Ann of Cambray by Mary Lide Page A

separated us from the main hunt, right into the middle of the milling, yelping pack. They had trapped some animal in the bushes at the end of a small open space. I recognised the place as one Giles and I had often passed but avoided, for it backed into some rocks at one end, thus shutting off escape. I knew at once what must be done. The cornered animal had gone in under the rocks and must be driven out for the men to kill cleanly before the hounds tore it apart. I hauled at the reins, bringing the grey horse almost to its haunches before it would stop, shouting the while to the beaters who were on foot nearby to come and help me. The grey horse reared and shook but I forced it to my will. A huntsman came running towards us from the main ride, but although I waited for him to come to lift me down, he stopped and would not approach closer. What with the hounds’ baying and my horse’s plunging, I could not make him hear me, nor could I hear what he said. Finally, in desperation that he would not do my bidding, I knotted my dress together, let go the reins, and threw myself to the ground. It was a long fall but I landed on my feet, without harm. I meant to keep hold of the reins, of course, but at the last moment had feared to pull the horse on me, so that now I had no way to catch it again; and even if I had, I could not have mounted without help, for it went thrashing past me to one side. I called again to the huntsman and walked slowly towards the outcrop of rocks. The man did not move from the shelter of the trees but I heard his shouts more clearly now. ‘Mount, mount,’ as if any fool could not see that was impossible even if I had wanted to. So I smiled at him and waved to bring him closer. And then, God help us, I saw why he had not moved and why the horse was plunging so and why the hounds milled and screamed underfoot. It was no deer or hare that we had trapped under the rocks, but a boar, a huge wild boar with tusks already stained red and small evil eyes that darted looks about to find where next to turn.
    I stood alone, in full view, my skirts bundled to my knees and the trees a score of yards away. It was suddenly very quiet in the glade there then. The sun beat off the rocks, even the hounds seemed to halt their baying, and the grey horse at last stood calm. The animal under the rocks was still also, tossing its head so I could smell its fetid breath and for a moment know the paralysing fear of death. Then the hounds bayed again; and the boar shook at them as if tossing gnats and scraped its tusks upon the ground. Behind me came the thud of other hooves, shouts, the sound of running feet. But I could not take my eyes from this thing that moved half in the shadows, gathering its strength to charge. And then, as I waited, suddenly I heard Lord Raoul’s voice at my back; his arm, half-round me, was heaving me behind him. In one hand he held a wooden stave with which beaters knock down bracken to flush the game.
    ‘Feel for my knife,’ he whispered, ‘slowly. For your life, make no sudden move.’
    He stood in front of me, his body edging before mine, as we backed towards the trees, facing the boar. And it was coming full into the sunlight now, a great misshapen thing, its head lifted restlessly. But we were moving too. Lord Raoul’s dagger lay within my grasp. I pulled it gently, felt it catch, and heard his grunt of exasperation. Then it was free, and I slid it into his left hand.
    We had moved back again, but the boar had kept pace, tracking us with its half-closed eyes. Hands about his waist, guiding him backwards, I could go faster now. Three steps would bring us into the shelter of the trees. But it was too late. The jerkin on his back was wet with sweat and the ends of his hair curled with it. Our hearts thudded as one.
    ‘My lord,’ I whispered, ‘put the stave here against the tree root. I will try to hold it as he runs upon it.’
    There was