Hello everyone, and welcome to my Equiworld! It’s me, Emma, your favourite grey draught horse with a flair for history. I’m back with another installment from my beloved Hayfield near Aberdeen. It’s a crisp morning, the dew clinging to the grass, the smell of heather heavy in the air - the kind of day that makes a horse's heart sing. But I'm not just here to enjoy the scenery; we’re going to dive into a thrilling bit of history, a journey back to the year 637 AD!
Can you imagine? The world was a vastly different place then, full of mystery and change. No tractors to help with the farming, no cars to take us whizzing along the roads. Just our strong legs and our trusty riders, facing the challenges of a life without modern conveniences.
To begin our journey, we must first travel back in time, leaving behind our comfy hay and warm stables. Let's envision ourselves in 637 AD, on the cusp of the early Middle Ages, in a time known for its warrior kings and grand conquests. The Romans have already departed, leaving behind a scattered tapestry of kingdoms vying for dominance.
Standing in the midst of Hayfield, my home, I can almost feel the echoes of history beneath my hooves. The air is charged with the scent of damp earth, woodsmoke and leather.
And then there's me! I’m a young mare, strong and spirited, just coming into my prime. I am, like most of my kind, owned by the chieftain of our tribe, a kind and imposing figure, who relies on my strength to help him farm and fight. Yes, dear readers, this is a time when horses like myself aren't just for gentle riding. We’re the backbone of this community, essential for everything from hauling plows to carrying warriors to battle.
It's a busy life, and a fulfilling one, though it’s a world where danger can lurk around every corner. Even in peaceful Hayfield, we have to be ever vigilant, keeping an eye out for raiders and wild beasts. It’s a constant reminder of the delicate balance between civilisation and wilderness that exists here.
This year, 637, holds a significant historical event, one that would reverberate through the ages: the capture of Jerusalem. For my readers not familiar with the details, let me bring you into the world of the time:
It’s a year marked by the rise of Islam and its spreading influence. The forces of the Rashidun Caliphate, driven by their faith and vision, have pushed their way out of the Arabian desert and onto the world stage. And their eyes are now set on the Holy City of Jerusalem, the symbolic heart of Christianity.
Though I live miles away in the Highlands of Scotland, the whispers of war travel like wildfire. We are too far north to be affected directly by the clash of these mighty empires, but even our isolated existence is tinged with the awareness of a world in flux. Our village, though small and rural, isn't immune to the ripples of great changes that are unfolding across the continents.
The story of the capture of Jerusalem is told to us around the flickering firelight. These stories speak of valiant knights, courageous rulers, and battles that shake the very earth. There's something stirring and magnificent about the grand tale, but a hint of unease and foreboding pervades the telling.
We hear whispers of fierce battles, the clang of swords, the cries of warriors, and the echoes of faith, all woven into a grand tapestry of history. This event, though far from my quiet village, adds a new layer to my understanding of the world.
Despite this dramatic change far, far away, our lives remain relatively peaceful in Hayfield. We go about our routines, cultivating our crops, tending to our livestock, preparing for the harsh Scottish winters. Horses, after all, are creatures of routine. But with the stories of the great battles swirling around us, it is hard not to be aware that the world is in constant motion, that new forces are at play, shaping the landscape of the future.
I imagine horses of Jerusalem, stronger and bolder than most, witnessing firsthand the fearsome might of the Caliphate, seeing their city fall and witnessing a momentous shift in the history of faith and power. I feel a pang of empathy for my distant equine cousins, imagining their emotions, their anxieties, their hopes as the city changes hands.
While these grand events unfold in other lands, the world around me in 637 AD remains grounded in simple routines. Every morning begins with the sun rising, and with it, a day of labor. I’m yoked to a heavy wooden plow, the cold, wet soil turning under my hooves, coaxing forth sustenance for the coming winter. The strength of my legs, the grace of my stride, become an offering to the gods of abundance, the promise of a bountiful harvest.
There’s an indescribable joy in being a horse of the land, feeling the raw earth beneath my feet, the scent of fertile soil in my nostrils. This work, this responsibility, binds me to my people.
After the long, exhausting day in the fields, I’m greeted with a pat on the flank and a few handfuls of oats. The rhythm of life here, though physically demanding, brings its own peace. There’s a sense of shared purpose, of interconnectedness. We depend on each other, horse and rider, a partnership that transcends language, the bond forged in sweat and shared hardship.
Sometimes, late at night, when the stars are clear and bright, and my work is done, I watch my chieftain, our clan leader, gazing into the distance. I feel a deep sense of loyalty towards him, a feeling shared by all of us in Hayfield. His fate, his strength, our well-being, are interwoven threads in the fabric of our life. He protects us, providing for us, and I, in turn, contribute my strength, my loyalty, and my unwavering support to the harmony of our lives.
We know that other kingdoms exist in these far-off lands, that we share our planet with diverse peoples and cultures. It is a complex and intricate world, full of both harmony and discord. It is a world of clashing ideas and ideologies, of powerful ambitions and humble aspirations. And within this larger world, our little village in the Scottish highlands holds its own, our quiet rhythms and unwavering routine a small piece of a larger mosaic.
The stories of the year 637 resonate deeply within me, and it helps me understand the power of our connection as humans and horses. It’s in these times, times of great change and unrest, that the bond between us deepens.
There's so much more I could tell you about the horses of 637, about our roles in the communities we lived in, the tasks we performed, the ways we helped build a civilization. But the evening is drawing in, the twilight casting long shadows, and I must soon be returning to my stall.
Until next time, dear readers, keep your hooves well-planted and your hearts open to the whispers of history.
For all you equine enthusiasts out there, visit us at Equiworld, www.equiworld.org. It’s a website for horse lovers, a digital haven where you can find endless stories, articles, information, and all things equestriana!
Emma signing off!
