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Six Ribbons

If I were a minstrel, I'd sing you six love songs

To tell the whole world of the love that we share.

_ _

If I were a merchant, I'd bring you six diamonds

With six blood red roses for my love to wear.

_ _

But I am a simple man, a poor common farmer

So take my six ribbons to tie back your hair.

_ _

Yellow and brown, Blue as the sky,

Red as my blood, Green as your eyes

*****

Sarah fussed about, cleaning, re-arranging the pathetically small collection of furniture in the cramped one-roomed cottage. The paint mare needed the distraction, and though the house was almost empty, she found things to keep her occupied while her mind shied away from the nameless fears. In her distracted state though she was prone to mistakes, and as she tried to rearrange the chairs at the crude table her hoof struck a knot in the floor and she crashed against the wood.

"Momma!"

The mare crossed the room in an instant, but not before her foal was fully awake, already whinnying in fear. She lifted him from the small bed, soothing him with her embrace, a gentle whickering in his ears calming the youngster even as he grumbled. He was a nervous foal, and had been since birth. Then again, she could not fault him for that. Their circumstances were anything but secure.

She found his toy, a knitted doll in the shape of an equine dragoon, with red coat and shining golden mane. It was her best work, from a time when they could afford wool, and the foal had worn it almost to unravelling, but she dare not replace it. Without it, he was inconsolable. It was just as well she had nothing to replace it with.

"Robby, here my young horse, do not fret."

"Momma! Where is papa? Have they come for us?"

"Shhhh, my little one. There is nothing to worry about. I'm here."

She tried to ignore the gnawing worry in her own heart. She could find the words to calm her foal, but not her own fears. And the foal knew more than enough to know the real depths of their predicament, even at his age. They had not paid their rent in months, and the bailiffs were an ever-present danger, along with the magistrate. Both belonged to their landlord, the Marquis, and he was not known as a forgiving horse where money was concerned. Their little farm just could not pay well enough to meet the spiralling rents, and a poor harvest had pushed them to the brink.

Her stallion had promised her, with shame filled eyes, that he would fix it for her. She did not want to think what that may involve.

Far better to fuss around the cottage and pretend.

The door suddenly opened with a crash as cold air blew in to almost extinguish their fire. A dark figure was silhouetted in the opening, before the door closed to keep out the chill for a moment. At first, Sarah gave a gasp, as the figure in the door had his back to her, and she did not immediately recognise it, but soon he turned and she caught sight of the familiar chestnut coloured muzzle and the twinkling green eyes of her love.

"Papa!"

"Hello, my little stallion!"

The foal wriggled his way out of his mother's arms to the floor and trotted over to wrap his father's legs in an untidy hug. His prized dragoon doll slipped to the floor, but he didn't notice at first, instead burying his mane against his father's legs closing his eyes in happiness. Eventually, he noticed the absence, and his eyes widened in fear before he spotted the doll against the rough floorboards. He scooped it into his arms, and managed a three way hug with the two stallions, the doll and his father, as the big quarter horse stallion smiled down indulgently on his only surviving progeny.

"No hug for me, my love?"

She tried to keep the worry and the hurt out of her voice, but failed. He noticed, and his eyes darkened and his ears flattened in sad reflection of her own. He painted a smile on his muzzle though for her, and trotted to her side. His son detached himself to sit cross legged on the floor, his dragoon doll marching across the floorboards to kill a nameless foe, happy now that all was right with the world. His own ears stuck up straight, though the left had a slight kink that he had acquired at birth and never quite straightened. It made his mother smile every time she saw it, and kiss his ear for good luck.

"Always, Sarah, you know that."

Richard was good to his word, taking his mare in his arms. They looked into each other's eyes for long moments, neither saying what they really thought, until finally he kissed her long and lovingly, and she melted in his arms.

When they finished, breathless and needy, she looked at him sternly instead of what she ached to do. He gave a lopsided grin, reading her needs and her thoughts. He knew her, better than she knew herself. She had a job to do though, and she would do it. Even if it killed her.

"Where have you been Richard? And what happened to your mane?"

He reached for it unconsciously, fingering the stubby remains of his pride and joy. Black, long and silken, braided perfectly in three. She loved taking the time to tend to his mane, their easy intimacy at those times a part of what held them together. Her love went into her fingers as she worked, the living fibres of his mane becoming part of her as she combed and braided. Now there was only a short roughly cut end where it had once proudly lain down his back. It was why she had not recognised him at first, and she was angry enough to leave the other questions for now.

"It had to go my love, I am sorry."

"Sorry? You know how much...what possessed you Richard?"

He gave another of his lopsided grins and kissed her on the nose. She could never stay angry at him long, and never when he kissed her nose. That did not mean that she couldn't be persistent.

"Kiss me there all you like, Master Jenkin, but answer my question. What happened to your mane?"

He realised she was not to be deflected, and gave a rueful smile as he held her at arms length. Still, she would find soon enough, and he was secretly pleased. He itched to show her, the small pride of his accomplishment bubbling to the surface.

"I sold it, my love."

She drew back, one hand to her muzzle, and alarm in her eyes.

"Sold it? But who..."

"The wigmaker was in town, and she was looking for stallion mane for wigs. My mane will grace the head of some noble or merchant soon enough. She agreed to take mine, though it wasn't what she wanted. I managed to persuade her into a trade instead."

"Trade?"

"Aye, my love. For these."

Sarah's eyes lit up as her husband pulled his hand from inside his coat. He held six long ribbons of silk, all in different colours, and she reached out for them before she caught herself and the anger began to boil. Her anger did not last beyond a single kiss though, and she melted again, against her stallion.

"Why, Richard?"

"Happy birthday, my sweet. I know I couldn't get you anything grand as I would like, but I wanted to get you something. This is the best I could do."

She rested her head against his chest as he stroked her forehead, and then he lovingly tied her mane with the ribbons, each one forming a cascade of colour against her white hairs. They danced as she moved, and the foal looked up and stared in wonder at the transformation in his mother - the colours in her mane, and the smile on her muzzle.

"Momma! Pretty!"

"Yes, young horse. Very pretty. I'm not sure I approve of this though, Richard. There are many things we need..."

He pressed a finger against her muzzle to quiet her, his green eyes narrowed with hurt. The realities could not be banished entirely, no matter what.

"Hush, Sarah. It wouldn't have changed things even if I could have gotten coins for it. And it is a truly poor stallion who cannot find something for his wife's birthday. Let me make you feel beautiful again, at least for a moment."

She could not resist that, and nuzzled against him as they slow danced on the floor. The little foal watched and clapped in appreciation. This was a wonderful game to see.

"Robby, go and play in the barn for a while."

"But Momma!"

"Robby, go!"

The foal made a sad face and looked at his parents for some acknowledgement, but they were too busy looking at each other. Realising it was futile, he gathered up his dragoon doll, and headed out the door. He was after all an obedient foal, or he tried to be. He would march across the barn and attack imaginary foes, the better to save his parents from harm. One day, they would be proud. His father watched him go with the twinkle returning to his eyes.

"And what was that in aid of, my lovely?"

"Shh...no more talking..."

Sarah led her stallion to their bed, her hands fumbling with his clothes. She trembled, not in fear though. His crooked smile beamed down on her as he helped her undress him, revealing the hard lean body of a stallion underneath. Then it was her turn, and still she trembled, this time with fear. She always wondered when the day would come, when he realised she was not beautiful, when he undressed her but realised he did not want her. She knew, somewhere inside, it would come.

He shook his head, and lifted her gaze to his with a forefinger under her chin.

"So beautiful, Sarah. Always so beautiful."

The fear disappeared with the wind.

He lay her on the bed, his muzzle moving gently over her, making love to her completely. A kiss on the cheek, a long kiss of her muzzle, lingering over each breast, a long pleasuring of her sex. When she was more than ready, he lay entwined and entered her slow, and they became one with each other for long happy minutes while the wind blew outside and their foal sat cross legged on the straw of the barn and launched an invasion of the chicken coop with his toy dragoon.

Afterwards, they lay side by side and looked into each other's eyes, daring the other to speak.

"Richard...I just need to know..."

"Shhh, don't spoil it." He tried to distract her with his smile, and another kiss, but she was determined.

"Richard. What is the plan, my love?"

Instead of a response, he reached for her again. Sarah sighed, but let him have her. Men, they were all the same. Still, hers was a beautiful stallion. And when he was inside her, she cared about nothing else in the world.

They soon became a living writhing embodiment of that reality, and their whinnies reached the foal outside. He smiled, knowing it as a happy whinny. Maybe there would be carrots for dinner if he behaved.

*****

They gathered at the Wheatsheaf, the five. Their conversation was hushed, and whenever the barmaid came to their table to fill their jugs, the conversation dropped immediately. One was the obvious leader though, a dark furred wolf with a scar over his left eye. And when the coast was clear, he outlined his plan with harsh clipped sentences, accentuating each point with a claw that rapped the wood of the table.

"Are we agreed, then?"

The four other heads nodded, slowly. Slowest of all was the one he was least sure of. He scowled, staring now at the fifth of their band.

"You got a problem, mebbe?"

Richard looked into the unsettling eyes, unable to hold them for long. He scowled and shook his head.

"No. Let's get it done."

"Good. Mebbe you are thinking of not turning up tomorrow, horse. That would be unwise, see. We need five at least. And anyone who doesn't turn up...well, the others are like to be angry, methinks."

"I said I would be part of it. Isn't that enough?"

"Words are cheap, little pony. Actions speak."

"You will see my actions tomorrow. Loud enough even for you, Morgan."

The wolf nodded, and the others smiled. They knew the horse was desperate. So were they all, but the rest of them at least had a price on their heads. This would be the horse's first time. It was an uncertain moment, and many a newcomer had balked at the potential for a hangman's noose that came from their particular form of work.

"We shall see, lad. We shall see."

"How much is there in the shipment?" That was the bear, a large and taciturn former boatswain in the navy. Now he earned his money with less risk than he used to face from an enemy broadside or disease, but he was no less interested in the spoils of war. It was just a very different kind of war.

"I told you, Ryan. The shipyard in town needed a special shipment of coin for the workers. Not the usual run, they had two frigates come into port for overhaul unexpected and put on more men. It won't be guarded by the usual patrol, but it will also be smaller. A hundred guineas in shilling coins, easy to divide and spend without raising attention. One chest, two horses, two escort. Easy as you like, and enough for us."

Richard nodded, his eyes twinkling. Enough to pay off the rent, and buy a couple of cows. They could start getting ahead in life, not constantly fighting for every inch. Just this once; just one easy payday, and he could forget about it forever. It was worth the risk.

"Tomorrow, lads. Here at dawn, then here after to split the proceeds. And anyone gets taken, they know nothing, understand?"

Four heads nodded, and they drained their beer in silence. Each made his own way out, wrapped in his own thoughts and fears. Tomorrow would be long, but it would also be only one day of fear. Most had known worse.

Richard opened the door to his cottage as quietly as he could. In the shaft of moonlight through the door, he could see his foal sleeping peacefully, the toy dragoon dropped to the floor by his cot. He permitted himself a smile, and picked up the toy, feeling it still warm from his son's touch.

"Richard, where have you been?"

He stopped in his tracks, and slipped the toy into his coat pocket before walking steadily to his wife's side. He bent to kiss her on the forehead, and she nickered in complaint as she smelt his breath.

"Ale? Is that it. Richard, spending money we don't have at the public house?"

He slid his clothes off and lifted the covers, crawling in beside her and feeling the warmth of his beautiful mare on his body. She tried to push him away, but he wrapped her in his arms, and she relaxed eventually, squirming against him as the feel of his embrace warmed her in ways she could not ignore. Tomorrow; she would have it out with him tomorrow. For now, though...

"Quiet, Sarah. You will wake the little stallion."

"Feels like the little stallion is more than awake already."

Her smile matched his, and soon their groans and whispers filled the room. Their foal slept on, though his fingers closed reflexively on a toy that was no longer there.

*****

The five waited patiently. The abandoned mill on the coast road lay just far enough from the town that it was in a remote and generally untraveled part of the country. Apart from naval and government traffic from London, and occasional travellers from Penzance or Truro, it was quiet. They knew from their source that their quarry would be coming along this afternoon, and should not be far away. Still, the tension built as the hours whiled away and the sun rose and then began its journey toward the horizon again.

It was Richard who heard it first, the jingle of a bridle. He had the most acute hearing of them all, and he signalled to the wolf. Morgan nodded once, and made a hand signal to the bear in the ruined tower.

"Aye, here they come. Right round the bend near the wood, just as we were told. Two couriers and two soldiers escort."

"Right, all you lot. Take your places."

The five hastened into their spots. Three would come out from one side of the mill, blocking the road ahead, while two came out the other side to block any escape. Armed and ready, their quarry would have no option but surrender. Then they would take all the horses and reassemble at the Wheatsheaf before their victims could raise the alarm.

The bear kept up his vigil, this time from inside the mill proper. He watched them coming, red tongue extended hungrily, his musket pistol cocked and ready.

"Now!"

Five men dashed into the open, and the small party stopped abruptly, their horses rearing and prancing at the sudden change.

"Who goes there?"

Their leader, a wolf dragoon lieutenant, stared at the motley collection. His nose told him there were five, and he relaxed slightly. He had to remain calm...had to remain calm. It was the only way.

"Well, master wolf, we have decided to relieve you of your baggage today. Most sorry for the inconvenience like."

"You will hang for this!"

"Aye, like as mebbe. Got to catch us first though! Now, you lot, all get off your horses, very, very slowly now. Don't want any accidents, do we."

The detachment obeyed quietly. Soon, all were securely tied and hobbled in the ruined mill, though their eyes told the five robbers exactly how much they hated this turn of events. As it became clear they would not be killed, anger had replaced fear. It was all that the dragoon lieutenant could do to keep them from doing something stupid in their anger. That was not part of the plan.

As the five prepared to depart, the lieutenant fixed his gaze on their leader. Though all the robbers had masked their faces, he could tell roughly what they were. Wolf, bear, deer, second wolf, horse. The horse intrigued him; they had expected a feline, but not the horse. A last minute change; it did not matter much in the end he supposed. They would hang just the same.

"Well... I suppose I should thank you for sparing my men. But I won't, master wolf."

The leader grinned behind his mask.

"And what is your name, pretty wolf?"

"Driscoll. Lieutenant Driscoll"

"Aye, nothing would give me more pleasure than spitting your carcase, master Driscoll. But I don't want any more dragoons after me than necessary, and something tells me the less of you I kill, the less dragoons will be after my hide. Its only money after all, and the government has more than enough of that to begin with."

Morgan gave the lieutenant a mocking salute, and turned to leave the mill. The dragoon shook his head at the departing form.

"You poor stupid bastard."

His men were not as charitable.

*****

"Right. Let's be about it, shall we? No dawdling, we have to be gone quick. Ryan, bring the chest over here."

They had gathered at the Wheatsheaf as planned. The landlord had left them a jug of ale, and five tankards, then left them to it. The wolf had wondered briefly at that, but he was too busy with his greed to pursue the line of thought.

The big bear dropped the chest on the table with an audible clunk. It had a padlock, and they knew better than to try to find the key. That would be in the office at the dockyard, and nobody would be giving that up in a hurry. A few minutes with the tools from the forge beside the inn, and the bear had the chest open with a crash as the lock fell to pieces which sprayed around the common room.

They stared into the chest in amazement.

"By all the rivers of hell..." The deer, normally a quiet one, had broken the spell. He was a devout one, in spite of his profession, and always prayed before a job. Now, his millennial fervour had found a new outlet, imagining all the torments of the nether world that were about to fall on them from on high.

"I don't understand..." Richard was in a daze, still uncomprehending.

"You stupid pony. Look. It's filled with pebbles."

"Yes, I can see that..."

"It means, horse, we have been set up!"

As if to answer the charge, Richard picked up the sound of bridles again. Many bridles.

"They're here!"

"Run for it!"

The bear was the first to respond. He headed for the main door and managed to get it open. He was about to charge into the twilight when a musket shot rang in the clear air. He fell against the doorway, with blood streaming from his shoulder.

Each of the remaining four headed for their own way out in response. It made little difference.

The leader died shouting defiance as he fired his pistol and hit a mounted dragoon. Three balls in answer cut him down on the grass, with his last sight the wide eyes of a dragoon's horse as it pawed the earth beside him with one hoof. The deer managed to make a break towards the trees but was cornered and took his own life with his pistol rather than be captured. The second wolf hid in the kitchen but was hunted out by a Doberman.

Richard managed to head for the cellar. He knew the Wheatsheaf; it had been built by his father. There was a small tunnel from the cellar towards the cliff, used in old times to roll barrels towards a second cellar in the chalk that remained hidden from customs inspectors. The second cellar was gone, but the tunnel remained. He found it still open, though narrowed, and he squeezed his way along until he saw the glint of twilight ahead.

He would probably have made it but for the sound of a gull. As he popped into the light near the cliff, a gull floating on the sea breeze gave a long cry, and the pursuers turned to watch it. One saw the head of an equine amongst the tall grasses, and three dragoons set off in pursuit.

The stallion ran as fast as his hooves could carry him, but it was not enough. His shoulder suddenly exploded in pain, and he fell to the ground in agony. He managed to pick himself up onto his hooves, and stumbled towards the cliff.

"Halt!"

He turned at the edge, to see the lieutenant they had ambushed, now standing before him with two more dragoons by his side. One had his musket raised and pointed. He looked about to fire, and the wolf realised just in time. With a snarl, the lieutenant tilted the musket skywards even as the deer pulled the trigger. The shot rang out as it sped uselessly into the sky.

"Halt! I arrest you in the King's name!"

Richard shook his head sadly. His shoulder hurt terribly, and he lifted his head to the blue sky, shot through with the colours of evening. Red and lilac, yellow and blue. Like the ribbons on his beloved mare's mane, the ones he had tied there so recently. He would not see them again now, and he tried to fix them in his mind.

"Horse...don't do it. Come with me."

"What, and be hanged?"

"There is some hope man!"

"No, there never was any hope. Just the illusion of hope."

He stepped toward the cliff.

"At least tell me your name!"

"Jenkin. Richard Jenkin. Tell her...tell her I'm sorry."

He looked at the gull one more time, as it floated lazily in the breeze. It seemed to look back, fixing him in its gaze as eddies carried it higher. It's feathers ruffled in the breeze, white against the dark blue sky. Then he took a step and jumped.

*****

"Momma!"

The foal was inconsolable, and Sarah was at her wits end. Nothing could stop him crying, since he had realised his beloved toy was nowhere to be found. She had practically dismantled the cottage in searching for it, but to no avail.

"Hush, my little horse, I will find it."

"Now, momma! I want it now!"

She pulled him into her arms and rocked him slowly, hoping his tears would abate.

When the knock came at the door, she was relieved. It would be Richard, and he could help her look. When the door opened though, she knew almost immediately that things were very terribly wrong.

"Mrs. Jenkin. Good evening."

The night air was cold, but not as cold as the feeling that stole over her as the little party entered her already crowded cottage. The magistrate was an unwelcome presence, as was the landlord's agent. The most unwelcome of all was the wolf though, dressed as a lieutenant of the dragoon's. He at least looked as unhappy to be here as she was to see him. He doffed his cap as he came inside, and looked at her in sympathy.

At least one seemed happy at the intrusion. Robby took one look at the wolf in dragoon's uniform and his eyes lit up with pleasure. He trotted forward to wrap the wolf in a hug, his mane bobbing as he nuzzled up to the lieutenant. The wolf gave a sudden start, but did not stop him, only gently untangling the foal after a while with his eyes clouded in pain.

"Mr. Darnley, pray what causes you to disturb the peace this evening? You have nothing better to do than..."

"Save it, mare. The game is up."

Her blood chilled at that, though she did not know the significance. Instead, she looked pleadingly at the wolf. He at least seemed to have some spark of compassion.

"Mrs. Jenkin, my name is Lieutenant Driscoll, of the 3rdDragoons. Tell me, lady, do you know where your husband is right now?"

Sarah clutched her chest, as if in premonition of the worst. Richard...you stupid stallion. You stupid, beautiful stallion. What in God's name have you done?

Instead she just shook her head, and stared at the wolf. He gave an apologetic shrug and continued though it appeared with reluctance.

"My lady, is your husband Richard Jenkin? A chestnut stallion?"

"Yes..."

"My lady, it is my duty to inform you, that he has been killed. In the course of evading capture for the crime of robbery of a King's courier on the coast road this afternoon."

"No... no... no..."

She could not take in the words. They did not make sense. Not Richard. Not her stallion.

"There is no sense in denying, mare, he was guilty as sin. He would have done better not to discuss his plans within earshot of the publican, a loyal man if ever there was one..."

The wolf looked daggers at the magistrate, who had the good sense to shut up if a little late. He turned back to the mare, who was visibly wilting before him. He thought she might be about to pass out, but she gripped the table and regrouped. Instead, she addressed the lieutenant.

"Is this true, Mr. Driscoll?"

"Aye, madam, I am afraid. He was wounded, and surrounded. He leaped from the cliff by the inn rather than be taken. I was there when he fell. His last words were of you. I am sorry."

The magistrate, a rotund lion, emitted a snort of derision.

"Well, I am not. A ne'er do well, and good riddance. Trash, like you, mare."

"What, Mr. Darnley?"

"I am informed that you are far behind in your rent. The Marquis' agent has agreed - with your husband gone, there is no prospect of payment any time soon. You are hereby evicted, immediately. Rabble like you and your offspring are of no worth to anyone, and the quicker you are gone, the better. You have ten minutes to get your things, and then the lieutenant will escort you from the premises."

The wolf looked stricken now. This was not what he had signed up for, but he had no choice. Instead, he turned stiffly to walk outside, grinding his teeth in frustration. Minutes later, the mare emerged, tired and haggard looking, with her meagre possessions in a bag and her son holding her hand. The Marquis' agent remained inside, cataloguing the furniture for sale to meet the debts.

The magistrate gave a final snort and mounted his horse, leaving without a backward glance. The lieutenant prepared for his own exit, not sure what else he could do. The mare stopped him first, tugging at his coat with her fingers.

"Good sir. Would you be able to give me a lift, I beg you. To the Wheatsheaf. I can stay there the night. Please, it is cold, and my foal will not last in this."

The wolf nodded reluctantly. It was something he could do at least. He helped the mare onto his mount, with the foal in her arms, and jumped up behind her. The foal appeared to enjoy the experience at least, his eyes wide in pleasure at being atop a real dragoon's mount with a real dragoon. He rubbed the youngster's mane, and led his mount towards the scene of much pain in sombre mood.

"Are you my toy? Why have you turned into a wolf?"

The wide eyed foal fixed the wolf in his gaze. It made sense, sort of. More sense than the thought that his prized doll had gone.

The wolf gave the mare a quizzical look.

"He has a special toy. An equine dragoon I knitted for him. Your uniform made him think of it, Sir, though of course you are not an equine. I don't know what became of it, we were looking for it when you... when you came in."

The Lieutenant smiled down at the foal. "No, little one, I am not your doll. But maybe you will be a real dragoon one day, and then you will find him."

The foal appeared confused by that, and yawned greatly as they rode. He was sure someone was keeping his toy from him, and he was determined to find who that was just as soon as he wasn't so tired.

When they arrived, the Lieutenant wanted to say something, but the mare refused to look him in the eye. Instead, he saluted her, and rubbed the foal's mane one last time, and turned to head into the town to rejoin his unit. The reports would be long and exhausting, as always. In some ways he was grateful that none had been taken, especially the stallion. He would not have enjoyed watching him hang.

Sarah turned to the door as the Lieutenant rode into the night. She knocked, and then again louder when there was no response. Eventually, the landlord's wife opened the door, though the doe's expression told the mare she had not wanted to.

"Why did you come here, Sarah?"

"Where else could I go, Alice?"

The doe had to nod reluctantly, and led the mare and foal into the warm common room and set them by the fire. She headed for the kitchen, and came back with a small plate of stew, and some bread. The foal, who had fallen asleep, woke to the smell of stewed carrots and gasped in pleasure, reaching for the plate in joy while the doe looked on sadly.

"Why, Alice?"

"It's none of Alice's doing!"

Sarah turned, to see the buck standing by the fire. His expression was defiant, but contrite, she was pleased to see.

"Fine, James. Why?"

"I am a loyal man, Sarah. And when I hear a gang plotting..."

"Why Richard! His father built this inn for you. He has been a friend!"

The buck gave a long sigh, as the mare rocked her foal gently in her arms. The dancing firelight soothed Robby, and he felt sleep steeling over him slowly. He reached for his toy again, though he knew it wasn't there. He would find it, that much he knew. His papa always found his draggy.

Eventually the doe responded, as she watched the sleeping foal.

"When they first came in, Richard was not involved. We didn't know he would be part of it; he replaced a frightened cat who thought better than to risk one or all of his nine lives. When it came time, it was too late. We didn't think he would go through with it... I'm sorry, I should have a better excuse. I wanted to warn him, but the magistrate told us if the gang got word and abandoned the plan, we would be held responsible and transported, or worse. We couldn't take the risk."

"I am glad you found just enough courage to look after yourselves, Alice."

"That is not fair, Sarah! If Richard hadn't fallen in with those four..."

"Enough. I don't care for your excuses. All I need from you now is a promise."

"What promise?"

"Look after my foal. Look after Robby."

The doe went white, suddenly stricken. Her husband stood and held her close, pulling her into his arms as they both looked at the mare. Eventually, Alice nodded, jerkily, and her husband gave a single nod of affirmation. The mare relaxed visibly, her body almost limp as she held the foal, watching him sleep. As his chest rose and fell, she methodically untied the ribbons from her mane, one at a time. Yellow, brown, red, blue, green, lilac, one after the other she tied them to his mane instead, a multi-coloured mix against his black. Black like his father's, she smiled at the thought. She had loved Richard's mane, especially after they made love, when he held her and she ran her fingers down it and braided it for him. One knot for each time they made love, one kiss for each sigh.

"I am going for a walk. Look after him."

The landlord turned to leave the common room. Alice watched the mare go, pleading in her eyes. Sarah turned at the door, and gave a slight nod to her one time friend, then headed into the darkness.

The sea breeze had picked up, and the trees that struggled to hold on to the edge of the cliff swayed in it as if waving goodbye to the day. Sarah pulled her jacket close around her, trying to husband the warmth a little longer as she stared out over the water. She could hear the waves crashing against the beach below, their incessant rhythm soothing her as she stood. Her nostrils flared, taking in the scent of the ocean, familiar and unsettling. Her father had been a fisherman, until his boat sank in a gale. He had never warmed to Richard, warning her against the young stallion. When he died, she had been grateful in a way, that at least there would be no more opposition from that quarter. She could follow her heart.

Now she would follow it again.

On steady hooves she trotted to the cliff, the same one her love had fallen from, and looked down to the white foam of the breakers below. And then she joined him, with a last cry of his name on the air.

*****

If I were a nobleman, I'd bring you six carriages

With six snow white horses, to take you anywhere.

_ _

If I were the emperor (Yellow and brown)

I'd build you six palaces (Blue as the sky)

With six hundred servants (Red as my blood)

For comforting fare. (Green as your eyes)

_ _

But I am a simple man, a poor common farmer

So take my six ribbons, to tie back your hair.

Fourteen years later

The stallion pounded with all his strength. The glowing embers of the forge reflected in his green eyes, and he had to blow his forelock out of the way as it threatened to obscure his view. Sweat glistened on his chestnut coat, as he worked to turn the unformed metal into useful items. This one would be a new skillet for the kitchen in the old Inn. Alice had been hinting for a while, and he had found the time now to get it done.

The buck no longer looked over his shoulder, instead guiding his hands and applying his own strength where needed. The young stallion had grown, more than enough now at eighteen to wield the tools with sufficient force for the needs of his simple work, and his skills had grown. Hesitantly, but sufficiently. James could leave him to get on with it, and attend to the customers content that his student and ward would do what was needed.

David quietly examined the soon-to-be handle, checking for defects, before grunting softly in satisfaction as he plunged the iron into a quenching bucket. The metal hissed and spat, and steam rose to add to his overheated feeling, but the young stallion was used to it by now. He would rather be too warm than too cold anyway. In his little bed above the forge and attached stables, he felt the rising heat of the forge as it cooled of a night, comforting him to sleep.

He was about to begin the next stage when a knock at his door pulled him up sharply.

"Hello? Anyone there?"

It was a young mare, by the voice, and an educated one. David reached for his shirt, donning the light cotton over his sweat-stained frame before trotting to the door. It was the best he could do, but he would not have a lady thinking of him as some barbarian.

"Hello! How may I help your ladyship..."

The greeting died on his lips when he saw her. A beautiful paint mare, in a rich riding gown of deep violet, with her white mane tied with gold. Her eyes blazed in ice blue, but they were not haughty or dismissive. In fact, as the young stallion looked, they seemed to come alive at the sight of him, and her lips curled into a broad grin.

"Well, hello! I did not know the landlord employed an equine."

"He doesn't, my ladyship. Or leastways, he does, but..." The stallion became tongue-tied, as he often did around girls. This one though; ahh, she was beautiful. And captivating as the stars. His voice ran down in his embarrassment, and he ended up dropping his head and hiding behind his forelock.

"Well, I must say you have me confused, good sir. He does and he doesn't and he does. A story there, if I am any judge. Perhaps you will tell me it one day?"

He looked up again, seeking out any sign of condescension or mocking, but he found none. Instead he saw frank interest, as well as something else. Something that made his blood burn.

"My... my ladyship... it is no great wonder. I am the ward of the landlord. My parents died when I was young, and they took me in."

Her expression clouded in sympathy, and she nodded in understanding.

"My poor horse. You were fortunate, at least. And so you work for love of your guardians; employed but not. I understand now. You are truly lucky to live with people who care about you."

It was David's turn to nod now, though inside he wanted to shout. It was not that simple, far from it, though his guardians were unwilling to tell him much more. The distant fragments of memory were like autumn leaves, faded and broken, and they told him there was much more to know. So far, his only reward for questioning had been silence, or a thrashing if he persisted. And so he worked, diligently and well, and was loved after a fashion and loved in turn, though the irascible buck was hard to love. But he knew in his heart he needed to find the answers. And they would not be as simple and agreeable as the mare seemed to think.

For her part the mare was lost in her own dark meanderings for a moment, imagining the simple but idealised life of the stallion compared to her own constrained existence. If she envied him a touch, he would not understand why, and so she kept her explanations to herself.

And so both gained and lost in equal portions, for not sharing all that they knew and felt.

One thing she did realise, as she turned again to look at him as he examined his hooves lost in thought. He was beautiful. Work as a blacksmith may be hard and dirty, but for this stallion it had other benefits. One of which was a body that made her gasp softly as she watched the play of muscles under fabric and fur. He was obviously in quite a sweat, and it made his clothes stick to his body like a second skin. She could make out the lines of his chest muscles and shoulders under the shirt, and what she could see was more than enticing. Not to mention the beautiful burst of feathering on his legs. And the exceptionally cute left ear, kinked and slightly bent, like a question mark against his head. She wanted to reach out and stroke it.

"Ahem. Ahhh my lady... how can I help?"

Now it was her turn to blush, and she caught his big green eyes staring at her. He was curious now, and a little worried, but those eyes spoke well of him. Full of care, and longing, but respect. An easy stallion to like, she thought, unlike the dandies she mostly knew who were full of arrogance and conceit. Usually without anything to back it up.

She caught sight of his mane, long and black. It had fallen over his chest as he moved, and she spied of a single green ribbon tied to the end. Once it had been bright silk, now it was faded but still distinct. She reached for it hesitantly; less presumptuous than touching his ear, safer but still intimate. The stallion stood still, but his body stiffened noticeably. She let out a soft nicker of amusement, and let her eyes calm his fears.

"My apologies, sir. I was just interested... it looks good on you. Matches your eyes..."

Now he was embarrassed again, dropping his gaze to his hooves and hiding behind his forelock. She sighed, and dropped her hand. Some things were too hard to overcome. The gulf between them felt like the width of the Channel, for all they were both equines. Perhaps business would help calm his nervousness.

"Well, my good blacksmith, I need your skills. My horse threw a shoe coming up from Falmouth. Are you able to reshoe him? I assume... I mean, I don't know if you are a farrier as well, but..."

The stallion eyed her a little hurt, and nodded.

"Right you are, my lady. I can do that, if you would lead your mount in here for me, please."

She went to retrieve Demon, her gelding who often lived up to his name. For now, he was in angelic frame of mind, nibbling an especially green and succulent patch of grass by the door. He let himself be led inside reluctantly, with many a nicker of complaint and swish of his tail. The gelding was about to let his Demon side out but he felt the calming touch of an equine, as David spoke to him gently, and he let himself be led towards the forge. There would be other grasses. And, he reasoned, other opportunities for mischief.

The stallion went about his task with simple efficiency, adjusting a shoe to the correct form for Demon, and then nailing it onto his left forehoof while the gelding insisted on nudging him in the shoulder. He gave the big black thoroughbred a rub on the flanks, and a scritch behind the ears once he was done, and the horse gave him a whinny of approval, shook his head, and nudged his chest in unsubtle demand for more.

"You handle him well, sir."

"Aye, equines call to equines they say. Always felt at home with the horses, and they with me."

"He does not behave that well for me."

David gave a grin. "Well, maybe he just needs a stallion's forceful hand."

She returned his grin with her own sardonic accompaniment. "Really. Do enlighten me."

He knew he was sailing into troubled waters, but he enjoyed the banter they had found and was determined to enjoy it while he could. "Aye. Sometimes a male needs a male to control him."

Her smile was sweetly serene as she reached for his mane again, and suddenly he shied and ducked and whinnied as he felt her hand on him. Her other hand found his shoulder, and she rubbed him as he had rubbed the gelding. "Not what I have heard." There was sweet musical laughter in her voice, but it wasn't mocking, and he found himself laughing with her, and throwing a fistful of hay that she dodged. Demon gave a disgusted snort, and left them too it, though if someone didn't lead him back to that patch of grass soon, he was going to get very unhappy.

"You have not told me your name, Sir."

"Davey. Well, David, I assume, but all call me Davey."

Her smile lit up the room almost as much as the forge.

"I like it. Davey. I am Jane, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Though it sounded formal, it belied the genuine pleasure in her voice, and he read the signals well but with disquiet as he took her hand and bent his muzzle to the soft skin. He kissed her hand, greatly daring, and caught a hint of her scent. Roses, and lavender, and mare. Sweet beautiful mare. She did not draw back when he kissed her.

"Did anyone tell you that your eyes are the most beautiful green, David?" If everyone called him Davey, she was determined to call him David. She wanted to be special in some way, just for him.

He ducked behind his forelock again, and busied himself about the forge to distract himself, but every few seconds he caught sight of the disquieting mare who watched him as he worked. Her own eyes gleamed, and she watched with approval, and those ice blue depths stayed with him even into the night as he tried to sleep in his straw bed above the forge long after she had ridden away on Demon.

*****

The dinner party was not a happy affair, for all the rich surrounds and the appearance of bonhomie. It was all too forced, and covered the underlying tensions not at all. Or so thought one guest, as he sat back in his chair and surveyed the scene.

Colonel Driscoll, commander of the 3rd King's Dragoons. Youngest son of a minor house, his father had managed to purchase a commission for the young wolf to find him something to do. The estate was of course entailed, and everything would go to his eldest brother Edward. For the third son there was nothing, except the commission and his father's good wishes.

Still, he was descended from the aristocracy, had a good education, and a relatively calm life. With a moderate allowance from his father, and his military salary, he did well enough. And he was still invited into polite society, important enough for local grandee's like the Marquis to court his favour. There were times when the local garrison came in handy, especially for someone with as many questionable interests as the Marquis. The large house above Pendennis castle had not come entirely through merit.

And so to this evening, ostensibly a happy convivial affair. He had picked up the undertow in the first five minutes, and spent the rest of the evening watching the impending shipwreck with the practiced eye of a Cornish seaman.

The magistrate, a lion so corpulent as to be barely able to sit at table, scoffed down food like he was stoking a furnace sat next to his equally broad cow of a wife. The lion at least managed to fawn over his liege lord adequately, always laughing at the Marquis' heavy handed jokes, and nodding soberly at his every point. As did the bishop, sitting opposite and wearing a disproving frown as he watched the lion demolish another roast chicken with alacrity.

All this was a sideshow though to the main drama downstage. He watched with keen interest, alongside his friend, the naval guest for the evening, a Post Captain whose frigate was stuck in Falmouth dock for overhaul. The tall and handsome bull was one of those salt stained types who hated being on land, but he danced attendance on the Marquis as a matter of form. He secretly confided to his friend the Colonel that the Marquis had agreed to help get his ship to sea faster, otherwise he would have told the horse to go hang himself. The wolf had kept his disappointment at that to himself.

Their gaze fell to the bottom of the table where the Marquis' youngest daughter, the lady Jane, sat in disgruntled silence across from a cocky looking young stallion. The high strung mare was playing with her food, and ignoring the meaningful glances from the other side of the table. It would not be long before the fireworks began, the wolf judged. He sipped another glass of passable claret, and waited for the moment.

"Jane. Would it kill you, my dear, to show some politeness to our guest?"

The dinner conversation stopped, abruptly. Colonel Driscoll counted the seconds, like waiting for the fall of shot. He had to give the young horse some credit at least, because it was not Jane who responded, but the young tyro across from her.

"My lord, your daughter has been most agreeable company. Why, only just before, she invited me to walk with her around the estate. If you would forgive us, Sir, I would like to take up her invitation now. It seems the heat has rendered both of us drowsy. Please forgive me."

The wolf had to admire the young stallion's impertinence. The mare gave him a stare that would kill a team of oxen in their tracks, but having been put on the spot so neatly, she could not gainsay him. With her father sweetly smiling, she had to smile too, as the servant pulled back her chair, and she bowed to the company and reached for young Beaumont's arm. Once safely out of earshot of her father, though, her real emotions came to the fore, and she pulled her hand away from him abruptly as they walked the parterre behind the house.

"Now my lady, that was impolite."

Jane rounded on him, the stallion grinning with a deeply satisfied look on his muzzle she ached to wipe away with one smartly administered backhanded blow.

"Impolite! Impolite does not even begin to describe your conduct, good sir!"

"Well, a mare with spunk I see. Jolly good show."

With a frustrated whinny she did slap him, taking some satisfaction in seeing his eyes widen in surprise. He lifted his hand to his muzzle, wiping away the small bead of blood that had formed from her blow, and carefully reached for a handkerchief to clean it. He did so abhor the sight of blood.

"If we are to be married, I would suggest learning some obedience, dear Jane."

She drew back her hand to strike again, and he gripped her wrist, staring into her unnerving eyes with his own a ferocious wide mask of contempt.

"I would rather die!"

"Have it your way, my lady, but you may have little choice. If we are being blunt, let me. You are the third daughter of a minor member of the aristocracy with money problems and a need to cement his position by marriage. He has only one current eligible daughter, being you. As much as you should be in London at court and in society, you defy his wishes and remain here riding about like some mystic explorer looking for a lost druid. Here I am, the eldest son of a baron with money, and the expectation of inheriting the title. I come all the way from London to see you. If you don't realise this is a done deal, my lady, you are mad."

"Never!"

"We will see."

She felt her arm twisted, and suddenly she felt herself drawn close to him, and she could feel the heat of Beaumont's breath on her cheek. His lips found hers, and she felt him trying to kiss her. She kicked his fetlock, hard, but apart from a grunt it seemed to do little good. He twisted her wrist painfully, and she gasped and felt her muzzle suddenly filled...

"Good evening. My lady... sir... lovely evening, isn't it?"

She looked up, gasping for breath, to see the wolf, Colonel Driscoll, calmly watching them from the pathway. Beaumont blinked a few times, sizing up the wolf.

"What are you doing here, stalking the night. Up to something unseemly?"

"Unseemly, my lord? Pray tell what do you mean? Could it be you are implying something that could leave me no option but to call you out? That would be a shame of course... but as an officer, and a gentleman, well... I would have no option."

The stallion let go of her wrist, and Jane fell backwards in shock. The wolf was looking at her, and she nodded in appreciation. He seemed to relax, which could not be said of Beaumont.

"Are you well, my lady?"

"Very well now, Colonel. Please, would you escort me round the garden? Master Beaumont seems taken ill."

"Most unfortunate. I would be delighted."

The stallion recovered some of his malice right at the end. As they turned to go, he shouted over his shoulder.

"Careful, Colonel. She is quite the mare in heat, and she kisses like a Parisian whore. Be warned, man."

The mare stiffened against him, and the wolf stopped a moment to let her regain her composure. When he turned around the stallion had left though. He gave a snort of derision. Typical popinjay, all bluster and no balls.

"My apologies, Colonel."

He patted the mare on the arm.

"Really my lady. Nothing at all to apologise for. I would be grateful if you could show me the carp pond... I have wanted to see them for some time."

With that most innocuous of requests, the fear passed from her face for now, and the wolf was grateful for it.

*****

The stallion was at his forge again, finishing up a last piece of work for the day before he could attend to his jobs inside the inn. There was always more work to do, and not enough hours in the day to do it. His guardians were getting no younger, nor fitter, and increasingly relied on him for heavy work. He screwed up his muzzle in frustration, contemplating a life of this. Just this week, he had asked to be properly apprenticed so he could take a trade and set up his own business. The buck had been upset, and refused to answer. Instead, the stallion had taken out his frustration on the metal. No matter how hard he hit, the metal could take it. He wanted to be like the iron too.

The sound of hoofbeats at least made him smile. The mare had been back a few times, ostensibly for work on her gelding's shoes. Strangely, there was never anything wrong with them when she came. But still, she came anyway.

Dropping the tools and donning his shirt, he headed for the door to welcome her, trying hard to ignore the feelings inside. They hurt as much as they warmed him, but he wanted her anyway. Something about her sang inside his soul, and now he could not escape the music even though he knew it was not meant for him.

The figure at the door was not who he expected though. Instead it was a stallion, wearing a black cloak with a heavy hood, riding a gray mare. He had seen the stranger from a distance once or twice, but this was the first time he had stopped.

The strange stallion had dismounted and stood staring at him for a moment.

"Do I know you, Sir?"

There was no response, except a sudden stiffening in the newcomer. Eventually words came from the depths of the hood.

"I wonder... what is your name, lad?"

"David, Sir. And yours?"

The figure seemed to shrug at that, and shake his head.

"Ahh...well may as I don't know you then, little stallion. And my name is not important."

A thrill went through David's mane then, but he dismissed it, instead bristling a little under the stranger's gaze.

" 'Little stallion' indeed, Sir. I am no mere pony, and no more to be called one by a stranger like you."

The strange stallion gave a soft chuckle, and nodded, pulling his mount towards the forge.

"Well said indeed. I am sorry, you reminded me... you reminded me of someone I once knew, which is why I called you 'little stallion.' I won't do it again."

"What can I do for you, sir?"

"Your forge. I need it, and some work on my horse's shoes. Can you do that?"

"The shoes I can do. But what of my forge?"

"Leave that to me, lad. And ask no questions."

As he worked on the mare, David kept glancing across to the stranger. He recognised the implements he was using, and their purpose. As the stranger finished his work, the young stallion regarded him with an appraising eye.

"Interesting work, Sir."

"None of your business, lad."

"New musket balls, melted and formed in a mold. Professional looking, too. Must have a nice shiny pistol somewhere under that cloak. And a need for fresh musket balls, on the run too..."

The stranger regarded him stoically. "And what, pray tell, will you do about it lad?"

There was steel in the voice, David realised, but also something else. A deep weariness. Something made him relax, and feel warm again like he did above the forge. He shook his head.

"Nothing. Except offer a place to stay, here with me, when you need it. There is room in the barn, I sleep on the straw above us. Plenty of room, for you and your mount. I only ask one thing if you do."

"Name it, lad."

"Teach me how to do what you do. So I can come with you one day."

The stallion shook his head sadly, and reached for the youngster. His hand ruffled David's mane, as he let soft whickering sounds comfort the lad in preparation for the rejection to come. Then his hand found the ribbon and he stopped abruptly. His fingers traced the length of faded green, almost in a trance, as David waited in surprise. Eventually the stranger spoke.

"Where did you get this?"

"I am told it was my mother's. She gave it to me before she died."

"How... how did she die?"

"Smallpox. Like my father. Then I was taken in by my parent's friends here, and so I shall remain it seems." David let his bitterness creep in, and the stallion caught the tone.

"Don't regret what you know nothing about, lad. And thank you for your work."

The stallion tossed him a guinea, impossibly too much for the simple job, and David was about to protest when the stranger limped back to his horse and mounted slowly and then headed for Falmouth at a gallop. He watched him go until he disappeared down the hill, turning the coin in his hand.

*****

When David heard the sound of hoofbeats again, he assumed it was the stranger come to demand his guinea back. He headed out the door prepared for an argument, but his muzzle broke into a grin when he spied the mare instead. His grin rapidly faded as he realised she was in one of those moods. Worse in fact than the worst he had seen, judging from her ears.

"Jane, what is it?"

The mare was shaking all over, and once she had tethered Demon, she paced back and forward before falling into the stallion's arms. He just held her, running his fingers through her mane to sooth her as she cried against his chest. Eventually, she spoke.

"My father. He wants me to marry someone... a young noble."

David felt his heart shattering, but he bore it stoically for her. He pulled her closer though, wanting a last feel of her against his chest to sustain him. There was no hope after all, it seemed. He assumed she was the daughter of a merchant or similar, and such a match could not be denied. He would find the stranger again, and force him to take him on the road. It was time to go before he ended up as broken as his guardian James.

"A good match, I presume. So... when is the wedding?"

She stiffened in his arms, and turned her head to stare at him with anger blazing in her eyes.

"Men! You are all the same! You assume you have the power to rule my life! I thought you were different!"

She hit him in the chest, and he didn't resist, struck dumb by her sudden turn. After all, there was nobody who wanted her to avoid the marriage more than he; but reality was reality.

The mare stormed off towards the cliff, and he followed at a safe distance until she stopped near the edge, staring out to sea. The sky glowed blue like a robin's egg, and the gulls dove and swooped in the breeze. He could smell the ocean, the scent thick in his nostrils. He also smelled mare, her enticing scent filling his nostrils even stronger than usual. She was so beautiful standing there, he wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms. Instead he waited, while she stood.

Eventually, she turned and looked at him, summoning him with her eyes. He gave a rueful grin and obeyed. If anyone was acutely aware that this was a mare not to defer to a stallion, it was him. Alas that he seemed to be the only one to receive the rough end of her tongue regardless.

"I am sorry, David. I should not have done that."

He was too taken aback to respond at first, instead wrapping her in his arms to ward away the chill of the sea breeze. They stood there watching the ocean for a while, two equines alone and enjoying the simple pleasure of their company. Eventually, she stirred and pointed.

"What is that for?"

There was a wooden marker on the cliff edge, a small crude cross. It had been there as long as David could remember, but his guardians had no answer when he asked about it.

"I do not know. A marker for some who died, I expect, but who it was nobody knows. This coast has seen many dead, ships run aground and worse. It happens."

Jane felt the loneliness of it all too well. Nobody to know who they were, or to remember them. Like her, if it came to it. Or this poor colt without parents. Something stirred in her then, and she approached the cross, kneeling by its side while the stallion watched, and untied the golden thread from her mane. She draped it carefully over the cross, saying a silent prayer for those it marked, before returning to the warm embrace of her stallion.

She realised that was how she thought of him, and it excited as well as terrified her. Her stallion.

David ran his fingers through her mane, marvelling at the liquid silk of her hair. He reached for his own mane, and untied the ribbon at its end, and used it to tie the mare's locks in a neat bundle. Something stirred in him as he looked at her, his lips moving unbidden.

"Little horse, my Robby."

"What was that, David?"

Jane looked hard at her companion, seeing him far away. He shook his head slowly, as if confused, and nuzzled against her neck.

"Nothing. Just something... something I can't quite remember. A fragment of the past, nothing to mean anything, I wager." He sniffed at her scent, so intoxicating at the moment, and closed his eyes to savour. Without meaning to, he found himself pulling her round to hold face to face, and he leaned in to kiss her.

Jane felt herself moved, gently but firmly, until suddenly she was facing the stallion. She could feel her heart beat, and his, and the whip of the wind in their manes. She felt hot, so hot in spite of the wind, and then his muzzle was on hers. She melted into his embrace, welcoming the kiss, whickering her joy, but her fears reasserted themselves quickly. Her eyes opened wide, and she shoved him backwards hard, staring at the stallion who looked back at her stricken.

"Jane... Jane... I'm sorry..."

"You are no better than him!"

"Please, Jane...I'm sorry, please forgive me!"

She let out a loud whinny and turned to storm towards her mount. He followed pleading for her not to go.

"Where are you going? Please, promise me you will come back!"

"I will go where I please, and no stallion is going to stop me. The road to Truro is flat and good for a gallop. There is a ruined mill there I have been told of. I will ride there and back home, and by then I may just have forgiven you, David. You presume much, young stallion. Far too much!"

She mounted Demon in a stride and wheeled to the East in a rising gallop, and he watched her go with pain in his eyes. All he could do was say the words that didn't seem to matter anymore.

"I love you..." They floated like a gull on the wind.

"David! Come inside! What have you been doing!"

He turned to see his foster mother, Alice. She had a wild expression on her face, as she stared after the hard riding mare.

"Nothing. Nothing, ma'am. I just... I just tended to her horse."

"Well, I pray you tended well, young colt. For she is the daughter of the Marquis, and a lady of much renown. The fight to be her husband is waxing hot, I am told."

David stared at his foster mother as if she were speaking a foreign language. It made sense... and yet it didn't.

"The daughter of the Marquis?"

"Yes, Davey. Jane Canning, daughter of the eleventh Marquis of Falmouth. She lives in the great house above Pendennis, though she should be in London by all accounts. I wonder why she remains?"

The stallion began to believe, in a deep secret place, that he might know the reason, though he could not bring himself to believe it. Instead, he stared after her, looking at the place she had disappeared into the distance.

"Riding to the abandoned mill on the road to Truro for exercise..."

He felt hands grip his arm tight.

"Tell me that is not where she is going?"

He turned to look at Alice, suddenly infected by the fear on her face. He couldn't form the words, just nodding urgently and willing her to tell him all was well.

"Oh, God in heaven! There are bad men there, by all accounts. James heard word from a passing patrol, they are going to organise an expedition to round them up. But they have not done it yet; highwaymen, robbers, cut-throats. Who is to know. But I know it is not good..."

Alice realised she no longer had an audience half way through her recitation of woe. The stallion had turned and run, hard, towards the stable. His behaviour was becoming more and more insufferable...

Then she saw the doors open, and their horse emerge, snorting the wind, with a saddle in place as the stallion finished his preparations and prepared to mount. She could barely credit what she was seeing, and so she found she could do no more than stare until he had lifted himself into the saddle. Then she found voice.

"Where in the name of the Lord are you going?"

"To save her!"

David clicked his hooves into the horse's flanks and the reluctant gelding suddenly charged off across the ground in an unusually urgent gallop. He was an ungainly one, Damocles, too heavy for fast work, but he tried. He trusted and liked the stallion, and he could tell with every horsey sense that this mattered. For this one, he would gallop, although there had better be carrots at the end of this madness...

The buck came out of the inn in time to see the last of the stallion tearing across the earth, his wife standing still as Lot's staring after him. The context was far too complex, he was sure, but he felt he needed to ask questions anyway.

"What is going on my lovely?"

"The colt has finally gone mad. Completely mad."

"How so?"

"He has ridden off, like some knight of Arthur's table, to rescue a fair lady in distress. With no weapons, nothing. Just himself and our horse."

The buck took this in his stride, digesting it one piece at a time as was his wont. He finally decided on his first question, though it was by no means the last.

"What lady fair?"

"The Marquis' daughter Jane."

He found his astonishment precluded any further questions, as he stood beside his wife looking into the distance. They were both still there when they heard the sound of hooves approaching but from the opposite direction. Both turned to see a figure on a grey mare coming towards them at a rapid pace, cloaked and hooded in black. They both felt a sense of foreboding, though they knew not why, as the stranger came closer. He stopped right before them, and dismounted awkwardly, his right leg almost buckling under the strain. With his mount's reins in his hand, he hobbled forward until he stood right before them, and then he removed his hood.

James recovered his wits first.

"You!"

"Yes. Hello, old friend."

The stallion stared at the two deer, who stared back, a final touch of madness in a mad day. Then Alice fell to the earth in a faint, and the two males carried her to the inn.

*****

They sat beside the fire, while James fed his wife small sips of brandy. It seemed to help, as she recovered sufficiently to speak, though not enough for her words to make much sense.

"You! It can't be! It can't be!"

"Aye. I imagine you wish it couldn't be, after what you did..."

The stallion produced his pistol, cocked and ready, and pointed it at the buck. James had just been thinking of edging his way closer to the bar and his cutlass, but that idea died at birth. Instead, he eyed up the stallion, observing as best he could. With the hood off, he could see the changes in his old friend, grey in the fur, the scars on his face, a short beard at his chin. Not the Richard he remembered, until he looked in those green eyes. They still sparkled, though they sparkled with pain.

"How..."

Richard nodded. He supposed they did deserve that.

"I fell. I thought it was the end, but instead I hit a ledge. It broke my fall, and I tumbled down the cliff slower, catching on branches and rock as I went. I thought I would faint from the pain, but that did not happen until I hit the beach. Then I knew no more, until I woke in a small hut in an inlet."

"Who? Where?"

"It is no business of yours, my old and trusted friend" The words dripped sarcasm. "There are people who work the shoreline, have for years, taking the harvest from the sea. Shipwrecks, smuggling cargoes... you know the type."

The deer gave a snort, one he cut short as the pistol centred on his chest.

"Enough of that, my lovely. You may not agree with them, but they are no friend of the law. And that means they are more likely to help a stallion in need, shall we say. I remembered very little at first, and I lay in a fog for a long time until they managed to nurse me back to some strength. It was then that I wished I had not lived."

"Tell me, Alice. Did you try to stop her?"

The doe shook, remembering that night and the look in the mare's eyes. She shuddered and dropped her head.

"Aye. I tried. But she was determined, and in the end it was her decision. She made me promise to look after the foal. And I did, God knows. No thanks to you."

His eyes narrowed at that, but he resisted his anger. He needed to know it all.

"The foal. My foal. Who was supposed to have died. I went to the parish church in Falmouth today, to check again. The graves are there like they always were, mother and son. Except there was no body for the foal, something the parson finally admitted. I wish I had known fourteen years ago."

The buck sighed and nodded. "The waves carried her body down the shore before she was found. Everyone... everyone assumed she had jumped with the foal but he had been carried away with the ocean. We thought it was best to let them think that, to give him a new start. We hid him and changed his name, and pretended he was the son of a friend from Truro who had died of smallpox."

"David..."

"Yes."

"You had a son, I remember. A young buck called David. He died of Typhus."

"Yes, Richard."

"So you replaced your son with mine..."

"If that is how you want to think of it Richard, do so. But we have looked after him, the best we could, for you and for Sarah. And if you love him, you will let him go on that way."

"How so?"

"Do you really think it better for him to think his father is a highway robber, a wanted criminal? That his mother killed herself and left him? Do you really?"

The stallion lowered his pistol, swallowing hard. His vision swam as he fought back tears. Alice was in no better state, but she also had a more practical sense, and she slammed her hands on the table startling the two males.

"Enough, you two. That can be for later, but for now, have we forgotten?"

The stallion looked surprised. "What have we forgotten?"

"That son of yours is entirely too like you. He charged off after a stupid girl just before you arrived, trying to save her. She was heading for the old mill on the Truro road..."

The stallion gripped her hand suddenly, so tight she cried out and stared into his eyes. They were blazing now, green and gold like the fire. He whispered to her.

"How long ago!"

"Not long before you got here. If you hurry you may catch them..."

The stallion charged out in a fury. How long had he lost. How long wasted...

"Richard!"

He ignored their cries as he uncocked his pistol and stowed it. He would be needing it. Or he would die soon enough. He rode like the wind, as it is when the wind lashes the cliffs and the gulls cannot fly, and the road smoked behind him in a cloud of dust like an arrow pointing toward Truro.

The buck sighed to his wife.

"Have all equines chosen this day to go mad?"

*****

David rode on, though he felt increasingly lost and worried. He had not caught her up, that much was plain, and her mount was a thoroughbred and much better suited to this than his. Damocles did his best, but the gelding was beginning to flag, and he had to urge him on with increasing fervour just to get a decent canter.

Eventually, the mill came into view, and his heart sank as he saw her horse, without its rider, casually nibbling the grass. He dismounted and crept forward, until he found the door.

Peeking inside, he saw five figures, all surrounding the mare. She was bound with rope and gagged, and looking defiant but terrified as they leered at her.

David's blood boiled, and without thinking he charged into the room. He managed to knock the first of them over, a bulky wolf. The wolf's head hit the stone floor with a thud, and he managed to take his knife and stand beside the mare while the other four regrouped in a circle around them. He held the knife out like a spear, and used it to hold them back for now, as they sized up the opposition. Nothing they saw made them fearful.

Their leader, a tall tiger, bared his fangs and laughed.

"Well well, little pony. Come to save the mare, have you?"

"You stay back! We are leaving, and nobody need get hurt if they let us go."

There was laughter all around, and David whirled to the left, where a fox had closed the gap slightly. He fell back, still grinning, as they started circling the two equines. The tiger kept up his banter, enjoying the torment.

"Now little pony, don't be shy. We just want to have some fun, don't we lads? Just some fun... and your little mare looks like fun. You can probably tell us that too, hey?"

"Stay back! She is... she is an important lady. If you harm her..."

That caused the tiger to pause a moment. This had possibilities he didn't realise.

"Tell me more, pony."

"She is the daughter of the Marquis..."

Jane gasped, looking up at the stallion. She did not know how he had found out, but now he knew and she felt the loss, strange though that may be in the circumstances.

"Well well lads. We are in the presence of gentry!"

David had removed the crude gag, and she coughed before staring at the tiger. If she could cow him...

"My attendant is correct. You are all in serious trouble. My father will have you flayed alive..."

The laughter was back, and she felt chilled to the bone. The tiger grinned wider, and his incisors glinted in the sunlight that flooded through a hole in the ceiling.

"Your attendant. Well, my lovely, how lucky for you to have one. See, my lads and I are all wanted men. The hangman waits us all, my pretty one. Except... and it's a thought, isn't it, lads? Except if we have a pardon signed by the magistrate all legal like. A pardon for returning the daughter of the Marquis. An exchange, like. Sounds good to me."

Jane felt a hint of escape, but it was soon dashed by the leering tiger.

"Course, she may be returned alive. But not unharmed..."

The laughter was back.

"Stay back! All of you!" David was increasingly frantic, his pathetic resistance hanging by a thread. One that was soon to come to a close, as the tiger became bored.

"And we don't need the attendant, do we lads? Not at all..."

The fox had managed to edge closer, close enough to jab at the stallion and catch his arm. David cried out, and the tiger moved for the kill, disarming him as the fox sliced across his chest. Blood flowed as the stallion went down, with Jane screaming at them to stop. The tiger stood over the bloodied stallion with his knife raised, ready for the kill.

"Poor pretty pony..."

Suddenly, a shot rang out, then another. The fox fell with a hole in his chest, and the tiger staggered backwards with blood pouring from his side.

"Halt, in the Kings name!"

The cry and the shots came from the darkened doorway. The remaining cut-throats glanced at each other. The sound of steel followed, the unmistakable spiralling swish of a sword being unsheathed.

"Run for it!"

With a great scurrying of paws, the remaining gang members on their legs headed for the back way out of the mill, heads down and racing for the line of trees not far distant. Jane held her stallion as he sagged against her, blood seeping through his shirt.

When the figure came around the doorway, it was not what she expected. A lone roughly dressed stallion in a dark cloak; not the patrol she was hoping for. Still, he had made them run for it.

The stranger stared at her, and then at the young stallion in her arms.

"Are you going to help, Sir, or are you only here for show?"

There was an amused nicker, and the stallion removed his hood. She took in his features, strangely transfixed by his eyes. Deepest emerald green, but tinged with pain. She could see now that he walked with difficulty, though he appeared competent enough with a sword. The young stallion had waved his knife around like a conductor at a concert. This one held his absolutely still.

"Is he badly hurt?"

She managed some anger to cover up her own tension.

"I am fine, thank you for your concern, good Sir."

The stallion managed a smile.

"I can see that, my lovely, I asked about the little stallion here."

Seeing that the mysterious stranger was not going to be cowed, she rested her head on David's shoulder. He groaned.

"I'm alright, dammit. How... how did you know..."

The stranger reached for their hands.

"No time for explanations right now, you two. We have to get you back. Come with me."

He managed to get them both seated on their horses, and led the rag-tag army back to the Wheatsheaf. He looked behind every few strides, waiting for the inevitable. Eventually he grunted, satisfied but not relaxed. Jane could see that in the twitch of his ears, and the way his tail moved as he rode. The strange stallion was alert, but trying to appear calm. She determined to do the same.

Eventually, he pulled up beside her.

"My lady, do you know how to load these?" he held out one of his pistols, the burnished metal now tarnished with soot.

The mare shook her head.

"Then I will teach you. Reach into my saddlebags."

She learned the hard way, with fumbling fingers and many a curse, as the younger stallion looked on in slight alarm and slight jealousy and the little procession trotted slowly across the land. They reached the Wheatsheaf in triumph though, with no sight of pursuit thus far. A triumph slightly tarnished by David collapsing with a groan from his mount into the worried arms of his guardian, the buck laying him gently on the grass as Damocles finally and definitively went on strike.

*****

They managed to get the groaning stallion up to his little loft above the forge. Alice lit the oil lamps, and Jane brought hot water and cloths to clean his wounds. David had recovered sufficiently to feel embarrassed, but his wounds hurt terribly and he allowed himself to be fussed over, secretly enjoying the attention.

The stranger checked his wounds and pursed his lips as he explored with this fingers. His expression cleared soon though, and he let out a sigh.

"You have been lucky, my little stallion. Nothing serious. Keep the wound clean and it should heal. You are a terrible fighter, but that is not a bad thing."

"What do we do now?" Alice asked, unsure that she wanted the answer.

The stallion looked darkly at the door.

"I have business to attend to. The survivors will realise they have been had soon enough, and they will not be best pleased. Better if I find them first."

"Wait! Don't go!" David heard the implications, and reached for the stranger. Something told him he was safe with the stallion here, safer than he had been in a long time. The stallion took his hand though, and detached it from the sleeve of his cloak before he began to climb down from the loft. He stopped to look at the pair first though, the young mare holding David close. It made his heart feel warm and hollow at the same time.

Memory is a strange and often mixed thing. So it proved now for Richard. He looked the mare in the eye.

"My lady, will you look after this stallion for us?"

She smiled and nodded gratefully. "Yes, Sir. I have learned some nursing skills; we get soldiers from the Peninsula campaign here, wounded but still alive, and they are sometimes cared for in Falmouth. I have helped at times."

Richard nodded as he climbed down the ladder.

"Good. Then look after the little stallion for me. I know he is in good hands."

The troubling thoughts he kept to himself, though they filled his mind as he rode. He knew the look between the two equines, the mare as much as his son. He shook his head as the miles flashed past, worried and proud in equal measure.

Back in the barn, the two deer prepared to leave the equines to it. There were still practicalities to be dealt with though, and even in pain, David was alert to them.

"Jane. Your father. If you aren't back soon, won't they be alarmed?"

She realised he was right, and in the panic and confusion she had forgotten. She looked at the two deer, with worry in her eyes. The doe spoke first.

"I... I will go to Falmouth lady, with your permission. You were waylaid but escaped, and our ward was injured. You are tending to his wounds but are safe."

She nodded, grateful that inasmuch as was said, it was at least the truth. Her father had a way of detecting falsehood. Something in the ears.

"And I will get my musket out. In case... well..." the buck did not want to finish the sentence, and they were all grateful he didn't. He turned to go, as did his wife, with a final glance at the two equines as they shut the door.

David lay back, content to be tended to for once. The mare turned her attention to his wounds, wetting the cloth in a bowl of hot water and washing the ugly gash in his chest. He winced but did not complain, just happy for her touch. As she stripped him of his bloody clothes though, he began to shiver, and no amount of blankets could keep him warm.

He tried to smile at her, to reassure, but she shook her head and worried anyway.

"I have seen it before. The shock of a wound. You need..."

"Y...yes..."

She returned his smile, more assuredly, and enjoyed his stunned look as he watched her slowly strip off her own clothes until she sat naked beside him. He was too stunned to speak, even when she lifted the covers and climbed in beside him. He felt her body naked against his, fur on fur, and he suddenly felt no pain, nothing except her touch. He felt warm now, warmer than ever in his life.

"My lady..."

"Shhh. There are some times, David, that a stallion needs a mare to control him. Remember?"

He managed a grin at the memory of their first talk, here by the forge. She looked into his eyes, the same deep green of the stranger, but without the deep pain. And as they clung to each other, bodies becoming one, she kissed him, hard, and her own body responded. Blood ran hard in their veins, as they writhed on the straw. They were young, they were alive. And she realised too late, they were very much in love.

Eventually, he lay between her legs, body against body, rubbing against her as they kissed. She knew she faced a decision, he was too much the gentlecolt to take the lead even in his current state. She reached for his stallionhood, feeling the amazing heat and heaviness of his maleness in her hand, savouring the feel for long moments. So beautiful, and so alive. His lips found her breast, and she arched her back and moaned, urging him on.

She moved slightly, and brought his flare to her opening. Then she closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, hoping he would know what to do, fearing he would, wanting.

Her cry surprised him, and she stopped. He had felt her place him against her, the incredible heat and warm softness of her sex. He pressed at her urging, but it proved more difficult than he expected. She urged him on though with encouraging nickers, and he used all his strength and suddenly he was inside, though he felt her shudder and heard the harsh pain in her voice. He opened his eyes in horror and looked into hers, seeing the pain there too.

"I'm sorry!"

"Shh... don't worry brave stallion. It is my maidenhead... it's expected. Every mare feels some pain as it is broken their first time... but it will soon feel good."

She kissed him to reassure him, as she adjusted to the feel. It had hurt in truth, but less than she feared. Many years of horse riding had meant that her barrier was pierced though not gone. He had not therefore torn her too badly on entry, though there had been a momentary shock. Now as he experimented, sliding in a little deeper, she felt something else; the deep warm burning need that the maids spoke about when they thought their masters were not listening. And she knew she wanted it too.

Their first loving was brief, like a sudden summer storm. David felt himself enveloped in her being, scent and touch and sound, and he wanted to dive to the depths and remain. He could not last long though, and long before Jane's warmth had a chance to blossom, he cried out as he spent inside her, before resting in her arms as they kissed in contentment.

Afterwards, he lay beside her, just enjoying the feeling, as they rested for a moment. Her hand sought out his length again, surprised at its hardness after what they had done. Agreeably surprised, though. She realised she had much to learn about stallions.

"Does my lady approve?"

She flicked his crooked ear with her hand, drawing a laugh.

"Very much. I can see this stallion needs to be tamed."

"Oh? And are you up to it, my lady fair?"

She looked at his twinkling eyes and gave a mischievous smirk. Suddenly, David found himself mounted by the mare, with Jane straddling his hips like a rider. Her hand moved along his length, drawing nickers and sighs from the stallion.

"Mercy, lady! I am but a poor wounded soldier!"

She was not to be dissuaded though, and instead, wondering at his feel in her hands, she guided him to her and slid down his length until he sheathed inside her and she felt the tingle inside as she rubbed herself with his stallionhood.

"Then rest, poor brave soldier. And let the rider do the work."

That he was most content to do, though he found the special place at the apex of her sex, marvelling at the effect his thumbs had on her. She held his hand there, hard against her nub, and rode him harder until she felt something growing inside her. She leant forward to his body, and felt his muzzle close on a nipple. The world ended; but it ended well.

As they lay together, neither willing to let the other go, David reached for a small pouch by his bed. She watched his movements, content for now to rest, but intrigued. His smile was almost young now, and she realised his eyes were older than hers when she saw him. Not now though; now the colt had returned.

He pulled out the contents, five more silk ribbons like the one he had given her. All different colours though, and not as worn or faded as the green one he had worn in his mane. He carefully tied them to her mane, a cascade of colours.

"All that I have, my lady. I hope it is enough."

They were in that embrace when the stallion returned, and mounted the ladder to find them still in their own world. His face clouded as he watched them.

"Sarah..."

The two equines suddenly realised they had an audience, and covered themselves rapidly in embarrassment. The stallion excused himself and descended, waiting until the mare came down.

"My lady..."

"I want to thank you, kind Sir..."

"And I need to thank you. Though I am not sure that is the kind of care I had in mind when I left him to you."

She blushed crimson under her coat, but determined to give as good as she got.

"Really, good Sir. I do not think you are the one to comment on my conduct."

He nodded. "Perhaps not, my lady. But I daresay you have inflicted a more grievous wound on the little stallion than anything those bandits could have."

She dropped her head, realising the truth in his words. There was much to be made good still, if that was even possible.

"You called her Sarah!"

They both looked up to see David suddenly appear, alert but looking confused. He descended the ladder with difficulty, staring at the stranger.

"And you called me little stallion again!"

"Aye, lad."

"You promised not to, and yet..."

"I am sorry, lad."

"No! Wait! I remember... Sarah... my mother was called Sarah... and my father used to call me 'little stallion'"

Richard stood still, waiting for the moment. He warred inside himself, remembering the conversation with the deer. He heard the door open, and smelled them even as he thought of them. It made him smile ruefully.

"Did you... did you know my parents?"

Richard felt the weight of the question, and the intake of breath from the deer behind him. He waited long seconds, while the young stallion looked at him.

"Aye, lad. I knew them. Your mother... Sarah... when I last saw her, she was wearing those same ribbons. When I saw the lady there with them... it made me remember. I am sorry, lad."

"How..."

"I was... a friend. I wish I had been a better friend, lad. But you had good people to look after you, and I did not know you were still alive. I thought... well, I thought you had died with your mother see. Please forgive a silly old stallion."

Richard felt the youngster approach and closed his eyes, uncertain he could take any more. He felt arms around him, as David pulled him into a hug.

"Thank you for saving our lives, Sir. But why are you shaking?"

"Memories, lad. Just memories..."

There was a sudden cough from behind, and they turned to look at the buck.

"The lady had better get dressed. We will have company soon."

The clatter of bridles and sabres outside proclaimed the truth of this statement. She gave her love one last kiss and climbed the ladder to retrieve her dress and try to bring some order to her appearance. She forgot the presence of the ribbons for now; somehow they had become part of her at the moment her stallion tied them to her mane.

*****

The audience with her father did not go well for Jane. She had not expected it to, however. The apologetic Colonel Driscoll had taken his leave, as the lady had been reunited with her family and all was right with the world. At least here; he had to return to the Mill with a patrol and retrieve the bodies of the bandits. There were still formalities to be attended to, though the Marquis at least appeared entirely satisfied with the end received by the men. There appeared little danger that the mysterious stallion would be prosecuted.

Still, something made his fur prick, and he headed to the Wheatsheaf with a sense of disquiet that made him force his mount into a more sustained gallop than the leggy gelding really enjoyed. He let his displeasure be known in subtle ways that the distracted Colonel thoroughly missed as he rode, mind still preoccupied.

Meanwhile, the Marquis found his own displeasure far easier to communicate.

"In God's name, Janey, it will not do!"

"Really father, you would think..."

"I will think what I damn well please! Since your mother died, I have tried, God knows, to provide a home and a proper example, but you defy me at every turn. And now you go riding in the wild and get taken by cut-throats and vagabonds, and only are rescued by some stupid common colt orphan and an even more common stallion who is probably more cut-throat than the ones he rescued you from!"

"That is not fair, father! David is a good horse..."

"I do not care if he is a saint! He is beneath you, Jane, as you should well know. Though I scarce can believe you are a lady anymore with the way you are. Look at your mane, girl... what inthe Devil?"

She fingered the ribbons, remembering the embrace of her stallion as she touched them. All colours, like the depths of his eyes when she stared into them after they made love. Soft and silken to touch like his fur...

"Well?"

"Father, he is a good horse, as I said. David gave these to me to calm me, and to thank me for looking after his injuries. I like them..."

"You will not be keeping them, and that is an order!"

She flared her nostrils in defiance, staring down his anger. He was not finished though.

"Your new husband will not tolerate them, that much is sure."

Her veins went to ice. "My... new... husband...?"

"Yes. Beaumont has agreed to the match. He will be here again in a month, before taking a ship from Falmouth to his estates in Ireland. You will be married in the parish church, and then you will accompany your new husband to his estates. Or so help me Jane, you will wish you had never been born!"

The mare tossed and turned later in bed, imagining her stallion holding her. His strong body around hers, his lips upon her breasts. She let her fingers roam over her body, touching as he touched, rubbing where he rubbed in her mind's eye, until she gasped out her pleasure as her body heaved in release. Then she lay, crying at the turn of fate that kept her from him. As she relaxed finally in sleep, she made a decision. The smile on her muzzle was the smile of a mare enjoying the idea of defiance.

*****

The wolf had found the mysterious stallion hard to pin down. Something in his fur told him to be careful, but the stranger had been nothing but polite, if evasive. There was little to be gained, he realised, from further questioning, but he could still make his point.

"If I were you, Sir, I would seriously consider leaving the area soon. Not that I am going to charge you, mind, but let us say, I think it would be for the best. I will be making enquiries in Plymouth and Exeter... and we shall see what I might find. Good day... Sir."

The stallion watched him leave, his expression troubled. He heard a sound of shuffling hooves, and realised that David had been watching.

"Are you going to go, Sir?"

"Soon, lad. Soon."

"Please, take me with you then."

"No, lad. You can't come where I'm going."

"You promised to teach me and take me with you!"

"No, little stallion, I did not. I will, however, stay a while at least. And I will teach you some things, enough for you to survive. I meant it when I said you are no fighter lad. But you may need to learn, and I can help you."

"But I am a good blacksmith! I can earn a living too, and we can share..."

"And your good mare?"

David hung his head. The pain was fresh in every word.

"She is the daughter of the Marquis. There is no hope, as much as I love her."

Richard nodded his head. "Aye, little stallion. Hope is an illusion. I don't know if I am proud or sad to see you know it too. Perhaps... well, perhaps you may.... well, we will see. For now, you need to rest my little one, and get your strength back before your lessons. A weakened stallion is not a match for anyone."

Richard led the youngster back to his loft, climbing in beside him. The young stallion curled up under the blankets, and fell asleep quietly with his forelock in his eyes. The older stallion brushed the unruly hair away, and curled up beside him, holding his son for the first time since he was four. When Alice came in to check on them, she saw the stallion silently crying as he held David, and she closed the door quietly and returned in sombre mood to her husband's side.

*****

Some weeks later, David was standing behind the Inn with a long blade in his hand. He stood still, with the tip perfectly poised, as his teacher instructed. Then he went through the series of stylised poses he had learned, the parries and thrusts, disengagements. The stallion grunted in satisfaction, pleased with his progress.

The panting youngster took a break and looked at his teacher.

"Where did you learn all this?"

"Many places, lad. I took ship on an East Indiaman for a time, then fought in places you won't even have heard of. It has been an exciting life, I won't deny."

"I don't even know your name."

The stallion hesitated. "Call me John. It will do."

Their exercises were interrupted by the mare. She had continued to come, in defiance of her father, and in desperate attempt to forget the impending union to Beaumont. The stallion always scowled at her arrival, but she ignored his anger. Whatever hold he had over David, he must see that the young stallion loved her and she him. David's expression as he saw her would tell him all he needed to know.

The stallion in fact could read the message in his son's eyes, but it did not comfort him. He saw keenly enough that the youngster still hoped, in spite of his apparent resignation, and every time she came it just made it worse. They would walk along the cliff, as the stallion stood beside the crude cross in contemplation, and retire to the loft for their own time together. He could hear their noises, the sighs, cries and moans, and it made him proud and sad. He looked over the cliff edge, lost in his own loss, and worried sick for his colt.

Still, he always glowed with life after she spent time with him. His grin was hard to suppress, and no matter how much Richard scowled, he could not prick his son's good humour. He was living in a bubble of hope, he realised, and the crash was coming whether he was ready or not.

The first hint came as the stallion walked the cliff edge while the two youngsters retired for their play. He did not expect to see David so quickly, if nothing else, the young stallion had proved a diligent student of the arts of love. It usually took them many hours to spend their need before the mare left exhausted and happy. Not this time though...

"John, come quick!"

He heard the note of alarm, and hastened to the barn. The mare was dressed still, though she had clearly been engaged in loving with the stallion. Her face looked drawn though, and as he watched, she suddenly heaved into the straw before curling up in a ball of equine misery.

"My lady, what ails you?"

"I do not know, Sir. It has been happening for the last week. I wake up feeling ill, and sometimes I have a sudden turn like this. It usually passes quickly."

The stallion pondered carefully, his mind in turmoil. He saw his son holding her arm, his concern genuine but not yet aware of the full magnitude of the problem. There was no way to avoid the problem though, so he had to be blunt.

"My lady, I need to ask you some things, but I must warn you I will be... indelicate."

Her nostrils flared at that, and David scowled at his teacher, but the stallion ignored them both. They had gotten in enough trouble already.

"My lady?"

"Ask away, Sir."

"My lady, are you and... David... are you..."

"Are we making love?"

"Yes."

"Yes, we are. Surely you can hear us, Sir."

"Verily, my lady. And when you do, does David spend inside you?"

David gave a cry of anger, and the mare bit her lip, but she nodded, not looking at the stallion as she did. He pursed his lips.

"Well, my lady, I think I know what ails you. And I think you do, too."

The young stallion looked curiously, but the mare returned his gaze finally. It was defiant. And she nodded.

Richard let out a long sad sigh.

"Ahhhh, my lady. Well then, what do you propose?"

"My father will not let me have a foal out of wedlock. He must let me marry David, if only to save face."

David's face dropped in astonishment at the words, but Richard merely shook his head.

"You are naïve, my lady, for whatever you may be educated. I will stay here with David and await the worst. You had better go and prepare the next stage of your plan. For good or ill, you need to play it to the end."

They both watched her ride away, the young stallion and the old, both lost in thought.

"We had better return to your lessons, lad. I think you will be needing them."

So the afternoon passed, between chores and work at the forge, with David's blade describing cautious patterns in the air in response to Richard's patient commands.

*****

The reckoning came soon, sooner than even Richard expected. It started when a horseman came galloping up to the inn the next morning, but it was not the mare. The Marquis' land agent, a feared and hated presence. James and Alice stood in trepidation as he walked into the common room like a lord, and proceeded to outline the terms.

The Marquis wanted to see David, this very night, at the Crown and Anchor public house in Falmouth. He wished to see the nature of the stallion who had done this to his daughter, and make his own mind up as to whether he should be allowed to marry her. Otherwise, the land agent regretted to inform them that the lease on their land would not be renewed, and the two deer and their orphan ward should consider themselves banished from the Marquis' lands forever. It was not much of a choice.

Still, Richard counselled caution.

"Don't do it, colt. It is a trap."

"I need to do this, she will want me there. She had taken a risk for me, I have to do the same for her."

"Then let me come!"

"No one else is allowed. No one..."

The land agent smiled his most oleaginous smile, looking down his snout at the stallion. Richard subsided into silence, but it was not a happy silence.

He watched his son go with foreboding, but he smiled and wished him luck just the same. That did not prevent him keeping his pistols safely loaded though, and he sat in the common room drinking slowly while the doe fussed around him on her chores.

When David reached the public house, he found the front room strangely empty, except for the mare his love, and an old and care-worn looking stallion in an ornate coat. The stallion rose to greet him, but only just politely. The Marquis nodded, but did not address him, and did not extend his hand.

David took a seat, nervousness apparent in every flick of his ears and tail, but he kept silent for now. The stallion looked him up and down with unkind eyes.

"So you are the stallion who defiled my daughter."

"Father!"

"Quiet, Jane, you have done quite enough! Well, lad?"

David stiffened, and looked the old bastard in the eye. He may think many things of him, but he would not know him as a coward.

"I am the stallion who loves your daughter, sire."

"Loves. A fine word. What is your name colt?"

"David. David Harding"

"David Harding. An undistinguished orphan colt, I hear, with an undistinguished name. Tell me, do you have a trade colt?"

"Aye, Sire, I am a blacksmith."

"A blacksmith. Well, that is very good. And strong, I assume."

The young stallion raised his head proudly, and nodded. "Yes, Sir, and strong enough to look after Jane, to love her and protect, and keep her from harm."

The Marquis snorted again. "Fine words, lad. Stupid, but fine. How do you propose to do that eh? No land, no money, nothing. You are nothing, so poor all you could give to woo my daughter were some pathetic strips of fabric too dirty to care about."

David realised somewhere in that sentence that there was no hope, as he fought back the urge to strike the old stallion. Jane was as stunned, looking at her father in shock.

"She has me. It's all I can give, but I hope it is worth it."

"Worth it! I will be the judge of that. As will our guests!"

The two young equines turned to see that they were no longer alone. A small party of seamen had entered the inn, led by a Lieutenant. The officer bowed to the Marquis.

"Lieutenant. I think you will find what you are looking for here. The lad claims to be a blacksmith amongst other skills. Prime seaman material if I am any judge."

The Lieutenant stepped forward, looking into the middle distance as he addressed the confused stallion. The confusion was not to last long.

"I am Lieutenant Robart of His Britannic Majesty's Frigate Inflexible. I carry here a warrant under the King's hand empowering me to impress into service in the navy any able bodied men deemed suitable. Step forward and be examined in the King's name."

The mare let out a scream, one cut short as her father took hold of her in a grip of iron and clamped a hand over her muzzle.

The stallion just stood stunned, as the shore party surrounded him, and a warrant officer eyed him up with a hand carefully placed on his pistol.

"Ye be coming quietly lad?"

David nodded, and looked back to his love. He said farewell with his eyes, and then finally his muzzle.

"I'm sorry, my love."

She screamed again as the press gang hauled him away.

*****

Jane ran all the way back to the house, ignoring her father's yelling. She had to act, and she had to act fast. She reached the house well before the Marquis, and found the butler.

"My father needs something from his study. Please unlock it for me, will you kindly, Taylor?"

The kindly bear had always doted on the lady Jane, and now was no exception. He smiled his best smile, and led her to her father's holy of holies. She gave him a short wave as dismissed him, before she set to work. Once she had collected what she needed, she headed for the stable to saddle Demon, the gelding snorting the air as she stroked his sides. She would need him, and more tonight. He would have a power of work to do.

She took the side road back into town, deliberately avoiding any potential meeting with the Marquis. If she never saw him again it would be too soon. Clearly, he could not be trusted, and she would have to take matters into her own hands. She only hoped her love could forgive her.

Once she reached the Crown and Anchor, she slipped into the common room and found what she was looking for. The Lieutenant from the press gang was there, enjoying a quiet drink with his warrant officer. Now was the time for charm. It was one of her best qualities.

She managed to get the slightly drunk officer to disclose the location where they were keeping the stallion. He was held in a small storeroom by the docks, before being brought before the Post Captain the next morning to sign the articles of war and become an official member of His Majesty's Navy. There was a brief window of opportunity, and she was going to use it.

When she approached the storeroom, the door was guarded by a surly looking gunner's mate and an able seaman. Both looked bored, and not a little put out. She could sympathise; and her sympathy formed into a plan.

"Halt, my lady. No one may approach, I am afraid."

"That is all well, my good men. I saw your Lieutenant Robart in the Inn, and he agreed I could say a last goodbye, that is all. And I have something for you both as a thank-you."

She flashed two bottles of her father's best brandy, and watched the eyes of the seamen open wide in appreciation. The gunner's mate, a large bull, nodded sagely, and nudged the seaman fox who also took a bottle. Both toasted the lady's health, and the bull unlocked the door with a conspiratorial wink.

"Don't wear him out, lady. He has to muster aboard tomorrow, and it won't do for the First Lieutenant to have to flog him for laziness on his first day aboard!"

The two gave a hearty laugh and clinked the bottles, while Jane stepped into the darkness of the warehouse.

"Jane? Jane!"

She felt her stallion surround her and closed her eyes in joy, feeling him again. He stroked her mane, and she stroked his back, calming him with her voice.

"My beautiful stallion. I could not leave you, my love."

"But you will have to Jane. Come the morning..."

She put her finger up to his lips.

"Come the morning, we will be far away. Wait quietly a while."

The sounds of laughter and carousing from the front had diminished, and the mare took a tentative step out. The two seamen were snoring quietly on the steps, bottles of brandy leaking down to the gutter. She stepped back inside and beckoned.

"Come. Now. Please."

He had been about to say no, until she said please. Something about how she said it, and the look in her eyes. He would go to hell and back for that look. He realised with a shudder, that was probably exactly what he was doing.

They stepped into the night air.

"Halt!"

The Lieutenant stood staring at the mess his guard detail had become. He was not best pleased, and he reached for his pistol.

Before he could pull it free though, he realised he was staring down the barrel of one himself, wielded by a mare obviously on the edge of madness. He didn't trust women at the best of times, but this one gave him pause that even a French frigate rigged for full broadside didn't. He gulped.

"Throw your pistol over here, Lieutenant. Slowly."

The Lieutenant obeyed, slowly. He wanted to make it to Christmas.

"You will not get far, my lady."

"I don't care. Not anymore. Now drink one of those bottles, like a good man."

He realised she meant what she said and gulped again. He watched the two equines mount the black gelding he had seen tied up beside the warehouse, all the time with the mare pointing her pistol at him. The deep sleep that had overcome his men began to steal over him as she saw the mare turn and ride off. As he watched, he reflected on the court martial to come. For his men it would be a simple flogging. As he lost consciousness, he bitterly envied the simplicity of their lives. If he could take a flogging now, he would have ordered the master-at-arms himself. Unfortunately, Captain Hammond would have his own punishments in mind.

*****

The two deer and the stallion were in the common room, eating a small dinner, when they heard the sound of hoofbeats. All three looked up, and relaxed as they recognised the mare's own mount, the gelding Demon. He had a distinctive whinny, and he let out one now, spying the inn that he had come to know well. He also knew there were the patches of sweet, sweet grass nearby, and he hoped his mistress was in a good enough mood to lead him to one right now. He was to be sorely disappointed though.

Instead, she jumped off fast and pulled the stallion with her, into the inn where they skidded to a halt with the three occupants staring back. Richard feared the worst.

"What happened, my lady?"

She reached for some ale, and gulped it down fast as the doe watched appalled. David headed for the forge, to gather what he could. He knew there would not be much time.

"My lady?" Now the buck prompted, his sense of foreboding growing.

"My father. That is what happened."

The stallion let out a long deep sigh. "You had better tell me all of it."

"It was a trap. He had his tame naval officer arrange a press gang. They seized David and hauled him away."

Richard stared at her harshly, his fingers drumming the table top. This was worse than he feared. "How did you get him back?"

"I laced some of father's brandy with his sleeping draught and gave it to the guards. They were unconscious, along with their Lieutenant."

All Richard could do was shake his head. "My lady, you have made him a deserter. He could be hanged, at the very least flogged and returned to the fleet. Do you have any idea?"

She fell to the floor, crying, and he picked her up as she shook in her anguish. Then David came back in, looking darkly at the stallion, as he rushed to her side.

"Little stallion, do you know what you have done?"

"Yes, Sir. I want to be with her, or die. It is that simple. We are agreed."

The stallion laid his head on the table, unable to deal with what had to be done for a moment. He reached a decision though, and stood to embrace the youngster. David felt the fear in the older stallion, and his own senses came to life as he rested against the strong chest. The scent...so familiar, and a window began to open that made him shake as much as the stallion.

Then Richard handed him a small pouch.

"What is this, Sir?"

"Something you will need little stallion. Head for Plymouth, and take the first ship you can. At the King's Head, you will find a bear behind the bar by the name of Montague. Tell him you came from me, and I want him to give you the chest he is holding for me. The key is in that pouch."

David looked dumbly at the pouch for a second, hefting it in his hand as he digested the words. He looked at the stallion keenly.

"And who are you. Your name isn't John!"

"Ohh my little stallion... my beautiful Robby."

David suddenly gasped as a shudder went through him like a burst of cold that wakes a sleeper.

"I know that name!"

"My beautiful little stallion, I am so sorry... so many years wasted..."

"I know that name! Why do you call me that?"

"Because it is your name Robby, my little stallion."

David stepped back, his shaking breaths now breaking into tears that flowed unchecked down his cheeks.

"No!"

"Aye, lad."

"No!"

The mare tugged at his sleeve, and he thrust her away angrily, still staring at the stallion. She wasn't to be denied though.

"David, we need to go. Now. They know where you come from, they will be here any time."

Richard nodded sadly. "She is right, Robby, I am afraid. You will find it always the way. The mare is always right, much as we may hate it. I know now."

"No!"

"Go Robby, I will stay and buy you some time. Get to Plymouth, and be quick about it. Go!"

The crying stallion stumbled towards the door, just as the mare gave Richard a last look full of questions. There was no time for answers though, only farewells.

"Jane. Look after my little stallion for me. Promise me."

She nodded and headed into the night, and the long road to Plymouth.

Richard looked meaningfully at the two deer.

"Might be time to make yourselves scarce."

*****

Colonel Driscoll disliked his mission immensely. That did not mean he would not perform it, if he had to. He led a small detachment of dragoons towards the Wheatsheaf with the Marquis' anger ringing in his ears. The stallion had gone nearly insane it seemed, but then again, he never was far from the edge at the best of times.

The patrol circled the inn, and his men swept the barn and the forge, finding no one. At a signal, they entered the inn, muskets at the ready.

The common room was empty, except for one lone equine. The stranger sat at a table, hood over his head, and calmly sipped an ale. He appeared not to notice that his world had changed and he now shared the room with a company of soldiers.

"Sir. Well met again."

Still the stranger sipped his ale.

"Sir. I am Colonel Driscoll..."

"I know who you are, Lieutenant..."

The strange stallion pulled his hood off, and the wolf suddenly stopped. He knew that face. He knew it...

"Pardon me, Sir, but it is Colonel Driscoll, of the 3rddragoons, and I order you in the King's name to answer my questions."

"In the King's name, hey? Tell me, does the King even know what his name is anymore?"

Several dragoons cocked their muskets. Two more came down the stairs into the common room, leading the frightened buck and doe, to deposit them on chairs near the bar.

The wolf looked at them, and at the two dragoons who shook their heads. No sign of the stallion and the mare. He frowned.

"Tell me, Sir, the stallion named David, and the mare Jane, daughter of the Marquis. I know they were here. Where have they gone?"

"Penzance" said the stallion, and calmly sipped his ale. The wolf twisted his muzzle into a smile as he approached the stranger.

"I doubt that, Sir."

"You calling me a liar?"

The wolf reached the stallion , still sitting calmly. He looked down at him with some sympathy.

"No, far from it. But I am sure they did not head for Penzance... what is your name, anyway?"

The stallion moved suddenly, and the wolf found himself held in the stranger's arms, with a pistol pointed against his head. The hammer cocked, a sound replicated several times over as the dragoons took aim at the maniac who had taken their commander hostage.

"I think you know my name already, Lieutenant."

The wolf raised his arms in submission, and ordered his men to hold fire. Inside his heart was beating fast, but there was also a buzz of recognition dawning. He knew... he knew...

"Think, horse. Don't do this! You have some hope of a fair hearing, if you let me go!"

"Hope is an illusion, wolf. I told you that once already."

The wolf saw a blue sky, and a gull gliding easily in the breeze. And a stallion, pushed beyond the limit, standing at the edge of the cliff with shining green eyes full of sadness. Like the ones on this stallion...

"Jenkin... Richard Jenkin...oh God..."

"At your service, Lieutenant. Or should I say Colonel now. Congratulations."

"What are you doing, Jenkin?"

"We are going to have a long slow chat here, while your men wait patiently. And in the meanwhile, my colt and his lady will be far, far away, and then you may do with me what you want."

The stallion guided his prisoner to a seat, and sat behind him, with the wolf still cupped against his chest, and the pistol against his head. The wolf was strangely calm now. Now that he knew. Instead, he felt a deep sick feeling growing, as he contemplated the endings for this little pantomime. None were good.

"The foal..."

"You remember."

"Robby. Your foal. He died with his mother."

"No. The two idiotic deer here, with the best of intentions, kept him hidden. David is my Robby, and I will do whatever it takes to save him. I failed him before, but not now. Not this time. I owe my little stallion that much."

"How did you escape?"

"Does it matter? I fell but not as fast as I thought. Instead I bounced down the cliff like a pebble, and washed up on the shore."

"I saw you lying on the beach down below. I thought you were dead."

"Never believe an equine dead until you see the body, wolf. And even then..."

The Colonel gave a short laugh. "True enough. Many under my command survived things I never expected them too. You are built to last, it seems."

"Not well. My body was broken, as was my spirit when I learned of Sarah and Robby. I wanted to give up, but somehow couldn't. Maybe I knew. I roamed the world, and did things you would probably like to arrest me for, master wolf."

"And now you are here. How do I really know it's you though?"

"You doubt, wolf?"

"I don't want to believe."

"Here, this should do it..." the stallion reached inside his coat, momentarily distracted. He moved slightly, but just enough.

A shot rang out, and the Colonel felt himself falling. The chair fell to the ground, and he lay next to the stallion.

"I said hold your fire!"

"But, Sir..."

"Hold your fire, damn your eyes!"

He pulled the stallion's head towards him, and felt under the coat. There was blood, too much blood, and he realised the wound was mortal. From the look in the stallion's eyes, Richard knew it too.

The stallion moved his hand, pulling out the thing he had reached inside his coat for. It was a faded and tattered doll, an equine dragoon now not quite as red, but still the toy his beloved son had missed for so long. The wolf nodded as he took it from the stallion's hand.

"He loved his draggy so much. I held on to it all these years, hoping I would get to give it to him. When I found him, I wanted to give it back finally, but James persuaded me to pretend I was a friend of his parents. Silly now; I guess I should have given it to him before he left, but I forgot."

"I'm sorry, horse."

"Please don't look for him."

"I must, horse."

"If you find him... tell him I'm sorry it took so long for me to find it for him. You might regret it if you do though...I taught him as best I could..."

The stallion's eyes faded, and he looked up unseeing as the wolf held his hand. As the Colonel watched, the stallion wandered far away.

"Ahhh there you are, my little stallion. I've your draggy for you, my Robby; I'm sorry to make you fret, my little one. Now give your papa a hug..."

And then his voice stilled forever.

The Sergeant stood by his commander, as the wolf knelt by the fallen horse. The Colonel heard the doe begin to cry, as her husband tried to console her. He stroked the stallion's mane, long and black but shot through with grey.

"Sir?"

"I told them to hold fire."

"Sir? Colonel? Shall we head to Plymouth?"

"No. Belay that Sergeant. Take the detachment to Penzance. You heard the stallion."

"Sir?"

"Are you disobeying orders, Sergeant?"

"No, Sir. Are you?"

The fox stared at his commander, wondering if he had gone mad. The wolf seemed sane though, and determined.

"Take the detachment, and head to Penzance."

"And you, Sir?"

"I will ride to Plymouth myself and raise the company there. We can search all at once."

The fox appeared mollified, but he held his superior's gaze for a long moment.

"What do you want to do with the stallion, Sir?"

The wolf stroked the long mane, now still, and closed the stallion's eyes.

"Leave that to me."

*****

David and Jane huddled in the King's Head in Plymouth. They could find no words, just finding comfort in each other's presence. Both looked up when the door to the inn opened, and relaxed as they watched the patrons come and go. So far, so good.

They contemplated the small chest of coins that they had found when they received it from the landlord. The stallion had stood silent when asked who the chest belonged to, until the memory came from inside and he whispered it.

"Richard. Richard Jenkin."

Inside was enough money to get them anywhere they needed, if only they could summon the will to go. Instead, Jane found her stallion listless and sad, and she could not understand why, though some things were beginning to fall into place.

"David..."

"My name is Robert. Robby."

"Robby... who is Richard Jenkin?"

"An excellent question, my lady. Perhaps I can assist."

Both equines gave a sudden start as the wolf sat down beside them. Jane went to reach for her pistol, but the wolf shook his head at her, and somehow she decided it wasn't needed just yet. Later though...

The Colonel looked at the stallion. He knew, the wolf realised. He did not envy the youngster; and he reached out to hold the stallion's shoulder and felt the shaking in his body. Another equine on the edge. He had seen too many of those.

Colonel Driscoll pulled out his small precious cargo, a faded dragoon doll, and placed it before the stallion. It seemed to pull Robby from his trance, and he held the toy to his chest, while he looked at the wolf with a ghost of a smile.

"Are you my toy? Why have you changed to a wolf?"

The Colonel nodded sadly. "No, lad. But I have brought it back to you, if fourteen years too late."

"You were there. I rode with you to the inn, with my mother."

"Yes, lad. I was probably the last to see her, apart from your guardians. I am sorry."

"Why?"

"I knew her world had ended. I should have done something, but I didn't."

"He is dead, isn't he?"

The wolf nodded sadly. "He tried to buy you time by taking me hostage. I realised who he was at the end; I ordered them to hold fire, but one of my men got a shot in. He... he loved you, lad."

"Is who gone?" the mare finally yelled, watching the conversation speed past without understanding.

"Your stallion's father."

"But he died of smallpox when D... Robby, was four?"

The stallion held her hand and let it out in a sigh. "No, my love. He was the stallion who saved us from the bandits. I suspected... somewhere inside, I knew. His name was Richard Jenkin. My mother was Sarah..."

"And she died when she thought she had lost him, leaving this young foal an orphan... except he wasn't."

With a blaze in his eyes, Robby suddenly stood, though the Colonel remained seated, watching with sad eyes. The stallion drew his sword, the blade glinting in the soft light of the inn. Conversation suddenly stilled amongst the other patrons, though none seemed moved to intervene. Instead they watched keenly, with an almost professional eye for a good fight.

The Colonel ran his own professional eye over the stallion. His stance looked good, and his blade did not waver; but the eyes told a different story, and the wolf spoke to them.

"Put it away lad. I know your father taught you, he told me before he died. I suspect you took other things from him as well though; enough to know this is not the way."

The stallion stood for long seconds, warring with himself, before ramming the sword home in its scabbard angrily, and collapsing back into the chair with all the fight in him expended. All he had left was the grief.

The mare held her love, the loss finally sinking in. The stallion bowed his head to the table in defeat. "So what are you going to do with us? Where are you taking me? Jane... Jane had nothing to do with breaking me out, it was all me. You have to let her go. Please. Take me..."

"No!" the mare gripped him tight, crying as she nuzzled against his neck. She turned to look at the wolf with pleading in her eyes.

The Colonel stood. "Nothing. I am going to do precisely nothing."

The two equines looked up and blinked.

"What?"

"Get out. Immediately. Take a ship, any ship, and go as far as you can. I can hold the tide of your father's vengeance a little while Lady Canning, but eventually you will be found here. But my lady, if you get away now, chances are you will not be discovered and you can make a clean break."

Robby gripped his love, still taking it in. "Why are you helping us?"

"Call it making things up to the little foal I held in my arms all those years ago. Perhaps I have my own reasons. Either way, you need to go, horse. And from now on, you had better use your real name. They may look for David Harding, but not Robert Jenkin. He died in his mother's arms fourteen years ago."

The mare had recovered enough to realise they had a chance. There were problems still to be overcome though.

"But, Sir. The only ship here at the moment is heading to New South Wales."

The wolf shrugged. "It is perfect in many ways my lady. That should be far enough away. And perhaps I can help; get some paper and a pen from the landlord and be quick about it, we don't have much time."

And so the two equines boarded the ship "Spirit of the Clyde", bound for Sydney Town in New South Wales colony, with a load of supplies and a group of wide eyed colonists bound for a new life. They had enough for a tiny cabin, where they stored their simple possessions; some clothes, a set of pistols belonging to a Marquis, a sword belonging to a stallion with love and pain in his heart, and a letter of introduction to the Governor, from his distant relative Colonel Driscoll. And a faded dragoon doll, and six silken ribbons, to tie back the mare's mane.

Their departure was watched by one wolf, a colonel in the dragoons, who waved them farewell before heading back to the company headquarters to begin a diligent search for one David Harding, formerly of Falmouth. And then he took his mount and headed back to his home for a final duty.

*****

Several days later, four pairs of eyes looked out into the sun of a new day. Their views were quite different though.

Two pairs belonged to a bull and a wolf. They stood, hats off, in the churchyard of the parish of Falmouth, as a solemn ceremony took place, much to the disapproval of the parson. The clergyman had cause to thank the wolf for some things though, and the Colonel had taken him sufficiently into his counsel that the Collie, a fairly sentimental man at the best of times, had agreed to the plan.

They watched as a coffin was laid solemnly to rest. It bore the last remains of one Richard Jenkin, stallion, of Falmouth, whose headstone already graced the churchyard, with a date of death the same as his wife and son. The wolf looked at the dates and shook his head. One out of three correct, at the cost of much misery.

The bull stirred next to him. He knew this was not Paul's kind of occasion. Facing an enemy broadside or leading a boarding party and the bull was at ease. Put him in a churchyard with a lot of very unquiet dead and he turned into a nervous bull. The Colonel could tell from the way his tail flicked. Eventually the bull spoke.

"I'm sorry, Francis. Again."

The wolf looked at his friend. It was never a good sign when he called him Francis.

"And again, Nathaniel, I say it does not matter. You did not know."

"Still, I feel bad. When the Marquis came to me to arrange the press gang, I didn't know you had any interest in the matter."

"I didn't, really. Only from a distance."

"Still..." the bull rumbled, and fell silent. He looked over at his friend, and noticed the wolf holding his wig. He rarely wore the thing, and here he was holding it at a burial.

"Why have you got that damned thing with you?"

"It's a long story, my friend. Do you remember when we first met?"

"Aye, fourteen years ago now."

The wolf nodded, remembering. "You were a green junior Lieutenant on the Marlborough, and I was a newly commissioned Lieutenant in the dragoons. I wanted to be a success in the town, so I decided to get a new wig."

"Hate the things. Pain in the fundament in a fight, pardon the language."

"So I found. But first, I had to get one. So I went to the wigmaker in Falmouth. He had just acquired a perfect length of stallion mane, quite proud of himself he was. Told me the stallion in question had been persuaded to give up his mane for a few pieces of silk he didn't need, all so the stallion had something to give his wife for her birthday."

The bull snorted. "You always were a sentimental one, Francis."

"I know. But nothing prepared me for the shock of coming into the home of the lady here, to tell her I had just seen her husband throw himself from a cliff, and to see those ribbons flying from her mane. All as the wigmaker described, down to the colours. And a young foal who thought I was his prized toy come to life. It was never easy Nathaniel; but perhaps that was the first time I felt it."

"What?"

"I envied them. I knew I should not, but I did. He cared enough about her to do what he did. She cared enough about him that her world ended with him. I wanted that, and felt the absence."

"Is that why you helped them?"

"Perhaps. I still feel the absence. At least the stallion is with his mare at last, as they both wanted."

The bull shifted uncertainly.

"You know Francis... you know I give you as much as I can..."

The Colonel held his bull as the coffin slid in finally, and patted his back.

"I know, Nathaniel. And I am not complaining."

The bull watched, somewhat mollified, as the wolf tossed his wig in to the grave, and the sexton began to fill it in. He shuffled his hooves, feeling the earth. He hated that feel, life was always better with a quarterdeck under his hooves. The frigate would be ready soon, and he could get back to sea. In the meanwhile though...

He patted the wolf's back, and received a gruff woof of appreciation. There were some things good on land at least.

The other two pairs of eyes belonged to a pair of equines, who were adjusting to life on board a heaving wooden box tossed on an ocean. The mare had seen the ship's surgeon, and though the badger was horrified, he promised to take care of her. If only she could stop feeling like her stomach wanted to part company with her body.

With her stallion by her side, though...

"It's so big." The stallion was still amazed by the expanse of grey and blue that stretched on every side.

Jane nuzzled against his chest, and he wrapped her in his arms as he patted her belly.

"Feeling better?"

"No."

The stallion nickered in sympathy.

"Perhaps we should head back to the cabin and we could..."

She smiled, but shook her head. She loved how much he cared, though she knew a part of it was him finding a way to forget the grief and loss. She saw it in his eyes sometimes, when he stared at the doll, and patted it as if trying to connect with the memories. It was tempting to disappear into their cabin for a moment with him, and help him forget as much as he remembered.

She liked their time on deck though, constrained as it was, and the breeze felt good in her mane. The ribbons fluttered behind, like the multi-coloured bunting that broke from the yardarm when their ship signalled, and the sailors had taken to smiling when they saw her on deck. It appeared they saw her as good luck.

The stallion cuddled her close, bathing in her scent. Even over the scents of the ocean, it filled his nostrils and made him feel alive. He never wanted to let that go.

"So, master horse. What should I call you?"

"Well...I think it should be Robby..."

"I like it, but it will take some time to become accustomed, my love."

"I would have no objection if you called me David in the cabin my love, when... well... we... ahh..."

She laughed, and he did too, the two equines forgetting their fears for the moment. They were in love, and they each had everything they needed in the other one's arms.

"You know Robby, I think it will be a colt."

He tried not to sound too happy at the idea, but inside he was hoping she was right. The mare was not so sure though.

"I see nothing to find cheer in. Stallions... hah!"

"Well, you could always teach him well how a stallion needs a mare to control him. After all, I learned well."

Now she wanted to take him to the cabin after all.

*****

Master's log of the Spirit of the Clyde, 13th September in the year of our Lord, 1812, bound for Sydney Cove in the colony of New South Wales.

Winds NNW ¼ W, steady, gusts to 10 knots. Ship's speed 2 ¾ knots, heading SE changed two points into the wind in the forenoon watch.

At 4 bells in the forenoon watch, the ship saw the birth of a foal, son of passengers Robert and Jane Jenkin of Falmouth. The foal was born with the assistance of the ship's surgeon Mr Blakely, and was named Richard David Clyde, the last in honour of the ship. Mother and foal doing well.

God Save the King.

*****

If I were a minstrel, I'd sing you six love songs

To tell the whole world of the love that we share

_ _

So be not afraid my love, you're never alone love

While you wear my ribbons, to tie back your hair.

_ _

Once I was a simple man, a poor common farmer

I gave you six ribbons to tie back your hair.

_ _

Turelli, turella, all I could share...

Is only six ribbons to tie back your hair.

Turelli, turella, all I could share...

I gave you six ribbons to tie back your hair.

=====================================================

Postscript

Now for the TL/DR part.

I am an Australian, which means a lot of things. One of them is growing up with the past of our country, or at least the bits we acknowledge. For primary school kids, that means learning about our early times, though in fairly haphazard ways.

We owe a debt to America that is often not well appreciated. The War of Independence finished in 1783, give or take. The first fleet of convicts to what would become Sydney Town left in 1787, and the two are linked; the Crown needed somewhere to send it's refuse, now the American colonies were gone, and hey presto, the newly discovered East Coast of Australia fit the bill. Transportation continued for many decades, though colonisation by free men and women began in 1803 and accelerated. Often it was exactly the same kind of people who sought to go as colonists who were transported as convicts; poor rural Irish, Highland Scots, Cornish and Welsh who faced grim choices.

This story is set in that somewhat turbulent time, though my protagonists are not convicts and the action takes place in England. It was an England however, in the late Hannoverian period, that was in hindsight about a corrupt and socially dysfunctional a time as has existed in English history. Lots of growing commercial wealth, in a very few hands, and an overly repressive and fairly corrupt and arbitrary justice system to keep things under control (sound familiar?). There were over 100 crimes for which the death penalty was routinely enforced, and even more for which transportation to the colonies was the norm. the everyday lives of those who werent part of the landed classes was often on a knife edge, or worse. There was no concept of charity or compassion as we would understand it today. Calvinist Scottish doctrine had taken hold and the poor were poor because they were weak and deserving of scorn.

As a primary school kid we got a slight flavour of this, but kind of remote. We watched TV shows, sang convict era songs in our best out of tune voices and did projects on the colonisation of Australia.

One thing I did remember this week, thanks to Tristan, was a TV series that was re-released on DVD and made a useful teaching tool. After all, stick your class in front of a TV and you have a quiet time to yourself as a teacher. The theme song for that series was one that was composed for it in 1978, not 1798, though it deliberately was made to sound like a convict ballad from that era. It was Six Ribbons, and even this young hoss sang it as a lost and frightened 10 year old in my out of tune voice, alongside other more genuine convict era songs like "Bound for Botany Bay". Life had already gone to hell, and I knew it even as a 10 year old.

So though the song is a modern one, it resonated then and still does on a lot of things that still matter, at least to this hoss. And it inspired the tale here,as you can see.

If you want to hear the song, there are some bad versions on youtube like here

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b9W5lQNFb-M

Listen but ignore the video. Jon English's voice was pretty good back then it seems. Its a bit broken now an he cant do the Turelli Turrela.

I have heard a part of it done well though live, by Jon English himself a few years ago. He still performs, and till recently one of his most popular gigs was as The Pirate King from H.M.S. Pinafore. In a bar in the Arts Centre in Melbourne I heard him give a few bars of Six Ribbons though in response to a request, relaxing after a gig (the bar tends to be popular with performers after shows. Yeah, boast time, but ive had a beer with Ian McKellen, Geoffrey Rush, Kate Blanchett and Hugo Weaving at different times there. They all rock, as does Jon English).

Than you for reading, and thank you for being yourselves. And remember your worth, even if all you have is six ribbons, to tie back your love's hair.

Gabe.