Envoys Of The Vow

Chapter 3

As the yard emptied again for the evening, it felt like the farm was being returned to Sara.  By six o’clock Misty was tacked up ready for a long ride out in the last of the warmth of the day.  As she headed out down the track, she felt at peace for the first time today. 

 The track that leads away from the farm to the country road was just under a mile long.  The first stretch had dense five foot hedgerows on both sides that in the winter were prone to filling with windblown snow and cutting the farm off for days.  The track then forked and opened up to wheat fields on either side.  The left hand fork continued down to the road, the right hand path was a back road into the massive country house that had dominated this area for centuries. 

 Dating back to the fifteenth century in some parts, the Pink Palace as it was known for its pale pink colour, was breathtakingly beautiful medieval mansion.  With its leaded light windows and beams it sprawled over the landscape.  The mansion was surrounded by its own moat and a huge dove cote dominated the gardens that faced Kingsfield.  It had been a country estate owned by a Tudor knight originally.  In more recent times, it had been owned by a vast range of people from music producers to ultra rich business tycoons, and its current owner was the person who had bought the two thousand acre estate in its entirety and then broken it up into smaller farms that had enabled her parents to purchase Kingsfield. 

 Turning right off the main track onto one of the newly cut wheat fields towards the glorious house she kicked Misty on who was more than happy to canter.  Sara had always been a natural rider, she was not technical in how she rode, she would never go down the route of the purist competition rider, but she had an ability that always surprised people.  She could bond with the wildest of horses instantly and sit the most amazing array of bucks without even a flicker of movement in the saddle. 

 This is how she had got Misty, as a present from her mother the mare was hugely traumatized when she had arrived.  Misty had an arsenal of maneuvers to unseat even the best of riders, dubbed unrideable by a number of vets she had gone to a rescue centre where Sara had first seen her.  Sara needless to say fell in love with her over the stable door and had begged her mother to get her the horse.  On returning from a weekend away with the girls there she was in her stable at home.  The only problem was that Anne had not yet arrived home from work and had not had a chance to tell Sara the horse was lethal.  Sara had no tack that would fit the mare so got on with just a head collar and was cantering her around the bottom field when her mother arrived at the top of the field yelling at her to get off.  Not being able to hear what her mother was shouting Sara kicked the mare on to a gallop up the hill.  The mare unleashed a massive volley of bucks that had Sara been expecting them would have decked her instantly, as luck would have it as she was relaxed on the mare so the bucks never moved her.  Sara’s response had been a huge hug for the mare and a fit of the giggles, Misty was more used to a bloody good hiding for that sort of behavior and from that day on had loved Sara unconditionally.

 Sara had planned to cross the fields round the back of the church then around Matlocks Farm and back through Todd’s Wood.  It had been two days since she had visited the wood to check the feeders.  She still cringed at the memory of whatever had growled at her but she was not going to let her jangled nerves keep her away from the wood. 

 The ride was fantastic.  The newly harvested wheat fields had ditches that were usually impossible to get to and old hunt fences that were now accessible.  Misty flew the lot.  For a thoroughbred she was uncannily foot sure and deeper going never fazed her.  By the time they gained the trees that lined the path next to the church yard they were both grateful for the shade. 

 They passed the Iron railing bordering the church's cemetery. The church itself was perched on top of a hill that gave it exceptional views across the countryside and back towards Kingsfield.  Next to the church stands the ancient yew tree widely alleged to be as much as four thousand years old, famed for both its age and for the wooden door that has been built into its trunk. It is not known exactly when or why the door had been attached but the massive tree was completely hollowed out by the villagers back in the early nineteenth century.  In the process of hollowing it out they had discovered a cannonball, which may have inadvertently embedded itself in the trunk after being fired by an errant cannon during the English Civil War. The manor house opposite the church had been a staunch Royalist position back then and as such had been a target for Cromwell’s troops.