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The livery was the best in Plymouth. The large cobbled yard was ringed with open stable doors, each with an horse peering out inquisitively at the visitors. They asked for the best, for money was no object, and as a consequence only the finest of the horses was presented to them. The choice narrowed down to four, two blacks, two greys, all Thoroughbreds. They were ridden, they were exercised on the long rein, they were jumped over poles, fences and log piles until…. One of the men slipped from the saddle of the tall black Anglo Arab thoroughbred and, coming to the head of the restless animal, he snuffled up its nose and without turning his head asked, ‘And what’s he called?’ The bluff young horse dealer smiled and replied, ‘He’s called whatever sir would wish to call him.’ ‘I have no inspiration on the subject…..'came the muffled reply. The second gentleman trotted up and wheeled his grey saying as he did so, 'Give him our family name then…’ ‘Confusing….Alexander?….Revere?’ ‘Call him 'Bellerophon’ then Mr Alexander….‘ The two men turned to gaze enquiringly at the stable man. 'Alexander the Great….As he lay dying he commanded that his horse Bellerophon be buried with him…..’ ‘Ahhh…’ the two buyers said simultaneously, remembering the truth of the history. ‘Or Pegasus…..the winged horse that Bellerophon flew upon.’ The second man slipped down from his grey saying ‘I have decided on 'Achilles.’ ‘Your Greek studies have come in useful then Tom….’ the man stood away from the snorting horse, ‘..then maybe I should choose…. 'Hector’ or better still, ‘Trojan.’ ‘The Trojan Horse….yes…very suitable for the task to hand sir.’ The visitors started to laugh and laugh making the two stallions nervous, eyes flaring….manes flying in the wind…flying in the wind. Alexander believed in the gathering of intelligence before the undertaking of any difficult task. It was his training he supposed to always reconnoitre the ground over which he wished to man
