Reagan (Hengist-People of the Horse Book 3)

by Jacky Gray

  At the top of the hill, he looked down a long, straight track and some distance further on was another hill in direct alignment. He remounted and they gave the horses free rein across the downs up to the next hill, which looked down on Devizes, a couple of miles to the south. Reagan pointed out the castle on its small motte. Following the Wessex Ridgeway again, they skirted round a wood and came to Oliver’s castle hill fort where they were welcomed by the sun peeking out from the clouds.

  It should have been a perfect site, with a steep slope commanding a good view to the south west. But instead of facing the open ground, the horse had been cut on a curve facing south, toward Devizes and would only have been visible for a few hundred paces on the west road into the town before being obscured by trees. It was in a sorry state, badly overgrown and one of the legs was barely visible. They spent a few minutes pulling away the bindweed which had almost completely covered the head, then started hunting the spirit lines.

  ‘Are you sure about this? Nothing at all?’

  ‘It’s obviously an ancient site of some import or there wouldn’t be a hill fort, and there’s a very weak tremor lining up with the hill we’ve just been on.’

  ‘But that’s a hundred paces away from the horse.’ Kalen stared in disbelief. ‘Why would they do that?’

  ‘I have no idea. Malduc called it the Snobs’ horse, isn’t that something to do with shoemakers?’

  ‘Your point being?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe they simply wanted it to look out on the workshop or something. We should go into the town and try to find something out.’

  They took the gentler slope down to the bottom of the hill and were almost at the castle before they could see the horse properly. It looked quite woebegone and neglected.

  The town was bustling, and they got caught up in the festivities celebrating the town’s history of barrel-making and ale-brewing. The highlight of the annual fayre was a contest known as the barrel race. Competition amongst the coopers was fierce to see which of them could create a barrel in the fastest time. The rules were very strict. To test how watertight their creations were, the final part of the race involved them paddling the barrels down a short stretch of the river whose banks had been specially widened for the purpose.

  They arrived in time to witness the final frantic minutes, with the barrels in various stages, some still on the toasting fires, charring the inside. The rules said ten minutes on the fire, but the more experienced coopers knew an extra five minutes saved far more in terms of the flexibility of the wood for trussing with the metal hoops. One anxious-looking man continually sprinkled his barrel with a spray of water, but the other two had doused theirs in water and were standing back with small beakers of ale, teasing him for fussing.

  The leader of the pack was the shortest man there, with powerfully muscled arms ending in unnaturally large hands. He was using a special tool of his own invention, a large metal hoop with an adjustable section which could be tightened or loosened by a screw with a large butterfly key. His trick was to tighten this band to a circumference slightly smaller than the actual hoop, then to fit the hoop in place and loosen the thread slowly so the moist, compressed wood sprang back into the slightly larger hoop, swelling to fill any gaps.

  ‘Looks like Coop’s gonna take the prize pig again this year,’ one of the locals said to no-one in particular.

  ‘Ain’t bin no-one to touch ’im for nigh on a coupl’a decades. It’s that gadget of ’is. Folks ’ave tried to copy it, but no-one else can use it the way he can.’ The man next to Reagan sounded almost disappointed.

  ‘Came in under two hours last year, if I remember right.’

  ‘Aye. Took ten minutes off the record.’

  Kalen could not believe his ears. ‘Excuse me, did you say two hours? I thought it took all day to make a barrel.’

  ‘Two hours from stave to barrel. Of course it would need a proper toasting and finishing before it’s ready for use, but I’m sure it would hold the ale if it needed to.’

  ‘It must be pre-formed staves then; it can’t include cutting and shaping the wood from scratch.’

  ‘Nope. They do it all. Of course it don’t need no head for the water race. Not making the croze groove saves a bit of time, but we didn’t want to be standing here all day watching unnecessary carpentry, did we?’

  ‘Hush up Cobb, he’s goin’ for the final hoopin’.’

  The crowd gave a mighty shout as Coop turned the barrel on its side and rolled it down to the launching platform. One of the marshals held the barrel steady as the favourite climbed in, grabbed a paddle and made his way to the finishing line. He had time to climb out and present his barrel for inspection before the next man was ready to hammer in his final hoop.

  A buzz went round the crowd, one hour fifty six; he’d shaved off another three minutes. Twenty minutes later, there were five contenders still to go and Kalen pulled Reagan away. ‘Let’s get some food. If we go now, we can beat the rush of the crowd when they’re done. There were some tasty looking pies on a stall over by the green.’

  Tables and benches set out on the green were starting to fill up rapidly with people who had the same idea as Kalen. Five minutes later, the men they’d been talking to earlier asked if they could join them.

  ‘Sure, help yourself.’ Kalen gestured the empty bench.

  ‘Not locals are thee?’ Cobb was the spokesman of the two.

  ‘From Aveburgh. It’s only a few miles up the road.’

  ‘I know it. Bin to the stones a few times. Truly awesome. So you know a bit about making barrels, then?’

  ‘Not really. I know a blacksmith and she was telling me about a big order of hoops a few weeks ago.’

  ‘A female blacksmith eh? That’ll be Marlburgh then, the only one I know.’

  ‘Your friend called you Cobb. Are you from a shoemaking family?’

  ‘The last five generations ’ave all bin cobblers. An’ Tack’s family, too. A fine and worthy occupation.’

  ‘For sure. You wouldn’t know anything about the white horse up on Oliver’s castle would you? We heard it was made by local shoemakers.’

  ‘Snobs’ ’orse? Aye it were. Always been a big town for shoes. Shoes an’ beer, that what we’re famous for. At least it’s what we used to be famous for.’

  ‘We just visited the horse.’ Reagan lowered his voice. ‘It doesn’t look like anyone has been taking care of it for a while.’

  ‘You’re not wrong there. Must be a coupl’a decades since the last scouring. Trouble is, since the planting out at Robin Hood Wood, the trees are meeting the ones at Roundway Hill so you can’t really see the horse from the town anymore.’

  ‘Isn’t there a local scouring committee?’ asked Kalen.

  ‘There used to be a scouring every seven years, but it’s been taken over by the barrel fayre. That pulls in a good crowd every May, but it takes all year to organise.’

  ‘Couldn’t they do them in different weeks?’ It seemed obvious to Reagan.

  ‘You would think it possible, but there were a lot of rivalry between the cobblers and coopers.’ Tack spoke up.

  ‘Aye. Seems they both planned to have the events on the same day one year and it all went horribly wrong.’

  ‘Could they not both have gone ahead?’

  ‘No. It led a big fight where lots of the families fell out, brother against brother, father against son.’ Tack looked gloomy.

  ‘In the end, a lot of the cobblers headed over to places like Swindon and Trowbridge, so there’s been no-one looking out for Snobs’ horse since then.’ Cobb shrugged.

  ‘Devizes is not known for shoes anymore, but it’s the barrel centre for the whole country.’

  ‘If you look on the bottom of any barrel it’ll be branded DC for Devizes Coopers, whether it’s carrying salted meat, grain, wine or beer.’ Cobb’s tone was bitter.

  ‘You can’t deny it’s brought a lot of wealth to the town. All the new houses out toward Poterne.’ Kalen tried to se
e the positive side.

  ‘Yes, but at what cost, this progress?’ Cobb retorted. ‘We’ve turned our back on our heritage. That white horse used to mean something to the area. We were proud to be associated with a symbol of the people.’

  ‘Aye. And the irony is, the trees which have cost us the horse were planted for the barrel making.’ Tack shook his head.

  Reagan and Kalen exchanged worried glances. Would it be worthwhile building a new horse in the face of such despair?

  39 Triangles & Pentagons

  Despite the journeying and intense brain work of the past two days, Reagan was struggling to fall asleep. Partly because he was so excited; for the first time, feeling ready to help Blaise speed to each site. The unfamiliar room at Sedge’s house didn’t help either. His head was spinning with all the information he’d absorbed in the past few weeks and hadn’t had time to digest properly. Finally, he resorted to one of Kalen’s tricks, counting backwards in thirteens. Blaise was waiting for him impatiently. He was barely astride her back before she flew off, heading south east. Although he’d never been there before, he recognised the delicate limbs and huge eye which distinguished the smallest of the white horses.

  ‘Pewsey.’

  Turning immediately to a northerly bearing, she radiated approval and sped over villages, rivers, hills and trees. Passing over a huge forest, a large bird of prey shot up toward them, circling warily as it realised this was not a normal object to be flying through the air. Reagan saw a silver thread glinting ahead and wondered if it was the Kennet. He glanced west for confirmation and, sure enough, the unmistakable shape of Silburgh Hill rose above the fields, although it looked somewhat flattened from this height. Turning to catch a last glimpse of the Aveburgh stones, he realised Blaise was dropping down to a much lower altitude. As she flew over one of the quarries, he gasped in delight at the sight of several huge sarsen stones exactly like the ones used in the Aveburgh circle. Recognising the ridge to the east, he was about to remark on the Hackpen horse when he thought better. It was not part of the triangle.

  Within minutes, they were flying over a village and, as they approached the ridge, he said out loud, ‘Broad Town.’ She continued in a wide circular turn, and Reagan saw the horse from a reasonable distance. It, too, had a huge eye but was quite solid looking, definitely male. Setting off in a south westerly direction, it seemed like no time until they reached Oliver’s castle. He said Devizes but she didn’t stop there, instead skirting round to the part of the ridge he’d been on that morning, lining up exactly with the castle below. She stopped and reared up slightly, and he understood he was supposed to dismount. ‘You want us to recut the Snobs’ horse right here. Is that the next one, then?’

  She reared up again, pawing at the air with her hooves and shaking her head vigorously. Flinching, he backed away slightly. He wasn’t afraid of her; he knew she would do him no harm. But she was big and intimidating ... his foot caught on a rock and suddenly he was falling backwards, tumbling down the hill.

  Waking up with a start, he sat up in the bed, sweat pouring off his forehead. That was not pleasant. It was still pitch black outside, sometime in the small hours. He could hear Sedge’s loud snoring sounding like a particularly large and angry bee caught in an upturned beaker. The moonlight shone in through the window and he poured himself a small glass of water. Turning the soaking pillow and plumping it up, he settled down, never expecting to fall asleep again so quickly, much less to dream.

  Blaise was there instantly and they were back at the starting point in Aveburgh. She nudged at his shoulder gently with her nose and whickered softly, as if she were apologising for what had happened before. Had she wanted him to wake up so she could start a new journey? She nodded her head twice and he patted her neck then climbed on her back. This time she did not fly, following the serpent’s tail spirit line to Knoll down, then taking the Old Bath Road to the west at a leisurely canter. He knew they would come to the Cherhill horse soon and she paused there a moment after he’d said the name out loud. She was facing north east and pawing the ground.

  He knew she was referring to the spirit lines, and he tried to remember which of them had passed through Cherhill. ‘Are you trying to say this spirit line passes from Broad town, through Cherhill?’ She turned south west and he remembered the morning’s discovery. ‘Of course, the line goes through Furze knoll down to Devizes castle so it would be strong. I get it. That’s why you want us to move the Devizes horse.’

  Before he finished speaking, she was soaring into the air, heading southwards across fields and gentle rolling downs. He knew they were heading to one of two horses, and if his memory of the map was correct, there would be a miniature stone circle nearby. As he caught site of it, he sensed she was preparing to land, but there was no need. ‘Tan Hill.’

  Gathering speed and height once more, she headed east, flying almost parallel to the ridge until it took a steep southerly turn, snaking under them for a short distance before resuming its eastward course. Looking down to the field below, he saw three circles whose centres formed an isosceles triangle - confirmation of moving the Devises horse. Then he saw the dainty little horse which was Cherhill’s twin. ‘Milk Hill near Alton Barnes.’

  Again he felt her pleasure as she turned several degrees northwards and continued on. He could sense her weariness; this was the longest they’d travelled in one night. A huge expanse of trees spread out to the east. As they flew past, he could hear Professor Jadon telling them the Big Belly oak was planted around 1066 when William the Conqueror defeated King Harold. He remembered stories about King Alfred riding in the royal forest and that one of the hollow trees was supposed to have held up to twenty boys inside.

  Before he knew it, they were setting down outside a familiar blacksmith’s shop. As he smiled the word ‘Marlburgh,’ he realised Blaise had stopped, not because this was the end, but because she could do no more.

  40 Threes & Fives

  ‘Well, it does seem to confirm we are looking at discrete shapes, possibly polygons.’ Malduc considered the sketch of the latest crop pattern.

  ‘Because this is a triangle inside a pentagon?’ Reagan wasn’t completely convinced.

  ‘But it’s so much more than that. This is showing us a very clever geometry technique for working out the total of the angles inside a pentagon.’ Kalen was always looking for the mathematical aspect,s but Malduc interrupted before he could go into a detailed explanation.

  ‘We are seeing more and more crop patterns which are not merely plain circles but designs involving quite complicated geometrical properties.’

  ‘In my dream last night, the crop pattern was an isosceles triangle and if you move the Devizes horse it will be isosceles.’

  ‘But you say Blaise doesn’t want the horse moved yet.’

  ‘I’m sure there will be benefits if a new horse is cut on Roundway hill, but it’s not the most important thing. As long as the Snobs’ horse is there, the triangle is complete.’

  ‘You could say the same of the Seagry horse. Why would we need to make a new one at Somerford? There already was a pentagon.’ Malduc was concerned at the wasted effort.

  ‘I think she started with that because it was the oldest shape. She was simply trying to show me the order of things, why the horses appear where they do.’ Reagan was equally worried.

  ‘You mean because they are all at the corners of polygons.’

  ‘It certainly looks that way. They seem to be positioned to create a network centred on Aveburgh, guiding people coming from the distant corners to show them the way.’

  ‘Why would we get the pentagon showing us the exact position?’ Kalen had fewer doubts than the other two.

  ‘I think the Seagry horse, like the Devizes one, was in the wrong place and was badly neglected. Local people didn’t believe in them, so they were ignored and were starting to disappear.’ Reagan followed the logic through.

  ‘True. The other horses have strong committees and are scoured every
seven years.’ Kalen saw the sense of it.

  ‘Maybe Blaise was simply trying to show us that one or two of the horses need some attention.’

  ‘And that there were better places to cut them where they would have more significance.’ Kalen’s tone was enthusiastic as the idea of a spiritual network of horses built up in his head.

  ‘But look what happened when we cut the horse – people turned out from miles around and it brought the whole community together. That must be good.’

  ‘It’s an interesting theory the pair of you’ve devised. But it doesn’t tell me why the sheep died after we cut the new horse.’ Malduc heaved a great sigh. ‘I think the idea of these accidents being connected to the white horses was merely a coincidence. It looked promising, but now things are getting worse and people are worrying about what is going to happen next.’ He rose from his chair. ‘There’s talk of bad omens and families are threatening to move away from the area. The council is having an emergency meeting this afternoon, so I need to prepare for it.’

  Reagan took the hint and left the room and Fenella looked up from her desk rather anxiously. ‘Oh dear, do you think Kalen’s going to be very long in there?’

  ‘I have no idea, they do seem to find a lot to say.’

  She hesitated, then smiled. ‘You’re right. Are you staying here for a while?’

  ‘Yes. Kalen asked me to wait.’

  ‘If he comes out before I get back, would you ensure Malduc gets this?’ She handed him a slate.

  ‘He wanted it the instant your meeting was over.’

  ‘Sure, no problem.’

  ‘Thank you. I won’t be long, I just need to do something.’

  As she left, Reagan glanced at the slate. It was a list. One he recognised. The numbers had a familiar feel.