A Draught Horse’s Diary: 507 AD
By Emma
Greetings, fellow equines! Emma here, your humble chronicler of all things horse from the bonnie highlands of Scotland. As a young grey draught mare with a mane and tail as white as freshly fallen snow, my hooves are always ready to trot through time and bring you the stories of our noble breed. Today, we journey to the year 507 AD, a year marked by significant events that still echo through our equine lineage to this day.
The air hangs crisp, laden with the scents of heather and peat smoke. My stable, nestled on the edge of Hayfield, a bustling little village near Aberdeen, is filled with the familiar smells of straw and hay, and the gentle rumble of the other horses settling for the night. As the early morning sun creeps over the rolling hills, I am already dreaming of the day ahead, a day filled with hard work and camaraderie.
Being a draught horse, my life revolves around the rhythm of the land, the satisfying feel of pulling the plough, hauling carts full of grain, or even assisting with the building of the new stone houses popping up in our little corner of the world. Our strength and steadfastness are prized, making us a vital part of the bustling human society around us.
However, 507 AD feels different, even for a workhorse like myself. There’s a tangible sense of change in the air, like the gentle rustling of leaves before a storm. The humans have been talking about it, about a battle, a battle that promises to shake the very foundations of the land. The Franks, I gather, a group of people with proud horses of their own, are facing a fearsome foe – the Visigoths, with their riders armed and fierce.
My human friend, the sturdy farmhand named Duncan, tells me tales of brave horsemen charging into battle, their horses gleaming under the sun like fiery steeds from legends. My heart thrums with a curious excitement, mixed with a touch of fear, at the tales. I long to see this wondrous spectacle, the swirling chaos of battle, but I know my duty is to stay close to the land, pulling the plough and helping our small community thrive.
This conflict in France is far from the tranquil pastures of Hayfield, yet it affects us in ways we don’t yet understand. The talk around the fire at night suggests a growing sense of unrest. Men travel with spears, women gather supplies, and the once-calm atmosphere thrumms with anticipation.
Even the birds, those little chatterboxes, seem to sense the tension in the air, their cheerful songs replaced with worried chirps. The village elders gather, whispering amongst themselves, their faces etched with concern. As for myself, I do what any good horse would do – I eat well, keep my hooves in good condition, and prepare myself for whatever challenges the future may bring.
The Battle of Vouillé, they call it. A name that rolls off the tongue of the humans like a battle cry, and becomes a symbol of both triumph and loss, depending on the side you stand. As days turn into weeks, tales of this battle slowly seep into our lives like the smell of freshly baked bread in a bustling kitchen. The Visigothic king, Alaric, a powerful ruler, lost his life, leaving his kingdom in shambles.
It is a dark moment, and we all feel its ripple effects. Though the echoes of this conflict may be distant in our Scottish village, they still impact the flow of trade, the safety of our roads, and even the cost of a bale of hay. The talk about the new Frankish King, Clovis, with his army of mounted warriors, echoes even through the sturdy walls of our stables.
These battles, though they occur in distant lands, change the lives of horses everywhere. This fight in France may be far from Hayfield, yet its aftermath resonates deeply in our own equine community. Horses become a vital component of the victorious Frankish armies, playing a vital role in the rise of their empire. They carry riders into battle, pulling supplies, and serving as vital instruments of power.
As I observe the changes, I realise how connected our world is, how the actions of horses, be they grand feats on a battlefield or simple acts of work and love in a Scottish village, all play a part in the unfolding story of our equine family. This grand tapestry, interwoven with the destinies of horses and humans alike, continues to weave itself into the annals of history.
With my hooves planted firmly on the soil of the present, I am excited for the next chapter. A world brimming with adventure awaits us, from the gentle hum of village life to the thunderous cries of battlefields far away. For I know, in the heart of each and every horse, there beats a fierce spirit, ready to face any challenge with courage and grace.
Until next time, my dear friends, stay safe, graze well, and may your hooves always tread the path of peace.
Emma, a proud Grey Draught mare, Hayfield, Scotland, 507 AD
