Read The Hunter’s Tale for Free Online

wild. As Sendal rejoined them, the hare burst up from the grass and into a run hardly three hounds’ length ahead of Sudden in the lead.
     
    ‘She goes!“ Sir William cried. ”Ears up! She’s a good one!“ Because a hare that waited until the hounds saw it and ran with its ears up was confident of its strength and chance of escape. This one was as cunning in its running as it had been in laying its trail, swift in its turns and twice cutting sideways and away under the very muzzles of the hounds before Sir Ralph said, ”That’s enough. Now,“ and set Bertrand loose with the cry, ”Venes!“ The rest of them loosed the other hounds with him and—white, and brown-spotted, and brindled gray—Makarie, Melador, Bane, Brigand, and Sir William’s Chandos streaked away to join the others.
     
    The end came quickly then, and hunters trotted out to the kill-site where Melador was standing over the dead hare while the other hounds seethed around with high-waving tails, panting and pleased with themselves. Sir Ralph held the corpse high and blared the death on his horn, they went through the various ceremonies demanded at a kill, and then the hare was dismembered, bits of it mixed with blood-soaked bread and cheese and given to the hounds, but the better parts handed to a servant to carry back to the manor. Then they began again.
     
    Two more hares were started, both of them escaping after good runs, before another one was taken. By then the morning was far enough along that Sir Ralph declared the hunting done for the while and they headed across the pastureland and along the woodshore to the greenway, men and hounds all glad of the shade under the tall-arched trees and gladder when they turned aside from the way into the wide, smooth-grassed clearing of the gathering place. At its upper end a spring bubbled out of the slope, its cold water filling a stone-built basin before flowing over and away in a shallow, broadening stream the length of the clearing and out of sight among the trees. Along the near side of the clearing wooden tabletops on trestle legs had been put up and cold chicken, new cheese, bread, and ale set out by servants waiting now to serve, while beyond the little stream Lady Anneys, Elyn, Philippa, and Lucy were seated on cushions on the grass, Philippa with her small lute on her lap, the others with their embroidery.
     
    As usual, Hugh, Master Selenger, and Degory saw to watering the hounds, then Hugh and Master Selenger left them to Degory to tie in the shade and feed while they joined the others at the tables to eat and drink and talk over the morning’s hunt. Afterward the women returned to their cushions, and the men, fed and tired and ready to rest, dropped down around them on what Lady Anneys called the hunt-cushions—large, old, not very clean cushions kept for this use. Only Miles went to sit on the wide rim of the spring’s basin, dabbling his fingers in the water. The midday warmth and well-fed bellies slowed the talk and even the women sat idle, their sewing in their laps, except Philippa took up her lute again and began to stroke small, silver-sounding notes from its strings, simple as the sound of the water flowing and hardly more noticeable. Sir Ralph tried to pick a quarrel with Tom over a pasture that had been grazed last month instead of left rough for the summer’s hunting but they were both too full and tired for it, and giving it up, Sir Ralph joined Sir William in dozing, stretched out with their heads laid on cushions and hands clasped on stomachs. Tom shifted to sit beside Philippa, watching her play. The family jest was that he had no more ear than a post for music, and when Elyn asked Philippa to sing, it was to Master Selenger that Philippa turned, asking, “Join me?”
     
    Lying on his side, propped up on one elbow on one of the cushions, he smilingly said, “Gladly,” and sat up. He was Philippa’s uncle, brother to Sir William’s first wife, dead these dozen years,