Rhuddlan (100 page)

For someone who spent most of his time
stealthily tracking game, Gilbert was unnaturally garrulous,
Haworth thought dourly, but at least his chatter obscured some of
the more offensive noises behind them and it had a certain friendly
charm. Haworth was used to young men who were awed into silence
while in his presence but Gilbert le Loop seemed unaffected by his
status and spoke to Haworth almost as if they were equals. Perhaps
on this territory, they were.

Dawn crept over the land as they left the
cultivated fields and entered the forest. Gilbert ceased his speech
long enough to breathe a few deep lungfuls of air and squint into
the western sky. “I think we might get rain later,” he said. “I
smell it. And I thought I saw a bank of clouds on the horizon in
the west. It all depends on the wind.”

Haworth, who didn’t need to smell rain to
know it was coming, asked, “What wind? It’s still as a corpse out
here.”

Gilbert shrugged and grinned at him. “That’s
what I mean. The wind will have to pick up if we are to have the
rain.”

When the sun was a hazy orange disk low in
the eastern sky, filtering between the towering oaks and poplars,
the hunting party reached a clearing. Gilbert whistled piercingly
and the beaters halted, pulling back on the dog leads. The huntsman
said to Haworth, “We’ll stop here instead of our usual spot. Better
for the women.” Before Haworth could reply, he turned in his saddle
and called back to Hugh, “My lord! We’ll break our fast here!”

The next few moments were pandemonium as
grooms ran up to help the guests from their horses and servants set
up trestle tables and put out food and drink. Hugh and his male
guests, Aymer, the viscount of Limoges and his two half-brothers,
William, the would-be count of Angoulême and Aymer the younger,
stood in a small circle laughing as they spoke, which told Haworth
they were no longer discussing the transgressions of the prince.
The wives of the two Aymers sat close to each other and blathered
away. The dogs barked because they smelled food and were hungry,
not having been fed that morning to make them keener for the hunt
and the beaters and woodsmen stood in their own version of their
lords’ circle, presumably discussing much the same subject as Hugh
and his companions, Haworth thought, as the amount of laughter
coming from them was comparable. Haworth’s head ached.

After dismounting, Gilbert had gone to speak
a few words with Hugh and now he returned and said to Haworth, “The
stream is just beyond that row of bracken. I’m going to have a wash
and then I’ll take the dogs on ahead and flush out the Young
King.”

Haworth was aware of Gilbert’s quirky ritual
of bathing before setting off after his prey. The young man claimed
the water washed the scent from him and made him less threatening
to the animals he chased and while Haworth mostly doubted this,
since he put the same clothes back on, it couldn’t be denied that
he was an excellent tracker and no one had ever returned from his
hunts empty-handed.

“I wonder you didn’t stop at our usual spot,
then,” he remarked. “The stream is right at the edge of the
clearing.”

“That’s why I said this one is better for the
ladies, Sir Roger.” Gilbert winked at him. “They won’t be able to
see me in all my glory and tear their hair out because they can’t
have me.”

Haworth almost choked. He thought Gilbert was
only half-joking. He glanced back at the chaos surrounding the
breakfast board and didn’t see a place for himself. “I’ll join
you,” he said, when he’d recovered his breath.

While Gilbert stripped himself naked, walked
out into the middle of the shallow stream and lay down in the slow
current, immersing himself so that only his nose broke the surface,
Haworth contented himself with removing his leather hunting jerkin
and the linen tunic underneath. He squatted at the gravelly edge of
the stream and splashed water over his upper torso and head, as
much for something to do as to refresh himself, gasping a little in
shock at its icy temperature and wondering how the other man could
lie in it for so long.

Another moment passed and Haworth became
concerned. Perhaps Gilbert had had some kind of seizure…but then
the huntsman suddenly sat up with a noisy, joyous whoop and gave a
mighty swing of his head which whipped the fair hair, now
considerably darkened by wetness, off his brow. A few drops
spattered into Haworth. He straightened up and began wiping himself
down with his shirt to cover his confusion. Gilbert was more than
competent in his work but otherwise behaved in a manner better
suited to a child than a man. There were at most fifteen years
between them but Gilbert made Haworth feel old enough to be his
father.

“Sir Roger, is that scar from the wound you
received in Wales?”

Haworth automatically glanced underneath his
arm to the jagged, puckered scar and the neater cut running a short
way down his side where the Welsh physician had opened the wound to
remove the arrow point and bone splinters and permit blood to wash
it clean. He recounted for Gilbert the circumstances leading to the
shooting without mentioning the Bastard or Rhuddlan but making it
sound as if it had been just another battle against the Welsh.
Gilbert had never seen a longbow but had heard of its tremendous
power and was obviously impressed that a man could be shot with one
and yet survive. “My lord was right about you,” he said with
admiration. “He told me you’re invincible, Sir Roger, and seeing
that wound and hearing your tale, I believe him.”

They rejoined the party as breakfast was
ending. The two women had somehow ended up on either side of Hugh
and Haworth saw that as soon as one stopped talking, the other
started. Indeed, when Hugh spotted him, the look of relief on his
face was plain. He smiled and said something to the ladies and then
extricated himself from the bench and went to meet his captain and
his huntsman.

“Thank God you're back!” he exclaimed in a
low voice to Haworth. “Those damned women are making my head spin!
I let slip that we had stopped at Stroud for a time before ending
up here and they’ve been pestering me with questions about my
daughter ever since. And one of them had the audacity to ask why
Eleanor and the little boy don’t live with us.” He gave the other
man a quick nod. “Gilbert, what’s your plan?”

“I will take the beaters and the dogs up
ahead, my lord, and scout out the Young King,” the young man said
cheerfully. “It’s early yet. I’ve no doubt he and his herd are
still feeding and I’ve got a good idea where I’ll find them.”

Hugh looked from Haworth to le Loop. “The
Young King?”

“A fine stag, my lord. I’ve been following
him for over a year. Just waiting for an important occasion.”

“Yes, yes, but why do you call him the Young
King? Is there a more impressive one out there?”

“No, my lord, only me. I’m the king of this
forest and the Young King is here only at my sufferance.”

Haworth laughed, a harsh sound. Gilbert
inclined his head and trotted off towards his horse. Hugh watched
him go and then turned to Haworth. “Do you find him amusing, Roger?
I don't think I’ve heard you laugh in years.”

“He’s…different, my lord.”

Hugh snorted. “I think the
word is
charming
,
Roger.”

“If you don’t mind, my lord, I’d like to go
with him.”

The earl gave him a curious look and then
shrugged. “By all means…”

Gilbert was right; the Young King wasn’t far
away. Less than a league from the clearing, the dogs picked up his
scent and the intensity of their yapping increased tenfold. One of
the woodsmen ran back to Gilbert and said excitedly, “We’ve found
where they’ve been feeding!”

The huntsman leaned towards Haworth as they
rode after the man. “This is hardly sport,” he remarked. “The Young
King is so brazen he doesn’t bother to vary his trail. Look there,”
he pointed to a tree whose trunk was tufted in one area with what
looked like a brown-grey fur. “He rubs his head in the same spot
every day and the rough bark sloughs off the velvet from his
antlers.” He laughed. “Fearless, that’s him! He knows I’ve been
watching him for months. I even take a dog or two with me every so
often so he’s gotten used to smelling them, too. And he doesn’t
care! He thinks nothing can touch him.”

The beaters and the dogs waited just ahead.
Le Loop threw down his reins and hopped off his horse. He walked
toward an object on the ground and beckoned to Haworth, who
dismounted and joined him. “Look at that, Sir Roger,” he said with
awed glee. “Did you ever see spoor so large? I tell you, the Young
King is immense. Lord Hugh will look like a champion when he takes
him down.”

“The earl will probably give that honor
away,” Haworth answered, staring at the steaming pile.

Gilbert shrugged indifferently. He found a
tree suitable to his purpose and had one of his men boost him up
until he was able to catch a lower branch. He climbed the tree as
effortlessly as he rode his horse, Haworth noted, and admired the
lithe, energetic body without envy. He himself could no longer move
as easily, especially since Llanlleyn, but he had accepted that as
a part of getting older and at any rate, the last three years had
made him a content man and he could look upon anything without envy
and with uncomplicated enjoyment whereas once he would have been
begrudging and callous. It was because of Hugh, of course. Now he
had Hugh, faithful and solicitous.

Le Loop slithered down the tree. “I’ve seen
him! They’ve stopped to graze again.” He paused and frowned, as
though he were thinking. Then he said, “Sir Roger, how good are my
lord’s guests?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen them hunt,
although Aquitaine is known more for its troubadours than
hunters.”

“Then may I suggest this plan—you and I will
ride back to join the party. The beaters will come up behind the
deer, separate the Young King from the others and drive him towards
us.”

But Haworth was reluctant to return to the
hunting party. It was blessedly quiet in this part of the forest.
“Why?” he asked bluntly.

“The Young King is a massive creature, Sir
Roger,” Gilbert said with uncharacteristic solemnity. “If he
crashes through my lord’s guests, even wounded, he will cause
injury. But if I am there to make certain at least one arrow flies
true and strikes him dead, I will prevent such harm.”

He couldn’t argue with well-meaning intent,
so he nodded and the huntsman gave the appropriate instructions to
his men, hoisted himself back into the saddle and turned his
horse’s head back toward the path they’d just come up.

Le Loop was describing to Hugh and the men
from Angoulême the probable path of the Young King once the beaters
flushed him. Haworth, who wasn’t expecting to shoot, waited to one
side. To his relief, the women had stayed back at the clearing with
the baggage and the servants. The only others present were the
guests’ attendants, all mounted and ready to give chase should the
stag escape the trap.

He watched the forest. Under the shelter of
the trees, the air was still and heavy with dampness. His side
ached and when he looked up into the sky, he saw the tops of the
trees swaying.

Hearty laughter diverted his attention and he
glanced over at the earl. Gilbert was apparently regaling his
listeners with some ribald tale, for the men were grinning and
would occasionally break into chuckles. Then Haworth saw the
huntsman lean over and clap his hand onto Hugh’s shoulder; the
others laughed again and Haworth, momentarily outraged, started to
snatch up the slack in his reins in order to ride to them and
demand le Loop remove his hand. But he relaxed almost immediately.
Le Loop meant nothing by it, he was certain; the young man was
maddeningly familiar with everyone and Hugh would not appreciate
misguided intervention.

A sharp whistle suddenly pierced the air.
“That’s the signal!” Gilbert called excitedly. “Prepare yourselves
and remember: take careful aim! If I know this beast, you’ll only
have one clear shot!”

As Haworth had predicted, the earl’s three
guests were invited to put themselves forward, each to have an
equal, first chance at the kill, while Hugh himself dropped back.
Haworth went to stand next to him but discovered that Gilbert was
in his place. He was annoyed but thought little of it as the
huntsman had been standing there for some time as he had told his
stories. And then there was no time to think: the Young King came
crashing out of the undergrowth, headed straight towards them.

Haworth saw the stag’s momentary hesitation
as it caught sight of the hunters standing in its path but instead
of veering to one side as another deer might do, it seemed to
increase its speed. Indeed, it let out a high-pitched scream as it
ran, as though it were challenging the very men who sought to kill
it; the Angoulêmers loosed their arrows at one time and then pulled
their horses out of harm’s way. From his vantage, Haworth saw that
only one of the arrows had hit its mark and it was a feeble
puncture to the right foreleg; obviously a lucky shot, but it
didn’t appear to affect the Young King’s gait in the least. He
hadn’t expected to shoot, but his bow was in his hand just in case
and now he quickly fit an arrow to the cord and took aim but even
this practiced, fluid movement was too slow. The stag suddenly
leaned back on its powerful rear legs and then it was flying in the
air. Haworth’s arrow passed underneath it and landed harmlessly in
some tree a fair distance away. He watched in horror as the animal
sailed right at Hugh, still screaming its challenge. There was an
answering shrieking of horses being pulled this way and that; the
attendants were scrambling to get out of the stag’s path and the
Angoulêmers were shouting something Haworth’s mind could not
register. He reached for another arrow but Gilbert had been right;
he’d had only opportunity for one: shooting the Young King in the
rump would not slow its impetus. And Hugh was just standing there!
Haworth yelled but the earl didn’t move. Gilbert le Loop was
standing in his stirrups, javelin pulled back to his ear, waiting,
almost casually it looked to an increasingly frenzied Haworth, but
then in one motion he snapped it forward and dove for Hugh,
sweeping him off his horse and bringing him to the ground. Haworth
saw the javelin hit the stag square in its massive chest; there was
an immediate splay of blood and then the animal landed, scattering
the remaining horses. Its front legs crumpled under its weight and
Haworth could hear its gurgled breathing. It pawed vainly for
purchase on the ground, trying to stand, but the blood was seeping
away too rapidly; it gave one great shuddering gasp and collapsed
into stillness.