Reagan (Hengist-People of the Horse Book 3)

by Jacky Gray

  Kalen’s eyebrow displayed his scepticism, but he did need to recover his breath, so he sat in the same place, legs crossed, eyes closed. Straightening his spine, he pulled up his shoulders, then relaxed back into a comfortable position with his hands resting loosely on his knees. Drawing in a deep, cleansing breath, he emptied his mind of all thoughts of the day and dulled his senses to the smells and sounds around him. After a few minutes, warmth wrapped around him and he sensed a girlish glee in his head. It reminded him of the joy of his young niece when she wanted him to chase her. At the same instant, he experienced a strange sensation, similar to when someone walks down the stairs in a house. A regular sound and a slight vibration which grew until it felt like a whole company of soldiers were pounding down the stairs. Not the stairs in his own house, but the one next door; the vibration sounded muffled. He opened his eyes.

  ‘Did I really just feel all that from the spirit lines or was I tuning into your feelings?’

  ‘Sorry, did you say something?’ Reagan’s eyes sprang open and Kalen could see the pain in them. He obviously had not been reading the boy’s mind.

  ‘Are you alright? You have gone very pale.’

  ‘I think I may have overdone it a bit.’ He stood and promptly vomited up the game pie he’d eaten at lunch.

  31 The Right Site

  ‘I’m fine. There is no need for me to stay in bed.’ Reagan looked sourly at the dark-haired woman fussing around him as he challenged Kalen’s decision to continue without him.

  ‘There is no need for you to come. We have conclusively proven the Somerford motte is the right place for a horse. It’s much better suited than any of the other places we considered and far superior to the current site at Seagry. All that remains is for me to climb the hill, look for markers and feel another spirit line.’

  ‘But you can’t do that bit without me.’ Reagan started to get up from the bed, but the innkeeper’s wife, Darma, placed a hand in the way.

  ‘Young man, you need to listen to Kalen, he knows what is best for you. If you want to go home today, you must wait here while he finishes your quest, then I may allow you to join him as long as you both promise to go straight back with no further detours.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘There will be no buts.’

  Reagan held up an imploring hand to his mentor.

  Kalen smiled sympathetically. ‘Sorry, but you must follow Darma’s instructions exactly. Don’t worry, if there is a spirit line as strong as the one at the motte, I will be able to feel it. Don’t forget, I felt them both yesterday. I won’t be more than three hours. You should eat your breakfast then get some sleep.’

  As they travelled back, Kalen told him how he’d returned to the motte and spread out the large groundsheet made of four cow hides sewn together. The edges had been bound with small wooden stakes to keep it in place while he investigated. Detouring round the Avon, he followed the track out of town, crossing a small brook which fed out of the river.

  ‘I worried about the wood by the side of the river, but it presented no problem, being in a valley. On the way back, I only lost sight of my marker for moments as I rounded the wood.’

  ‘Did you go all the way into Malmsburgh?’

  ‘Just up to the well. I think there will be a grand view of the horse for people coming out of the town. It’s only about three miles away.’

  ‘And you definitely think the horse should face away from Aveburgh?’

  ‘That would be my recommendation. But I want to check it from this side. From here.’ He looked backward.

  Reagan turned his mare so he could follow where Kalen pointed to the new position of the groundsheet. ‘I see what you mean, it doesn’t look very imposing.’

  ‘Don’t forget the groundsheet is only five paces long and three paces high. The body of the Marlburgh horse is about fourteen paces long and six paces high, which would be …’

  ‘Roughly six times the size, so twenty-four hides just for the body. But it’s not just the size, the whole motte gets lost because of the contour of the land on this side.’

  ‘You’re right, you have to be high up to see it properly.’

  After they’d ridden a while, Reagan voiced something which had been troubling him. ‘Does the new horse have to be all thin and artificial like Marlburgh?’

  ‘Not at all, I just used it as an example because you know it well. The body does look particularly thin from a distance, but that’s because of the perspective.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I forgot you weren’t an artist. I’m sure Thearl could explain it better than I. But I have seen quite a lot of that horse lately ….’

  ‘Because you’ve been seeing a lot of Reeve.’

  Kalen ignored the tease, going on to explain how he’d studied her father’s measurements of the horse and drawn it to scale and it actually looked very like the Pewsey horse, apart from the strange head. He’d shown the picture to Thearl who explained about the foreshortening effect of the hill.

  ‘I wondered about the slope. So if the hill was a bit steeper, it would look more natural, with a fatter body.’

  ‘Exactly right. That’s why I’ve taken measurements of the motte to calculate the slope so we can work out the adjustments when we cut the horse.’

  They crossed the river Avon, taking the path most travellers would use. Kalen checked back every mile or so to confirm his theory that the other side looked better. As they continued, he related the tales from the previous night at the hostelry. After his retirement, one of the farmers had done a lot of research into the history of the local area. ‘He’s an interesting character, pleased to share his findings. The sort of man I think Reeve’s father was: resourceful and tenacious.’

  ‘You mean full of good ideas and can’t tear himself away when there’s a mystery to solve. Sounds like someone I know.’

  Kalen ignored the insinuation. ‘Apparently, the original motte was built in the twelfth century during a siege of Malmesburgh Castle, but it only stood a few metres high. Did you know they can build them in a little over a week?’

  Reagan shook his head, thinking his mentor simply could not stop teaching; he should be a full professor at lehren.

  Kalen continued the tale. ‘Anyway, the 13th century church at the top was destroyed in the same earthquake which wrecked the St Michael’s church on Glastonburgh Tor and several other churches between London and Wales.’

  ‘But there’s no church on it now.’

  ‘There is, you just can’t see it. Because many years later, they used the rubble from the church to enlarge the motte, so it was a lot bigger. They built a new church on top.’

  ‘What happened to it?’

  ‘Guess.’

  Reagan thought for a moment. ‘Another earthquake?’

  ‘Correct. In the seventeenth century. So they worked the stone into the motte you see now and left it be.’

  ‘Good story.’

  ‘But that wasn’t quite all of it. In 1755, a girl from the village had a dream about a white horse on the motte. They were already creating the horse at Seagry so everyone assumed she meant that one and took no notice of her.’

  ‘How on earth would he find out things like that?’

  ‘I think she was his great, great, grand aunt or something similar. His mother had some journals, and he found them when he researched the history.’ Kalen paused to look back.

  ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘He didn’t say, merely changed the subject. Apparently, some years later, patches of chalk started showing up on the hill. When they created the mound, it was filled in with earth and chalk from the local area and this somehow worked its way to the surface.’

  ‘The construction would be easier with chalk already in the hill. But what if there isn’t enough?’

  ‘It won’t be a problem. There is plenty of chalk in the area. And the local scouring teams will have plenty.

  ‘Scouring teams?’ Reagan frowned; the term sound
ed vaguely familiar.

  ‘Every horse is looked after by a small team of people from nearby villages. They have the task of making sure the horse is scoured every seven years.’

  ‘Is that where they get rid of the weeds growing through the chalk and re-cut the edges where the turf is trying to grow back?’

  ‘Correct. In one or two of them, it became a real problem; they had to do it every couple of years. And people argued about where the lines should be.’

  ‘Is it a bad thing?’ Reagan shifted in the saddle to get comfortable as the long ride began to take its toll.

  ‘Not always. If you look at Westburgh for example, I’m sure the original design didn’t have the eye in the wrong place or the two front legs joined together. The trouble is it’s very difficult to work out what it looks like from a distance when you’re close to it. Each leg for example, would be over twenty paces long.’

  ‘How could they do it?’

  ‘They usually have someone looking at it from a good vantage point, shouting instructions through a voice horn.’

  ‘That would be difficult.’

  ‘Especially because the scouring takes all day. Most of the village turns out, and it turns into a big party with plenty of ale supped.’ Kalen was obviously talking from experience. ‘Making it likely the horses are slightly different each time they are scoured.’

  ‘And this causes disputes?’

  ‘With the Westburgh horse in particular. Because of the size and the steep slope, there were problems with the chalk draining down to the bottom in the wet weather. So they had to do something to prevent that as well.’

  ‘Why didn’t they simply use cement?’

  ‘You are always ruining my punch lines.’ Kalen grinned. ‘A nearby workshop used limestone cement to bind the chalk blocks together. They poured this into the bottom of the shape and then poured layers of chalk pebbles on top.’

  ‘You seem to know a lot about that horse.’

  ‘My grandfather lived in Bratton. He was one of the men on the team. I can remember going to a scouring party as a junior.’

  ‘So you know about the parties from first hand experience. The difficulties, the arguments and the ale.’

  ‘Especially the ale. It was the very first time I had drunk ale and nobody watered it down. I became very sick that night. And most of the next day.’ Kalen shuddered at the memory. ‘You think you had it bad, yesterday. I just kept on being sick until nothing was left inside and I still kept on. I vowed never to drink ever again.’

  ‘How old were you?’

  ‘About ten or eleven.’

  ‘And how long before you drank again?’

  ‘Not until my Beltane graduation.’

  ‘But I thought you didn’t do the Worthy contest because you got 100% on all the tests.’

  ‘That’s right, I didn’t.’

  ‘But you still went to the Beltane ceremony.’

  ‘As you will. I’m sure Malduc will explain your role. Look, this is the ridge where we met the Renegates, so we need to head south for about half a mile until we come to Highway. I thought we’d stop for something to eat there and find out what we can about the ridge just in case we missed something.’

  ‘In the local inn? I’m definitely seeing a pattern here.’

  ‘Who else but the innkeeper would know all the gossip in town? It’s a tough job, but someone has to do it.’

  32 Beltane Graduation

  Reagan’s final Beltane as a junior was about as perfect as it could be; he gained all the advantages of being a Worthy with none of the disadvantages. His role amounted to little more than observing the ceremony and noting any parts of the proceedings which could benefit from improvement.

  Malduc seemed relaxed about his role. ‘Don’t worry too much about it. I don’t want a full written report, just your overall impressions from the point of view of a Worthy.’

  ‘But I won’t be a Worthy.’

  ‘No, but I want you to stay with them all day. You will have full access to all the areas they do and share in all the treats they get for working so hard through junior lehren.’

  Not an arduous task in any way, shape or form. He got a privileged view of all the sports, watching Taryn try to keep up with Molan’s crowd-pleasing tactics in the sword and buckler. Reagan felt guilty shouting for Rowena in the obstacle race, but she was so far behind everyone else. Amiera won it easily. The standard of archery was excellent, and all four of his friends got through the sporting round.

  Rowena scraped through by one point, particularly pleased because she was only the reserve. She replaced the third-placed Magi girl who had helped to nurse the infected children. Shaylee had been struck down with an illness which weakened her to the point where Ganieda declared her unfit to take part in the competition.

  Reagan spent most of the day with Shaylee, obviously a gifted healer but a little too serious for his tastes. After spending so much time with Kalen, he’d become accustomed to a lot of teasing and dark humour. Shaylee was not used to this and looked quite outraged when he made a dry observation about Taryn’s attempt to turn Richard the Lionheart from a warrior king into a man of letters.

  Molan’s Chaucer was more aggressive than Reagan’s would have been, but Gilfred completely stole the show as Merlin, King Arthur’s famous wizard, complete with magical tricks which had the audience gasping in wonder. Rowena had everyone laughing and Amiera’s drama felt every bit as moving as when they’d rehearsed it at the weekend, but Reagan could find nothing to choose between the other girls. Despite being obviously biased, he knew his friends were far superior to the other female Worthies. After a close knowledge round, they called the final vote.

  Reagan was sure a lot of strategic voting went on; the previous year’s King and Queen were both Magi and it was several years since a Warrior girl had won. Although Tilde’s Isabella was nowhere near as good as Amiera’s Joan of Arc, she became May Queen. Taryn was up against an Outil, Jeffrey, who’d chosen Hereward the Wake, a hot-headed young Saxon. He suggested many of his Worthy’s exploits were used to enhance the Robin Hood legend. Anything vaguely Robin Hood related was popular, but Jeffrey had wisely not tried to compete with Archer’s portrayal which people still talked about.

  Because none of his friends was crowned King or Queen, Reagan spent more time with them while Jeffrey and Tilde went off to perform their various duties. It also meant he could sit next to Amiera during the meal and spend a lot of time talking to her. Shaylee obviously had some sort of crush on Taryn who seemed flattered by her earnest attention. The only person unhappy about the arrangement was Rowena whose relationship with Taryn was still secret. She’d sat at a table with a group of people she didn’t know very well, but as soon as the formal dinner finished, she joined their group for the rest of the entertainment. Smiling as he watched them dancing to Gaelic Sound, a popular local band, Reagan wondered why they imagined it was a secret. Amiera seemed content to watch the others, but he assumed she would love to join in like all the other girls, so he finally plucked up the courage and asked her to dance.

  ‘Oh dear, I hoped you would be like most boys and not enjoy dancing.’

  ‘You don’t want to? Or do you think I won’t be able to?’

  ‘I’m sure you’re a brilliant dancer, but I have two left feet. Didn’t you see me tangling the maypole ribbons?’

  ‘That was your fault? I assumed it was Taryn making a mess. I think everyone else did as well.’

  ‘Do you think so? I felt sure they all blamed me.’

  ‘No. There’s an unwritten rule somewhere which says all girls can dance and all boys can’t.’

  ‘Not all boys. Look at Molan. He’s quite good.’

  ‘He’s been watching Doug. He’s very impressive.’

  ‘True. He moves very well. For an older man.’

  ‘He moves very well for a young man; he’s got more energy than the rest of the band.’

  She nudged him. ‘Look, there’s your professor frie
nd. Who’s he dancing with? I don’t recognise her.’

  Reagan looked over, a big grin forming as he thought of the fun he would have on Moonday. ‘Kalen. He’s not exactly a professor, but that’s his lady friend, Reeve. She’s a blacksmith, from Marlburgh. I saw them meet. In fact if it wasn’t for me, they probably wouldn’t have got together. He was being arrogant …’

  ‘About her being a smith? I can imagine.’

  ‘Do you want to hear the tale or shall we dance?’

  ‘The story, please. Why don’t we go outside? It’s getting really hot and stuffy in here.’

  Reagan didn’t need asking twice.

  33 The Right Shape

  ‘I have spent some time looking through your report, and I must say, I am extremely impressed with the amount of information you have obtained in such a short time. You’ve both been very thorough. Thank you.’

  Reagan felt himself flushing at such praise from the most important man in the village, even more so when Kalen replied.

  ‘I barely did anything. Reagan seemed to know exactly what to do and where to go.’

  Malduc’s previous anger evaporated with the Beltane celebration completed and the correct location determined. Either that or the tonic Ganieda prepared to help his mood.

  Whatever the reason, the council leader was once more warm and generous. ‘Well, you make an excellent team and there’s little doubt the motte at Somerford would make the perfect position to complete a quintet of equi-distant monuments which surround the village in an almost perfect pentagon.’

  ‘They’re not exactly the same distance …’

  ‘No, but if you take into account the contours of the land, they would take similar times to travel. If we do as Kalen suggests and use the north-west face of the motte, it means travellers coming from any direction would be able to use the five monuments to guide them directly to the sacred henge from quite a long distance.’

  ‘Are you going to have the horse facing right like the one at Seagry that it’s replacing? And are you going to do a horse like the Uffington one or more like Westburgh?’