The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [220]
There were nine in the royal party including the king and four ladies. Pride did not know who the other men were, but one – a strikingly handsome youth, a delicate version of the king, really – he assumed must be Monmouth, the monarch’s bastard son. In attendance was Sir Robert Howard, an aristocrat whose official title of Master Keeper meant he was nominally in charge of the deer in the bailiwick in which they were to hunt; there were also several local gentlemen keepers. The party was to hunt from Bolderwood lodge and, as Jim Pride was underkeeper there, he had recruited his father and Puckle to act as extra riders. There were usually some tips to be had on these occasions. Furzey had been asked too, but as he’d refused they’d taken Stephen Pride’s friend Purkiss from Brockenhurst. He had a reputation for being no fool, so they reckoned they were probably better off with him than with Furzey anyway.
They were all ready. Stephen Pride was sixty years old, but he had to admit he was quite excited. He’d been a happily faithful husband for over thirty years, but to his own amusement he found himself stealing glances at the king’s pretty lady friends. Life in the old dog yet, he thought cheerfully, and was glad he was fit enough to participate with his son in what, he supposed, would be a tiring day.
‘I should think we’ll be taking a lot of deer today,’ he remarked to one of the gentlemen keepers, who gave him an old-fashioned look.
‘Don’t count on it, Stephen,’ he murmured. ‘I know the king.’
And to Pride’s astonishment they had not gone a quarter-mile before he saw the Master Keeper’s hand shoot up and the king’s voice rang out. ‘Nellie wants to see the Rufus tree.’
‘The Rufus tree!’ his courtiers cried out.
So off they all went, instead, to the Rufus tree.
‘It will be like this’ – the gentleman smiled at Pride – ‘the whole day.’
And indeed, they had only gone another quarter-mile when suddenly there was a further change of plan. Before seeing the Rufus tree the king wished to inspect his new plantation. This meant a couple of miles’ extra riding and the party obediently swung round to go off there instead.
Pride looked at his companions. They were not very pleased.
‘Doesn’t look as if we’re going to get much out of this,’ Puckle remarked with reproach to Jim Pride. Money and the odd haunch of venison tended to come when numbers of deer were killed. The gentlemen keepers were usually pretty good at making sure the riders like Puckle were looked after. But if they were just going to wander about like this all day, the prospects weren’t so promising.
‘It isn’t Jim’s fault,’ Pride defended his son.
‘It’s early yet,’ said Jim hopefully.
Pride glanced across at Purkiss. He felt bad about him because he had asked the Brockenhurst man himself.
Purkiss was a tall man with a long face and a quiet, intelligent manner. The Purkisses were an ancient Forest family, respected for their good sense. ‘They go quietly,’ Pride would say, ‘but they’re always thinking. No one ever makes a fool of a Purkiss.’ If he felt guilty about wasting Purkiss’s time, however, Purkiss himself looked content enough. He seemed to be meditating to himself.
The king’s plantation, it had to be said, was a fine affair. So much timber had been lost during the lax administration and confusion of the last seven decades that everyone agreed something needed to be done. As so often with Charles II, behind his sensual indulgence, the king’s keen intelligence was at work. Just as, after the city of London had suffered its great fire, he had studied every detail and firmly supported the huge rebuilding programme of Sir Christopher Wren, so now the royal patron of the arts and sciences had devised a practical and far-seeing project in his royal forest. On his personal orders three large areas – three hundred acres in all – were to be fenced off like coppices and