Hello, my lovely equine friends! Emma here, from Hayfield, just outside of Aberdeen. It's time for another foray into our shared history, and this month we're travelling back to 81 AD, a time of burgeoning agricultural advancements and, as always, a dash of horse-powered magic.
This year marks an exciting era, not only in my life as a grey draught horse but in the history of our kind. The Romans are firmly established in Britannia, and guess who is their trusted companion? Yep, us horses! They can't build roads without us, or transport goods without us.
The first thing I remember about 81 AD was a visit from my cousin, Thistle. He’s a spirited chestnut gelding, a few years older than me, and he had a real air of importance about him. He was on his way south to join the Roman army as a cavalry horse, and his shiny coat had a glimmer of anticipation, much like a soldier in his fine armour.
“You’ll love it,” Thistle assured me, chewing on a clump of long grass. “We’ll race across open fields, gallop through forests, even learn to charge at the enemy!”
My heart pounded with excitement, and though I wouldn't be riding for battle like Thistle, I knew my contribution was just as crucial. I was destined for the bustling fields of Hayfield, where farmers rely on strong, reliable horses like myself to plough their fields, transport produce to markets, and even carry the blacksmith to his appointments.
Our work was a necessity for everyone, you see, especially the women who would toil in the fields alongside their men. They were the ones who ensured their family survived by working tirelessly from sunrise to sunset. They fed us, spoke to us gently, and taught us the subtle art of knowing exactly when a farmer needed a bit of extra push. I can't begin to express the deep bond of respect I felt towards these women.
81 AD was a year of bustling markets. The Romans had brought trade with them, and the markets were teeming with exotic wares. My driver, a robust farmer named Alistair, was often in the market, selling barley and hay for the Roman garrison at nearby Perth. These markets were abuzz with sounds and scents. Imagine, if you will, the sweet smell of fresh bread wafting from a baker’s cart, mingled with the sharp aroma of spices brought by merchants from distant lands.
We horses, of course, weren’t allowed in the market itself. But even standing outside, I could feel the hum of excitement. It felt as though everyone was striving for something bigger, something more prosperous, and we, as horses, were playing a key part in it.
I loved watching the Roman legionnaires parade through the markets. With their fine bronze armour and fierce expressions, they instilled a certain awe in me. But it wasn’t just their appearance that was impressive. I observed that many Roman soldiers rode horses. These horses were leaner than us draught horses, but just as intelligent. They had to be quick and agile, ready to charge at any moment. And that gave me pause, especially since my dear Thistle was part of this army now.
Thinking of Thistle’s bravery made me ponder about the difference in our lives. We draught horses were, in a way, the workhorses of the society. We carried the weight of the community on our backs, both literally and metaphorically. The cavalry horses, however, were like athletes. Their purpose was focused on speed, agility and, sadly, often, the battlefield. I had great respect for them, yet, as I worked the fields and listened to the wind rustling through the wheat, I found solace in the calmness and steady routine of my life.
On one warm evening, as I was pulling a cart of harvested barley to the village, I noticed a young woman on a beautiful mare. She wasn’t a Roman legionnaire, but wore the clothes of a local woman, her brown hair woven in braids. She looked strong, but graceful, and had a certain energy that seemed to vibrate with the very rhythm of the horse she rode. Her name was Brianna. She rode with a natural elegance, and I noticed she had a quiet but deep respect for her mount.
The Roman military had introduced new kinds of bridles and harnesses. The horses I saw in the legion seemed to move more easily and freely than horses in other parts of the land, their movements like graceful dances.
The more I observed, the more I understood that Roman influences were reaching deep into our equine lives. Brianna's mare wore a different kind of saddle, with curved leather panels, designed to support both rider and horse. Her harness had straps placed in a way that seemed more efficient, more considerate of the horse’s anatomy.
Brianna saw me watching her, and her gaze was warm and inviting. “She's my spirit," she said, with a gentle smile, gesturing towards the mare. "She carries me through the valleys and the highlands, she’s my confidante, and we have shared countless adventures together. And," she added, nodding towards me, "you're no different, friend. Your strength is just as crucial for our community."
The world was changing, and horses were right at the heart of it. Brianna's spirit and courage were echoed in many women I knew. The fields, the markets, the bustling Roman presence - all these elements were shaping our equine existence in 81 AD.
And as I return to my quiet routine, to the comforting smells of the hayfield, to the familiar rhythm of the cartwheels rolling over the dirt, I realise that every horse, no matter our role, our breed or our destiny, makes a difference. Every day is a journey, and every horse carries with it its own unique spirit.
Keep those ears pricked and those hooves ready, for tomorrow's history will be our own.
Until next time, happy trotting!
Emma, from Hayfield.
(Please remember, dear readers, this is Emma’s perspective on events of 81 AD, and historical details are not always perfectly aligned with historical fact. It’s always wonderful to engage with and question different interpretations of the past!)
Post on EquiWorld.org www.equiworld.org/emmablog/
