by G Lawrence
When we returned to the court, we would eat the birds we had caught: herons roasted whole with their beaks pressed into their breasts; pheasants cooked in a glaze of sugar and mustard; vast crusty pies made from the delicate flesh of many little birds that were too small to roast, where sparrows and thrushes would wallow in wine and spices making thick rich gravy. Woodcocks stewed in ginger and pepper and mallards in onion and mace. We would rest and eat happily, knowing that our efforts had brought these delicious delicacies to the table of our mistress. Our hunts would fill the kitchens with good food for the table of the court. We provided food for the hundreds of courtiers and servants who lived there, and for all the servants who came with them. The leavings of the tables would be given to the poor who came begging at the gates of Mechelen, or La Vure, and to those tenants who lived on the land about the court. Our excursions into the forest fed many bellies.
I loved the hunting birds housed in Margaret’s mews, and whenever I was allowed, I would take them to the fields and practise with them. Although it was not unusual for a woman to hunt so much with the bird, I was becoming as good as a man at it.
At the bow, too, I was skilled. I could shoot as straight and true as any, and my eyesight was sharp and keen. Soon, Margaret said, I should be able to accompany her and her huntsmen on a bow and stable hunt for hinds. The season was due to start on the feast of the Holy Cross in the autumn, and I wished to be ready for it.
Chapter Thirteen
1513
La Vure
To be allowed to hunt with the full court was almost too exciting for me. I felt as though I had been accepted as an adult, as a courtier, and this pleased me. The court was at La Vure, Margaret’s summer residence which was also a goodly place for hunting excursions.
The night before the hunt, the huntsmen came to the great hall and ate with the company on great tables which lined the main hall. Afterwards, as the tables were packed away by servants, and courtiers danced, the huntsmen sat with Margaret and some of the court nobles at a side table, passing around small, dark pellets which they lifted to their lips to taste, and to their noses to smell. When I asked another courtier what they were doing, I was told that Margaret and her men were examining the fumays, the droppings of the hinds that we were to hunt on the morrow. The valets of the hunt had been out questing for the signs of the deer that would lead us to them. I watched as Margaret lifted a fumay to her nose, sniffed the scent of the deer’s droppings and crumbled it in her elegant, white fingers to see the insides.
A hunter must know her prey.
That night there was dancing and celebration for the start of the season of the hind, but all night Margaret and her huntsmen sat pouring over maps and discussing the hunt.
We started very early; I was roused from my bed in the shared dormitory of Margaret’s filles d’honneur in darkness and stumbled into my clothing, my body still longing for the soft, warm bed it had left reluctantly. Soon though, the cloud of sleep was lifted from my head with the growing realisation of excitement. In the courtyard there was a great clatter of people mounting and riding out of the castle walls to group together outside in the forest. The air was dark and fresh in the glittering grey of the morning’s half-light; the calls of people shouting to one another were infectious in their expectancy. I mounted my great horse and smoothed his dark neck as he snorted mists from his nose.
“Hold on to me, good friend,” I whispered to him. “I do not fear to fall, but I fear to shame myself before so many.” He nodded his head and snorted, as though understanding me.
A lady by my side gave me a roguish smile in mutual anticipation of exhilaration. She was older than me by some years; very beautiful with beautiful long fair hair and snapping blue eyes. Margaret had already ridden far ahead to the assembly point in the woods, and I knew but few people in the crowds. In the throng, I recognised the back of Claude Bouton, my travelling guardian, and some of Margaret’s ladies-in-waiting. The woman who had smiled at me leaned forward on her horse.
“You are La Petite Boulain? Ward of Her Majesty, the Regent Margaret, Duchess of Savoy?” she asked.
“I am, Madame,” I said politely, bowing my head to her as I could not bow my body.
She gave me another smile, “I am Lady Etionette de la Baume; I am of the Lady Margaret’s household. She asked me to find you in this crowd and to make sure that you come to no harm on your first hunt with us.” She grinned at me. “I feel I should have known you anywhere,” she said with a laugh. “You are so petite and dark, just as my mistress said.”
I nodded gratefully, although felt a little discomforted at her condescending tone. Etionette was a stunningly attractive woman, especially in the saddle; her fine figure hugged its riding clothes with slashed stripes of silk in pearl grey on her sleeves against brushed red velvet. Her face was flushed with the early morning airs. She nodded to me to follow her, and we clicked our tongues, making our horses walk on through the courtyard and outside of the castle walls towards the forests.
As we cleared the castle of La Vure itself, suddenly she kicked her horse and spurred it on. In a slight panic, I kicked my own horse to action and forced myself to keep pace with Etionette as she raced to join the faster riders at the front of the party. I was a good horsewoman, although not as good as the Lady de la Baume. She flew with an effortless grace as I struggled and fought to hold control of my horse at such speeds and over such rough terrain. She looked back and saw me keeping pace with her and laughed happily.
“You are a hunter, Mistress Boulain!” she cried, her words giving courage to my heart. As I rode behind her I felt the fierce elation of the horse’s churning hooves beneath me; the thrill of the wind in my hair and on my face.
We reached the assembly point in the woods and dismounted our frothing, sweating horses, handing them to servants to be looked after and watered well. I patted my friend on the neck as he was led off. “Thank you for keeping me on your back,” I whispered in his ear. He snorted a little at me again and pressed his nose against my neck. It seemed we understood each other well.
Etionette and I joined a throng of excited people pointing at maps of the area and breaking their fast with meat, shavings of hard cheese, bread and small ale. I gulped down a fair amount of small ale as I arrived, as chasing my ‘protector’ Etionette had made me thirsty. I felt no resentment for her having ridden so. Although it had scared me at first, it had been so thrilling that my whole body was still resonating with pleasure.
Margaret came and found me deep in conversation with Etionette and others about what to expect from the day’s hunting and nodded to me as I happily curtseyed back.
“You shall be in with the hunters with the bows, ma Petite Boulain,” Margaret said in passing to me. “We shall see how you have improved and if you shall, perhaps, bring down your own hind this day.”
I nodded and wished more than anything to make her proud. It was unlikely that I would be able to take down a deer today; I had only shot at much smaller targets. Etionette was to stand with me and show me the lay of the hunt. She seemed impressed that I had kept pace with her in the chase to the assembly and was being a little less patronising towards me as she told me what to expect and how to shoot.
“Do not aim for the hind itself, but a few paces before it,” she said. “The deer is running fast, faster than you can imagine, and if you aim for the hind herself, then by the time your arrow reaches its mark she will be already further ahead, and you will miss her. Aim for the position the body will be in. A hunter must always think ahead of the game itself, Petite Boulain.”
I listened avidly; the deer were to be driven down into a long valley by Margaret, her huntsmen and their packs of running-hounds. Etionette, I and others were to take standing positions along the valley where we could best see and shoot the deer. Running-hounds, mastiffs and valets were to take position at the end of the valley to bring down the deer that had been shot.
“The deer will not stop running unless you tak
e its heart-bone with your arrow. Until that time it will continue to run with all the courage and fire it has,” said Etionette. “Not all shots are so successful.” She smiled at me pityingly, as if to think that such a feat for a child like me was impossible. Her glance made me all the more determined to shoot straight and true.
Our arrows were dipped in different coloured dyes so that we should know which hunter had taken which deer. We hunters with our bows took to our positions in the woods after the great assembly was done with. We were each given a huntsman to take care of us in the wilderness.
We waited.
It was still early in the morning and although the sun had now risen, the forest was cool and quiet. The birds had started their erratic morning song, but the world felt so still, so calm. I felt peace descend over me; the feeling of being so removed from the noise and the clatter of court, of being removed from the world. There was no talk here in these woods, no chatter, no prattle. The trees seemed to whisper in the autumn breeze and a light chill crept over my alert form as the damp of the forest made itself felt, even through the warm lining of my furs and my heavy velvet gown.
In the distance, I heard the hunter’s horn sound, cracking through the still calm of the air. Other horns were raised in song behind the call of the first. I knew that Margaret and her huntsmen had found the quarry they sought, and had started to drive the hinds towards us in the valley. I readied myself, but the noise of the first hind that flung herself desperately through the undergrowth was such a sudden shock to me, that rather than shoot my poised arrow at her, I just stared dumbly. Her magnificent form cast itself furiously through the woods, plunging away from the terror of the hunters behind her who wanted her life. I watched her fly through the woods, darting past tree and branch and disappearing into the dripping darkness of the forest. She would not be a meal on any table this night.
The huntsman beside me urged me to ready myself for the coming of another deer. Suddenly, as though God himself were walking over the earth, there was a great noise of hooves and horns as four deer at once came careering down the sloped path towards my arrows. I saw the arrows of the other archers flying true and straight into the path of the charging deer.
Abruptly my fingers seemed to move of their own accord; arrows flew from my fingertips in a great torrent. I was barely aiming, but doing as Etionette had told me and loosing my arrows ahead into the furious flight of the desperate beasts. This way and that, the deer turned and dodged. Their bodies moved faster than anything I had ever seen in the intricate steps of the dance of their own death. Their black eyes were wide with fear and their breath was like smoke rising. They ran for their lives, reckless, beautiful and powerful.
On and on my fingers flew to their position on the bow, releasing an arrow then grabbing another from the sheaf on my back. The forest was but a blur and the deafening noise of the hunt, the hooves and the shouts of the other hunters rode my heartstrings like the intoxication of a fine wine.
I had never felt so alive in the face of so much death around me.
My servant was clapping his hands in excitement as he shouted to me over the noise of the running deer that he thought I had shot one of my own. A feeling of pride and excitement filled me at the thought. Perhaps Margaret would have another reason to praise me this night.
Quickly he re-filled my sheaf as the hunt continued. Deer after deer were being flushed and herded down that ravine by Margaret and her clever hounds. At the bottom of the pass, I could see the shapes of the running-hounds and huntsmen as they stalked the wounded hinds. Some of the charging deer flew past the men at the base of the hill. Not every one was caught. The thought pleased me in some indefinable way. They had fought so bravely to live, that I was glad that some of this herd still would remain to walk the forests again.
That afternoon, we counted and took credit for the game we had caught. My servant was right that I, on my first hunt, had succeeded in wounding a deer unto death and bringing her to the table for Margaret. I looked on the dead deer lying on the forest floor with my arrow buried deep in her withers. Her blood was clotted down her beautiful neck and her once-bright eyes were dull with death. I felt a little sad that I had been the one to take the fire of life from her eyes. But my youthful heart, too, felt pride at bringing down such a trophy on my first hunt. She was a large hind, and would feed many people of Margaret’s court.
Etionette clapped me on the back and laughed at my pride-filled face, dirty with sweat and with the dust of the arrows. “Your first kill, Mistress Boulain!” she said smiling at me. “I knew when I saw you that you would be a dangerous woman to know.”
I laughed. “It seems to me, my Lady de la Baume, that you are more dangerous than I, for you were my tutor in killing.”
Etionette gave me her roguish smile once more and touched my face with a glove that was smeared with blood and dirt. She stared into my eyes. “A dangerous woman is really the only type worth knowing, La Petite Boulain,” she said. “I think you know that as well as I.”
She laughed again, moving away to mingle with the nobles of the chase. Her smear of blood and dirt was upon my face, as though I were marked as her protégé.
The hinds were unmade and then the dogs were given their curee, a reward for their work, from the bellies of the hinds. Fresh blood and bread was mixed together with cheese from our packs, and meats roasted from the hinds on great bonfires lit in the forest. Lymers and mastiffs were fed separately to avoid fights, but the running-hounds were allowed to stick their famished heads into the belly of a fallen deer as a pack; a feast of blood and bone and gore, all wrapped inside the blood-rich scent of one of the great deer that they had helped to drive and take down.
The dogs were then as wolves in their reckless hunger for the blood of the hind. Their lips smacked, their jaws snapped; the noise of the clotting blood of the hind being lapped by their eager tongues echoed in the air. The snarls and whimpers of the pack as they shared their rewards were satisfyingly gruesome sounds of victory and appetite. When the hounds were sated in their hunger, and the company had drunk well of spiced wine heated over the bonfires, the hinds were hauled up upon great ropes and hung from lengths of wood to carry home on the broad shoulders of the huntsmen.
Our horses were brought to us by the servants of the court, and we mounted them laughing and talking gaily together in the common, weary, pleasure that filled our tired bodies. Then, in a last gesture, Margaret again lifted her horn to the skies and blew, to recall us hunters home; the last cry to return us to the civilised world of the court, leaving behind the dual nature of the peace and the viciousness of the wild.
We rode in happy, tired groups back to the castle to enjoy the feast of the first day of the season of the hind, and all the attendant dances and entertainments. I was the youngest noble in the party, and, felt I could truly celebrate this festival as I had helped to bring food to the table. That night we feasted on the flesh of beasts we had brought down with our own arrows and each bite of the tender flesh of the fat hind was as sugar in my mouth as I ate with pride and happiness.
Margaret lifted her goblet to me during the feast. From my place on one of the many tables lining the great hall, I blushed and lifted my goblet to her, feeling the honour of being so noted, by such a great lady, in public.
Chapter Fourteen
1513
Lille and Tournai
During my stay at the court of Margaret, the King of England visited. He was busy with waging war against France at the time and keen to encourage allies amongst the Hapsburgs, such as Margaret and her father the Emperor Maximilian. In July of that year, Henry and the Emperor laid siege to Therouanne and routed the French at the Battle of Spurs, which claimed its name because the French had retreated so fast from the English forces, leaving the English with only a glimpse of their French spurs shining in the sunlight, as they urged their horses away from battle.
Sadly, glory did not come without a price, especially for my family. My uncle, broth
er to my mother, Sir Edward Howard, died in an attack on the French Fleet at Brest. I wrote to my mother when the news was sent to me, trying to console her in her sorrow at the death of her brother.
But truly, having little known my uncle, I did not sorrow long. The court was caught up in watching for the arrival of the King of England, and I became caught like a fly in a web within that excitement. Since my father, too, was present in the English forces riding with the King, there was also a certain sense of trepidation for me as the party of the King came to Margaret’s court.
At the time, though, I was most excited to see once again this great king whose coronation procession I had watched all those years before. The other filles d’honneur questioned me on what he was like, and I delighted to tell them of his handsome face and magnificent bearing.