A Blood Red Horse by K. M. Grant Page B

resting on William’s shoulder. Little by little his appetite returned. But all was not well. The horse remained very lame. As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months William was obliged to fetch Dargent, the big bay he had rejected from Keeper John’s and accept that his beloved Hosanna was finished as a warhorse before he had even begun. After Hosanna had first stood up, William, Ellie, and Hal had got into the habit of starting most sentences with, “When Hosanna is better,” but after a while this began to sound increasingly hollow, even to them. Summer came, and Hosanna was turned out among the buttercups. Every day his legs were massaged and he followed William about. But although he was no longer in acute pain, his once lustrous eyes were sad and his proud demeanor had vanished. It seemed impossible that he would ever again be ridden out of a walk.
    Sir Thomas followed the horse’s progress carefully and sympathetically. He knew as well as anybody how long a horse’s wind and legs could take to heal. But as the leaves began to turn, he was also obliged to think long and hard. Serious political matters were now afoot. The previous year there had been a terrible defeat for the Christian armies at Hattin in the Holy Land. The Christian king of Jerusalem had been taken prisoner and the prized relic of the True Cross stolen and defaced by the Muslims. Even Jerusalem, which the Christians had taken nearly a hundred years before, was back in Saracen hands. News was patchy. Nevertheless, Sir Thomas could see which way the wind was blowing. King Henry, who talked a good deal about a crusade, but was reluctant to go, could not last forever. Richard was his heir, and it was said that he thought of nothing but a holy war. William was already fifteen. He was not a child anymore. If the call to crusade came, it would come for him, too. A decision about Hosanna must be made now. If the horse was never going to be up to the rigors of travel and battle, William’s bond with him must be broken. The horse must go elsewhere, and William must not be allowed to visit him or hanker after him. Sir Thomas sighed as he reluctantly made up his mind. It was time to call a halt.
    To help soften the blow, Sir Thomas told Ellie before he told William that if Hosanna was not improved by the following spring, he must be taken to the monks. The monks needed horses, too, and their lives were gentle and slow. Abbot Hugh was a good man. Hosanna would be well looked after. William cried out briefly when his father issued instructions, and the stricken boy allowed Eleanor to take his arm as Sir Thomas warned against going to see the horse ever again once he had been left in hisnew home. “It could only upset both you and Hosanna,” he said.
    William, his anguish etched all over his face, tried to accept his father’s decision as he knew a knight should, for he knew his father was right. He watched hopelessly as Hosanna’s condition did not materially improve.
    Thus it was that when the primroses appeared in the wood, with Eleanor riding Sacramenta and leading Dargent, William walked with Hosanna to the abbey. Every step of the journey was agony. William tried to choose the easiest route, the one which would cause Hosanna’s legs the least effort, but every time the horse stumbled, the boy’s heart seemed to crack. At the gatehouse he said a long and anguished farewell, during which, although he tried to curb them, bitter tears were shed. Then, as Hosanna blew gently down his neck William made himself pass the reins of his precious horse over to the monks and watched him walk stiffly away. Ellie did not interfere. She had said her farewell earlier. This was William’s time. As Hosanna was led toward the newly finished gatehouse she touched William on the shoulder. He mounted Dargent, and they turned to leave. As William looked back one last time, his voice suddenly rang out.
    â€œHis name,