Stephen Lawhead - Tuck

"Hey now," Tuck replied, "it's potent prayers I'm praying since first light this morning, am I not? Trust in the Lord. Our cause is just and we cannot fail."

The earl and his company came into earshot then, and the count, piping up, said, "Pax vobiscum, mes ami." Alan added his greeting and gave the earl a low bow he did not in any way deserve.

"Pax," said Hugh. He rubbed his fat hands and glanced quickly around the yard, looking for his hounds and handlers. The lately arrived Ffreinc noblemen stood a little apart, stiff-legged and yawning; with faces unshaven and eyes rimmed red, they appeared ill rested and queasy in the soft morning light. Clearly, they were not accustomed to the roister and revel such as took place in Castle Cestre of an evening. The earl shouted across the empty yard, his voice echoing off the stone walls. In response to his call, a narrow door opened at the far end of the stable block and the porter entered the yard, pulling a very reluctant prisoner at the end of a chain behind him. "Here! Here!" said Hugh.

A moment later, from a door at the other end of the stables, the hounds and their handlers entered the yard. The hounds, seeing the horses and men assembled and waiting, began yapping with eager anticipation of the trail as hounds will. Count Rexindo, however, took one look at the chained captive and began shaking his head gravely.

"This is very bad," he said, speaking through Alan, who made a sour face as he spoke-so as to emphasize the count's displeasure. "No good at all."

In truth, it was very bad. Years of captivity had reduced the Welsh king to little more than a rank sack of hair and bone. His limbs, wasted through disuse, were but spindles, and his skin dull and grey with the pallor of the prison cell. The bright morning light made him squint, and his eyes watered. Although he was so hunched he could hardly hold himself erect, Gruffydd nevertheless attempted to display what scraps of dignity he still possessed. This served only to make him appear all the more pathetic.

"My lord the count says that this prisoner will not serve," Alan informed the earl.

"Why not?" wondered Hugh. "What is wrong with him?"

The Spanish count flicked a dismissive hand at the shambling, ragged baggage before him and conferred with his interpreter, who said, "This man is in such wretched condition, the count fears it will be poor sport for us. The hunt will be over before it has begun." The count shook his head haughtily. "Please, get another prisoner."

"But this is the only one I have, God love you!" retorted the earl, although he too peered at the captive doubtfully.

Tuck wondered wonder how long it had been since the earl had last laid eyes on the Welsh lord-several months at least, he reckoned, perhaps years.

"I say he will serve," Hugh said stiffly. "In any event, he must, for there is no other."

Alan and Count Rexindo held a short consultation, whereupon Alan turned and said, "Begging your pardon, Lord Earl, but the man is clearly unwell. If he cannot give good chase there is little point in pursuing him. We regret that the hunt must be abandoned. With your permission, we will bid you farewell and prepare instead to take our leave."

The earl frowned mightily. He was that unused to having his will thwarted that he became all the more adamant that the hunt should take place as planned. He argued with such vehemence it soon became clear to the others that the earl and his visiting noblemen had wagered on the outcome of the day's hunt-or, more likely, which among them would draw first blood. Having set such great store by his prowess, he was now loath to see that particular prize elude him.

"The hunt will go ahead," he declared flatly, and motioned for the porter to remove the chains from the prisoner. "This was your idea, after all, Count. We will make what sport of it we can."

Count Rexindo accepted the earl's decision with good grace. He seemed to brighten then and said something to Alan, who translated, "Let it be as you say, Lord Earl. As it happens, the count has thought of a way to make a better game of it. We will not use the dogs, and this will give our quarry a fighting chance."

"Not use the dogs?" scoffed the earl. "But, see here, I thought you wished to try them one last time before the purchase."

Alan and the count held a brief discussion, and Alan replied, "It is not done this way in Spain," he explained. "However, the count allows that you know your realm best. Might he suggest using just one hound? If you agree, the count would like to use one of the dogs he will buy. Moreover, he is prepared to wager that he will make the kill today."

"How much will he wager?" wondered Hugh, his pig eyes brightening at the thought.

"Whatever you like," answered Alan. "It makes no difference to the count."

"One hundred marks," answered the earl quickly.

Alan relayed this to Rexindo, who nodded appreciatively.

"Done!" shouted the earl. Turning to Bishop Balthus, he said, "You! Priest! Mark this. You are a witness to the wager-one hundred marks silver to the one who makes the kill."

Tuck gave him a nod of acceptance, wondering where on God's green earth Bran imagined he would find such a princely sum if-heaven forbid it!-he should lose the wager.

Meanwhile, Bran, ignoring the stare of the captive king who stood shivering but a few paces away, instead approached the hounds and walked in amongst them, holding out his hands, as he was wont to do, allowing the dogs to lick his fingers and palms. He chose one from among those he had marked to buy-a big, sleek, shaggy grey creature-and rubbed the animal's muzzle affectionately. Reaching into the pouch at his belt, he brought out a morsel he'd filched from last night's meal and fed it to the hound, rubbing the dog's nose and muzzle all the while. "This one," he said through Alan. "Let us take this one with us and leave the others."

The earl, happy with the choice-all the more so since it meant he would not risk his other hounds developing a taste for this unusual game-agreed readily. Count Rexindo then gestured to his two young attendants and directed them to take charge of the prisoner. "Relacher le captif," Alan said to the gaoler, who began fumbling at his belt for the key to the shackles.

The earl frowned again as the chains fell away, and it appeared he might have second thoughts about disposing of such a valuable prisoner in this way. The hound was given to sniff the captive's clothing, and as the two young nobles began marching the prisoner away, he protested, "Here now! What goes?"

Alan explained. "The count has ordered his men to take the wretch to the head of the hunting run and release him. They are to ride back here and tell us as soon as it is done, and then the chase will begin." He paused, regarding the Ffreinc noblemen, then added, "With this many hunters there will surely be no sport unless the prey is given a fair start."

"Go then," directed Earl Hugh, "and hurry back all the sooner." Spying one of the servants just then creeping across the yard, he shouted, "Tremar! Bring us a saddle cup!" The man seized up like a thief caught with his hand in the satchel, then spun about and ran for the hall entrance. "Two of them!" roared Hugh as the man disappeared. To his noblemen, he added, "Hunting is such thirsty business."

When Count Rexindo finished with the hounds, he turned and walked back to where Bishop Balthus stood, and the cleric saw the count slip his fingers back into the pouch at his belt, replacing the rag that had been liberally doused with herb oil, and with which he had smeared his palm-the same that had stroked the dog's nose and muzzle.

"Do you think it will work?" Tuck whispered as the grooms brought out the horses. "Or are we mad?"

"We can but pray. Still, if Gruffydd has followed your instruction," he said, "we have a chance at least-if he can endure the hunt." He motioned Alan to him and said, "You had best come with us today; we may need you. Tell the earl that Count Rexindo requires the aid of his servant and to bring a horse for you. Can you ride?"