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Authors: Eithne Massey
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been turned to stone.
In the depths of the wood, something bright was moving. The brightness moved quietly out of the trees and faced them across the still pool. None of them could ever properly describe it afterwards, though it appeared in their dreams allthrough their lives. Matthieu spent many years trying to capture its beauty in paint. Green leaves behind, blue sky above, the dark pool – a silver shadow gleaming in the depths of the pool like moonlight on water. The Silver Stag raised its head and its great silver antlers branched out like bare, shining trees on either side of its proud and gentle forehead. Its eyes were dark and its glance towards the children held no fear. It was all grace, all dignity, but a dignity that was without arrogance. It was simply itself and did not need to be anything else.
None of them could speak. There was a feeling of absolute stillness – stillness and light. The horses stood with their heads bent, as if in homage. Even Gile remained totally motionless, watching, but not fearful, his ears upright and his eyes very bright.
The time they stood there could only have lasted a moment, for then came the noise of hounds in the distance and the call of the horn.
‘They’re coming,’ said Cliar, her throat dry with panic. ‘The hunt is coming this way.’
The stag still stood, motionless as a figure in a tapestry, its beautiful head raised, watching them. Waiting for them.
Tuan and Maude jumped onto their horses; afterwards, neither could remember who thought of it first.
‘Quick, mount and ride,’ called Tuan. ‘We’ll lead the hunt towards the Shannon, to the grasslands; if the stag crosses the water the hounds will lose its trail.’
At the same moment, Maude pointed to the river. ‘Come, let’s go that way.’
Strangely enough, none of them thought to question whether the stag would follow them.
Cliar nodded, and they all set off through the undergrowth, crashing through ferns and pushing their horses to go as fast as they could. The horses sensed the urgency, and even old Shelly, famous for her laziness, broke into a gallop, or as much of a gallop as was possible in the dense undergrowth of the wood.
And the stag followed them.
But now as they raced onwards they could hear the sound of the hunt coming nearer. Closer and closer all the time. At the edge of the forest they broke into a full gallop. The stag ran by their side through the river fields.
Maude looked behind her and said breathlessly: ‘They’re coming closer. We have to go faster.’
Faster they went, Matthieu clutching onto his horse’s mane for dear life. But they could feel the hunt gaining on them. Matthieu began to panic; he felt that he himself was now the quarry of the hunt. He could almost feel the hotbreath of the hounds on his heels; he could almost feel their sharp teeth sinking into his flesh … But he held on, and pushed his horse onwards. The stag had to be saved.
Tuan glanced back. The first hounds had come out from the edge of the wood with the horses close behind. We won’t make it, he thought, we cannot make the river …
But just as the hunt was about to close in, something very strange happened.
The dogs stopped dead. Their ears flattened. Their tails dropped between their legs. They began to whimper. Then the horses stopped dead too, and reared upwards, unseating some of their riders. They whinnied in fear and pranced around, as if terrified by something the huntsmen could not see. The cavalcade became a shambles of neighing horses and dogs that whined and growled and backed away, back into the edge of the wood, as if an invisible wall was pushing them away from the water’s edge.
‘It’s the ghosts!’ said Cliar. ‘They’re helping us again.’
Now the stag had reached the river bank. It stopped for a moment, as the children looked back to the hunt. The animals were refusing to come nearer, despite the shouts and curses and spurrings of Sir Richard and his
In the depths of the wood, something bright was moving. The brightness moved quietly out of the trees and faced them across the still pool. None of them could ever properly describe it afterwards, though it appeared in their dreams allthrough their lives. Matthieu spent many years trying to capture its beauty in paint. Green leaves behind, blue sky above, the dark pool – a silver shadow gleaming in the depths of the pool like moonlight on water. The Silver Stag raised its head and its great silver antlers branched out like bare, shining trees on either side of its proud and gentle forehead. Its eyes were dark and its glance towards the children held no fear. It was all grace, all dignity, but a dignity that was without arrogance. It was simply itself and did not need to be anything else.
None of them could speak. There was a feeling of absolute stillness – stillness and light. The horses stood with their heads bent, as if in homage. Even Gile remained totally motionless, watching, but not fearful, his ears upright and his eyes very bright.
The time they stood there could only have lasted a moment, for then came the noise of hounds in the distance and the call of the horn.
‘They’re coming,’ said Cliar, her throat dry with panic. ‘The hunt is coming this way.’
The stag still stood, motionless as a figure in a tapestry, its beautiful head raised, watching them. Waiting for them.
Tuan and Maude jumped onto their horses; afterwards, neither could remember who thought of it first.
‘Quick, mount and ride,’ called Tuan. ‘We’ll lead the hunt towards the Shannon, to the grasslands; if the stag crosses the water the hounds will lose its trail.’
At the same moment, Maude pointed to the river. ‘Come, let’s go that way.’
Strangely enough, none of them thought to question whether the stag would follow them.
Cliar nodded, and they all set off through the undergrowth, crashing through ferns and pushing their horses to go as fast as they could. The horses sensed the urgency, and even old Shelly, famous for her laziness, broke into a gallop, or as much of a gallop as was possible in the dense undergrowth of the wood.
And the stag followed them.
But now as they raced onwards they could hear the sound of the hunt coming nearer. Closer and closer all the time. At the edge of the forest they broke into a full gallop. The stag ran by their side through the river fields.
Maude looked behind her and said breathlessly: ‘They’re coming closer. We have to go faster.’
Faster they went, Matthieu clutching onto his horse’s mane for dear life. But they could feel the hunt gaining on them. Matthieu began to panic; he felt that he himself was now the quarry of the hunt. He could almost feel the hotbreath of the hounds on his heels; he could almost feel their sharp teeth sinking into his flesh … But he held on, and pushed his horse onwards. The stag had to be saved.
Tuan glanced back. The first hounds had come out from the edge of the wood with the horses close behind. We won’t make it, he thought, we cannot make the river …
But just as the hunt was about to close in, something very strange happened.
The dogs stopped dead. Their ears flattened. Their tails dropped between their legs. They began to whimper. Then the horses stopped dead too, and reared upwards, unseating some of their riders. They whinnied in fear and pranced around, as if terrified by something the huntsmen could not see. The cavalcade became a shambles of neighing horses and dogs that whined and growled and backed away, back into the edge of the wood, as if an invisible wall was pushing them away from the water’s edge.
‘It’s the ghosts!’ said Cliar. ‘They’re helping us again.’
Now the stag had reached the river bank. It stopped for a moment, as the children looked back to the hunt. The animals were refusing to come nearer, despite the shouts and curses and spurrings of Sir Richard and his
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