by Stacy Gregg
11th December, 1493
It has rained throughout the night, and as the day progressed the rain became harder still. I watched the winds grow in strength and whip the sails about with such fury, I thought they might rip clean off the masts.
My horses had no shelter. When the skies above us roared with thunder and the sea made the ship rise and pitch, I could see they were terrified, but there was nothing I could do. I had to try to keep the caravel on course.
The winds were freezing cold and as wave after wave came over the bow of the ship I was soaked to the skin.
When I sighted the island in the distance, I screamed, “Land ahoy!” even though there was no one to hear my voice except my horses. The storm was raging all around us by then and it was hard to see what lay ahead.
The winds pushed us towards the shore, but the waves seemed to fight against us and thrust us away. I kept the wind at my back and steered again towards a bay. We were close enough now that I could see a beach, the sandy shore arcing like a horseshoe ahead of us.
We were going to make it!
“Cara!” I called out to my faithful boatswain. “We have done it! We are—”
And that was when I felt the tremor, like an earthquake beneath me. I was thrown across the deck so hard that I thought I would fall off the side of the ship. The caravel lurched to the right, and then banked to the left so steeply that the sails dipped to the water. We had struck rocks beneath the surface at full speed!
I left the ship’s wheel and made my way below deck. The hull had split clean open like a coconut and we were taking on water fast!
I got back on deck as swiftly as I could. The caravel was listing to the left and it was hard to stand up. I kept falling over and slipping as I fought my way to the starboard side. The poor horses were still tethered to the railings by their ropes and they were scrambling about as the ship lurched in the swell. Unless I cut them loose, they would go down with this ship.
I was halfway across the deck when the caravel gave another sickening lurch. I screamed and threw myself flat against the deck, then began to crawl the rest of the way on my belly, clinging to the boards with my fingers, holding on for dear life.
I ended up nearest to one of the stallions and I had to be careful not to be kicked as I edged my way up beside him. I had just pulled my knife out from my belt and was about to saw through his ropes when the ship gave another lurch. I screamed again as I was thrown hard against the railings. The stallion’s ropes saved me, otherwise I would have been thrown overboard. The ship righted itself briefly, creaking horribly as it did so, and I could stand again. We were low in the water, sinking further and further.
I cut through the stallion’s ropes and as soon as he was free he barged right past me, breaking through the railing with his front legs and plummeting down into the churning seas below. I watched him sink beneath the waves and then, in a great burst he broke the surface once more! He looked like a sea serpent, with only his head and neck above the mighty waves. He began swimming, his legs making huge thrusts, his ears pricked forward at the sight of the shoreline ahead of him.
“That’s it!” I shouted after him. “Swim! Swim!”
I cut the next stallion loose and then started on the mares, who were grouped further along the railing. By now the waves were washing over the bow.
Luckily, because the mares were tied in a cobra, all I had to do was release the main rope with swift cuts and they were free.
All except Cara. She was at the far end of the row by herself. The last rope that I needed to cut. By the time I reached her she was stamping and frothing, desperate to follow the others. My knife was blunted and I had to saw at the rope that held her headcollar. I had just cut through the last strands when I heard the creak of wood splitting and turned just in time to see the mast fall.
It came down like a tree felled in the forest – so fast and so violent, it was impossible to get out of the way. The thick wooden pole missed me, but I was struck by the sail and the next thing I knew I was being dragged over the side of the caravel. Caught in the ropes and canvas, trapped like a fish in a net, I was swept off the deck and into the sea below.
The blow of the sail had winded me. I inhaled seawater and choked on it, coughing hard. I got one last breath of air and then I was forced down again beneath the waves – the sail had me trapped!
Go down! I told myself. Swim down. And so I kicked out towards the sea floor until at last I felt free of the sail and then I swam upwards once more.
At the point when I truly thought I couldn’t hold my breath a moment longer I broke the surface, coughing and sputtering as I took in the glorious air!
And then I swam as hard as I could away from the caravel. I saw the sea swallow it up like a hungry shark devouring a fish, gulping it down. The deck disappeared and then the water seemed to boil and the mast was suctioned down too. There was nothing left.
I could make out the black shapes of the horses dotting the waves ahead of me, swimming hard for the shore.
I fought the waves as hard as I could and tried to swim too, but I was weak. My legs had no strength left and my feeble kicks were not taking me any closer to shore. I was struggling to stay above the waves as they pummelled me, pushing me under again and again. The shore was not far from me, but it might as well have been as far away as Spain.
I have heard that drowning is the best death; that you simply give yourself over to the quietness of the water and sink to nothingness.
I can tell you this is not true. I fought my death with every last fibre of my being. As the water filled my lungs, I kicked and struggled and did everything I could, but when a huge wave drove me under and held me there I knew in my heart that I would not be able to fight my way to the surface again. As I sank down, I opened my eyes, to look upon the dark sea that consumed me. All I could see was black water. And then something else. A white apparition coming towards me.
Cara! I could see her underbelly and her legs, thrashing their way through the inky sea. She was churning her way through the waves, away from the other horses and the shore, coming towards me.
Coming for me.
At the sight of her, I fought once more. I began to kick as hard as I could, struggling back up to the surface, my arms pulling for all they were worth.
I broke through the waves, lungs aching, gasping for air. Cara saw me and swam nearer still.
“I’m here!” I cried out. The sea kept pushing her back, but then a sudden wave swept me towards her. I grasped hold of her mane with my trembling hands. Cara snorted and blew as she trod water and I clambered onboard her back.
I was so very weak I thought I might lose my grip and slip off, so I bound my hands tight in the coarse rope of her mane.
We had been in the water for what seemed like forever and yet the shore never seemed to grow closer. The ocean was brutal and it kept pushing against us, but beneath me, Cara struggled on valiantly. Her noble head was raised up high as she crested wave after wave, fighting her way to the dark land that lay ahead.
I knew we had reached the shore at last when the waves turned to white foam all around us. Cara gave vigorous snorts as she dug deep into the sand with her hooves, driving forward through the surf until we were free of the sea.
I was so cold by then, I had lost all feeling in my limbs. My fingers were blue and I struggled to untangle my hands from her mane. I got them free and then lost my balance and fell to the sand. It was dry and warm and I lay there, retching seawater from my lungs and gasping in air, unable to believe that I was alive. I was too weak to move, and I let myself give in to exhaustion. The last thing I saw as I closed my eyes was Cara, shining white in the moonlight, standing watch over me.
My protector, my saviour, my friend.
Chosen
Five hundred years ago a Spanish caravel crashed into a reef trying to make an emergency landing in a storm. The ship was sunk but its captain, a young girl, made it to shore, along with seven horses – two stallions
and five mares. One of them was a mare with a white face, strange markings and blue eyes. Her name was Cara Blanca.
Cara Blanca became queen of the herd on this tiny island and for centuries her blood survived from generation to generation. Now her sole remaining ancestor was out there on the Bonefish Marshes and about to be struck by a tropical storm that would devastate everything in its path.
Annie was right – the Duchess was special. She was the last of the Medicine Hats. A living, breathing piece of history. And my fate was bound to her by a power that I didn’t understand, yet felt more fiercely than the wind that stung at my cheeks, or the rain that soaked my skin.
It was impossible to see where I was going and I kept stumbling as I moved forward. The wind was so strong that the gusts repeatedly knocked me off my feet. I was down on my hands and knees, scrambling to get back up again when I heard the hoofbeats.
The Duchess was coming across the marshes with the herd right behind her. They were moving in frenzied, relentless gallop, flinging up sheets of muddy water in their wake.
I looked around for Annie and the tractor, thinking that they must be behind the horses.
“Annie!” I screamed out, but my voice was lost in the wind. “Annie! Where are you?”
But there was no Annie. It was just me.
I began to run across the marshes towards the horses, my arms waving, hoping to slow them down.
At the front of the herd, the Duchess looked like a mythical sea creature, her white legs pounding through the water, her pure white face looking otherworldly against the black stormy skies.
“Duchess!” I didn’t know if she could even see me through the rain – she wasn’t slowing down. I could see the herd behind her and I was right in their path.
The tremor of the hoofbeats shook the ground as the skies rumbled with thunder. I stood firm and called to her once more.
“Duchess!”
Suddenly, at the sound of my voice I saw a flicker in her pale blue eyes. She fixed me with her imperious gaze. Then she gave an anxious shake of her mane and deliberately slowed her strides. The rest of the herd began to scatter. They galloped off, veering left and right, leaping over tussock, stumbling in the seawater pools, while the Duchess kept coming right towards me.
She was only a few metres away, so close I could have almost touched her, when she jerked back and came to a sudden halt.
She stood there, flanks heaving, her nostrils flared so wide that I could see the pink skin inside them as her breath came in great shudders. She was exhausted, a froth of white sweat coating her chest and neck.
I was so relieved that she was safe. I wanted so badly to throw my arms round her. But I was worried that if I moved too fast she would run again. And so I stood perfectly still, transfixed by her startling blue eyes.
And then, in front of me, the Duchess fell to her knees.
She dropped to the ground so quickly, I thought she had collapsed with exhaustion.
“Duchess!” I ran to her and by the time I reached her she was still down with her front legs bent beneath her. “Duchess, what’s wrong?”
I was about to try and help her up when she snorted and put one of her legs out in front of her and then shook her magnificent mane and lowered her head so that her muzzle almost touched the ground.
She held the pose and then I realised. She was taking a bow.
It was so beautiful. I knew at that moment that what I was witnessing was ancient and deeply sacred.
The storm had been raging around us. Now, the rain stopped and the wind ceased and the sea didn’t crash or roar. Everything in the world around me went still and all that was left was my horse and me.
The Duchess raised her head and she looked right at me, those blue eyes meeting my own. She stayed on one knee and I recalled Annie’s words.
Ain’t nobody can ride a Medicine Hat – unless dey is chosen.
I stepped forward and dropped into a curtsey, returning her bow. Then I moved closer to her shoulder and I reached out and touched her. My hands clutched her mane, fingers tangled into the strands. I was so cold that the warmth of her coat felt tingly against my frozen skin. I pressed hard against her, my heart slamming in my chest. I knew what I had to do, but I was scared to move. I know I am going to be a Grand Prix showjumper one day, but I had never been on a horse before in my life.
And then I jumped. I threw myself off the ground with all my strength, swinging my right leg up high and over the mare’s rump, and at the same time with my arms I gripped the mane and pulled.
The Duchess felt the weight on her back as soon as I landed. She righted herself, getting up from her knees and as she did this I felt the ground rushing away from me.
And there I was, on the back of a wild horse.
I had no reins and no saddle and I was in the path of an oncoming storm. The Duchess was facing directly across the Bonefish Marshes back towards the jungle where the track led to Annie’s crib. We could make it before the storm hit and be safe.
“No,” I whispered to the mare as she stepped forward. “We’re not going that way. Not yet.”
Out here on the marshes, even with Annie’s help, I could never have saved the herd on foot. But now I was riding the Duchess. She was de Boss Lady.
“Come on, Duchess,” I said. “We’re going back for them.”
The herd had scattered at the sight of me, but horses do not like to be separated for long and already they had begun to reform in a tight group. They had gathered not far from us, tense and alert, their senses heightened by the thunderstorm. One wrong move and they would scatter again. We had one chance – we had to do this right.
I willed the Duchess on, and she cantered in a wide loop round the rear of the herd. As we swept past, the Duchess slowed down and gave a loud whinny. The bay stallion immediately returned her call. Then he broke into a canter to follow her, and at his cue the others fell into formation right behind him.
I clung on tightly as we cantered back across the marshes. I could hear the thunder of their hoofbeats behind me, although I didn’t dare look back. I was having enough trouble hanging on without looking over my shoulder. I had to trust that the Duchess’s power was enough to hold them all the way home to Annie’s.
I glanced over my shoulder just once and I was shocked to see the waves rising up at least three metres high, their white peaks crashing over the Bonefish Marshes, the trees bent so far over by the winds that their branches touched the ground.
The storm was surging at our heels. Up ahead, the jungle track was a tangle of branches, but there was no time to slow down. I crouched low over the Duchess’s neck as she galloped on. I kept my eyes down and saw the ground rushing beneath her hooves. Behind us I could still hear the thunder of the herd. I twisted my fists even tighter into the Duchess’s mane and buried my face against her neck.
As the path widened I lifted my head a little and heard hoofbeats coming up alongside us. The bay stallion was running right next to the Duchess.
He tried to barge past, fighting with every stride to take the lead, and as his shoulders reached the Duchess’s flanks he rammed us sideways. I gave a shriek as the Duchess lurched over. My legs slid, but my hands were tangled so tightly in her mane that I stayed onboard. I could feel the Duchess moving swiftly back underneath me so that I wouldn’t fall. She waited until I had regained my balance and then with an arrogant snort and a sudden burst of speed, she surged forward. In just three strides she had taken the lead back from the bay stallion, reclaiming her rightful place at the head of the herd.
I knew we’d made it when I heard the sound of the bottle tree. The mad chorus of tinkling glass was chiming louder than cathedral bells above the howl of the gale.
We came in like a storm tide, a single mass of wild horses scattering around Annie, who stood there fearlessly in front of them.
“Bee-a-trizz! Dis way!”
The Duchess rode down the side of the cottage and the herd followed us straight into the pens without
question. All of them except two stragglers at the back – mares who were so wild with fear, they kept spinning around at the sight of the gates.
“Yah! Yah!” Annie was jumping up and down and waving her arms around, trying to get them to move forward, so she could get the gates shut.
“I’ll come and help you!” I called out.
“No!” Annie shouted back. “Too dangerous! You get trampled!”
The other horses were getting agitated. The bay stallion broke loose from the herd and ran outside the gates. Annie blocked his path and tried to drive him back in again. We were losing them!
“I’m coming to help!”
“Stay there, Bee-a-trizz!” Annie shouted. “We got dis!”
And then I heard the engine revving and round the corner of the cottage Annie’s big old tractor came rumbling into view. And sitting at the wheel, crunching the gears, was my mom.
She handled the tractor like a pro, parking it sideways across the gap between the cottage and the trees.
The horses were trapped – their only choice was to move forward and into the pens.
“Yah! Yah! C’mon!” Annie shouted.
“Yah Yah!” Mom jumped off the tractor and joined Annie, and the three loose horses knew they were beaten. They circled anxiously once more, and then they gave in and ran inside the shelter pen, barging alongside the others. Annie dashed straight up behind them, banging the gate closed and slipping the bolt hard across into its hole.
The Duchess gently stepped forward so that I could reach the high railing of the pen and I climbed off her back, vaulting over the rail. Then I leant my face up against the pen to look at her. She was exhausted from the gallop, heaving and blowing, but she was safe.
“Beatriz…”
And there was Mom by my side. She was all choked with emotion and she only managed to say my name, but that single word was filled with so much love and anger and joy that I started to cry, and so did she. She grabbed me so tight, I thought I wouldn’t be able to keep breathing. “Oh, thank God! Bee!”
“Storm’s almost here!” Annie was calling to us. “Come inside now!”
