Next Avery drew five crosses at points well up the path. 'The archers will be waiting here—Master Hugh, Master David, Fulstowe and our two young guests. You set off ahead of the rest. To one of you will go the honour of loosing the fatal shot, bringing down the stag.' He looked at the archers. 'Remember, find good cover and a clear line of shot. And keep still.' He surveyed the company. 'As the stag is driven to the archers I will sound my horn—like this—to warn them to be ready. If I need to summon the archers for any reason I will blow my horn thus.' He sounded a different note. 'Now, is all clear?'
There was a chorus of assent. Avery nodded. 'Very well, sirs, to your mounts. Handlers, keep careful hold of the dogs!'
WE WATCHED AS David and Hugh, Fulstowe and the two other boys rode into the wood in single file. A few minutes later Avery gave a signal and the rest of us followed. The only sound was the occasional jingle of harness, quickly silenced. The dogs, though straining at their leashes, knew to be silent. I was between Barak and Dyrick, just behind Hobbey, who rode with Corembeck. At the head Avery set a slow, steady pace. I sensed Oddleg was uneasy at this strange, silent progress and patted him gently.
After half an hour Avery raised a hand and pointed down a narrow side track. It was hard to make no noise as the horses rode along it, brushing against the branches which grew to the edges. And then, as suddenly as when Barak and I had stumbled upon the doe, we were facing a clearing full of deer. It was as Avery had said, several does and fauns, and a large stag too, all feeding peacefully. The animals turned, tensing instantly. The stag raised its head.
And then it began, the rush of quickening blood and the pell-mell chase we had been waiting for. In an instant the does and fauns had turned and fled. The hunting dogs, loosed, sped past us. Six riders rode after them, crashing through the wood.
The rest of us faced the big stag. On my one previous hunt, long ago, I had not seen the stag until it was dead. This one was bigger, the great antlers with their sharp points waving menacingly. It lowered its head at Corembeck, who was nearest. 'To the side, sir,' Avery said quietly but clearly. Corembeck guided his horse slowly to the left, smiling with tense excitement. In a second the stag had shot through the resulting gap, back down the path, the massive muscles of its hind legs flexing as it ran. Avery blew his horn and we all followed him, urging our horses on. Barak grinned, his face alight. 'Jesu, this is something!' he called out breathlessly.
We chased the stag down the track. A group of men stood on the road, calling 'Hey! Hey!' and waving their arms to make it turn right, towards the archers. It shot on down the path and we careered after it. At one point where the trees thinned the stag turned aside, but a big wooden hurdle had been erected across the gap. It turned back to the path and fled on, precious moments lost. As it turned I glimpsed the whites of its eyes, full of terror.
The stag picked up speed, outrunning the horses. I had to focus every sense on riding, watching for overhanging branches. Barak might have been enjoying this but I was not; I feared the dangers of riding so fast in a forest; dreaded the crack of a protruding branch against head or knee.
Then the great beast turned its head towards another gap in the trees, and plunged sideways. There was another hurdle there but it was low. The stag crouched; it was going to try and jump, but villagers had appeared beside the hurdle, waving and shouting. But the stag did not run on; it turned and stood facing us. The riders skidded to a halt. I was still at the front, next to Hobbey now. The stag made a sound, more like a bellow than a grunt, lowered its head and waved its great antlers from side to side. Avery blew his horn, the note that would summon the archers. Then the stag lowered its head and charged.
It ran straight at Hobbey's mount, catching his horse on the neck. The horse screamed and reared; Hobbey gave a loud cry and toppled backwards, onto me. Oddleg plunged and I felt myself falling, Hobbey on top of me. We landed in a thick bank of stinging nettles, their softness saving us from serious injury, Hobbey's weight driving the breath from my body. I pushed him off, before he suffocated me, sharp nettle stings biting at my hands and neck. Then I heard a loud 'thwack', a soft grunt from the stag and a crash.
