Free Storm and the Silver Bridle by Stacy Gregg Page B

was Vega who had taken the colt, Issie and Francoise exchanged looks. Issie wanted to blurt out the news about their ride today to Vega’s hacienda, but it was clear from the swift kick that Francoise delivered under the table that it would be best not to mention it. Instead, she remained quiet as Roberto explained about tomorrow’s
feria
.
    “The parade is a great tradition, a chance for the haciendas to celebrate and show off their best horses before the race the following weekend,” he explained.
    “I would be honoured if you would both ride alongside us as guests of El Caballo Danza Magnifico.”
    “So all of the twelve haciendas will be there?” Avery asked. “Including Vega’s?”
    “
Oui”
Francoise answered him. “Especially Vega’s. He would not miss this chance to boast—he expects to win this year. He will be there, riding his best stallion, the black giant Victorioso, the horse that he will ride in the race.”
    “Vega doesn’t have a jockey from his stables who can ride for him?” Avery asked.
    “Pah!” Roberto snorted. “Vega is too vain. The tubby old fool believes he is the best horse rider—the only one at his stables who is good enough to ride in the Silver Bridle.”
    “The rival haciendas assemble in the village square,” Francoise continued. “The parade starts at the entrance to the square and follows along the same route where the race will take place.”
    “I don’t understand.” Issie was confused. “How can the race take place in the middle of a village square?”
    “Isadora,” Francoise said, “the Silver Bridle is no ordinary horse race. It is not run on a race track the way your thoroughbreds race in New Zealand. The race is meant to test not only the speed of the horse, but also the courage of the rider, and for this reason the race is runthrough the very streets of the village, the same way that our ancestors rode it two hundred years ago when the tradition began.”
    “On the street?” Issie couldn’t believe it. She imagined horses running through the narrow dusty alleyways of the Spanish villages she had driven through on her way to El Caballo Danza Magnifico. “That would be suicide!” Issie shook her head.
    “It is very dangerous,” Francoise agreed. “The village square itself is quite wide, but not wide enough for twelve horses, as you can imagine. There is much shoving and pushing from the riders, and from the crowds who line the streets and cheer for each hacienda.”
    “How far do the horses run?” Avery asked.
    “Three times around the square. Almost two kilometres—the same length as a normal horse race,” Francoise said. “But not all of them will make it to the finish line. The course is dangerous and the jockeys are ruthless. They will fight tooth and nail to get a clear space as they gallop and there are always dirty tactics. Every time this race has been run, a horse has fallen. Many have been injured or even died in the course of this race.”
    “Why don’t you just tell them you won’t take part in the race? Can’t you just say no?”
    Alfonso shook his head. “You do not understand how deep this tradition is with us, Isadora. To win the Silver Bridle demands the utmost skill, the greatest courage. It is a test of true manliness. To refuse to race would be the mark of a coward.”
    “So you’ll risk your best horse?” Issie was horrified. “You’ll risk Marius, just to prove that you are a man?”
    “Do not misunderstand my son,” Roberto said. “We do not take this lightly. Yes, there are risks, for Marius, and for Alfonso also. But it is the way of our people, our tradition and our culture. I cannot turn my back on it, and neither can Alfonso. No matter what happens, El Caballo Danza Magnifico will take part in this race, just as we have done now for nearly two centuries.”
    “Don’t you see, Issie?” Francoise looked at her pleadingly. “This is a good thing. If Alfie and Marius win the race, if El Caballo takes