Hello everyone! Emma here, a grey mare from Hayfield, near the bustling town of Aberdeen in Scotland. The wind's been whipping around my ears this week, carrying whispers of stories from the past. And this week, I want to talk about the year 138 AD, a year etched in my memories as one of bustling change and intriguing possibilities.
The world outside my stable seems to have moved a little faster back then. Roman soldiers marched on with a swagger, bringing their iron chariots and gleaming armour across our land. You could almost feel the shift in the air - a sense of something new and powerful being woven into the fabric of our lives.
I was a young filly back then, maybe six years old, full of playful spirit and a wild mane that whipped in the wind like a flag. My life revolved around the farm, helping my fellow horses pull plows, transport goods, and carry riders through the rough Scottish terrain. But something in the air, something beyond the smell of hay and the warmth of the stables, spoke of exciting possibilities.
You see, the Romans had built their first permanent fort in Scotland, not too far from our farm in the region of Inverurie. Their presence was undeniable. You could see their influence everywhere, from the new roads they were carving across the countryside to the magnificent buildings they were erecting. We horses knew a new chapter was unfolding in our lives, even if we didn't quite understand what it all meant.
Of course, back then, our lives weren't quite as carefree as they are today. Horses were an essential part of life - workhorses, warriors, even symbols of status. We pulled heavy loads, we raced across battlefields, we were part of the very fabric of society. Life was hard, especially for those of us on the farm. We weren’t given soft brushes and fancy feeds – our feed was what we could forage and the rough handling from our human companions meant some of us were more ‘used’ than ‘loved’. But we were a tough bunch – our ancestors had survived wars and famines, so the struggles we endured were nothing new.
There was a rumour that some of the horses even served the Romans, some being brought down from their stables in the south of England. The stories told of fierce battles, heavy war chariots, and a breed of horse called ‘Equus caballus’ that had a fierce heart and the strength to carry a heavily-armoured Roman soldier. These stories were met with equal parts fear and awe. But there was something stirring in my heart - the call of the wild, a thirst for something more.
Then came the rumour – the whisper of a great gathering at Eboracum. For you young ‘uns, that’s York these days, right in the middle of Roman England. The story went something like this: the Emperor himself was travelling to the north, and with him, a grand procession of soldiers, horses, and chariots, all meant to intimidate and assert the Roman power. Now, that sounded exciting, right? It meant a whole lot of horses, perhaps even some of those 'Equus caballus' war horses from the South. Maybe a chance to mingle, maybe even get a chance to run with the Emperor's riders?
Now, I was just a farm horse, with not a drop of war horse in me, but I felt something stir within me – something wild and free. It was just the nudge I needed to leave Hayfield for a little while and join the festivities. My kind human friend (a burly fellow called Macall who had trained me from a foal) gave me a quick grooming, ensuring my coat was glistening and fit for a princess. Then, I joined my cousins and uncles in the stable for the journey. The roads were crowded with Romans, each group a wave of colours and movements that pulsed and throbbed through the air. My senses were on high alert. The sounds, the smells, and the constant flow of bodies gave me the exhilarating feeling that I was in a magnificent, unstoppable force.
As I approached Eboracum, I found myself amidst hundreds of horses. War horses with chests that were mountains of muscle, noble chargers with feathered tails like plumes, and stout farm horses like me – all lined up in an incredible sea of animal energy. You could smell the heat from the crowds, hear the shouting and the chants of the soldiers. I was truly overwhelmed.
My heart thumped with a combination of fear and excitement. The Romans were strict with their soldiers, and a great deal of discipline was expected, not only from them but also from their mounts. But then, something amazing happened. A beautiful woman dressed in a flowing green cloak, mounted a horse, and started singing.
She wasn’t just singing though – the sound was enchanting and I, and everyone around me, became transfixed by her song. We, the hundreds of horses, listened in silent adoration. Her voice seemed to emanate from within our souls. This woman was called Aelina. It is said she was the Emperor’s horse whisperer and it was believed she could understand our language. From that day onwards, she took a liking to me and it wasn't long before we became friends.
And what a fascinating creature Aelina was! She could communicate with the horses in a way that none of us had experienced before. The soldiers were astounded by the connection she had with her horse – and so was I. She spent time with me, sharing stories and talking about her life. It was truly magical. I found out that there were horse stables filled with more horses from across the Empire and she was brought to the city by the Emperor so that he could observe the impact she had. It was rumoured that he wished to use her special talent on the battlefields to rally the troops, much like the Emperor Constantine before him. The idea filled me with terror – I wasn't a soldier, nor did I wish to be one.
During our visits, she shared tales of distant lands - Egypt with its majestic deserts and scorching suns, Gaul with its vast forests and fierce tribes. It felt as if a world of knowledge was unfolding before me, each story weaving together threads of our past, present, and future. We explored the ancient city, watched gladiators fight in the Colosseum, and I even witnessed a ceremony where the Emperor gave a speech from his golden chariot. It was so moving, seeing the sheer power he held over his legions of soldiers and knowing my fellow equine companions had been a huge part of that.
Now, I don't want you to think my journey to Eboracum was a joyous jaunt. It was tough, with lots of horses and humans jostling around. I learnt, though, that a horse's life back then could take many different paths. I had my own adventures to tell. And even the most simple horse, the kind who spends their whole life in the stable and pulling plows, has a valuable place in the world.
Before my trip to Eboracum, my life had seemed limited – just the farm and our routine – but now I have a whole new world open to me – a whole universe of horse tales! I’ve returned to Hayfield a little wiser, a little more understanding, and ready to embrace the opportunities and adventures that lie ahead, be they on the fields of Hayfield or across the wider world. I plan to keep learning, and exploring and writing about it all here on my blog. If you want to share your adventures too, come and find me on the www.equiworld.org website. See you all soon!
