The Foxes of Warwick

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‘A stag in a churchyard?’ he said incredulously. ‘This is some jest.’

‘No jest, I do assure you.’

‘Come, Henry. We are no fools. Do not vex our intelligence.’

‘I was there, I tell you. I saw it with my own eyes.’

‘A runaway stag taking Communion in church?’

‘It sought sanctuary, that is all. It knew where to go. We hunted it for a mile or two through the forest until it gave us the slip.

When the hounds eventually found it again, there it was.’

‘On its knees in front of the altar!’ mocked the other.

‘In the churchyard, Arnaud. Resting in the shade.’

‘And eating a bunch of grapes, I’ll wager!’

Arnaud Bolbec gave a sceptical laugh but the rest of the hunting party were reserving their judgement until they heard more details. They were the guests of Henry Beaumont, constable of Warwick Castle, and they had enjoyed excellent sport with their host. Deer were plentiful and their arrows had brought down a dozen or more. The carcasses were now tied across the backs of the packhorses, waiting to be taken back to the castle kitchens.

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