The Raid
Soon the four of us horses were cantering across the desert with the men on our backs. The moon was nothing but a sliver, but horses see quite well in the dark and so our hoofbeats were steady and sure.
Is this a raid? I asked the others in the silent language of horses.
Indeed, it must be, Ibtisam replied. That is the only reason the humans ride us out so far into the desert after nightfall.
A little thrill ran through me, and I was tempted to throw my head downward and my heels upward in a buck of excitement. But I understood from my training that the humans did not like us to buck while they were riding us, and so I settled for an extra burst of speed.
Nasr laughed as he slowed me down again. “My new war mare seems eager for this adventure,” he called to his sons. “It will be interesting to see if she does well tonight.”
“She is Sarab’s daughter,” Basim replied. “Of course she will do well. How could she not?”
“Hmm,” Nasr responded, then fell silent.
I hope it is not a raid, Zahrat told us with a toss of her head. Her nostrils were flared more than they should have been for the easy exercise, and her eyes rolled so much that the whites glinted in the weak moonlight. I do not like raids.
Indeed, Zahrat had not been on a raid in a long time. It was only because Jumanah had a brand-new filly at her side and Gameela was due to foal any day that Basim had started riding the high-strung dark bay again. I felt sorry for Zahrat, knowing she was a nervous horse who seemed ill suited to this sort of work. But I found it impossible to focus on that, my mind being filled with the coming adventure. What would it be like?
We rode for several hours. My muscles hummed as the desert flew by beneath my hooves, and that helped my mind to settle. For a while I even forgot why we were out and merely enjoyed the exercise.
Then I caught the faint scent of smoke on the breeze. I smell a human camp, I said. We must be close.
The men must have known it, too. They soon slowed us to a trot and then a walk. They also stopped talking to each other, communicating only with soft whistles.
Excitement surged through me. Though this was my first raid as a war mare, being there felt familiar and good. Was it the blood of my dam, Sarab, guiding me, as the men thought? I recalled that early memory of her fine, chiseled head on the sand, the stories Nasr still told of their adventures together, and thought that it must be so.
In any event, I knew that this was where I was meant to be, the reason I had been born, generations of war mares coursing through my blood. I was the product of their lives and experiences as well as the training I had received from my humans and from the desert itself.
It felt right. And I was ready.
We crested a sloping dune and saw the encampment beneath us. It stood in a small but lush oasis full of palms heavy with dates, surrounding a deep spring. These humans had two tents, both standing on the far side of the water. It was very late at night by now, and the oasis was silent except for the calls of owls and nightjars.
Nasr urged me forward with his legs. I understood that I was to move as silently as possible. The sand muffled my footsteps as I picked my way carefully down the far side of the dune. My ears were pricked toward the animals in the oasis. Most of them were sleeping, though a few horses and sheep were standing sentry over their herdmates. As we drew closer, one of the mares lifted her head to stare at us, though she didn’t make a sound.
I was almost down the hill when I heard Zahrat coming up fast behind me. She was blowing each breath out through her nostrils with a little puffing sound, prancing as she went, despite Basim’s efforts to soothe her.
Just then a dog barked. Zahrat’s head shot up and she spurted forward.
No, I said to her through my body language, angling myself to block her from passing me. We cannot panic. We must be quiet.
Zahrat’s head was still up. But her eyes were rolling toward me now, and her prancing hooves slowed. A second later, Basim was able to get her back under control.
Nasr gave me a pat, then steered me forward into the unfamiliar camp. All the animals were awakening by now, and one of the younger mares nickered curiously at our arrival. It was tempting to nicker back in the normal, friendly way of horses. But Nasr had trained me well, and I remained quiet. So did the others, even Zahrat.
“Go quickly,” Nasr breathed to Basim. “Get a camel if you can. We’ll follow shortly.”
Basim nodded, then urged Zahrat forward. For a moment, she danced in place, unwilling to comply. But I lowered my head toward her, doing my best to give her courage with my look. Finally she moved toward the camels.
I didn’t see what she did after that, for Nasr turned me in the other direction. We rode in among the unfamiliar horses. They stared at me warily.
Then another dog barked. I felt Nasr’s body tighten and understood that we had to act quickly.
Behind me, I could see Hasna and Ibtisam herding several sheep away from the others. Some of the creatures were letting out sleepy baas of protest, though they went where they were supposed to go.
It was easy to feel Nasr’s every move when he rode me, and now I felt his head turn to look toward the tents. Then he leaned over and grabbed the long flaxen mane of a fine-looking chestnut mare, quickly slipping a halter and rope onto her delicate head. He did the same to another horse, a half-grown dapple-gray filly.
Then he turned me with pressure from his legs, holding one lead rope in either hand while letting the reins fall upon my neck. That was fine with me; I needed nothing more to guide me.
We moved swiftly out of the camp, leading the two horses. The gray filly balked once, shaking her head and ready to call out in protest. But I could sense she was only feeling uncertain without her usual herd leader to guide her. I bumped her firmly with my body, throwing her off balance and earning a respectful look from her. Nasr then gave a firm tug on the lead, and the filly followed along obediently.
Come, my beauty. It’s time to go.
Nasr didn’t speak the words aloud in the normal human way. But I understood him perfectly nonetheless. Turning toward the hilly dune, I trotted up its sandy slope. By now the other three war mares were at the top, along with the sheep and a gangly young camel.
Then—chaos. Several dogs came bursting toward us, barking for all they were worth. Seconds later, there came sleepy, confused shouts from the direction of the tents. A torch flared, the chestnut mare at my side let out a panicked whinny, and Nasr cursed under his breath.
“Let’s go!” he shouted hoarsely, kicking me into a gallop.
I burst into motion, flying the rest of the way up the steep dune. Nasr kept hold of the two other horses, and they ran along beside me, though the younger one was not very fast.
We crested the top of the dune. Hasna, Zahrat, and Ibtisam were already well away with their charges, but I put my head down and raced swiftly after them, dragging the gray filly along. The chestnut mare was nearly as fast as I and seemed to be enjoying the run.
Where are you taking us? she asked me.
You shall see, I replied. Now run as fast as you can!
She let out a willing snort and dug in, almost passing me before I surged forward again. Before long we caught up to the others, who were hampered by the slower sheep.
“They’re after us,” Nasr called to his sons, slowing me to a canter beside them.
Basim looked over. “Should we take the horses and camel and leave the sheep behind?” he called.
“No. We need the sheep. Besides, that shouldn’t be necessary.” I felt Nasr glance over his shoulder.
With my greater range of vision, I could see that there was not yet anyone following us. But my sensitive ears could hear the nickers and dancing feet of horses being rapidly saddled and mounted, and I guessed that they would be upon us soon.
“Hasna is the swiftest horse in our group,” Nasr said, pointing. “Fayyad, take her straight that way and see if you can draw their pursuit and
keep them busy to allow us to get away. The rest of us will take the long route home.”
Nasr’s second-eldest son nodded and closed his legs on Hasna’s sides, guiding the bay mare off to the left. Hasna obeyed for a stride or two. Then, seeing that the rest of us were not following but were in fact turning in the other direction, she began to resist, slowing to a stiff-legged, hopping gait and tossing her head high to escape the bridle.
Fayyad cursed, kicking firmly at the mare’s sides as he tried to regain control. But Hasna’s eyes were wide and anxious.
Do not leave me! she called to the rest of us in a panic. I do not like to be alone!
“Never mind,” Nasr barked out. Spinning me around, he rode toward Hasna. “Here, you take these two. Yatimah and I will play the decoy instead.”
Fayyad nodded, catching the lead ropes his father tossed his way. Then he turned Hasna and urged her on. For a second she hesitated, unwilling to part from me.
Go, I told her. The others await you.
Hasna saw Zahrat and Ibtisam and obeyed, cantering toward them with her ears pricked and the two strange mares following along. Soon they, along with the humans, sheep, and camel, were disappearing over the next rise.
“All right, my beauty,” Nasr murmured, his hand briefly dropping to stroke my withers. “I wasn’t expecting to test your speed and courage so soon, but I suppose this is as good a time as any.”
He urged me on, away from the others. I felt only the slightest moment of hesitation. Horses are meant to be in a herd, and it felt strange to rush away from them.
But Nasr was part of my herd, too, and he was still with me. I surged forward as he directed.
Moments later, cries rose behind us. Looking back, I saw several men on horseback crest the dune. Nasr let out a hoarse shout, momentarily slowing my speed as he glanced over his shoulder at the pursuers.
The other men shouted angrily in response, sending their horses after us. Nasr turned to face forward again, crouching down over my withers.
“Let’s go, my beauty,” he murmured.
He pressed me forward and I opened my stride, my legs pumping faster and faster as I flew over the sand. The other horses were fresher than I, but I understood from my rider’s urgency that we could not let them catch us, so I put every ounce of energy I had into staying ahead of them.
For about half an hour, we zigzagged among some craggy outcroppings. The other riders kept coming but couldn’t quite catch up or even get a good look at us.
Finally we emerged into open desert. I charged forward, and Nasr once again looked back.
I was watching, too, as the other riders burst into view. The lead rider shouted out with annoyance. “There is only one horse ahead!” he cried. “It is a trick—the scoundrels have deceived us!”
“After him!” the next man exclaimed. “At least we can take his mare to make up for our losses this night!”
Nasr laughed out loud. “Praise to Allah, you shall never catch me while I ride this mare!” he shouted back.
He urged me on even faster, and I responded instantly. Of course I was tired after the long night on the move, but I had been trained and conditioned well by Nasr and Basim, and had energy left still. The black night sky was also working in our favor, and despite our pursuers’ best efforts, we finally left them behind us in the darkness.
Only then did my pace slow, first to a canter and then to a trot. “Well done, my fine mare,” Nasr said, giving me a pat as his legs brought me at last to a walk. “You are every bit as fast and agile as your mother was, and equally bold. Thanks to you, we shall celebrate our spoils this night. Now let’s go home.”
Home was a word that I recognized, and I automatically turned toward our current oasis, for horses have a keen sense of direction. Indeed, Nasr allowed me to find my own way. After a short rest at a walk, he allowed me to move into a ground-covering trot, one I could sustain for a long while without tiring too much.
By the time we neared the oasis, the pink fingers of dawn were on the horizon. Nasr slowed me again, and we drifted to a halt just outside the encampment.
The others were back already, though it was obvious they hadn’t been there long—the women and children were still exclaiming over the new animals. The humans hadn’t yet noticed our return, though Ibtisam lifted her head and glanced toward me. As a well-trained war mare, she did not call out, and neither did I, though I was eager to rejoin my herd as soon as Nasr allowed it. By tilting my head slightly, I could see him sitting upon my back with a smile on his face as he watched his family.
“Allah forgive me, my beauty,” he murmured, stroking my neck without seeming to mind that it was damp with sweat after the long night of exertion. “You are not the same as your mother. But Sarab’s blood runs in your veins. I should have trusted that you would be a fine horse in your own right.”
I still didn’t understand human language. But I knew Nasr well enough by now to be able to feel the sentiment behind his words. Despite my weariness, I arched my neck with pride.
“There they are!” a voice cried out.
It was Safiya. She had just spotted us in the growing light. Nasr chuckled, then urged me gently forward. I trotted into camp to join the others.
Safiya hurried forward to meet us. She waited for her father to dismount, then took hold of me by the bridle.
“I’ll untack and groom her for you, Father,” she offered.
“Thank you, daughter,” Nasr replied, giving me one last pat. “Treat her well, for she has performed brilliantly this night. Yatimah is one of the two finest war mares I’ve ever had the pleasure to ride.”
Safiya’s eyes widened with surprise, and she looked at me with a proud smile. I lowered my head, blew a breath into her face, and then nuzzled her shoulder fondly.
Yes, I was a war mare now. And I was content with my ever-changing, ever-challenging life in the desert.
APPENDIX
MORE ABOUT THE ARABIAN HORSE
The Purest of Breeds
Arabians are thought to be the oldest breed of horse in the world and also one of the purest, their breeding dating back more than a thousand years. They have often been used to create or improve other breeds. Most common breeds of modern riding horses contain at least some Arabian blood in their background.
Arabian horses have always been bred for certain characteristics that make them stand out. They are instantly recognizable by their delicate, dished faces, their large eyes, and their high tail carriage.
Bedouin Treasures
Horses were a very important part of Bedouin life, sharing the Bedouins’ nomadic lifestyle and harsh desert environment. Sometimes the Bedouins would even invite their horses into their tents to escape the weather. They also would feed them dates and camel’s milk to make up for the lack of grazing and water in the desert. After countless generations of working so closely with humans, Arabians are known for their willing, friendly, and loyal temperament. As an Arabian proverb says, “My treasures do not clink together or glitter. They gleam in the sun and neigh in the night.”
Although Yatimah takes place in the ninth century, the Bedouins lived much the same then as they did in the very early twentieth century, when the following photographs were taken.
The Bedouin Lifestyle
For hundreds of years, Bedouins lived a nomadic life, moving from place to place to subsist in the harsh deserts of northern Africa and the Middle East. They traveled in family units with a male leader, sheltered by tents that they could shift easily as they moved to find water and grazing for their livestock. The Bedouins took great pride in their horse breeding and could recite their horses’ lineage going back many generations, with emphasis on the great mare lines in the pedigree.
War Mares
The Bedouins preferred to ride mares rather than stallions, especially when going on raids. They believed that mares were less likely to call out to other horses during raids, when it was important to be as stealthy as possible. The Bedouin war mares
were swift of foot, with great endurance, and could show great courage during battle. War mares were never for sale at any price, changing hands only through gift or theft.
Favorites of Many
Arabians have spread far beyond their original homelands. They are one of the most popular breeds in the world and were the chosen mount of a number of historical figures, including George Washington, Napoléon Bonaparte, and Ronald Reagan.
Unparalleled Endurance
Arabians are versatile horses and are used today in many different disciplines—trail riding, dressage, jumping, saddle seat, various Western events, and more. The sport in which Arabians are most dominant, however, is endurance racing, in which horse and rider travel up to one hundred miles, often over challenging terrain. The Tevis Cup in California is one of the best-known endurance competitions. Since its first running in 1955, nearly all of the winners have been all or part Arabian.
California, 1935
Risky Chance is a gray Thoroughbred who was born to race. Life at the track, being spoiled by his jockey’s young daughter, Marie, is all Chance could ask for. He loves nothing more than running fast and winning. But after an accident, he discovers a side of horse racing that has little to do with glory. Here is Risky Chance’s story … in his own words.
About the Author
Catherine Hapka has written more than 150 books for children and young adults, including many about horses. A lifelong horse lover, she rides several times a week and appreciates horses of all breeds. In addition to writing and riding, she enjoys all kinds of animals, reading, gardening, music, and travel. She lives on a small farm in Chester County, Pennsylvania, which she shares with a horse, three goats, a small flock of chickens, and too many cats.
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