WBY - Swords and Switches (part two)
Jensen walked to the stables. He could have had an escort take him there, but they were close and he was in no mood for conversation or company. He was in no need of riding lessons either. He’d been riding since he was two and if he didn’t know how to ride a damn horse by now, he should never be allowed to be king.
Jeff stood outside a round pen as one of the older lads lunged a filly.
“More impulse, Ian.”
Jensen watched as Ian pushed the filly forward with the end of the rope.
Jeff yelled from the side of the ring, “IMPULSE not SPEED for Chrisakes.”
The boy at the other end of the rope made a few adjustments and the filly slowed, collecting herself. It was only for a few strides, but Jensen could see the difference. Her powerful hindquarters were driving forward, her forehand light.
“See that! That’s, what I mean.”
“Yes, sir!” the boy yelled.
Then a bit softer, Jeff called to Ian. “Don’t worry if she can’t hold it long. She’s not strong enough. Just get her to do it a few strides a few more times around and then let her relax. Good work.”
Ian beamed at his master’s praise.
Jensen yawned.
Another day, another lesson.
XXX
Jeff crossed his arms and studied Jensen appraisingly. It was the type of look that never boded well for Jensen and he knew it. Jensen had cooled off a bit from the swordplay this morning, but not by much.
“You are riding Volt. Tack her up and meet me in the ring in 15 minutes.”
Volt. Great. She was a lovely filly, spirited, fun and sensitive. It would take finesse to ride her. Finesse Jensen had, but didn’t feel today. He’d much rather ride Mont or Gowan -- both were good geldings -- maybe even one of the colts. Gaylord was his favorite. The colt still had his balls so he was full of himself and he was the son of Magnus, Lockerby’s foundation stallion. He was a large dark gray almost black and would probably gray out to look like his sire. He could be a handful, but that’s what Jensen wanted, something he could use a little heavier hand with, but no.
Volt.
He shrugged and went to the filly’s stall. She was three, green and a difficult ride. She wasn’t mean, but she was young and Jensen knew why Jeff chose her. He’d seen his altercation with Sir Gael and he wanted to bring him down a peg or two, but not by allowing him to strong arm Gaylord.
He called Volt quietly. She wouldn’t respond to tough. She snorted once and then stepped lightly toward him, her delicate nostrils flaring. Jensen could almost feel her scenting the air -- sweat, boy, sweet hay and manure. Jensen slipped the leather halter over her head, attached a lead rope to her and led her into the aisle.
A quick brush, clean her hooves, check her legs. Jensen wouldn’t put it past Jeff to give him a sore horse and then bitch him out when he didn’t notice it. He saddled and bridled her, but it wasn’t easy. She would dance away when he tried to pull the cinch up. Flighty little bitch. She was good about the bridle though, taking the thick snaffle bit with no trouble at all.
“Easy, you wee devil,” he remarked quietly. Then he led her from the darkened, cool barn to the blazing afternoon sun.
Jeff was standing in the middle of the ring, riding crop in one hand, boots and breeches, well worn but clean and free of dust. His blouse had once been white and years of wearing it had turned it a soft fawn, except where the front and back were soaked with sweat. He had a very determined look in his eyes.
“Mount your horse, My Lord.”
Jensen gathered his reins neatly. He expertly put his left foot in the stirrup and then gracefully slid into the saddle effortlessly.
Volt danced to the left.
“If you kick her like that, boy, you’ll find yourself arse on the ground.”
“I didn’t kick her,” Jensen growled.
“Then why did she move left?”
“Because my foot touched her left side when I put my foot in her stirrup, Master Jeff.”
“So you kicked her.”
“I mounted her. It’s not my fault she hasn’t been trained to stand. Maybe you should work on that.”
“Maybe you depend too much on stirrups. Take them off.”
Jensen moaned. No stirrups. Shit. Shit and double shit. But he lifted the saddle flaps and Volt swiveled left and right. His center of balance was challenged constantly and the filly was doing everything in her power besides bucking to dislodge his oddly placed weight. Finally he managed to unhook the stirrups. He dropped them in the dust.
“Is that how we treat tack, Jensen?”
“You told me to take them off and I did.”
“Dismount, place them on the rail and then remount.”
“With no stirrups?”
“Why? Do you think you may never lose stirrups in a fight and might have to mount without them? Perhaps you should just tell your adversary to wait a moment and not run you through with dirk or saber while you collect your stirrups. Do it.”
Jensen literally bit his tongue. He threw his right leg over Volt, holding the reins in his left and then balanced himself a moment on two arms, steadying his weight over her saddle and then landed lightly in the dirt. He grabbed the stirrups from the ground, still holding the dancing mare, and none to gently deposited them on the side of the ring, looping them over a pole. He lead Volt back to the center of the ring, just a few steps from Jeff.
“You will clean them after your ride.”
“Of course,” Jensen said.
Now mounting a horse with no stirrups is not really very hard if one is athletic and Jensen was a very athletic young man, but Volt was a spirited filly who may or may not have ever had someone jump on her back sans stirrups. Not to mention she was very tall, 16 hands if she was an inch. Jensen gathered the reins once again, mostly in his left and leapt up to her saddle, holding himself with two arms just like he had dismounted and then threw his right leg over her back. He settled hard on her saddle.
Volt did not like.
She offered a small buck and than bolted down the long side of the ring.
“Get her under control!” Jeff bellowed, “If she strains a tendon, I’ll beat you within an inch of your life.”
Three quarters around the ring, Jensen had Volt quieted to a jig, hardly the steady walk she should be doing, but she was no longer galloping like a nut. He blew hard through his mouth, sat deep in the saddle and half halted, asking her to slow.
She ignored him.
“Sloppy half halt, Jensen. She has no idea what you are asking.”
“She knows exactly what I want. She is just choosing to ignore me.”
“Like a certain prince when called upon to practice swordsmanship with a knight.”
Jensen stopped Volt with a sharp jerk on her mouth. She stopped, shaking and pinning her ears back.
“So it is going to be like this all lesson? You are going to hound me for earlier with Sir Gael? If so, then we should stop right now. I’m in no mood to be dressed down by you for something that occurred earlier today.”
Jeff walked over to Jensen, gathered the reins in his hand, voice soothing as he patted the filly. She was already sweaty, her coat starting to lather although Jensen had only been on her for all of five minutes. He glared up at his Prince. His voice low, “If I ever see you snatch a horse in the mouth like that in my presence again. You won’t sit a horse for a week. That, My Lord, is a promise. And it won’t be because you won’t have lessons. It will be because your arse will be redder than that filly’s coat. Are we very clear on this?”
“Yes,” Jensen ground out.
“Now, on the track at the walk. You do remember what a walk is? Can you tell me?”
Jensen rolled his eyes, but headed to the side of the ring. “The slowest natural gait. A four beat lateral movement with each hoof clearly hitting the ground. It should be cadenced and balanced.”
“Well, it’s good you remember something from your toddler days.”
Jensen said nothing, but asked the filly to a walk using almost no rein, just his body quieting her excitement by sitting deep in the saddle, slowing her down by being a half a beat slower than what she wanted to be doing. His long legs quiet, his body steady. She responded in kind, slowing, stretching her head low, reaching for the bit.
“A little better,” Jeff said.
“That’s it?” Jensen asked incredulously. “Ian manages to get that damn filly earlier to engage for two strides and he gets ’Good work.’ I calm down this maniac with no stirrups and almost no rein and she is long and low and wonderful and all I get is ‘A little better.’ ”
“Shall I throw a party for you, Jensen? It’s better. It’s not good enough. To be truthful, it’s not even good. She’s still twitching her tail and if you take a look at her ears, you’ll see she hardly relaxed.”
Jensen boiled. Jeff rarely said anything nice when working with any of the boys. On any day, “A little better,” would have sent either Jared or even Jensen beaming for the next two hours. But today, Jensen wanted more. He wanted a reward for having managed to keep crazy Volt quiet enough to make a regular, fucking four beat walk. Fucking TODDLER DAYS! This mare was so hot, she made a fucking fire look positively frozen and he was walking her around, loose rein and she wasn’t trying to kill him or herself.
Jensen stopped, careful not to ask too hard with his hands. He took Jeff for his word about the red arse.
“Done,” he said and he carefully dismounted and started leading Volt back to the barn.
“Where do you think you’re going, lad?”
“Home.”
“Your lesson isn’t over.”
“Yes, it is.”
Jeff stepped over to Jensen, blocking his forward movement.
“You will not walk away from me like you did with Sir Gael this morning, boy.”
“I most certainly will. I am your Prince, JEFF. I pay your salary. If it wasn’t for me, you would be living in some crappy livery stable somewhere, mucking stalls and taking care of third-class nags with no hope of going anywhere.”
Jeff stood shocked for a moment and that gave Jensen an amazing power rush. He had managed to stop the great Jeff Morgan in his tracks.
“Good day,” Jensen said, turning his back on Jeff and leading Volt out of the arena and into the barn.
He would like to have grinned or better yet laughed, but despite that, he wasn’t willing to put Volt up without untacking and taking her out back to cool her off.
He spotted Ian finishing up mucking some stalls.
“Ian, untack Volt and cool her off.”
Ian looked at his mucking assignment, the bucket half full of manure, but jumped to obey Jensen. The boy was a good six years Jensen’s elder, but he was a stable boy and Jensen was his Prince.
“Yes, My Lord.” Ian grabbed Volt’s reins and quickly untacked the filly. He carefully haltered her efficiently and then swiped her over with some fresh hay balled into a quick but effective curry comb. He led her out to the cooling area.
Now Jensen did grin. This Prince stuff was pretty awesome sometimes.
He now had the afternoon to do with as he wished. Maybe he would grab Jared and go for a swim. There was a stream not too far from the barn and it opened to a large pool the boys often swam in when it was this hot.
Then again, maybe not.
A dip for himself. Let the trout tickle his toes and get far away from Locherby and swords and horses, Sir Gael, and Master Jeff. He wanted to say Mother’s way too but he couldn’t even say that to himself. He deserved the rest. He sure deserved the piece and quiet.
Jeff was standing at the barn’s door obviously watching Jensen’s musing brain. His face was stern, but his body relaxed. Jensen drew a deep breath, squared his shoulders and walked past Jeff as if he owned the place.
Which he did.
part three http://wildblueyonder6.livejournal.com/47693.html