I felt my cheeks redden, though Roger showed no sign of having heard her. He was busy scanning the courtyard for the arrival of the Duke and his entourage. I wanted neither of them to think me a coward, but I had in truth been shaken by all the tales of gorings and slashings by the tusks of boars at bay.
I hadn’t foreseen what a major event the hunt would be. All normal activities ground to a halt as the party mustered in the stableyard. It seemed everyone who lived or worked in the castle turned out to watch, despite the bitter weather.
A group of the very youngest pages were marshalled under the eye of Sir William. Their grumbling and complaints reached my ears as we walked past.
‘Look, even a girl is going.’
‘And the merchant’s son. But not us!’
‘Ignore them,’ said Alys. ‘They’re just envious. And think of the trust the Duke has placed in us.’
Dozens of horses were gathered outside the stables waiting for their riders, stamping and shifting from hoof to hoof in the frosty air. Once I had mounted Bess, and Roger and Alys were being helped into their saddles by under-grooms, I had a better view of the gathering.
Hugh and Lionel were laughing and joking among the squires and older pages. Both were resplendent in what appeared to be new hunting clothes, trimmed with fur against the morning chill.
Clustered in groups around them were various gentlemen from the castle and beyond. Among them were Sir Francis, Sir Richard Ratcliffe, another of the Duke’s household knights, and the burly figure of Lord Scrope, whom I had seen at the Duke’s birthday celebrations. Loosely held in his hand were the reins of a superb midnight-black stallion, whose flanks were already steaming in the cold air. I supposed he had ridden over for the sport from his home at nearby Bolton Castle. He had not been at breakfast with the others and now he was tearing wolfishly at a hunk of bread and honey while talking with Sir Francis and Sir Richard. All three of them hailed Master Gygges, just then emerging from the kennels, accompanied by the clamour of the still unseen hounds.
When most of the gathering had mounted, Duke Richard and his family appeared. Edward was already ahorse, but the Duke’s mount, smaller than Storm but another grey, was led by a groom. He himself walked alongside his wife.
All muffled in furs, the Duchess took from a serving woman a tray of small silver cups from which steam was rising and offered them to household knights and local gentlemen. The final two she handed to Edward and her husband, who by now had also mounted. Some of Sir William’s pages circulated with similar trays until everyone in the company had been served. I cradled my wooden cup to warm my frozen fingers.
The Duke leant down to kiss his wife’s hand, then saluted her with his cup, before raising it to the crowd.
‘Good fortune to our hunt today,’ he cried and drank the contents straight down.
A cheer rose from the throng as everyone followed his lead. Except me. I sipped my drink gingerly at first, remembering my previous taste of the Duke’s wine. But this delicious brew was not only hot but spiced, and it crept throughout my body like the warmth of a roaring fire.
The cheer set the hounds baying once more and now at last they were released from the kennels. Most were held on leather leashes, but some, including Florette, were free. I watched as the white hound slipped between the legs of horses and houndsmen and found her master without hesitation. Then the armourer finished passing out boar spears to those who needed them and it was time for the off.
The Duke and his son, clad in matching hunting garb of a rich royal blue, rode at the head of the procession, flanked by Sir Francis and Sir Richard and the other gentlemen. The squires came next, marshalled by Master Fleete, and Alys, Roger and I fell into line behind them, while the grooms and huntsmen with the hounds brought up the rear.
Roger’s face was flushed as he urged his horse on. Did my face mirror his? And was the colour caused by excitement or the wine?
We passed the Duchess, standing with Elen and several ladies in waiting. She raised her hand to us.
‘Take care of my Edward,’ she called.
I doffed my cap and bowed low to her from my saddle.
‘We will, Your Grace. Never fear.’
Then Bess carried me on. In a few moments we had passed out of the main gateway and were trotting down to the York road, then on towards Jervaulx.
The pace was fast enough to make it difficult to talk. I didn’t mind. Now we were on the road and I had seen the size of the boar spears – and maybe because of the wine – I was feeling less nervous.
Master Gygges had told me about the spears. They were razor sharp, with an iron bar across about an arm’s length down from the point. This cross-piece would stop a charging boar in its tracks. Otherwise, Master Gygges said, even with the spear point rammed into its chest, the animal could force its way along the length of the spear to reach the hunter and gore him. I wasn’t sure I believed him. But the sight of those cross-pieces was reassuring.
Not that I or the other members of the Order had been given spears. We had been told, very firmly, to stay well outside the circle of hunters and to watch from there. But all the same, it was good to know the boar couldn’t escape the ring once it was flushed out of its lair.
Before long we reached the gatehouse of Jervaulx Abbey. Waiting for us was a knot of pale-clad monks, one man at their head more richly dressed in a fur-lined velvet cloak and with a great gilt crucifix nestled on his chest.
Following the Duke’s lead, we all swung down from our mounts and knelt on the hard, frost-pointed earth of the roadway. The hounds were hushed by their handlers.
The abbot intoned a blessing before raising the Duke to his feet and bowing low to him in his turn. They spoke for a few minutes with Master Gygges and one of the monks. Then they clasped hands and the Duke and his huntsman returned to their mounts.
Setting off again, we passed an orchard of close-ranked, bare-limbed trees, glimpsing here and there a wizened red apple amidst the dark boughs. Then came the low scrub and whippy stems of a coppiced woodland which, like that near the castle, must supply faggots for the abbey’s fires to warm the monks and cook their food. Soon, up ahead reared the giant black trunks of a true forest. Here the Duke raised his gloved hand to halt the company again.
We all dismounted once more, hearing the crackle of frozen fallen leaves beneath our feet.
The grooms made their way forward to take the reins of the gentlemen’s horses. Following them came the huntsmen with their leashed charges – a mixture of short-legged thick-set dogs to flush out the boar, tall sight-hounds to chase it if it should run, and powerful-jawed mastiff-like brutes called alaunts to attack it when it was at bay. They were all silent now, their noses questing the air for scent.
Alys, Roger and I waited with our horses as we had been instructed. Master Gygges pushed his way towards us through the crowd of men and beasts, leading Edward, still atop his grey pony. He nodded to us, then gazed around at those of the oldest pages closest to us.
‘Master Pynson,’ he called, and a senior page I knew only by sight stepped forward leading his mount.
‘Master de Bruyn.’ I groaned inwardly as Lionel turned with a scowl.
‘Master Soulsby.’
Hugh’s face was impassive as he swung round.
‘You three are to have the care of the youngest here. You will remain on your horses and clear of the hunt circle. Mind you pay close attention to the boys – and my lady Alys. The Duke will be watching.’
With that Master Gygges thrust Ed’s lead rein into Hugh’s hand and stalked back towards the front of the company. He was swallowed up by the throng of gentlemen in an instant.
Hugh looked at us, curled his lip, then turned his back.
‘Well, Lionel, Giles, we must do the Duke’s bidding, as always. It’s babysitting for us rather than standing in the ring with the hunters. Much pleasure it will bring us, no doubt.’
What came over me I don’t know. Perhaps the wine.
‘I don’t see boar spears in your hands, Master Soulsby, Master de Bruyn. Maybe Master Gygges doesn’t trust you in the ring with the real hunters.’
Hugh twisted round, his fist raised.
‘You little —’
But Roger slipped quickly between us.
‘Now then, Matt. Hugh has no need of a boar spear. He would run the beast through with his piercing wit before anyone else had a chance. Is that not so, Hugh? Edward?’
He appealed to Ed, staring wide-eyed down at us.
Hugh glanced at Ed, then at me, and drew back. Was he remembering his last beating?
He forced a laugh.
‘Yes, that’s right, of course. I would hate to deprive our fellow hunters of their sport. Come, the hunt is setting off.’
One or two of the hounds were giving tongue again and a horn sounded up ahead. The gentlemen and squires were moving off on foot. Hugh and the two other chosen ones swung up into their saddles to follow.
Roger shot me a puzzled look.
‘Why did you provoke him?’
I shrugged and gathered Bess’s reins in my hands. Soon the four of us, on horseback again, were trekking after the hunting party as they entered the woods on foot. Behind us their horses were led by the grooms in case they should be wanted.
As we wound our way through the trees, the early sunshine was blotted out by gathering cloud and a biting wind arose, rustling the last shrivelled leaves clinging to the branches. From my vantage point on Bess, I could see the pale ghosts of the hounds as they cast about for scent, sometimes hear one baying as it found a trail. The hunt was spread out in a great fan, rippling like waves to follow first one hound, then another, as Master Gygges’s horn directed. To steer us through the woods, we tracked the rich blue of the Duke’s hunting costume, standing out against the black trunks. But all too often it would disappear into dense brush.
After an age of this creeping, a double note floated to us on the rising breeze. Hugh pointed to our right and spurred his horse in that direction, drawing us along with him at a trot.
Roger flashed me a gleeful glance and Alys’s face was tinged pink beneath her riding cap. Ed’s brow was furrowed, tense with concentration.
We soon caught up with the bulk of the hunt.
Hefting their spears, gentlemen were striding in silence to left or to right, to surround an impenetrable copse. Houndsmen and dogs vanished after them until only a handful remained in view. Faithful Florette as ever was at her master’s side. Spotting us, the Duke waved us further away across a small clearing.
Another double note of the horn. All the men dropped to one knee, each planting the butt of his spear on the frosted ground, lowering the point towards the copse. Then two flushing dogs, straining at their leashes, were let slip into the undergrowth.
The first crashings of the dogs’ entry faded, leaving only the whimpering of the alaunts and sight-hounds keen to join them. Long minutes passed. No one spoke and the air was as leaden as the sky above.
As the tension mounted, Hugh’s horse danced skittishly and he wheeled it in a tight circle to quieten it. Then nothing moved bar Bess’s mane lifting in the breeze.
Florette stood alert beside the Duke, stark white against his slender blue outline. To one side loomed the black fur-clad bulk of Lord Scrope, to the other Master Gygges in his usual russet. One hand held fast the leash of a quivering alaunt.
White flakes drifted down from the glowering clouds. As I brushed them away, all around faces turned skyward. Alys held out a hand. In an instant her glove was frosted white. Roger laughed and leaned back with open mouth to catch the snow on his tongue. Hugh checked his horse as it started to shift uneasily again.
Only Ed remained focused on the hunt. And it was from Ed that the cry went up.
‘’Ware, boar!’
A sudden flurry amid the undergrowth and a huge dark shape burst forth. Pale shadows of dogs were at its heels. It rushed straight at Lord Scrope and for a shattered second the two black forms blended into one. Then with an eerie muffled sound, it tore into two again, and I realized in horror that the man had not had time to swing his spear round. As the beast thundered away, his lordship keeled over on to the gathering snow.
Florette stood her ground, letting out a sharp bark, but Master Gygges launched his alaunt after the speeding boar. Two sight-hounds also joined the chasing pack as it whisked out of the clearing, on into more woodland.
From all around the copse now streamed the huntsmen, attracted by the commotion. More sight-hounds were unleashed and many of the men ran headlong to follow, their boots crunching on the snowy ground. Others stopped and clustered round the fallen mound that was Lord Scrope, their voices raised in concern. Before they closed around him, I glimpsed the Duke on his knees, hands pressed against his lordship’s side, where red was flowing out on to the fresh snow.
As I watched, frozen with horror, horses were kicked into movement. Roger and Giles Pynson dashed back the way we had come, calling ‘Bring horses, bring horses, man injured’. But Hugh and Lionel whipped their mounts the other way, after the disappearing hunters.
Alys was twisting her chestnut this way and that, unsure of where to go. That was when it struck me that we two were alone.
Ed was nowhere to be seen.
He hadn’t followed Roger, he hadn’t ridden towards the knot of men around his father.
I grabbed Alys’s rein and yelled.
‘Ed! He’s gone after the boar!’
Chapter 11
‘Witchcraft!’
Fear flashed in Alys’s eyes.
‘Are you sure?’
I nodded and dragged Bess’s head round to send her plunging into the trees after the hunt. With a scrunch of hooves breaking undergrowth Alys came after us.
The snow was falling faster now, almost blinding me to what was ahead, and the noise of the hunt was muffled by it. But from time to time I could just make out the green of Hugh’s new hunting coat and I followed it with grim determination. Upon the ground also hoofprints mingled with the bootprints of men who had pursued the boar.
I blinked away the flakes gathering on my eyelashes and shouted back to Alys through what was fast becoming a blizzard.
‘We can follow them.’ I pointed at the tracks. ‘If we lose sight of the others.’
She kicked her horse alongside mine, with difficulty through the dense trees.
‘We must stay together,’ she yelled, her words all but torn away by the wind. ‘I hope Hugh caught up with Ed before the snow got worse.’
We fought on through the driving flakes and the thick undergrowth, parted now and then by a tree-trunk, but always coming together again. Soon there was no sign of Hugh’s bright coat and we relied only on the tracks. Perhaps we should have waited and called for help rather than set off on our own. What good would it do Ed if we became lost in his pursuit? But one glance at Alys’s face made me go on, pushing all doubts away.
The curtain of swirling snowflakes eased a little. Sounds filtered back to us and figures could be seen between the black trunks, stark now against the settled snow. The hunters seemed fanned out once more, a few dogs among them, and to be hallooing to keep in touch.
Hugh’s green-clad form was there, now dismounted and leading his horse through the trees.
But scan as I might, I couldn’t see the small figure of Ed on his grey pony.
Before long Alys and I were within hailing distance of Hugh, now the wind had lessened. Alys slipped down from her horse to peer at something on the floor, but I pushed on, shouting to him.
He swung round and even through the tumbling snow I could see him scowl.
‘Well?’
The single word was flung back at me on a sudden gust of wind.
‘Where’s Edward?’
He stared at me for a moment, looked left and right, then very deliberately shrugged and turned away. A new flurry of snow hid him from view in a second.
‘Leave him, Matt,’ Alys called from behind. ‘
Come see this.’
She was no longer right behind me, but off to one side, and Bess and I had to fight through the undergrowth to reach her.
Her gloved hand pointed down at the snowy ground. A single trail of small hoofprints led off into the distance, away from where the hunt now pursued the boar.
We exchanged glances.
‘Ed?’ I asked.
Without a word, she remounted and we set off in single file, following where the hoofprints led.
The way was hard through the dense scrub, our ponies stumbling often on the uneven ground. The snow was cascading again out of a sky we could no longer see. There was only a whirling mass of fat grey-white flakes and soon we were in danger of losing the trail.
I dared say nothing about it to Alys. She rode in front of me, staring intently at the ground. The hunch of her shoulders under her furred mantle told me she was as tense and worried as I. And as we rode on, I dreaded what the Duke would say when we got back.
If we got back…
Would we be able to follow our own tracks back to find the way we’d come? Or were they also vanishing behind us?
A cry from Alys broke into my thoughts and her pointing finger drew my eyes to a change in the trail.
In a scuffled patch of snow and leaf litter, a second set of prints had joined the first. Ed’s tiny footprints beside those of his pony. In this part of the forest both we and the horses had to duck to avoid the lowest branches. I guessed that even on his smaller pony, Ed had difficulty in bending so low. The prints were close and often scrambled together.
Alys slipped down from her mount.
‘He’s tiring,’ she said. ‘Too tired to stay low in the saddle, and he can barely put a foot in front of the other. Look how he trips. And he’s on his own, Matt.’ A sob splintered her voice. ‘We must hurry.’
Before the snow covers the tracks.
Her unspoken words hung in the air between us, mingling unseen with the still falling flakes.
I joined her on the ground, thankful to be away from the low-hanging branches, and we made better time, leading our mounts.
The Order of the White Boar Page 9
