Read Online From Across the Ancient Waters by Michael Phillips - Free Book Online Page B

to the mysteries of growing things. Realizing he had entered an enormous garden, he turned and retraced his steps.
    Give him the streets of Glasgow and he would be at home anywhere. But here in the country—with limitless space in every direction, with green all about, with the blue vault overhead, without people and with only solitude and emptiness, and with such blasted quiet everywhere—he didn’t know what to do with himself.
    He kicked petulantly at the gravel beneath his feet. He had to do
something
.
    He made his way aimlessly toward the opposite side of the house. Soon he found himself wandering in the direction of the largest of several outbuildings surrounding the manor. From the sounds and smells and general look of them, he realized that he was approaching the barn and stables. Though he knew how to ride as well as a half dozen city lessons had made him capable, it could not be said that he was a great horseman. But if he was going to spend the holiday here, he thought to himself, he would probably have to acquaint himself with this place. He continued toward the buildings.
    The wide wood-planked door of the largest barn stood open. He walked inside.
    Dim light and the mingled aromas of hay and horseflesh were the first sensations to reach his eyes and nose, followed almost immediately by a more pungent bouquet, at once enchanting and repulsive depending on one’s love or antipathy toward all things equine. It was the strong smell of manure.
    A snort or two sounded from deep in the darkness. Percy glanced about, sniffing with some discomfort. Gradually his eyes accustomed themselves to the shafts of dusty sunshine slanting through the doors at each end and several openings high along the walls.
    Suddenly a voice he could barely understand broke the silence.
    “You’ll be Master Percival Drummond, I’m thinking,” said a crusty, thick Welsh tongue.
    Startled, Percy spun about. Ten feet away stood a lanky man of fifty-five or sixty, clad in blue work trousers, boots, and worn green shirt. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow, and his hands clutched a pitchfork.
    “Uh, yes … that’s right,” said Percy, recovering himself.
    “Pleased to make your acquaintance,” said the man. “It’s Hollin Radnor you’re talking to, my lord’s groom. Were you wanting a ride, Master Drummond?”
    “Well … sure, I suppose so—if you don’t mind.”
    The groom turned and ambled deeper into the huge barn.
    Percy followed, continuing to look about as his eyes adjusted to the surroundings.
    “Your second day at the manor, is it?” asked the man.
    “Yes, it is.”
    “No better way to acquaint yourself with the country than on horseback. Here’s just the one for you, Master Drummond.” He paused beside a waist-high stall. Inside stood a light grayish-brown mare, with white forehead star and two white stockings on her forelegs.
    “What’s its name?” asked Percy.
    “Grey Tide,” replied Radnor. He pulled down a saddle from the rack nearby and lugged it to the stall. “Like the water of the sea after a storm.”
    “Not wild like a storm, I hope,” said Percy. He could not prevent his tone betraying a hint of nervousness.
    The groom laughed lightly. “Don’t you worry about a thing, Master Drummond. She’s the gentlest creature in the place. Though’s she’s fast enough with Lady Florilyn in the saddle. For today, you just enjoy a quiet ride to get your bearings of the estate and hills.”
    Satisfied, though still a little fearful, Percy watched as the groom opened the stall, spoke a few words in Gaelic, then proceeded to saddle the mare.
    He had never ridden other than on the flat grass of Glasgow’s city parks. He had never been more than a mile from the stables where he took his few riding lessons. Nor had he ever ridden alone. He was still trying to decide if this was such a good idea when, a few minutes later, the groom led him through the back door of the barn to stand near the mounting