Worse still, having to watch the commander close his legs against Serafin’s sides and take off across the paddock. Alexander watched them go, the horse sliding into an easy gallop, his head held high and his white mane blazing. The commander rose in the stirrups and slid his gloved hands up the horse’s neck as Serafin sailed over the first fence, his sleek coat snow-white against the deep green.
The man was an accomplished rider but Alexander knew he was the better horseman. The commander relied on the reins to control his horse; Alexander didn’t need them. He’d taught himself to ride without reins, directing Sari with his legs, holding only her mane. Just a squeeze of his knees was enough to tell her what he needed. The commander seemed proud to be Serafin’s master but their relationship would always be limited. Alexander would always be the better rider because when he sat on Sari, it was not as her master, but as her friend.
“
Neuer junge
, new boy.” The kapo turned to Alexander. “You might want to do some weeding. The men whose jobs you took were shot because their horses ate poison brambles.” He handed Alexander a trowel. “And keep an eye out for the commander. He’ll expect you to be standing at the gate when he returns.”
Alexander spent the rest of the afternoon shovelling horse dung and searching for poisonous plants. He pulled a clump of ragwort from the ground and burned the yellow flowers along with a handful of acorns. He worked beside men repairing fences and boys tussling over who would refill the water trough, hoping, perhaps, to sneak a drink when the guards’ backs were turned.
The sun was already low in the sky when the commander returned from his ride. He slid from his horse and flung the reins at Alexander.
“Put him away for the night.” He pulled a carrot from his jacket pocket and held it out for Alexander. “Here,” he said. A dark smile crossed his face. “For the horse.”
Alexander peeled the bridle from Serafin’s head, and watched the carrot disappear between the horse’s wet lips.
He had only just finished cleaning the tack when the kapo ordered the stablehands into the yard. The commander was waiting for them. “My whip. Get it for me,” he snapped at Alexander.
But I’ve put Serafin away for the night, Alexander panicked. Why does he need his whip?
He ran to the stable, lifted the commander’s black leather whip from its hook and returned with his head lowered and his arm outstretched.
Commander Ziegler ran his manicured hands over the black leather strap and began counting the men.
“One.” He pointed his whip at the first man in line. “Two, three …” He stopped every so often to prod a man with his whip or fling a cap from someone’s head in his search for stolen goods. Alexander glanced down at his trousers. The cigarette wasn’t poking from the cuff but if he were forced to undress, it might fall out. Alexander had seen inmates smoking outside the barracks. Still, if the commandant found one on him … anything could set the man off.
The sun dipped in the sky and the faces of the stablehands turned pink in the fading light. The guards sucked in lungfuls of smoke and the kapo chewed on his thumbnail.
“Twenty-two, twenty-three. Twenty-three!” the commander raised his voice and the boy next to Alexander lurched forwards.
“Not fast enough,” the commander said, the tip of his whip sailing towards the boy’s face and catching his skin. Alexander had never seen a whip used for anything other than training horses, he’d never thought of them as sinister.
“Twenty-four!” The commander pointed to Alexander and he leaped from the line.
“Twenty-five!” The commander stopped at Isidor and asked him to remove his shoes. The colour drained from Alexander’s cheeks and he cursed himself for caring. Isidor pulled his boots off and turned his socks inside out. They were empty. The commander looked disappointed. He ordered the last
The man was an accomplished rider but Alexander knew he was the better horseman. The commander relied on the reins to control his horse; Alexander didn’t need them. He’d taught himself to ride without reins, directing Sari with his legs, holding only her mane. Just a squeeze of his knees was enough to tell her what he needed. The commander seemed proud to be Serafin’s master but their relationship would always be limited. Alexander would always be the better rider because when he sat on Sari, it was not as her master, but as her friend.
“
Neuer junge
, new boy.” The kapo turned to Alexander. “You might want to do some weeding. The men whose jobs you took were shot because their horses ate poison brambles.” He handed Alexander a trowel. “And keep an eye out for the commander. He’ll expect you to be standing at the gate when he returns.”
Alexander spent the rest of the afternoon shovelling horse dung and searching for poisonous plants. He pulled a clump of ragwort from the ground and burned the yellow flowers along with a handful of acorns. He worked beside men repairing fences and boys tussling over who would refill the water trough, hoping, perhaps, to sneak a drink when the guards’ backs were turned.
The sun was already low in the sky when the commander returned from his ride. He slid from his horse and flung the reins at Alexander.
“Put him away for the night.” He pulled a carrot from his jacket pocket and held it out for Alexander. “Here,” he said. A dark smile crossed his face. “For the horse.”
Alexander peeled the bridle from Serafin’s head, and watched the carrot disappear between the horse’s wet lips.
He had only just finished cleaning the tack when the kapo ordered the stablehands into the yard. The commander was waiting for them. “My whip. Get it for me,” he snapped at Alexander.
But I’ve put Serafin away for the night, Alexander panicked. Why does he need his whip?
He ran to the stable, lifted the commander’s black leather whip from its hook and returned with his head lowered and his arm outstretched.
Commander Ziegler ran his manicured hands over the black leather strap and began counting the men.
“One.” He pointed his whip at the first man in line. “Two, three …” He stopped every so often to prod a man with his whip or fling a cap from someone’s head in his search for stolen goods. Alexander glanced down at his trousers. The cigarette wasn’t poking from the cuff but if he were forced to undress, it might fall out. Alexander had seen inmates smoking outside the barracks. Still, if the commandant found one on him … anything could set the man off.
The sun dipped in the sky and the faces of the stablehands turned pink in the fading light. The guards sucked in lungfuls of smoke and the kapo chewed on his thumbnail.
“Twenty-two, twenty-three. Twenty-three!” the commander raised his voice and the boy next to Alexander lurched forwards.
“Not fast enough,” the commander said, the tip of his whip sailing towards the boy’s face and catching his skin. Alexander had never seen a whip used for anything other than training horses, he’d never thought of them as sinister.
“Twenty-four!” The commander pointed to Alexander and he leaped from the line.
“Twenty-five!” The commander stopped at Isidor and asked him to remove his shoes. The colour drained from Alexander’s cheeks and he cursed himself for caring. Isidor pulled his boots off and turned his socks inside out. They were empty. The commander looked disappointed. He ordered the last
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