couldn’t bear another fall, Aphrodite surrendered her will to his. He felt the sundering of her defiance flow through her body and into his hands which were still tightly knit into her mane. He kicked her flanks, and the horse broke into an obedient trot and then a comfortable canter. Artorex began to exult in the pure joy that a man can only experience when a powerful creature gives itself to him, to do with as he pleases.
When Aphrodite had demonstrated that she was a more mobile and speedy animal than Plod, Artorex threw himself from her back and approached her frontally to stroke her great cheek and forehead.
At first, Aphrodite pulled her head away, and the boy could see all the whites around her untrusting eyes, but he persisted until the horse reluctantly permitted him to caress her.
An hour later, when Targo returned from the villa to rejoin his pupil, he discovered a guilty Artorex feeding the horse a stolen carrot top from the kitchens.
‘So she took to the quirt, then, boy?’
‘You’re an evil old man, Master Targo,’ Artorex replied evenly. ‘You knew this horse wouldn’t respond to that sort of treatment.’ His voice was a gentle murmur to spare the horse from nervousness.
‘You did very well with this task, lad, and I’m pleased.’ Targo smiled. ‘The best horsemen I have encountered had no use for whips and quirts, but controlled their beasts with the bridle, the reins and the sure touch of their heels. I’ve seen Scythians who can guide horses with the reins in their teeth - and empty-handed - so that they can use their murderous bows while on the gallop.’ He grinned at Artorex. ‘Some men say those devils were centaurs once but I believe they’re just excellent horsemen who regularly practise their skills.’
‘Someone has scarred this horse very badly, Targo. Who ruined her?’ Artorex asked.
‘It’s not for me to say, boy. But I think you could make a good guess.’
It’s what I’d expect of one such as Caius, Artorex thought to himself but, like Targo, he wisely kept his opinions to himself.
Aphrodite and Artorex gradually became friends - of a kind.
The boy brought her a carrot every day, so the kitchen staff began to keep the misshapen or slightly elderly vegetables for Artorex’s use. Artorex always rewarded her if she kept her temper with him, and he knew that this was all the consideration that he could ask of her. He understood that she would never fully trust him, for a damaged horse, like a betrayed child, cannot ever be quite whole.
The next spring, after Artorex turned fifteen and had become quite a competent rider, with or without a bridle and rein, Aphrodite broke one of the weaker fence rails and escaped. For a weary and interminable week, Artorex searched for her, expecting to discover that she had been killed by boars or was hobbling on a broken leg in the Old Forest. But when he finally came upon her, he found that she had inexplicably found her way to his secret glade in the forest, where the old stone still drew his eyes with its strange carving, and the grass grew fresh and green wherever the sun’s rays penetrated the treetops.
Amicably, Aphrodite submitted to the bridle and placidly followed him home. Behind them, in the deepest groves, Artorex heard the challenging whinny of a stallion, as if some strange centaur really did inhabit the ancient places. Superstitiously, he didn’t look back, and Aphrodite quietly ambled behind him without any fuss.
In time, the mare bore a colt out of season, a long-legged, tiny thing, with slick black hair and an unnaturally large head. Once Aphrodite had cleaned the curly coat and nuzzled the colt to her dugs, Artorex stroked the short, wiry curls on the little creature’s flanks.
Aphrodite snorted her displeasure just once, and then permitted Artorex to fondle her foal.
The colt grew and grew, as different from Plod and Aphrodite as Artorex was from Caius. The small creature would never be quite as tall as
When Aphrodite had demonstrated that she was a more mobile and speedy animal than Plod, Artorex threw himself from her back and approached her frontally to stroke her great cheek and forehead.
At first, Aphrodite pulled her head away, and the boy could see all the whites around her untrusting eyes, but he persisted until the horse reluctantly permitted him to caress her.
An hour later, when Targo returned from the villa to rejoin his pupil, he discovered a guilty Artorex feeding the horse a stolen carrot top from the kitchens.
‘So she took to the quirt, then, boy?’
‘You’re an evil old man, Master Targo,’ Artorex replied evenly. ‘You knew this horse wouldn’t respond to that sort of treatment.’ His voice was a gentle murmur to spare the horse from nervousness.
‘You did very well with this task, lad, and I’m pleased.’ Targo smiled. ‘The best horsemen I have encountered had no use for whips and quirts, but controlled their beasts with the bridle, the reins and the sure touch of their heels. I’ve seen Scythians who can guide horses with the reins in their teeth - and empty-handed - so that they can use their murderous bows while on the gallop.’ He grinned at Artorex. ‘Some men say those devils were centaurs once but I believe they’re just excellent horsemen who regularly practise their skills.’
‘Someone has scarred this horse very badly, Targo. Who ruined her?’ Artorex asked.
‘It’s not for me to say, boy. But I think you could make a good guess.’
It’s what I’d expect of one such as Caius, Artorex thought to himself but, like Targo, he wisely kept his opinions to himself.
Aphrodite and Artorex gradually became friends - of a kind.
The boy brought her a carrot every day, so the kitchen staff began to keep the misshapen or slightly elderly vegetables for Artorex’s use. Artorex always rewarded her if she kept her temper with him, and he knew that this was all the consideration that he could ask of her. He understood that she would never fully trust him, for a damaged horse, like a betrayed child, cannot ever be quite whole.
The next spring, after Artorex turned fifteen and had become quite a competent rider, with or without a bridle and rein, Aphrodite broke one of the weaker fence rails and escaped. For a weary and interminable week, Artorex searched for her, expecting to discover that she had been killed by boars or was hobbling on a broken leg in the Old Forest. But when he finally came upon her, he found that she had inexplicably found her way to his secret glade in the forest, where the old stone still drew his eyes with its strange carving, and the grass grew fresh and green wherever the sun’s rays penetrated the treetops.
Amicably, Aphrodite submitted to the bridle and placidly followed him home. Behind them, in the deepest groves, Artorex heard the challenging whinny of a stallion, as if some strange centaur really did inhabit the ancient places. Superstitiously, he didn’t look back, and Aphrodite quietly ambled behind him without any fuss.
In time, the mare bore a colt out of season, a long-legged, tiny thing, with slick black hair and an unnaturally large head. Once Aphrodite had cleaned the curly coat and nuzzled the colt to her dugs, Artorex stroked the short, wiry curls on the little creature’s flanks.
Aphrodite snorted her displeasure just once, and then permitted Artorex to fondle her foal.
The colt grew and grew, as different from Plod and Aphrodite as Artorex was from Caius. The small creature would never be quite as tall as
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