The Mer- Lion (25 page)

Every ear was tuned to the first baying that signaled the dogs' picking up the scent. This morning it took an inordinant amount of time. The bristly boars were laired-up, so great had been the din of the hunt the last two days.

The first hour was spent trying to stay close to the hounds, who had split into several groups. No singles were seen, the hounds long before having learned to respect the prowess of the mighty boar. Whether by design or chance, the king and his immediate cronies stuck close on de Wynter's flank. Today, thought de Wynter, the king was not going to grant him the advantage of foreknowledge of the terrain. Maybe, it was as well, making his task easier. An old adage

among courtiers said that he who made his king look better fared better. Today, de Wynter was determined to make a pleased king of an obviously disgruntled one. For that reason, before the hunt, he had a private word or two with the chief huntsman, who was a Mackenzie, having been lent to the Campbells by the Lady Islean.

The grizzled old warrior-turned-hunter, being well versed in the noble art of venery, urged the lead hounds on with rousing shouts. Any hunter worthy of the name knew that hounds on the boar scent required special encouragement to work them up to that fevered pitch where they forget their fear of the tusked prey. Today, full forty of them were now furiously pursuing a scent, past a quagmire and straight for a great rock that had tumbled down from the beetling cliff above.

De Wynter knew the spot well. He and his men had spied it out just five days before. As he circled one way, the king right behind, he motioned others to complete the huge circle that encompassed rock, muddy pool, and bushes so thick a horse would have trouble penetrating them. It was the perfect lair for the boar.

The old tusker would be in there somewhere, and it would take some doing to bring it out.

As the hounds darted in and out of the bushes, howling their bay song the rest of the full hunting party gathered round. While the ladies remained a discreet distance away, some of the men dismounted to beat the bushes and shout threats and entreaties. This was dangerous, for the boar might charge out at full speed, slanting off to cut down the first object it spied with its piggy eyes. Others, still mounted, with shafts strung in their bows, covered every foot of the bushy circle, straining their eyes to catch the first glimpse and get off the first shot.

With a crackling of underbrush, the boar burst from its cover, sending two hounds rolling and moaning. A loner, banned from the herd because of age and mean temper, it was huge, menacing, ghastly, when grunting in outrage. Arrows bounced off its bristly bide, serving only to infuriate it even more as its head swung from side to side taking licks at hound and horse. In a minute it was through the barricade and off at a furious pace, unscathed.

The horns and hallooing rallied the hounds and horses, and all sped off in pursuit. Each time the dogs caught up on its heels, the
beast would wheel and deal out its tierce punishment. Each time, the arrows would sting it into further flight, but no one could get in that lucky hit through a red and beady eye.

Now it was a matter of tiring the menacing beast until it would stand and fight. The chase went on over hill and through wooded glen, every mile or so punctuated by a brief stand and much snorting and pawing of the turf as the boar tossed the worrying hounds from its flanks with flailing tusks. Still the arrows did not do their job. Occasionally a horse was lost when a fierce charge cut the legs from under a rider. Those with the stomach for more continued on foot, brandishing sword or bow. In his own mind, the king was not to be outdone this day by that Frenchified Scotsman—who made no secret of the woman he was bedding—nor by any other if he could help it. He spurred his horse close to the charging hounds. Always his arrows were among the first to pelt the rock-hard skull, some shattering and others ricocheting in-all directions. It seemed to de Wynter that the king was displaying the same reckless courage that Seamus said had cost his father his life at Flodden, but there was little to be done about it except try to stay close lest he lose his horse.

Frothing and foaming at the mouth, its tusks reddened by the blood of the hounds, the crafty old boar finally picked a spot where it would make its stand. The Water of Sorrow at its back, an outcropping of rock alongside, it dug huge holes in the ground with its forefeet as it beckoned the bravest forward for mortal combat. Now the bows were put aside in favor of the swords, and fully half the hunters dismounted and took up the battle line.

James was one of the first to hit the ground, his sword drawn, the thrill of battle clear on his face. De Wynter stationed himself a pace behind the king's unprotected left, shouldering aside the Earl of Mar in order to gain the spot as the king, showing no fear, strode directly toward the snorting beast. The hounds worrying its flanks were hardly a bother now. The real enemy was man and his flashing steel. Six more paces to go, then the boar feinted a charge. James instinctively went to one knee, bracing the hilt of his sword on the ground. That was all the boar needed. It sprang. Ignoring the sword pointed at its broad chest, it went for the king, in its rush bowling him over. The sword wrenched from his grip, on hands and knees he

swung about—the hunter now the prey of a fearsome brute. The boar wheeled and stood but arm's length away, roaring and shaking its head in great arcs, the blood-tinged spittle flying in all directions.

The king could feel the hot breath as it snorted, smell its fetid odor rank with musk, see the dirt clinging to the hairs around its porcine eye. He was mesmerized by its head; its tusks, sharpened by rooting and stropping on natural whetstones, appeared to him as long as any he'd ever seen before. Swept by panic, he would have turned and run as had most of his followers, but was held motionless by fear.

At that moment, de Wynter knelt down and bent close to the king's ear and said, "Well done. The beast is yours." The king didn't hear. De Wynter had seen men freeze like this before. He clapped James heartily on the shoulder and repeated his words. The blow broke the spell, the words made James look at his adversary again. As de Wynter had said, the beast was mortally wounded, and with its last resolve was standing with legs locked, fighting to keep from going down. A few seconds later it did, lurching forward until that ferocious head and gory tusks were but inches from the king. The hounds, seeing their prey go down, swarmed over the bristly carcass trying in vain to rip it asunder. From the chest, only the hilt of the king's sword showed,- the blade having punctured lung and heart.

The courtiers, returning from shelters they had sought eagerly moments before, were loud and vociferous in their plaudits for the king. By the heartiness of their praise they sought to erase the king's memory of their cowardice. The king suffered their compliments in silence.

The hounds were leashed - with great difficulty, and the chief huntsman, skilled in carving, stepped up and with one stroke hewed off the trophy head. Another cut a pole and sharpened one end. On it, the boar head was skewered and raised aloft amid shouts and bugle calls. As stirrup cups were passed among the hunters, the carver bent to his work, cutting out the entrails and organs and rending the carcass in half from neck to gristly tail. The halves were strung on poles slung between two horses. Then, the tired but proud hunting party remounted and began its slow, lengthy trip back to the castle.

De Wynter stayed safely and inconspicuously in the background. There he was approached by his mother. "Fool, you could have been killed."

"There was no danger.. I had my sword," he replied quietly. He had worked hard for the past week, slept little, especially last night, and now in the aftermath of this showdown with the boar, the adrenaline that had sustained him was disappearing. He was not prepared to match mental swords with his mother. Fortunately for him and his resolve, she was not one to fall back on feminine wiles except as a last resort, instead attacking him frontally rather than playing on his guilt for scaring her half out of her wits, which he had also done.

His salvation came from an unexpected quarter. The king had pulled his horse aside and waited for de Wynter and his mother to come opposite.

"If you will forgive us a moment, Lady Islean, I would exchange a word with your son in private," Jamie said.

When the Lady Islean reined her horse back, the two men rode ahead in silence for a long moment. Then James looked into de Wynter's steely blue eyes. A smile broke out on his face. His right hand extended across de Wynter's saddle and they shook hands. "Cousin, we thank you for standing by us."

"Sire, I only did what any loyal Scot would do for his king."

"And as no other Scot today did. We won't forget. We are in your debt." With that, the king spurred his horse on toward the front of the pack.

The Lady Islean read the exchange from both looks and gestures, and urged her own horse forward. Now was the time to strike, while the monarch would be most receptive to her petition—and her son's. Soon she and the king were deep in conversation.

De Wynter knew he should ride forward and intervene, but his fatigue was too great. He swayed in his saddle. All he wanted now was a hot bath and a hard bed. And he'd settle for the latter. A man's bed. One empty of female softness. Unfortunately, de Wynter feared the Lady Margaret would have other ideas.

He was right. But neither reckoned with the Lady Islean, who, riding back from her talk with Hie king, saw her son lurch, then catch himself. She saw the glittering black blue eyes, the lines round

the mouth, and it didn't take a mother's heart to interpret the problem correctly.

"Not a word, my lord," cautioned the chief huntsman as he took de Wynter's horse by the bridle and led it off to one side. "Tis the lady's orders."

He was too tired even to inquire which one. Giving himself up to the capable hands of this retainer of old, he allowed himself to be guided through the woods to the temporary camp set up by the men of Alva while they played at being servants of the Campbells. As the aged man ushered de Wynter into the makeshift, he was apologetic. But de Wynter, spying the neatly made-up pallet, waved the old man's words aside. Without bothering even to remove his boots or bonnet, he sank down on the bed and was fast asleep. The huntsman threw several soft, supple deerskins over the sleeper and withdrew to return to the castle to see to the hounds. For those well-trained boar hounds were not Campbell's either, but the pride and joy of the owner of Alva.

In the meantime, de Wynter's disappearance was noted by the Lady Margaret, who, already two thirds into her cups, feared the worst. Cornering her son, she accused him of doing away with her lover. The king, protesting that he knew nothing of de Wynter's whereabouts, answered her back in kind, and they were off in a royal row—he throwing up to her the hasty marriage between her and Methven, her drinking, her loose ways, her brother's conduct in harassing Scotland's borders. From out of the past he even dredged up her marriage to Douglas and all of that, but always returned to Methven. James hated the man. And he hated himself for not exercising his power and eliminating him. He was sure that his mother's mock marriage made him the royal butt of jokes throughout Christendom.

But she had quarrels and grudges of her own to air. Mostly, she berated him for the poorness of her wardrobe, the emptiness of her jewel chest, the poverty of her household—her lack of households. He must hear in detail how the rest of his court could change dwellings every few months, but not the Queen Dowager. She must need stay long after the place began to stink, for she had no other places ta go.

Noting the presence of an interested bystander, she threw that up
to her son too: "Unlike the Lady Islean there, I can't pimply pack up my pots and pans, my furniture and furnishings, my clothings, my chapel, my silver—if I had any, which I don't—and move when the rushes molder and the jakes need emptying. I have no Seaforth or Rangely on the moors, or Alva. I have nothing. And all because you don't marry and fill up our treasury."

As usual, the Queen Dowager began to cry; the king felt guilty for there was truth in what she said; and the court, used to these rows the younger and elder of the Stewart household, ignored the whole thing. But Islean took note of it, marking down all of the taunts and rejoinders. They might stand her or her son in good stead at some time.              ,

De Wynter slept the balance of that day away and all of the night Early the following morn, Fionn awakened him and apologized for not having a tub so he might have a bath; the Lady Islean had, however, sent him with a change of clothes from the castle, but no mirror. "If the lord wishes, I wield a smart dirk and will gladly scrape that stubble from about your chin," Fionn offered.

Fearing the worst from those huge hands, de Wynter gingerly surrendered himself to the young giant's ministrations. His misgivings were quickly allayed. Like so many other oversized men, Fionn had learned early his own strength and was forced to develop a gentle touch.

The king too had not lain abed this morning. He was already dressed and hearing his first full Mass since coming to Castle Dolour. To his chaplain's chagrin, the king was apt, in love of the chase, to neglect God. When the hunting was over, the chaplain saw to it that the next Mass the king received, he got sermonized in full measure. It did not leave the king in a good mood. Nor did the meal after.

The cooking, he'd noted, had been going steadily downhill ever since that memorable first feast. Until today, he'd been inclined to overlook it because of his fondness for his bedmate of the last several days. However, last night, the Lady Ann, taking advantage of her continuing reception in his room, had been too forward, even requesting that she be allowed to leave Castle Dolour and go with him to court.