Children of the May (Children of the May Book 1)

Chapter Twelve: Wild Horses

‘I say, have a look, young Drift,’ said Accolon as we approached. ‘It seems like my idea of coming south was the right one after all, despite your lack of support.’ He swept his arm to present to me a sight I could already well see for myself.

The cliffs had shrunk to little more than a steep bank down to the shore, and a large grassland plain lay before us. The forest receded further from the water than it had anywhere else along our way. A long range of sand dunes edged the plain, hiding the sea from view, but what Accolon was really proud of, however, was a herd of thirty or so horses grazing perhaps three-quarters of a mile from us. Each horse was a variation of bay, their coats ranging from very dark brown to almost as red as Melwas’ hair. They were of all ages, from foals no older than Christian to an ancient mare.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,’ said Accolon in his smuggest voice, ‘I do believe we have found a way to accelerate our return home.’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ said Mordred, his voice still rich with anger at the prince. ‘Look at them: no fences, no stables, no master. Those horses are wild. They’ll kick you to pieces before they take a rider.’

Melwas’ green eyes sparkled at the sight of the herd, and her pale lips spread into a broad smile. ‘No, Mordred, they will allow me to ride them.’

Mordred clearly didn’t believe her, but before he could offer words of caution, she was striding through the grass towards them. She walked confidently, her long hair bouncing behind her as she went.

‘Well we’re not going to let her go on her own, are we?’ said Agravaine, stepping out in front of the group. ‘Come on you miserable git,’ he said to Mordred. ‘Let’s give her a hand.’

Mordred sighed, but was stirred by Agravaine’s friendly insult.

‘That’s better,’ said Agravaine, as Mordred went to him. ‘You really do take yourself too seriously sometimes, you ken.’ The fair boy put Mordred in a headlock, ruffled his black hair, and let him go again, laughing. Mordred threw a fake a punch at Agravaine, who caught the punch in his large, flat palm.

‘Are we going to help or are we going to scrap, boy?’ said Mordred.

‘Let’s go, braw,’ said Agravaine, ‘let’s go.’ The two of them followed Melwas, who was by now half way to the herd.

‘Are they b-b-b-b-brothers?’ I said, confused by Agravaine’s use of the word.

‘A term of affection rather than affiliation, I think,’ said Accolon.

Some of the horses raised their heads as they noticed Melwas approach. The herd became tense. One of the biggest red mares nuzzled her foal, pushing it towards the centre of the group.

‘Should w-w-w-w-we all go?’ I desperately wanted to bring our fractured group back together, to recapture some of the fellow-feeling we had felt when we sang Elia and Melwas’ song on the ship.

‘I’m sure they think they know what they’re doing, Drift, old chap,’ said Accolon, his nose twitching. ‘Anyway, there’s no point in anyone else getting hurt by those beasts.’

‘You’re very wise, Accolon,’ said Bellina, simpering over the boy in the red coat. ‘Quite the wisest man I know.’

Accolon bowed to her, but his eyes never left the party of three crossing the grassy plain.

Melwas had reached the edge of the herd, and the horses were disturbed by her presence. A few of the more skittish mares trotted to the back of the pack, while others nodded their heads warily. One of them whinnied, and a large dark-brown mare stamped the ground, warning the girl off. But Melwas was unworried by their unease: she walked straight into the middle of the herd, towards the huge bay mare she had identified as their leader.