The Stake and the Sapling
The man drove the metal pole into the ground, hitting the head of the rod with a wooden mallet. The two ponies tied to the pole averted their gaze, well aware that it was safer not to look at the man. Their bodies trembled with each blow of the mallet, as if the wooden hammer were falling upon their spines. The man stopped hitting the stake and looked at the captive animals while he slowly drew the cigarette from his mouth; then after a pause he tossed the mallet aside and walked away across the field. The ponies hoped he wouldn’t come back that night.
Already it was getting dark, the light and whatever warmth it had contained, fading quickly. The two horses continued to shiver in the twilight, their ribs – as white as whale bone – visible even in the meagre light, showing through their coarse and uncombed coats. They hadn't eaten in a long time and knew they'd get no food before dawn. There was water in a nearby trough but their tethers wouldn't extend that far. The ground beneath their feet was largely mud, the sparse grass trampled down and unreachable. Not long after it began to rain, a cold sleet that hinted at the possibility of snow. Above them the stars moved through their silent traces, casting light that fell perhaps on kinder worlds.
Neither horse had ever experienced the comfort of a blanket to keep out the cold, which was a constant presence in their limbs, an abiding chill which had taken up residence in their very bones. Their coats were tangled and matted, like knotted thorn bushes. Old leather halters dug into the flesh of their heads, leather manacles that had long ago festered into permanent sores. Their hooves and legs were covered in green stained mud, as if they’d been forced to walk through trenches for miles before reaching the field.
After a while the music started, a low throbbing from the adjoining field, along with the sound of laughter and shouting. Occasionally there was the clatter of breaking glass and the roar of engine motors being revved. The ponies glanced at each other wondering if the machines would come tonight, the two wheeled machines that were much faster than they could ever hope to be. Worst of all were the heavy three wheeled buggies that sometimes knocked the animals over as they tried to evade the chase, cuffing them off balance. It was always hard to find the will to get up after such collisions; but they both knew that any attempt to stay down would be met with a fresh beating. Sometimes when one of the machines failed to work they were forced to pull the vehicle along a road or across a field, a task they were scarcely equal to and for which they received no reward.
In time, as starlight continued to flicker through the clouds, two figures appeared in the field and walked towards the tethered animals. The ponies tensed. One saw the glint of moonlight on metal but the knife cut not their flesh, as had often been the case in the past, but the ropes which tethered them to the pole. The man and the woman walked slowly around the animals, careful not to make any quick gestures. They talked to the ponies in quiet whispers, picking up the loose ropes and guiding the animals away from the stake. Soon they were at the edge of the field and again there was the glint of distant light on metal; this time a different instrument was used to cut a way through the thorned wire that guarded the perimeter of the enclosure. Behind them the metal stake stood abandoned in the field, while the music and the raucous laughter continued. No one noticed the lorry as it drove away down the lane.
In the centre of the meadow stood a thin sapling, barely the height of a Merlin’s staff. Sometimes the two ponies wandered over to the limb, drawn by the way it added to its height day by day. Perhaps sensing the potential it contained to offer shade in the years to come, they left the sapling undisturbed. Long free now of both tether and halter, of the ropes that had once confined them to the narrowest of prisons, the ponies moved about the field confident and unafraid. Their coats were freshly groomed and there was no trace of the mud that had once clung to their legs.
The man walked across the field carrying a large bale of hay. It was too soon to bring the buggy and the trailer into the field for he knew it would spook the ponies. So for the time being he carried their food, a task he regarded less as a chore than a privilege. The two ponies both wore blankets for the early spring air was still cold. The man dropped the bale not far from the sapling that had appeared in the meadow some two years before, not long after the ponies had arrived. He cut the string and spread out the hay, then took two apples from his pocket. He cut these into quarters and waited for the two small horses to wander over.
In time the sapling did indeed grow into an oak and the two little ponies could often be seen beneath it branches, quietly grazing in the open field, far from the iron rod that had once held them captive.
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Artist illustration by kind permission of Lesley Ann’s Paintings: https://www.facebook.com/LesleyAnnsPaintings
