One afternoon a swallow spoke to Pip on its way south for the winter, telling him that in the valley it had just flown over, it had seen a great many brightly dressed people living on the common in little houses on wheels, and there were horses grazing in the grass. Pip knew it must be a circus being held in the nearby market town, and his head became filled with thoughts of seeing horses and their riders perform there.
He ran home and begged his father, pulling on his arm, "Papa, may we go to see the circus at Ash Tree Hill? Please, Papa?"
To his surprise, his father answered, "I suppose it is our duty to attend these village affairs, and be seen mixing with the common folk. Yes Pip, I think we should go. Thank you for bringing it to my attention." There was just a flicker of a wink from him when he said that last part, and Pip thought his father might be teasing him.
Pip thought they would be going that very afternoon, but his mother laughed, and said, "In a few days, if you're a good boy."
On Saturday evening, Pip's father called for a carriage to attend them. Pip took a moment to quietly tell the horses they weren't going very far and were travelling a safe road before he hopped in to sit in the carriage, squeezed between his mother and father. He could have sat opposite them, but nobody likes to face the wrong way while travelling. In a moment, he heard the driver call out to the horses, and they began moving. Pip was glad not to hear the sound of a whip.
Ash Tree Hill was crowded with sightseers. A circus was a rare treat in the small town, and it seemed as if everyone had come for it. There were courting couples in their best clothes, families holding tight to each other so nobody got lost, sturdy farmers, apple-cheeked shopkeepers, old men and women. Children blew tin horns and yelled in excitement, babies cried. Above this clamour was the music of a brass band, and a voice shouting for them to step right up and buy a ticket for the circus.
"Hurry, Papa, or we will miss out," Pip said anxiously, but his father said he had already bought their tickets.
"I take care of my family, Pip," his father said, "and I wouldn't bother travelling all this way for nothing."
Once they reached the circus on the common, Pip's father led them into the vast canvas tent, smiling at the simple folk, and pressing a silver coin into the hand of the man who showed them the way. Their seats were right at the top, and were grand and comfortable, because Pip's father was a gentleman in a fine suit.
Pip's mother was a vision in her blue silk gown, her blonde hair curling around her shoulders, so that many people turned and stared at her, as if a fairy queen had come amongst them. Pip's father was proud of having such a beautiful wife, and his smiles grew broader at the attention she drew.
Pip leaned over the velvet barrier, sucking on a stick of rock, and being careful not to get any on his lilac suit trimmed with lace. He breathed in the smell of the sawdust, the scent of animals.
Pip had hoped for a chance to speak to one of the horses, but he was disappointed. When they walked by them on the common, his parents had hurried him past, telling him not to dawdle, and now he was in the circus tent, he was so high up in the seats for gentlefolk that there was no chance for him to get into conversation.
In later years, he could not remember most of the show. There were acrobats, jugglers, trapeze artists, tightrope walkers, clowns, and dancing dogs, but whatever impact they had on Pip was forgotten when the horses began.
There were six tiny ponies from the Zetland Isles who galloped around the ring together like a pack of excited puppies. Their trainer ran beside them, leading them around a course of obstacles, and the crowd clapped and cheered. The smallest pony of all had been trained to make little mistakes so that people laughed, and then the ponies ran in a neat figure of eight formation before trotting out of the ring, the little one half a step behind as if not quite able to keep up.
Then the bareback rider came on, and nothing else mattered. The rider was a girl of about sixteen, on a fine white Arab. Her black hair was cut short like a boy, and she wore a bright green kirtle halfway down her thighs, with a scarlet blouse underneath it, and a red sequin hairband keeping her curls in place.
"Welcome The Amazing Sasha!" the ring master called in his rich, rippling voice. "Come from the far steppes of Russia to give us a display of bareback riding."
Sasha rode around the ring twice, many of the crowd already impressed that she rode without saddle or bridle, although Pip didn't think this particularly difficult. The second time she rode crouching over the horse's shoulders, and then suddenly she gave a little jump and she was riding the horse standing up, her bare feet steady on the horse's back.
Everyone clapped, and then gasped, as she took the horse over a series of small jumps, finally breaking through a big hoop filled with coloured paper to land safely again on the horse. Nobody could believe it when the ringmaster lit the hoop until it blazed into a ring of fire, and several voices called out that the act had to be stopped, it was too dangerous.
Sasha gave a brilliant smile through painted red lips, and jumped through the fiery hoop, then cheekily pretended to inspect her feet for burns, until the crowd laughed at their own fears.
Sasha got down on her shoulders, and swung herself up until she was doing a handstand on the horse's back as it continued cantering around the ring, her arms supporting her slender body, her short skirt falling down to display her strong thighs. It now became clear that the scarlet blouse was part of a one-piece costume, because the girl's nether regions were covered in red satin as well. Pip had never seen anyone wear so little clothing, and barely knew where to look.
There were shrieks and wolf-whistles as the rider did a back-flip, and landed on the horse on her feet. For her victory lap, she rode the horse with one slim leg stretched out behind like a dancer, her arms above her head in a graceful pose. As she rode past Pip she gave him a grin, then tossed him her sequin headdress, letting her curls bob free.
"Ladies and gentlemen, the one, the only ... The Amazing Sasha!" yelled the ring master, as Sasha rode triumphantly out of the ring.
The crowd went wild, shouting, whistling, and stamping their feet in appreciation. Pip was too stunned to do anything except stare after her, gently stroking the red hairband.
In the carriage home, Pip was so quiet that his mother softly touched his hair, and said, "You must be all tired out, darling. This is very late to be up, you know."
"Stuff and nonsense," snorted Pip's father. "He's just had his first smile from a pretty girl, and his head's in a dream." He patted Pip's shoulder as if to say they were men together, and Pip could count on him to understand.
"She was an odd-looking girl," said Pip's mother thoughtfully. "A figure all flat and straight like a boy, strong like a boy too. More like a pretty boy than a pretty girl, even with her face heavily painted."
"Her hindquarters weren't like a boy's," said Pip's father with satisfaction. "Besides, pretty girl, pretty boy ... what does it matter, eh Pip? Whatever takes your fancy."
Pip didn't answer. He was thinking about the bareback rider, until his head nodded and he fell asleep. Pip's mother smiled, and gently moved him so that his head was on her breast, her arm holding him safely in place, and he slept the rest of the way home.
The next day, Pip got out his pencils and paints, and drew a picture of Sasha riding the Arabian horse, using his paints to colour her costume exactly right. He wanted to recall every detail of what she was wearing. He diffidently showed his mother the picture.
"Pip, this is wonderful! What a pretty picture. May Mama put it on the wall of her dressing room?"
Pip nodded. He would have liked to keep the picture himself, but he could do another one. He drew sketch after sketch, trying to remember all the stunts Sasha had done, all the poses she had pulled. He drew one of her face as she had ridden past, her high cheekbones painted white, her red lips like an open flower, her silky black curls bouncing on her collar when she removed the hairband.
"Got quite a case, hasn't he?" Pip's father commented when he got home in the evening, and was confronted with dozens of pictures of the bareback rider.
"He's really very good, Rob," Pip's mother said. "I think these are remarkable for a boy his age."
"One smile from a little Russian doxie and the boy turns into a painter," Pip's father said sardonically. "Love either turns men into poets or artists. Pip must be the second type."
Pip wasn't sure if he was in love with the rider or not. He never imagined kissing or hugging her, but he wondered if her curls would feel coarse to the touch, like a horse's mane, or soft, like a raven's wing. And he wanted to see how she made her face so white and her lips so red. He did imagine he was performing like her, wearing the same costume, and he made some more sketches of it, because he could never get the tucks at the waistband quite right.
"If I'd known she was going to have this effect on him, I would have bought him a night with her. Get it out of his system," Pip's father muttered.
"Don't be vulgar, please Rob!" exclaimed Pip's mother. "He's only a little boy, and I don't want him to think of people being used that way."
That made Pip picture what he would do if his father had bought him the rider for a night. He knew straight away – he would ask her to teach him to ride the way she did. Even one night of training would be better than none.
After a week of drawing and painting, trying to fix everything in his mind, Pip went to talk to Finn, and told him everything he could remember. He asked Finn if he thought they could do any of the stunts the bareback rider and her horse had done, and received enthusiastic assent. Finn said if she had learned all that without being able to talk to her horse, Pip would learn even faster.
Learning to stand up was easy. Finn kept to a walking pace, and promised not to make any sudden movements. Pip tried to remember where the girl had put her feet, and he slowly stood up, holding his arms out to balance himself. It was a shaky start, but it was a start. When Pip felt confident enough, and they had practised again and again, they tried it with Finn doing a very slow canter. Pip promptly fell off.
He fell off many times, but he knew how to fall without doing himself much damage, and Finn wasn't that high. Both horse and boy were patient and determined, and eventually Finn was cantering around the field with Pip standing proudly on his back.
Pip's father liked showing off his son's riding skills to others, but he was less pleased when he came into the field and saw Finn cantering in a circle with Pip standing on his back, feet spread wide, knees bent, arms outstretched.
"I brought you up to ride like a gentleman, not an Egyptian or a mountebank," he said to Pip. "Come here."
Pip came over warily, expecting to get whipped again, but this time his father only hugged him roughly and ruffled his hair.
"So this is why you couldn't stop thinking about the bareback rider," said Pip's father. "You've got nerve, I'll say that for you."
Later on, he showed his gentlemen friends that Pip could now stand on his hands while riding Finn bareback.
"Took him to a circus where a Russian girl was doing trick riding," he said with feigned casualness. "Would you believe, the little imp started trying it for himself? Starting to wonder if his mother went to a fairground nine months before he was born."
"You're telling us this only started after the circus at Ash Tree Hill?" said one of the gentlemen sceptically. "That was less than six weeks ago, and you say the boy has learned all this after seeing a girl do it once, with nobody to teach him? That's not horsemanship, that's witchcraft."
"Pah, are we a bunch of old women who cry witchcraft when the bread doesn't rise?" said Pip's father in irritation. "Pip has been a good rider since he first sat on a horse, and he's been working hard, every day. It's just natural talent and constant practice."
Some of the gentlemen didn't seem sure as to how natural Pip's talent was, and Pip's father turned around in a temper, and strode over to where Pip was working on his handstand.
"That's enough for today, Pip," he said curtly. "You'll tire Finn out. Take him to the stables, please."
"Yes, Papa," Pip said in a docile voice. He didn't feel docile though, he felt angry and frustrated.
"And Pip?"
"Yes, Papa?"
"I'm proud of all you have learned," said Pip's father. "If you give Finn a rest now, we can go for a ride together this afternoon. Would you like that?"
"Yes, Papa," said Pip, with a sudden vivid smile. He took the red sequin hairband off, having taken to wearing it as a good luck token.
So Pip's days continued, most of them happy, nearly all without incident. He played games by himself and with his parents, he spoke to the birds and beasts, he and his pony worked together on their bareback riding skills, he painted many pictures in a book which became his journal.
Mrs Bennett did nearly all the work, and nobody gave her a thought. The seasons turned from musty autumn to crisp winter, until the garden was filled with spring flowers again, and all the promise of summer ahead.
"You're my little Pipsy Popsy, the handsomest boy in the Kingdom of Lindensea," his mother would say when she put him to bed with a loving kiss.
His father would say, "You spoil that boy, Evie, and let's have no more nonsense now," but after his mother had left the room, his father would duck back and slip some sweets into Pip's hand, whispering conspiratorially that he mustn't tell his mother about it.
"'Night, Pip," his father said, leaning down to give him a hug and a kiss. Pip kissed back with lips sticky with sugar, and fell asleep, thinking he must be the luckiest boy in the world.
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LINDENSEA LORE
The land now known as Lindensea was called Lindenomia by the Romans, derived from Lindo, the ancient name for the region, meaning "muddy, swampy". This referred to the estuary valley which lies at the kingdom's heart. After the Saxon Invasion, it was called Linden-sey, the suffix meaning "island" in the Saxon language - they believing Lindensea comprised the entire island, or after the many islets of the estuary. Despite false etymologies devised by antiquarians, often involving linden trees growing by saltwater, the name for our kingdom has the humble meaning, "muddy island".
From A Short History of Lindensea, Grantbridge University Press