The Saxon Who Ran Too Fast

 

How I outran a horse — three times!

As a Saxon re-enactor, I was once invited to take part in a filming opportunity. I arrived in a broad, open field to find several friends already there, along with the film crew, the cameras, and a sense that this was going to be more interesting than an ordinary day in costume.

The producer explained the scene. Six Saxons, fleeing the Battle of Hastings, were to be hunted across the field by roving Norman mounted patrols. We would form a loose shield wall. Four Norman knights would charge. And because I was on the left-hand end, I had the special honour of dropping my shield and running for my life.

It sounded simple enough. The camera was set low to the ground about two hundred yards away. The plan was that a mounted knight would catch me just before I reached it, swing his sword down, and kill me dramatically on film. Right.

The producer shouted, “Action!” and the knights spurred their horses into a gallop. The ground seemed to tremble beneath them. I waited until they were almost upon us, judged my moment, hurled down my shield, turned, and ran as hard as I could.

“Stop!” called the producer.

I turned back. The mounted knight was still by the shield wall. His horse had shied when my shield crashed to the ground. After all, how often does a horse meet a Saxon warrior throwing down a noisy shield in front of it? Strike one.

We reset and tried again. This time I lowered the shield a little more carefully, then legged it. Behind me came the thunder of hooves, growing louder with every stride, but over two hundred yards the horse still had to gather speed. Somehow, I reached the camera before the knight could catch me. Strike two.

For the final run, I knew what I had to do: slow down. That is not a natural instinct when a very large horse is coming up behind you at speed. I could hear it closing in, hooves pounding, breath and leather and metal all rushing towards the back of my head. Then, just in front of the camera, the rider caught me. His sword came down and struck the back of my helmet — fortunately with the flat of the blade. I think.

I threw out my arms and dropped to the ground, terror etched across my face.

The producer was delighted. He beamed at me. “That was great,” he said, grinning. “You looked terrified!”

I tried to grin back. “No wonder,” I answered. “I could hear a very heavy horse thundering down on me, and I had no idea whether it was going to trample me as I fell.” Fortunately, the rider, Nigel, was a friend. With the reach of his sword, he left just enough space for me to collapse without being flattened.

So, technically, I outran a horse three times before finally being caught — admittedly over a short distance, and admittedly while the horse was still getting up to speed. Even so, for a few seconds, it was genuinely frightening. Sadly, I never saw the finished film, which was probably used in a Battle of Hastings documentary. But the experience did leave me with a certain sympathy for the characters in my books, The Prophecy of the Kings, who are not so fortunate. They cannot simply get up afterwards, drive home, and have dinner with their families. Writing is very cruel indeed.

https://davidburrows.org.uk/