The Red Horse - A Squire’s tale by Deborah Baker
The colt was born in Seville in Andalusia in 1450. He was an Andalusian. Bred by the Carthusian monks, (as one of the few who could read and write), who jealously guarded the pedigrees of those they bred. He was unusually a dark chestnut. Red, the colour of strength and courage. The colour also of blood, danger and sacrifice. He was a destrier, a war horse, to be ridden by only the most wealthy and powerful of knights, as he would cost a small fortune.
From the age of two he slowly began his training for battle. Slowly, because the Andalusian is late to mature, reaching full height and strength at 6 years old. He was trained to tolerate the noise and smell of battle by practising in mock fights and tournaments and by stepping over corpses. He learned to respond to the leg aids and a shift in weight leaving his riders’ hands free to wield a sword or lance.
He was also taught the leap and backward kick, the capriole, which would destroy an enemy behind him. He learned to turn at the slightest command. He learned to carry a fully armed knight while also wearing his own armour. He would grow to be a powerful stallion. Intelligent, swift of foot, and loyal to his trainer.
His name was Le Rouge. As a stallion, he made his displeasure evident with those he deemed unworthy of his tolerance. His head and neck would adopt a serpentine appearance, as with ears flattened, he would strike and his teeth make painful connection with human flesh. He grew tall standing at 16.2 hands ( 5 ft 6ins ) at the withers, and thus he was destined to carry a tall knight.
So it was in 1456 when he was 6 years old and fully trained, and soon after the Wars of the Roses had begun, he was shipped to England to be the destrier of Richard Neville 16th Earl of Warwick. My Lord Warwick stood tall at 6 feet 4 but being exceedingly wealthy, could of course afford the very best. Le Rouge was selected specifically for him by one of his emissaries who visited Seville.
Le Rouge’s trainer, who had travelled with him, displayed his qualities at Warwick Castle on the tournament field. He warned my Lord to be cautious initially while the great horse became acquainted with him. My Lord merely laughed, ignored the initial flattening of Le Rouge’s ears, swung up into the deep high pommelled saddle and put the horse through his paces. The horse was indeed magnificent.
His fine coat glowed in the summer sun. He could leap, wheel on his haunches, and respond to the slightest command of my Lord instantly. He indeed pronounced himself well pleased with his purchase and a close partnership grew with Le Rouge over the next few years.
The Wars of the Roses between the Houses of York and Lancaster were cruel and bitter. Le Rouge carried My Lord Warwick through many battles until, in the bitter winter weather of February 17, 1461 he carried him during a heavy defeat at St Albans. Thousands perished and My Lord gathered the tattered remnants of his army and went West to meet with Earl March (the Future King Edward IV) and Welsh supporters in Ludlow. The journey was hard on men and horses. The horse and knights’ armour being heavy, travelled in wagons drawn by heavy horses to spare the destriers for battle.
Even so Le Rouge’s fine coat grew caked with mud and sweat and he struggled to withstand the constant wet and cold. The squires constructed makeshift canvas shelters when they paused to make camp and did their best to groom, feed and water the destrier as he was crucial to My Lord Warwick’s very survival. My Lord left Le Rouge with his retainers at Warwick while he travelled south arriving in London on February 27 with the future King Edward. The King and Earl Warwick then travelled back North to engage with the Lancastrians and Le Rouge went North also.
At Ferrybridge on February 27 Earl Warwick sustained a leg wound from an arrow which made combat almost impossible. Then, two days later, on Palm Sunday February 29 1461, in driving sleet and snow, came the Battle of Towton. Some say the bloodiest and most brutal battle on English soil ever to have taken place. Earl Warwick’s’ forces outnumbered and exhausted by close combat on slippery ground, were losing.
Sensing his men were poised for flight my Lord Warwick made a desperate choice with which to rally them. He dismounted Le Rouge, by this time standing with his proud chest, dipped head hanging and flanks heaving from fatigue. He looked into the stallion’s eyes acknowledging the great horse’s courage. Then, taking his dagger he drew it swiftly across the destriers' throat to show his men he would stand with them whatever the cost. The red horse’s legs buckled, he crumpled and crashed to the ground.
As the light was leaving his eyes, I heard my Lord whisper to him. “I will not forget you.”
And so, at Lord Warwick’s command, a great red horse was carved into the red soil of Warwickshire on an escarpment for all to see. Yet memories fade and over the centuries the grass grew back and covered the red horse until nothing was left except legend.