Elizabeth Chadwick - The Wild Hunt

Behind him, Eric gasped as a blow caught him beneath his guard, splitting his mail but not cutting through the thick quilting of his gambeson. The girl was crying. Someone snatched the dagger from her husband's hand and pinioned his struggling arms like a coney prepared for the table.

Guyon thrust his shield against a sword blow on his left and felt the blade score and slide off the toughened lime-wood. With his knees he commanded the stall ion to pivot and lunge against the mount of the left-handed Fleming, their leader, and brought his sword across, unexpectedly hard and low. It almost worked, but the mercenary was too experienced and at the last moment intercepted the move with a slicing sidelong slash. Guyon twisted and parried. Pain seared his thigh as the Fleming's blade bit flesh.

He locked his wrist against the pommel, sweeping the other sword sideways, changed his grip, and slashed. The Fleming grunted, lost his grip on the reins, and hunched over his saddle.

Guyon swung Arian. The end of a flail grazed his hair. He slammed his shield into the backswing, kneed Arian forward, and was rewarded by the shriek of someone unexpectedly unhorsed.

' Ledworth!'

Guyon heard with relief the rallying cry of his own men.

' A moi! ' he bellowed, hacking about him. Arian lashed out, and another horse neighed high and shrill with pain. The leader of the Flemings toppled from his saddle, hit the churned mud, shuddered and was still . His second in command looked around, saw that they were now outnumbered and, with panic in his voice, yelled the order to retreat.

A rearguard attempt to bring the huntsman and his wife away with them was aborted as Guyon spurred Arian between their horse and that of the Fleming tugging on its bridle. The sword chopped downwards, cleaving leather, flesh and bone. The mercenary shrieked as he was parted from three of his fingers. Guyon grasped the gelding's broken reins and pulled the horse hard about.

One of his men took the bridle from him and passed the couple through to safety.

Guyon turned Arian around. The horse was bleeding freely from several slashes on his neck and forequarters and was jittery, still spoiling for battle, so that Guyon was forced to stay in the saddle. There was blood running down his leg. It would have to wait. Undoubtedly reinforcements would be summoned from Thornford and set on their trail.

The young huntsman had taken control of their mount and was busily knotting the reins to make them whole again. 'There is no way we can thank you enough, my lord,' he said to Guyon. 'We owe you our lives.'

Guyon smiled bleakly. 'Walter de Lacey is no friend of mine. You owe me nothing. It was a pleasure. I'd advise you to be on your way as soon as you can, though. He tends to nurture grudges.'

'You do not need to tell me that, sire!' the young man snorted. 'I'm a free man and I'll not work for the likes of him. Lord Ralph was mean and sour, but he'd not lay about him with a whip for the pure pleasure of it, nor take a girl to his bed if she were not willing!'

Guyon shifted his gaze to the delicate blonde young woman watching them anxiously. Probably she was about Judith's age but she looked no more than twelve, just the kind that de Lacey enjoyed. 'Where are you and your wife bound?'

'I have relatives in Chester, my lord. They will take us in while I find work. I thought I would seek employment with Earl Hugh.'

'There is work nearer to hand at Ravenstow if you desire it. I've been a huntsman short since last winter. Make up your mind as we ride,' Guyon offered. 'Ravenstow is on your road anyway and you would do well to take advantage of an armed escort off Serigny lands. If you decide against staying, I'll recommend you to Earl Hugh. He's a personal friend.'

The young man considered him from beneath a tumble of wet brown curls. Guyon FitzMiles was a huntsman short because Sir Walter had almost beheaded the man in a fit of fury during a hunt to honour the marriage of Ravenstow's heiress, or so the rumour went. Something about the theft of a horse and a broken boar spear. 'Thank you, my lord,' he replied, turning to his horse. 'We are grateful.'

Judith ceased combing her hair and regarded her mother across the space that separated them. 'I thought you might,' she said without surprise.

It was not quite the response Alicia had expected to her announcement that she was going to her dower lands as soon as Guyon's father returned from his business with Hugh of Chester to escort her there. She had come to her daughter's room prepared for tears and pleading and was completely thrown by Judith's aplomb.

'I do not want you to think that I am discontented here with you and Guyon, but you have your own life to live ... and I have mine.' She wondered if she should test that aplomb by telling her daughter what else she intended besides.

Judith put down the comb, went to her mother and wordlessly hugged her. They were much of a height now, almost eye to eye, for Judith had grown since the early spring and had put flesh on her bones.

Alicia returned the embrace. 'Of course, I will visit you often and you will know where to find me should the need arise,' she said, feeling guilty, but then guilt was nothing new and was about to be consolidated.

'You will always be welcome, you know that!'

Judith answered, kissing her. 'But why do you speak as if you intend your stay to be permanent?'

'Because I do.'

Judith lifted her head from Alicia's shoulder, her eyes filled with shock and anxiety. 'Is there something wrong? Something that I or Guyon can do?'

Alicia stroked Judith's shining tawny hair.

'Understand when the time comes,' she said pensively, 'and do not judge me too harshly.'

'Mama?' Judith looked up at her, beginning to feel worried. Her mother would not meet her gaze and her lids were red-rimmed as they so often were these days.

Beside the fire, Melyn gave a leisurely stretch, then stalked past the two women to the door.

Alicia sniffed and gained control of her precarious emotions. Mother and child. She could sense the reversal.

Judith was staring at the cat and the entrance, her tension palpable.

'What's the matter?' Alicia said.

The curtain parted and Guyon entered the room.

'Mother of God!' exclaimed Alicia because water was dripping from every portion of him and puddling in the rushes. Leaving her daughter to deal with him, she hastened from the room to see that the fire was built up in the hall and dry blankets provided for the men.

Guyon squelched to the fire. His gait was far from its customary lithe prowl, Judith noticed. Indeed, he was limping badly.

'What's wrong with your leg?' Judith hurried to his side.

He unfastened his sodden cloak and handed it to her. 'A sword arm that was too slow,' he answered wearily.

'You were attacked?' she said, her eyes flicking over his soaked chausses and the rain-washed streaks of blood channelling down them.

'Clever girl.' His tone was sarcastic. 'Have you any wine?'

Judith fetched the flagon, a small vial of aqua vitae and two cups. 'Do you want a bath?' she asked cautiously.

'Does it look like it? God's death, we nearly drowned at Elmford. Our mounts were in the river belly-deep and the current was like a wild horse.'

He took the wine from her and swallowed it down, coughing a little at the strength of the aqua vitae.

His face was grey.

She put her own cup down, fetched a linen towel and knelt to unbuckle his swordbelt. 'What happened?'

The weight of the belt slid from his hips into her hands and he sighed with relief. Flatly he told her of their encounter with the Flemings, its reasons and its likely consequences.

'It is true then. I thought it was just rumour that de Lacey was going to marry Mabel.' Judith disposed of the belt and returned to help him off with the hauberk. 'Mama says that she's not really mad. Her mouth's deformed and what she says comes out as gibberish unless you know her well .'