I froze.
For a long moment the creature gazed directly at me. I felt small and puny. Then, slowly, the majestic spread of antlers, six or seven feet across, swung away as the hart turned its head and began to walk slowly past me. I had been judged as harmless.
I felt a nudge on my elbow. Osric had crept up behind me the moment the hart had turned away, and was prodding me with an arrow he had taken from the quiver. I looked down. It was a war arrow, the heavy iron head three inches broad and designed to pierce scale armour.
The hart was moving to my left, away from the line of waiting hunters. There was no hope of turning it back toward them. I took the arrow, nocked it to my bowstring, and glanced across at Walo. The lad was half-crouched, mesmerized, his mouth slack and his gaze fixed on the great deer. He turned to face me and saw the question in my face. He nodded.
I drew back the bowstring, felt the heavy shaft slide smoothly across my left hand, and in the same movement, released the arrow.
I had practised my archery so often that there was no need to take deliberate aim. Some instinct told me exactly where to place the shaft, and the heavy arrow slammed into the ribs, just behind the shoulder.
Until that moment I had never appreciated the force of the curved bow. My arrow struck at the perfect angle. It plunged deep into the body cavity and ripped through the vital organs. The huge beast ran less than fifty paces, and then with a hoarse grunt, buckled at the knees and sank to the ground.
Walo was on the stag in a flash. He darted behind the stricken animal, dodged the kicking hooves, and crawled under the sweep of the antlers. At risk to his life he drew his hunting knife across the throat. It took three deep cuts before twin bright red spouts showed he had succeeded in despatching the animal.
The great head dropped to the ground and lay there, twisted at an ugly angle by the massive antlers.
Walo got to his feet unsteadily, his face and jerkin splashed with blood. He gazed down at the great corpse, and a tremendous smile spread across his face. Then he broke into a gawky dance, capering up and down with delight.
‘What do we do now?’ I asked him. I could scarcely believe that it had all ended so quickly.
He stopped his jig and fumbled for the hunting horn dangling from the cord around his neck. Putting it to his lips, he blew three or four unsteady notes. The effort was beyond him, and he tried a second time. On the fourth attempt he succeeded in completing what I supposed was the death call.
There was no response from the silent forest.
We began to gut the huge animal. It was a mammoth task. By mid-morning we were not halfway through butchering the carcass, though we had succeeded in retrieving my lucky arrow, undamaged. It had slid between two ribs and pierced the heart. We sliced and cut, pausing to pass a whetstone between us and sharpen our knives and to listen for other hunters. We might as well have been alone in a wilderness. We worked until we were hungry, and Walo went to fetch bread and hard cheese from a saddlebag on the pony and a leather bottle of ale. I wandered off in search of water to clean my hands made sticky with blood. I took along the arrow to wash and smooth the blood-stiffened feathers.
Among the willows was a shallow puddle left by the summer rain. I knelt down and was washing the fletching when I heard the sound of a hunting horn. It was very far in the distance, several short calls followed by a longer note. I stood up to listen. The forest had fallen silent. Next came the alarm call of the jay, and then the sound of animals on the move, coming in my direction. As I watched, a group of half a dozen hinds moved across a gap in the thickets some fifty paces ahead of me. They were walking quietly, unhurried and unafraid. Cautiously I backed away, not wishing to frighten them. Varnulf had instructed that all lesser quarry must be allowed to pass freely. I reached the spot where I had left my bow when I happened to look toward the line of beech trees.
For a moment I thought I saw a ghost. A great stag was stepping out from the treeline. I shut my eyes tight and opened them again, thinking it was the fetch of the animal I had just slain. But this animal was slightly smaller, a lighter brown, and the rack of antlers was not as broad. Nevertheless I counted fourteen tines.
Instinctively I reached for my bow. My movement alerted the stag which turned its head to look in my direction. I stood stock still until the stag took a few more paces. Then slowly, very slowly, I set my lucky arrow to the string, and drew the bow. But the quarry was suspicious. Step by step it advanced, anxious to follow its group of hinds, yet wary of danger.
The stag was within killing range, yet I waited. My arms and shoulders aching with the strain, hoping for another mortal shot. Then Osric called to me to hurry to join him before all the food was gone. His shout caused the stag to wheel round and take a great leap towards the safety of the treeline. I loosed.
My arrow caught the beast in mid-air, striking well back along his body. I saw the hindquarters twist and droop as the injured beast landed. Then it gathered its strength and sped away among the beech trees, the crashing sounds of flight growing fainter and fainter in the distance.
‘What was that?’ demanded Osric, emerging from the brushwood behind me, a cheese rind in his hand.
‘Another hart, almost as big. I wounded it.’
‘Badly?’
‘I think so. It was running crookedly.’
‘Quick, before you lose it. Walo and I can bring on the horses.’ He ran back and fetched the lance that Walo had stuck in the ground and handed it to me. ‘You’ll need this to finish him off. In the woods it’ll be more use than the bow. But take care.’
Alone, I set out in pursuit of the wounded quarry. I ran at first, a slow jog because the trail was easy to follow and I did not believe I had far to go. The hart had left a line of marks on the forest floor where its hooves had scuffed up the leaves. Here and there were sizable splashes of blood. In a few places I saw fresh scrapes on tree trunks where the wounded creature had blundered into the trees, and the antlers had knocked away the bark.
But gradually the trail grew indistinct, and I slowed to a walk. I was being drawn deep into the forest. The dense foliage filtered out the daylight and made it difficult to pick out the tell-tale signs. I worried that I might walk past the carcass of the beast if it had dropped dead. Worse, there was the risk of stumbling upon the wounded animal, as it was ready to attack. I recalled how my father had insisted that no trackers ever went after a wounded stag unless they were accompanied by dogs. So I looked about me carefully, peering into the dark shadows as much for ambush as for signs of blood or hoof prints. I kept a firm grip on the lance.
I had almost given up all hope of finding my quarry and was ready to turn back when I heard a sudden panicked thrashing not far ahead. I had come up upon the beast, and once again scared it into flight. I broke into a run, determined not to let it escape. But after a short distance the sounds suddenly stopped, and I was at a loss. I stole forward, taking each step quietly, straining my ears.
I came to the lip of a narrow, steep gulley. A dense tangle of ferns and brambles choked the little stream which ran through the bottom of it. I heard a bubbling, wheezing sound, looked down and saw the wounded stag. It was lying sprawled on the stream bed, deep pink froth coming from its jaws. My arrow must have pierced the lungs. A fresh scar in the earth bank showed where the creature had tried to leap across and failed. It had tumbled into the gully and, unable to rise, was very near death. Very cautiously I eased myself over the edge. The bank was too steep for me to stand upright so I sat back on the slope and allowed myself to slide down the bank. The sides of the gully were slick with wet leaves, and I dug in my heels to control the speed of my descent. When I reached the bottom of the gully, I circled round, keeping well clear of the antlers to where I could get a clear thrust with the lance. Not taking my eyes off the quarry, I sidled into position and drew back my weapon. I was about to stab down when something whipped past my head and there was a soft thump just beside me. I turned my head and was shocked to see the haft of an arrow sticking out of the earth bank to my right. It had buried half its length into the soil.