The Hunting Accident

[Excerpt from An Involuntary King: A Tale of Anglo Saxon England by Nan Hawthorne.]

As Lawrence and Ronan rode back through the forest with their small group of men-at-arms and servants, they came at last to a clearing atop a hill where they could see the hall in the distance. Of a sudden, Ronan caught movement at the edge of the clearing. "My lord, look there! It is a hart!"

Lawrence turned in his saddle and saw the animal. He thought to himself that it would be sweet to be the one to bring in the prize this day, and leave Elerde empty-handed. He took his bow and pulled an arrow from his quiver to notch it. From his awkward position, turned in the saddle, he took aim at the animal.

"My lord, wait!" Ronan called.

The king saw him. Elerde was about to ride into the clearing followed by Malcolm and their attendants. They appeared to have seen the hart first and were advancing on it to run it to ground. Lawrence caught a glimpse of an arrow protruding from the animal's flank. The hart sprang, and in a moment where it stood was Elerde, slowing and wheeling to call to his companions.

Elerde glanced up and saw the king. He stared straight at him, not moving.

Lawrence paused for less than a heartbeat. He felt himself let the arrow fly without altering his aim. The arrow flew swift and straight and right into Elerde's shoulder.

The king could not decide in those next few moments if he acted reflexively, if he slipped and let the arrow fly, or if he deliberately aimed for the man. He saw Elerde jerk, then press a hand to his shoulder, a look of shock on his face. He glanced up at the king and bared his teeth in anger at him. "You!" he snarled. He slid off his horse and onto the ground.

"My God, sire, you have killed him!" Ronan breathed.

Lawrence wheeled. 'Do not be ridiculous! He is not dead. I wounded him." The statement of responsibility struck him hard. He had wounded Elerde.

He rode directly to where Malcolm stood. Malcolm was off his horse and at Elerde's side. Elerde was conscious but clearly in much pain. Lawrence dismounted and knelt by him, across from Malcolm. "Lord, you are wounded. My shot was meant for the hart," he began, questioning his own sincerity as he said it.

Elerde's lips drew back tight to reveal a snarl. "My heart, methinks! That arrow was meant to kill me!"

Lawrence's face grew red. "How dare you, sirrah?!" he growled. "How dare you accuse me? If you would challenge me, be a man and put your sword and your life behind it, else hold your tongue!"

Elerde glared back. "You have made that an uneven fight, my liege. Or mayhap it was to even the odds you did this, you miserable... what is the word? Nithing."

Lawrence gave the prostrate man a darkly threatening look. “And why should I so deign, sirrah?”

Elerde’s lip curled. “To prove yourself more worthy of that dear lady’s devotion than am I.”

Lawrence drew his dagger and raised it to plunge it into Elerde's breast. He felt hands grab his raised arm and his opposite shoulder. He heard Ronan’s voice, “My liege, nay!”

He shook them off, sheathed his dagger, and stood. He said in a grim voice to Malcolm, "Get this man to a surgeon. I shall not have his blood on my hands." He looked back at Elerde. "At least, not yet. I will set a guard upon you to wait until you are fit, to accompany you to Lawrencium should you decide to make good your accusation."

The king turned and strode over to his horse. He said not another word but mounted and rode off at a gallop.

Ronan hesitated, then bent to help Malcolm raise the wounded man to his feet. "Can you ride?” Ronan asked Elerde.

Elerde nodded, his face full of pain, anger, and hate. They got him back onto his horse, the king's arrow still protruding from his arm. Elerde leaned heavily and painfully on his saddle's pommel.

Ronan, who followed Elerde and the others to the hall, could hear the party's combined entourage muttering amongst themselves, turned and shot them a glance that silenced them.

Malcolm led Elerde's horse at an easy pace back to the hall, where one of his own men-at-arms with skill dressing battle wounds removed the arrow and cleaned and bandaged the wound.

He started to throw away the arrow. Elerde shot at him, "Nay! Give it to me!"

[Learn what happens next by reading An Involuntary King: A Tale of Anglo Saxon England by Nan Hawthorne.]