is wrong with him?”
The Spanish count flicked a dismissive hand at the shambling, ragged baggage before him and conferred with his interpreter, who said, “This man is in such wretched condition, the count fears it will be poor sport for us. The hunt will be over before it has begun.” The count shook his head haughtily. “Please, get another prisoner.”
“But this is the only one I have, God love you!” retorted the earl, although he too peered at the captive doubtfully.
Tuck wondered wonder how long it had been since the earl had last laid eyes on the Welsh lord—several months at least, he reckoned, perhaps years.
“I say he will serve,” Hugh said stiffly. “In any event, he must, for there is no other.”
Alan and Count Rexindo held a short consultation, whereupon Alan turned and said, “Begging your pardon, Lord Earl, but the man is clearly unwell. If he cannot give good chase there is little point in pursuing him. We regret that the hunt must be abandoned. With your permission, we will bid you farewell and prepare instead to take our leave.”
The earl frowned mightily. He was that unused to having his will thwarted that he became all the more adamant that the hunt should take place as planned. He argued with such vehemence it soon became clear to the others that the earl and his visiting noblemen had wagered on the outcome of the day’s hunt—or, more likely, which among them would draw first blood. Having set such great store by his prowess, he was now loath to see that particular prize elude him.
“The hunt will go ahead,” he declared flatly, and motioned for the porter to remove the chains from the prisoner. “This was your idea, after all, Count. We will make what sport of it we can.”
Count Rexindo accepted the earl’s decision with good grace. He seemed to brighten then and said something to Alan, who translated, “Let it be as you say, Lord Earl. As it happens, the count has thought of a way to make a better game of it. We will not use the dogs, and this will give our quarry a fighting chance.”
“Not use the dogs?” scoffed the earl. “But, see here, I thought you wished to try them one last time before the purchase.”
Alan and the count held a brief discussion, and Alan replied, “It is not done this way in Spain,” he explained. “However, the count allows that you know your realm best. Might he suggest using just one hound? If you agree, the count would like to use one of the dogs he will buy. Moreover, he is prepared to wager that he will make the kill today.”
“How much will he wager?” wondered Hugh, his pig eyes brightening at the thought.
“Whatever you like,” answered Alan. “It makes no difference to the count.”
“One hundred marks,” answered the earl quickly.
Alan relayed this to Rexindo, who nodded appreciatively.
“Done!” shouted the earl. Turning to Bishop Balthus, he said, “You! Priest! Mark this. You are a witness to the wager—one hundred marks silver to the one who makes the kill.”
Tuck gave him a nod of acceptance, wondering where on God’s green earth Bran imagined he would find such a princely sum if—heaven forbid it!—he should lose the wager.
Meanwhile, Bran, ignoring the stare of the captive king who stood shivering but a few paces away, instead approached the hounds and walked in amongst them, holding out his hands, as he was wont to do, allowing the dogs to lick his fingers and palms. He chose one from among those he had marked to buy—a big, sleek, shaggy grey creature—and rubbed the animal’s muzzle affectionately. Reaching into the pouch at his belt, he brought out a morsel he’d filched from last night’s meal and fed it to the hound, rubbing the dog’s nose and muzzle all the while. “This one,” he said through Alan. “Let us take this one with us and leave the others.”
The earl, happy with the choice—all the more so since it meant he would not risk his other hounds developing a taste for this unusual game—agreed readily. Count Rexindo then gestured to his two young attendants and directed them to take charge of the prisoner. “Relâcher le captif,” Alan said to the gaoler, who began fumbling at his belt for the key to the shackles.
The earl frowned again as the chains fell away, and it appeared he might have second thoughts about disposing of such a valuable prisoner in this way. The hound