To Carry the Horn

by Karen Myers

  Rhys followed at a gallop to take up his position on the right again. “It was a squire, a spiker,” he called, as he went by.

  Benitoe, with Brynach, popped out of the woods ahead of them on the left. “All on,” he called to George, who had done his own count and agreed, raising his crop in acknowledgment. Well, at least we didn’t lose any of them, he thought. Cunning of that buck to cut across his young understudy’s trail in hopes of diverting the hounds, and it worked for him, with the young and stupid ones, anyway. I dare him to try it again.

  The buck kept them going for almost two hours, but George and the re-united pack finally brought him to bay deep in the woods, a good distance from the river.

  Gwyn and Edern had the hunt in view most of the time, watching the hunt staff deal with the challenges of a pack overweighted with youngsters.

  “He’s been keeping them relatively in hand, I think,” Edern said, “after that first split.” They were sitting mounted together off to the side observing the breaking up of the deer.

  “I agree with his decision at the start to let the young hounds be properly rated so they could learn, rather than just overrule them by command,” Gwyn replied. “Better that they learn to think for themselves by discovering what’s wrong. That part reminds me of Iolo.”

  He looked at his brother. “Thank you for coming when I sent for you. You can see the situation.”

  Edern nodded.

  Gwyn asked, “So, what do think of him, in general? What is he?”

  Edern pondered that question. George was certainly Gwyn’s descendant, but neither of them could believe in the timing of his arrival as coincidence. “Friend or foe, you mean?”

  “Not exactly. I want to know who sent him. He could be a friend but sent by an enemy in innocence, after all.”

  “I don’t know what to make of your relationship with Cernunnos. I know you think he’s involved, but why now?”

  “Because now things are in jeopardy for the great hunt, more than ever before, with Iolo’s murder. The strings pulled by our enemies are all too visible, but not the exact pattern that they make.”

  Edern looked impatiently at his brother. “I’ll tell you what I think, after that show with Owen this morning. I don’t think he’s going to be controlled. You and Cernunnos between you may have bred him, but he’s not your tool, and I don’t think he’s likely to be Cernunnos’s either. Make your alliance with the man, and bind his loyalty to you. Take that leap of faith in his honor.”

  Gwyn nodded and considered his brother’s words.

  Brynach was delighted to receive a deer foot trophy for his first successful hunt as staff, and almost as proud to be selected to bear the dressed carcass across the rump of his horse, while George and Rhys concealed their smiles at not having to carry the messy weight on their own horses.

  George trotted up to Gwyn. “I think this is a good time to stop, sir, if that’s alright with you, while they’re flushed with success.”

  “Agreed. Well done, huntsman. Think these youngsters learned anything?”

  George looked at him sharply. He might have been referring to the hounds or to the entire hunt staff, including himself. He could make nothing of Gwyn’s bland expression. “I imagine we all did,” he said.

  He turned to go, but Gwyn stopped him with a raised hand. “Do you think this Scilti character’s still at the inn, kinsman?”

  “I don’t know, but he was there two days ago when I was last there.” He waited expectantly and watched both brothers. Clearly they had something in mind.

  “I think we should stop by the inn on the way back, huntsman, and drink a health to the hounds. What say you?”

  The clever old tactician, thought George, bearding a possible enemy agent in his own lair under the pretext of a celebration. Well, why not? Keep ’em off balance. “I think that’s an excellent notion, sir.”

  The hunt returned to Greenhollow on the main road. Unlike the last time George had led the pack through the village, at Iolo’s death, the people in the street weren’t avoiding the hounds and dashing indoors. Word must have spread about the confrontation with Owen, and people held their ground as the hounds went by.

  At the Horned Man, Rhys rapped on the gate of the stable yard and vanished inside to make sure the interior gates were closed, then he returned and opened it for the pack and George led them in. The hounds clustered around the horse troughs eagerly, but were agreeably tired from their morning’s work and well fed from its successful conclusion, happy to nap for a while or otherwise relax.

  Gwyn and Edern had already handed off their horses to the inn’s grooms and entered the inn. The hunt staff did the same, giving the carcass over to be hung under cover, but George and Rhian lingered a moment. There were people looking through the bars of the gates at the hounds and George didn’t want to miss an opportunity to begin repairing the decades of fear that Owen had built up.

  “Rhian, tell them inside I’ll be a few minutes yet. I want to let a few people in to meet the hounds”

  “I will, huntsman.”

  George walked over to the gate and spoke through the bars. “You’re welcome to come in and see the hounds. They’re very friendly, though a little tired and dirty now. They’ll do you no harm.”

  Some older children came in readily, followed by a few adults after a bit of hesitation. At George’s instruction, they kept their voices quiet but walked easily among the hounds who were pleased at the attention. After everyone had had a few minutes to get a good look and pet some hounds, George thanked them and sent them away, closing the gate. He spied Maonirn at the stable door. “Will you keep an eye on that gate so people don’t just wander in and let the pack out?”

  “Indeed I will. Fine beasts, aren’t they?”

  “Thank you,” George said. “By the way, where’s that Scilti fellow, do you know?”

  “His horse is in the stable. I’ll bet he’s in his room, hiding from your lot.”

  “Any news of him to tell?”

  “No, he’s that slippery. I’ll keep my ears open.”

  As George entered the main room of the inn and let his eyes adjust, he found three tables had been shoved together, and the whole group, Gwyn and Edern included, were well into their second drink, judging by the glasses. An empty chair had been left for him, next to Gwyn.

  He waved at Huw Bongam as he went by and took his seat. “Hard cider, please, and water.”

  Gwyn said, “Rhian tells me you had another impromptu hound tour in the stable yard.”

  “Can’t hurt. We have a lot of damaged reputation to repair.”

  “I’m very pleased to be rid of the immediate cause of that. I’d like to know how Owen was making the hounds growl at them.”

  “Speaking of unwelcome people, I have news of our suspicious visitor here,” George said. He relayed the information from Maonirn.

  Gwyn replied, “We haven’t seen him, but there’s something unwholesome upstairs. It was mostly to get a closer look at the situation that I proposed this stop.”

  “I assumed as much. What can you do from here?”

  “We can… taste him, my brother and I. We’ll know him again, whatever appearance he may carry.”

  “Handy, that.” He tried to see if he could sense anyone above him, but wasn’t successful.

  The room had been empty before they arrived, but by the time they finished the second round, several people from the village had joined them. George recognized a few of them as hound visitors from a few minutes ago. One of those stood and proposed a toast. “To the hunt.” All rose and raised their glasses, shouting, “To the hunt.”

  After they had taken a drink. George, still standing raised his glass and called, “To the hounds.” Anyone who had sat down rose again and echoed him.

  Huw Bongam surprised him by walking out into the room and crying out the concluding toast, “To the master.” That one raised the loudest response. Everyone drank and sat back down.

  Edern leaned over to
Gwyn. “When’s the last time that happened?”

  “I can’t recall, it’s been so long.”

  “Think he heard, upstairs?” George asked.

  “Oh, yes. I could tell that he did. And wasn’t he unhappy about it.” Gwyn smiled.

  The first thing George did in the huntsman’s office after dinner was to take the key he’d gotten from Alun and open the case holding the horn used at Nos Galan Gaeaf.

  He knew from Angharad’s portrait of Iolo that it would be an oliphant, but seeing it in person was a different experience. He sat at the desk and admired the densely carved ivory, with its smoothly molded running beasts. It was the end of a tusk, less than a foot and a half in length, with a flattened natural curve. At some point it had been fitted for a removable mouthpiece, also in ivory. Two metal bands served both as reinforcement and as attachment points for a baldric. George had seen large brass horns strapped across the backs of French huntsmen worn the same way.

  He intensely wanted to try out the sound, but knew he’d have a kennel eruption if he did. He’d have to find some location far from the hounds to practice. Perhaps he could bring it along on the next visit he made to Angharad. He’d sent her a note thanking her for lunch and hoped for a reply.

  He looked up at a tap on the open door, and Ives came in with Isolda. “Wanted to see if there was anything else you needed tonight,” Ives said. “Ah, you’ve got it out, I see.”

  Isolda walked over to admire it. “May I?” she asked, and at George’s nod picked it up and began to look over each animal in turn.

  “What’s the history of this?” George asked Ives. “It’s in good condition for something used out of doors annually and casually stored. I would expect lots of cracks with the changes in humidity.”

  “The horn came with the hounds, I always heard. It’s part of the trappings of the hunt. I don’t know who carved it or what protections they used, but I’ve never seen a crack.”

  This was true, George discovered, when he took it out of Isolda’s hands and examined it again carefully. There were minor scratches and signs of wear from use, but no cracks. All in all, it looked less than a hundred years old, not many centuries.

  At a knock on the door, Brynach stuck his head in. “You wanted to see me this evening, huntsman?”

  “Good, come on in.”

  Ives stepped back from the desk. “I forgot why I came in. You and all the hunt staff are invited to a dinner tomorrow, courtesy of the kennel staff. We’re celebrating the departure of Owen the Leash. That deer shoulder from Tuesday will be put to good use.”

  “I’d be delighted,” George said. “Where and when?”

  “Well, that’s just it. Our usual location won’t do when we include big folk, so traditionally we, um, use your house for mixed events.”

  George snorted at being invited to his own house for dinner. “Have you mentioned this to Alun?”

  “Certainly. He’s never happy to be a guest in his own kitchen but he’s used to it by now.”

  “Not to be indelicate, but what do you use for chairs?”

  “You clearly haven’t looked through all the house yet. There are chairs just for our use at that table, and steps we use for the kitchen.”

  “I see.” George smiled. “Who am I to stand in the way of tradition? Brynach, will you come?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Ives nodded. “Good. I’ll get an invitation to the others this evening.” He walked to the door, and Isolda followed, closing it behind her to give them privacy.

  George pointed Brynach to a chair. “How are things working out here for you, so far?”

  “It’s really interesting,” Brynach said. “I like the hounds. They each have their own personalities, and the way they work together as a pack is something I’ve never gotten to see this closely before. I’ve heard you’ve been mixing them up with each group you take out.”

  George nodded. “Some hunts I know keep separate packs, such as a dog or bitch pack, and hunt them independently. I’ve been told that these hounds all hunt together for the great hunt, and so I want them all to be used to each other in these ordinary hunts as well as in the hound walks, even if I don’t take them all out for each hunt, to make it easier to control them in smaller groups. We have several leaders, and I want them cooperating, not concentrating on trying to prove who’s better. I want the middling hounds willing to follow all the leaders.”

  “The young entry, too?”

  “I want them all ready for Nos Galan Gaeaf, if they can be.”

  “It was scary the way the pack split this morning. I was glad it was Rhys who had to pick them up and not me.”

  “It’s not too hard to fool the young and the dumb.” He glanced at Brynach to see if he took offense at that, but he seemed to have missed the tease. “You have to rate them strongly and shame them into not repeating the mistake, and it has to be done the instant they do wrong—timing is everything. Did you notice that Rhys galloped to the front before stopping them, instead of running after them cracking a whip?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you tell me why?”

  “You can’t yell at them from behind to make them turn, you have to turn them from the front. Otherwise they’re just going to run away from you faster.”

  “That’s right. You have to become a barrier they bounce off of, back in the direction you want. Once you break their concentration on the wrong line, they’ll want to rejoin the main pack anyway.”

  “Do you know why we walk them as a big pack, all together, for exercise?” he continued.

  “Because it’s more convenient that way, to make sure they all get some work?”

  “That’s a side benefit. The main reason’s to get them used to thinking of themselves as a pack, to encourage them to stay together as one. They’re housed in separate groups to reduce kennel fights and unwanted breedings, but whenever they’re out working, they should become one unit, working together to follow one quarry, until they account for it.”

  Brynach sat in silence for a moment. “It’s a very pure sport, sir, isn’t it?”

  “I’ve always thought so. Hunting just for the table is different. With nets or pits, bait, arrows and ambush—it’s still a skill, of course, but it seems less noble to me. We’re not just directing a pack of wolves either, for real wolves are practical and would concentrate on the easiest prey, the young and the weak. Instead, we ennoble the hounds as well, seeking the strongest and most cunning beasts. We make it hard for ourselves, and hard for the hounds, out of respect to the quarry who will escape us if he can or fight us if he must.”

  He continued, almost speaking to himself. “To be successful, we must forge an alliance with the hounds that unites and expands all of our senses. That alone is exhilarating, even if the quarry escapes or we find nothing at all. It’s like waking up on a bright morning after rain has washed the air—that exciting feeling, just for an instant, of having new eyes and using them for all the right reasons. The hounds don’t chase and sometimes kill just because they’re a bit hungry, but because it’s in their nature, and we yearn for that same sense of rightness for ourselves.”

  Brynach cleared his throat. “Is that why you and Rhian don’t just sense the quarry and set the hounds on it directly?”

  “That’s right, it would be cheating. The rules are important. If you just overpower the quarry, where’s the nobility in that? If I’m starving and must kill to survive, well, alright then. But that’s not sport.”

  George shook his shoulders and changed the mood. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to go on like that. What I really wanted to know was, how do you communicate with hounds and horses? It’s new to me and I don’t know the different nuances for others.”

  “I think you were right to put me with Benitoe to start, sir. I’m not like Rhian or, I guess, like you. Rhian and I talked about it, afterward. She sees detail for each hound, and the quarry, too. I see the pack, or parts of it, in groups. It’s like I can tell it’s hounds, an
d she can tell which ones.”

  “Some of that may change with experience, once you can match up what you know with what you can sense and see individual hounds working.”

  “Rhys said the same thing. He told me he’s much better now than when he started.”

  “I suspect it’s like learning another language. The sounds are all one long undifferentiated stream until, one day, it starts to click and your brain begins to hear words and phrases instead.”

  Brynach nodded excitedly. “That’s what Rhys said. He said ‘I can speak hound now’ and I didn’t understand what he meant.”

  “Alright then. You let me know if anything bothers or puzzles you, now.”

  “Yes, sir. I will.”

  He left, and George sat for a moment alone in the huntsman’s office, feeling not just the weight of the hounds and the great hunt looming ahead of him, but also his responsibility for the young folk who had put their lives and training into his hands on a moment’s acquaintance.

  CHAPTER 24

  Returning from the hound walk Friday morning, George found Isolda waiting for him in the yard with a broad smile.

  “When you’ve disposed of your hounds,” she said, “come join me with all the hunt staff in your office. We have a surprise for you all.”

  A few minutes later, when George ducked through the doorway into the building, he discovered Isolda standing in the entry corridor outside his office door steering him into the office where he joined the rest of his staff. He was surprised and pleased to discover Angharad there, too, chatting with Rhian.

  “What’s this all about, then?” he said.

  He was the last one in and Isolda had closed the door behind him. Now she opened the other door to the back corridor, and stood in the doorway expectantly, looking at Angharad who walked over to stand in front of the huntsman’s desk and addressed them all. “I heard from Mostyn that your new livery was to be delivered today, and made arrangements for Isolda to come pick me up and bring it along. Yours, too, Brynach.”