Greetings, fellow equines and horse lovers! It's Emma, your resident history enthusiast, writing from my comfy stall in the heart of Hayfield, nestled amidst the rolling hills near Aberdeen. I’ve just turned 20, a milestone for any mare! With every passing year, my love for the past grows deeper, and today, I want to share my insights into a year that's etched in my memory, not for great events but for the everyday life of horses like myself. Let's journey back to the year 134 CE – the world beyond Hayfield was full of rumbles and roars, while here, life for us horses remained steady and purposeful.
I must confess, I haven't always been interested in the distant past. Growing up, I was content with the predictable rhythm of life in Hayfield: the fresh green grass in summer, the crisp winter air that turned my mane and tail into wispy snowdrifts, the comforting sounds of the farm, the satisfying crunch of oats in my mouth, and the gentle hand of my human friend, Callum, as he combed out the tangles from my mane. Callum, he's been my constant companion for the last few years; he took me on my first outings in the cart and helped me learn how to pull the plough with the strength of ten mares! I can always tell by his voice if he's tired or happy – we understand each other, Callum and I.
As I matured, I found myself yearning for something more. We horses live lives of dedication; our energy is channeled towards our duties: pulling ploughs, carrying burdens, even hauling carts and chariots. The farm, in turn, provides us with our sustenance, our home. There's a quiet satisfaction in serving, a feeling of being integral to the rhythm of nature and human existence. Yet, as I watched the young foals playing in the meadows, full of playful energy, I began to wonder about the world beyond Hayfield. Why did the stories whispered around the stable fire speak of empires rising and falling, of mighty rulers, and of wars raging across lands unknown?
My curiosity led me to seek knowledge, not through stories and tales, but through something else – records, etched upon wooden planks, held together with carefully woven twine. The elder mares shared stories of these records, passed down through generations, and they called them "histories." These "histories" spoke of men, but they also revealed our part in their story – we, the horses, played a crucial role in building civilizations and creating empires. Our strength was used to cultivate fields, move resources, and even propel soldiers into battle.
The year 134 CE holds little historical significance on the grand scale of human events, but for me, it represents a significant year. In that year, I began to delve into these records, uncovering fragments of a time long gone, piece by piece, with every scrap of information revealing a new facet of the fascinating relationship between humans and horses. This is my story of Hayfield in the year 134 CE – not the big story of kingdoms, but the small, familiar story of my world.
In the year 134 CE, I was a young mare, strong and healthy, learning the ropes of working alongside my brethren on the farm. Our tasks, though simple, were important. We pulled the plough, cultivating the land for barley and oats. Our steady steps moved the cart laden with goods, carrying supplies to nearby settlements. Our hooves pattered along the well-worn paths that connected Hayfield with other small hamlets in the region, bringing news and sharing tales of our human friends. We played a part in the larger scheme of things, even if we were only a few horses, working tirelessly in the shadow of the towering, grey-green mountains that encompassed our lives.
We were treated with respect, a fact that never ceased to fill me with pride. Our work was appreciated, and our comfort was ensured. We had sturdy stalls built for our rest, piles of hay that were topped daily, and a well-fed water trough. We were pampered. The humans around Hayfield cared for us, for we, in return, cared for their livelihood and ensured their sustenance.
While there was plenty of work, life wasn’t without its joys. I loved galloping through the meadows, a sensation that stirred within me the untamed spirit of my wild ancestors. It's a feeling I'll never forget - the wind in my mane, the scent of dew-kissed grass, the boundless energy surging through me.
When I wasn't working, I'd find myself nestled in the fields beside other horses, sharing stories and learning from each other. The elderly mares held a wealth of wisdom, weaving tales of previous harvests, of the long-ago journey of their forefathers who first landed on the shores of this land. Their stories, filled with mystery and adventure, often kept us enthralled till the stars began to twinkle in the night sky.
In 134 CE, we, the horses of Hayfield, knew only of our little corner of the world. Beyond our valleys and hills, beyond the distant peaks that we could see from the stable, was a world that seemed vast and full of wonders, a world filled with stories we had yet to discover. We, in Hayfield, did our work, pulling our carts, grooming our foals, and tending our young, our days marked by a sense of stability, unaware of the events unfolding across the world, which would forever alter the lives of horses.
One particular day in 134 CE stands out from my memories. The weather had taken a turn for the worse – the air, thick with the chill of approaching winter, bore down upon the land. A fierce wind whistled through the valley, sending gusts of rain against the stone walls of the stables, sending shivers down my spine. The sky darkened ominously, as if it were preparing to unleash a tempest of fire and fury.
I was young then, a few months shy of my fourth birthday. Callum, who had taken me on my first walk as a foal, was leading me into the meadows, ready for the evening graze. A shadow loomed overhead, stretching long and thin across the fields. The familiar rhythmic beat of hooves striking the ground caused me to turn my head and see a small band of riders, silhouetted against the ominous clouds that were gathering above. They moved with the assured gait of warriors, dressed in clothes of somber colours – brown, black, and gray, echoing the hues of the sky.
I saw these men many times during my long life. They called themselves Roman soldiers, and they rode their steeds, powerful horses like ourselves, to far off lands, to maintain peace and order in the empire, and even, to protect its borders from invaders. But at that time, I had not witnessed a force like the one before me, with its cold steel, its stern faces, and the silent resolve in their eyes.
They entered the village with the measured strides of soldiers, their steeds responding to every command with the same stoicism. I, filled with the instinctive curiosity of a young horse, couldn’t help but follow Callum's movements as he led me to safety in the stable, my eyes fixed on the soldiers who had passed us, the weight of their purpose still clinging to them. They were far from home, yet there was a steadiness to their stride that reminded me of the way the earth remains resolute, regardless of the storms that may roll in from the distant horizon.
The Roman soldiers, I learnt later, were not on a raid, but a routine patrol. They were sent from Hadrian’s Wall, a great stone fortification built in the north of our land by the Romans. It ran along the border of their empire, marking the dividing line between two cultures: the Romans who brought order and civilization to the lands they occupied and the indigenous tribes of the north who considered those lands their birthright. They carried with them a quiet strength and a determination that was mirrored in the horses they rode.
Their presence was felt in our village. They had heard of the generous harvests and the kindness of the inhabitants. The farmers who welcomed them provided them with food and drink. The men seemed relieved by the peace they found within the borders of our peaceful valley, the contrast evident in their faces. As for the horses, we watched, our own sense of strength resonating with theirs. We are, after all, born for power, for duty, and for the unbreakable bond we share with humans, regardless of where they come from or what lands they conquer. We felt their presence but we remained unchanged in our duties, our focus still upon tending the fields, hauling carts, and bearing the burdens of our human friends.
The Romans came and they went, leaving behind a ripple of memories. A couple of their horses, I heard, had stayed with the farmers in exchange for provisions and fresh grass. I could see them at a distance, their magnificent physiques and gleaming coats contrasting sharply against the pale hues of the Highland hills. It was a testament to their resilience, their unwavering dedication, and the natural kinship between us.
But beyond the occasional encounter with the Roman patrol, Hayfield, in 134 CE, continued with its unhurried routine, our existence bound by the rhythm of the seasons, the call of the human who held the reins, and the comforting sound of hooves striking the earth, echoing the passage of time. The years melted into each other like snowflakes in winter, creating an uninterrupted flow of our existence – a life of service, duty, and unspoken gratitude for the gifts bestowed upon us.
Our lives in Hayfield, in 134 CE, mirrored a simpler, gentler time, untouched by the political turmoil or societal change that defined the larger world. Yet, it was precisely this simplicity that resonated deeply within us, this profound sense of being intertwined with the lives of our human friends, that gave us a sense of peace and purpose. Our world was a microcosm of a vast world, a space where our purpose was clear, and the love we felt was genuine. It was a world of green fields, sturdy stables, and loyal friendships, a world of unwavering tradition, and, most importantly, a world of quiet, unhurried grace.
As I sit here, reflecting upon the days gone by, I can't help but smile. The world beyond Hayfield may have been filled with changes, upheavals, and wars. Yet, we, the horses of Hayfield, found solace and meaning in our simple existence. We had no need to explore lands far away, or learn the intricacies of human conflicts. Our world was small, yet it held within it all the essentials for a happy, meaningful life – a life dedicated to purpose, love, and a deep-seated understanding with the human world around us. And isn't that, after all, what makes every day, every year, every century worth living for?
Thank you, dear readers, for joining me on this journey into the past. Next time, we’ll explore the events that happened in 135 CE – an year full of change, uncertainty, and some unforeseen journeys that took us, the horses of Hayfield, beyond our peaceful haven and onto paths uncharted and uncertain. Stay tuned for a thrilling adventure.
