by Karen Myers
Alun thought for a moment. “It would make sense for us to put up our horses here for the errand at Mostyn’s. We could linger in the stables coming and going, and the grooms have a lot to say. And we could still be having that drink.”
“Good idea.”
They turned in at the stable entrance and dismounted in the yard, handing the horses to the groom that George recognized from the day before.
“Hello again,” he said. “I’m sorry, but I’ve forgotten your name.”
“It’s Maonirn,” the lutin said, as he took their horses. They followed him into the stable.
“We’ll be an hour or two at Mostyn’s,” Alun told him. George meanwhile looked about to be sure no one else was in the stable. He had no sense of anyone nearby.
“Maonirn, is that Scilti fellow still around? He gave me a scare yesterday.”
The groom warmed to a sympathetic audience. “Aye, and as troublesome as ever.”
“I thought he was waiting for someone. What does he do all day?”
“Keeps to his room when he isn’t out on his horse for hours.”
“Where would he go? We haven’t seen him at the manor.”
“I don’t know. But he’s not been in a good mood when he returns, I can tell you that.”
The tailor’s shop turned out to be a small house fronting the road on the same side as the inn. At the knock on the door a middle-aged man let them in and directed them to a back room where a large table dominated the center and the only spaces not occupied by shelves and drawers were two large windows and the doorways.
Alun introduced them. “Mostyn, this is Gwyn’s kinsman, George Talbot Traherne. He’s come to us directly from the human world on an unexpected visit and will be staying for some time. He’s taking over Iolo’s job while he’s here. Gwyn has told Ifor Moel to make sure he’s outfitted for the hunting by next week.”
George said, “I won’t be here that long. That’s a lot of fuss for a week’s worth of clothing.”
Alun looked at him sternly. “You must be properly attired for the honor of the family and the great hunt.”
Mostyn glanced over his Rowanton Hunt clothing. “Is this hunting attire you’re wearing?”
“The breeches and boots are conventional for riding of many sorts, and the shirt, vest and coat are particular to my hunt and the general style of foxhunters.”
“Are you wanting more of that, then?”
“No. I guess I would need appropriate hunt clothing for here, and work clothes, and something to wear in the evenings that’s suitable. Olwen,” he looked to check that Mostyn knew who that was, “is handling some of the basic items. Alun has a list.”
Mostyn and Alun looked over the list for a few minutes.
“You’ll need two hunt coats, one simpler for everyday, and one better for actual hunting. Also one coat for kennel work, in drab. Two weskits to match, four hunt shirts, Olwen to take care of more shirts and the under garments. Three sets of breeches, one for dirty work by Olwen. Stockings, from Olwen, and footwear. Shoes for everyday, high boots for hunting. What style is it you prefer?”
“I want hunt clothing to be both proper and quiet, the simpler the better, in whatever colors are customary. Lots of pockets inside and out. Plenty of ease of movement. Allow room for undergarments for warmth, top and bottom, in case it gets cold.”
He thought for a moment. “Let’s see… what else? Oh, I need to carry a saber.”
“And a hunting sword,” Alun reminded him.
“Alright, and a hunting sword. I have gloves for riding, but if it’s cold enough I may need a warmer pair, and I need work gloves—maybe there are some already at the kennels I can use?” he asked, looking at Alun.
“For boots, I need enough room at the foot and ankle for a second pair of short wool socks, for warmth.”
“Low-heeled, the shoes?”
“Flat-heeled, the shoes,” George said. “I mean normal height, not elevated. Boots, too.”
Mostyn walked over to the shelves and began pulling out bolts of cloth. Strong dark green wools in various weights were prominent.
“The typical color of our lord Gwyn’s livery, this, and the color that Iolo favored.”
He draped a medium weight over George’s chest to see the effect and nodded approvingly. “Take off your coat, then, and I will measure you.”
Dictating numbers to Alun to write down, he began the same process on George that Olwen had, earlier in the day. George resigned himself to stand there patiently.
Mostyn commented on the pistol holster at George’s back. “Shall I leave room for this as well?”
“Forgot I had that on. Habit. Yes, you might as well allow a bit of room for that, and enough clearance to access it. Maybe I’ll swap it for a knife.”
“And then there will be evening wear,” Mostyn said while he was working. “What’s your fancy, then?”
“Something simple and quiet. I’m used to black but if that’s not customary, then a dark navy or some other sober, dignified color.”
“Not much used outside of livery, black is. Iolo used a darker green, to indicate his role and support Gwyn.”
“So he embodied ‘huntsman’ in the formal affairs?”
“So it was.”
If I do that, George thought, they won’t think of me as anything else. Always good to be underestimated.
“Alright, then. I’ll do the same.”
Alun warned him, “Not all of Gwyn’s kinsmen wear livery, even as hunt staff. Rhodri was a true peacock, he was, though he maintained one coat in livery.”
George waved a hand. “It’s fine by me. I don’t want to be noticed so much as a kinsman. Besides, I’m too large to be decorative.”
Mostyn said, “Someone else must come in for the shoes and boots. Wait a few minutes while I see if he’s busy.”
Ah, a perfect opportunity, George thought. He said, “I have an errand to run up the street for a moment. Can you and Alun work together till I return?”
George found himself up the street at Angharad’s lane before he could raise enough objections to stop himself. This is idiotic, he raged silently. You’re not going to be here long, and you’ll seem like a child to her, given the difference in your ages. Don’t be bothering her.
He’d stayed awake a while last night thinking about it. Finally, he’d concluded that he wanted to see more of her regardless and was determined not to be shy about it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
As he entered the work yard, he saw an open door at the further workshop building and knocked on the door frame. She emerged into the light, dusty from her work and wearing a smock covered with paint stains. A few tendrils of hair had escaped their braid and floated around her face.
“It’s good to see you again,” she said, looking for his horse.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your work with no notice like this,” he said, “but I’ve come to town to be fitted for clothing and wanted to stop by for just a moment. As you may have heard, I agreed to serve as huntsman for Gwyn until after the great hunt.”
“Yes, it’s a subject of great interest to us all,” she said politely.
He flushed at the neutral remark. Was she teasing him? He hadn’t meant to sound like he was boasting. Doggedly persisting, he said, “Since I’m not leaving immediately, as I thought I would be, I want to take the opportunity to become better acquainted with people. There wasn’t enough time yesterday, but I’d like to see your work in some detail, if you’d care to show me.”
He quickly added, “Not right now, of course, with no warning.”
She considered for a moment, her face unreadable. “Would you like to come tomorrow for the mid-day meal? I’d be pleased to show you around.”
He could breathe again. “That would be very kind, thanks. I’ll be doing my first hunt, tomorrow morning, privately, with just the staff. Assuming I don’t lose all the hounds or end up dead in a ditch, I’ll come as promptly as I can.”
One side of
her mouth quirked at the dire predictions. “Perhaps I could attend this private hunt myself? That way you needn’t worry about being late.”
Really? She’d do that? “I can’t guarantee any sport,” he warned. “This will be my first attempt at deer instead of fox.”
“That doesn’t matter. I’d be interested to see it anyway, and from the start, at kennels.”
“I’d be pleased to have you, and it’ll put me on my mettle to have an audience,” he said, wryly. “I’ll see you, then, in the morning.”
He turned to go, then turned back, dismayed. “Wait, do you know when they usually start? I haven’t asked yet.” He laughed at himself.
She smiled at him. “Right after breakfast. You’ll need to eat early.”
He smiled back. “Alright, then. I’ll see you at kennels.”
Walking away, he thought, that went well. He was surprised she wanted to watch the trial hunt, and concerned it wouldn’t go well, but that was a worry he could handle. Better to embarrass himself in front of someone who was interested, than not to spark any interest at all. He didn’t know what could happen in just a couple of weeks, or where it might lead, but he was old enough not to want to waste any time in finding out.
Angharad watched him walk down the lane and out of sight. He didn’t look back, but his head was tilted as if he were talking to himself. Probably replaying the conversation to see what he could’ve said better, if she knew men. She grinned.
It never really got old, she thought, this dance between men and women. This descendant of Gwyn was so young and yet so bold, judging from yesterday’s fight at the funeral. The unconsidering courage of youth, perhaps? But someone had taught him manners, and it gave him a poise beyond his years. And after all, he’d had the nerve to ask her, which few did. Why not get to know him better?
He’s certainly not a child, she thought, remembering how she’d had to look up at him as they stood together. He was like a wall, standing in front of her. No wonder his gray horse was so large. She felt a warmth that had been absent for a while as she drew his body in her mind’s eye.
It would be interesting to watch him wrestle with this job he’s taken on, hunting the hounds, not to mention the challenge he’ll face with the great hunt.
She turned and walked into the building, absently making her way as she considered how best to compose his form for the painting she had in mind.
George found a cobbler waiting for him in Mostyn’s shop. They discussed shoes and boots, took more measurements, and set delivery for later in the week.
Mostyn told him, “I’ll need to see you soon for fittings. When can that be?”
“I’ll be here tomorrow afternoon. Is that too soon?”
“I’ll have something by then. Come by when you can.”
As he walked back to the inn with Alun, a thought occurred to him. “What about Benitoe and Rhian? Won’t they need hunt coats like staff, too?”
“As family, Rhian could dress differently, if she wants, but Benitoe should be properly clothed.”
“Another item for Ifor Moel, then. I guess we’ll find out what the spending limits are, at this rate.”
“It’s unlikely that Gwyn would place any barriers in your way, for the honor of the hunt.”
They stopped in the main room of the inn for a beer before returning, and the innkeeper brought it to them himself.
“So this is our new huntsman?” he asked Alun. He nodded at George. “Huw Bongam, I am, at your service.”
“Pleased to meet you. I’ve just been visiting Mostyn.” Better to feed the gossip than make them dig for it, George thought.
“He’ll take good care of you. They say you come from the human world. True it is I’ve never seen a coat fashioned like that.”
“That’s so. This is my first visit.”
“And what do you think about it, then?” He rocked back on his heels, waiting expectantly for an answer.
George considered, what do I think about it, indeed? The last three days had been startling, exhilarating, and somehow compelling. “I feel at the same time like I’m having an adventure and like I’ve come home,” he was surprised to hear himself say.
The innkeeper smiled broadly. “So it’s like that, is it? There’s a place for everyone, I say. Maybe this is yours.” They raised their glasses to the wish.
George asked him to sit down, since the common room was otherwise unoccupied in the middle of the afternoon.
“I met a guest of the inn yesterday and I’d like to know more about him. Quietly.”
“You mean that Scilti fellow, no doubt. There’s not much I can tell you. He says little and smiles less. No visitors, out all day, and the only time I hear from him is when he has something to complain about.”
“How long will he be staying?”
“He’s been here a week, he has, and no sign of leaving.”
“Unlike us, I fear. We need to get back.”
They finished their drinks and picked up their horses from the stable.
CHAPTER 16
Weapons-master Hadyn greeted George at the afternoon session. “I hear it’s well you did with a saber yesterday.”
George snorted. Was it only yesterday? “My blood was up, so I didn’t stop and think how lucky I was until afterward.”
More seriously, he said, “Since it looks like I’ll be here a couple of weeks, I’d like to come whenever I can to improve, with your permission. I’ll try for every afternoon, though I’m sure that won’t always work.”
“That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it?” He outlined a set of activities and partners to take George through an abbreviated education in saber, mounted and afoot, small-sword, knife-fighting, and defense against the more common weapons.
“My size should be an advantage in unarmed combat, but I don’t know how to use it. Could we include that as well?”
“Yes, and you’ll need archery, at least the basics. Might as well pull a bow with those muscles.”
They walked over to the other end where the trainees were already practicing. George was startled to see Rhian among them, but glad to see she was taking it seriously. Hadyn interrupted the training session for a moment to make general introductions while George stripped down for sparring.
“It’s stale you’ll get fighting each other. This one,” hooking a thumb at George, “will be a challenge, being neither a cadet nor a professional. He hasn’t trained with you yet, so you don’t know what he’ll do.” He paused. “Neither does he.” This generated some suppressed laughter. He looked up at the tall, broad man standing ready and taking this joshing in good humor. “Try not to hurt the wee man, now, or there’ll be no hunting for any of us.” That raised smiles all around.
After dinner, George hastened off to the huntsman’s office to look over the hunting territory for the next day. Rhian came with him, and they found Benitoe already waiting, with Ives.
“Thank you all for coming,” George said. “Let’s start with a hound lesson, and then let them get their sleep. I want to begin with the dog hounds, all of them, and those bitches we’ll be using tomorrow. I’d like your advice on which hounds to take out.” This last was directed at Ives.
“Iolo would draw up a list, and I’d tell him of any problems.”
“And I’ll do the same but I don’t know the hounds well enough yet, so let’s make that a gradual process. Let’s leave out any young entry for tomorrow, but otherwise which ones do you suggest?”
“Deer at Two Pines,” he considered. “Well, it’s not a big fixture, nor very far. There are deer in those woods who raid the cornfields, and the crops are high. I’ll show you who I think should go, and you can make the list as we go along.” They headed over to the hound pens, Rhian and Benitoe walking beside them.
“Will we have an audience tomorrow?” Rhian asked.
“Not officially, though I met Angharad this afternoon in the village and she asked if she could join us and watch. So we’ll have an extra reason to try and l
ook professional.”
They pulled some chairs into the corridor outside the dog pen, and Rhian fetched hounds one at a time on a lead at Ives’s bidding, starting with Dando.
George and Benitoe looked him over carefully, trying to get his markings and bearing fixed in their mind. George held his head and opened his awareness to see the hound’s personality: there it was, calm, responsible, the captain of his team. “Can you sense their presence?” he asked Benitoe.
“I don’t think it’s the same way you do in the family, with each individual. But we lutins feel their pleasure and distress. That’s why we tend the hounds and horses. It makes hunting difficult for us, where we must take sides with the hounds and against the quarry, whom we can also feel. That’s why so few of us help with that directly.”
“Does this make a problem for you, with other lutins?”
“They don’t all approve, certainly. But horses are for work, not just grooming, hounds are for hunting, and death’s the fate of all.”
Ives added, “Benitoe’s not the only one. I’ve spread the word around, and you may have a few more recruits after they see how he does.”
“Well, I was pleased with his work today, you can tell them.” Benitoe colored faintly.
The next hound was Cythraul. Even here in kennels, George could feel his restless, probing nature. One by one they brought out about twenty dog hounds.
When the last one was returned to the pen, Ives invited them all to follow him in. There by lamplight he challenged them to name each individual hound as he pointed it out, and then gave them names and told them to find the owner. George found that matching the feel of the hound to its name and appearance helped cement its identity for him.
They moved the chairs to the door of the bitch pen and brought out those hounds that Ives recommended for the hunt tomorrow. George used the pocket notebook that Alun had found him and a fountain pen to record the names as they went along. He thought it might be too messy to use on horseback, but he’d yet to see any equivalent of a pencil here and made a note to bring along a bit of cloth or soft suede as a pen wiper.