Thirty-nine years old 1519 Master’s dead. Master’s dead! I still can’t believe it’s true. My stomach knots and coils while I drag myself along the winding, hidden passageways leading to his workshop within the bowels of the monastery. I steady myself before opening the door, thinking about the way I’d left him. Regret tugs at my heart. Once inside, I slowly walk around the room. Everything is still as I remembered, yet it...

How did I get here? All alone. Where is my company and my friends? Are they dead or wounded? I'm trying to clear my head from the constant bombing. I am a medic. I ran to the nearest hole made by the bombs. I covered my head and thought back to what happened. I remembered I was treating a wounded soldier. Then the shell hit nearby and knocked me over. The captain grabbed me and said, "Get out of here, run to the forest. I...

I remember the joy of your laughter as we escaped to our meadow. Up there amongst the trees and those grass-covered hills, we giggled and danced in the dappled sunlight. With those mischievous eyes you would dare me, and I would strip off my dress and, laughing with delight, we would wade into the stream, splashing and yelling as we immersed ourselves in the icy water. Afterwards, we lay on that tattered old blanket as we...

Sir Oswald had left the room to see Lord Duckham to his coach, after his Lordship had inspected the new stables and made a very surprising presentation to Jack. So surprising, such a shock that, as Becky pressed against him, he was still wrestling with the problem of how to approach what it was now imperative for him to admit. Then he heard the sounds of the coach pulling away. As the room door began to open, they jumped...

Jack Wetherley walked slowly, morosely, along the front of the new stables. Not since the death of his father six years earlier, had he ever felt so low. Passing the open-gated front of the twenty, as yet, unused stalls, he was asking himself whether his months of intimacy, with Becky, the niece of Sir Oswald Brandling, were about to tear them apart. They had both been aware of the risks they were taking in prolonging the...

For everyone on the Brandling Estate, the three months after their Newmarket triumph became the most chaotic, the most worrying, the most exciting, the most definitive months they would ever know. After Trafalgar’s massive success as a three-year-old, Jack Wetherley, and chief ostler, Alf Winter, took the advice of the local vet, Victor Lazenby, not to risk their champion in the prestigious Epsom Derby. Victor had indicat...

Now, here they were, as the horses broke their circling and began moving down the course towards the one-mile starting post. They had followed their usual betting ploy but had managed no better than three to one for Trafalgar. Jack noticed that no one wished to divulge how much they had risked. He wondered if the twenty pounds he had wagered had anything to do with the trembling in his chest but knew it was much more than...

The Two Thousand Guineas. At last! Jack Wetherley’s heart pounded, as the eleven horses trotted out onto the course. The bright silks of the jockeys added to the extra colour provided by the glamorous gowns worn by the lady spectators and the maroon, purple and vivid blues of the men’s jackets. The excited buzz of the massed crowds all around them, and the sunlight gifted for this early May festival heightened Jack’s alre...

With Alf still joyous at his winning wager, he and Jack left the others and headed for the stables to prepare Trafalgar for his next big test. Reaching the stall where their thoroughbred stood. ‘Much cooler and calmer than I am,’ Jack thought. They soon heard the hoofbeats of the horses going out for the second race. Alf checked Trafalgar’s hooves, ensuring the four shoes were firmly in place. Trying to convince himself t...

Heading for Doncaster race meeting, settled high on the horsebox seat, Jack knew he going to have to suppress his growing worry of what lay ahead. He flicked at the reins to urge on the two dray horses in order to keep pace with the carriage that Alf, the chief ostler, was driving. Inside the carriage was Sir Oswald Brandling, and, surprisingly, his wife, Lady Brandling, who had missed the York race, but Sir Oswald had to...

With the impending race so near, life became a whirl of activity, with much discussion between Jack, Alf and Nate regarding the pace and distance Trafalgar was capable of. Apart from the training, other work was necessary. Jack and Alf worked on preparing the horsebox for the journey, fitting rolls of sacking around the inside to prevent any injury to Trafalgar on uncertain roads. Two days before their journey into the un...

When Nate Oliver came for his first ride, Jack was immediately impressed by his horsemanship. Just seeing Trafalgar, drew awesome praise from the jockey. “Yes, his musculature tells me that this is a prospective winner. It is only a matter of how good he is, and we’ll only find out in the running of him.” Nate Oliver was quick to declare. One surprise for Jack was to see how quickly Nate formed a good relationship with Tr...

It took nearly a week of trying before Trafalgar allowed the saddle to be fitted without any fuss. This was despite Sir Oswald having been informed that their purchase had been broken in. For Jack, mounting the animal proved equally difficult but Becky’s relationship with the horse proved most valuable, for, as she stroked Trafalgar’s muzzle, Jack was able to get himself into the saddle. It took several days of this befor...

The call that Jack had been dreading arrived the next morning. He and Alf were going through the Sunday morning routine of letting the horses out graze. A lazy morning. Until Vincent, the Brandling family butler arrived, dressed in button-up black jacket and gaiters, and his instructions had Jack’s heart beating madly. “Sir Oswald,” he said, with the pompous tone of someone who thought himself one of the upper set, “Sir O...

Saturday morning found Jack Wetherley all a-tingle. It was another bright day and that pleased him. There was no need for Aunt Rose to wake him up, as she often had to do. She placed a breakfast of bread and dripping in front of him, together with the tea, stewed in a way that only she could produce. “You seem far away, lad.” Jack nodded, she was right, he was far away. Ever since Rascal’s pleasing trial on Thursday his b...