CHAPTER TEN #5
They had soon left the open moorland of the mountain side and entered the cover of the woods.
Even in their bare winter state the trees gave shelter from the weather and provided a certain amount of protection from being seen.
The lower they went, the larger the trees, so that soon they had passed beyond rowan and blackthorn and hazel and now moved between silver birch, oaks, ash, elm and evergreen larch.
The forest floor was a tangle of naked brambles, decaying leaves and twigs shed from higher branches in storms or dislodged by birds.
Rhiannon noticed at once the changes in both temperature and aroma.
The wind could not so easily fight its way through to the interior, and with each footstep the party disturbed from the earth its sour hibernal scents.
The creatures of the woodland fell silent as they detected this unexpected and threatening intrusion, so that all that could be heard was the soft moaning of the excluded wind, the irregular snapping of twig beneath leather boot, and the warm breathing of the hunters.
Rufus signalled silently and the others hurried over to inspect what he had found.
Tudor nodded his agreement that the track was indeed that of a boar.
Taran began wagging his tail and dropped his nose to the ground, bounding on ahead.
Encouraged, they increased their pace, but the marks faded by a stream and could not be picked up once more.
Even Taran failed to find the scent again.
They pressed on in silent determination but found no more indication they were heading in the right direction.
Hour upon hour they searched, until Rhiannon noticed the smaller boys tiring.
She insisted they pause, drink the watery ale from their sheepskin flasks, and eat their flatbread.
All knew to remain silent, for to indulge in chatter could be to lose the last remnant of a chance for success which they had.
It was while they were resting that Glyn saw something.
He sprang up from his seat on a fallen log and pointed excitedly to the ground.
Rhiannon smiled, assuming the the boy had found more boar tracks, but as she hurried over to him she saw that his expression was not one of glee but of fear.
Following the direction of his outstretched hand, she and the others examined the print.
She held Taran back so that he would not disturb the ground and remove the evidence before them.
She need not have checked him, for the great hound had tensed the length of his body and a deep rumble emitted from within.
It was clear to the most inexperienced hunter among them that the shape embossed in the mud before them was that of a wolf paw.
The men cast about, carefully searching the area.
Within seconds another print had been found, and then another and another, until it became evident these were the tracks not of a single wolf, but of a pack.
Tudor signalled to the others to pick up their things and move on.
They continued their hunt but warily now.
As they trudged on, the hours ticking by, the light fading and their reserves of strength with it, Rhiannon wondered if she should tell them to abandon their task and return to the safety of the encampment.
Was it wise to continue when wolves were so many and so close?
She was on the point of discussing this with Tudor when a movement upheld caused her to gasp.
She raised her hand. Everyone stood still as stone, breath held, eyes narrowed against the increasing gloom of the woodland.
Taran hesitated, head up, and then rushed forwards into the dense undergrowth.
In that moment the weighty silence of the forest was rent asunder by a rabble of sounds.
There came the shrieking of the boar, one huge male and two smaller females as they were flushed from their cover by the dog and sent barrelling towards the men.
The men shouted all at once, some issuing instructions to the others, some yelling at the boar to turn them, others cursing as they were caught out by the swiftness of what was happening.
Startled birds rose up from their perches, squawking and cawing, wings flapping.
There was the sound of an arrow loosed, a bow twanging, and an angry shout as Tudor warned against such an action while they were all across from each other.
A spear whistled through the air and found its mark in the great boar, bringing forth from it an even louder shriek, to accompany the whoop of delight from Glyn who had thrown the spear.
Bryn was knocked off his feet by one of the smaller swine, and Dafydd was winded by Taran as the hound charged after the escaping boar.
Even in its injured state the pig was moving fast and could easily escape them.
Taran leapt at it, causing it to turn sharply, so that it ran directly towards Tudor.
He had his sword drawn, but, without taking his eye off it, it was Rhiannon he shouted to.
Seeing where she stood he knew she had the best line of sight, and the safest one.
‘Rhiannon! Use your bow now!’
With a swiftness born of months of training, of hours of repetitious and frustrating practice, she pulled back the string, moving her bow arm with the motion of the running boar, taking her time, even though that time was but a heart beat.
She narrowed her eyes, saw her mark, and loosed her arrow.
Before she had time to blink its metal head had pierced the hide of the boar, shattered two ribs, and lodged with lethal accuracy in its heart.
The squealing stopped and the animal dropped to the ground.
Its fellows slipped away into the forest, blurred movement and rustling plants showing their route until they were lost to sight.
Glyn hurried forwards and dropped to his knees beside the boar, his eyes bright with the thrill of it, his face lit up with the success of his first important kill.
‘Well done, Glyn,’ Rhiannon said, smiling at him.
The boy did his best to sound humble. ’T’was your arrow brought him down,’ he said.
‘Ah, but without your spear to slow him, I should certainly have missed,’ she assured him.
She looked at the animal whose life they had taken.
She never killed a creature without feeling a stab of loss and a sadness for the light extinguished.
But this boar had been killed to feed her people, and without it some would have fallen into a low state of health from which they might not have ever climbed free.
Dafydd stepped forward and slapped the boy on the shoulder.
’Tis well done,’ he told him, smiling. ‘I for one can taste the pork even now! Come, we need poles to carry him home.’ He and the boys set about cutting two strong lengths from the nearest hazel tree from which the pig would be suspended.
Rhiannon was aware the light was fading and noticed that Taran was no longer interested in the kill. His attention seemed away somewhere, in the darkening woods, too far for her to see its point of focus, yet close enough to cause concern. She touched Tudor’s sleeve.
‘We must make haste,’ she said. ‘We are losing the light, and I believe we are no longer alone.’
He turned and scanned the woodland around them.
Two of the other men noticed and did the same.
They quickened their pace as they worked to secure the boar’s trotters to the poles with plaited reed bindings.
At last they were ready. Rufus, Bryn and two of the older boys took a pole end each, hoisting them up to rest upon their shoulders.
The path was narrow, so that it would be slow progress walking two abreast, but the boar was too heavy for two men to carry.
Rhiannon and the other boys walked ahead, with Taran at her side.
Tudor and the remainder of the party walked at the rear.
All were alert to sounds or movement. They had not been walking more than ten minutes before Glyn let out a shout.
‘Wolf!’
‘Where is it?’ Dafydd held his spear ready, spinning round.
Tudor had his sword drawn and stepped back to defend against attack from behind.
‘There!’ Ifan pointed to their left and all eyes turned to see the fleeting movement of dark brown fur among the drab winter undergrowth. Just as they did so Taran growled, eyes fixed forwards, while at the same moment, Tudor alerted them to more danger.
‘There’s another! Only strides behind us.’
‘We must keep going!’ Rufus said, wobbling beneath the weight of the boar as he tried to twist this way and that to watch for the wolves.
‘No,’ Rhiannon came back to speak to the others, drawing the boys into the group with her. ‘We have become the hunted. To continue now would leave us vulnerable.’
‘Rhiannon is right,’ Tudor agreed. ‘We make our stand here. Set the pig down. Dafydd, to the left. Ifan, Dai, stay close to your queen.’
If the men were surprised at Tudor taking command and giving orders they showed no sign of it.
Rhiannon believed they were grateful for his skills and ready to follow his instructions.
After all, aside from two of them they were not soldiers, nor even experienced hunters.
His talents could give them their best chance.
She talked to him softly but urgently. ‘How many have you seen?’
‘Two, and heard a third. We must assume that is the smallest number we face.’