King of the May

Chapter 3-2

When he finished, he found Dyfnallt looking at him oddly. “Fond of you, they are,” he said.

“The feeling’s mutual,” George said, sheepishly. “We have some lovely hounds.” He fondled the one closest to him. “This one here is Dando, one of my favorites. The captain of the team, for now. We’re breeding from him this season.”

Gwion asked about one of the restless hounds circling around him. “And this one?”

“That’s Cythraul. He’s a handful, and then some. Good strike hound, though.”

George tried to look at them with a stranger’s eye. White hounds, all of them, with red ear-tips and some red-ticking in a few spots. Most were shaggy, like the large Welsh hounds George remembered from several of the foxhunts in his human world.

“Let’s take a quick look in at the bitches, and then sit down in my office for a long talk,” he suggested.

He watched them with the b***h hounds and tried to get a sense of how the hounds saw them, but came to no conclusions. They hung up their borrowed kennel coats and walked with him across the back end of the courtyard to the entry beyond the empty pens in the right wing, and he ushered them into the huntsman’s office.

The day was bright but he lit the lamps for more light and let them find comfortable seats in front of his desk and look around. The bookcases held hunt logs that went back, as he knew, more than 1700 years and predated Gwyn’s relocation of his realm of Annwn to the new world. The earliest were not even in codex form, like books, but scrolls. Breeding records went back just as far. A locked cupboard held the oliphant, the carved ivory horn used in the great hunt. That was said to be as old as the pack itself, and preserved with some sort of spell that kept the ivory from cracking.

Gwion commented, after surveying the bookcases, “The setting may be rustic but the history is impressive.”

“Fine hounds,” Dyfnallt offered, and George flashed him an involuntary look of fellow feeling. The hounds were more important to him, too, though he appreciated the records. He’d started going through them, but he knew the language of the older ones would require help.

“Maybe now would be a good time to talk about experience and goals.” George said. “Why have you come, and what do you hope to gain?”

Gwion deferred to Dyfnallt as the elder. “I’ve been huntsman for my lord Cuhelyn for twenty years now, but we mostly hunt on foot, and the sport is not for the infirm or the elderly. The fells are too steep for horses and the choice of quarry is limited.” He waited for their nods of understanding.

“Cuhelyn’s thought is to set my junior in my place and add a new hunt to his lowland territories, green country like this that can support mounted hunts. He’ll need a kennel, a pack, and an entire establishment, and has given me this year at least to present him with recommendations and a plan.”

He looked directly at George. “I’ll be frank. My hope is that my parting gift might include some of these hounds as part of our foundation. I intend to earn them.”

Should I believe this is the whole tale, George thought.

“Did you choose this hunt, or did your lord make the pick?” he asked.

“My choice,” Dyfnallt said. “I know our lords are not friends, but I wanted to see the great hunt and the hounds that do it. Hounds that are good enough for Cernunnos.”

“And you, huntsman?” Gwion asked with a smile. “No one knows much about you, aside from that amusing ballad, and some wild stories from the most recent great hunt.”

George knew a question like this would come but he hadn’t counted on Cydifor’s praise ballad to reveal more than he wanted known.

“Well, as you’ve no doubt heard, I’m mostly human. Gwyn fathered my grandmother in the human world and I found my way here a few months ago just as Gwyn’s huntsman, Iolo ap Huw, was murdered. I was a whipper-in to a foxhunt in the human world and, in the absence of any other candidate, I took on the task of huntsman for the great hunt here.”

“And all went well, I gather,” Gwion said. “I even heard that Cernunnos himself put in an appearance. It must have been great sport.”

Dyfnallt gave Gwion an unreadable look.

“We judged a murderer,” George said shortly, “the killer of Iolo and of Isolda, the daughter of Ives, our kennel-master.”

“And Cernunnos was there?” Gwion persisted.

“After a fashion.” They could get the story from someone else, he wasn’t going to give them too many details.

“So you’ve been huntsman but a short time, then?” Gwion asked.

“Yes. And you?” George said, turning the conversation..

“I’ve been huntsman to my lady Glesni for thirty years or more,” he said. “We hunt mainly the red deer in the forest and meadows, and keep the lady’s guests and following amused.”

“And what brings you here?”

Gwion said, “Why, my lady is an old friend of your lord. I think she believed I could make myself useful, perhaps share some of our methods with his new huntsman, in case his practices were somewhat… different.”

Well, that’s a pretty bold statement, George thought. Fancies himself in my job, does he?

“I’m sure we all have a lot to learn from each other,” he said blandly.

“I, myself,” Gwion said, “hope to find out more about Cernunnos and his relationship with the great hunt.”

George thought he heard the unstated “and you” at the end of that declaration. Damn that ballad of Cydifor’s, there was no way to keep that quiet in the long run.

Still, he wanted genuine trainees for his own hunt, since his staff was too thin. He’d swallow what he had to if it would improve the situation.

He leaned back in his chair. “Here’s how we’re staffed. We have two whippers-in at present—Brynach and Benitoe. Both are rather young but coming along nicely. You saw them today.”

“Benitoe is the lutin you had with you?” Gwion asked.

“That’s right.”

“I didn’t know any of them hunted. Or even rode, for that matter. You must have been truly short-staffed.”

“On the contrary,” George said, “he’s very able indeed. Since you’ll be pairing up with the whippers-in as you learn the territory and the hounds, I think he’s just the partner for you, to show you the ropes.” Out of the corner of his eye he caught Dyfnallt covering a smile with his hand.

“Dyfnallt, I’ll pair you with Brynach. He would benefit from hearing about other practices to round out his own knowledge.”

“As you wish, huntsman,” Dyfnallt nodded.

“We’ll hunt doubled up like this for the first several hunts, and for the hound walking, too.”

Dyfnallt asked, “And who were the other two youngsters you had with you this morning?”

“Rhian is Gwyn’s foster-daughter. She’s the junior huntsman.” Both his guests were taken aback by that.

“She’s young, but committed. This is what she wants to do and she has the skills needed. The hounds obey her as they do me. You’ll find her quite competent if inexperienced.”

“But surely her foster-father has other uses for her?” Gwion said.

“He has granted her leave to do this. I can’t speak for it as she gets older.”

He smiled as that sank in. No one would easily displace Gwyn’s foster-daughter on the hunt staff. “The boy is Maelgwn, my foster-son. He’s not part of the hunt staff though he often rides out with us.”

“I think that’s enough for one afternoon,” he concluded. “You’ve added several hours to your day today, coming west from Britain, so I don’t expect you to start any duties until tomorrow. We hunt Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, so tomorrow we’ll only be hound walking. Please be here by dawn for that, tacked up and ready to go.”

He pushed away from the desk and stood up. “I recommend you seek out the tailor Mostyn in Greenhollow, a couple of houses north of the Horned Man inn. You’ll have seen the inn as you went by this morning from the Travelers’ Way. If you see him this afternoon, he should have livery for you in just a few days. Be sure to mention my name for the colors and basic design, and Ifor Moel’s for the bill. Officially, you’re now part of my staff, so if you find yourself with any needs—horses, housing, anything at all—please let me know. I’ll look for you at dinner and introduce you to Gwyn and his staff.”

He deliberately made himself suppress his suspicions and gave them a sincere hand clasp, one at a time. “You’re both welcome here. I’m sure we can work well together and learn a great deal from each other.” Gwion smiled and shook his hand with great affability, while Dyfnallt added a dignified nod.

He walked them out the main kennel gates. They don’t have much to say to each other, he noticed. They may have been thrown together by the timing, but they don’t seem like chums.

George wondered if his mischievous impulse to put Gwion with Benitoe was doing the lutin any favors. He turned and went back to the feed room inside the other entryway to give Ives the background he needed.

He found Tanguy and Huon just starting up the cooking for the evening’s hound feeding. “How’s married life treating you, Tanguy?” he teased, one recent husband to another.

Tanguy blushed as he replied, “It’s a fine thing, isn’t it?” Huon the bachelor rolled his eyes skeptically.

Ives came in from his back room and they returned to their work. “Well?” he said, sitting down at his worktable.

“Well, indeed,” George replied. “They’ve been sent to train here. Both are huntsmen by their own right at home.” He told Ives what he’d learned so far.

“Some huntsmen there are who can learn like this, but others are proud and unwilling,” Ives said.

“True enough, but let’s give them the benefit of the doubt at the start.” George rubbed his face. “I’ll confess I was irritated with Gwion and assigned him to Benitoe, but I should warn him about that. Do you know where he is?”

“I’ll send him to you before dinner,” Ives said. “You should tell the others, too.”

George agreed. He wanted his young hunt staff prepared for, well, he didn’t know what. He expected there was an element of danger in these trainees, though he couldn’t see what exactly they could do. Still, better to put his folks on their guard, just in case.

“What did George tell you about these huntsmen?” Eurig asked Brynach for the second time at dinner in the great hall. His great-nephew sighed patiently and repeated the news George had told him, when he found him with Rhian a couple of hours ago.

“So he’s got you keeping tabs on a fellow that’s, what, several times your age and an experienced huntsman?”

“That’s not how he put it, sir. He said I could learn a lot from him, and I’m sure that’s true. We’re to partner up for a while as whippers-in.”

Two of them from the old world, at the same time. Lludd’s hand was obvious in this, and Eurig knew Gwyn would see it, too. A blind man could see it, and Gwyn was far from blind.

What’s he plotting, he wondered. Would he let Lludd come at him first, after the rock-wights? Or would he bring the fight to him? That wouldn’t be like him—Gwyn always favored the oblique approach.

And then there’s the problem of George, the fellow who can kill the ways. Gwyn would either have to use him, lose him, or protect him, and none of that was yet apparent. The huntsman was going along as if nothing had changed since he returned from Edgewood. Why? That wasn’t sensible on Gwyn’s part. Ah, but then there’s Cernunnos, isn’t there. That’s it—Gwyn hasn’t settled with Cernunnos yet, so George is unresolved until then. I’ll bet that’s what’s happening.

How will this play out, he wondered. Change is coming, and that tends to be bloody.

“See here, nephew. I’m not saying anything against this huntsman you’re shepherding around, I don’t know him. But I want you to promise me to be careful with them. One or both may not be what they seem.” Brynach listened to him attentively. “Watch what they do, especially around the rest of the hunt staff.”

“I will, sir. I’ve already spoken to Rhian and Benitoe about it.”

“Good lad. Treat the fellow honestly, but be cautious about him.”

Eurig could practically see the wheels turning in Gwyn’s head, up on the dais. This was going to be fun. He rubbed his hands together. It had been too long since he’d last seen action, not since the night they’d moved Annwn to the new world.

He dismissed Brynach’s look of puzzlement. “Never mind.” He pointed over at George who’d risen from his seat to greet two strangers at the entrance to the great hall. “Let’s watch.”

George brought the men up to the high table to introduce them to Gwyn, and then to Rhian, Ceridwen, and his own family seated there.