“When the seven years were up, the Queen had one son by Thomas and was carrying another. She did not want him to leave, I’m told, but the laws of Faerie have a certain ... implacability about them.” John glanced at Hugh, then looked away. “Seven years he’d promised, and seven years she’d had, and she could not hold him longer. Nor could he stay, though he’d leave his sons behind.
“Our father could not be content with that decree. The child in the Queen’s womb he could not touch, but me he stole away the night he left.”
“You?” Rosamund said.
“Aye, I’m the elder by two years,” John replied, and his lips twisted in a wry smile. “For all the good it’s been to me.”
He shook himself, and continued, “The Queen gave chase as soon as she discovered what her lover had done, but she could not ride as headlong as she wished for fear of harming the child within her. So when she came up with my father at last, she was too late to take me back. For Father’d learned more than a little in his time in Faerie; he’d gone straight to a priest and had me baptized.”
“I remember,” Rosamund said. “When you gave me the rose, you said that you were baptized Thomas.”
“ ‘Twas true,” John said. “And after that, the Faerie Queen could not touch me ’gainst my father’s will. ‘Tis why I’m now called John; my mother took a dislike to the name my father gave me, and will not suffer it to be used in Faerie.”
“I am much amazed, if that was all she did,” the Widow commented.
“Oh, she was greatly angered, of course, yet Faerie folk admire such cleverness, even when ‘tis they that lose by it. So the Queen gave her lover one last gift before she returned to her own land. She said that, since in Faerie she’d silenced his tongue to keep him true, his tongue would speak the truth and truth alone now that ’twas no more silent. Then she left.”
“So you were raised a mortal?” the Widow said.
“In the main,” John replied. “Yet Faerie kept close watch on me, and I learned as much from them as from my teachers. Then, too, my father could not lie when I grew old enough to question him about my mother.” He smiled slightly. “I think ‘twas half the reason she bestowed on him his truthful tongue.”
“It seems a most uncomfortable present,” Rosamund said, frowning.
John shrugged. “‘Twas double-edged, as are most Faerie gifts. My father learned to use it well; his prophecies are famous still.”
“How did you come to know your brother?” Blanche asked, nodding at Hugh.
“When I was old enough to understand, my mother came for me,” John said. “Twice each year, at May Eve and Midsummer, she took me to join the Faerie revels. And when I turned fifteen, I chose to stay in Faerie. Yet I never lost my fondness for travel in the mortal world, and that, it seems, has been my bane and Hugh’s together. ”
“Belike you’re wrong to say so,” the Widow said thoughtfully. “If ‘twas Dee and Kelly’s work that changed your brother thus, I do not think ’twas done apurpose.”
“Why not?” Hugh growled.
“My daughters watched the greater part of that spell-casting, yet they heard no mention of thy name. Nor did the wizards speak of bears, nor transformations, nor fay with mortal blood.”
“I fear I do not apprehend your meaning,” John said, frowning.
The Widow looked at him in surprise. “Spells need such clear direction, if they’re to work specific tasks. Know you so little of magic?”
“Of Faerie magic I doubt not I know more than you,” John answered. “But I’ve never learned much of mortal spells. It seems they differ more than I’d supposed.”
“The intention of those wizards doth not matter, but only that we break their spell,” Rosamund said impatiently.
“ ‘Tis not so simple, Rose,” the Widow said, shaking her head.
“Your spells have done much good already,” Hugh said with some anxiety. “And now you know still more.”
“Our chances would be better now, ‘tis true, an this were but a change of shape,” the Widow said reluctantly. “But I think the spell is more than that. I think it’s torn some part of thee away, and little more can I or anyone do for thee unless it be returned.”
“Then we must study how to fetch it back,” John said. The Widow looked at him with a kind of surprised horror, and he smiled. “Nay, Mistress Arden, I’ll ask no more of you. This work’s for me, and Hugh.”
“For you and Hugh?” Rosamund said in an indignant tone. “Would you have us wash our hands of him?”
“You’ve done enough,” John answered. “You’ve given Hugh himself again, which all of Faerie could not do. And you have given me hope, which of late I’ve not had in great quantity. The coming tasks will be a danger I’ve no wish to lead you into.”
“ ‘Twas dangerous to watch the wizards at their work,” Blanche pointed out. “And also to give aid and shelter to a bear. An untried spell’s a danger; so, too, is a walk in Faerie. We’re not afraid of danger.”
“Aye,” Hugh rumbled. “ ‘Tis why I’ll not come again.”
Blanche and Rosamund stared in shock, then broke into a volley of protests. “Girls!” the Widow said sharply, and they subsided.
“What dost thou mean by this, sir bear?” Blanche said more calmly.
“As I said. If my presence here was known, you’d be hanged for witches. I did not realize it till tonight, but now I know, and I’ll not risk it even if you’re willing.”
“What of thine own risk?” Blanche cried. “Tomorrow’s Master Kirton’s hunt!”
Hugh chuckled, and his furred back shook. “Master Kirton is small danger to me now.”
John’s expression, which had been first surprised and then thoughtful, slowly changed to devilish glee. “Small danger, indeed! This hunt will not soon be forgotten, I warrant you!”
Rosamund immediately began trying to pry some further explanation out of the brothers. She was not successful, though her efforts distracted Blanche and the Widow from Hugh’s expressed determination not to return to the cottage. By the evening’s end, they were on familiar terms with John as well as Hugh, and Rosamund had wormed a promise out of the two brothers to come back after the hunt and tell them what had happened.
Once this was settled, the Widow, who had been keeping a careful eye on the dwindling rushlight, pointed out that the hour was late indeed. John and Hugh courteously rose to leave at once. Blanche was only just able to swallow a protest at the bear’s departure by reminding herself that John was, after all, Hugh’s brother, and that they had been separated for three months. She watched with quiet resentment as the bear followed John out the door, then silently chided herself for her unwarranted pique.
Outside, John and Hugh walked a short way down the road and stopped. They waited there, talking in low voices, until the lights from the Widow’s cottage had been out some time. Then John walked back to the Widow’s gate. He picked up a nearby twig and scratched a symbol on the ground, then pulled up a tuft of dried grass and shredded it over the drawing until the marks were completely hidden. He went back to Hugh and nodded. The two brothers, man and bear, turned together and disappeared among the forest shadows.
CHAPTER · THIRTEEN
“Snow White was sorry to see the bear leave, but she held the door open for him as he asked. As the bear went out, he brushed against the latch and tore away some of his fur. Snow White thought for a moment that she saw a gleam of gold underneath, but she could not be sure. The bear ran on into the forest, and was soon out of sight. ”
THE MORNING OF MASTER KIRTON’S BEAR HUNT dawned grey and cool, but the weather did not dampen the enthusiasm of the people who had come to join in the sport. The unusual entertainment drew a large crowd of onlookers in addition to the participants; half the village of Mortlak lined the streets from dawn onward, hoping to see the hunt ride out. Sawyers and shopkeepers, charcoal burners and weavers, wine merchants and watermen, all found some errand or excuse to take them out into the streets. Kitchen
maids slipped away while carrying in the wash water, and those whose work kept them indoors found reasons to linger near windows.
The hounds, unused to such confusion at the beginning of a hunt, milled about uneasily as the men and women mounted their horses. Master Kirton had brought a bear ward down from London, so that at least one member of the hunt would be used to handling bears. The bear ward’s mastiffs had come with him; they stood behind the horses, growling ferociously at Master Kirton’s hounds and shaking their iron-spiked collars.
The hunt left Mortlak at around ten in the morning, and shortly afterward it passed the Widow Arden’s cottage. A few of the hounds lowered their heads to sniff the path that led to the Widow’s door, but the symbol John had scratched beside the gate was a strong one, and the dogs continued on without giving their masters a hint that they had smelled the musky odor of a bear. Inside the cottage, the women watched with deep misgivings as the cavalcade went by, but there was nothing they could do but pray that Hugh had been right to be so unafraid of this gay, deadly company. Shortly after, they heard the belling of the hounds in the forest, and knew the bear hunt had begun in earnest.
In a small, brushy hollow behind the half-rotted trunk of a fallen beech, John and Hugh heard the first of the hounds give tongue. At first, the cry was uncertain; Master Kirton’s dogs had been trained to the scent of hares and deer, not bears. Then a second dog joined in, and the cry firmed and deepened as the rest of the pack took it up. Bear and man exchanged looks as the sound grew louder. Then John nodded, and the two slipped out of the concealing bushes and headed deeper into the forest.
The hounds found the hollow soon after John and Hugh left it, and the fresh scent made them wild. The mastiffs, too, recognized the smell, and the bear ward had difficulty restraining them. The huntsmen pressed forward eagerly as the hounds leapt over the hollow, each man hoping to be the first to catch sight of the quarry. The trail twisted among the trees and ended abruptly at the edge of a clearing packed with shrubs and brambles that showed no sign of the passage of any large animal.
The master of the hounds was furious, convinced that his dogs had “hunted counter” by following the traces of a hare, and his temper was not improved by the pithy comments of the London bear ward. He tried to call the pack together, to return to the hollow and try to pick up the correct trail, but less than half of the hounds came back at the call of his horn. The others scattered among the trees on either side of the clearing and were soon lost to sight.
The remaining hounds cast about for a new scent, and soon the hunt was off once more. The dogs ran as if they were possessed of demons, and the hunt strung out behind them. The hounds’ excitement made the hunters certain that the bear was near, and they urged their horses on, each anxious to be the first to spy it. The route wound through the darkest parts of the forest, along the boggy banks of streams, up and down steep hills. Low branches whipped the riders’ faces constantly, but when they tried to pull their horses up, they discovered that they could not do so. They could only ride on and on, like the Wild Hunt itself, following the hounds deeper into the shadowy forest on the track of a quarry they never saw.
The men and women who had been left behind by the hurtling rush of the foremost riders had no better luck in remaining together. Here and there, a rider caught sight of a broad, furred back disappearing among the trees. With a shout of triumph, the hunter would spur his horse onward, only to have the creature vanish without leaving so much as a footprint. The hunt became more and more scattered, and the riders began to lose sight of each other. At first, few of them were concerned, for each could plainly hear the crashing and hallooing of his companions up ahead. Each followed the noise, plunging onward until the calls ceased abruptly, and he found himself alone and lost in the heart of the forest.
A mist began to rise, thick and cold, hiding the traces of the horses’ passage and turning the forest into an eerie, shifting maze. It writhed in and out among the long, bare tree trunks like a living thing, and through occasional, unexpected gaps the lost and frightened hunters glimpsed impossible things. In one part of the forest, a bear three times the size of a man roared once at a huntsman and then vanished, leaving claw marks deep in the bark of an oak, while elsewhere men swore they’d seen their quarry holding converse with the hunt master. Here a man heard roaring all around him but never saw the smallest sign of the bear’s presence; there two women all but fainted at the sight of not one but three bears, ghostly white and silent, rising out of the mist on either side of them. One horse, maddened by the heavy scent of bear, threw his rider and ran into the trees, leaving the man lying paralyzed with the fear that in another moment the bear would appear to maul him.
It was nearly sunset when exhausted horses with their weary riders began to emerge, in ones and twos, from the edge of the forest. The horses were flecked with foam and muddy to the croup; their riders’ clothes were torn and dirty and their faces showed the marks of branches and tall brush. The hounds were next, panting and footsore. Last of all came the cowering, whimpering mastiffs, none of whom could ever after be made to take part in a bear-baiting.
Rosamund and Blanche had strained their ears all day, listening fearfully for the blowing of the morte that would tell them Hugh had been taken. They rejoiced when they saw the first of the hunters riding slowly back toward Mortlak, and they grew happier with every tired man and animal that passed the cottage. By the time the last of them had gone by, it was fully dark, and the girls were impatiently awaiting the arrival of Hugh and John, to tell them what had happened.
They had almost given up when they heard the familiar knocking at the door. The Widow opened it at once, and exclaimed when she saw them. John was leaning heavily against Hugh’s side, and he looked very little better than the hunters the girls had watched with such glee. His doublet was muddy and full of leaves, his face was tired and pale, and there were dark circles under his eyes.
The Widow gave a tiny gasp and hurried to help John inside. “A cup of water, Rosamund, and quickly. Blanche, see to the bear.”
“Naught’s amiss with me,” Hugh said.
“Then how has John come to such a sorry state?” Rosamund snapped as she hastened to do her mother’s bidding.
“Nay, ‘tis no great matter,” John said. “I’m tired, that’s all.”
Rosamund sniffed scornfully. “You look worse than Mother’s herbs when all the virtue’s been boiled out of them.” She pushed him to a seat with one hand and held out the cup of water with the other.
“Thy description’s amazingly apt,” John replied, taking the cup from her and draining it at a gulp.
“Not so fast; thou‘lt do thyself an injury,” the Widow said. “How came thee to this pass, Master Rimer? Was it the hunt?”
“In a way.” John looked up and smiled suddenly. “‘Twas a greater crowd than I’d expected, and ’tis no easy thing to pixy-lead so many. Still, I think ‘twill do.”
Hugh snorted loudly. “ ‘Twill more than do, brother mine. Robin Goodfellow will envy thee this day’s work, if he hears of it. ”
“You’ve pixy-led the whole of Master Kirton’s hunt?” Blanche said, wide-eyed.
“I thought it would discourage them,” John explained in an apologetic tone. “I wanted no more bear hunts.”
Rosamund choked on a laugh. “From the look on them as they came homeward, I think you’ll get your wish. I doubt there’s man or hound among them who’ll hunt so much as a rabbit through that forest again.”
“Aye. The beasts will bless your day’s work,” Blanche said.
“An the hunters stay away, I’ll be content,” John said, and smothered a yawn.
“Cease thy chatter and rest a little,” the Widow said in a scolding tone. She set a tin dish half-filled with lentil stew on the table before him. “And eat. Thou‘rt all but spent.”
“Oh, surely not so bad as that,” John said, but he took his eating knife out of his pouch and set to work on the stew with an alacrity that
gave the lie to his words.
The Widow watched him for a moment, then nodded in satisfaction and turned to Hugh. “ ‘Twill be a day or two before we know how sure thy brother’s work has been. I think thou shouldst keep from sight a while.”
“Aye,” Rosamund said sagely. “It will be better far if thou‘rt not seen. Meantime, we’ll study how to steal thy true shape back for thee. ”
John’s head came up quickly, and he spilled stew across his knees. He muttered a curse and brushed at it, which only served to mix the warm stew more thoroughly in with the mud and twigs that already covered his hose. Rosamund laughed. Blanche shot her a reproving look, but John did not seem disturbed.
“Plainly, I’m more tired than I had thought,” he said, abandoning his brief effort to improve his appearance. “But I cannot let thee do this, Rosamund. Thy family’s done enough already.”
“You cannot stop us,” Rosamund said, lifting her chin. “And we want to help.”
“I think thou‘lt need what we can offer,” Blanche said quietly but with determination. “Thou’st said already that thou knowest little of mortal magic.”
“And you, Mistress Arden?” John said to the Widow. “What say you to this idea?”
The Widow bit her lip. “I like it not,” she admitted. “‘Tis dangerous to think of crossing Master Dee and Master Kelly, and there’s always the chance that the work will be discovered and we’ll all be taken up for witches. But I have never liked it, and what Blanche says is true; thou’lt need our knowledge, an thou hope to restore thy brother.” She looked up and smiled wryly. “And will I, nil I, Rosamund at least has set her mind to this. ‘Twill be far better an I’m there to aid her.”
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