The Unicorn Hunt - Dorothy Dunnett [213]
The Duke signed to Nicholas and pointed to a spot just behind him, and Nicholas took his crossbow and moved quietly to occupy it. He knew the young Count at his back, one of the worst offenders on the way up. The next man was the swarthy Cavalli, and behind him was one of the four Kämmerer – chamberlains – another young man of rank. The master huntsman, in whose footsteps they would follow, waited in silence ahead. The Duke took his place at the head of the file, and the others fell in: John and Father Moriz, Nicholas saw, had been relegated to the end. Then the huntsman turned, and they set off to follow him. The wind, rising still, continued to pick up snow and throw it into their faces. Their spears tugged and nodded.
They had been told what to expect: an exposed twenty-foot traverse and then a sloping channel, guarded by rock, which spiralled up to the plateau at the summit. There the animals lay. Beyond the plateau was empty space: on one side a sheer drop to the ground; on the other a gorge, a chasm between this mountain-top and its neighbour whose sides were unclimbable. It formed, however, the bridge of air by which the chamois made their escape if disturbed. Soaring over the gap, they were instantly safe in a petrified forest of needle-peaks which no human being could climb.
This time, they would never reach it. The end of the steep, irregular terrace led to the plateau itself. Halfway up, the archers would halt to span and bolt crossbows. At the top, bursting forth, the hunters would form a ring, their backs to the chasm. Then the chamois could do only three things: attempt the passage, by now entirely netted and blocked; leap to death over the outer, sheer wall of the mountain, or run in panic to jump to freedom in the usual way – towards the gap, and the bolts and the spears.
They were pretty animals, but the world was full of animals. This was not to do with animals, as it happened, but a prince’s reputation among his peers. It had also to do with chastising a vassal of the Duke of Burgundy, to whom Sigismond had reluctantly sold so many excellent possessions, and who had not, so far, provided the hearty support Sigismond would have liked.
Nicholas expected, and was on guard against, a painful accident with someone’s arrow or spear once the hunt had begun on the plateau. The tearing kick behind the knee came while they were still on the ledge, and was far more dangerous – perhaps even worse than had been intended, for it is difficult to knock a man half off his feet when your own footing, even in crampons, is also precarious. It came, he thought, from the Count.
At the time, he did not think too much at all, finding himself tumbling towards an unimaginable drop with all the wrong kind of momentum. His crossbow shot into space and his belt-hook bit into his doublet. No one spoke – that would have disturbed the chamois – but at least the man ahead stopped. Someone flung out an arm, and someone else grasped one of the leathers crossing his shoulders. It was enough to change his direction: he wheeled round and cannoned into the man standing in front, who half fell. He fell himself, but safely, along the length of the ledge, and found himself lying on his back with a spear at his throat. Above him, looking down, was the huntsman. Beside him, getting slowly to his feet, was the Duke. The huntsman’s face, turned to the Duke, wore a query.
There was little doubt what it was. Nicholas lay still. The point of the blade, razor sharp, had already entered his skin: something ticklish ran from it sideways. Everyone else had drawn back.
Far above, carried down by the wind, came the noise of an animal farting. The Duke’s eyes moved. The huntsman stood. Then the Duke jerked his head and, turning, resumed his silent way while the huntsman, repossessing the spear, moved his lips briefly and followed, leaving Nicholas to get to his feet.
A hand helped him: that of the grinning young chamberlain. The Count, his eyebrows lifted, had passed and gone on. Nicholas could see le Grant trying to force his way close,