Chapter 29
The
Huntsmen and the Wood Nymph
Once there were brook trout in the streams in
the mountains. You could see them standing in the amber current where the white
edges of their fins wimpled softly in the flow. They smelled of moss in your
hand. Polished and muscular and torsional. On their backs were vermiculate
patterns that were maps of the world in its becoming. Maps and mazes. Of a
thing which could not be put back. Not be made right again. In the deep glens
where they lived all things were older than man and they hummed of mystery.
-Cormac
McCarthy
Things have their forms not only in
space, but also in time. – Alan Moore
Regenulfa had lived in the woods for a year
before she encountered another human being.
In that time she had accomplished all sorts of amazing things. She had learned the language of the birds and
the beasts, such that she could have a complete conversation with great fluency
with any animal she came across in her wild wanderings. She had learned exactly what berries, nuts,
and roots were editable and which were not.
She had discovered quite the knack for finding springs in the
mountains. So it was that the
Merovingian princess never suffered from hunger or thirst. When her gown had gotten too warn and
tattered, she learned how to make new ones out of leaves and grasses. She could find her way by the stars’ light
and locations. She had seen many
wonders, and the faces of God in many places.
In every place she looked to be exact.
God was no phantom who resided in Heaven, he was everywhere and
everything. He was both creator and
creation.
She was tending a wounded wild boar when
she saw him. He was a hunter, she
gathered upon first sight. No doubt, the
very hunter who had shot the boar she was hugging. She hurried to complete her ministrations to
the beast and sent him running down into the thicket below them. She knew exactly what needed to be done. The hunter had heard the boar’s flight; he
would know it was his prey. He had to be
stopped.
Regenulfa rose from her crouched position
to standing and began waving her arms to attract the huntsmen. She yelled up to him, first in Latin, then in
French as she did not speak the local Occitan, “Exspecta! Attende!”
The youth, for he could be no older than
she, held still; looking to find the source of her voice. She had a moment to take him in. He was a handsome, clean shaven young man,
about seventeen. He wore a brown leather
tunic and dark green leggings, and boots.
He wore no hat upon his head. And
he held his bow half drawn, arrow fitted and ready. It was few seconds before he caught sight of
Regenulfa, and when he did so his eyes grew large in amazement. She realized that she must have presented
quite the apparition, with her hair wild and tangled and her garments of leaves
and grass. He released all tension on
his bow.
He answered in the French of the day, his
voice rugged but full of wonder, “Are you a nymph? A faerie? Some goddess of the wood, I have happened
upon?”
“No, good sire, I am a simple girl.”
“And what brings you so deep in the
woods? How is it that you are garbed
so? Did I not see you but a moment
before with the very boar I was pursuing?
How is that possible?”
“I live in these woods. I have made these clothes. The boar was my friend. All the beasts of these forests are my friends,”
she felt fierceness come into her voice, “And I ask you to hunt them here no
more.”
The huntsmen’s went even wider as he heard
her words. For a moment he was dumbfounded. When he spoke again, his words stammered from
his lips.
“B-b-b-b-ut. How is this possible?”
“It is God’s Will, and I am his servant.”
“Did I not hear you talking with the beast,
my prey?”
“You did, sir,” She answered. “I speak with all my forest friends. Their language is not so hard to learn if one
has patience and intuition.”
His eyes were making her feel
uncomfortable, as he took her in more fully.
“Then you speak the lost Language of the
Birds?”
“I do sir, if that is what you would call
it. They do not use that name, of
course.”
“I do not believe you are human … you must
be some spirit of the wood. What is your name?”
“I am Regenulfa of Incourt,” she stated
plainly.
“The lost bride of Carcassonne?”
“I am no man’s bride. But I was betrothed to my cousin, Count
Carte’, who holds court in Carcassonne.
That is true.”
“Then, you were not kidnapped by rival
lords, as was believed.”
“No. But I beg you say nothing of seeing me
here, sir, I beg you.”
The young and dashing huntsmen fell silent,
and considered what he had just heard.
They both stood there regarding each other. Finally, he broke the silence:
“My name is Ugar Cathiere, and I place
myself at your service, Great Lady of the Forest, Regenulfa of Incourt.” He bowed low.
“I shall live to do your will, for I have never seen such beauty and
such divinity in a human being before in all my life. I promise to keep your secret, if you will
grant me but one favor.”
“And what is that, Ugar?”
“That I may visit with you, and ever devote
myself to your service.”
copyright 2017 Diana Hignutt
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