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Such talk in the lodge was listened to and applauded rather half-heartedly. It was all very well in the palaces of Winchester and Westminster. Here in the forest there was an air of foreboding. When night came it really did seem that the trees took on weird shapes; and the soughing of the wind in the branches could well be the moans of the dead calling for vengeance.
It may have been that even Rufus was aware of this, for during one night he awoke screaming to his attendants.
Ranulf was the first to reach him.
‘What ails you, lord?’
Rufus sat up on his straw, sweating profusely.
‘I know not. It was some evil thing that hovered over me. It was death, I think. It had an evil face. I felt it was suffocating me. Send for lights. I do not wish to be in darkness.’
Ranulf obeyed and others of Rufus’s retinue came hurrying in.
‘Stay here.’ said the King. ‘You may pass the night in this chamber. I do not like this darkness. Let them bring candles. But stay here. Only then can I doze.’
‘Is it some sort of omen, think you?’ asked one.
‘Bah.’ retorted Ranulf. ‘It is a surfeit of venison.’
‘Think you so, my friend?’ asked Rufus.
‘What else? Our presence will restore you, lord. You may sleep knowing we guard you and warn off evil spirits. Thus you will ensure a good day’s hunting tomorrow.’
But in spite of the people and the lights, Rufus could not sleep. He remembered the profanities he had uttered at the banqueting table; he remembered the blasphemies. He did not think they had been any worse than at other times but now he was in the forest...the enchanted forest, the cursed forest as some called it...the forest which had been made at the expense of great suffering and hardship to so many.
‘Nay, it was the venison.’ he comforted himself. ‘I ate too heartily and drank too much. There’s nothing wrong that a good day’s hunting will not kill.’
The dawn came to outshine the candles. Everyone was relieved; and Rufus, laughing at his nightly fears, was in the best of spirits.
* * * * *
Breakfast was a lengthy meal because the party would not go into the forest until the early afternoon.
Rufus was hearty and full of good humour.
‘So my brother Deersfoot is with us. Is it true, Henry, that you are as fleet as a deer?’
‘Hardly that, brother. But I’m as fleet as most men.’
‘I rejoice. We might have been tempted to hunt you. You might not have cared for that.’
‘‘Twould be a new experience.’ replied Henry in high good humour.
‘Do not urge us to try it, brother. We might need but little persuasion.’
The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of an armourer.
‘What have you there?’ asked the King.
‘Six new arrows, my lord. I believe you will find them stronger and sharper than all others.’
‘Bring them to me, man.’
Rufus examined them. ‘’Tis true,’ he declared. ‘They have a rare quality. Look you here, Tyrell; you are the best shot I know. Tell me what you think of these.’
Sir Walter Tyrrell examined them.
‘It is indeed so, my lord. I rarely saw finer arrows.’
‘Reward the man who made them,’ said the King. ‘Here Tyrrell, you shall have two of them. I never knew a man better able to bring down a deer. You are a fine shot and worthy of the best.’
‘My lord is gracious,’ said Tyrrell.
‘I shall be interested to know how you fare with them.’
‘I will tell you, my lord.’
There was a commotion without which meant that there were new arrivals at the lodge.
‘What means this?’ asked the King. ‘Go and see who comes.’
The page came back with the news that the Abbot of Gloucester was without and with him a man who had the appearance of a hermit.
‘What want these holy men with me?’ said Rufus with a grimace.
‘They are begging to be allowed to speak with you, lord.’
They stood before him and Rufus looked with distaste at the Abbot’s robes and the tattered garments of the Holy Man.
‘I am soon leaving for the chase. I have little time to dally with men of your calling.’
‘Lord, we come to beg you not to go into the forest today.’
‘Where else should I find fine fat deer, pray tell me?’
‘I have a revelation,’ said the Abbot. ‘A dream came to me that I should find you here and that I should come to tell you not to go into the forest this day. This Holy Man arrived at my Abbey yester eve. He said to me: ‘The King is nearby. He must be warned. I have had a vision.’
‘What warning is this?’
‘It is that you must not go into the forest this day.’
Sir Walter Tyrrell was stroking the surface of the bow which Rufus had given him. Rufus watched him. ‘Your fingers itch to use it, Tyrrell.’ he said. ‘And these fellows would stop our sport.’
‘‘Twould seem so, my lord.’
‘With talk of omens! Tell me what you saw in this dream?’
‘Some danger threatens, lord, and it comes from the forest.’
‘Is that all?’
‘That is all.’
‘And you, Holy Man?’
‘Lord, I beg you do not go into the forest this day.’
‘I thank you for your coming,’ said the King. ‘You must be refreshed. Be seated.’
The Abbot and the Holy Man sat at the table and partook of food.
Rufus said: ‘You churchmen know well my pleasure in the chase and it is your belief that that which is pleasurable is sinful. You rejoice in making others as yourselves and you wish to deny me the chase because you know how I enjoy it.’
‘What does my lord wish?’ asked Ranulf. ‘Shall you not ride into the forest this day?’
‘Not ride into the forest, Ranulf I Are you mad? Did I not come here to hunt?’
‘These warnings following your dream...’
‘A surfeit of venison, remember, Ranulf?’
‘It may have been but the dream and the men...’
‘What think you, Tyrrell?’
‘It is for my lord to decide. Perhaps for today you would forgo the chase. Tomorrow would be a new day.’
‘Think you I would take heed of the churchmen, Tyrrell?’
‘Nay, I would not think it, my lord; but if you did that is your will and would be mine.’
‘Come, to the devil with their omens. It’s time we set out.’
* * * * *
It was hot that August afternoon as the hunting party rode out from Linwood. The forest grew more beautiful every year. Rufus remembered it when the landscape had been scarred by the remains of cottages from which the owners had been turned out. Now these remains had become buried under gorse and bracken; only here and there was seen the pathetic remains of what had once been a humble and well beloved home.
Rufus had been a little uneasy—made so rather by his own disturbing dream than the prophesies. It was rather strange that one incident should have followed on the other but, as Ranulf said, these wise men were always prophesying in the hope that something they said would turn out to be true and they became renowned for it.
But the excitement of the chase was overtaking him. Always it was thus. He remembered how he and his father had ridden out together. It was the only time his father was human—that and perhaps in his relationship with their mother.
Tyrrell was beside him. He liked riding with Tyrrell. There was a man of whom his father would have approved—the best hunter of the party!
‘Eager to try out your new arrow, Wat?’ he asked.
‘Ay, my lord.’
‘We’ll expect good results, friend Wat.’
‘You shall have them, my lord.’
‘Come...’
They galloped ahead.
Walter Tyrrell and the King had ridden so fast and so far that they had left the rest of the party.
‘Where are those laggards?’ cried the King laughing.
‘We’ve outridden them,’ cried Tyrrell.
‘Look you.’ cried the King. ‘What saw you then? A movement in the undergrowth?’
‘There’s something there, my lord.’
‘A deer. Come.’
Rufus rode on ahead of Tyrrell.
* * * * *