Provided it is stag or boar, White Tam had added, wiping sweat drips from his nose. Stag, as it is the noblest of Gods creations next to Man and boar for they are the most vicious of Gods creations next to Man and the worst when sair hurt.
Anything else, he had told Hal pointedly, can be left to die.
Now he rose in the stirrups and held up a hand like a knotted red furze root, mottled as a trouts belly. Then he turned to Malk, who was valet de limier for the day.
Roland, he said quietly and the dog was hauled out of one cartload. White Tam dismounted stiffly and, grunting, levered himself to kneel by the hound; they regarded each other sombrely and White Tam stroked the grey muzzle of it with a tenderness which surprised Hal.
Old man, he said. Beau chien, go with God. Seek. Seek.
He handed the leash to the grim-faced Malk and Roland darted off, tongue lolling, moving swiftly from point to point, bush to root, head down and snuffling impatiently as he hauled Malk after him. He paused, stiffened, loped a few feet, then determinedly pushed through the scrub and off into the trees at a fast, lumbering lope. The houndsmen and dog boys followed after, struggling with the carts.
Hal turned to Tods Wattie, who merely grinned and jerked his head: Gib came up on foot, the two deerhounds loping steadily ahead and hauling him along like a wagon. Hal returned the grin and knew that Tods Wattie would keep a close eye on the boy and, with a sudden sharpness deep in him, saw the dark dog boy slogging through the bracken.
Sim Craw saw it too and caught his breath wee Jamies likeness, just as Hal had pointed out. Now there is a mystery
Follow Sir Wullie and stay the gither, Hal said loudly, so that his men could hear. Spread the word bide together. If something happens, follow me or Sim. I do not want folk scattered, eechie-ochie. Do this badly and I will think shame to be seen with you.
The men grunted and growled their assent and Sim urged his horse close to Hal.
What of the wummin, then? he asked, babe innocent. Mayhap ye would rather chase the hurdies of the Coontess of Buchan?
Hal shot him daggers and felt his face flame. Gods curses, had he been so obviously smit with Isabel MacDuffs charms?
Let that flea stick to the wall, he warned and Sim held up a placatory hand.
I only ask whats to be done, he said with a slight smile and the mock of it in his eyes. Leave the Coontess to her husband or Bruce, who is sookin in with her, as any can spy but the blind man wed on to her?
Hal shot a look at the Countess, a flame in the dim light under the green-black trees, remembering how she had shone in the dark, too.
He had been fumbling his way to the jakes after the awkward feast, flitting as mouse-quiet as he could through the chill, grey, shadowed castle to the latrine hole. Halfway up the turn of a stair he had heard voices and stopped, knowing one was hers almost before the sound had cleared his ear. He moved on, so that he could peer over the top step along the darkened passage.
She was at the door of her room, barefoot and bundled in a great bearskin bedcover and clearly naked underneath it. Her hair was a russet ember in the shadows, tumbling in tendrils down white shoulders.
At the side of her door hung a shield, a little affair glowing unnaturally white in the grey dim, with a bar of blue across the top and the Douglas mullets bright on it. A gauntlet hung over it.
Young Jamies shield, she explained to the shadow, who clasped her close. He hung it there with the metal glove, look there. He has sworn to be my knight and champion and hangs that there to prove it. If any refuse to admit that I am the most beauteous maid in all the world, they must strike the shield with the glove and be prepared to fight.
The shadow shifted and laughed softly at this flummery while Isabel pouted hotly up into his mouth. For a moment, Hals breath had caught in his throat and he wished he was looking down, feeling that warmth on his lips.
Shall I strike it for you? shed asked archly, and raised her long, white fingers, which spilled the fur from her shoulders and one impossible white breast, ruby-tipped like flame in the grey; Hals breath caught in his throat. A tap, perhaps, just to see if he storms along the corridor.
No need, the shadow declared, moving closer to the heat of her. I have no argument with what he defends.
She reached and he grunted. She smiled up into his eyes, moved a hand.
Nevertheless, Sir Knight, she said, slightly breathy. It seems your lance is raised.
Raised, the shadow agreed, guiding her into the doorway, so that the firelight fell on his face.
But not yet couched, Bruce added and the door closed on the pair of them.
A low, hackle-prickling bay snapped Hal from his revery and the caged hounds went wild.
Wind, wind! White Tam called out hoarsely and unnecessarily, for everyone was heading towards the sound; Hal saw that Isabel had handed her hawk to the loping, hunched figure of the Falconer and was now spurring her horse away. Bruce, who had been admiring Eleanors hawk, now thrust it back at the Falconer and followed, the pair of them forging ahead. Hal heard her laugh as Bruce blew a long, rasping discordance on a horn.
The limiers, hauling against their leashes as the luckless dog boys panted after, forged stealthily off in the eerie silence bred into them, the scent Roland had spoored for them strong in their snouts.
Malk appeared with Roland, the hound panting and trembling with excitement. He struggled at the leash and sounded a long, rolling cry from his outstretched throat that was choked off as Malk hauled savagely on the leash.
Enough! growled White Tam and shot Philippe a harsh look, which carried censure and poison in equal measure. He saw the Berners mouth grow tight and then he was bellowing invective at the luckless Malk.
Hand him up, demanded White Tam and Malk, scowling, hauled the squirming Roland off the ground and up on to the front of the old huntsmans saddle.
Swef, swef, my beauty. Good boy.
White Tam suffered the frantic face licks and fawning of the hound, then tucked it under one arm and turned to Hal with a wry smile.
What a pity that when the nose is perfect, the legs have to go, eh?
Roland was returned to Malk, who took him as if he were gold and carried him gently back to the cage. White Tam, frowning, looked down at the berner.
We will have Belle, Crocard, Sanspeur and Malfoisin, he declared. Release the rapprocheurs.
The hounds were drawn out and let slip, flying off like thrown darts, coursing left and right. Dog Boy saw Gib stagger a little under the slight strain of the two deerhounds, but a word from Tods Wattie made them turn their heads reproachfully and whine.
Dog Boy saw Falo start to run after the speeding dogs, leashes flapping in his sweating hands and remembered all the times he had been the one with that thankless, exhausting task. Now he had been handed to this new lord and it was no longer part of his life. He realised, with a sudden leap of joy, so hard it was almost rage, that he was done with Gutterbluid and his birds, too.
Behind Falo the peasant beaters struggled to keep up, locals rounded up for the purpose and, in the mid-summer famine between harvests, weak with hunger and finding the going hard on foot; the rapprocheurs sudden distant baying was wolfen.
Dog Boy saw Falo start to run after the speeding dogs, leashes flapping in his sweating hands and remembered all the times he had been the one with that thankless, exhausting task. Now he had been handed to this new lord and it was no longer part of his life. He realised, with a sudden leap of joy, so hard it was almost rage, that he was done with Gutterbluid and his birds, too.
Behind Falo the peasant beaters struggled to keep up, locals rounded up for the purpose and, in the mid-summer famine between harvests, weak with hunger and finding the going hard on foot; the rapprocheurs sudden distant baying was wolfen.
Cursing, Hal saw the whole hunt fragment and stuck to the plan of following the Auld Templar, knowing Sir William would stick close to the Bruce and that Isabel would be tight-locked to the earl as well. If any Buchan treachery was visited, it would fall on that trio and Hal was determined to save the Auld Templar, if no-one else.
He forced through the nag of branches, looking right and left to make sure his men did the same. He urged Griff after the disappearing arse of Bruces mare, growling irritatedly as one of the Inchmartins loomed up, his stallion caught in the madness, plunging and fighting for the bit.
White Tam sounded a horn, but others blared, confusing just where the true line of the hunt lay; Hal heard the huntsman berate anyone who could hear about tootling fools and suspected the culprit was Bruce.
A sweating horse crashed through some hazel scrub near Dog Boy and almost scattered Gib from the deerhounds, who sprang and growled. Alarmed and barely hanging on, Jamie Douglas had time to wave before the horse drove on through the trees.
A few chaotic, exhausting yards further on, Hal burst through the undergrowth to see Jamie sliding from the back of the sweat-streaked rouncey, which stood with flanks heaving. The boy examined it swiftly, then turned as Hal and the riders came up.
Lame, he declared mournfully, then stroked the animals muzzle and grinned a bright, sweaty grin.
Good while it lasted, he shouted and started to lead the horse slowly from the wood. Hal drove on; a thin branch whipped blood from his cheek and a series of short horn blasts brought his head round, for he knew that was the signal for the vue, that the quarry was in sight of the body of the hunt and that he was heading in the wrong direction. Which, because he had been following the distant sight of red, made him angry.
Ach, ye shouffleing, hot-arsed, hollow-eeed, belled harlot, he bellowed, and men laughed.
The quine will not be happy at that, Sim Craw noted, but Hals scowl was black and withering, so he wisely fastened his lip and followed after. Two or three plunges later, Hal reined in and sent Bangtail Hob and Thom Bell after the Countess, to make sure she found her way safely back to join the hunt.
They forged on, ducking branches something smacked hard on Hals forehead, wrenching his head back; stars whirled and he felt himself reel in the saddle. When he recovered himself, Sim Craw was grinning wildly at him.
Are ye done duntin trees? he demanded and looked critically at Hal. No damage. Yer still as braw as the sun on shiny watter.
Tods Wattie came up, shepherding a panting Gib and the running deerhounds, who were not even out of breath but they were on long leashes now, held by Tods Wattie from the back of his horse, and starting to dance and whine with the smell of the blood, begging to be let loose. Dog Boy trotted up and Hal saw that, because he was not being hauled at breakneck pace by dogs, he was breathing even and clean; they grinned at one another.
Tods Wattie threw the leashes to Gib, who wrapped them determinedly in his fists, truculent as a boar pig. Horsemen milled in a sweating group; a few peasants stumbled to the boles of trees and sank down, exhaustion rising from them like haze. Horse slaver frothed on unseen breezes.
Bien aller, bellowed White Tam and raised the horn to his blue, fleshy lips, the haroo, haroo of it springing the whole crowd into frantic movement again. Berner Philippe, breathing ragged, gasped out a desperate plea for space for his hounds and White Tam rasped out another blast on his horn.
Hark to the line, he bellowed. Oyez! Ware hounds. Ware hounds.
The stag burst from the undergrowth and, a moment later, a tangled trail of baying hounds followed, skidding in confusion as the beast changed direction and bounded away.
It stank and steamed, rippling with muscle and sheened like a copper statuette, the great horned crown of it soaring away into the trees as it sprang, scattering hounds and leaping majestically, leaving the dogs floundering in its wake. The powerful alaunts had been released too soon, White Tam saw, and had already been left behind, for they had no stamina, only massive strength.
Il est hault, he roared, purple-faced. Tl est hault, il est hault, il est hault.
Tallyho to you, too, muttered Hal and then tipped a nod to Tods Wattie, who grinned and nudged Gib.
White Tam cursed and banged the horn furiously on the cantle, for he could see the stag dashing away then two grey streaks shot swiftly past on either side of him, silent as graveshrouds. They overtook the running stag, barging in on one side and forcing it to turn at bay. The deerhounds White Tam almost cried out with the delight of it.
Dog Boy gawped. He had never seen such speed, nor such brave savagery. Mykel dashed for the rear; the stag spun. Veldi darted in; the stag spun the hound seized it by the nose and the stag shook it off, spraying furious blood. But Mykel had a hock in his jaws and the back end of the beast sank as the rest of the pack came up and piled on it.
Even then the stag was not done. It bellowed, fearful and desperate, swung the massive antlered head and a dog yelped and rolled out like a black and tan ball, so that Dog Boy felt a kick in him, sure that it had been Sanspeur.
Tods Wattie shouted once, twice, three times but the grey deerhounds clung on and the stag hurled itself off into the forest, staggering, stumbling, dragging the deerhounds and the rest of the pack in a whirling ball. Hal bellowed with annoyance when he saw Mykel ripped free from the hindquarters of the beast, the leash that should have been removed before hed been released snagged on something in the undergrowth.
Choking, the hound floundered, trying to get back into the fray, gasping for breath and doing itself no good by its own frantic, lunging efforts. Tods Wattie lashed out at Gib, who knew he had erred but was too afraid of the hound to go forward and release it but a small shape barrelled past him, right to where the gagging deerhound whirled and snarled.
Dog Boy ignored the sight of the fangs, sprang out his eating knife and sawed the cord free from the dogs neck, the white, sharp teeth rasping, snapping close to his face and wrists. Released, Mykel sprang forward at once with a hoarse, high howl and, the other hand caught in its hackled ruff, Dog Boy went with it, grimly hanging on Hal saw the blood on the dogs muzzle and marvelled at the boys bravery and sharp eyes.
Mykel checked then, rounded on Dog Boy and he saw the maw of it, the reeking heat of the muzzle. Then the deerhound whined with concern and licked him, so that the stag blood smeared over Dog Boys face. When Tods Wattie came up with Hal and the others, he turned and grinned at Hal, nodding appreciatively because the boy, heedless of teeth and covered in blood and slaver, was examining Mykels mouth to make sure all the blood belonged to the stag.