The Forest - Edward Rutherfurd [45]
‘There was no need. I said I’d be back.’
‘I am responsible for you, Adela. Your going off like that was unforgivable. Anyway,’ she continued, ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to go. I can’t have you here any more. I’m sorry, because it’s nearly Easter.’ At Easter the king and his court would be there. The perfect opportunity to find a husband. ‘But I won’t take responsibility for you. You’ll have to go back to your cousin Walter.’
‘But he’s in Normandy.’
‘The keeper of the treasury has a messenger crossing to Normandy in a few days. He will accompany you. It’s all arranged.’
‘But I can’t go to Normandy,’ Adela cried. ‘Not now.’
‘Oh?’ The widow looked at her sharply, then shrugged. ‘Who will take you in? Have you other arrangements in mind?’
Adela was silent, thinking furiously. ‘Perhaps,’ she said hesitantly. ‘I may have.’
Edgar would often ride out past Burley, where the forester was a friend of his. He had ridden over to the dark dell where the village lay, that spring morning, and finding him out had continued eastwards across the great lawn and into the woods when he caught sight of his friend standing in a clearing, talking to Puckle. Seeing Edgar, the forester waved and signalled him to dismount. Edgar did so and walked over.
‘What is it?’
The forester looked excited. It was evident that Puckle must have brought him some piece of news as the two men were obviously about to go off together. In answer, his friend just put his finger to his lips and motioned Edgar to accompany them. ‘You’ll see.’
Together the three men went quietly through the trees, saying nothing and taking care not to step on any twigs that might crack. Once the forester licked his finger and held it up to check the direction of the breeze. They went on in this manner for nearly half a mile. Then, Puckle and the forester began to move slowly, crouching and using the bushes for cover. Edgar did the same. They edged forward another hundred yards or so. Then Puckle nodded and pointed to a place not far ahead in the trees.
It was a small clearing, only twenty paces across, with an ancient tree stump and a small holly bush in the middle. If it had not been for a dark ring of tracks in the fallen leaves, not even Puckle would have given the place a second glance. But today it was occupied.
There were five of them, all bucks, ready to rut the next season, if they had not the last. They all still had their antlers. They looked very handsome. And they were dancing in a ring.
There really was no other way to describe it. Round they processed, kicking their heels in the air. Every so often one, then another, would stand up on their hind legs, turn and spar with each other just like boxers. It was not in earnest, though, but in play. This was one of the rarest and most lovely of the Forest’s many ceremonies. Edgar smiled with pleasure. It was ten years since he had seen a dancing of the deer in a play ring.
And why should the bucks dance in a circle? Why did humans do the same? The three men watched for a long time, experiencing the joy and reverence that is special to the Forest people, before creeping silently away.
Edgar’s heart was singing as he rode down into the Avon valley. He was looking forward to telling his father all about it.
On his arrival home, however, he found his father had other things on his mind. The old man looked grim. ‘We’ve received a messenger,’ Cola told his son as he led him into the hall. Edgar noticed a young fellow waiting with his horse by the barn. ‘From Winchester.’
‘Oh?’ This meant nothing to Edgar, although he realized that his father was watching him carefully.
‘That girl. Tyrrell’s kinswoman. She wants to come here. Some problem in Winchester. She doesn’t say what.’
‘I see.’
‘You know nothing about this?’
‘No, Father.’ He didn’t. But his mind was working fast.
‘I don’t like it.’ Cola paused, glanced at Edgar again.
‘She has powerful kin.’
‘Hmm … I’m not sure they care about