Free The Legacy of Grazia dei Rossi by Jacqueline Park

rules, rules. And a hard bed and bad food. Maybe I should give it up.
    Even a visit to the stables to register for the gerit contest the next morning did little to rekindle his enthusiasm. As he trundled his heavy gear to the practice field, he found himself wondering why he was there. Only a few steps away lay the comfort and freedom of his father’s house. Why not just chuck the whole idea? Everybody knew that no page from the First Oda had a chance to play on the Sultan’s gerit team. And the thought of spending an entire year in the First Oda being watched and measured and found wanting loomed up gloomy, bleak, and dismal.
    That was his mood when he entered the lists for the hurling contest the next morning. Of course he won the first round against the boys of the lower oda s. But what did that signify? Only that he was the best of the worst. And when the older contenders stepped up, his score was no better than their best. But in the riding ring, his mood began to change. It was one of those days when he could do nothing wrong. Riding backward toward the target, he fired off a stream of arrows and hit the target in the center every time. Galloping across the ring, he leaned down and retrieved a ball from the ground without slackening his pace for a moment. The entire afternoon went like that. And when he looked over at the judges’ stand just before the final test, whom should he see but his riding master from the Harem School motioning at him with both thumbs up. A very good sign.
    The final round was a jump, the highest he had ever attempted. He cleared it with room to spare and cantered off the field, still far from confident that he had passed the test but pleased with himself for having done his best. Whether that was good enough, only time would tell.
    He had not long to wait. The final selections were announced in the dining hall that evening, and Danilo del Medigo, the freshman Jew, headed the list of those chosen to join the Sultan’s gerit team that year.
    Did he have a momentary longing for someone to share his good news with? Yes. Did he think wistfully of Princess Saida, his confidante and friend? Yes. But she was lost to him now, beyond reach. And his new teammates were beckoning.
    Being younger than all the rest, he quickly became a kind of mascot to them, the frequent butt of rude jokes but at the same time the subject of real affection. And he had his horse for companionship, his own horse — a gift the Sultan gave to each member of his team — which Danilo named Bucephalus. And he had the rights to his own stall in the Sultan’s stable, where he spent his evening hours combing and grooming the animal’s coat until it shone, as he recalled his mother having told him she did as a girl. Buoyed by this double dose of good fortune, he barely had time to notice the darker side of his newly charmed life. And the news he sent to his father, who was away on campaign in the field, was all good.
Dear Papa:
Today in the ring, I un-saddled myself and re-saddled myself at full gallop. This is one of the four basic turns we must master in this first year. The last of the four is when we gallop two by two and switch horses in mid-gallop. I tried that once in the Harem School with Prince Mustafa as my partner, and we both ended up in the ditch with skinned knees. But here I know that I will master the move because my partners are all such excellent riders and we practice every day, rain or shine. I know that you view the gerit as a hazardous sport, but, Papa, a man can be trampled in the street by a runaway camel. And here, we learn slowly, step-by-step, always very carefully watched and constantly warned to take no unnecessary chances.
I hope this will allay your fears for my safety. Believe it or not, I am most secure when I am on the back of my horse. And, Papa, where else would I get to ride every day with my friends, on my own horse? And Bucephalus keeps me company in the evenings when the others are at the