Byron understood that he’d tested the headmaster’s patience.

He didn’t understand why the head and his wife were paying so much attention to his friendship with Clare. Was it a friendship? He wasn’t sure. He’d never had anything like it before. He didn’t like all the attention paid to what he thought was a private affair. But, as he now had official sanction for spending time with Clare, he intended to take advantage of it.

He feared spoiling it. He feared exposing something of himself to Clare that would disgust the younger boy or scare him away. His foot. His poverty. There were also parts of his past that he didn’t often recall to mind, but which nevertheless still bothered him. What would Clare make of all that? Byron didn’t intend to tell him.

Byron and Clare were both on the back of a pony. The pony was finding its way ploddingly down a pebbled lane that led to the pond. Byron was in front holding the reins. Clare was behind him. Byron had tried encouraging the pony to trot. As they there was no saddle, both boys were holding on with their knees. When the pony began an uneven canter they were both in danger of falling off. Clare grabbed Byron’s waist and called out “Stop. No. Don’t.”

Byron enjoyed being gripped from behind by Clare’s hands. They didn’t often touch each other. It was nice for a moment even if it were a crisis. “Woah, boy.” He pulled back on the reins and the pony slowed down.

Clare removed his hands from Byron’s waist.

“You may as well leave your hands there. This beast is unpredictable. Can’t have you falling off. I’d be in trouble then.”

Clare laughed at the notion that Byron would be in trouble if fell off. “You wouldn’t.”

In the distance they could now hear the sounds of boys swimming in the pond. There were shouts and cries as well as the sounds of splashing. It wasn’t long before they arrived at the spot where they’d been swimming before. It was now overrun with boys. It was chaos. The older boys, “monitors,” who’d been detailed to supervise the school swim had sloped away to have beer at a pot house. In their absence boys were dunking other boys. There were splash fight wars going on. Three boys were holding down a fourth spread-eagled in the mud. They were trying to make him eat a sour apple. He was holding his mouth shut. His eyes were closed. He was twisting his head from side to side. All the boys were naked. Swimsuits were unknown at Harrow in the early 1800s.

Clare and Byron jumped down from the pony. “Stop!” cried Byron. The three boys who were holding down the fourth all looked up in surprise. They inadvertently let their prisoner go because they hadn’t expected to see two boys on a pony. This allowed the younger boy to go free. He shot away from the muddy patch where they’d been holding him down and ran back up the road down which Byron and Clare had just come.

Byron turned the pony around and shouted at Clare. “Quick! Hop back on! We go back the way we came!” They both still had their clothes on, including boots, which helped them over the rocks in the rutted road.

“Why! It’s lame old Byron. The cripple! Get him!” shouted one of the older boys. They were barefoot, so hobbled by the sharp stones in the road. But they were also older, more athletic and none of them had a clubbed foot. They took off nakedly in pursuit of Byron and Clare and their pony.