“What? Oh… er. Yes, I suppose I did. But anyway, can I ask you another…” She stopped herself in time as she realised she was leaving herself open to the same reply. She paused, then said, choosing her words deliberately, “I’d like to ask a question if you don’t mind.”
Will nodded assent. “Go right ahead.”
“Well, it’s just… I mean… this may sound silly, I suppose…”
“Wouldn’t be too surprised by that.”
She glared at him. She desperately wanted to ask her question but was fearful that she might make herself look foolish. Will gestured for her to continue. She took a deep breath.
“I mean… do you ever get the feeling that your horse is talking to you?”
That caused Will to sit up straight in the saddle. He’d never discussed the communication he experienced with Tug. He’d long suspected that Halt and Abelard had a similar bond. But apparently, Maddie had felt it already with Bumper.
Perhaps we were right in selecting her for the Corps, he thought. Aloud, he replied: “A horse? Talking? Are you serious?”
Maddie went very red in the face and looked away hurriedly.
“No. No. Just a silly notion, I suppose. Forget I mentioned it.”
He nodded. But he didn’t forget it. The comment stayed with him long into that night.
Twenty-two
Maddie’s training continued, but now there was an extra element added to her schedule. In addition to her other skill training, she now had daily sessions with Bumper, where horse and rider developed their already close relationship into a deep, intimate understanding.
Bumper was rapidly becoming, as she had previously observed, an extension of herself, responding to her slightest signal, instantly aware of what she expected of him. In turn, she learned to interpret the many signals the horse sent to her—warnings of possible danger, the presence of an unknown person or the approach of a potentially dangerous animal.
There were also fitness sessions, involving long runs through the surrounding countryside, or the obstacle course that Will had improvised for her. He alternated these with basic instruction in unarmed combat, teaching her to strike with the heel of her hand rather than a closed fist—“A fist is an excuse to break your fingers,” he said—and how to use an attacker’s weight and impetus against him in a series of simple yet effective movements.
And there were tracking and camouflage lessons. Will and Maddie rode through the fief, looking for and identifying different animal tracks, following innocent travellers without making them aware that they were being tracked and standing, wrapped in her cloak, on the verge of the road, while travellers passed by, oblivious to the fact that Maddie was a few metres away.
“Trust the cloak,” Will told her repeatedly. “And don’t move. Even if you think you’ve been spotted.”
So her days were full and, at the end of each one, she was happy to roll into her bed, exhausted, and sleep soundly till the following morning, when the whole sequence would begin again.
She still went to Wensley Village each morning to fetch fresh bread and milk for the day. But now she rode instead of walking.
Will had previously banned her from riding Sundancer to the village. “He’s altogether too exotic for these parts,” he had told her cryptically. But now that she had Bumper, he lifted this restriction. “A Ranger and her horse should do things together,” he explained.
Maddie wasn’t quite sure what the difference was, but she was happy to ride Bumper, talking to him, patting him and generally enjoying his company, on her early morning excursions. Even a task as simple as fetching bread and milk became enjoyable in Bumper’s company, she thought. Perhaps that was what Will had in mind.
So the sight of the small, upright figure, wrapped in her camouflage cloak, riding the shaggy black and white horse and with her bow across the saddle in front of her, became a familiar one in the village. Maddie was at first bemused, then a little flattered, as she realised that she had become something of a celebrity among the teenagers in the village. As a Ranger, she was a mysterious and intriguing figure—all the more so because she was the first girl to be taken on for Ranger training.
There was a group of half a dozen boys and girls roughly her own age in the village. They looked on her with some awe and a lot of respect—and envy. Their own lives were routine and circumscribed. Life in a small village held little in the way of excitement, whereas the new girl among them was an apprentice Ranger. She carried a bow, and they had observed on several occasions, when they had crept through the woods to watch her practise, that she knew how to use it.
As Maddie rode through the village, they took to calling to her and greeting her. From time to time she would rein Bumper in and stop to talk with them. She enjoyed their obvious hero worship—particularly that of the young girls. She wouldn’t have been human if she hadn’t. She found a quiet satisfaction and enjoyment in being a minor celebrity. But by now she had learned not to become too full of herself because of it.
Of course, in her time at Castle Araluen, she had had a circle of admirers and acquaintances. But she had sensed that most of them were more impressed by her title and her position than by her personal worth. At Araluen, she was the princess, and people around her vied for her attention and approval simply because she was the princess—not out of any real desire to be her friends.
Here, it was different. Aside from a small circle of people that included Jenny, Baron Arald and Lady Sandra, Halt and Lady Pauline, nobody knew Maddie’s real identity. Will had thought it best not to reveal her royal lineage to others.
So Maddie enjoyed the admiration and the friendship of the young people of Wensley. From time to time, when her busy schedule permitted, she rode to the village and spent time with them, coaching some of the boys in archery, fishing in the calm waters of the river with them and playing games of hide and seek—which she invariably won, until the others banned the use of her cloak.
Will watched these activities with a careful eye. “Don’t get too close to them,” he cautioned. “Rangers need to maintain a certain separation from the ordinary people. It helps if they hold us in a little awe. It maintains the mystique.”
Still, he thought, it was good for her to learn to relate to the common people—as opposed to the self-important sprigs of nobility who inhabited Castle Araluen. He was pleased to see that she didn’t put on airs or graces any more. He could see she enjoyed being respected for her abilities and he saw no harm in that.
“Better to be respected for what you can do, rather than who your parents are,” he said to Jenny on one occasion. His friend looked at him keenly as he said it, watching the way his eyes followed Maddie as she laughed and joked with a group of local youngsters.
The lines of pain, graved in his face by Alyss’s loss, were still evident. But they had softened, and the grim expression wasn’t quite as grim as it had been. At times, she sensed, he was on the brink of smiling. There was a fondness in his eyes as he watched his goddaughter—one that he hastily disguised when she was aware of him.
She’s doing him good, Jenny thought, smiling to herself. She had long forgiven Maddie’s bumptious remark to her. The week after she said it, the girl had appeared on the doorstep of Jenny’s cottage, a bunch of flowers in her hand and a remorseful look on her face, and apologised profusely. Jenny, warm-hearted and forgiving, accepted the apology instantly. Since then, they had become friends, with Jenny ever ready to listen to Maddie as she bemoaned her lack of talent with the bow—a totally inaccurate assessment of her ability, Jenny knew.