Read Snow White and Rose Red Online
Authors: Patricia Wrede
Snow White and Rose Red (21 page)
The hounds, unused to such confusion at the beginning of a hunt, milled about uneasily as the men and women mounted their horses. Master Kirton had brought a bear ward down from London, so that at least one member of the hunt would be used to handling bears. The bear ward’s mastiffs had come with him; they stood behind the horses, growling ferociously at Master Kirton’s hounds and shaking their iron-spiked collars.
The hunt left Mortlak at around ten in the morning, and shortly afterward it passed the Widow Arden’s cottage. A few of the hounds lowered their heads to sniff the path that led to the Widow’s door, but the symbol John had scratched beside the gate was a strong one, and the dogs continued on without giving their masters a hint that they had smelled the musky odor of a bear. Inside the cottage, the women watched with deep misgivings as the cavalcade went by, but there was nothing they could do but pray that Hugh had been right to be so unafraid of this gay, deadly company. Shortly after, they heard the belling of the hounds in the forest, and knew the bear hunt had begun in earnest.
In a small, brushy hollow behind the half-rotted trunk of a fallen beech, John and Hugh heard the first of the hounds give tongue. At first, the cry was uncertain; Master Kirton’s dogs had been trained to the scent of hares and deer, not bears. Then a second dog joined in, and the cry firmed and deepened as the rest of the pack took it up. Bear and man exchanged looks as the sound grew louder. Then John nodded, and the two slipped out of the concealing bushes and headed deeper into the forest.
The hounds found the hollow soon after John and Hugh left it, and the fresh scent made them wild. The mastiffs, too, recognized the smell, and the bear ward had difficulty restraining them. The huntsmen pressed forward eagerly as the hounds leapt over the hollow, each man hoping to be the first to catch sight of the quarry. The trail twisted among the trees and ended abruptly at the edge of a clearing packed with shrubs and brambles that showed no sign of the passage of any large animal.
The master of the hounds was furious, convinced that his dogs had “hunted counter” by following the traces of a hare, and his temper was not improved by the pithy comments of the London bear ward. He tried to call the pack together, to return to the hollow and try to pick up the correct trail, but less than half of the hounds came back at the call of his horn. The others scattered among the trees on either side of the clearing and were soon lost to sight.
The remaining hounds cast about for a new scent, and soon the hunt was off once more. The dogs ran as if they were possessed of demons, and the hunt strung out behind them. The hounds’ excitement made the hunters certain that the bear was near, and they urged their horses on, each anxious to be the first to spy it. The route wound through the darkest parts of the forest, along the boggy banks of streams, up and down steep hills. Low branches whipped the riders’ faces constantly, but when they tried to pull their horses up, they discovered that they could not do so. They could only ride on and on, like the Wild Hunt itself, following the hounds deeper into the shadowy forest on the track of a quarry they never saw.
The men and women who had been left behind by the hurtling rush of the foremost riders had no better luck in remaining together. Here and there, a rider caught sight of a broad, furred back disappearing among the trees. With a shout of triumph, the hunter would spur his horse onward, only to have the creature vanish without leaving so much as a footprint. The hunt became more and more scattered, and the riders began to lose sight of each other. At first, few of them were concerned, for each could plainly hear the crashing and hallooing of his companions up ahead. Each followed the noise, plunging onward until the calls ceased abruptly, and he found himself alone and lost in the heart of the forest.
A mist began to rise, thick and cold, hiding the traces of the horses’ passage and turning the forest into an eerie, shifting maze. It writhed in and out among the long, bare tree trunks like a living thing, and through occasional, unexpected gaps the lost and frightened hunters glimpsed impossible things. In one part of the forest, a bear three times the size of a man roared once at a huntsman and then vanished, leaving claw marks deep in the bark of an oak, while elsewhere men swore they’d seen their quarry holding converse with the hunt master. Here a man heard roaring all around him but never saw the smallest sign of the bear’s presence; there two women all but fainted at the sight of not one but three bears, ghostly white and silent, rising out of the mist on either side of them. One horse, maddened by the heavy scent of bear, threw his rider and ran into the trees, leaving the man lying paralyzed with the fear that in another moment the bear would appear to maul him.
It was nearly sunset when exhausted horses with their weary riders began to emerge, in ones and twos, from the edge of the forest. The horses were flecked with foam and muddy to the croup; their riders’ clothes were torn and dirty and their faces showed the marks of branches and tall brush. The hounds were next, panting and footsore. Last of all came the cowering, whimpering mastiffs, none of whom could ever after be made to take part in a bear-baiting.
Rosamund and Blanche had strained their ears all day, listening fearfully for the blowing of the morte that would tell them Hugh had been taken. They rejoiced when they saw the first of the hunters riding slowly back toward Mortlak, and they grew happier with every tired man and animal that passed the cottage. By the time the last of them had gone by, it was fully dark, and the girls were impatiently awaiting the arrival of Hugh and John, to tell them what had happened.
They had almost given up when they heard the familiar knocking at the door. The Widow opened it at once, and exclaimed when she saw them. John was leaning heavily against Hugh’s side, and he looked very little better than the hunters the girls had watched with such glee. His doublet was muddy and full of leaves, his face was tired and pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
The Widow gave a tiny gasp and hurried to help John inside. “A cup of water, Rosamund, and quickly. Blanche, see to the bear.”
“Naught’s amiss with me,” Hugh said.
“Then how has John come to such a sorry state?” Rosamund snapped as she hastened to do her mother’s bidding.
“Nay, ‘tis no great matter,” John said. “I’m tired, that’s all.”
Rosamund sniffed scornfully. “You look worse than Mother’s herbs when all the virtue’s been boiled out of them.” She pushed him to a seat with one hand and held out the cup of water with the other.
“Thy description’s amazingly apt,” John replied, taking the cup from her and draining it at a gulp.
“Not so fast; thou‘lt do thyself an injury,” the Widow said. “How came thee to this pass, Master Rimer? Was it the hunt?”
“In a way.” John looked up and smiled suddenly. “‘Twas a greater crowd than I’d expected, and ’tis no easy thing to pixy-lead so many. Still, I think ‘twill do.”
Hugh snorted loudly. “ ‘Twill more than do, brother mine. Robin Goodfellow will envy thee this day’s work, if he hears of it. ”
“You’ve pixy-led the whole of Master Kirton’s hunt?” Blanche said, wide-eyed.
“I thought it would discourage them,” John explained in an apologetic tone. “I wanted no more bear hunts.”
Rosamund choked on a laugh. “From the look on them as they came homeward, I think you’ll get your wish. I doubt there’s man or hound among them who’ll hunt so much as a rabbit through that forest again.”
“Aye. The beasts will bless your day’s work,” Blanche said.
“An the hunters stay away, I’ll be content,” John said, and smothered a yawn.
“Cease thy chatter and rest a little,” the Widow said in a scolding tone. She set a tin dish half-filled with lentil stew on the table before him. “And eat. Thou‘rt all but spent.”
“Oh, surely not so bad as that,” John said, but he took his eating knife out of his pouch and set to work on the stew with an alacrity that gave the lie to his words.
The Widow watched him for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction and turned to Hugh. “ ‘Twill be a day or two before we know how sure thy brother’s work has been. I think thou shouldst keep from sight a while.”
“Aye,” Rosamund said sagely. “It will be better far if thou‘rt not seen. Meantime, we’ll study how to steal thy true shape back for thee. ”
John’s head came up quickly, and he spilled stew across his knees. He muttered a curse and brushed at it, which only served to mix the warm stew more thoroughly in with the mud and twigs that already covered his hose. Rosamund laughed. Blanche shot her a reproving look, but John did not seem disturbed.
“Plainly, I’m more tired than I had thought,” he said, abandoning his brief effort to improve his appearance. “But I cannot let thee do this, Rosamund. Thy family’s done enough already.”
“You cannot stop us,” Rosamund said, lifting her chin. “And we want to help.”
“I think thou‘lt need what we can offer,” Blanche said quietly but with determination. “Thou’st said already that thou knowest little of mortal magic.”
“And you, Mistress Arden?” John said to the Widow. “What say you to this idea?”
The Widow bit her lip. “I like it not,” she admitted. “‘Tis dangerous to think of crossing Master Dee and Master Kelly, and there’s always the chance that the work will be discovered and we’ll all be taken up for witches. But I have never liked it, and what Blanche says is true; thou’lt need our knowledge, an thou hope to restore thy brother.” She looked up and smiled wryly. “And will I, nil I, Rosamund at least has set her mind to this. ‘Twill be far better an I’m there to aid her.”
“No,” Hugh rumbled, getting to his feet. “You’ve done enough, and more.”
“If we’d done enough, thou‘dst have thy proper form,” Blanche said with unusual acerbity; then she bit her lip and dropped her eyes to avoid Hugh’s surprised look.
“Mother’s right; we’ll do this whether you wish or not,” Rosamund declared, glaring impartially at both the brothers. “So sit down, and do not trouble us with these foolish arguments.”
“ ‘Tis you who’re foolish,” John said. “Your danger’s double: once from these wizards and again from those who’d hang you all as witches if they knew what you’re about.”
“Our danger’s no greater than thine,” Rosamund shot back hotly. “Or dost thou think the witch-hunters will pass thee by because thou were of Faerie once?”
“Rosamund, control thy temper.” The Widow’s voice was cool and disapproving. Rosamund flushed and fell silent. The Widow waited a moment, then added, “I agree with what thou‘st said, but I like not the manner of your saying it.”
Rosamund smiled triumphantly at John, who said to the Widow in a tone of exasperation, “Thou‘rt as foolish as thy daughters!”
“And both of you are near as stubborn,” the Widow retorted, looking from Hugh to John. “Blanche spoke true: you know little of mortal magic, and less of hiding from the eyes of those who look for witches beneath each stick and stone. I know somewhat of both, and I know, too, that ‘twould be wrong to let you go without our aid because it seems a danger. John cannot keep a bear in Mortlak, but he must live there if he hopes to watch Master Dee. What will you do, if you reject our help?”
“It may be that thou‘rt right,” John said in a thoughtful tone.
“No!” Hugh said.
“Or it may be that I am but too tired to think,” John went on as if Hugh had not spoken. “Perhaps we could continue in the morning?”
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