The Huntress of Thornbeck Forest (A Medieval Fairy Tale #1)
Melanie Dickerson
1
The year 1363, in the northeast German reaches of the
Holy Roman Empire, the Margravate of Thornbeck
THE TIP OF the arrow found its mark, a perfect shot through the deer’s heart and lungs. The animal took two steps forward, then a side step, and fell over.
Odette’s five men—more boys than men, as they were around thirteen or fourteen years old—darted out of the cover of the bushes and ran toward the animal that would feed at least four families. They began to cut it apart and prepared to carry it, and all evidence of it, away in their leather game bags.
But far more than four hungry families and many orphaned children inhabited the town of Thornbeck, so Odette motioned to the two boys looking to her. They set off deeper into the forest that was the margrave’s game park. The only one reaping the good of Thornbeck Forest, rightfully, was the margrave. He could spare a few deer to feed the poor. He could spare them quite well.
Odette moved through the trees and undergrowth, trying to step as quietly as possible. The two boys stayed behind her. The moon was full, the night sky was clear of clouds, and enough light filtered through the trees to help her find her way to another of the harts’ favorite feeding spots. Either a salt deposit was there or the grass was particularly sweet, because that was where she often found her most desired prey—fully grown red deer—with their necks bowed low as they ate.
Odette came within sight of the spot and crouched to wait, holding her longbow and an arrow at the ready. Soon, a hind moved soundlessly into the small clearing. Odette’s fingers twitched in anticipation of the meat that would assuage the hunger of many people, but the twinge of pity that pinched her chest kept her from raising her bow and taking aim. It was summer, tomorrow being St. John the Baptist Day, and the hind no doubt had at least one newborn fawn, possibly two or three, hidden away somewhere, waiting for her to come back and nurse them.
Creating more orphans, even of the animal kind, went against everything Odette strove for, so she resisted taking the shot. Instead, she sat waiting and watching. After a few minutes, her breath stilled as a large stag with huge antlers stepped up beside the hind. He kept his head high as he seemed to be listening.
Odette swiftly raised her bow and pulled the arrow back. She pressed her cheek close to take aim and let the arrow fly.
Just at that moment, the stag must have caught wind of her or heard a noise because he turned and leapt away in one fluid movement, and the hind was less than a moment behind him. Odette’s arrow missed them and disappeared in the night.
With the boys behind her, she went to search for the arrow. She did not want the margrave’s forester finding it. She was careful to poach only one or two large animals a night, and it was important to take away all evidence that they had been there.
Where was that arrow? Odette went to the spot where it should have landed, beyond where the deer had been standing. She hunted around the bush, then parted the leaves to peer inside and underneath, searching for the white feather on the end. She felt around on the ground. No white feather and no arrow.
Her men were searching a little farther away. Suddenly, she heard laughter. She lifted her head, much like she had seen the deer do many times, and listened. Her two men looked at her, their eyes wide.
Voices drifted toward them, too far away for her to make out the words, but they seemed to be growing nearer. She clenched her teeth. Why couldn’t she find that arrow? With reluctance, she motioned for the young men to follow her and moved away, back toward the town. She couldn’t let anyone see her here, not with a longbow and a quiver of arrows on her back. The penalty for poaching was imprisonment, being fastened in the pillory in the town square, or having one’s hand or ear cut off.
The voices likely belonged to people looking for special herbs and flowers to burn in the Midsummer bonfire the next night. Tomorrow even more people would be out in Thornbeck Forest, wandering into the margrave’s game park. It would be too dangerous to go out hunting at all. If only she had not missed that stag.
She backtracked toward the three men she had left to take the hart she had killed earlier. They were hoisting the various pieces of meat over their shoulders and across their backs to carry out of the forest. They paused to kick the leaves and dirt over the bloody evidence of their kill.
As Odette approached, they turned and froze.
“It’s me,” she whispered. “We need to leave. People are coming this way.”
They nodded as one of them dragged a tree limb over the ground to further disguise the evidence of their kill.
Just before they reached the edge of the forest, Odette pulled an old gray cloak out of her pouch and used it to cover her longbow and arrows, tucking them under her arm. She called to the young men, “Wait.”
They stopped and looked at her.
“Give me one of those bags. I will deliver it.”
They exchanged glances. Then the tallest boy said, “Rutger said we should deliver all the game to his storehouse, for him to distribute.”
“I will tell him that I delivered this bag.” She lifted a heavy haunch of venison off his shoulder. “He will not mind.”
The boys continued on, but Odette, dressed as a boy with a long dark tunic and hose, her blond hair hidden inside her hood, went in a different direction.