Victorian Boy || l.s. ✔︎

CHAPTER VIII

The next event was a game Harry had never heard of. Military officers brought it back with them from Calcutta, where two British soldiers had established its first club.

They called it: Polo.

One played it on horseback with a wooden ball and mallet in two teams of four.

The rules were unfamiliar to Harry but Charles was encouraging. Since none of the men had played the game before they would all be on equal footing.

It was a fine October day, clear as a brook and crisp as his mother's stationary. Out on the verdant field, he received an armband from the umpire. The teams were divided by color: purple, red, yellow and blue. Harry was on the purple team. Charles fashioned himself a purple flag to cheer him on from the sidelines.

Harry and Achilles weren't quite friendly but they appeared to have reached a truce. Harry was careful to introduce him to the ball and mallet before the match. There were two swings in Polo, the pendulum and the plane. The former followed the length of the horse's body, the latter cut across his neck. Harry practiced both swings with Achilles earlier that morning. The stallion didn't protest but seemed skeptical.

With some finessing, Harry procured a spot on his team for Sir Clarence. He was the only acquaintance Harry had that wasn't a servant and he was desperate to stay in his good graces.

Sir Clarence crossed the field puffing his pipe, grey smoke dotting an otherwise cloudless blue sky.

They spent the most rewarding time at mass the evening prior. The villagers were more deferential than was customary and Harry was puzzled as to why, when he saw his father's name on a bronze plaque above the church door. Sir Clarence surprised the duke with one of his father's philanthropic causes! Harry didn't know that his charity extended this far north.

The scourge of tuberculosis had struck the village and many had lost wages and were living on a pittance. Sir Clarence suggested they return the next day to bring them bread, and apples from the Warwick orchard. Harry thought this was a splendid idea.

As they discussed their donation, the red team approached. Frederick, Lord Beardsley and Lord Graves, were led by Louis who greeted his cousin with an impertinent pout.

"Planning to take apples from my orchard are you."

Sir Clarence turned to Harry. "You'll have to excuse my cousin. He's about as charitable as Marie Antoinette."

"A charming woman," Louis quipped. "She was very misunderstood, you know."

"She starved her people to death!"

"Vicious propaganda spread by bloodthirsty revolutionaries!"

Sir Clarence tipped his pipe in disgust.

Harry couldn't look Louis in the eye and Frederick's presence made it even harder. The Viscount caressed the head of his mallet and smirked.

"We'd like to take a barrel of apples, if you permit it, cousin."

"Naturally, Clarence. You needn't ask. Frederick and I may even come along. You'd like to visit the poor wouldn't you, Frederick?"

"Who?"

"The poor!"

He made a face.

They went back to their horses. Sir Clarence leaned over his freshly oiled saddle and cautioned Harry not to go into the village with Louis. He went a step further and added that Harry should never be alone with his cousin, full stop.