The Young Lion by Blanche d'Alpuget Page B

town, no village, no smell of smoke rising fromthe roof of a hovel. It had been so dark he was not even sure if they had ridden through scanty forest or open country, and realising this he had a strange thought: not since early childhood had he so abandoned himself to the care of another human being. He trusted Douglas as he had trusted his father when Geoffrey taught him to swim. He had no idea where he was or what he would be required to do. Suddenly, he began to flounder in a sea of fear.
    I must not dishonour my family. I must not dishonour them, pounded inside his head.
    Another few hours passed, and with the second horse tiring, they stopped again. They were in a world of low cloud and hills, but Henry was able to see well enough now to change the saddle himself. He devoured the oaten cakes and several fillets of smoked venison. Douglas insisted he drink more of the vile-tasting liquid, and disgusting as it was to the tongue, it was so warming Henry felt his feet throb and tingle, and painfully return to life. As he ate and drank, his fear abated.
    Douglas, who had been busy with the horses, strolled over, took him by the shoulders, shook him gently and stared into his face. Henry noticed that he was unarmed. So I won’t be required to fight some huge animal, he thought. He recalled his father’s ordeal: forced to bring down a wild boar, on foot.
    Their horses used the respite to eat the dew-heavy grass. Henry wanted to nap and pointed to a dry stretch of ground beneath a tree, but Douglas shook his head and pointed at the tree trunk. The only sounds were of the horses’ grinding teeth and the soft purling of a creek, nearby but out of sight.
    They rode through the day.
    Wan sunlight and drizzle kept the landscape permanently grey but Henry realised it was a world he had seen before. The trees were as tall as mythical giants; some were already wearing springleaves like pale green wings that fluttered in any breath of wind. A sense of enchantment lifted his spirits. The horses, refreshed by food and daylight, were happy to canter. In the distance Henry glimpsed farmed land and shining lakes, so still that pieces of sky seemed to have fallen to earth. Mist hovered around the lakes’ edges where flocks of ducks bobbed and paddled while swans drifted past, leisurely and elegant. Willow trees bordering the lakes were still bare, their thin, pale limbs hanging like long, flexible bones. On flat land nearby he saw herds of deer and a huge stag standing on a rocky outcrop; it followed them with glistening dark eyes, every so often lifting its muzzle to check the wind. He longed to ask Douglas about the other animals he’d seen that time they had lain in the bath: the snow wolves and the big cats with thick cream-coloured coats and blue eyes. They must live further north, in the highest mountains, he thought.
    As twilight faded and the black of night began to seep upwards from the earth, fresh terrors roused within him. He had not slept for a day and a half. Ridiculous ideas and images began to crowd his imagination: pictures of dragons he had seen painted on manuscripts and on the walls of churches. He saw a writhing beast with the body of one animal, the head of another, the legs and tail of a third. From under jutting brows an eagle with wings that spanned the sky glared at him. It seemed to watch him not as its prey but as if Henry were its mate; as if it wanted to join its talons to his and tumble through the sky. It vanished after a moment and was replaced by a green serpent with fifty heads and fifty glistening open mouths and flickering tongues. Behind each tongue was a palisade of hundreds of teeth.
    I’m beginning to go mad, he thought.
    Suddenly he started to cry. He wept and wept, tears streaming from him until the outer woollen part of his riding cloak had a wet patch on its front. He was ashamed to be weeping in Douglas’spresence. Douglas had noticed but made no offer of comfort, and they rode on, into the