To Carry the Horn

Chapter 13

CHAPTER 13

The chime on George’s pocket watch woke him well before breakfast, and he headed down for a quick bite. He set out for the kennels early to see if he could begin looking through Iolo’s office before the appointed time with Ives.

As he reached the kennel gates, a man approached him. “You’re the new huntsman, then?” he asked. At George’s nod, he continued. “I’m Alun. Ifor Moel sent me to make myself useful to you.”

“I’m glad to meet you, Alun, and grateful for all the help you can give me. Let me first offer my condolences on the death of Iolo.”

Alun nodded soberly. “How can I help you?”

“Well, what were your usual duties for Iolo?”

“Breakfasts and simple meals. Keeping the house in order—he wouldn’t let me tidy his office there.” He nodded with his head in the direction of the huntsman’s office. “Errands of all kinds.”

“Do you live at Iolo’s house, then?”

“Indeed, and have these last thirty-five years, since I was a lad.”

“I don’t know what’ll happen after the great hunt, but let’s keep everything the way it was until then, anyway. I’ll look to you to let me know if I’m doing something wrong or asking for something unusual, yes?”

“As you say.”

“Please come with me to the huntsman’s office. I’ll want to write a note to my grandfather, and you’ll need to give that to Idris for delivery. You can help coordinate the rest of my schedule while we’re at it.”

They entered at the kennel gate. George noted that Alun kept to the middle as they crossed between the pens, but was more prudent than scared of the hounds. He looked in at Ives’s usual place and found him busy with the kennel-men.

“No hurry, Master Ives. Alun and I will be in the huntsman’s office whenever you’re ready.”

They walked over to the office.

George said to Alun, “I seem to have taken on multiple responsibilities for the next two weeks, and they’re bound to conflict with each other, especially since one of them, the huntsman’s job, is already a full-time activity. I’ll wait till Ives arrives so we can both hear about my huntsman tasks. Did you and Ives coordinate this way for Iolo?”

“No, just helping with his domestic needs, it was.”

“Do you mind my broadening your tasks, in areas other than hunting?”

“That would be interesting.” Alun was unwaveringly polite and George couldn’t yet tell when he was being sincere. He decided to assume he meant what he said.

“Alright, then. First, where I come from we don’t use swords. I must become decent at it as soon as possible, and I want to train with Hadyn’s men in the mid-afternoon session whenever I can. My most important job may be the great hunt, but I need to stay alive to do it.

“Second, I need clothes. I’ve been put in Edern’s room in the manor but I came with almost nothing but what you see, and it doesn’t seem like I’m going to be able to borrow clothes easily. Ifor Moel was to have someone go through Iolo’s looser garments to see if there’s anything I can use, but otherwise I’ll need ordinary clothing, hunt clothing, and enough fancy clothing not to embarrass myself while I’m here. I gather some of the clothing’s made here, at the manor, and for some I must visit the village, someone named Mostyn.”

He plucked at his hunt coat. “I can’t keep wearing the clothes I came in for long, so I’ll need your help to sort that out as quickly as possible, and to tell me what’s appropriate attire. Right now, my borrowed robes have an arrow hole in them. How do I get that repaired? And I’m very tired of wearing these boots all day.

“Third, Gwyn and Idris have me doing some other tasks for them. I’ll be interrupted this morning for one of them which will take me away for a couple of hours. I expect that could happen again unpredictably. I may need you to relay messages for me when I have disruptions like that. If people can’t find me, it would help if they could come to you for my schedule.

“Last, I want to set up some study time with Ceridwen. I don’t know yet if that will be scheduled or irregular, but I’ll keep you posted. Will all this work for you?”

“Easy enough it is.”

“Great, that will be a big help. Give me a moment while I put together the note to my grandfather.”

George found paper and pen on the desk.

Grandfather,

Your father-in-law conveys his respects to you and grandmother. He has requested my assistance in a family matter, and I have accepted. My services are expected to end sometime in the first week of November.

This is, of course, unplanned but it’s not untimely. Sam Littleton, my COO, is perfectly capable of running things. Please offer my apologies and tell him that a family emergency has called me out of the country for two to three weeks, and I’ll let him know as soon as possible when I’ll be returning. Ask him to run the place as if it were his own in my absence; I promise not to second-guess him when I return. To explain why he can’t reach me by email, tell him it seemed the best way to give him truly free rein.

Can you help Bud get whatever he needs, and perhaps take in my dogs if necessary?

Love,

George

He folded it and wrote his grandfather’s name on the outside. He gave it to Alun and said, “Please get this to Idris and ask him to see that my grandfather receives it. No special speed’s required.”

Alun tucked it away in a pocket.

George looked at the desk with an eye to bringing pen and paper to the desk in his room. “Alun, I’ve seen some people use fountain pens, the ones with an internal ink reservoir. Are they common here? How can I get one, ink, too, to use both here and in my room? I’ll need paper, too.”

“I’ll find you what you need.”

“A small notebook for a pocket would be very useful, too. How does this work? Do I give you money for these things, or does Ifor Moel?”

“You have, Iolo had, a small amount for food and other items. I keep a list, and he refilled it at need, paying whatever part was personal himself. The rest, with the list, goes to Ifor Moel. I’ll let you know if we’re running low.”

“I’ll make time for the trip to Mostyn in the village today, if I can, after lunch. Can you come with me? Um, do you have a horse?”

“Indeed I do. I’ll look for you then.”

With a knock on the open door a middle-aged woman came in with a bundle of clothing.

“I’m Olwen and I thought I better see to this task myself.” He stood up to greet her and she looked him over. “My, there’s broad you are.”

“Thanks for making the time for this, Mistress Olwen.”

“Happy to help. Alun,” she said, “I brought these things of Iolo’s to try, from the pile of possibles you put together.”

She dumped the clothes on a chair and held a shirt against George’s back to check for likely fit.

“Good. Some of these will do. Let me take your measurements properly and Alun and I can sort this out for you.”

As he stood there in his shirtsleeves with arms outstretched, Olwen measuring, and Alun writing down whatever she said, in walked Ives, with Rhian on his heels.

Ives laughed. “It’s good to see you getting something done, then.”

George explained the upcoming morning’s interruption and his hopes for fitting in some time in his daily schedule for training.

“I’d like you and Alun to coordinate. Hunting has the highest priority, and he’ll help with everything else. Can you start by telling me what Iolo’s daily work was like?”

“Iolo would come before breakfast to check on the hounds as they were released into their yards, then back home for breakfast. After that, we either walked hounds or prepared the pack for hunting, during the season.”

“What’s the hunting schedule?”

“Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, with adjustments for the special events.”

“Gwyn told me to take the pack out in public a week from tomorrow, for deer. We should keep to a hunting schedule for this week, but only for staff. Do you normally take out just the one pack, or do you have multiple packs, as some hunts alternate a b***h or dog pack?”

“We keep a single pack going and hold back just the unfit or young ones. Our busiest period runs to the great hunt, when we’re filled with guests who must be entertained. After that it slacks off a bit until we end the season in the spring, to let the deer raise their young in peace, or until deep snow shuts it down.”

“I don’t understand how there can possibly be enough game to support all this hunting in territory close enough to reach in an hour,” George said.

“We try not to hunt more than three miles away from kennels. That means it’s an hour to get there, two to four hours hunting, and an hour to return. For special events, we can put the hounds in wagons and make a day of it. We have four directions and multiple terrains to choose from, so as long as we don’t run the same spot more than once a week it works. After all, we’re not hunting primarily for the table, and there’s no shortage of deer.”

“So that’s a four mile travel radius, pushed out by maybe five more miles in a hunting loop, so perhaps a nine mile radius. An oval, yes? Or do you cross the mountain?”

“No. It’s a lopsided circle, with the ridge line as the western edge.”

“Is there a map of the territories? Something with names I can study?”

Ives walked over to a large map hanging on the wall. “Here’s where we’re scheduled to hunt for the next few days.” He pointed out four spots, and George wrote down the names.

“Where will the great hunt be held?”

“It’ll start from the bridge at the center of the village, but the path can’t be predicted. The quarry’s unidentified, at least initially, and the ways are open.”

“What?” George said.

“On that night, the hounds can follow wherever they wish. Sometimes the quarry attempts to escape using a way, but that’s no barrier. Sometimes he’s already distant and a way must be used to reach him. We don’t know how it will go, but the hounds know.”

George made a note to himself to find out more later, in detail.

Changing the subject, he said, “I’ve asked Rhian to join us for hound walking and hunting as a junior huntsman. I want her to ride in my pocket, as we say, and learn everything she can.” Turning to her, “I’ll want to hear a quiet running commentary from you naming the hounds to me and telling me whatever else you think is useful. I’ll explain what I’m doing, and why. We don’t have time to do this the traditional way, with silent observation and long apprenticeship.”

She nodded.

“Do you have enough horses to use them every day for this? And that reminds me, Ives. Ifor Moel told me to use Iolo’s horses, three of them. Could someone show them to me?”

“I’ll have Isolda do that. The gray won’t be up to your weight. Rhian, you could use that one.”

She said, “That would give me enough.”

“Alright, I’ll use Mosby today and tomorrow. Please ask Isolda to show me the horses as soon as she can.”

He continued, “Now for this morning’s tasks. Where do you walk the hounds? Who comes along?”

“We typically walk them out, on horseback, about three miles each way. We stay to the roads as much as possible and then find a field where we can take them for a drink or otherwise exercise them as a pack, before returning. We should start soon—shall I have Owen the Leash get his men together?”

“Ah. Please explain to me what their role is. What Owen said led me to think that he’s there to protect the followers, not keep the pack together. Is that right?”

“Yes.”

“What exactly is everyone afraid of with this pack? Do they actually threaten the followers?”

“They only hunt man at the great hunt but, you know, they’re not friendly to everyone and no one wants to take a chance. There are stories…”

“If we had more staff like Rhian and Rhys, would we be able to handle them like any other pack of hounds?”

“I think so.”

“Then why don’t we try to do that? Do you know anyone else who could start learning to whip-in?”

“Would he have to be part of Gwyn’s family?”

“I don’t care who they are, if they can handle hounds without fearing them.”

Another knock on the open door, and Rhys stepped in.

“Alright then, looks like everyone’s here,” George said. “Shall we get started? Wait—what will I do for a horn?”

Ives told him, “Iolo’s horn went with him, but there’s another on the mantle.” George stuffed the small straight silver horn between the buttons of his vest until just the slightly flared bell protruded. “And there’s the horn for the great hunt,” pointing to a locked cupboard.

“We’ll look at that later. Let’s go.”

They went out to the yard, leaving Alun and Olwen sorting through clothing, and found that Mosby as well as the horses for Rhys and Rhian were already tacked up and waiting for them. George checked his girth and mounted up.

Ives called to him, “Do you want the whole pack?”

“What the hell, bring ’em all. May as well find out the worst right at the start.”

The hounds were collected into the holding pens on either side before release into the kennel yard. George told them to pack up and Rhys helped hold them in a concentrated group along one side away from the main gate. All this took a few minutes.

Owen’s men were visible waiting beyond the gate. Ives opened it just enough to let in a lutin mounted on a small roan horse. The two of them walked over to meet George.

“This is Benitoe,” Ives said. “Isolda suggested him, and I sent him a message to join us. I’d like to give him this opportunity to whip-in with the hounds, if you agree.”

“I’ll be glad to give it a try. See if you can find anyone else for me, so we can have some spares.”

Benitoe looked to be in his late twenties. He gave a serious nod to George, then moved into place to be ready to control the pack on the side opposite Rhys.

“All set, everyone?” He looked around. “Alright then, open the gates.”

They walked slowly into the main yard of the manor, and Owen’s men took up position behind them. George put himself at the head of the pack with Rhian directly behind him, and Rhys and Benitoe covered the left and right flanks toward the rear. The younger hounds looked around curiously, but the hunt staff held them all together in a pack.

They went through the gates in the curtain wall in tight order, with George muttering, “Pack up,” insistently, conscious of the many eyes upon them. So far, so good. His attention lagged for an instant, and suddenly the younger members of the pack broke free into the front grounds within the palisade to go exploring.

“Hold up!” he roared at the hounds that remained, while the two whippers-in tore off after the miscreants. He stayed with the obedient hounds thinking dark thoughts, Rhian quiet behind him. Knowing the sinners couldn’t hear him, he tried reaching for them anyway, with his will. He found he could feel them faintly, and he called to them silently, “Pack up.” Astonished, he saw heads raise and look back at him. He did it again, and this time added the horn call. They turned and loped back, with Rhys and Benitoe behind encouraging them all the way.

George brought his half of the pack along to meet them, and held the reunited hounds to let everyone settle back into place.

“Let’s try this again, shall we?”

George led them down to the main gate without further incident and Rhys directed them down the road to the right, and then up a small lane to a farm with an open field surrounded by woods, fenced for cattle. Rhys cantered ahead and opened the gate, closing it behind after everyone had passed through.

George moved a ways into the field, gesturing to Owen to take his men off in one group along the fence. Holding the pack together, he praised them in a calm, low voice, “That’s my good hounds.” As he pointed to individuals, Rhian named them to him and he used their names as he talked to them. He tried to touch them with his mind at the same time, as he had done in the manor yard, starting to get a sense of them as individuals.

Dando, the lead hound, was like a captain: dignified, responsible, sensible. One active larger hound, with red-tipped ears and no other markings, caught his eye. He was constantly on the move, pushing the limits. He asked Rhian to name him. “That’s Cythraul.”

Rhys grimaced. “Watch out for Cythraul. He’s well-named ‘demon.’ Great strike hound, but not easy to work with.”

He recognized the head b***h Rhymi, from his experiment in the kennel yard the day before. To his newly sensitive mental touch she seemed like a determined, no nonsense leader. Other personalities were starting to solidify for him as he watched the hounds interact and Rhian supplied names for him.

“Alright, we managed to get here without losing any, which I consider an excellent first step. Let’s find out how biddable they’re going to be.”

He told them to pack up, then led them partway down the field. He tried to keep an awareness of them behind him so that he could feel if any strayed, and that seemed to work. He felt one hound drifting before Benitoe moved his horse in to remind him to return to the pack.

“Alright, hold up.” George came to a halt, and the pack stopped with him.

“Pack up.” This time he moved out at a trot, and the hounds kept up. He brought them in a tight curve then stopped again, giving them more warning. They stayed together without urging from the whippers-in.

“This is delightful,” he said to Rhian. “I could get used to this.”

“They’re cooperating now, but it’ll be harder when they’re hunting and excited,” she said.

“Can you sense them as individuals without looking?”

“Yes, but then I already know them all.”

George called out to Rhys and Benitoe, and pointed at a small spring-fed stream running down the field. “I’m going to take them for a drink.”

This time he started at a canter, and the hounds stayed together behind him. He held them a few yards from the stream, before releasing them to drink.

He waved Rhys and Benitoe in. “Any difficulties?”

“Not after that first break,” Rhys said.

George looked at Benitoe directly. “How is it for you?”

“They treat me as a regular whipper-in, as I hoped they would.”

“Rhys, I gather that they’re used for buck but also sometimes doe, yes? The hounds I’ve hunted have only one target, or one group of accepted targets, such as fox and coyote. All else is forbidden. I wouldn’t be able to tell them ‘fox today, coyote tomorrow’ except by bringing them someplace where there’s only fox or only coyote. How do these hounds know which game is wanted?”

“That’s part of the huntsman’s job. I’m not sure how it’s done.”

Rhian spoke up. “Iolo would show them what he wanted, here,” tapping her head. “I’ve felt him do it. It’s not the sight of a stag that he showed them, nor even the scent, but the feel of it. They remember buck differently from doe: different scent, different location, different excitement.”

“And the great hunt’s quarry is more different yet?”

“I imagine so, though I was never close enough to feel him do that.”

“I don’t know how a deer hunt feels. How will I show the hounds what I want?”

“I suppose you’ll have to learn like the young hounds, from example and experience.” She grinned.

“We hunt deer tomorrow. Think you can show the hounds what’s wanted?”

“I think so.”

“Have you held the pack before?”

“No, not yet.”

“Then now’s a good time to start. Try packing them up and taking them partway down the field like I did.”

Rhian turned serious. “Pack up,” she called. The hounds who were still drinking lifted their dripping heads, and joined the others on the bank headed back to her. Rhys and Benitoe drifted back into their proper places to support her.

She looked about to make sure she had them all. “Move out,” she told them and started at a walk, the pack following behind her.

Next to her, George tried to sense what she was telling the pack and found he could pick up most of it. Her style was different from his own beginning fumbles, more assured and more detailed.

When Cythraul started to follow a scent, Rhian spoke, “Cythraul, pack up.” George felt the reinforcement of a mental rebuke as well as the verbal one, directed at just the one hound and marked by his own signature, distinct from all the others.

“Hold up,” she cried, and they stopped.

“Alright, then,” George said. “You know, I think we may actually be able to hunt them tomorrow, as long as we’re doing it in private like this. Benitoe, I assume you don’t know the names of these hounds?”

“Not yet.”

“Then you and I both need some quick lessons. Let’s start tonight after dinner and work through one pen per evening with Ives or one of these two,” gesturing at Rhys and Rhian. “I want us to be reasonably accurate by the end of the week. The rest of you, don’t hesitate to correct us if we get it wrong.”

He set a test for the staff. “Rhian, take the pack to the gate and hold them there while Benitoe rides ahead to open it. I’ll take over and bring them back. Rhys, you and I will ride behind.”

Rhian was startled. Hold the pack herself, already, and move it out?

She nodded at the request and assumed an air of confidence. Ignoring the butterflies in her stomach, she walked her horse to the head of the pack. It would be just like a few minutes ago, and that had worked out fine.

“Pack up,” she said, bringing them with her and away from the huntsman. When they looked back at George, she bespoke them and drew their attention back to her.

Back and forth she led them, and then to the gate which Benitoe held for her.

She wanted to shout—I can handle the hounds by myself. Something in the back of her mind added, well, in perfect conditions anyway.

I don’t care, she insisted to herself. It’s a start.