Blue Flame

by K. M. Grant

  After two hours of heavy climbing, the hunting party rested again while Aimery dispatched five archers to pick off mountain goats and ibex for the kitchens. Sitting on a tussock, Yolanda looked about her hopefully. Just a glimpse of Raimon was all she wanted, just a glimpse. Hugh watched her.

  Aimery, however, had eyes only for the mastiffs and alaunts. All the other hounds had flopped down but they remained standing, only drool betraying the strain of their exertions. He admired them greatly. After twenty minutes, he remounted.

  “Remove the muzzles,” he said.

  The huntsman blew the prepare and the air was quickly alive with expectation. Yolanda found herself swung expertly into the saddle. Galahad was tense beneath her, banging his head up and down to shake off even her light touch on the rein.

  “He’ll stop the minute we get going, and I’ll be with you,” Hugh murmured. She nodded.

  Farvel was sent off first, pulling his kennel boy over the tufted grass, searching through the rocks, his nose working both ground and air.

  “Don’t crowd him,” admonished the huntsman as Aimery surged forward. Aimery reined in. “Release him, boy,” the huntsman ordered. Once free, the bloodhound cast a wider net, sometimes vanishing from sight as he quartered the more open country, seeking that scent for which he had been born. There was nothing. After twenty minutes, when tension had curdled almost into sickness, the huntsman gave three short, dispiriting bursts of his horn, calling the bloodhound back.

  “We’ll try farther up,” he said.

  The horses, glad to be on the move, barged and jostled. Yolanda clutched Galahad’s mane.

  They drifted around the hill, a wide, straggling group, and onto the next plateau. The sun was higher but the clouds had increased and the temperature was dropping. They halted. The bloodhound was sent off again. Again he circled, patiently and deliberately, his heavy jowls swaying. He knew his job and would not be hurried. He disappeared for what seemed like hours. Nothing. The running hounds, whose excitement had flattened into boredom, were sitting facing in every direction, some scratching. One sloped off and had to be whipped back.

  Aimery was getting impatient. “We must go higher still, huntsman,” he cried angrily. “We should have brought more bloodhounds and sent out several parties. What were you thinking?”

  The huntsman raised his hand. “If anyone can find a bear, Farvel can,” he said with his slow wisdom. “Don’t you worry, sir, the day has hardly started.”

  Aimery muttered under his breath. He was not good at waiting.

  They moved off again, winding their way ever closer to the snow-line. The ground was stippled white, the hoar frost turning transparent underfoot. To their right, behind a break of trees peeping from a sheltered dip, they could hear a muffled boom and see plumes of spray rise from a waterfall.

  In the end, they were rewarded. On the edge of the trees, Farvel was standing on a flat rock, quite rigid, his tail stuck out like a weathervane.

  “Soft,” whispered the huntsman to Aimery, who was crowded up beside him, eyes straining. “Wait a moment, sir. Let him get properly fixed.” Aimery was breathing heavily, the huntsman hardly at all.

  The bloodhound crept forward, always going straight. The huntsman began to coo like a lover to his beloved. “Oh, Farvel, my beauty! Oh, Farvel, my clever! Keep on, my lovely.” An ear twitched back. When the old hound reached the next flat stone, he stopped again, but this time he couldn’t help himself and lurched forward, bellowing his triumph. A bear! A bear! At once, boredom utterly forgotten, the running hounds were wild and furious. “Let us at him, let us at him,” they bayed as every instinct compelled them. Behind, the alaunts and mastiffs strained and sulked and scowled, licking their teeth because they knew it was not their turn, not yet. Their keepers kept away from their heads.

  The bloodhound ran a hundred yards and the huntsman was hard after him. “Keep the coupled hounds behind. We’ll need them to be fresh,” he threw over his shoulder as the loose hounds streamed onto the scent and he after them, his horn a peon of pride and exhortation. Nobody was tired now.

  For horse, hound, and man the terrain was wicked, speckled with hidden rocks only visible if touched with snow. It was mad to gallop, but gallop they did. Galahad tossed off the restraining rein and Yolanda, her mouth half open, was carried to the front, Hugh on one side, Alain on the other, with Aimery always up with the huntsman.

  The bear’s scent was strong and the hounds, expecting any moment to find their quarry at bay, did not spare themselves. For the first hour, they ran like fury, only occasionally stopping to reaffirm the scent. It was overpowering. But where was the bear? It was impossible to keep up such a pace and as they scrambled farther into the maze of rising slopes, the pace settled a little. By midday, they had had a glorious chase, but still the quarry was unseen. They had to catch their breath. The hounds plunged into a stream, slurping up water and shaking their ears and Aimery flung himself off, exhilarated but disheartened. They could not return home emptyhanded, surely. The huntsman, beckoning him over, pointed to a far hillside beyond a hidden valley. The lie of the trees was broken. Caves.

  “You reckon he’s heading there?” Aimery asked.

  “Not he, she,” the huntsman replied with a crooked grin. He ran his hand over an imprint in the grass and smelled it. “Look,” he said. Two sets of smaller prints were invisible, but experienced eyes noticed where the top of the sward had been brushed by stomachs very close to the ground. “Cubs.”

  Yolanda exclaimed at once. “Oh, Aimery, let’s stop then. You know we shouldn’t be hunting bears so early anyway. The hounds are tired and we’ve had such a run. Let’s turn around and leave the bears be.” She felt guilty. She had not forgotten Raimon, or only for a moment, but she could not deny that she had not wanted the run to end. She could see obstinacy in Aimery’s shoulders before he spoke. She cajoled. “If we leave the cubs, there’ll be more bears to hunt later on.” It was a clever, though hopeless, ploy. Aimery wanted what he wanted and he wanted it now.

  “Don’t be silly, Yola,” he replied crisply. “We’ll sicken the hounds if we give up when they’ve worked so hard. Farvel has found us a bear and will expect us to get it.”

  “Farvel can find something else.”

  “Isn’t that just typical of a girl,” Aimery called out so that everyone could hear. “They don’t seem to realize that hunting’s not a pastime. We don’t just give up because cubs are furry and have nice faces. Come, huntsman. We’ll wait until the leashed hounds and the spearmen appear, then we’ll go on.” He was back on his horse, leaving Yolanda to Hugh.

  Hugh looked sympathetic. “Do you want to go on?”

  She shrugged, frowning. He lifted her into the saddle and then spurred his horse up the hill. Even he was overtaken by the excitement of the day.

  The huntsman issued his orders to the hound keepers. “We’ll need you soon enough,” he said. “Spread wide and keep those caves as your center point. Steadily now.” This was a crucial moment of his day. The bear was near, but not quite near enough for certainty. Should the leashed greyhounds be released now, or kept for later? He called to his favorites. “Come Baron, come Salter, come Belle, come Elegance.” They raised their heads like trusted generals at a council of war. The huntsman made a gesture. They were unleashed.

  This time, as they set off, though Galahad still felt game beneath her, Yolanda felt no thrill. Any moment now, the bear and her cubs would break cover. Her throat was tight as Galahad’s hooves scraped and thudded over grass and granite. The air had turned very cool and although rays of sunshine were still pouring molten gold lances onto distant plateaus, the clouds hovered, as if undecided whether to rise or fall. The hounds ran fast into the next valley and the riders all followed, holding their breath. When the huntsman’s triumphantly blown “I see bear” finally came through, they cheered. They had galloped enough. They were ready for the next stage.

  Blurred as an ink stain and unworried as yet, the bear was movin
g swiftly downhill toward the water spread over the valley floor. She knew just what she was doing, for she knew this country well. The banking undergrowth would shield her until the cubs were ready to make a leisurely dash for the caves on the far hill. The clouds, if they just sank a little lower, would help. The cubs themselves were invisible to the hunters, for their mother was pushing them on in front of her. But they were slow. She knew the moment the greyhounds had a glimpse of her, she could sense the air shifting and beneath her paws, with her fine instincts, she could feel the vibrations of the heavy alaunts now lumbering into top gear. When they began to howl their ancient howl, she glanced behind her and at once changed course, pushing her cubs along the water instead of over it, to the steeper end of the valley and thicker trees. There were caves there too, not as safe as the far caves, but they might have to do.

  The hunt now took on a kind of delirium. The spear carriers and pages, forgetting their weariness, nearly killed themselves in their anxiety not to be left behind. The huntsman himself was gripped with terror, not only lest he lose the bear, but lest his hounds reach her prematurely and be mauled before he could help them. Aimery, lips scarlet in his beard, felt the same breathless suspension as he felt just before the flag went up at a tournament, and even Hugh was leaning forward, his half-smile now the grimace of real effort. He was amazed at what he was witnessing. This was hunting like he’d never seen. Behind him, Yolanda, her lips as white as Aimery’s were red, was silently urging the bear to hurry, hurry and every time the hounds’ music hesitated, she prayed that the scent was lost and the animal escaped.

  It was not to be. Had she been alone, the bear would have exhausted the hounds. However, the cubs would not be rushed and she would not leave them. She reached the undergrowth and pushed her way up its side. The land steepened very quickly, clumps of undergrowth interspersed with bare rock eroded by the weather, and the river falling in an uneven silver ladder of thunderous cascades, often disappearing completely. The bear forced her cubs up. There were flat stones at the top. They could cross the river there without losing any pace.

  But inexorably, the distance between herself and the hounds narrowed. Even as she was climbing, she could hear them gaining on her until she knew that she must resort to her last option. She pushed the cubs nearly to the top of the waterfall and then took refuge on a high ledge with an overhang above and a hollow behind. It was not a good hollow, for the open back was too small for a quick escape for a large bear. Nevertheless, she could stand at the front, a snarling sentinel.

  The hounds, in their determination, had scrabbled up the climb using nooks and crannies for footholds. After them, having abandoned their horses, came the hunting party on all fours, like the hounds but rather less swift. In moments Yolanda’s skirt was torn beyond mending as she hung onto treeroots and grasped at unsteady rocks. She was agile and fit, but it took her half an hour to reach where the hounds were now gathered, with Hugh panting as his squire pulled down branches for handholds, some ways behind her. When Yolanda finally made it, she was grabbed by Alain and yanked to the side. Then she gasped.

  The bear was scarcely twenty feet away, the hounds in a semicircle around her. It was hard to say who was keeping whom at bay. From their places in the semicircle, the alaunts and greyhounds made constant swift and highly focused forays, with the running hounds diving about in their wake. Occasionally a greyhound would make a successful snap and draw blood, but the bear, with her heavy claws and unflinching courage, would roar and slap out, gouging deep scratches on rumps and flanks. Blood mixed with blood. One running hound, unluckier than the others, was swept up in a crushing embrace and then dropped underfoot. Another was raked all the way down one side, and fled, skin flapping. When she saw the human beings, the animal reared right up and Yolanda caught a glimpse of the cubs’ beady eyes, staring out from behind their mother’s bulk.

  Bows and metal-headed arrows were quickly distributed. Aimery took a spear and tested it on his shoulder, ready to throw.

  “Wait! Wait, young master!” cried the huntsman. “She’s a big one, and with those cubs she’ll not be for giving up. Throw that, and she’ll be out and after you and I doubt we’ll be able to stop her in time. It’ll take two of you.” He called his pack back, ordering some of them to be re-leashed and leaving only two mastiffs and two alaunts loose to bring her down if things turned out badly. He spoke to Farvel, who would pick up the bear’s scent again if, by mischance, another pursuit had to be made.

  Aimery was irritated by the huntsman’s peremptory tone. He knew as much about bear hunting as anyone, probably more. He fingered his spear. He could throw true, he knew he could, and this was the best chance he might have to get what he had come for: a bear’s head of his own to replace his father’s, and a pelt to give to Hugh. And what luck about the cubs. He could send them to King Louis as a gift. Twin pelts would certainly mark out Castelneuf as a place on the map. He balanced the spear on his shoulder, weighed it up, and threw.

  The force pitched him forward, and though the throw was true and pierced the skin above the bear’s heart, it failed to kill her. With no hounds in front to protect him, Aimery stumbled straight into his wounded quarry’s path and she was ready for him. Snapping the thick spearshaft as if it were an old twig, she lurched out, baring her yellow teeth, and caught Aimery between her forelegs, which were outstretched in a deadly welcome.

  The bowmen had no time to set their arrows before she had dropped back on all fours, Aimery underneath her, her small black eyes full of murder. Only one thing could save him, and only Yolanda was quick enough to use it. She had listened to her father’s stories more carefully than her brother. She began to yell. Noise alone might confuse the bear enough to make her glance back at her cubs and give Aimery an opportunity to crawl free. Accordingly, she began to holler and caterwaul, singing, screaming, anything to get the bear’s attention. Hugh, standing by her, jumped away thinking she had lost her mind, but the huntsman knew what she was doing and applauded, and so did someone else. On the top of the overhang directly above the bear, Raimon was whirling, beating his arms against his sides. Not knowing from where she faced the biggest threat, the bear twisted away. In a trice, Aimery was pulled to safety.

  At once three crossbowmen knelt, drawing back their strings with iron claws and aiming at the bear’s unprotected belly, but Aimery, upright again and knowing nothing of Raimon, ran in front of them. Now it was he who was shrieking.

  “Death to any man who looses an arrow. This bear’s mine!” He grabbed spears and threw a bundle to Hugh. “Quick, here’s a chance you’ll seldom get again. Throw off your sword or she’ll grab the baldric. We’ll launch these in turns, first me, then you. That’s how it’s done! Hurry! Hurry!” The rush of adrenaline had made him wild. “If anyone interferes, and that includes you, huntsman, I shall have him flogged, do you understand? Ready, Hugh? This is just for us.”

  Yolanda, wide-eyed at Raimon but desperate for the bear, grabbed Hugh’s arm. “Don’t, Sir Hugh, don’t. It’s not right. She’s fighting for her cubs! Stop it. Stop it now.” But Hugh, swept away by the smell of the beast and the biggest thrill of his life, was already preparing his first thrust.

  The huntsman pulled Yolanda back. “It’s too late for that, lady. Your brother’s already set and if Sir Hugh doesn’t play his part, that bear’ll have Sir Aimery. Do you want him mauled to death?” She bit her fingers.

  Within seconds, Hugh, Aimery, and the bear were involved in a macabre dance. The two men dived toward her as she dived toward them, feinting first at one and then at the other. The loosed spears jabbed and cut. She retreated and batted the spears, first one way, then the other. The oil in her coat and Hugh’s inexperience with bears proved a stout defense but she was all the time hampered by fear for her cubs. She fought hard but as if fettered on a chain, for she dared not leave the hollow.

  “Loose the mastiffs,” Yolanda implored the huntsman. “At least they’ll kill her cleanly. Do it now!”

&
nbsp; But the huntsman hesitated. A thick wet cloud was descending and soon sight would be hampered. If he sent his hounds in, they would be fighting blind. As huntsman, his first duty was to them.

  From his perch above, Raimon heard Yolanda and he had no hesitation. His blood was hotter than either Aimery’s or Hugh’s but his goal was different. He would not kill the bear, he would save it, and not just for Yolanda or for the cubs, but for himself and me and for the whole of the Occitan, and for the Flame. The bear became, for Raimon, the symbol of everything he loved, and those intent on killing her, of everything he hated. For the first time in weeks, his head felt absolutely clear.

  Straightway he leaped from the top of the crag and seized Aimery’s discarded sword. He did not know what he shouted, but Aimery whipped around, his eyes wide with surprise.

  “Raimon!” Then his teeth were gritted. “Get back. This is nothing to do with you.”

  Raimon answered with a thrust that drew blood from Aimery’s shoulder. Aimery parried with his spear, fearsome with temper and adrenalin. But even with all the temper in the world, he couldn’t fight both Raimon and the bear simultaneously.

  “Get away!” he cried. “Don’t be such a fool. Get away! Get away!” He turned to jab at the bear but missed, and Hugh, unsure what to do, retreated.

  The bear hunkered down on all fours, bleeding and grunting, and the hounds, sensing weakness, began to bay and strain. It was hard for the huntsman to keep control. Aimery swung his spear. The bear roared and then, as if someone had snuffed out the sun, the light vanished. One moment they could see everything, the next moment, nothing. One of the drifting clouds that had threatened all day had finally swallowed them all up.