is squit.’
‘So,’ Gently said. ‘The stallion’s a quiet horse.’
‘He’s quiet as a dozen others I know.’
‘You’d let your child ride him?’
Creke wagged his head. ‘He’s eighteen hands,’ he said. ‘He’s a bloody horse!’
As he spoke a deep clear neigh sounded from the building amongst the trees.
‘That’s him,’ Creke said. ‘He could hear my voice. If you want to see a horse, come and look at him.’
The building stood well back in the trees with the weed pond lying in front of it. Great, double doors were yawning open to reveal a shadowy, unlit interior. Creke marched them in. They were met by stable-smell and the sound of ponderously moving hooves. From a loosebox in the corner protruded the serpent-like head of a huge, jet-black horse.
‘Prince boy, Prince, Prince.’
Creke strutted up to the massive animal. At once it arched its glinting neck and began to fuss his face with its lips. It snorted and made low whinnying noises. Creke buzzed and patted and ruffled its forelock. Then he gave it a firm slap on the neck, when it snatched its head up with a chuckling neigh.
‘There,’ Creke said. ‘There. Would either of you gents like to shake hands with him?’
Gently shrugged and glanced at Docking, who shook his head very firmly.
‘Ah, you’re no horsemen,’ Creke said, grinning. ‘It’s a privilege to meet a horse like Prince. Look at his shine. Look at his eye. There isn’t a better sire in England.’
The horse chuckled again, its head held proudly, its smoky eyes staring down at them. Then it made a little dart in Gently’s direction, its lips curling from great yellow teeth.
‘Wheesh, Prince boy!’ Creke said, patting him.
‘Where does this horse come from?’ Gently asked.
‘He comes out of Leicestershire,’ Creke said. ‘My brother put me on to him. He farms out that way.’
‘A hunter, was he?’
‘That’s right. He used to hunt with the Quorndon.’
‘But they decided to sell him.’
Creke nodded.
Gently paused. ‘Why?’ he asked.
Creke leaned back against the rails of the loosebox, his hand toying with the great beast’s mouth.
‘I could tell you a lie,’ he said. ‘But I won’t. They had some trouble with him over there.’
‘Go on,’ Gently said. ‘What trouble?’
‘I reckon someone treated him wrong,’ Creke said. ‘He’s a proud bugger, he won’t have it. He laid into a stable-boy in his box.’
‘He killed him?’
Creke shook his head. ‘Otherwise he wouldn’t be here today. But he duffed up the bloke enough so’s the owner thought it was smart to get rid of him. That’s the tale, and I don’t mind telling it. He’s never been any trouble with me. He’s a stallion mind you, he needs handling – but that’s all. He’s no problem.’
‘A stranger could ride him,’ Gently said.
‘That’s right,’ Creke said. ‘If I told Prince he could.’
‘And a stranger could catch him.’
Creke’s quick eye flickered. ‘Would this be one of Rising’s notions?’ he asked.
Gently hesitated, then nodded.
‘I guessed it would be,’ Creke said. ‘Next time I’m over at Clayfield I’ll turn Prince loose and see if Mr. Jerry Rising can catch him.’ He gave the horse’s cheek a ruffle. ‘Not Berney nor no one could catch him,’ he said. ‘Once he was off on his own on that heath, I’d be the only one who’d get near him.’
‘And, of course, he never is on his own on the heath?’
‘Do you think I’m stupid?’ Creke said.
Gently motioned to the two strong bolts that secured the gate of the loosebox. ‘People do make mistakes,’ he said.
Creke checked a moment, staring at the bolts, but then gave a decided shake of his head. ‘There’s only me sees after this horse,’ he said. ‘And I never make mistakes like that.’
‘He was here Tuesday evening?’
‘He was here. I came down about seven to give him his run. And the gate was shut then, and the bolts shot, the way I’d left them in
‘So,’ Gently said. ‘The stallion’s a quiet horse.’
‘He’s quiet as a dozen others I know.’
‘You’d let your child ride him?’
Creke wagged his head. ‘He’s eighteen hands,’ he said. ‘He’s a bloody horse!’
As he spoke a deep clear neigh sounded from the building amongst the trees.
‘That’s him,’ Creke said. ‘He could hear my voice. If you want to see a horse, come and look at him.’
The building stood well back in the trees with the weed pond lying in front of it. Great, double doors were yawning open to reveal a shadowy, unlit interior. Creke marched them in. They were met by stable-smell and the sound of ponderously moving hooves. From a loosebox in the corner protruded the serpent-like head of a huge, jet-black horse.
‘Prince boy, Prince, Prince.’
Creke strutted up to the massive animal. At once it arched its glinting neck and began to fuss his face with its lips. It snorted and made low whinnying noises. Creke buzzed and patted and ruffled its forelock. Then he gave it a firm slap on the neck, when it snatched its head up with a chuckling neigh.
‘There,’ Creke said. ‘There. Would either of you gents like to shake hands with him?’
Gently shrugged and glanced at Docking, who shook his head very firmly.
‘Ah, you’re no horsemen,’ Creke said, grinning. ‘It’s a privilege to meet a horse like Prince. Look at his shine. Look at his eye. There isn’t a better sire in England.’
The horse chuckled again, its head held proudly, its smoky eyes staring down at them. Then it made a little dart in Gently’s direction, its lips curling from great yellow teeth.
‘Wheesh, Prince boy!’ Creke said, patting him.
‘Where does this horse come from?’ Gently asked.
‘He comes out of Leicestershire,’ Creke said. ‘My brother put me on to him. He farms out that way.’
‘A hunter, was he?’
‘That’s right. He used to hunt with the Quorndon.’
‘But they decided to sell him.’
Creke nodded.
Gently paused. ‘Why?’ he asked.
Creke leaned back against the rails of the loosebox, his hand toying with the great beast’s mouth.
‘I could tell you a lie,’ he said. ‘But I won’t. They had some trouble with him over there.’
‘Go on,’ Gently said. ‘What trouble?’
‘I reckon someone treated him wrong,’ Creke said. ‘He’s a proud bugger, he won’t have it. He laid into a stable-boy in his box.’
‘He killed him?’
Creke shook his head. ‘Otherwise he wouldn’t be here today. But he duffed up the bloke enough so’s the owner thought it was smart to get rid of him. That’s the tale, and I don’t mind telling it. He’s never been any trouble with me. He’s a stallion mind you, he needs handling – but that’s all. He’s no problem.’
‘A stranger could ride him,’ Gently said.
‘That’s right,’ Creke said. ‘If I told Prince he could.’
‘And a stranger could catch him.’
Creke’s quick eye flickered. ‘Would this be one of Rising’s notions?’ he asked.
Gently hesitated, then nodded.
‘I guessed it would be,’ Creke said. ‘Next time I’m over at Clayfield I’ll turn Prince loose and see if Mr. Jerry Rising can catch him.’ He gave the horse’s cheek a ruffle. ‘Not Berney nor no one could catch him,’ he said. ‘Once he was off on his own on that heath, I’d be the only one who’d get near him.’
‘And, of course, he never is on his own on the heath?’
‘Do you think I’m stupid?’ Creke said.
Gently motioned to the two strong bolts that secured the gate of the loosebox. ‘People do make mistakes,’ he said.
Creke checked a moment, staring at the bolts, but then gave a decided shake of his head. ‘There’s only me sees after this horse,’ he said. ‘And I never make mistakes like that.’
‘He was here Tuesday evening?’
‘He was here. I came down about seven to give him his run. And the gate was shut then, and the bolts shot, the way I’d left them in
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