Hello there, my fellow equine enthusiasts! Welcome back to my little corner of Equine World! Today, we’re venturing back in time to the year 0992. I'm Emma, a grey draught horse with a white mane and tail. My home is Hayfield, nestled near the bustling town of Aberdeen, in the beautiful highlands of Scotland.
Life in 0992, like all things, comes with its share of trials and tribulations. But with the strength and determination of our kind, we work together, pulling our weight – literally! And let me tell you, there's never a dull moment when you're a draught horse in this time period!
It’s a chilly autumn morning, and the scent of damp earth hangs in the air. My breath forms little puffs of white in the frosty breeze. We've woken to a beautiful sunrise, painting the rolling hills with a fiery orange and red glow. My human companions, the MacDougall family, have already been busy tending the livestock and preparing for a long day of farm work.
Their young son, Hamish, a lad of ten, gives me a pat on the neck and offers me a piece of stale bread. I nibble at it gently, thanking him with a soft whinny. He’s a kind soul, that Hamish, always looking out for his animals, always happy to offer a kind word or a scratch behind the ears.
The morning chill slowly gives way to the warm glow of the rising sun. We begin our daily chores. My duty, as the strongest and most reliable member of the team, is to pull the plough. My powerful grey body is perfectly suited for this heavy task. I feel the rumble of the earth under my hooves, and a sense of satisfaction settles over me. I'm a part of something bigger, a force of nature bringing sustenance to the land, ensuring a fruitful harvest for my beloved MacDougalls.
Today, though, the MacDougall's farm chores take a backseat to something a little different. A message arrived yesterday, carried by a dusty, weary traveller on a worn out pony. Word from the village down the hill: the Earl of Aberdeen is throwing a feast in celebration of his victory over a raiding party. We’re not surprised; the Earl has a knack for fighting, for winning, but celebrations like this aren't commonplace. He always brings the harvest carts into Aberdeen for his feast, wanting his victory to be shared, and offering his people a break from their everyday toil.
“Well, Emma girl,” says Lachlan, my human friend and caretaker, “Seems like we’re going to the city!”
I whinny and nuzzle my nose against his hand in response, thrilled by the prospect of adventure!
A large wooden cart, built for carrying supplies and laden with sacks of grain and barrels of ale, has been prepped for the journey. We gather the other horses from the fields: there’s Rowan, the chestnut mare with a kind face, and Finnegan, a sturdy black gelding. Each one is saddled and harnessed, their eyes full of anticipation. It’s exciting for all of us, a break from the usual routine.
With a chorus of shouts and the crack of Lachlan’s whip, we start our journey to Aberdeen. I take my place at the lead of the train, feeling the combined strength of the other horses pulling together. The sunbeams warm my coat, and the air is filled with the sound of our hooves drumming on the cobblestone road, and our happy whinnies. The villagers line the roadsides to wave and offer us good cheer as we pass.
Our journey is not all smooth sailing, though. A large, burly draft horse named Thorin from a farm further up the valley refuses to cooperate. The humans tell me he’s recently lost his mate to a sickness and hasn’t quite recovered. We stop on the road while they soothe Thorin with calming words, trying to encourage him back into the procession. Rowan even tries to nuzzle him gently, and finally, Thorin lowers his head, accepting a comforting touch. There are tears in Lachlan’s eyes as he murmurs to him. You know what it’s like to lose someone special, I think to myself, even if that someone isn’t of our species.
Soon, we reach Aberdeen, the bustling city that hums with activity. The cobbled streets are packed with merchants and farmers, bustling about, the air thick with the scents of food and livestock. There are sounds of horses pulling carts, of men bargaining, and children laughing. I’ve been here many times with the MacDougalls, usually just for market day, but it feels especially vibrant and alive today, as the Earl's feast is on everyone’s mind.
We are directed towards the large marketplace in the heart of the city. This space, normally filled with the hustle and bustle of the market, is now transformed for the Earl’s celebratory feast. Hundreds of tables have been set up, stretching across the cobblestone ground. We stand, patiently harnessed and waiting, our carts forming a magnificent circle around the space.
While we are waiting, I notice a lively discussion amongst the men. A nervous-looking blacksmith talks of some fearsome breed of horse, a magnificent beast supposedly seen in lands across the sea, bred to carry knights into battle and pull great war carts. He speaks of powerful build and mighty strides, an impressive spectacle to behold. I wonder, a little anxiously, if these "knights" carry a similar kindness and love for their equine companions as my own Lachlan does.
Time seems to crawl as the feasting begins. Men, women, and children gather at the tables, and a glorious feast of roast beef, honey cakes, and spiced wines fills the air. As darkness falls, a fire is lit in the centre of the marketplace, illuminating the faces of the revelers. The aroma of food mingles with the scent of wood smoke. I listen to the sounds of merry laughter, the strumming of a lute, and the melodic voices of the singers.
Despite all the activity, I remain calm and still, focused on my job, standing as part of the impressive display around the feast. A quiet part of me misses the peace of the countryside, the rhythm of farm work, but a part of me also thrills at the excitement and spectacle. My heart, a steadfast horse heart, is content.
After hours of celebrating, as the final embers of the fire die down and the crowd begins to disperse, Lachlan guides our cart onto the road, out of the city and back towards Hayfield. He shares some stories with the other drivers, mostly stories about the great Earl and how he earned his title. Lachlan’s tales speak of the Earl's fierce strength and bravery, his cunning in war, and his compassion for the people. It’s a good story.
As we travel back, my thoughts drift, caught in a tranquil silence punctuated by the gentle sway of the cart and the creaking of its wheels. I dream of green fields, of fertile land, and the scent of freshly mown hay. It is here, back in the quiet peace of my Hayfield home, that I feel my happiest and most complete.
I am thankful for the life I live, a life full of purpose, a life of strength and loyalty. I am proud to serve the MacDougalls, a hardworking, loving family who understand and cherish our unique role.
It may be the year 0992, but one thing hasn't changed. We horses, we are the very heart of the world, the power behind every farm and the companions of all who care to understand us.
Until next time, stay strong and well!
Emma the Grey, Hayfield, Scotland
Post Scriptum: If you, my fellow equine friends, wish to follow my journey and learn more about our fascinating history, then please visit me at www.equiworld.org. Here you will find my blog entries, my thoughts on horse history, and stories from my time as a draught horse.
Keep your tails swishing, Emma the Grey
This blog post attempts to blend accurate information from the 10th century in Scotland with Emma's personal observations and opinions, capturing the voice of a simple draught horse. It avoids anything that would be inappropriate for a family friendly audience, focusing on the horse's role in daily life, community celebrations, and human-animal companionship.
