‘Deer or wild boar?’
‘Neither, my lord. A fox.’
He had caught only a glimpse of a distant red blur through the trees but it had been enough to identify the quarry. Henry responded at once, wheeling his horse around before letting it feel his spurs and throwing an invitation over his shoulder.
‘Those with breath enough for more sport — follow me!’
Richard was already goading his own horse into action and a few of the others followed him but the rest were content with their morning’s work and chose to amble back in the direction of the castle. Their host, meanwhile, led the chase through a stand of elms and oaks before coming out into open ground and getting his first sight of their prey. Fleet of foot and with its tail held up in a valedictory wave, the fox flew across the frosted grass before disappearing into a copse. The hounds raced after it with the riders galloping at their heels.
Henry Beaumont rarely took part in a foxhunt. Deer and wild boar were the protected species of the forest, reserved for his sport and table. It was important to keep down animals who might be harmful to deer, and rights of warren were granted for the hunting of foxes, hares and wildcats. Occasional licences were also given for the killing of badgers and squirrels. Henry would not normally deign to bother with vermin himself but a fox was different. Its guile presented a huntsman with a challenge; it was more easily caught with nets or traps than by pursuit. When the hounds plunged into the copse, he went after them with Richard close behind and the others trailing.
Leaving the copse, the fox tore across a field then vanished once more into the trees. The hounds kept up their clamour but were already split by disagreement, entering the trees and fanning out as separate groups chose their own lines. As the woodland thickened, the scent seemed to weaken, which made them at once more excited and frustrated. Richard overhauled his master and followed the hounds on whom he could most rely, ignoring the branches which jabbed angrily at him, and ducking under a low bough which would have decapitated him. Only yards behind, Henry picked his own way through the looming trunks and the spiky bushes. He was so exhilarated that he let out a cry of pleasure and urged his mount on.
The fox was a wily adversary. After leading them into the densest part of the forest, it struck off to the right in a wide and confusing circle. The confident baying of the hounds was now a petulant yelp and their headlong rush slowed to a cautious lope.
When the riders caught them up in a clearing, they had temporarily abandoned the chase and were sniffing the ground balefully. Richard the Hunter and Henry Beaumont reined in their horses and they were soon joined by the others. It seemed as if their quarry had outwitted them until hounds who had earlier peeled off in another direction suddenly set up a chorus of triumph. The dogs in the clearing immediately bounded off to find them.
‘They have him!’ said Henry with a grin.
‘I am not so sure,’ said Richard, listening to their tumult with a practised ear. ‘We may be misled.’
‘Follow me!’
Henry rode off again, guided by the noise as he threaded his way through the trees, anxious to get to the fox before the hounds tore it to shreds. The other men were towed along in his wake.
They had no more than fifty yards to ride before they came to a pathway through the forest, running alongside a dry ditch. It was in the ditch that the hounds were congregating, more out of curiosity than eagerness to sink their teeth into any quarry. On a command from the huntsman, the pack fell quiet and confined themselves to looking and sniffing. Henry dismounted and ran to the ditch with his lance at the ready but it was not needed.
Instead of seeing a dying fox, he was staring down at the corpse of a man, covered by dead leaves until the hounds had scattered them in the course of their snuffling researches.
Richard joined his master to view the body. The dead man was lying on his back at an unnatural angle, his mouth agape, his tongue protruding, his eyes still filled with horror at the manner of his death. Though his face was badly bruised, they both recognised him at once.
‘Martin Reynard!’ said the huntsman.
Henry kneeled beside the body to examine it, then stood again.
‘Yes,’ he said ruefully. ‘Martin Reynard. Way beyond our help, alas. It seems that we have lost one fox and found another.’
Chapter One
From the moment they set out from Winchester, he’d been in a rebellious mood. Two days in the saddle did not improve Ralph Delchard’s temper nor dispel his sense of persecution. On their third departure at dawn, he voiced his displeasure once more to Gervase Bret, who rode alongside him, body wrapped up against the biting cold and mind still trying to bring itself fully awake.
‘I am too old for this!’ moaned Ralph.
‘Age brings wisdom.’
‘If I had any wisdom, Gervase, I would have found a way to wriggle out of this assignment. I am too old and too tired to go riding across three counties in wintertime. Surely I have earned a rest by now? I should be sitting at home beside a roaring fire, enjoying the fruits of my hard work, not having my arse frozen off in deepest Warwickshire.’
‘Oxfordshire.’
‘Have we not crossed the border yet?’
‘No, Ralph. We have to get beyond Banbury first.’
‘Well, wherever we are, it is miserably cold. My blood has congealed, my body is numb, my pizzle is an icicle of despair.’ He gave an elaborate shiver. ‘Why is the King putting me through this ordeal?’
‘Because of your experience.’
‘Experience?’
‘Yes,’ said Gervase. ‘You have proved your worth time and again.
That is why the King sought you out. Whom is he to trust as a royal commissioner? Some untried newcomer who proceeds by trial and error, or a veteran like Ralph Delchard with immense experience?’
‘You are starting to sound like William himself.’
‘It is an honour to be taken into royal service.’
‘There is no honour in going abroad in this foul weather. It is a punishment inflicted upon us by a malign king. Wait until we are caught in a blizzard, as assuredly we will be sooner or later,’ he said, scanning the thick clouds with a wary eye. ‘Tell me then that it is an honour. You should be as angry as I am, Gervase.
We are both victims of the royal whim here. How can you remain so calm about it?’
‘I call my philosophy to my aid.’
‘And what does that do?’
‘Provide an inner warmth.’
‘I prefer to find that in the marital bed.’
Gervase suppressed a sigh. He was as reluctant as his friend to set out once more from Winchester but he saw no virtue in protest. A royal command had to be obeyed even if it meant leaving a young wife at home with only fond memories of their fleeting connubial bliss to sustain her through his absence. Ralph might complain but his own spouse, Golde, was riding loyally behind him and would be able to offer comfort and conversation along the way. Gervase had no such solace. The burden of separation was heavy. He was less concerned for himself, however, than he was for his beloved Alys, shorn of her husband for the first time and wondering where he might be and what dangers he might encounter.
Ralph glanced across at him and seemed to read his thoughts.
‘Are you missing Alys?’
‘Painfully.’
‘Why did you not bring her with us, Gervase?’
‘There was no question of that.’
‘She would have refused to come?’
‘I was not prepared to ask her,’ said Gervase. ‘Apart from the fact that she does not have a robust constitution and would be taxed by the rigours of the journey, I had to consider my own position. Much as I love her, I have to confess that Alys would have been a distraction.’
‘Rightly so.’