A King's Comrade: A Story of Old HerefordWhistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts)
History
A King's Comrade: A Story of Old Hereford
Whistler, Charles W. (Charles Watts)
Ethelbert, Saint, -794 -- Fiction; Historical fiction; Offa, King of the Mercians, -796 -- Fiction
However, my turn came before long. Sighard joined me, leading his
horse; and another thane, a Mercian, came up also. They had been to
right and left of me in the line, and had seen the hounds left with
me. For a quarter of an hour we stood there talking a little under
our breath, but mostly listening with some envy to the sounds of
the hunt ahead of us where wolf and boar died at the nets, turning
in grim despair on their foes. Then there was a shout of warning
that a boar had broken back.
He came into the glade at a swinging trot straight for us. After
him were two hounds, who kept him going though they dared not near
him. And after boar and hounds came Gymbert himself, on horseback,
with his boar spear in his hand. I thought that he could not reach
the boar by reason of the hounds, or else that he had a mind to let
us end the matter, as guests.
The men with us let loose the hounds we had, and they sprang in on
the boar at the sight of him. At that the great beast turned sharp
on the first two, and gored one from flank to shoulder with the
terrible sidelong swing of the flashing tusk; and then he had his
back to a great tree in a moment, and was at bay, with the hounds
round him, yelling.
We three ran forward, and with us came Erling, with a second spear
for me. The horses were in charge of some thralls who had gathered
to us. Then it was to be seen who should win the honour of first
spear to touch that dun hide. Gymbert was already waiting his time,
wheeling his horse round to find an opening among the hounds, and
Sighard cried to him to let us have a chance, laughing. Whereon he
reined his horse back somewhat, and we paid no more heed to him.
One has no time to mind aught behind one when the boar is at bay.
One of our fresh hounds ran in, and in a moment was howling on his
back before the boar, whose white tusk and dun jowl were reddened
as he glared in fury at us from his fiery eyes. Then across the
hound I had my chance, and I ran in with levelled spear.
There was a shout, and some one gripped my arm and swung me aside
with force enough to fling me to the ground. As I fell, the broad,
flashing blade of a spear passed me, and then in a medley, as it
were, I saw the boar charge over the hound and across my legs, and
I heard a wild stamping and the scream of a wounded horse.
I leaped to my feet, dumb with anger, and saw the end of that.
Gymbert's steed was rearing, and one of the foresters was trying to
catch his bridle, while the boar was away down the glade with the
unwounded hounds after him, and a broken spear in his flank. And
then my three comrades broke into loud blame of Gymbert, in nowise
seeking to use soft words to him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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