As Alexandros approached the corral of bachelor stallions
with its high wooden fence, he saw Boukephalas perk up his head.
Then it went down again. Gradually, the stallion grazed his way to
the herd edge, but as soon as Alexandros had let himself into the
yard, Boukephalas turned his back and headed for the other end. Tail
swishing casually, he resumed grazing at the stubbly wild grass
hugging a fencepost.
Alexandros called and held out the apple he’d brought. Boukephalas
ignored him. Alexandros called again, then gave up and walked
towards his horse. As he drew near, Boukephalas bolted across the
yard, black eye rolling. Alexandros tried again. Boukephalas
retreated again. Alexandros tried a third time. Boukephalas
retreated a third time. With nips and shouldering, he began to herd
the other stallions away from Alexandros.
Cursing, the prince threw the bright red bridle down in the rusty
dust.
He hadn’t been to see Boukephalas since the court had arrived in
Aigai three days ago, and Boukephalas hated to be ignored. The
stable hands could always tell when Alexandros had been too busy to
ride because the stallion would snap during his grooming, or get
restless with a back hoof. And sometimes, in a pique, he would reach
his head over the stall door to bite at passers-by. Now, seeing the
horse meant to punish him for his absence. Alexandros shrugged. Two
could play at this game. He turned away, meandering across the yard,
eye traveling over the other stallions. He even took a bite out of
the apple.
Rhoias, Hephaistion’s whore of a horse, left the others to come
romping up for a scratch. His nature was as sweet as a gelding’s. He
let anyone pet him—very different from jealous Brephas who’d
followed Hephaistion about like a chick the hen but was otherwise
unpredictable. Alexandros grinned at Rhoias’s fancy prancing. When
the sun struck the roan coat just right, it turned pomegranate pink:
a bizarre color for a horse. Reaching up, he rubbed the nape of
Rhoias’s neck. The stallion stopped stock still, quivering all over.
Alexandros knew when Boukephalas approached. He could hear the
stallion’s hoof strike the dirt. He pawed like a bull when he was
angry. The other stallions had backed away. Rhoias flattened his
ears, then sighed loudly and wandered off. Alexandros let him go and
resumed nibbling the apple, walking deliberately in the opposite
direction. Boukephalas snorted and stamped again. Smiling to
himself, Alexandros kept going. Boukephalas began to dance.
Alexandros could see his shadow on the ground prancing sidewise and
tossing up his head so his short mane slapped his neck.
Come after me, Alexandros thought at him.
Abruptly, Boukephalas lowered his head and charged. Alexandros
ignored him until he was right there, spraying orange dirt
on the backs of Alexandros’s legs. Laughing, the prince spun to grab
a handful of mane with his free hand. Boukephalas stopped on the
instant, snorting and tossing his head again. Then he snaked out his
long neck, whiffling hopefully.
“You want the apple, don’t you? Here.” He balanced the fruit on the
flat of his palm, offering it up. Delicately, Boukephalas took the
half-eaten apple and crunched happily. He turned his back end to
bump up against Alexandros. It put a barrier of flesh between his
master the Rhoias, who stood blinking calmly some feet away.
Alexandros laughed again and slapped his withers. “Jealous.” What’ll
you do when you’re too old to carry me into battle and I have to
ride another horse?” Boukephalas twisted his head and trained an eye
on him. Then—for all the world as if he’d understood—he went down on
a knee, offering Alexandros an easy mount. Alexandros ruffled his
mane and swung astride.
….Scene continues with Alexandros riding out to meet
Antipatros’s delegation returning from Delphi—the opening of the
final chapter in Rise.
(Why this was cut:Chiefly in an attempt to reduce wordcount. It's
fun for horse buffs but doesn't significantly advance the plot.)