Read Online Warlord 2 Enemy of God by Bernard Cornwell - Free Book Online
Authors: Bernard Cornwell
Tags: Historical fiction
Ads: Link
Arthur graciously waived the honour of the kill to Lancelot.
‘He is my gift to you, Lord,’ Lancelot answered. Ceinwyn was standing behind him, biting her lower lip and with eyes wide. She had taken the spare spear from Bors, not because she hoped to use it, but to spare him the burden, and she held the weapon nervously.
‘Put the hounds on him!’ Guinevere joined us. Her eyes were bright and her face animated. She was, I think, often bored in Dumnonia’s great palaces and the hunting field gave her an excitement she craved.
‘You’ll lose both dogs,’ Arthur warned her. ‘This pig knows how to fight.’ He moved cautiously forward, judging how best to provoke the beast, then he stepped sharply ahead and beat hard down on the bushes with his spear as though to offer the boar a path out of its sanctuary. The beast grunted, but did not move, not even when the spear blade flashed down within inches of its snout. The sow was behind the boar, watching us.
‘It’s done this before,’ Arthur said happily.
‘Let me take him. Lord,’ I said, suddenly anxious for him.
‘You think I’ve lost my skill?’ Arthur asked with a smile. He beat the bushes again, but the briars would not lie flat, nor would the boar move. ‘The Gods bless you.’ Arthur said to the beast, then he shouted a challenge and jumped into the tangle of thorns. He leapt to one side of the path he had crudely beaten and as he landed he rammed the spear hard forward, aiming its glittering blade at the boar’s left flank just forward of its shoulder.
The boar’s head seemed to twitch, only a slight twitch, but it was enough to deflect the spear blade off the tusk so that it slashed a bloody and harmless cut down the animal’s flank, and then it charged. A good boar can come from a still stance into instant madness with its head down and tusks ready to gut upwards, and this beast was already past Arthur’s spearhead when it charged and Arthur was trapped by the brambles.
I shouted to distract the boar and plunged my own spear into its belly. Arthur was on his back, his spear abandoned, and the boar was on top of him. The hounds howled and Guinevere was shouting at us to help. My spear was deep in the beast’s belly and its blood spurted up to my hands as I levered up and over to roll the wounded beast off my Lord. The creature weighed more than two full sacks of grain, and its muscles were like iron ropes that twitched my spear. I gripped hard and pushed up, but then the sow charged and swept my feet away from under me. I fell, and my weight pulled the spear shaft down and thus brought the boar back onto Arthur’s belly.
Arthur had somehow gripped both the beast’s tusks and, using all his strength, was now forcing its head away from his chest. The sow vanished, plunging downhill towards the stream. ‘Kill him!’ Arthur shouted, though he was half laughing as well. He was just inches from death, but he was loving the moment. ‘Kill him!’ he called again. The boar’s back legs were thrusting, its spittle was spattering Arthur’s face and its blood was soaking his clothes.
I was on my back, my face lacerated with thorns. I scrambled to my feet and reached for my jerking, twisting spear that was still buried in the great brute’s belly, but then Bors plunged a knife into the boar’s neck and I saw the enormous strength of the animal begin to ebb as Arthur managed to force the squat, stinking, bloody head away from his ribs. I seized my spear and twisted the blade, searching for the animal’s life blood deep in its guts as Bors stabbed a second time. The boar suddenly pissed on Arthur, gave one last desperate lunge of its huge neck and then abruptly slumped down. Arthur was awash in its blood and urine, and half buried under its bulk.
He cautiously let go of the tusks, then dissolved into helpless laughter. Bors and I took a tusk each and, with a concerted heave, hauled the corpse away from Arthur. One of the tusks had caught in
‘He is my gift to you, Lord,’ Lancelot answered. Ceinwyn was standing behind him, biting her lower lip and with eyes wide. She had taken the spare spear from Bors, not because she hoped to use it, but to spare him the burden, and she held the weapon nervously.
‘Put the hounds on him!’ Guinevere joined us. Her eyes were bright and her face animated. She was, I think, often bored in Dumnonia’s great palaces and the hunting field gave her an excitement she craved.
‘You’ll lose both dogs,’ Arthur warned her. ‘This pig knows how to fight.’ He moved cautiously forward, judging how best to provoke the beast, then he stepped sharply ahead and beat hard down on the bushes with his spear as though to offer the boar a path out of its sanctuary. The beast grunted, but did not move, not even when the spear blade flashed down within inches of its snout. The sow was behind the boar, watching us.
‘It’s done this before,’ Arthur said happily.
‘Let me take him. Lord,’ I said, suddenly anxious for him.
‘You think I’ve lost my skill?’ Arthur asked with a smile. He beat the bushes again, but the briars would not lie flat, nor would the boar move. ‘The Gods bless you.’ Arthur said to the beast, then he shouted a challenge and jumped into the tangle of thorns. He leapt to one side of the path he had crudely beaten and as he landed he rammed the spear hard forward, aiming its glittering blade at the boar’s left flank just forward of its shoulder.
The boar’s head seemed to twitch, only a slight twitch, but it was enough to deflect the spear blade off the tusk so that it slashed a bloody and harmless cut down the animal’s flank, and then it charged. A good boar can come from a still stance into instant madness with its head down and tusks ready to gut upwards, and this beast was already past Arthur’s spearhead when it charged and Arthur was trapped by the brambles.
I shouted to distract the boar and plunged my own spear into its belly. Arthur was on his back, his spear abandoned, and the boar was on top of him. The hounds howled and Guinevere was shouting at us to help. My spear was deep in the beast’s belly and its blood spurted up to my hands as I levered up and over to roll the wounded beast off my Lord. The creature weighed more than two full sacks of grain, and its muscles were like iron ropes that twitched my spear. I gripped hard and pushed up, but then the sow charged and swept my feet away from under me. I fell, and my weight pulled the spear shaft down and thus brought the boar back onto Arthur’s belly.
Arthur had somehow gripped both the beast’s tusks and, using all his strength, was now forcing its head away from his chest. The sow vanished, plunging downhill towards the stream. ‘Kill him!’ Arthur shouted, though he was half laughing as well. He was just inches from death, but he was loving the moment. ‘Kill him!’ he called again. The boar’s back legs were thrusting, its spittle was spattering Arthur’s face and its blood was soaking his clothes.
I was on my back, my face lacerated with thorns. I scrambled to my feet and reached for my jerking, twisting spear that was still buried in the great brute’s belly, but then Bors plunged a knife into the boar’s neck and I saw the enormous strength of the animal begin to ebb as Arthur managed to force the squat, stinking, bloody head away from his ribs. I seized my spear and twisted the blade, searching for the animal’s life blood deep in its guts as Bors stabbed a second time. The boar suddenly pissed on Arthur, gave one last desperate lunge of its huge neck and then abruptly slumped down. Arthur was awash in its blood and urine, and half buried under its bulk.
He cautiously let go of the tusks, then dissolved into helpless laughter. Bors and I took a tusk each and, with a concerted heave, hauled the corpse away from Arthur. One of the tusks had caught in
Similar Books
