The Princess and the Foal

Eventually Amina gives a grunt and drops to her knees, lying down on her side. The mare is covered in sweat and her body is shiny and damp. She lies down for a while, raising her head from time to time to sniff her belly.

“This is it,” Santi says expectantly. But Amina heaves herself to her feet and stands up again.

“What’s going on?” Haya asks. “Is she OK?”

“She’s fine,” Santi reassures her. “Amina is getting ready. The foal will come soon.”

But the foal does not come. The minutes tick by and Amina lies down and stands up again many times. She is sweating so much that a white froth has formed on her neck. Santi has beads of perspiration on his forehead as he grabs hold of Amina by the halter and urges the mare back to her feet.

He rolls his sleeves up. “Ursula,” he says, “take hold of her head for me.”

Ursula frowns. “You think something’s wrong?”

Santi washes his hands in the soapy water bucket and then applies grease from a tub in the medicine kit along his right arm. He steps round behind Amina and lifts up the mare’s tail.

“The mare is taking too long,” he says. “I am going to check on the position of the foal.”

Carefully, gently, Santi extends his arm to reach inside the mare, to find where the foal is. Haya stands next to Ursula and strokes Amina on her hot, wet neck, murmuring the whole time, telling the mare it is going to be OK.

When Santi withdraws his arm, his face is grim. “Ursula,” he says, “go and fetch the vet. Now.”

As they wait for Ursula and the vet, Haya helps to rub the mare down all over with a soft, dry towel. Amina is shivering and when Haya strokes the mare’s face she can see the whites of her eyes. “Don’t be afraid,” she whispers. “The vet will be here soon.” It has only been a few minutes since Ursula left, but it feels like forever. When the mare tries to lie down again, Santi asks Haya if she is strong enough to hold the halter while he moves around the mare and pushes her to keep her upright.

“I think Amina’s foal is breech,” Santi explains. “Foals are supposed to come out front first, but this one’s head is in the wrong place. We need the vet to come and help get the foal out.”

There is nothing more they can do but wait. Haya holds Amina’s head in her arms. The mare is trembling and Haya whispers to her. “Not much longer, Amina. He’s coming, I promise.”

The lights come on in the courtyard as Ursula returns with the vet. Amina is drenched with sweat, shivering and exhausted. She does not even turn her head to look when the vet greases his arm and begins to search inside for the foal.

“It’s a breech,” he confirms. “I’ll try to turn it.”

Santi nods and takes the mare’s head as the vet moves back to the tail once more.

Haya stands beside Amina’s shoulder and watches the vet as he works. He is taking forever and all the time Amina looks weaker and more miserable. “Don’t be scared,” Haya murmurs. But now she is afraid for Amina. The vet is taking too long.

Finally the vet pulls his arm back out and shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says, “the foal can’t be turned.”

He says nothing more, but that is enough. Santi understands what must happen next.

“Ursula,” Santi says, “please take Titch back home to Al Nadwa.”

Haya is bewildered. Amina’s foal is still stuck! The mare needs help and suddenly Santi is sending her away?

“Please, no,” Haya says. “I want to see the foal being born. I won’t get in the way, I promise. I’ll stay back in the corner of the box, I can help …”

Next to Amina the vet begins to unpack the contents of his bag. The syringes, scalpels and instruments are laid out in a row on a dark green cloth spread out on the straw.

“What is he doing?”

“He is going to save the mare if he can,” Santi says. He cannot meet Haya’s eyes. “Ursula, take the Princess home.”

*

As they pull up to the entrance of the palace, Haya emerges from the car trembling and exhausted. Her clothes are caked with dust and horse sweat and her cheeks are stained with tears. If only Mama were here to take her in her arms and hold her tight and never let go. But at the top of the stairs, waiting with arms folded, is Frances.

“Oh, Haya …” There is something about the look that Frances gives her that makes Haya’s eyes brim with tears all over again. She wants comfort so desperately. She swallows her pride and runs up the stairs towards the governess.

Frances shakes her head. “Look at the state of you! Your boots are covered in mud. And your fingernails! My heavens, child, you are utterly filthy and you positively reek—”

That is it. Haya doesn’t listen to any more. She pushes past Frances, choking on her tears, and runs in muddy boots past the row of Kings, bounding upstairs. The slam of her bedroom door echoes throughout the palace.

In the darkness, Haya drops to the floor and drags herself beneath the bed until she reaches her treasure box. She shimmies back out again with the box and lies panting on the floor. Her hands are shaking so much that she cannot open the lid. Instead, she just clutches it to her chest, holding it close to her heart as she shudders and cries, her sobs wracking her body as she weeps and weeps until she has no more tears.

(#ulink_1dc730ec-e52b-51c2-ab9b-a42c924b78ca)

aya opens her eyes. It is morning and the sun is shining through her bedroom window, but it is not the sun that has woken her. It is the sound of the voices downstairs at the front door. Slipping out of bed, she runs across the landing into Ali’s room. He is already at the bedroom window, peering out at the commotion below.

“Ursula is here,” he says with his nose pressed up to the glass. “Her and Frances are fighting.”

Haya looks out of the window. She can see Ursula standing on the doorstep, still wearing the same clothes that she had on when she dropped Haya home the night before. And standing in front of her, hands on hips, flanked by the stone lions, is Frances.

“This is ridiculous,” Ursula says. “Let me in. I need to see Haya.”

“Out of the question,” Frances replies. “The Princess is still in bed. She’s exhausted after last night. She is not fit to receive company.”

“Well, I’ll come back later then.”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” Frances says.

“It’s not up to you,” Ursula snaps back. “Ask Haya! She needs to know what happened.”

Frances looks as stony-faced as the lions. “I’m not asking a five-year-old to make the decisions; I’m the one who is in charge. If it had been up to me, she would never have been there in the first place. She was in floods of tears last night when you brought her home.”

“But I should tell her—”

“No,” Frances says. “You have already done enough damage without upsetting the Princess all over again. Now I think it’s time you got back in your car and left before I call the guards.”

Haya leaps down off the window seat and begins to run. Across the landing and down the stairs, she feels her heart hammering in her chest as she races for the front door. Why does the palace have to be so big? She is halfway down the corridor when she sees Frances striding towards her.

“Where is she?” Haya pants.

“If you mean Ursula, she has gone,” Frances replies. “Now go upstairs, Haya, and get dressed for breakfast.”

Haya is beside herself. “But I wanted to see her …”

“Out of the question.”

“I want to know what happened to Amina …”