"On him, on him, so my loves, soooo."
That was Chester urging the dogs forward, and Lincoln's voice followed his.
"Earth him. Bring him to ground. Hold hard my sons.
Courage! Courage!"
The belling was now an excited chorus of yelps and Hereford knew that the boar was standing at bay. A moment more and he could see the dogs leaping back and forth in sharp charges and retreats. He dismounted, nearly tumbling off his horse in his hurry. The serfs and huntsmen following on foot would catch the mounts if they did not stand where they were left. The short, sturdy boar spear was out, and in swift and automatic motions Hereford pulled at the crossbar to be sure it was firm and pulled at the long knife in his belt to be sure that was loose. The crossbar, set eighteen inches from the tip of the spear, was to prevent a speared boar from running right up the shaft and killing the hunter. So vicious and stubborn were those beasts that the agony of the piercing spear meant nothing to them if they could get at the man behind it.
An agonized scream indicated that the boar had killed or injured one of the dogs. Hereford broke into a run, Rannulf panting beside him. Another scream and a series of yelps; the boar would charge in another moment. Hereford and Rannulf moved apart by about five feet and knelt in the snow. They were in a fairly open space blocked at one end by the trunk of a huge fallen tree. That was where the boar had turned on his tormentors as was evident from the crowd of leaping dogs and the bloody, trampled snow. Hereford set the haft of his spear firmly into the ground, holding it point forward about two feet off the ground at the tip. No man could hold back the rush of a matured boar; the earth would take that shock. Rannulf was to his right, Lincoln and Chester equally spaced to his left, and Radnor coming up more slowly, because of his lameness, to Rannulf’s right. There was little chance that the boar would run between them and escape because once those animals were enraged they desired to attack their enemies, not to escape from them.
The dogs flew off in all directions, yelping in anguish as the great beast charged. Hereford had a few seconds clear sight of him, black and ugly, the tiny eyes blazing red, the bristling lips pulled back to show tushes four inches long emerging from a froth of blood-flecked saliva. Then there was nothing but the thunder of his hoofs as he made for Rannulf, straight as an arrow, seeming irresistible. There was a bellow that made the wood ring as the creature ran onto the spear, but it was too low. Rannulf had caught him in the abdomen rather than through the chest. Insane with pain, the animal writhed in an arc, tearing the spear from the ground and from Rannulf's hand. Hereford, leaping up to help, saw Rannulf go down, saw the flash of his hunting knife as he stabbed, heard his cry as the boar went over him head lowered to slash. Then he was on the animal himself, his left hand reaching for the snout to pull up the head and stab in the throat. He heard his own voice cry out as a searing pain tore his left calf just as his knife went home.
A sharp flash passed his right arm as Lord Radnor thrust under it with his boar spear behind the animal's foreleg, the power of the thrust smashing the ribs as the spear went home into the heart. The
coup de grace
was not necessary, however. Hereford's thrust had cut the jugular, and the boar slipped in the blood that poured from his torn throat and went down jerking in the convulsions of death.
"Are you all right?" It was a chorus from Lincoln and Chester, Lincoln addressing his own son, Chester bending over Hereford.
"Here, Roger, tie up that leg of yours, you idiot. What were you trying to do, wrestle with the creature?" Radnor handed Hereford a strip of cloth cut from his tunic with his hunting knife.
Hereford laughed a little shakily. "I could not chance that he would turn and charge Rannulf again. I did not know that you could cover ground so fast."
"Here, that wants to be tighter, you are bleeding through." Chester knelt beside his son-in-law and Lord Radnor turned his attention to the dogs, whipping them off the boar.
"Never mind me, I have come to no hurt." Hereford remarked impatiently, getting to his feet with a grimace. "How badly is Rannulf hurt?"
"No harm done here either," Lincoln replied, "except that he is a little short of breath."
"I think the son of a sow stepped on my stomach," Rannulf gasped holding his upper arm from which blood streamed, dyeing his blue surcoat purplish.
"Take your hand away," Lincoln growled, "and let me stanch that bleeding, Did he tear your shoulder?" Rannulf shook his head, still breathless, wincing as his father tightened a band around his arm and drove the torn ends of the leather jerkin into the flesh. "Do you want to go back or will you continue with us? What about you, Hereford?"
"I will ride on, I am barely scratched. Rannulf?"
"I too, if I can ever catch my breath, only I am not sure my hand will be steady enough to hold a spear. When my father gets through trying to kill me, I will see. I would not miss seeing the sport anyway. Ouch!"
"Ah," Lincoln remarked, putting the finishing touches to the bandage and then hitting his son affectionately in the head, "if your hide was as thick as your skull you would be better off."
Radnor was blowing the mort, and the other hunters were streaming in to look at the kill. "Whose kill is he?" he asked Hereford in an undertone.
"Rannulf’s. Had I not thought the beast would charge him again even in his death throes I would not have interfered. He hit him firm, the spear is still imbedded."
The huntsmen cut the animal open according to immemorial custom, threw the entrails to the leaping, yelping hounds, and then tied and slung the beast to be carried back to the castle. Ordinarily the entrails would have been mixed with blood and bread and cooked as a reward for the dogs, but there were two more boars to hunt and no time to bother with that particular refinement. Hereford, with his master-of-hounds, limped over to the dogs who were too hurt to come for their prize. A quick look sufficed to show that none could be saved, and the two or three that were still living were swiftly dispatched with kind words, tender hands, and a sharp, sure blade.
***
Elizabeth, having been dressed in a favorite combination of beige tunic and brilliant red bliaut, dismissed her maids and turned her attention to the room around her. There was very little to be done; it was nearly perfect as it was. She decided quickly where to put her prize possession, a very large flat plate of silver, polished so smooth that one could see every mark and hair on one's face reflected back from it if the light were good. A table inlaid with various precious scented woods was beside it and the chests with her clothing nearby against the wall. All that was needed else was a cushioned, low-backed chair to set before her mirror so that she could comb her hair and dress herself in comfort, and the room would be as she wished.
She made a mental note to tell the steward to bring her a suitable chair and turned her attention to Roger's things. Basically there was no need for this. Under Lady Hereford's excellent management there was a large and well-trained group of women who wove, sewed, and even embroidered with great skill, and Lord Hereford was always beautifully dressed. He even had a body servant who folded and cleaned his clothing and helped him dress if he did not wish to have his mother or sisters about for some private reason or simply did not wish to trouble them.
Elizabeth had decided that the personal attentions of that servant must now come to an end. She herself would dress Roger, bathe him, and perform other similar tasks. She had no sentimental idea of making herself necessary and beloved by taking over these duties, merely she did not want any servant about who had the right to walk in and out of her chamber. Elizabeth was clear-sighted enough to know that she and Roger would have many tussles, and, whoever won, she was determined that no servant should carry the tale of their strivings. It was this thought which made Elizabeth's voice rather sharp as she called out in answer to a sound at the door.
"Who is it?"
"Lady Elizabeth, may I come in?"
Elizabeth looked up from the contents of the chest she had turned out. That was a gentlewoman's voice. "Certainly," she said more civilly as she rose and then, "Why, it is Anne. Do come in."
"May I speak with you a moment, Lady Elizabeth?"
"Of course." Elizabeth smiled and came forward. The smile faded as she got a good look at Anne's face. "Why, my dear, whatever is wrong?"
"Lady Elizabeth, you must help me, I am so very unhappy."
Receiving the shuddering and sobbing girl in her arms with surprise but very little sympathy, Elizabeth wondered whether Roger, discussing Anne so glibly that morning could have been wrong. "If I can help you, Anne, I will, but—"
"I am sure you can. Roger loves you so much he will do anything you ask, I am sure of it. He will not listen to me or to my mother, but he will listen to you. I do not wish to be married," the girl burst out. "Please, I wish to stay here. Make Roger let me stay. Make him send Rannulf away."
"Anne, no matter how much Roger loves me, I do not believe I could convince him to do such a thing, especially without a reason. What in the world has happened? I know you were looking forward to being married and you seemed to like Rannulf very much."
"It is not Rannulf's fault. I am not fit to be married. I cannot bear it. He—he hurts me. I am afraid."
"But Anne," Elizabeth exclaimed, finally comprehending that her problem was sexual, "you cannot be sixteen years old and not know what was to be. Have you never seen the beasts mate? Did your mother tell you nothing?"
"Yes, she told me, but I—" Anne burst into tears again and sobbed, "I thought it was going to be wonderful. I must be ill-made. There is something wrong with me. I am not fit to be a wife." She cried despairingly in Elizabeth's arms, adding pathetically, "And I wanted to be so much, so much …"
Elizabeth was temporarily stunned but slowly began to understand. Roger was right, after all, about his sister. She was apparently a very simple child and either had not understood what Lady Hereford and the other women told her and suggested to her or had been guarded too carefully, told nothing, and had drawn no conclusions from what she had actually seen with her own eyes. Too timid and obedient to question and experiment on her own, Anne was sexually ignorant, and Elizabeth was ready to wager Rannulf was almost equally ignorant, since his experience was confined to whores and serfs.
Elizabeth smothered a smile as she saw herself cast in the role of preaching obedience and patience and counseling a girl to be yielding and receptive to the sexual desires of her husband. A fine situation for her to be in. Nonetheless through the confusion of ideas in her own mind welled an intense sense of gratitude to Roger who had made everything so comparatively easy.
"Do not weep, Anne. Come here and sit down with me." Seated on the bed, Elizabeth put her arm around the girl and drew her close. "There is nothing wrong with you. It is the same for all maids. Ay, do not look so surprised, for me too. It is very long since your mother was married. Mayhap she has forgotten or mayhap she did not wish to frighten you. Also it is possible that Rannulf was a little sudden and eager, but you should be glad of that for it shows that he loves you." Elizabeth's voice faltered a little over that because she was not at all sure that it was true and she did not like to lie.
"Lady Elizabeth, is that really true? You do not say it only to comfort me?"
"Yes," Elizabeth replied firmly, "it is true."
Roger
was
right, all people were different. Anne was sufficiently blind and trusting so that if she believed her husband loved her she would probably be happy even if it were not so. And, since Rannulf was not overly complicated himself, his wife's love and faith would no doubt bring him to care for her even if he was originally indifferent.
"Oh dear," Anne cried, beginning to sob again, "oh dear, whatever have I done?"
Oh dear, Elizabeth thought too, raising her brows, I hope it is less serious than she thinks. "What is it now, Anne?"
"I—I did not understand and I pushed him away and I would not let him kiss me—and I would not speak to him. He was so angry, but I thought—"
Not so bad after all. Doubtless Roger could calm Rannulf down with tactful explanations of Anne's ignorance. She would have to catch him as soon as he came in. Poor Roger, as if he did not have problems enough without this.
"That is too bad, Anne, you should not have done so, but what is done amiss may often be amended. Dress yourself in your prettiest robes and when Rannulf comes home greet him kindly. If he will go aside with you, tell him you are sorry and try to explain, if he will listen, how you came to be so foolish."
"But what if he will not go with me or allow me to speak … He was so very angry. Roger is never so cross."
Elizabeth was again forced to restrain a smile, Roger did not have the same cause to be cross with Anne; he could be furious enough, Elizabeth knew, when he was properly pricked. "Then you must be patient. You will certainly be alone in the night." Anne shuddered. "Do not make the same mistake again, Anne. Receive him willingly. It is—it is very bitter to live with an angry man. Now do not spend the whole day weeping," Elizabeth said sharply, "and do not go and gab your troubles to everyone. I am your sister and I will hold my tongue, but others will not, and you will make yourself ridiculous. Furthermore, crying will spoil your face and your husband will find you less pretty. Beside that, men do not like to find their women always bathed in tears. Come, tell me where Roger's things are kept and how he likes his garments matched."
That was an appeal well suited to Anne's taste, and she regained much of her natural cheerfulness in Elizabeth's bracing company. Eventually they were joined by Catherine and Lady Hereford and finally spent the rest of the day with the ladies, gossiping, roasting nuts in the huge fires, and talking about affairs in the world around them. For many of the women a social occasion of this kind was the only chance they had to leave their own keeps and exchange news, views, and gossip with other women of their own class. Many husbands did not care to have their wives mix in their affairs and did not bring them along when they went to court or to other political functions. This did not reduce the women's interest in these matters, however, and they talked with equal eagerness and ignorance, doing their best to get information from those whose menfolk were more liberal in their ways.