The stag – what a champion! He is even larger than I first thought – fully as large as a horse. Cornered, he has turned at last to meet his pursuers, and stands facing them, head erect, his sleek sides heaving. Blood-flecked foam streams from his muzzle. The rack of his antlers spreads like the branches of a weathered oak – eighteen points if one.
Oh, he is a prize!
Cai's black hound is circling, barking savagely. The dog seizes an opening and attacks. The stag wheels and lowers its head. The dog yelps and tries to jump away, but is caught and speared by the antlers, and is tossed lightly aside to die on the rocks.
At this we begin running forward. We approach, but Ruddlyn halts us. 'Stop!' he calls. 'Let the hounds do their work!'
He is thinking that it is too dangerous. If we rush in the stag may charge one or the other of the boys and they could be killed. Instead, he will loose the hounds and they will surround the stag, harry it, and wear down its strength.
Then, when they have wearied the beast and taken some of the fight out of him, we will close in with our spears to make the kill. It is brutal, yes. But this is how it is done with a cornered beast. Any other way is deadly dangerous.
Loosed, the dogs raise a rattling yelp as they fly.
But the stag is an old warrior. The wily creature does not wait to be set upon by hounds. He lowers his head and charges!
I see the head tilt down… the feet planted… shoulders bunching… flanks tightening… hindquarters lowering as the back legs begin churning, driving the animal forward.
The lethal rack slices the air as it sweeps towards Arthur.
Cai shouts.
And Arthur…
Arthur cradles the spear. He holds it like a fragile reed now.
His eyes are hard and level. He is as unflinching as the death hurtling towards him.
But his mount is not. The animal shies, wheeling at the last instant. Arthur jerks the reins hard to bring the animal round, but it is too late.
The stag throws his head low, the points of the antlers rake the ground… then up!… Up like a Saecsen blade thrust deep into the horse's belly.
The wounded animal screams in agony and terror. The stag is shaking his head. His antlers are caught. The horse is scrambling to keep its legs. Arthur's knee is pinned against the side of his mount. He cannot leap free of the saddle.
Blood is everywhere.
The dogs race to the kill, but they are too far away. They will not come in time.
The horse falls. It is rolling over, its eyes wide and nostrils flared, its legs churning, hoofs lashing wildly at the air. Oh, Arthur! Arthur is stuck there. Help him!
The stag pulls free. He rears back, forehoofs raking in the air. The head angles down to plunge those deadly tines into the enemy struggling on the ground.
Arthur's spear is wedged beneath the horse's flank.
I am running to him. I gasp for breath. I cry out because I cannot run fast enough to save him.
The stag towers over Arthur… seems to hang there poised.
The stag lunges.
The sky cracks wide open and sunlight suddenly spills onto the causeway in a brilliant flood. The light is dazzling. I blink.
I look again to see Arthur's body pierced by the stag's antlers…
But no. His arm flashes up. He has a knife. The sunlight strikes the blade and it flares like a firebrand in his hand. The stag veers, plunging its rack into the hindquarters of the helpless horse.
Arthur swings his arm, aiming for the stag's throat. He cannot reach it. The blow goes wide and strikes the beast's shoulder as it worries the wound deeper into the feebly thrashing horse.
The stag pulls back to strike the killing blow. Cai heaves his spear, but it falls short and glances off the deer's rump.
Arthur twists on the ground and kicks free of his helpless mount. We are screaming now to distract the stag. We are shouting to burst our lungs. The first of the dogs reaches the stag.
The stag turns on the hounds, scattering them. Arthur struggles to his knees, Cai's spear in his hand. The stag turns on Arthur.
I see them: stag and boy, regarding one another across the distance of a few paces; a short spear throw separates them, no more. The dogs nip at the stag's flanks. He turns and catches one of the hounds and flings it aside, then gathers himself for the last attack.
Arthur braces himself. His spear does not waver.
Desperate, Ectorius launches a spear. It falls heartbreakingly short, iron tip striking sparks as it skids away across the rocks. He readies another. We are almost within range.
The dogs surround the stag, but the Forest Lord has fixed his eye on Arthur.
'Run!' Pelleas cries. 'Arthur! Run!'
The stag gathers his legs beneath him and charges, the powerful hind legs churning, driving towards Arthur.
'Run!' we shout. But it is too late. The stag is already hurtling straight at Arthur once again. The boy cannot turn to run or he will be impaled upon the antlers.
Arthur stands his ground, crouching, fearless, spear ready.
The stag closes swiftly – he is so fast!
Now! I throw my spear with all my strength and watch it slide uselessly under the legs of the onrushing deer. Ectorius lofts his one remaining spear.
In the same moment the stag simply lifts his hoofs and sails lightly over the crouching Arthur, and runs to the edge of the cliff. Arthur is already racing after the beast.
The Forest Lord pauses on the edge of the precipice, gathers its legs and leaps. What a wonder! It leaps over the cliff and we all dart to the place, thinking to see the proud animal battered as it plunges to its death on the rocks below.
Arthur turns wide eyes towards us as we run to him. He thrusts out a finger and I look where he is pointing.
I see the stag – sliding, leaping, running, flying down the cliff face to the ledge below. The beast tumbles sprawling onto the ledge, rolls to his feet and then, head held high, trots away to safety without so much as a backward glance. He is free.
It comes to us slowly what has happened.
'Arthur, are you hurt?' I demand, taking the boy by the shoulders and gazing at him intently.
Arthur shakes his head. He is disappointed rather than frightened. 'I could have taken him,' he says. 'I was ready.'
'Son, he would have killed you,' Ectorius says in a small, awed voice. 'It is a true miracle that you are alive.' He shakes his head in amazement at Arthur's still-unshaken courage.
Cai frowns. He is angry that the stag has escaped. 'The dogs ruined it. We had him.'
Ruddlyn has gathered the dogs and is hurrying to us. 'He had ye, young buck!' the huntsman snorts, showing his contempt for Cai's assessment. 'Never think otherwise. That King o' the Glen was your master from the start. It is a wonder the both of you still tread the land of the living.'
At this, Arthur bows his head. Is he crying?
No. When he raises his eyes once more they are clear and dry. 'I am sorry, Lord Ectorius. I have lost the horse you gave me.'
'Fret not the loss of the horse, lad. It is only a horse, God love you.' Ectorius shakes his head again.
'I will do better next time,' vows Arthur. The steel in his voice could shear hard leather.
'You will,' I promise him, 'but not this day. The hunt is over for you.'
Arthur opens his mouth to protest, but I will not hear it. 'Return to the caer and contemplate the gift you have been given this day. Go now – you and Cai together.'
They do not like it, but they do as they are told. They mount Cai's horse and ride off. While Ruddlyn buries the two dead dogs, we unsaddle Arthur's dead mount and, lugging the extra tack, return to our horses. No one says a word; even the dogs are quiet.
None of us, not even Ruddlyn, is certain what to make of what we have witnessed. It seems best not to speak, so we hold our tongues. But there is wonder in our souls. There is no doubt that we have seen a marvel – more perhaps, a sign.