Pegasus: A Novel

It was already nightfall when the stable boys heard the horses approaching. Their
hooves sounded thunderous like a distant drumbeat, long before the uninitiated would
have known what it was. The riders were returning from the hunt, and minutes later
the boys could hear the voices calling out, the laughter, the horses snorting as they
brought in their riders. When they entered the courtyard of Schloss Altenberg and
approached the stables, it was obvious they were in high spirits and it had been a
good hunt. One of the earliest arrivals said the hounds had gotten the fox, which
they’d expected, as the horses pranced around, still excited from the exhilarating
day. Riders and mounts alike had enjoyed the cold October weather, and the men in
“pinks,” their scarlet riding jackets, with white jodhpurs and tall black boots, looked
like a portrait as they dismounted and handed the reins of their horses to the stable
boys, who helped several women dismount too. A number of them were riding sidesaddle,
which looked very elegant, but was no mean feat on a hunt. The group that had gone
out that day had been
riding together for all the years they had known one another and were old enough to
hunt. For all of them, horses were their passion, and riding their favorite sport.

Alex von Hemmerle was known to be one of the finest riders in the county, and had
been breeding extraordinary horses since he was barely more than a boy. Everything
in his life was born of tradition, which was true for all of them. There were no newcomers
or surprises here. The same families had inhabited the area for centuries, visiting
each other, following long-established rituals and traditions, intermarrying, running
their estates, and cherishing their land. Alex had grown up in Schloss Altenberg,
as generations of his ancestors had, since the fourteenth century. He held a ball
there at Christmas, as all his forebears had done. It was the most glamorous event
in the county, and everyone looked forward to it every year. His daughter Marianne
had been his hostess for the first time the year before, when she turned sixteen.

Now seventeen, Marianne had the same striking ethereal beauty her mother had had,
with finely chiseled features. She was tall like Alex, with almost translucent porcelain
skin, her mother’s nearly white blond hair, and her father’s electric blue eyes. She
was one of the most beautiful young women in the region and as famous a rider as he
was. He had put her on horseback before she could walk, and she went on every hunt,
so she had been furious not to go with him that day, but she had a bad cold and a
fever, and he had insisted she stay home. She was sturdier than she looked, despite
her delicate beauty, unlike her mother, who had been far more fragile, and had died
from blood loss and a severe infection the day after Marianne was born. It was not
unusual for women to die in childbirth, but losing her had marked Alex severely. There
had never been an important woman for him since. And although he had discreet dalliances
in the county occasionally, his daughter was the only woman he truly loved now, and
he had had no desire to remarry since his wife Annaliese’s death, and knew he never
would. They had been distant cousins and childhood sweethearts, although he was several
years older. He had never expected to find himself widowed at thirty, but in the seventeen
years since he’d lost her, his life with his daughter and his friends was all he wanted,
and he always warned the women he saw quietly not to expect anything permanent from
him.

Running his vast estate kept him busy, and breeding the Lipizzaner horses he was so
proud of filled his life nearly as much as his daughter, and she shared his passion
for them. She loved admiring the new foals and watching her father train them. His
snow-white Lipizzaners were said to be the finest, and the easiest to train, and his
bloodlines the purest. He was rigorous about which stallions he used for breeding,
and which mares he chose to reproduce, and he had taught Marianne all about them since
she was a little girl.

She had been to the Spanish Riding School in Vienna with her father often, and thought
their rigorous precision exercises looked like ballet, as she watched the splendid
white horses dance and go through their incredibly intricate paces. She held her breath
as she watched them prance on their hind legs in the “capriole” or “courbette” or
leap into the air in the “croupade,” with all four legs tucked under their bodies.
It thrilled her every time she saw it, just as it did Alex. And he had trained some
of his horses in these exercises as well. Marianne wished that she could become a
rider at the school, and she was capable enough to do it, but the Spanish Riding School
did not accept women, and her father said they never would. So she was content to
see her father’s horses perform at home or in Vienna and help him train them before
they left. Once in a great while, he allowed her to ride them, but very seldom. But
he did allow her to
ride any of the Arabian horses he kept in his stables and bred as well. Her riding
skill was instinctive, and she had grown up with some of the finest horses in Germany,
and learned everything her father taught her. Horses were in her blood just as they
were in his.

“Good hunt today,” Alex commented, looking happy and relaxed as he and his good friend
Nicolas von Bingen threaded their way through the other riders, who were chatting
animatedly in the courtyard. They were in no hurry, even after the long ride. It had
grown bitter cold as night fell, and the ground had been hard, but nothing stopped
them, since all of them had good mounts, though perhaps not quite as fine as their
host’s. Nicolas had been riding a new Arabian stallion that Alex had lent him and
had found him an excellent ride.

“I might like to buy him from you,” Nicolas said, and Alex laughed.

“He’s not for sale. Besides, I promised him to Marianne, after I train him for a while.
He’s still a bit rough.”

“He suits me that way,” Nicolas said, smiling at his boyhood friend. “Besides, he’s
too much horse for her.” He liked his horses lively and a challenge to control.

“Don’t tell her that!” Alex said, smiling. Marianne would never have tolerated an
insult like that, and her father wasn’t sure that was true. She was a better rider
than Nick, although Alex would never have dared say that to him. Nick was a little
overly zealous with his horses at times, and Marianne had gentler, better hands. He
had taught her himself, with exceedingly good results.

“Where was she today, by the way? I don’t think I’ve ever seen her miss a hunt,” Nick
commented, surprised that she hadn’t come along. She was a familiar sight at their
hunts, and always welcome with her father’s friends.

“She’s sick. I nearly had to tie her to her bed to keep her home. You’re quite right,
she never misses a hunt,” Alex said with a worried look.

“Nothing serious, I hope.” Nick’s eyes were instantly concerned.

“She has a bad cold and a fever. The doctor came around last night. I was afraid it
was going to her lungs. He ordered her to stay at home. I knew my word wouldn’t suffice,
and I didn’t think his would impress her either, but I think she was feeling worse
than she wanted to admit. She was asleep when I left this morning, which is very unlike
her.”

“Should you have the doctor back tonight?” Nick had had his own bad experiences with
influenza, and had lost his wife and four-year-old daughter to it five years before,
after an epidemic in the county and a particularly hard winter. He had been devastated
to lose them both, and like Alex, he was widowed now, in his case with two sons, Tobias
and Lucas. Tobias had been ten when his mother and sister died and still remembered
them both, and Lucas was only six now, and had been barely more than a baby when they
died. Tobias was a quiet, gentle boy, who worshipped Marianne, who was two years older.
And Lucas was a lively, mischievous child, full of fun, and happy wherever he was,
particularly if it was on a horse. Tobias was far more like his much gentler mother,
and Lucas had all the energy and fire of his father. Nick had gotten up to all kinds
of misadventures when he was younger, and was still the talk of the county at times,
when he started an affair with some woman, occasionally even married ones, or took
a bet racing a horse at breakneck speeds. He was an extremely competent rider, though
not of Alex’s superlative skill. He had never had the patience to train a horse the
way Alex did, although he was fascinated with Alex’s Lipizzaners, and
what he was able to do with them. Even before they left for the Spanish Riding School,
Alex had already begun to train them in the intricate figures for which the beautiful
white horses were famous.

“Do you have a minute?” Alex asked him as they walked past the stables. The others
slowly began to disperse and called out their goodnights when they got into their
cars.

“I’m in no rush to get home,” Nicolas said, smiling casually, as the two men strolled
toward the barn. They had been friends since their childhood, although Alex was four
years older, and they had gone to boarding school in England together when they were
young. Alex had been the better student, and Nick had had far more fun, which was
still the case. Nicolas von Bingen enjoyed everything about his life. He was a good
friend and a good father, and a kind person, although Alex knew he was a little too
fun-loving and irresponsible at times. Widowhood had only dampened him a little, and
for now he was not yet burdened with running his estate. His father was still alive
and very much in control, which left Nick a considerable amount of time to play, unlike
Alex, who had run his own estate and fortune since his early twenties, when his father
died. In many ways, Nick still acted like a boy, while Alex had been very much a man
for more than two decades. But they complemented each other and were more like brothers
than friends.