Savage Nation – Page 2 – THE LEGEND OF THE GREAT HORSE trilogy

Book I: The horse with a demon’s name

This excerpt is from Eclipsed by Shadow, Book #1 of The Legend of the Great Horse trilogy, an adventure through history―on horseback.

The scene is set in ancient Rome (100 AD): Meagan meets the Emperor’s infamous chariot horse, Cerberus …

“Now that no one buys our votes, the public has cast off its cares; the people that once bestowed commands, consulships, legions, and all else, now meddles no more and longs eagerly for just two things
—bread and circuses.”

—Juvenal (c. 60-140) Roman satirist

THE CHARIOT DRIVER stood and offered his hand. “Would you like to see Cerberus? I will give you the honor.” His handsome smile was warmth in the cold air. “My name is Braedin.”

She took his hand casually, but the heat of his grasp went through her. “Braedin! I like that. My name is Meagan. They rhyme, sort of … Meagan, Braedin.” She bit her tongue to stop talking.

Together they walked out of the compound, past the curved hindquarters of the marble horses protecting the gates. Beyond them, the outline of buildings topped the surrounding hills, a moonlit cityscape framed by stone. Hard-packed road passed between a circle of pens and an adjoining work-shop. Inside could be seen a shadowy row of neatly stowed chariots.

They passed the workshop area and approached the paddocks. Out of the darkness a stallion’s scream pierced the night air. A horse charged the fence. The driver smiled as dirt flew around him and announced, “The warrior Cerberus!”

Meagan watched in disapproval. “Horses do not have to be like this, Braedin. You would be amazed what some carrots and a nice bridle can do.”

The driver watched the angry stallion with admiration. Hooves smacked against the wood fence in front of him. “The greatest son of Pegasus, the Thundering Horse of Jove! If I had three more like Cerberus our team would win without challenge!”

“Actually Braedin, I think you would have four dead horses.”

“You are wrong. Were the others as strong as mighty Cerberus, he would pull with them. Cerberus is a warrior. He only hates weakness.”

Common horse sense told Meagan that the stallion only hated rivals, but she decided against pressing the point. Instead she watched a small shadow dance toward them in the moonlight, approaching with a comical jig. A goat came up to the fence and shoved his wiry neck through the timber poles, hoping for a handout. It is not uncommon for a horse to bond with a smaller animal, and a transformation came over the stallion as he sniffed his tiny companion. Meagan reached to pet the goat and Cerberus laid back his ears. She stepped back. “So, they do not fight because this is a strong warrior goat? I mean, the horse does not hate everything. You can see he has a nice side.”

“We are not interested in the stallion’s nice side,” the driver said sharply. “Cerberus is not the Emperor’s favorite stallion for his nice side.”

“This is the Emperor’s favorite?”

“Yes. From the day Cerberus savaged Titus’ Blues and scattered them across the track. A glorious day.”

Meagan made herself stay silent.

“It was the same month the horse became a centenarius!” The charioteer’s voice was a boast. “Emperor Trajan gave orders that Cerberus would always run in his team. Trajan was a general of the legions, and Cerberus is to represent the military strength that now rules Rome!” The boast died. “Of course, that was many months ago. And many horses.”

“I am sorry, what is a ‘centenarius?’”

“A horse that has won a hundred races. I drove Cerberus to half of those victories before he became too fierce.” His voice grew boastful again. “One of my fans is a poet named Martial. He gave me an epitaph for when I am killed.” The driver stood straighter and recited: “Here lies Braedin, the glory of the roaring Circus, the object of Rome’s cheers and her short-lived darling. The Fates, counting not years but victories, judged me an old man.”

Meagan listened appreciatively. “That is very nice, Braedin, for when you are killed.” She watched the goat grazing quietly by the stallion. At least the horse was not insane, she realized, ending doubts. “I think Cerberus wants friends. Horses do, you know.”

Eclipsed by Shadow (Book #1 of the trilogy) won national awards including the Eric Hoffer Award for best Young Adult Fiction, and the Mom’s Choice Award for best family-friendly Young Adult Fantasy.

__________

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#57- The Chariot Driver

When the driver did not leave, Meagan sat up straighter. Maybe some Romans were friendly, she thought. One shouldn’t judge based on a few. “Have you been a driver very long?” – Eclipsed by Shadow (excerpt)

A lone shape approached from the shadows of the barracks. “Of an evening!” the dark figure called. “May I join you?”

“Of course!” Meagan called back. Horace usually retired early, but she would be glad of his company.

Instead it was the Emperor’s chariot driver who approached. He knelt, two eyes shining in the moonlight. “Are you planning your place among the stars?”

She swallowed, unable to think of anything sensible to say in English, much less Latin.

“I have seen you here before. You like this little grove. Are you a worshipper of wood nymphs?”

“Oh, I am. They are so clean.” When the driver did not leave, Meagan sat up straighter. Maybe some Romans were friendly, she thought. One shouldn’t judge based on a few. “Have you been a driver very long?”

“All my life. I have driven three seasons for the Emperor. I drove Cerberus to his greatest victories.”

“Did you say ‘Sir-Bearus?’ Is that one of the horses?”

The driver laughed. “I do not mean the demon hound that guards Hades! Of course Cerberus is a horse!”

“Oh,” Meagan said politely. “You named a horse after a demon?”

“Yes, the three-headed dog-beast who devours all who try to escape the Underworld.” The driver spoke with admiration. “Our stallion Cerberus does the same to any who try to pass him.”

“I see,” she answered, trying to sound impressed. Then she asked casually, “have you seen any new black horses lately … say, a really tall mare?”

“We keep no mares in the Emperor’s stables,” the driver said curtly. “We favor stallions.” He lowered his voice. “I wonder, how does it feel to know the time of your death?”

A flash of panic went through her. “Well, I do not know that yet.”

“The Festival of Mars begins in six days. Are you not sad, not miserable?”

“I suppose.” Meagan felt a chill beyond the cold. “Are you trying to be nice?”

The young man’s teeth shone in the moonlight.

Excerpted from Eclipsed by Shadow, the award-winning 1st volume of “The Legend of the Great Horse” trilogy. (Hrdbk pg. 138)

Book II: The Golden Spark will be published soon.

Read the 1st Chapter online!

#56- The Emperor’s Quadriga

THERE IS MORE to chariot racing than its appearance of runaway horses, Meagan soon learned. The game was more about survival than speed. Charioteers rode as upon a galloping skateboard, using their weight to change direction. Communication with the horses was limited to slaps and pulls.

Of course, the true horseman’s challenge of chariot racing was in keeping the animals sound. The most popular chariots were teams of four horses, the Quadrigas, which meant sixteen delicate legs exposed to overreaching and missteps, apart from the disaster of collisions. Because of these risks, chariot horses were not raced until five years of age.

As spring took hold the workout track was swamped with spectators hoping for a glimpse of the Emperor’s team. Ajax and Saxon were now sound, with only bare spots to mark their injuries. Trotting out with floating strides, the recovered Saxon was applauded for his beauty. With his large eyes and dished profile, the sleek stallion resembled an Arabian, the oldest pure breed of horse. He had been born in the fiery deserts of Persia, and each year a fleet of mares sailed the fabled stallion’s blood back to his homeland. Indeed Saxon had one of the most beautiful heads Meagan had ever seen, if the horse would only stop tossing it.

Ajax was a special favorite of the guards. The men stiffened in salute whenever the stallion jogged past, as if to a wartime hero. The short-backed, burly horse had been raised in a barracks in Gaul. He was trained to a simple, brutal code, and was eager in the extreme.

The stallion Cerberus was a daily spectacle, scattering grooms into his flocks of admirers. The Emperor’s infamous favorite had been born free in a Greek village’s semi-wild band of horses. In his youth the stallion had been allowed to choose his mares peacefully, but when the new Emperor Trajan’s preference for black horses was made known the stallion had been hauled away to Rome. It was clear from the stallion’s flashing limbs and teeth that Rome was not forgiven.

Excerpted from Eclipsed by Shadow, the award-winning 1st volume of “The Legend of the Great Horse” trilogy. (Hrdbk pg. 145)

Book II: The Golden Spark will be published soon.

Read the 1st Chapter online!

#55- Stranded in Ancient Rome

When she was not being reprimanded or ordered about, Meagan was generally considered not to exist. – Eclipsed by Shadow (excerpt)

Lost in the year 100 AD…

When she was not being reprimanded or ordered about, Meagan was generally considered not to exist. The fact of her station was impressed upon her by the Emperor’s driver. Handsome and popular, the young man was a celebrity. Well-dressed businessmen accompanied the star athlete at all times, and groups of admirers waited for him outside the courtyard gates. The first time Meagan saw the gray-eyed driver, she gave him a nervous greeting. The driver strode past her without the slightest acknowledgment.

Someone did notice her, however. The scarred soldier, Horace, came to talk whenever he saw Meagan in the courtyard. Sometimes he would be gone for days and reappear with a new limp or nasty cut. “These scratches?” he would say, joking. “I get them training. Careless of me.”

At first the man’s hulking presence frightened her, and she avoided looking at the dried, shriveled place where his eye should have been. Still, his was the only friendship Meagan could claim, and she learned simply to look at the eye that was looking at her and to avoid the map of scars.

“You take many baths,” the soldier told her one day. (Actually, he pantomimed the splashes Meagan took in the courtyard’s fountain.) “You are so clean. Not like the others.”

She smiled and nodded, her usual response to the language. Classroom Latin had not stressed conversation.

Horace bent down to unlace his sandal and nudged it towards her with a mud-spattered toe. “Like my new sandals? I got them from a Macedonian cobbler. Good, no?” The man flipped the sandal over to show an underside studded with iron nails. “They have hobnails too, for a practical Roman. It saves the soles.”

Meagan nodded blankly.

Horace sighed and picked up his sandal to show her. “Sandalio,” he said in a good-natured baritone, and knelt to lace it. He stood and plucked his garment. “Tun-i-ca.”

“Oh! Your tunic is …” Meagan searched vainly for an adjective.

“Elegans,” Horace prompted her, grinning. Then he held up his thick fingers, counting patiently, “Unus, duo, tres…”

With his eye-patch, Horace was remotely handsome in a mashed sort of way, and Meagan tactfully encouraged him to wear it. Regardless, when Horace made her laugh she found it easy to forget his imperfections. Soon Meagan forgot academic Latin terms such as imperfect and present tense—words that described imperial Rome quite well—and instead rehearsed the names of things explained by Horace.