Chapter 14: Teatime, then Horses

After the train of soldiers ended, we headed back to the tents for what I assumed would be breakfast but turned out to be called ‘tea.’ Ok, that’s fine, toast and tea and eggs. Nothing soaked in the sweat of animals or the stuff candles are made out of. Breakfast was good, the eggs tasted better than I’d had in a long time.

I had to ask, “Is there any coffee?” I wanted to bug them and call breakfast ‘coffee’ instead but didn’t know whether the glorious bitter liquid existed here.

“Coffee?” Saph asked.

“Damn.”

“What’s that now?”

“The sound of my disappointment in all things. Never mind, pass the butter if you could, please.”

To the continued offence of my ladies in waiting, I had my bodyguards – whom I guess were now the day bodyguards – eat with us. Screw the girls’ feelings, it was the men I wanted happy. Needed happy, needed on my side.

“Today,” I said to Morry, “you are taking me horseback riding and will show me mounted combat.”

He spit out his tea. “Begging my lady’s pardon, but mounted combat?”

“Yes.”

The ladies in waiting were aghast, their faces even paler than their own make-up. One of them spoke up. “Do we, do we have to . . . participate?”

“No,” I said, “just me. You’re welcome to practice whatever you would like. Embroidery, letters, painting even.”

“Well, that’s a relief!” said El, holding the tea up to her lips, pinkie finger extended like the royal child she was, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I have had enough horses for today!”

Giselle spoke up, “But all they did was ride by us.”

“And poop all over the place. Why, I had to jump back just to dodge some!” They spoke on this topic for a while, I zoned out, ate enough to be full, drank enough tea to get my caffeine in – how did this body know I had a caffeine addiction? – then had the girls accompany me to the tent where they took this awful dress off and found me something more comfortable to ride in. Still a dress, though, but a lot less fluffy.

***

Heading out to the horses, that crotchety voice ever arresting my plans, entered. “Just where do you think you’re going?” The dowager-regent was again annoyed.

“Out to do some horseback riding.”

“Riding? When your brother, the prince, is out fighting the enemy? I think not. It’s not safe and you have your letters”

I didn’t know whether to go on the attack or use girlish charm. So, I went authoritative. “Now is no time for letters. I need practice and exercise.”

Hands on her hips, legs shoulder length apart, she looked ready to wrestle me to the ground. “Exercise, is it?”

“Yes, much needed and-”

She grabbed one of my ears, and began to drag me back to the tent, “You’ll come with me young lady and you’ll do as you’re told!”

I slapped her wrist, strong enough to get her hand off my ear, “Screw that, old lady! And screw your goddamned letters! You touch me again and I am going to lay a beating on you so hard.”

She was holding her wrist, shocked Pikachu face mixed with fury. Probably no one’s ever stood up to her. The old lady pointed a bony finger at me, “Something is wrong with you.” Shaking her head, “Something is very wrong with you and I am going to find out what it is.”

I shook with anger as she walked away. I was bullied in school and that bitch brought back all those feelings and worse. One day I exploded on one of the bullies. Punching him over and over until the teacher threw me off, grabbed my wrist and took me to detention. Of course, it was my fault. Those miserable teachers, they wanted to be in the cool kid gang. Get the bullies to like them. So, it didn’t end until I found the gym and martial arts and puberty. But by that time, we all had more maturity in high school, and it had already stopped. All that anger, bottled away and compounded.

That old hag was bringing that long-forgotten baggage back up.

Someone put their hand on my shoulder and I whirled around in a fury.

“Hey,” said the big man, “let’s go. Let’s go and get some riding in.” For such a brutal face, he smiled nicely, warmly.

“Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.” We headed off in a direction I assumed was toward the horses. I looked up at him, easily striding alongside us in his heavy chainmail, that greatsword on his back. He was nearly the size of the prince but not nearly as handsome or perfect. The history of battle written all over him, from his face to his stride, confident, dangerous. “Thanks. Back there, thanks.”

“She’s scared.”

“What? Who?”

“The dowager. The old hag knows something is up.”

“What do you mean, we’re going to be attacked?”

“I don’t know. Yet she’s taking it out on you. I pity her a little.”

Sapphire broke in, “I think I’ll practice my calligraphy. It’s been a while. Is that alright with you, Cayce?”

“Certainly.” Great! Time without being monitored. But something felt off. And the girls, maybe even the guards, probably reported to the dowager anyway. “I look forward to seeing the fruits of your practice.”

Suddenly and strangely, it hit me: was this, all of this, some kind of psychological treatment? Addressing issues I’d long forgotten and buried? Or maybe some kind of punishment. Maybe I’d been a misogynist or just chauvinist and this was now my purgatory, my psychological treatment until I learned empathy.

Seemed a stretch. For one thing, they probably wouldn’t make you a princess to teach you humility. For another, details of my past life, interactions with women, seemed exceedingly hard to remember. Oddly, that felt normal.

Point for the game or point for reality? I discarded this idea and instead focused on the moment. We headed to the stables, the sounds and scents of horses grew as we walked and then the signs – manure on the ground, hoofprints and, finally, horses.

***

Have to admit, I gave up on combat training. It was all I could do to learn how to ride, period. Horses have their own minds, you see. And they don’t like noobs like me who don’t know what they’re doing. My horse kept shaking its head, ears flat against its neck. I was surprised it didn’t bite me.

“No, no, no,” Morry said, “don’t pull the reins. Lay them gently on its neck. Left to go left, right to go right. Press your knees – just a little bit! – into its ribs to stay on. Why do you keep yanking on the reins?”

I couldn’t really tell him it was because of the image of the Western Cowboy on film. Cowboys riding one direction, pulling the reins up gloriously, sun against their face as their horse turns without any problems. Hyaa! And off we go, after the bad guys!

Yeah, these horses didn’t work like that. For one thing, the saddle was not saddle shaped. It was soft leather with leather posts on each corner. You planted your behind between the posts and they hugged up against you, providing a sense of stability. No stirrups. I couldn’t believe it – how were we to control ourselves without stirrups? Hence, it was taking forever to learn how to ride.

“Steer with your calves, with your calves! Don’t kick him, just guide him. I swear, I have never seen worse horsemanship – haven’t you been riding since birth? You’re a princess!”

Tread was snickering silently behind his hand. Trying not to be too obvious.

“Yeah, I don’t know what to tell you. I guess I kinda forgot how to ride.”

“How does someone forget how to ride?”

“Ok. They, uh,” the horse turned the wrong direction, “spent all the horse training money on my brothers. Terrible parents.”

“Calves. Calves! Not your heels. Gently now.”

He took hold of the reins, leading the horse. “Damn, girl. I’m going to turn left. Press your right calf gently into his body, reins against his left neck. It’s not that hard, just do it.”

Reins left, right calf, confusing me to no end – why couldn’t they be on the same side? – but the horse turned. Its ears relaxed to their normal upright position. “Huh. It worked.”

“Of course it worked! Now we’re going right.”

He didn’t add information about how it was supposed to work, making me figure it out in my head. Right, right, left calf pushing in and if I held the reins, they’d be on the right side of his neck. The horse turned right! “I got it! He turned right!”

“I’m also leading him.” Morry was smirking.

“Let me try again on my own. I’ve got this!” Even though I was projecting the boundless optimism of a young girl, it was infecting me. It was enjoyable to be outside, no concrete around, just trees and grass, fresh air, heavy with the scents of green blades and leaves, atop a massive beast that could throw me at any minute. I mean, that was bred for generations to be ridden. I started getting the hang of it – rein on left neck, right calf – the horse was working with me. Until it suddenly bolted, launching forward in a gallop. I pulled on the reins, it violently shook its head and I fell off, smashing into the ground somehow face first.

Tread ran up to me, “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, what happened? How did I end up like this?”

He laughed, “Well, you rolled off the horse’s back.”

I sat up, grass and bits of leaves on my dress. Not too dirty. “What did I do wrong?”

“You gotta lean into a gallop. You leaned back. And you made the horse mad.”

“What, but how?”

“You told him to gallop and then you pulled his reins hard. Of course he’s mad!”

Morry had caught up to the horse. It made angry horse sounds, lips quivering up and down its huge teeth, still shaking its head. He seemed to be talking to it.

“Ah. So, lean forward?”

“Yeah. And don’t pull the horse’s head up.”

“Why is Morrentz talking to the horse?”

I got the why-don’t-you-know-this look again. “Huh?”

“Horses can understand us?”

“Yeah, sometimes better than people. Did you hit your head?”

“Wait, go back. How did I tell the horse to gallop?”

“Squeezing your legs together.”

I dropped my head in frustration. “Oh my god, this sucks.” How the hell was I supposed to stay on a horse and not squeeze my legs? These guys don’t even have stirrups!

“It what?”

“Nothing. Like, how do I ride it without squeezing my legs?”

“I dunno. You just do.” He helped me up. “I mean, you gotta squeeze ‘em a little, but you don’t dig your legs in.”

I pushed the grass off my clothes. “Thanks.” Part sarcasm, part thankfulness.

Morry brought the horse around and, with very slight concern in his voice, a touch of exasperation, “Are we done for the day, Princess?”

“No. How do I ride without squeezing my legs and . . . causing the horse to gallop?”

“It wasn’t so much that you squeezed your legs, but that you’re so tense, you’re making the horse anxious. You’re sending mixed signals and so just a little squeeze was all this big boy needed to race off some of that anxiety.”

“You’re telling me that I made a horse anxious?” Would we be needing a horse psychologist, maybe some equine Xanax? “How do I avoid doing these things?”

“Why don’t you get to know this guy a little? Here,” he passed me the reins, “talk to him. Lead him around for a bit.”

I took the reins, the horse eyeing me suspiciously, we went for a walk. Talk to the horse they said. “Alright, horse. I’m sorry I’m such a bother. Don’t tell them, but it’s my first time meeting a horse, let alone riding one. I didn’t know you guys understood human language. You’d think that’d be something they’d teach us in school. Nope, it’s all about chimps and gorillas, even the crazy researcher trying to understand dolphins. Not a lot on horses. So, how’s your day going?”

He bent his head down to some grass, pulling me right along with him. I looked back at Morry, not knowing what to do.

He yelled, “Don’t just stand there!”

I gave him a blank look and sighed. Thanks, very helpful, excellent teacher. The horse kept eating, violently pulling grass out of the ground, a few thistles. It must have one hell of a tough tongue to chew on thistles.

Morry walked up, “What are you doing?”

“Hanging out with my horse friend here.”

“Ok, I’m going to put you back on the horse and lead it. We’re going to practice from the beginning.”

“From the beginning!” He lifted me up into the saddle with ease. As he led the horse, calling out right or left while I practiced the right motions – and practiced not being tense! – he explained that horses will take advantage of you, if you let them. That’s why my horse stopped and started eating. It knew who was in charge and it wasn’t me. Morry went on talking about their behavior, stuff to look for, and I listened. Eventually, he let me ride on my own when he judged me ready enough to try.

I was lucky no one else had come. These two guards who didn’t know me, didn’t watch this body grow up. Probably anyone could have identified that I knew nothing, not a damn thing, about horses and horse riding. Certainly, that was part of an aristocrat’s young life, learning to ride.

***

As the morning grew on, I rode and rode, practicing turns over and over while my guards relaxed, presently, probably making sure I didn’t hurt myself, but they were laughing loudly from time to time, until the pattern was mostly in my memory and my legs were used to hugging the animal’s body, steering when necessary. This was going to take a lot of practice.

The sun was getting high into the sky, lunch was soon approaching. I mean dinner. Anyways, if we didn’t go back, someone would be sent for us, and I didn’t want anyone to see me riding just yet. “Alright, I think that’s enough practice. Let’s head back.”

“Excellent idea, Princess. You want to walk back?”

“Nah, this’ll be more needed practice. I think I’m finally getting it. No worries!”

Look of amused disbelief. “Let’s go slowly.” He jumped on his horse in one smooth motion, rode beside me, took my reins. “It’ll be safer this way and you’re probably tired.”

“Ok, but nope, not tired.” I was too young to be tired and really enjoying youth once again, even if it was a forced experience.

Tread also easily got atop his horse, with one leg up and a hop. He smiled at me, but at least it was a warm smile. I was showing him the human part of being a princess. None of the perfection, all of the mess.

We rode along, a tiny bit of tiredness creeping into my legs, but nothing serious. “Morry, let me ask you a question.”

“If it pleases Your Highness,” he said, probably waiting for another dull question about why he became a soldier or how he got his sword. Actually, that might be interesting. I made a mental note to ask him about that sword. But now, I had more pressing matters.

“If you were me, and your brother were out fighting a battle, what would you do?”

Morrentz stopped the horses, tilted his head, stared at me, his terrible eyes focused on mine, then off in the distance, thinking. Finally, “Were I Your Highness, I’d see to the hospital. Make sure it was well staffed and well stocked. And then prepare for the cries of dying men.”

A moment’s pause as I got lost in the implications of his comment, then he led the horses forward, jolting me aware. I could endlessly question why he’d suggest that course of action – testing me, thinking of the men, leading me into a trap of the dowager’s making – but these thoughts were worthlessly recursive. I had no answers, only speculations, until I knew where his loyalties lay. The dowager didn’t, after all, punish them for last night.

Yet his logic seemed on my side. Soldiers first, military power follows.

***

When we got back to camp, the girls were sitting around the dinner table. Thinking to slide smoothly off the horse I hefted a leg over, slid off, landing on my feet and immediately got muscle cramps. “Aaah!” I screamed and fell to the ground.

The ladies in waiting stood up as one, with cries of, “Are you ok? Cayce?”

“I’m fine, I’m ok,” standing up was a chore but felt considerably better than lying immobile. “Oh, my god.” My inner thighs, outer thighs, hips, hamstrings . . . my legs hurt. In a way that just wasn’t normal.

“You gotta, ah,” Tread was speaking to me, to my great surprise, “walk it off. Just walk, you’ll see. It happens when you start riding.”

I listened to him, started walking around, back and forth and, after a while, my legs loosened up. My inner thighs were burning the most but slowly calmed down to a dull ache as I walked.

“You’re saddle sore,” said Morry. “Like the little man said, walk it off.”

“You jerk, that’s why you suggested we walk!”

“You’re not too dull, for a princess.”