Even in this extremity however, she marvelled at the great horse’s fortitude. Its eyes were white with terror, but somewhere, deep inside, was a will that refused to abandon all control to whatever had so frightened it. A will that made it carry and care for its charges even though it should die in the attempt. A will that enabled it to carry its now increased burden without slowing.

Without slowing! She knew what would be her fate if her own horse stumbled at this terrifying pace.

And it was beginning to falter. She was going to die here! Die, in this whirling maelstrom of flying hooves and Fyordyn dust which seemed now to be the very heart of all the confusion and upheaval that had rent her life apart in just a few hours. Die, betraying her husband, herself, the people, everything.

Then, through all the turmoil she felt the tiny flut-terings of her unborn child, helpless and needing, its life not yet begun, the very antithesis of this powerful battle-horse charging purposefully towards the end of its own life and sweeping all before it.

‘No,’ she cried out involuntarily in horror and re-proach. That above all must not be. A fearful light came to her as she saw the deep wisdom of her child’s lesson. This horse’s will could not be dominated, it would turn from its course only for the greater need of another. Then, almost without realizing what she was doing, she released her horse and slipping from it, swung her whole weight on to the creaking bridle.

Briefly her feet struck the ground with a juddering impact and she curled up her knees desperately. A whitened eye looked into hers as the horse bent its head under this sudden and unexpected weight. ‘Rider down, horse, help me,’ she cried out, her own eyes wide with terror. ‘Rider down.’