Books by Ian Rogers
Books by Ian Rogers
By Ian Rogers
As the Prince had gained people’s trust, they told him what they had seen and heard on the night the Alcaldé ran awy. first they had heard the book keeper shouting, then, from behind their curtains, they had seen the Alcaldé ride off on his white horse with his nightshirt tucked into his breeches. Now the Prince remembered the story and tried to think as the Alcaldé would have done. No one can ride very fast in the dark, he reasoned, and the Alcaldé would have stopped soon to buy clothes, food and other things. Hal rode first to one village and then to another in, getting further and further towards the distant mountains. Everywhere he asked about a man in a nightshirt riding a white horse. In time, he found the talkative owner of a village store on a muddy back road.
“Years ago, it were,” she said. “A big white horse, like yours, with gold and silver on the saddle. Paid all in loose change, he did, and went off north in a great hurry.”
The Prince rode north. Days passed, villages became fewer and shops fewer still. Hal descibed the Alcaldé to everyone he met but seven long winters and seven hot summers had passed since the Alcadé’s flight. By the end of the second week, Hal was beginning to despair of ever finding his father’s old friend. Then, one evening as dusk was falling, he came across a remote blacksmith’s forge. When asked the usual questions the blacksmith folded his arms across his broad chest and pondered a few seconds before replying.
“I do recall a horse - weather beaten, it was, poor beast. Had an expensive saddle. Rider didn’t say much but he does fit your description. Took the road to the mountains, I think.”
The first clue in over two weeks! The Prince’s spirits lifted. At last he was making progress. Further along the mountain road he talked to a wagon maker who also had news.
“Yes, I remember. I sold canvas to a man who didn’t look like a camper. Fine saddle on the horse but he was scruffy with a ragged beard.” The Prince was delighted but also troubled. Reason and safety said that with winter closing it’s grip on the mountains he should wait for spring before continuing, but the trail was hot! He bought a large sheet of canvas and fashioned a cloak to keep off the rain and snow. It covered himself and most of the horse. “There you are, old chap,” he said as he cast the cloak around the horse and himself. “Sorry your head sticks out at the front but someone’s got to see where we’re going!” He clapped a wide brimmed hat on his head and rode determindly on into the deepening winter gloom.
At dusk one day, when snow was falling heavily, he rode his stumbling horse along a narrow track between pine trees that roared and bent in the wind. Chilled to the bone and exhausted Hal knew neither of them could go much farther. The bitter cold stiffened his hands and chilled his feet to icy blocks. The poor horse gasped and struggled as it waded through the knee-high snow. Hal crouched forward in the saddle, head down so the hat shielded his face from the driving snow. They MUST find shelter soon or their frozen remains might lie undiscovered for months to come. His anxiety increased with each minute of fading daylight. What a relief it was when they broke out of the moaning trees into a windswept clearing where the snow wasn’t so deep. Shielding his eyes against the wintry blast, the Prince peered ahead with new hope. He saw rounded humps and bumps in the snow ‑ and something that might be a low hut. He drove the horse forwards urgently. A long, thin drift proved to be where the snow had piled up against a fence. Beyond lay a snow covered garden and beyond that blackened wood showed under a snow laden roof. The Prince almost fell off his horse with exhaustion, relief and excitement. Kicking away snow he opened a gate and led his horse up to a weather-beaten door. Bang, bang! He hammered with his gloved fist. The door opened a crack and a man with a straggling beard looked out suspiciously.
“Who is it? I don’t get visitors here.”
“Good evening, father,” said the Prince through ice-rimed lip (this being the polite way to address older people who you didn’t know). “Can you shelter my horse and myself for the night? I fear we will die of cold if you can’t!” he croaked.
The man grunted, shrugged on a big overcoat, and stepped outside. He shut the door firmly behind him to keep the snow out. He led Hal and the horse to a lean-to shed at the side of the hut. The man moved some goats and sheep from a box stall that might, in the past, have held another horse. There was an empty shelf for a saddle and a peg for the reins. Between them the shivering Prince and the old man rubbed down the horse and pitched some hay into a manger on the wall. Hens squawked and clucked round their feet as they worked.
“Nice horse,” grunted the man. “Had one like him myself a good while ago.” Despite his tired and frozen brain, the Prince’s heart leapt. Perhaps this was the man he was looking for? They pushed their way back through the snow to the hut.
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