As Old As The Hills... by Shirley Cherry
My ancestors roamed the hills above Tysoe. Oaks, hazel and ash grew in abundance, birds filled the branches with song, while wild boar rootled beneath, and roe deer nibbled the leafy foliage. My father was the lead stallion. My mother, the matriarch of the herd, sensed I was destined for greatness. Perhaps there was magic abroad when I was conceived, maybe a druid cast a spell, or a lightning bolt stuck the hills. Either way, I was marked out as ‘special’. My coat, a brilliant, fiery red glinted in the sun. As a yearling I was self-conscious and tried to conceal myself in the undergrowth.
But it wasn’t just my colour that set me apart. I was several hands higher than my peers, stronger too. Before long I towered over my father, measuring 16hh at my withers. There was little point in hiding now! The people living in the dwellings below became intrigued. They tried to catch me, but I could see and sense them coming long before they could see me.
As time went on, I grew more confident. I was young and feisty. I liked nothing better than to challenge other young colts to race me. We galloped and galloped, heads held high, hearts pumping, hooves thundering, our nostrils glowing red, our manes and tails streaming in the wind. I outclassed them all. Unbeknown to me, I had caught the eye of the chief’s son, Tiw. He was a gangly youth with a shock of dark blonde hair. Both his father and mother were Anglo-Saxon. He was a born horseman, he sensed my spirit would not be easily cowed, so he set about wooing me.
He observed me closely, tracked my movements and discovered my favourite haunts. He called to me, “Come here Rufus, my beauty. See what I’ve got for you.” He left out tasty morsels to tempt me, I had a weakness for sweet chestnuts. Gradually in time we became friends. No, more than friends. We found a kinship in one another. A bond that would last us a lifetime and beyond. I allowed Tiw to sit on my back and ride me. We became inseparable. Heads turned when we walked past, this spirited red stallion mounted by this golden- haired, athletic youth. We were brave and fearless defending our own. Tiw and I used our strength, speed and cunning to overcome our adversaries. We were elite warriors and heroic.
These were lawless, violent times. Viking raids became more frequent. They took our food and animals, along with men, women and children forcing them into slavery. It was a sad day when my master was seized by the Vikings and carried off. I feared I would never see him again. I managed to escape the fray by leaping over their spears and escaped to the woods on the escarpment where I hid. I cried, I couldn’t bear to be parted from my master, he had shown me such love and kindness. I knew I would never find another like him, so I determined to rescue him. I tracked the raiders who had looted the village, following them at a distance. They were a mean band, reckless and undisciplined. They got drunk celebrating their success on pitchers of mead.
Under cover of night, I ventured into their camp. I found the enclosure where Tiw was being held and whinnied softly for him. He replied to my call. “Rufus, my clever lad, you’ve come for me!” I nibbled through the cords at his wrists and ankles. A shout went up, one of the Vikings stirred from his drunken stupor and raised the alarm. Tiw held on to my neck as I turned swiftly away, then he swung up on my back.
Together we charged the Viking. I kicked and tramped him. My blood was up, anger pulsed through my veins. Tiw grabbed a spear, together we charged the other captors. The rest of them fled. We returned to the other prisoners and freed them. Then we galloped to the next town, where as luck would have it, Aethelflaed, the eldest daughter of Alfred the Great, had just arrived with her warriors. Tiw was admitted to her presence and told her about the bloody Viking raid and the hostages they had taken prisoner. Her warriors set off to avenge them, Tiw and I leading the way. We tracked down the invaders who had fled, suffice to say they never saw another dawn.
After that Tiw and I became favourites of our Lady of Merica, she was a fierce leader and inspired her warriors. “Awaken now, my warriors take hold of your shields,” she said, “Resolve upon valour, fight at the forefront, strive in the spirit.” We served her for many years. She presented us with gifts, a handsome helmet for Tiw and a harness decorated with precious garnets for me. We were fêted and revered. Whenever people felt threatened, they would call upon us to come to their aid. Legends grew up around us. They said we must have been gods to have rescued the hostages. I became known as the Red Horse of Tysoe. When I finally departed this life, the people I’d rescued wanted to honour me to keep my memory alive. They decided to cut a horse into the escarpment where I used to roam and where my ancestors dwelt before me. I was to be remembered, my image scoured into the very earth itself.
So it is that tales of heroism and of equine valour have been passed down through the ages. How Tiw, my master, came to be known as an Anglo-Saxon god of war and gave his name to the village which nestles just below the escarpment. While I, Rufus, the Red Horse incarnate, became a talisman for Tysoe, keeping watch over the inhabitants of this special place where magic and good fortune still hold sway to this very day... A story as old as the hills.