter
. You now have all the in
â
formation I can give you, child. The blacksmith will assist.
Sleep deeply and believe. I will watch and wait.
Chantel threw her arms around his neck and hugged as tightly as she could.
I'm glad you were saved forever.
She wanted to say more, but the dream had tired her out. Her eyelids drooped. She let sleep take over.
Back at White Horse Farm, Owen slept, but Adam forced himself to stay awake. He needed the half-talisman so he could visit the dragon again. He wanted to ask the dragon to help him find the red mare. If they found the red mare, they would find the other half of the talisman. If they found the other half of the talisman, he could free the dragon and share its power. Adam couldn't stop thinking about how the dragon's power might make his life better.
The problem was, he didn't have the broken talisman. He had tried a million excuses to borrow it from Holly, but she wouldn't let him.
“Go away. It's my turn,” she'd said, laughing.
Adam had tried sneaking the gold piece out of her jeans pocket while she was in the bath, but Auntie Lynne had chased him from the girls' room before he'd found it. He was desperate. There was only one way left. He'd wait until everyone was asleep, then snitch it.