Power of the Sword - Smith Wilbur (читать книги онлайн регистрации .TXT) 📗
I'm going to give them something to talk about, she said.
A year from now they may say, "Centaine Courtney went out," but they'll have to add, "but she went out in style." What do you propose? Instead of the usual Christmas high jinks, I'm going to throw a bash to end all bashes! Open house at Weltevreden for a week, champagne and dancing every night. It will also throw the creditors off the scent for a while longer, he grinned at her. But I don't suppose you had thought of that, had you? You devious little vixen. 'That's not the only reason. it will give us an excuse to be together in public. You will be there, won't you? That depends. He was serious again, and they both knew it depended on Isabella, but he did not say it. I'd have to find a pretty good excuse. I'll give you an excuse, she said excitedly. I'll make it a polo week, a twenty-goal tournament. I'll invite teams from all over the country, all the top players. You are the national captain. You could not reasonably refuse, could you? I don't see how, he agreed. Talk about devious! And he shook his head in admiration.
It will give you a chance to meet Shasa. I told you he had been pestering me ever since he heard that I knew you. That I'd enjoy. 'You will have to put up with a bit of hero-worship. You could invite a few junior teams, Blaine suggested.
Give them a tournament of their own. I'd like to watch your son ride. Oh, Blaine! What a wonderful idea! She clapped her hands excitedly. My poor darling. It will probably be Shasa's last chance to ride his own ponies. Of course, I will have to sell them when I sell Weltevreden. The shadows were in her eyes again for a moment, but then she rallied and her eyes sparkled. But as I said, we'll go out in style. Shasa's team, the Weltevreden Invitation, under 16 years, had won through to the final round of the junior league, mostly by virtue of their handicap allowance. Shasa was the only plus player. Of the other three members of the team, two were scratch handicaps and the third was a minus one.
However, they had finally come up against the Natal Juniors, four of the top youngsters, all of them two- and three-goal players except their captain. Max Theunissen had only made the age limit by a few months. He was rated five goals, the best in Africa for his age, with height and weight in the saddle, a good eye and a powerful wrist. He used all these advantages to the full, adopting a hard driving style of play.
Shasa was the next best rated player in the country, at four goals, but he lacked the older boy's weight and strength, Max was backed by his strong team-mates, and all Shasa's skill and determination were not sufficient to prevent his team crumbling under the onslaught, leaving Shasa virtually unaided to try and stern the rout.
in five chukkas Max had pounded in nine goals against Shasa's best efforts in defence, wiping out the Weltevreden team's handicap start, so that on handicap the teams were all square as they came in to change ponies for the last chukka.
Shasa flung himself out of the saddle, his face flushed with exertion and frustration and anger and shouted at his chief groom. 'Abel, you didn't tighten the girth properly. The coloured groom bobbed his head nervously. You checked it, Master Shasa. Don't answer back, man. But he wasn't even looking at Abel. He was glaring across the field at the Natal pony lines where Max Theunissen was surrounded by a cluster of his admirers. I'll ride Tiger Shark for this chukka, he shouted at Abel over his shoulder.
You said Plum Pudding, Abel protested.
And now I say Tiger Shark. Change the saddles and check the bandages on his forelegs. Plum ]Pudding was a small pony, getting a little on in years and round in the middle, but still with an uncanny instinct to judge the run of the ball and set Shasa up for the shot. The two of them had developed a marvelous rapport.
However, as befitted his advancing years, Plum Pudding was becoming cautious. He no longer enjoyed a heavy ride off and flinched from putting his plump shoulder to that of another pony at full gallop.
Shasa had seen that at the other lines Max Theunissen had called for his black stallion, Nemesis. on this pony he had terrorized the junior league over the past four days, riding so cunningly close to foul play that the umpires had difficulty bringing him to book; he had succeeded in frightening most of the young lighter riders off the line even when they had the right of way, and riding off those who had the courage to stand up to him with such sadistic vigour that there had been two or three close calls even one accident, when little Tubby Vermeulen from the Transvaal had been brought down so heavily that he had broken his wrist and dislocated his shoulder.
Come on, Abel, don't just stand there. Get the saddle on Tiger Shark. Tiger Shark was a young bay stallion with only a year's schooling behind him, an ugly animal with a hammer head and immensely powerful shoulders which gave him a hump-backed appearance. His temperament was equally unattractive. He kicked and bit without provocation or warning, was sometimes almost urunanageable, and he had a vicious aggressive streak that seemed to rejoice in the command to barge in for the ride off; he had never yet flinched from heavy contact. In any other circumstance Shasa would have stayed with Plum Pudding, but Max had saddled Nemesis and Shasa could guess what was coming.
The shaft of his stick had cracked in the final seconds of the last chukka and he unwound the strap from his wrist and threw it on the ground and called across to his number two as he went to the wagon for a replacement.
Bunty, you must come up faster and move inside for my cross. Don't keep falling back, man. Shasa broke off, becoming aware of the hectoring tone of his own voice as he realized that Colonel Blaine Malcomess, the national captain and Shasa's particular demi-god, was watching him.
He had come up silently and was now leaning against the rear wheel of the wagon, one ankle crossed over the other, his arms folded over his chest, the wide-brimmed Panama hat canted over one eye and an enigmatic half-smile on his wide mouth. Shasa was sure that it showed disapproval and he tried to smooth over his scowl.
Hello, sir. We're taking a bit of a drubbing, I'm afraid, and he forced a rueful and unconvincing smile. No matter what they taught you at Bishops, he didn't like losing, not one little bit.
Far from being censorious of Shasa's bad temper, Blaine was delighted with it. The will to win was the single most important asset, and not only on the polo ground. He had not been sure that Shasa Courtney had it; for a person of his age he covered up very well.
Offering a beautiful but urbane face to his elders, deferring attentively to them with the oldfashioned manners drummed into him by his mother and his school, and remaining at all times difficult to fathom.
a However, Blaine had been watching him carefully over the last four days. He had seen that Shasa had a strong natural seat on a horse, a marvelous eye and a fluid stroke hinging on a powerful wrist.
He was fearless and full of dash, which often meant he was penalized for cutting across the line and for other dangerous play. But Blaine knew that with experience he would learn to disguise his hard play and not rnake it so apparent to the umpires.
The other requirements for a top international-class player were great stamina, which would come with age, dedicated application and experience. This last item was so vitally important -hat a player only reached the high noon of his career at forty years or later. Blaine himself was only just peaking and could look forward to another ten years at the top.
Blaine had seen Shasa Courtney had promise, and now in thought of him the will to win and his bitter anger at the defeat. He smiled as he remembered his own reply when at that age his father had told him: 'Blaine, you must learn to be a better loser. He had replied from the benefit of all sixteen years Of acquired wisdom, Yes, sir, but I don't intend to get in enough practice to become really good at it. Blaine stifled the smile and spoke softly. Shasa, can we have a word, please? Of course, sir. Shasa hurried to his summons, pulling off his hard cap respectfully.
