Niccolo Rising by Dorothy Dunnett

Author:Dorothy Dunnett
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 9780307762351
Publisher: Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group
Published: 2011-08-17T10:00:00+00:00

Chapter 23

IT WAS SHORTLY after this that Claes realised that the impeccable escort sent to fetch himself and Felix had led them well away from the road to Genappe. That they were making their way over fields and through a copse to where, just over a rise of new grass, there came the sound of many voices, and hoofbeats, and the barking of excited dogs. A horn brayed.

Below Felix’s towering hat his face, turned to Claes, was ruddy with pleasure. “My lord Dauphin’s huntsman!” he said. “It must be. No one else can hunt here. Now you’ll see. Jet black horses. He’ll have nothing else. And the hounds. He has a new pair …”

“Monsieur is correct,” said the captain of their escort. He had not spoken for an hour, and Claes looked at him with amazement. The captain continued to communicate with Felix. “It is for this very reason that my lord Dauphin requested you should be brought by this route. It will not displease you to hunt?”

Claes looked at the violet flounces, the quilted skirt with its marten-edge, the tasselled cone on Felix’s head that would shear the lower branch off a pine tree. Felix cried, “My dear captain, I’m honoured!”

The captain smiled. The captain kicked his horse from a trot to a canter. So did Felix. So did all the rest of the troop except Claes, who fell off. The captain and Felix, by then well to the forefront, continued over the rise without noticing. The other horsemen, who certainly noticed, went on as if they hadn’t. The last man, who had actually to ride round him, leaned over and, collecting Claes’ horse by the reins, took it away with him.

Claes sat up in the grass and shouted after him. The last rider, leading Claes’ horse, receded impassively, breasting the hillock in a different direction at a good, regular pace. Claes, sitting with his hands dangling over his knees, took a contemplative breath and sent a musical halloo in that direction. The rider began to descend the hill on the other side. The last thing Claes saw of the company were the two ears of his horse on the skyline.

The saddle, which had fallen off with him, lay upside down in the turf some distance away. Dug in beside it was a hoe, with a man leaning on it at an extravagant angle. His feet, nearest to Claes, were in patched and squashed boots, and he wore the felt cap and rolled sleeves and brief dress of a countryman. He turned a tuberous face with no teeth in it. “Now,” he said. “Look at that. That new falcon brung down a saddle.” He lifted his chin from his clasped hands and eased himself slowly back, raising his watering eyes to the sky. Claes went on sitting.

“Might bring down the horse next,” said Claes. “I should watch out.”

The hoe quivered. Collected over the gums, the owner’s lips writhed apart, and a haze of saliva shot into the air. “Might bring down a man next, I shouldn’t wonder,” said the old man.

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