great occasion. The weather was clear and crisp, with a lingering trace of early morning mist, and the tall figure of king was in the lead. He was mounted on a towering, big-boned stallion and setting a brisk pace.
After two hours in the saddle we were deep within the royal hunting preserve. I recognized the road; it was the same track that the eel wagon had travelled to reach the capital, and I wondered if we would get as far as the place where the brigands had attempted to rob us. I doubted if I would be able to identify the exact spot because everything looked so different from what I remembered of those rain-sodden days. Then the forest had seemed heavy and foreboding, pressing in on us. Now it had an awe-inspiring majesty. The centuries-old trees were enormous. Their upper branches thick as a man’s waist were still green with the last of the summer foliage. But the leaf fall had begun so the ground below them was russet and brown stretching away between the huge moss- covered tree trunks as far as the eye could see, deep into the gloom of primal woodland. Our cavalcade was no more than a temporary disturbance in this immensity. We brought a bubble of cheerful noise and activity — the thudding of hooves, creaking leather, snatches of conversation, bursts of laughter, a sudden oath as someone swore at a clumsy horse that stumbled. Yet as soon as our company had passed, a vast and timeless silence would seep back, only broken by the brief, ancient noises of the forest.
I was thinking how insignificant was our intrusion into such surroundings when Oton rode up beside me. He reined in his horse so we were riding knee to knee. His chubby face was pink from the rattling motion of our trot.
‘Patch, how are you and the delicious Bertha getting along?’ he asked.
I was startled out of my reverie.
‘I haven’t seen her since I left the royal household,’ I answered.
‘Berenger tells me that she was at your bedside,’ he said with a spark of mischief in his eyes.
‘She came to see how I was getting on,’ I retorted, trying to keep my voice dispassionate.
‘Only as far as your bedside?’
I coloured.
‘I have no idea what you mean.’ I knew I sounded less than convincing.
‘Bertha is not easily denied,’ he said, laughing.
I gritted my teeth. The truth was that I would have much preferred to stay back in Aachen with the chance of meeting the princess again. But that had been impossible. All royal guests were required to attend the hunt. Only Gerard had been excused, on the grounds of ill-health.
‘Oton, leave off teasing him. You’re just jealous,’ said Hroudland’s voice, and the count rode up on my other side. His roan stallion stood several inches taller than my bay, and I found myself looking up at my friend.
‘Jealous?’ Oton sniggered. ‘Not me. But perhaps you should tell him. Could save him from a broken heart.’ He pulled his horse’s head aside and dropped back out of earshot.
‘What’s he talking about?’ I asked Hroudland.
‘Bertha’s reputation as a man-eater,’ said the count curtly.
I gaped at him.
‘But she’s the king’s daughter!’
‘Precisely. She gets what she wants.’
A hollow feeling grew in the pit of my stomach. I had been cherishing what had occurred between me and Bertha, every moment of it. I was smitten with her.
Hroudland saw my distress.
‘Patch, don’t take it to heart. Bertha and her sisters treat the court as their private hunting preserve, rather like this forest around us.’
‘But surely their father does not allow it,’ I protested.
‘Rather the reverse.’ Hroudland was matter of fact. ‘The king knows his daughters have a healthy appetite in that direction. They’ve inherited it from him. He prefers they indulge themselves casually, rather than marry and produce children who would complicate the succession.’
I was speechless.
Hroudland lowered his voice.
‘A word of advice, Patch. The king looks the other way, but he does not want to be made a fool of. So be discreet. And remember that you are not the only one.’
I turned aside, unable to face my friend. I was appalled that my affair with Bertha was neither secret nor special. I wondered how many of my companions had been her lovers before me. At the same time I wanted desperately to believe that what had passed between the two of us was genuine. Buffeted by these conflicting thoughts, I had to admit that I knew very little about women, least of all what to make of Bertha’s behaviour. I angrily kicked my horse into a canter.
At length our cavalcade turned off the road and made its way down a grassy track, which widened in a broad clearing. Here the advance party of our servants, including Osric, had set up tents and pavilions, dug fire pits and latrines. There was a park for the wagons, which had brought in supplies of food and wine, stacks of fodder and firewood, a line of temporary stalls for our horses, enormous barrels with water for drinking and washing. The place resembled a small village.
We dismounted and were assigned to our tents. I was put with Hroudland, Berenger and Ogier. I was glad I did not have to share with Oton, for the thought that he had lain with Bertha sickened me.
‘The head huntsman will explain about tomorrow,’ Hroudland said to me. ‘Listen carefully because my uncle takes his hunting very seriously.’ He had thrown off his riding cloak and cap, and stretched to ease his muscles. ‘The king likes the first hunt of the season to be by lance, though God only knows why he chooses to risk his life in that way.’
‘Have there been many accidents?’ I asked.
Hroudland ran his fingers through his hair.
‘Not yet, though it’s only a matter of time.’
At that moment a brief note sounded on a hunting horn.
‘That’s our signal to assemble. Come on! We want to be where we can see what’s arranged.’
Together we walked to where the company was gathering in a circle. Standing in the middle of a patch of bare earth was a small, grizzled-looking man dressed entirely in leather that had been dyed dark green. Around his neck hung the metal hunting horn that had summoned us. Hroudland pushed our way to the front and I looked across the circle to see the king himself, directly opposite. Some five or six places to his left was Ganelon, Hroudland’s stepfather. As at the banquet Ganelon caught my eye, before looking away to where Hroudland stood.
The green-clad man held up his hand to quieten the chatter of the onlookers.
‘That’s Vulfard, the king’s chief huntsman,’ the count explained.
‘Your Majesty and my lords, Greetings!’ The huntsman spoke with the confidence of a man who knew every detail of his profession. ‘Tomorrow we should have good sport — a hart of eighteen points.’
There was a collective intake of breath among the spectators.
‘A once-in-a-lifetime beast!’ Hroudland hissed in my ear.
I saw the king perk up. He straightened his back and shoulders, standing even taller.
‘My men have been watching this animal for months, long before the rut began,’ announced the huntsman. He stepped to one side of the circle, pulled a long hunting knife from his belt, and leaned down to mark a small cross in the dirt.
‘This is where he is now. . and here-’ he moved across the circle to stand directly in front of me ‘-is where we plan to bring him.’ The point of the knife made another cross in the earth. ‘With His Majesty’s permission, I propose to establish our line from here to here.’ The knife described an arc extending out in each direction from the second mark. ‘The final sector has been fenced with hurdles to bring in the quarry.’ The blade scratched a V-shape leading to the second mark. ‘Until the hart has started between the hurdles, strict discipline must be observed. Otherwise he turns back and we lose him.’ The little man paused and looked up at the king.
Carolus nodded at him to continue.
‘I have three dozen men to drive the beast. Their hounds will be on leash. They will move him by gradual stages. We already know the tracks he favours.’
Vulfard gazed around our faces. Raising his voice and speaking slowly, he said, ‘This hart is uncommonly
