King of the May

Chapter 3-1

CHAPTER 3

Be careful what you wish for, George said to himself as he walked away from Gwyn’s council room after lunch the next day. I wanted more hunt staff as backup and, lo, they appear. It didn’t occur to me that they could be spies, too.

Gwyn was less than forthcoming about their allegiances or, rather, the allegiances of their sponsors who were releasing them from other duties for a year or more. This Gwion fellow came from the staff of a woman named Glesni. George thought he detected a certain note in Gwyn’s voice when he spoke of her. An old flame? In any case, he clearly counted her as a friend.

The other one, Dyfnallt, was sent by some lord named Cuhelyn. Again, Gwyn was reserved about the background, but there was no warmth in his expression when he mentioned Cuhelyn’s name.

There’s a history there, he thought, for both of the noble sponsors. But if Gwyn won’t tell me about it, I’ll have to go into it blind. He did admit they were both being sent by Lludd, so I better assume the worst. Damn. I don’t want to be suspicious of new members on my hunt staff but I’d be a fool not to be.

Surely Gwyn wouldn’t expose his foster-daughter Rhian to real danger without a more explicit warning. Would he? His back between his shoulder blades felt suddenly exposed.

At the conclusion of the next morning’s hunt, George led the pack back through the manor gates with his hunt staff, and the tired field chatted contentedly behind them.

It had been good sport for the middle of January, the ground mostly free of snow but not frozen hard. Brynach and Rhian each sported a white-tailed buck tied on behind the saddle. The fixture included a mix of pasture for dairy cattle and surrounding coverts, good open land for pursuit once the quarry was dislodged from the woods.

As they came up the slope and through the protective curtain wall abutting the manor itself, George bore left toward the kennels while most of the field made its way to the main stables on the right. Before he reached the kennel gates, he found his way blocked by Ifor Moel, the steward, and two strangers on horseback, each leading a spare horse with bundles attached. One of them was smiling openly at the spectacle bearing down upon them.

These must be the new men, George thought. “Rhian,” he called, “Would you please bring the pack in and get Ives started on the deer?”

“Yes, huntsman,” she said, and swung around him on her horse, leading the pack on to the kennel gates which Ives had already opened for them. She glanced sideways at the newcomers but kept on with her duties. Brynach and Benitoe following on either side of the pack, trying not to stare. Maelgwn on his pony looked as if he wanted to linger but at a glance from George, he brought up the rear of the pack and vanished inside the gates.

George sat his heavy gray horse, half-Percheron, the one he’d been riding when he left his human world. Mosby was comfortable with his weight, if not the speediest possible mount. The horses of these two men were rather different.

The smiling one had brought two showy animals, a chestnut and a blood bay, beautiful horses with expressive heads. They looked well-bred, though too delicate for someone of George’s size.

The other man, tall, lean, and sober-faced, was mounted on a sturdier black that reminded George of an Irish hunter, and the dark bay he was leading was of a similar conformation.

Ifor had waited for the commotion of the pack going by to die down before performing introductions. “Huntsman,” he said, “allow me to present Gwion,” gesturing to the smiling man, “and Dyfnallt. They arrived just before you returned and I thought it best for them to wait for you here. Gentlemen,” he turned to them, “this is George Talbot Traherne, our lord Gwyn’s huntsman, and his great-grandson.”

Funny, they don’t look much like spies, George thought. “You’re welcome here, gentlemen. Was your journey long?”

Gwion said, “We met together for the first time last night and took the Travelers’ Way this morning. It was just a few miles and the weather was pleasant enough.”

Dyfnallt nodded in silent agreement.

“Ifor, what are your plans for housing?” George said.

“Since your place can’t take them both, I thought it better to give them guest housing further out on your lane.”

“Alright, then, let’s get them settled there and their horses stabled. We’ll have to send them to town to visit Mostyn for livery, too, in the next few days.” All the hunt staff wore simple dark green frock coats, long weskits, and knee breeches as part of their professional attire. And tricorns—George still chuckled every time he noticed the tricorns, but he had to admit they were effective in the rain.

“Will you gentlemen join me in the great hall for the mid-day meal in an hour or so? Ifor or one of his men can show you the way.” He bowed to them from his saddle, and they nodded back in turn.

George went on through the kennel gates, where Ives was standing by to admit him, a question on his face. “Later,” George said to him, “I’ll bring them by, later.”

George checked his pocket watch as he waited for the new trainees to appear in the great hall. He ran his thumb over the engraving of St. George and the Dragon on the case before returning it to his vest pocket. About an hour had passed.

He caught sight of the tall one first, Dyfnallt, and saw that the other man was with him, logically enough, fellow strangers banding together. George left his seat with his family on the raised dais and joined them down on the main floor.

“Let’s take this table, away from everyone else,” he said, leading them to the far end of one of the long line of tables radiating the length of the three-story hall, its fireplace roaring on the January day. They looked around them curiously but George saw no great surprise on their faces. I imagine their own courts are more ornate—it’s always that way in the old world, isn’t it, he thought.

“How are your quarters?” he asked, as the servants laid platters before them and they began filling their plates.

“Oh, they’re quite comfortable, they are,” Gwion volunteered. There seemed to be a constant smile on his face, as if everything he saw was a subject of amusement. It was hard not to just smile back automatically.

George looked at Dyfnallt, who said, “Handy to the kennels and the stable, and quiet enough.”

A practical man, George thought, but not very forthcoming.

“What’s it like where you’re from?” he asked Dyfnallt.

To his surprise, Dyfnallt gave a small smile. “It’s the high fells and tarns of the northwest, the lakes and moors. We have the broad views and the long valleys. It’s glorious, it is, when the clouds scud across the sky and break the sunlight. Everything’s made of rock, we have so much of it. A hard land for horses in the hunt, though, too steep. Some of the farmer folk follow on foot, they do, and quite a scramble they have of it.”

He seemed surprised at his own display of enthusiasm and came to an abrupt stop.

George realized this had to be the Lake District he was describing. “I’ve seen your country, and it is indeed beautiful. A man must have strong legs to carry him across it.” Dyfnallt looked pleased at the friendly words.

“And your home?” George asked Gwion, as they made short work of their meal, cold ham and hot cabbage. There was a perceptible pause, as if Gwion was deciding what to say.

“Forested land in the west, most of it is. Ancient trees and still ponds, and a line of low hills always toward the sunset. The farmers keep their sheep, and the woods harbor red deer.”

“It sounds very fine indeed,” George said. “I hope you’ll both enjoy the country here, the wall of the Blue Ridge to the west, the well-watered fields and woods. The game is different, of course.”

“What sort of deer were those that you brought in today?” Dyfnallt asked.

“White-tailed deer. Medium-sized. The uplifted tail flashes white when they’re alarmed. Good quarry, and tasty.” He paused to finish the beer in his mug. “We’ll go to the kennels after our meal and have a long talk.”

“You know, we’ve heard about you at our court,” Gwion said, a bit slyly.

“Have you, now?”

“There’s a song been going around the last couple of weeks. I think the korrigans have been spreading it from town to town.”

Oh, no, George thought. Not Cydifor’s praise ballad about the defeat of Madog. With an effort he held his expression still. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” he said, dryly. “You know how things get exaggerated.”

Gwion dropped the subject but George took note of the speculative look he sent his way.

George shut the kennel gates behind them and explained the setup of the building with its two wings and stone-flagged courtyard to Gwion and Dyfnallt. “On the left of the yard we start with the pen for the dog hounds and then for the bitches, with an empty draw pen between them.”

Each of the large pens had an open front with stone flooring that sloped slightly to aid in drainage, and an enclosed back room with wide elevated wooden benches and a door that could be shut in bad weather. An inside corridor ran down the back of the wing and provided access to the hound exercise yards on each side of the building.

“On the right it’s a similar setup for the young entry, the hounds that aren’t part of the pack yet, but we use the pen between them for hounds that need isolation for injuries, and there’s a small pen at the end for whelping dams.”

At this point in the season, the young entry pens were empty, all their former dwellers having graduated to their appropriate places in the pack. George planned to convert all four pens on that side temporarily to whelping pens to fill Gwyn’s request for four litters this year, two for gifts, from lines furthest from Cernunnos’s outsider hounds, and two to keep, for the pack.

“On the right beyond the pens we have the huntsman’s office and on the left the kennel-master’s rooms. Let me introduce you.”

George led them past the pens and into the building on the left, stopping at the empty first room, usually busy with the kennel-men cooking down meat and mush in great cauldrons for the hounds. In the adjacent fleshing room, the two deer carcasses were dressed and hanging so that they could finish draining and cooling.

He went on through to Ives’s office, and found him there with both the kennel-men, Tanguy and Huon.

“Sorry to intrude, kennel-master,” George said. “Do you all have a moment?”

Rather than meet the three lutins in the main part of the building. George was pleased to have things work out this way, hoping it might keep the men off balance so that he could learn more about them. The ceilings were high enough to be comfortable even for him, but almost all the furniture was suited to the much smaller lutins, folk about four and a half feet tall, typically dressed in outer garments of red. He wasn’t sure whether lutins were common in other kennels, and he wanted to see the reaction of his new recruits.

Gwion had stiffened up a bit, though he was still smiling. Dyfnallt looked around, curious.

“This is our kennel-master, Ives,” George said, introducing the older man behind his desk. Ives stood and bowed. “And these are Tanguy and Huon, our kennel-men.” Both the young lutins bowed politely.

“Please make our visitors welcome. They’ll be with us for one or more seasons and I’ll be showing them how we do things here.” He introduced Dyfnallt and Gwion, and each nodded to the lutins.

Let’s see how they do with the hounds, he thought.

“I know you two aren’t dressed for it, but if you don’t mind borrowed kennel coats for now, would you like to meet the hounds?”

Dyfnallt gave his rare smile again. “That would be grand.”

He ushered the two of them back into the main corridor of the building wing and snatched his usual kennel coat and a spare for Dyfnallt, then grabbed one of Brynach’s for the shorter Gwion. They buttoned the long light coats over their clothing and headed down the corridor.

“Dog hounds first,” George said, and he opened the door to the back of the dog hound pen. The hounds hopped off their benches to greet the visitors. George forgot his duties for a moment in the pleasure of the pack welcome. He bespoke the hounds silently with his private greeting before dismissing them to investigate the newcomers.