Rupert was seriously worried. The morphine wasn’t having the desired effect this time. He hardly warmed up Rocky at all; every stride was agony. There was no point risking a fall and finishing himself off altogether over a practice fence. He sat in the tackroom on an upturned bucket, with his head in his hands. He daren’t go near the First Aid Post in case they stopped him riding.

“You going to be able to make it?” said the doctor.

“Sure,” said Rupert, “but I hope they bloody hurry.”

Hans Schmidt had eight faults.

“That’s good for us,” Billy was saying in the commentary box.

Then, blighting everyone’s hopes, Piero Fratinelli came in and jumped clear for Italy.

“That’s not at all good for us,” sighed Billy. “Good round though.”

He grinned across at Fen, who was biting her nails in the riders’ stand, and mopped his brow.

In came Peter Colegate, who’d replaced Dino. The American crowd was in a state of hysteria. All across the stands U.S. flags were being waved in encouragement, as the big striding bay thoroughbred, who’d won several races in his youth, ate up the course.

“I don’t fancy anyone’s chances against him if there’s a jump-off,” said Billy.

The thoroughbred’s racetrack origins were his undoing, however. Picking up the tension from his rider, hearing the hysterical yelling of the crowd, he was reminded of his youth and, thundering towards the final fences, he cleared the pink wall with ease, then accelerated and flattened both parts of the double and, hearing the howl and groan of the crowd, only just scraped over the last massive triple.

“Hooray,” said Billy from the commentary box. That’s absolutely marvelous for us, but admittedly not great for the Americans.”

Carol Kennedy turned to Fen, shaking his head. “Our mutual friend would have gone clear.”

“What’s the score?” Fen asked Malise.

“Italians forty, Americans thirty-eight, Germans forty-three.”

They looked at each other for a minute.

“That means if Rupert goes clear we get the gold, four faults we get the silver, eight faults we’ll have to jump off, which will be too much for Rupert.”

Rupert rode into the ring.

“And here comes Rupert Campbell-Black on Popstar,” said Dudley. “He has a dislocated shoulder, which was put back yesterday. The suspense is absolutely killing, but I think we are about to witness a great display of courage.”

“Courage is a quality the Campbell-Blacks have never lacked,” said Billy. “One of Rupert’s ancestors was on the King’s side during the Civil War, and even though he was tortured by Roundheads, he never squealed.”

All the vengeful heat of the sun seemed to be concentrated on Rupert’s black velvet hat. The colored poles and the flower arrangements swam before his eyes. The officials in their coral blazers seemed to be dancing, the derby rising and falling by itself, the red and blue boat sailing away. The pain was excruciating now. If Rocky played up, he was doomed. Somehow he removed his hat, but, as Rocky sidled away, it took hours to get it back on again.

Where the hell was the first fence? For a panic-stricken moment he couldn’t remember. He looked up at the sea of faces, curiously still for once, the peaks of their caps like a million beaks. He had a terrifying hallucination — they were going to swoop down and peck him to death. Everything went black, he swayed, then forced himself to look down at Rocky’s blond plaits. His good hand was shaking violently — like a wanking schoolboy. The thought made him laugh. Thank God, there was the first fence. He kicked Rocky into a canter.

“And there goes Rupert,” said Billy in a voice that was not quite steady. “All our hopes go with him.”

Rocky, aware that his master was wildly untogether, jumped the first fence wrong, rapping it really hard, jarring Rupert’s shoulder appallingly. To a man, the crowd winced. The next jump was almost as unhappy. Rupert lost a stirrup, his balance all awry. Then he jabbed Rocky’s mouth over the sailboat and the horse pecked on landing.

“God, that must hurt,” moaned Billy.

Coming up to the derby, Rupert found his iron and somehow managed to stay on.

“Oughtn’t he to retire?” said Fen in anguish. “It must be killing him.”

Suddenly, with a relentless surge of courage, Rupert cleared the gate, and turned to the water, riding at it like a man possessed, clearing it by two feet. The crowd roared in ecstasy and then in apprehension. Rupert was beginning to do a bit too well. Suddenly an American victory was in jeopardy. Now he was turning towards the big combination: three vast brick-red fences with their clashing bright green pools of ferns. He left the first element to Rocky, who jumped it big, leaving him too close to the second element. With a brilliant shift in the saddle, Rupert swung Rocky to the right so he had more room and could get in an extra stride before clearing it, then swung him back again so he had the same extra diagonal. Rocky clouted the final pole, which was almost indistinguishable from the greenery filling the jump, but it stayed put.

The crowd burst into a spontaneous yell of applause.

“ ‘The gods who live forever,’ ” muttered Malise to himself, “ ‘are on our side today.’ ”

“That was the most glorious piece of riding,” said Billy. “Oh, come on, Rupe. I can’t bear to look anymore. You take over, Dudley.”

There were only three fences between Britain and a medal and, because of this, they all seemed higher than the grandstand.

Rocky was jumping majestically, but Rupert realized he must speed up. He couldn’t afford time faults. Through a haze of pain the three fences receded and came towards him; he’d never judge the distances; he couldn’t really gallop on with only one hand.

“He can either go carefully and risk time faults, or risk knocking them down,” said Billy. “Knowing Rupe, I bet he chooses the latter.”

Rupert did. He came thundering down to the first fence.

“Oh, steady,” said Malise in anguish.

“Too fast,” gasped Fen. “Oh, God help him.”

Rupert was over the first fence, meeting it absolutely perfectly.

“We’ll have to jump off for the bronze,” shouted Billy excitedly.

Rupert was somehow over the two treacherous uprights of the double.

“We’ve got the silver,” yelled Billy. “Come on, Rupe, come on.”

Rocky gathered himself together, took a mighty leap, and sailed through the air, over the triple and into the history books. Pandemonium broke out in the commentary box. Billy was hugging Dudley, both yelling at once. Dizzy burst into tears.

“I’m awfully sorry, ma’am,” said Fen, realizing she was hugging Princess Anne. Suddenly she heard a hoarse strangulated sound behind her; it was Ivor, cheering like an old mule.

“We got the gold!” screamed Fen, jumping up and down. “We got the gold!”

As Rupert rode out of the arena at a walk, the whole stadium rose to their feet to applaud him. The cheers went on for a full five minutes. Naturally disappointed the home team hadn’t made it, the crowd were prepared to honor such a display of courage.

Rupert rode up to Malise. His face was expressionless.

“What price fairies now?” he said.

Malise grinned up at him. “On the day, my fairies came good. Bloody marvelous.” Then, surprised at Rupert’s lack of excitement, “You went clear you know. We’ve got the gold.”

Rupert shook his head. A loudspeaker confirmed his victory. He stayed absolutely calm. He didn’t smile or give Rocky great slaps of joy on the neck which was his normal practice. His hand didn’t even tremble. He slid off the horse, gave him a quick pat, and leant his head for a second against the red-gold satin neck. Everyone swarmed round him, cheering and yelling.

“Great, Rupe, terrific, you showed them.”

Rupert broke away from them and stumbled towards the tunnel. Everyone followed him, cheering. Malise fought his way back to Rupert’s side.

“Leave him alone,” he snarled at the pack, suddenly losing his temper. “Can’t you understand the strain he’s been under?”

“It’s all right,” he said gently to Rupert.

Rupert turned, his eyes streaming. “A moron, a schoolgirl, and a cuckold,” he said. “We took on the whole bloody world.”

“And beat them,” said Malise.

Halfway down the tunnel Rupert slumped against the wall, shutting his eyes, battling to stop the tears.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “Been a bit of a strain the last few days. Too much dope, not much sleep. Oh, Christ.”

“Look,” said Malise, patting Rupert’s good shoulder, “over the years I’ve seldom seen eye to eye with you. But I have to hand it to you today. Without doubt you produced the finest and bravest display of riding I’ve ever seen. You made the other riders look like gymkhana kids. No one in that stadium or watching it on television will ever forget it.”

Rupert sniffed and wiped away the tears with the back of his hand.

“Think Jake would’ve beaten me?”

“My dear boy, today no one could have beaten you.”

Rupert stretched out his good hand and grabbed Malise’s arm.

“I’ve always given you a hard time,” he said shakily, “but I guess you’re the best, too.”

Odd, thought Malise, how the moments of greatest happiness come from the people you least expect.

Suddenly Rupert brightened perceptibly. “I put a monkey on our winning,” he said. “I must have made a fortune.”

Chestnut, dappled gray, and dark bay, they walked proudly into the arena, ears pricked, eyes bright, knowing they were the best in the world. On their backs rode Rupert and Ivor in their red coats, with Fen in black in the center. And realizing once again they were riding one man short, the magnanimous crowd cheered them to the top of the stadium. Everywhere, Union Jacks seemed to be waving.