Milon slithered over the far edge of the wall, till he was hanging by both hands, then dropped. It was further than he thought. His good leg yelled with pain; his bad leg screamed with agony and collapsed. Milon rolled in the dust, then scrambled to his feet.
His bad leg refused to hold him. Milon gazed around frantically. Yes, there they were, the poles used to knock the olives from the trees. He hopped over to them and chose the thickest one, then hobbled down the foggy road.
The world was dark and foggy and painful. His knee swelled, so he could feel the swelling rubbing at his good leg as he limped along. His other leg felt bruised. Something wet trickled down his arm. Blood? But it was too dark too see and anyway, there wasn’t time.
A boy wo wants his freedom can run as far as a horse can walk … A boy can limp … how far? At least it was downhill.
If only he could see the stars, thought Milon, he could watch them as they moved across the sky, and work out how long he’d stumbled on, how close it was to dawn. But the fog still hid the sky. He couldn’t even watch the horizon, to see if dawn was coming.
Milon struggled on.
If only he hadn’t urged the trader to buy Simon, he could have crept up to the sheep pasture instead. He could have escaped on horseback, instead of limping through the dark. That way they could both have escaped.
But a good horse is valuable — far more so than a boy slave. The traders might accept an escaped slave. Milon doubted they would welcome a horse thief.
The bleeding stopped, but he was sweating now. The sweat ran in hot rivers down his chest, then grew cold as it reached his legs. All he could see was blackness and the slight furring of the fog. The road was a dim shadow at his feet, but at least he could make out the dusty rise to either side, so he didn’t veer off the road.
For a while he tried to dream, as he stumped along, but it hurt too much to dream of the past, and the future was unknown. Who were the traders he was running to? At least they must be better than what he had left behind. At least they had horses and could travel fast, and out-run the men who would hunt for him.
If only he could reach them …
How long till dawn now? The fog thinned slightly, or was daylight seeping through the world? Milon could make out the olive fields on either side now. Were they still the Master’s? No, he’d come too far for that. He tried to remember the country he’d passed when he’d first come to the Master’s farm. But he had been too dazed in the rattling cart to notice what had been on either side.
The fog was definitely lifting. The road was steeper too, dappled with moon shadows and so rutted with ancient cart tracks that his staff slipped and twisted and jarred his leg.
His body yelled at him to stop, to rest. His throat screamed for water. Perhaps the road would cross a stream. If he stopped he might hear one gurgling nearby. But there was no time to stop.
Milon glanced upwards. For the first time in many nights he could see the stars. But they were fading now. Over in the east the grey light was eating up the dark.
The other slaves woke at dawn. After that even the Steward could not hide the fact that Milon had vanished. The Master, his sons and neighbours would be searching for him at first light.
For a moment Milon wondered if he should leave the road. The olive trees would hide him from anyone on the road. But in the fields the way was rougher; it would slow him down too much. No, better to make one desperate throw for safety and the traders than to cower among the trees, waiting for capture.
Dawn was pale pink tongues of flame. The birds yelled around him, celebrating the day. Milon could see the plain below him now, green trees and small square farms and the road a thread of yellow ribbon through the green.
There was no sign of the traders.
Perhaps they were around the next bend, or the next, camped by the side of the road with tents and fire, warming drinks and food before they started on their way. Any moment now he’d see them, smell their fire, hear their horses whinny. Just round the next corner … or the next …
And slowly Milon realised that no matter how much he hurried, a boy could never limp the distance that a horse could walk. His body refused to let him stop, but slowly his heart and courage seeped out of him, till there was only emptiness, bitter as wormwood, and the certainty of capture and loneliness forever more.
He hardly heard the hoof beats at first. His leg was throbbing and his heart was pounding too. The thudding of the road was like the thudding of his body. Milon froze. For a moment he wondered which way the sound was coming from. Perhaps the Master had borrowed a neighbour’s horse, was already galloping to seize his slave. Even if it was a traveller coming the other way, he’d best get off the road.
It was too late. The horse rounded the corner and galloped towards him before he could even try to hide.
It was Simon.
The white horse whinnied. He was already stopping, even before his rider, her red hair gleaming in the morning light, could pull at the reins.
Zanna grinned at him. ‘Like a ride?’ she asked.
‘I …’ It was impossible to speak. His heart seemed about to burst from his body. Zanna pulled out a damp flask and handed it to him. Milon took it gratefully. It was honeyed wine and water, cold and sweet, with barley meal to thicken it.
A hawk hovered and fell in one flashing swoop above them. A young goat called to his herd beyond the trees. The day had begun.
‘I knew you’d come,’ said Zanna.
Milon managed to find his voice. ‘How?’ he asked hoarsely.
Zanna met his gaze. ‘You didn’t have the eyes of a slave. I wanted to come and find you last night. But Aunt said, no, you had to free yourself. She said it was important. But then Simon started whinnying.’ She stroked the horse’s neck. ‘I said to Aunt: “Look, he’s telling us that I should go.” And Auntie laughed, and said, alright, we’ll let the horse decide.’
Milon smiled. It felt strange at first, then he felt it spread across his face. He handed back the flask. ‘How far do we have to go?’
Zanna laughed her bird-call laugh, high and sweet. ‘Down to the plain, to Olympia or Corinth perhaps, or across the world! Who knows? We go where the white horses take us, where there are goods to buy or sell.’ She held her hand down to him. ‘Come on, climb up. It’ll be a good life, Milon son of Milon, I promise you that.’
Milon took her hand and pressed his other on the horse’s strong white back. It had been two years since he had been astride a horse. But his body remembered. The white horse snorted. Someone, Zanna perhaps, had removed his nose ring. His reins were plaited leather, red and gold and brown. It had been two years for Simon too, thought Milon, since he had been ridden as a good horse should be. But Simon remembered as well
Zanna tugged on the reins as Milon held on behind. The white horse turned and cantered down towards the plain.
Half a Million Horses
The rider came at midday, moving with unbelievable speed across the spring-green plain, at first just a dark smudge against the clear blue sky, but growing larger and larger, till Sui could make out the giant animal he rode.
‘Mama! Someone … something … is coming!’
Mama straightened, and gazed where Sui pointed across the wheat patch. The wheat was waist high and needed constant weeding now the soil was warmer.
The animal was almost as tall as the courtyard wall behind them, and brown like the wall too. But this was a glossy brown, not the dull brown of dirt and mud. Its legs were long and pounded against the ground, so the echoes rang around the courtyard long before the rider drew close.
‘What is it?’ wondered Sui.
Mama brushed the dirt off her hands. ‘A horse.’ Mama had lived on a farm near the city before she married Da; she had seen many strange things. But nothing else, thought Sui, could be quite so large or powerful as a horse.
And a man sat on it, just as she had sat on the big sow when she was small. But the sow had twisted so she fell off. This man balan
ced sure and strong on the great beast’s back, despite its speed. As Sui looked, he tugged at the ropes in his hands, pulling the horse’s head back, so it changed direction suddenly and skirted around the wheat patch and the short green millet, then it stopped in the dust by the courtyard wall.
The rider dismounted. His face was streaked with dust and sweat, but even so it was clear he was different from anyone Sui had ever known. His cheeks were wider, his nose more narrow and his clothes were strange too; not made of goatskin like all the clothes that Sui had ever known, but some thick, almost shiny, material, which showed deep red and blue, despite the dirt.
She glanced back at the horse. There was a sort of leather cushion on its back, where the rider had sat, and the cushion rested on a strange rich cloth. Two bags of leather hung on either side. Sui wondered if they held bedding, or food perhaps.
The rider was panting. He leant against his horse for a moment and wiped dark sweat from his forehead. ‘Your headman,’ he gasped, ‘I must see your headman!’
Sui’s mother bent her head politely. ‘I will take you to …’ she began, just as Auntie Fai bustled through the courtyard door.
Auntie Fai was the oldest of the aunties. She was thin and hard and her hair was thin too, pulled back tightly into a grey knot at her neck. Her face was like an apricot that had rolled behind the fireplace and dried there all winter.
‘What is going on here? A guest! Why didn’t you call me at once! Excuse her, honoured guest …’ Auntie Fai’s tiny mud-black eyes measured the rider’s clothes and horse, and judged him to be honoured indeed. ‘Please come inside. I will take you to Great Uncle.’
The rider nodded. ‘Thank you,’ he said briefly. His voice was strange as well, the familiar words were spoken slightly differently. He followed Auntie Fai through the gateway without a second look at Sui and her mother.
The giant horse clopped after him.
Sui sighed, then pinched herself. What had she expected? That he’d gaze into her eyes then immediately ask Great Uncle for her hand! It all came of listening to Mama’s story of how Da had taken the pigs into the city market to sell, and seen Mama along the road and brought her back to the farm as his wife.
But that had scarcely had a happy ending, thought Sui. Da had died and Mama had to live among strangers, with the aunties and uncles who thought no-one would be good enough for their darling younger brother.
It would be horrible to live among strangers, decided Sui, no matter what Auntie Fai said.
Great Uncle lived in the biggest of the huts inside the courtyard, surrounded by apricot trees and dusty hens that pecked and made dust baths in the dirt. Sui watched as Auntie Fai ushered the rider inside then bustled out again. She gestured to Sui sharply.
‘Call the others!’ she ordered. ‘The rider says he has something important to say, and Great Uncle insists we all be there as well.’
‘Yes, Auntie.’
Sui sped through the apricot trees, calling through each doorway, then out the courtyard gate again and past the pig pen and the dung pile, to the grassland behind the farm where Cousins Donizen and Ushan were tending the goats.
‘A guest!’ she called. ‘A rider on a giant horse!’ She stumbled slightly over the unfamiliar word. ‘Great Uncle says we all must come!’
The boys nodded and began to call the goats, to herd them back inside the courtyard. Sui left them to it and ran back. She hesitated at the courtyard gate, then hurriedly dipped her hands in the big earthenware tub of water that always stood there in case the animals were thirsty, and washed her face and tried to smooth back her hair. Sui had good hair, Mama said, thick and black, but there was so much of it that it kept escaping from her plait.
Except for the cousins, the family were already seated when she got there. The aunties and uncles and older cousins sat on the wide bed platform, and Cousin Tasha’s children sat on the floor. Mama sat on the floor too. Mama no longer had a husband to provide for her or make sure she had respect.
Mama’s face was pale and so were the faces of the aunties and uncles, as though shock had bleached all the colour from their skin. What had the rider been saying, Sui wondered, to make them look like this?
Sui sat down beside Mama. Light streamed over the rough mud windowsill. If she craned her head, Sui could just see the horse in the courtyard. Someone had taken the leather seat off its back and tied its rope to an apricot tree. The chickens clucked round its long legs, as though they too wondered what sort of beast had arrived.
The horse’s rider sat in the seat of honour, next to Great Uncle.
‘What has he been saying?’ whispered Sui to her mother.
‘He says an army is coming,’ whispered her mother.
‘An army!’
‘A giant army, coming to attack the city! He says they will kill us all on their way there!’
‘But that’s …’ began Sui, then stopped, as Auntie Fai’s stern eyes glared at her.
Great Uncle was shaking his head. ‘I am sure it cannot be as bad as you say,’ he protested. ‘If we surrender and say we will pay their taxes, surely the army will let us live.’
The rider’s face twisted with remembered pain. ‘In my town Genghis Khan built a temple out of the bodies of those who had surrendered. His soldiers piled them high, then plastered them with mud to make walls to bake in the sun. Those he let live were taken to become a living shield, forced to advance on the next town in front of the army and protect the soldiers behind from arrows.’
Cousin Tasha began to cry, muffling the sound behind her hands. Auntie Lazza hugged her close to comfort her.
‘How did you escape?’ demanded Great Uncle.
‘I was one of those he let live. I lived with the army for three weeks, till they came to the next town. I was made to run in front of the horsemen. When the arrows from the city killed those around me, I lay down and pretended to be dead. For three days the army passed over me as I lay there in the sun, protected by the heaped bodies of my friends. On the third day the world was quiet. I looked up and all I could see were crows and the slain and the ruins of the town.’
‘And your horse?’ asked Auntie Fai, glancing sternly at Cousin Tasha and her tears. ‘Where did you get the horse?’
‘Its leg was hurt. It could no longer gallop with the army. The soldiers had left it behind. But I had worked with horses, back in my old life when the world was sane. I cut the arrow out and … and we both survived.’
‘What did you eat?’ asked Sui.
‘Shh,’ ordered Auntie Fai, shocked at such forwardness.
The rider almost smiled. ‘It’s a good question,’ he said. ‘One hundred thousand men and half a million horses eat the world empty.’
‘Half a million!’ exclaimed Auntie Fai. ‘There aren’t so many horses in the world!’
The rider shook his head. ‘Every soldier in Ghenghis Khan’s army has five horses, so if one is hurt or tired he can change at will. They say there are a hundred thousand men in the Mongol army … After they had passed there was no grass, no animals, no grain stores left.
‘But the crows came to feed on the dead, and I ate the crows. It rained that first night and soon there was grass again. And there, with the bodies of my friends around me, I swore I would ride from town to village, from village to city, and warn them of the danger and that is what I have done ever since. Genghis Khan’s army moves quickly, but not as fast as one man and a good horse can travel.’
Great Uncle sucked his toothless gums thoughtfully. ‘But are you sure the army will come this way?’ he insisted. ‘We are far away from the road to the city. No-one comes this way from one harvest to the next.’
The rider shrugged, making his strange bright tunic rustle. ‘I’m sure,’ he said. ‘The army isn’t like a caravan of traders straggling along the road. When it comes, the army will fill the plain from horizon to horizon. Until you have seen a hundred thousand men and half a million horses, you can have no idea how an army can fill the world. I have
already warned the city elders and they have sent out warnings too.’
‘So you have warned us,’ said Great Uncle heavily. ‘But what should we do with your warning? Run to the city?’
The rider shook his head, so his long dusty hair brushed against his tunic. ‘There is no hope for the city. None at all.’
‘Then what?’ demanded Great Uncle.
‘Run. Hide,’ said the rider.
‘How can we outrun an army? We have no horses to carry us away! We have nowhere to hide either.’ Great Uncle gestured out the window, as though the rider could see the empty plain and bare brown hills beyond the courtyard wall. ‘We have no caves, no forests, no mountains to flee to. What can we do?’
The rider hesitated. He glanced at Sui then looked away. ‘I could take one person away with me on horseback,’ he offered. ‘Or even two, if they are small.’
Sui glanced again at the horse out the window. Even an army seemed less frightening at the moment than the thought of trying to balance on that great creature’s back. She had never seen an army nor had any clear idea of what one might be like. But the horse looked very big and all too real.
Great Uncle studied Sui and the children on the floor thoughtfully. ‘Maybe,’ he said doubtfully. ‘How far away do you think the army is?”
The rider shrugged. ‘They will be here in fifteen days perhaps. No more.’
‘Then can you wait a day with us? If we can find no other way of escape by then we …’ Great Uncle’s voice quivered, then he forced it firm again, ‘… then we would be most grateful if you would take two of us to safety.’
‘No!’ screamed Sui in her mind. But she said nothing. To leave her home, her family, the village … everything she had known. But if she wasn’t one of the chosen … if the rider took little Dalan or Shai instead, then she would die among the crushing hooves of half a million horses.
The Book of Horses and Unicorns Page 5
