statements. They seem usually to be wrong. When we crossed the stream, the track did not lead east. It led nowhere.
We splashed across to the north side of the brook (for here it flowed east, having turned from its southerly path through the town) and waited for the hounds to find the scent. They could not.
After much fruitless trotting about, their noses pressed to the ground, the fewterer called them to us. “Strange they cannot recover the trail. Squire can’t see so well in ’is old age, I think, but I never see ’im lose a scent.”
“Perhaps,” I suggested, “the animal passed through the brook for a few paces. If we follow downstream the dogs may find their way again.”
The fewterer leashed his hounds and led them along the north bank of the stream. Occasionally they frightened a trout from under the bank, but they gave no sign that they had recovered the scent.
We followed the brook for 200 paces or more, until the fewterer pulled at the leashes and turned to me. “Mayhap the beast left the brook on the other bank. If we find no track here we might return on the other side.”
I agreed, but was not ready to do so yet. We fought our way through brambles and undergrowth until we were nearly to Aston. The party did not complain, but as we continued east they more and more often peered at me with questioning eyes.
Perhaps the wolf had been this far east when I first heard it howl, but if so the dogs had found no trace of its presence. I spoke the words all were eager to hear, and we waded back across the brook to retrace our steps on the south bank.
The hounds seemed to enjoy this sport. They occasionally flushed a rabbit or a hedgehog. But when we arrived back where the trail had emerged from the wood to cross, as we thought, the brook, they had found no spoor to interest them. We had been three hours at our work, and were nearly back where we began.
The only course remaining was to seek the track upstream, toward the town. I directed that the hounds be separated, one dog on either side of the brook. As we set out I heard the bell from the Church of St Beornwald ring the ninth hour.
The dogs followed their noses up the brook all the way to Mill Street Bridge. They did not recover a scent. Tenants and villeins of Lord Gilbert Talbot and the Bishop of Exeter gazed in wonder as we clambered up the banks of the brook to the bridge. We made a rare spectacle. A dozen tired, mud-caked men, scratched and bloodied, and two weary old hounds. I was going to need another bath.
Hubert Shillside turned to me as we stood perplexed on the bridge. “I think,” he complained, “we must find better hounds. These are too old…they have missed the trail somewhere.”
This thought had occurred to me, but before I could reply the fewterer leaped to defend his charges.
“Nothin’ wrong wi’ the dogs. They’re not so young as t’run down a stag, maybe, but if there was a wolf left a trail they’d find it.”
“So you say, after Master Hugh heard the beast, and after the slain lamb, that there must be no wolf because your hounds cannot find it?” Shillside remarked sarcastically.
“’At’s what I’m sayin’. Master Hugh may’ve heard a wolf…no offense,” the fewterer looked at me and tugged his forelock. “But there be no trail or the dogs would’a found it.”
“But they did,” I said.
“Maybe,” the fewterer muttered.
“What is your meaning?” I challenged the old man.
“Oh, they found a scent. But t’were it a wolf they’d a been more eager to be off.”
“You are sure of this?”
“Nay. Can’t be certain. But I’ve worked Squire an’ Tawny since they was pups. I know ’em…an’ old or not, they didn’t act like they was on a trail of no wild beast.”
“Well, wolf or no, they are fatigued from the day’s labor, as are we all. Return them to their kennel and feed them well.”
“Will you be wantin’ ’em tomorrow?”
“No…unless there is better reason than we have
We splashed across to the north side of the brook (for here it flowed east, having turned from its southerly path through the town) and waited for the hounds to find the scent. They could not.
After much fruitless trotting about, their noses pressed to the ground, the fewterer called them to us. “Strange they cannot recover the trail. Squire can’t see so well in ’is old age, I think, but I never see ’im lose a scent.”
“Perhaps,” I suggested, “the animal passed through the brook for a few paces. If we follow downstream the dogs may find their way again.”
The fewterer leashed his hounds and led them along the north bank of the stream. Occasionally they frightened a trout from under the bank, but they gave no sign that they had recovered the scent.
We followed the brook for 200 paces or more, until the fewterer pulled at the leashes and turned to me. “Mayhap the beast left the brook on the other bank. If we find no track here we might return on the other side.”
I agreed, but was not ready to do so yet. We fought our way through brambles and undergrowth until we were nearly to Aston. The party did not complain, but as we continued east they more and more often peered at me with questioning eyes.
Perhaps the wolf had been this far east when I first heard it howl, but if so the dogs had found no trace of its presence. I spoke the words all were eager to hear, and we waded back across the brook to retrace our steps on the south bank.
The hounds seemed to enjoy this sport. They occasionally flushed a rabbit or a hedgehog. But when we arrived back where the trail had emerged from the wood to cross, as we thought, the brook, they had found no spoor to interest them. We had been three hours at our work, and were nearly back where we began.
The only course remaining was to seek the track upstream, toward the town. I directed that the hounds be separated, one dog on either side of the brook. As we set out I heard the bell from the Church of St Beornwald ring the ninth hour.
The dogs followed their noses up the brook all the way to Mill Street Bridge. They did not recover a scent. Tenants and villeins of Lord Gilbert Talbot and the Bishop of Exeter gazed in wonder as we clambered up the banks of the brook to the bridge. We made a rare spectacle. A dozen tired, mud-caked men, scratched and bloodied, and two weary old hounds. I was going to need another bath.
Hubert Shillside turned to me as we stood perplexed on the bridge. “I think,” he complained, “we must find better hounds. These are too old…they have missed the trail somewhere.”
This thought had occurred to me, but before I could reply the fewterer leaped to defend his charges.
“Nothin’ wrong wi’ the dogs. They’re not so young as t’run down a stag, maybe, but if there was a wolf left a trail they’d find it.”
“So you say, after Master Hugh heard the beast, and after the slain lamb, that there must be no wolf because your hounds cannot find it?” Shillside remarked sarcastically.
“’At’s what I’m sayin’. Master Hugh may’ve heard a wolf…no offense,” the fewterer looked at me and tugged his forelock. “But there be no trail or the dogs would’a found it.”
“But they did,” I said.
“Maybe,” the fewterer muttered.
“What is your meaning?” I challenged the old man.
“Oh, they found a scent. But t’were it a wolf they’d a been more eager to be off.”
“You are sure of this?”
“Nay. Can’t be certain. But I’ve worked Squire an’ Tawny since they was pups. I know ’em…an’ old or not, they didn’t act like they was on a trail of no wild beast.”
“Well, wolf or no, they are fatigued from the day’s labor, as are we all. Return them to their kennel and feed them well.”
“Will you be wantin’ ’em tomorrow?”
“No…unless there is better reason than we have
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