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Diana has been leading a hunting party on a wild chase by
dragging a dead fox behind Roland. The huntsmen have found
her out and a rowdy faction of the group is giving ravenous
pursuit. She is trying desperately to lose them....
'I don't know how well she knows the country,' said the
ringleader, 'but the road takes a hairpin turn ahead at the
river. If she sticks to the road, we can head her off by
cutting across the field here. Lionel, Arthur - follow her.
Henry, stay here and tell the others where we've gone. The
rest of us will take to the field.'
Diana did know the country well and, but for their plan,
could have performed the reverse manoeuvre. 'Come on,
Roland!' she encouraged him. 'Come on! Just a little farther
and you can rest.'
On the inside of the hairpin was a long, wooded area.
Diana saw only two horsemen on her tail and had reason to
think that she was outdistancing the bulk of the party. Her
route round the redundant curve took her long enough to allow
the other huntsmen to formulate a plan to cover all
contingencies. Ahead of her, she could see the wall of the
field where safety lay. She was almost there when two scarlet
horsemen emerged from some trees a little farther on and
stood ominously on the road.
Diana drew rein and took Roland down into the Dove. Three
more hunters appeared from the woods on the opposite bank.
She regained the road and saw that her two previous pursuers
had just rounded the bend.
Diana took the only quarter left - over the wall into the
field. The seven men followed, fanning out to her right.
Another of the ubiquitous stone walls hemmed her in on the
left.
With a cry of anguish, she drew rein again. The route
ahead of her was blocked by the rest of the party.
Diana was surrounded as a semicircle of horsemen slowly
closed in on her, pinning her against the wall. They leered
at her wickedly, finding this sport ever so much more
satisfying than fox hunting. Diana realized with mounting
dread that she had never seen any of them in her life.
'What now?' asked one hunter of the mastermind behind
the pursuit.
'We'll give her a good scare - something worthy of the
chase she's brought us on.'
Diana took a run at an opening in their rank. They
promptly closed it and took pleasure in providing other
openings that she tried with equal futility.
'Enough dawdling,' the ringleader called out when she
had given up. 'Who's first?'
'Let's draw straws,' suggested one.
'It's kind of open here,' said another. 'Let's take
her back in those woods there.'
'We'd better catch her first,' said the ringleader,
moving in from the perimeter.
'Stay away!' cried Diana, lashing at him with her reins.
'Ho ho-o-o!' he replied to the accompaniment of sinister
laughter from his colleagues. 'You vixen. We've never caught
such a wild fox.'
He grabbed her reins. Terrified, Diana kicked at him and
beat him with her fist.
'You little... That hurt!' He seized her arm savagely.
'Please let me go,' Diana pleaded, crying pitifully. She
broke free, moved to the perimeter of the group, and made a
desperate charge at the wall. She and Roland were airborne
for a long moment. Her escape seemed certain as his hind
feet cleared the stone barrier.
What followed was frightening enough for anyone watching
that Diana's own experience is troubling to contemplate.
The men heard her shriek as Roland pitched forward into a
complete somersault, flinging her from his back.
Hardly believing what they had brought about, the hunters
advanced to the wall to look over. The territory beyond was
not a field but an expanse of rough ground leading down into
a wooded dell. Roland was getting to his feet, apparently
unharmed by his gymnastics. He took a few steps and nuzzled
inquisitively at the inert form of his mistress.
Diana lay on her back, her right arm above her head, the
other thrown out from her side - looking like a broken doll
discarded. Stupefied, the hunters watched for some movement.
Roland looked up at them and then back at her, seemingly lost
in a world in which Diana's light had gone out.
Suddenly one of the hunters dismounted, and then they all
did. They scrambled over the wall and hurried down the slope
to their quarry.
She looked perversely peaceful. The hunters couldn't help
but realize that they had done in an especially comely member
of their species.
As they stood around Diana, not knowing what to do, a
cherry red rivulet crept out from her hairline, crossed her
eyebrow, and ran down her nose, where it dripped onto the
ground. Another traversed her cheek to the corner of her
mouth where her parted lips held uncertain communion with
the atmosphere.
One man knelt beside her and carefully felt for a wound.
When he lifted his hand from her hair, the palm was covered
with blood. It had been pooling on her temple.
Another man bent over her, his ear close to her nostrils.
'Is she breathing?' someone asked him.
'I don't know.'
'We've got to get her to help.'
'What can we do?'
'Can we stop the bleeding?' One of them tried applying a
handkerchief which quickly became completely reddened.
Panic seized the group. The blood supply to the scalp is
so plentiful that it can bleed with a profusion out of
proportion to the severity of the wound. To these uninformed
men, the extent of the flow of blood indicated at least a
fractured skull and brain damage.
The Duke’s nephew rode up to the wall and quickly
discerned the unknown woman's fate. Free of the guilt
burdening the others, Spencer approached the matter with a
cooler head. At her side, he knelt and studied the bloodied
visage.
'I know this girl,' he said quietly, as he applied a fresh
handkerchief. 'What did you do to her?' he asked, anger
rising in his voice.
'We didn't do anything,' someone blubbered. 'We weren't
going to hurt her. She got scared over nothing and tried to
jump the wall.'
Spencer put his face to her nostrils.
'Is she breathing?'
'I can't tell for sure,' he replied. 'I think so.'
He placed two fingers on her wrist. 'She has a weak
pulse.... We've got to get her home. We'll need a wagon.
Someone go to a farm and see if you can get one.'
Three men hurried off, their fight or flight mechanisms
craving an outlet.
'Someone else ride back to the house,' said Spencer.
'Have the doctor waiting.'
Two more fled the scene.
'Let's get her over the wall. Someone hold the
handkerchief here.'
Carefully, carefully - as though here were the only
remaining woman in creation and the sole hope for the
future of the race - Spencer lifted Diana from the ground
and carried her up the fateful slope. Supportive hands
were everywhere, eager to help, and she floated over the
wall to a resting place beneath an ancient oak. Some of
the men shed their jackets and they pillowed her lavishly.
Top
Orchard Gate Books
Diana's home village
Story links:
The next day
A few months earlier
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