C.J. Sansom - Heartstone

I drew deep whooping breaths as Barak ran across and helped me into a sitting position. Avery was helping Hobbey to his feet. Gasping, I looked round. A villager was holding Oddleg, who did not seem injured, though Hobbey's horse lay kicking in the undergrowth. The men from the village were running up to us. In the centre of the path lay the stag, surrounded by the hunters, an arrow protruding from its chest. As I watched, it took a long, shuddering breath, twitched and lay still. Hugh came up and stood over it, bow in hand, his face a sheen of sweat. Young Master Stannard ran up and clapped him on the shoulder. 'Well done, Master Curteys. What a shot!'

A slow smile of satisfaction spread across Hugh's features. 'Yes,' he said. 'Yes, I did it again.'

Hobbey was breathing fast, clearly shaken. Hugh glanced at him, then looked at me. 'You are hurt, sir,' he said. 'There is blood on your wrist.'

I touched my arm, there was what felt like a deep cut below the elbow. I winced. 'I must have landed on a piece of wood.'

'Let me look,' Barak said.

I removed my doublet and rolled up my sleeve. There was a nasty cut on my forearm, blood leaking fast. 'You need that bound up,' Barak said. 'Here, let me cut off that sleeve, the shirt's ripped anyway.'

As Barak tended my wound, Hobbey stepped over to his ward. 'Hugh,' he said, his voice shaking, 'thank you, you saved the hunt. Maybe even my life.'

Hugh gave him a wintry smile. 'I told you, sir, I would make a good shot on the field of battle.'

A horn sounded from somewhere deep in the wood. 'They've killed the does,' Sir Luke said. 'Here, you men, move the stag to the side of the path so the cart can come up. And help Master Hobbey's horse.' The fallen animal was brought to its feet, fortunately uninjured though trembling violently. Four villagers grabbed the stag by the antlers, and dragged it, trailing blood, to the verge.

THE HUNT DISPERSED, Hobbey ordering everyone to walk or ride back to the clearing. A servant led his limping horse away. Hugh left with the two young gentlemen, enjoying their congratulations. Avery went up the path to fetch Fulstowe and David, who must have been too far up the path to have heard the horn. Hobbey stood, dusty, his clothes torn, rubbing his pale hands. 'I am sorry I fell on you, sir,' he said. 'Will your arm be all right?'

'I think so. Come, Barak, let us go back to the house.' I stood, but at once the wood spun round me. Barak helped me sit down again.

'You've had a shock. Rest here awhile.'

Dyrick laughed. 'Be careful, Nicholas, or he'll find some way of suing you for trespass against the person.'

'Be quiet,' Hobbey snapped. Dyrick's face darkened and he looked as though he were about to say something, but then he turned and stalked away down the path, just as Avery reappeared with Fulstowe and David. David looked at the stag, the arrow stuck deep in its chest. Fulstowe stepped close. 'A fine shot,' he said admiringly. 'We should raise cups to Master Hugh tonight. He deserves the heartstone as a new trophy.'

'Had the stag run on to us,' David said sulkily, 'I would have got him. It should have been my kill.'

'God's death, boy,' Hobbey snapped. 'It knocked Master Shardlake and I over. It could have hurt us badly! Fulstowe is right, you should be congratulating Hugh.'

David's eyes widened. I had never heard Hobbey shout at his son before. David cried out, 'Oh yes, Hugh is always better than me! At everything. Hugh, Hugh, Hugh!' He glared at me. 'Hugh that the hunchback thinks so badly treated.'

'Go home!' Hobbey pointed at his son with a trembling finger.

David muttered an obscenity and crashed away into the wood, clutching his bow. I glimpsed angry tears on his face. Hobbey turned to Fulstowe in time to catch him smiling at the exhibition. His eyes narrowed. 'Go, steward,' he said. 'Meet the cart and tell them to get this stag loaded up.'

'Yes, sir,' Fulstowe said, an ironic touch in his voice. He too walked away.

'Agh, my hands,' Hobbey said. 'I need to find some dock leaves. Avery, come with me, you know these woods.'

Avery's eyes narrowed at being addressed like a household servant; nonetheless he accompanied Hobbey down the path. Barak and I were left alone with the dead stag. The birds, driven from the scene by all the clamour, slowly returned to their roosts, and their song began again.

'This'll be some story to tell Tammy when I get home,' Barak said.

'Dyrick offered me a deal on costs before the hunt,' I said quietly. 'If we leave tomorrow after Priddis's visit, each side will pay their own. I think it's because of David. I think I must accept.' I sighed. 'The mysteries of this house will have to be left to themselves.'

'Thank God for that.' Barak looked at me, a rueful smile on his face.

Creaking wheels sounded on the path. Half a dozen men guided the big cart we had seen at the clearing down the lane. It was dripping blood from the does and fauns, which must already have been taken to the clearing.

'Come on,' I said. 'I'm all right now. Let's go.'

We rode slowly down the path, the servants with the cart doffing their caps as we passed them. It was further than I had realized. My arm throbbed painfully.

I was thinking we must be at the glade soon when Barak touched my shoulder. 'Look,' he said quietly. 'What's that? Through there?'

'Where?' I looked through the trees. 'I can't see anything.'

'Something bright, like clothing.' He dismounted and walked into the wood. I dismounted too and followed, then almost walked into him from behind as he came to a dead stop.

'What is it?—'

I broke off at the extraordinary scene before us. Ahead of us was the little dell I had found that morning, with the fallen log leaning against a tree. For a second my mind whirled, for it seemed I was seeing the unicorn hunt on the tapestry in Hobbey's hall brought to life. A woman with long fair hair sat on the log, her back against the tree, arms folded on her lap. She stayed quite silent, not moving at our appearance. The images were mixed up and for a second I thought I saw a unicorn's horn projecting from her brow. Then I realized what was really there. Abigail Hobbey, pinned to the tree behind her by an arrow through her head.

BARAK AND I sat at the end of the big dining table in the great hall of Hoyland Priory. Fulstowe, Dyrick and Sir Luke Corembeck stood talking in low, intent voices under the old stained-glass window. Sir Quintin Priddis sat on a chair by the empty fireplace, his good hand on his stick and the dead white one in his lap, watching them with a cynical smile. Behind him Edward Priddis stood in his dark robe, his expression serious. They had been sitting in the hall when we returned from the discovery of Abigail's body.

'Ettis had every reason to hate her,' Fulstowe was saying. 'He had suffered from her tongue; he knew my poor mistress was strong against his defiance.'

'She faced him when he was shouting at my client in his own study a few days ago,' Dyrick agreed. 'I was there.'

Fulstowe nodded grimly. 'I know him well as a troublemaker. He is the only one with the fire and recklessness to risk his neck. Sir Luke, I beg you, use your authority as magistrate to have him brought back here. Question him; find out where he was today.'

Sir Luke scratched a plump cheek, then nodded. 'That would perhaps be a reasonable step, until the coroner arrives. I can get my servants to bring him in. There is a cellar at my house where we can keep him.'

Priddis cackled suddenly. 'You have found your murderer, then?' he called out. 'A village leader, opposed to your enclosure plans. Convenient.'