Medieval Era (1050-1500) – THE LEGEND OF THE GREAT HORSE trilogy

“It is surprising that horsemen took 1,500 years to think up something so simple. One is reluctantly driven to the distasteful conclusion that we are not really a very bright set of people.”–Charles Chenevix-Trench (1914-2003), A History of Horsemanship

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One positive thing about the Dark Ages was that horseback ‘barbarians’ invaded, pillaged, and burned using a new development that today we call stirrups–an innovation that revolutionized cavalry and greatly eased saddle-soreness.

Stirrups increased cavalry’s effectiveness against infantry and allowed for the creation of new heavy cavalry with lances. Horses could be ridden faster and for longer distances: the gallop is easier for the animal if its rider stands in stirrups, and stirrups make trotting much more pleasant.

People had ridden in saddles for over a thousand years without stirrups, and the intellectual tone of the era makes it likely people would have gone another thousand without the bracing illustration of an arrow-spewing nomad bearing down at a fast gallop. The device was quickly copied and by 600 AD were spreading throughout Europe.

NOTHING HARMLESS FEELS so much like dying as having one’s breath well and truly knocked out. Heaving for air without result, Meagan fought panic as she waited for a breath. When it finally came, she leaned onto her hands and panted in great gulps.

Sounds of men came through the darkness, their speech fast and urgent. Meagan steadied her breathing and listened as words rose and fell around her, foreign words spoken in crisp, rapid strokes. The voices approached and hands gripped the fabric of her tunic, inspecting, pulling at the folds and letting them go.

A light colored horse was led forward, a faint apparition glowing in the darkness. Meagan reached out a hand and ran it along familiar contours. It was a pony, a short but fully grown equine. She was lifted and pushed onto the pony’s back, where she instinctively reached for the reins lying low on the animal’s neck. The stadium and chariots had evaporated into the night air. The last Meagan remembered was the rush of white wings, and the world seemed to melt and reassemble into new solid forms. Now Rome was a memory.

A knot of horsemen rode past Meagan. She could see faces in the light of the torches they carried, Asian faces, parched and grim in the flickering redness. Her pony mount swished its tail impatiently, and Meagan automatically reached to pat the animal’s shoulder. Her hand felt an irregular patch in the hair, and she leaned over to see. Branded on the shoulder, barely visible in the torchlight, was a crescent symbol over a circle.

Voices were receding into the night. Meagan allowed the pony to join the sound of hoof beats flowing through the warm darkness. All she cared to know was that she had moved closer to her own time—so far, there was no evidence. One thing was certain: she was not yet back home.