Cavall in Camelot #1 Page 3

  “That”—the dog nodded toward the door—“is the Meeting Hall of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. And you just embarrassed your person in front of all his knights.”

  Cavall tucked his tail between his legs in shame. “I just wanted something to eat,” he said, feeling stupid. “Does Arthur hate me now? Is he going to send me away?”

  The dog’s scowl softened. “What is your name?”

  “Cavall.”

  “Cavall,” he repeated thoughtfully. “No, I do not think you will be sent away. It is true that you made a fool of yourself, and your person in the process, but you are new here and people can be very forgiving. Be sure that you mind your behavior in the future, though.”

  “Oh, I will,” Cavall said with a resolute nod. “I promise, uh . . . what’s your name?”

  “A promise is not something to be made lightly. I am called Edelm, and I have the honor of serving Sir Lancelot, the most noble of the Knights of the Round Table. You do know what a knight is, yes?”

  Cavall began to reply, then realized that he didn’t really. He shook his head.

  “A knight is a protector of the weak,” Edelm said, “a person who carries his honor above all else. Serving as a knight’s dog is a great honor. An honor,” he repeated with emphasis, “not an entitlement. Perhaps you think because a great man chose you, that makes you a great dog?”

  Cavall shook his head. “I don’t think anything at all.”

  Edelm’s mouth quirked into a bit of a grin. “Tell me, has anyone shown you around the castle?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then come with me. I will show you how things are done.”

  Edelm took him around the castle and explained what purpose every room served. The great hall was where the people ate their meals twice a day; the dogs could have any scraps that fell on the floor, since for some reason, people quickly became uninterested in food that wasn’t on a plate. The kitchens were where the food was prepared. Cavall was not to go in there, no matter how tempting the smells of roasting meat were.

  Next, Edelm led him outside, where he showed Cavall the gatehouse, a fancy word for the front gate Cavall had passed through with Gless when they’d first arrived. A big stone wall separated the castle from the village, and the gatehouse was where everyone came in and out, guarded at all times by a pair of knights in shiny armor.

  Edelm led him through the courtyard, where the stables and kennels were located. They didn’t go in there, though the mingled smell of hay and horses reminded Cavall of home. “That is where you’ll usually be spending the night,” Edelm said. “I wanted you to know where it is and where to find the other dogs. I think it best that you put off meeting them until you can make a good first impression. Perhaps tomorrow when you begin your training.”

  “Training for what?”

  “Why, what you were bred for, of course. Hunting.”

  “I’ve never hunted before.”

  “That is why you must be trained.” Cavall must have looked uncertain, because Edelm continued, “You mustn’t be nervous. Hunting is in your blood, as it is in every dog’s blood. Once you are out there, you will understand. I led the royal hunt for many years, but I am old now.” A faraway look came to his clouded eyes. “Ah, to run and chase one more time . . .” He shook his head, as if shaking off a memory. “In any case, Anwen leads the hunt now. She runs a tight pack, so do try to control yourself better than you did today.”

  “I will,” Cavall said. He hadn’t meant to make a scene at the Round Table. He’d already made a fool of himself in front of the people; now he was nervous that he would make a fool of himself in front of the other dogs.

  That night, Cavall and Gless slept near the hearth in the great hall. It was the loneliest night Cavall had ever had, away from his mother and brothers and sisters for the first time. Gless must have been feeling it, too, because he allowed Cavall to curl up by his side.

  “Are you nervous about meeting the other dogs?” Cavall asked.

  Gless remained silent for a moment. “Yes,” he said at last, which genuinely surprised Cavall. “I’m nervous that I won’t be the best anymore—the strongest, the fastest, the smartest . . .”

  Cavall thought about that a moment. “Well . . . ,” he offered, “you’ll always be stronger, faster, and smarter than me.”

  Again, Gless didn’t respond right away. “I guess that’s true.” He huffed and turned over. “Good night, Cavall.”

  Chapter 4

  THE NEXT MORNING, EDELM CAME TO GET Cavall and Gless. “Come with me,” he said. “The other dogs are preparing training as we speak.”

  They made their way to the kennels. Edelm spoke softly as he instructed Cavall and Gless, who were trailing behind him. “The art of hunting is as old as humans and dogs.”

  “The art of hunting?” Gless scoffed. “There’s no art to hunting. You just chase the animal until you catch it.”

  Edelm chuckled. “And how many animals have you caught with this technique of yours, pup?”

  “Well . . . none, but—”

  “There are several parts of a proper hunt,” Edelm said. “First there is the quarry, where the people will decide which animal they wish to hunt and go out in search of signs for such an animal, usually a hart.”

  “A heart?” Cavall asked. “I thought we were hunting for whole animals, not just their hearts.”

  “A hart is a type of deer,” Gless corrected. “You know, the animal you and I were bred to hunt. Because we’re deerhounds.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head, as if his brother was completely beyond all hope.

  “Next is the assembly,” Edelm continued without comment. “The people and dogs gather and talk about how the hunt is going to go.”

  “Talk about it?” Gless interrupted again. “Why would you ever need to talk about it?”

  “So that we can all work together,” Edelm explained patiently.

  Gless stopped walking. “Why are we even listening to you at all? Who are you? What do you know about hunting, old dog?”

  Edelm finally turned to him. “I led the hunting party for seven years,” he said calmly. “I’ve hunted every animal there is to hunt. Deer, boar, rabbit, wolf, bear. I’ve hunted animals for the people to eat, and I’ve hunted animals that threaten the people’s farms and safety. I was celebrating after-hunt feasts with the knights before your mother was even born. Whether you choose to take anything I say to heart is your own decision. You may be the sort who needs to learn from his own mistakes.” He shook his head and continued walking.

  Cavall followed after Edelm, glancing over his shoulder. He worried that Gless might simply turn around. He looked angry enough to. But in the end, he fell in step several paces behind them, muttering darkly.

  “Will you tell me more about the hunt?” Cavall asked eagerly. “I don’t want to make any mistakes at all. I want to be absolutely perfect for Arthur.”

  Edelm chuckled at that. “The fact is, everyone learns from their own mistakes. I just said that to your brother because he’s the sort who would be too proud to admit he made a mistake at all. Everyone makes mistakes, pup. Even people, sometimes.”

  “Even you? Even after leading the hunting party for seven years?”

  Edelm nodded. “Here’s the only advice you really need. When you make a mistake, try to learn from it. Mistakes are your best teachers.” He paused a moment. “Oh, and don’t make Anwen mad. I suppose that is some important advice as well.”

  They reached the courtyard, where a small band of people, horses, and dogs had gathered. As the people saddled up the horses, the dogs roughhoused with one another. It reminded Cavall of the times he’d played with his brothers and sisters in the barn, and he wanted to join in the fun. He didn’t see any other deerhounds, but there were dogs with smooth fur, long fur, wiry fur, white fur, black fur, and all the colors he couldn’t see in between. There were dogs with long noses and short noses, dogs with long legs and short legs. Big dogs and small dogs.
And more smells than he could even begin to count. His tail wagged furiously.

  “Go on,” Edelm said with a nod. “Go introduce yourself to your new pack.” He looked over his shoulder, and Cavall followed his line of sight to where Gless still lagged behind them. “I will see to it that your brother catches up.”

  Cavall nodded and ran forward with a newfound burst of energy. As he made his way to the dogs, a familiar scent caught his attention, like flowing water and a strong wind across a large open field. It could only be Arthur!

  Suddenly, the other dogs were forgotten as Cavall changed course. Arthur stood with the people and horses, off to the side with Tristan and another man. Cavall leapt up on his chest and licked his face to show his relief at seeing his person again. Arthur fell over backward with a startled cry.

  “Your Majesty!” Someone yanked Cavall’s collar, pulling him back. Cavall strained to return to his face licking, but the hand on his collar gave him a harsh shake, and he realized that perhaps he had done something improper. Again. “Are you all right, Your Majesty?”

  Arthur sat up and ran a hand over his chin. Cavall had left the hair on his face wet with slobber. The man holding Cavall’s collar looked stern, but Arthur laughed and shook his head. “Quite all right, Ector. The pup just doesn’t know his own strength.”

  Cavall wagged his tail low in shame.

  “I noticed.” The man called Ector sighed and let go of Cavall’s collar while Tristan helped Arthur to his feet.

  “He’s a bit eager,” Arthur said, bending down to take Cavall’s head between his hands. “But he’s a good pup.” He rubbed Cavall’s ears back and forth. Cavall had never felt something so good in his life, and he leaned into his person, asking for more. It seemed Arthur forgave him. “Just needs a bit of training. Maybe your dog could help with that?”

  Cavall eyed the other man. Arthur had called him Ector. He was older than Arthur, though not as old as Merlin. His face was hardly hairy at all, and his closely trimmed hair had streaks of white in it.

  “Aye, I’ll put Anwen in charge of him,” Tristan said. He clapped Ector on the shoulder. “Your dog will do better at putting him in line than mine ever could.”

  Arthur took Cavall’s collar and led him back to the dogs. They all stopped their roughhousing as the people came near, falling into a sort of order.

  Tristan pursed his lips and gave a sharp whistle. The shortest dog Cavall had ever seen came waddling over. She looked to be half the height of a normal dog and twice as long, with ears so low that they brushed her front paws. She smelled like straw and all the scents of the earth, probably because her belly dragged so low that it nearly touched the ground. Her entire face was as wrinkled and droopy as an empty sack.

  Tristan knelt and pointed to Cavall. “You see this pup here? You need to train him. Show him what it’s like to be a king’s dog. Think you can do that, girl?”

  The short dog gave a small, affirmative woof that blew out through her jowls.

  “I know you can do it.” Tristan patted her head and stood.

  The short dog bounced off Tristan’s knee and waddled over to Cavall.

  “Do you often talk to them like that?” Arthur asked, bringing a horse over by the reins. “Do you suppose they can understand you?”

  Tristan shrugged as he took the reins from Arthur. “Difficult to tell, Your Majesty, but I imagine they understand more than we give them credit for. Some say wizards may speak with all manner of beasts, but I don’t believe magic is necessary for a man and hound to understand each other.”

  “I’d like to believe that myself,” Arthur answered.

  The short dog circled Cavall once, twice, her nose lifted in the air as she sniffed him out. “So, you’re the new pup,” she said. “I’m Anwen, and I’m the lead dog here. You’ll be following my directions. Got it?”

  Cavall nodded quickly. She came up to about his shins, but she still scared him.

  “Good,” she said. “Now . . . fall in line behind me.”

  Tristan mounted his horse. Cavall liked to watch the people ride horses. It looked so elegant, the way two different creatures could work together like that. Of course, he knew from experience that horses were fickle about who they worked with, and they were not very fond of dogs.

  “All right, dogs,” Tristan called, whistling shrilly like he had to summon Anwen. On his command, all the dogs formed up and began wagging their tails in excitement. Cavall didn’t know what they were so excited about, but he couldn’t stop his tail from wagging along with the others. “Head out. We’ll be back by supper, Your Majesty.”

  Arthur waved as Tristan’s horse trotted past. “Take good care of my dog.”

  Cavall’s tail stopped wagging. “Is Arthur not coming with us?” he asked Anwen.

  “Not today,” she said. “But the king will be with us when we go on a real hunt, so train hard so that you can impress him when the time comes.”

  Cavall nodded in understanding. “I will.”

  Tristan’s horse broke into a trot and the pack of dogs followed him, so Cavall did the same. As they loped through the courtyard and out into the open fields beyond the castle walls, Anwen fell in beside him. Cavall had worried that she wouldn’t be able to keep up with her tiny legs, but she wasn’t having any trouble at all.

  “Who’s your person?” he asked.

  “You met him, just now. Sir Ector. He’s your person’s father.”

  “Oh,” Cavall said. “That’s odd. They don’t smell like they’re related.”

  “Well . . . they’re not,” Anwen said, scrunching up her wrinkled brow. “Not by blood, at least. Arthur was not raised by his birth parents, but rather fostered by Sir Ector. Arthur calls him ‘Father’ all the same.”

  “But how can Ector be Arthur’s father if he’s not actually his father?”

  “Sometimes we aren’t related by birth, or even by species, and yet these bonds are tighter than any made by blood.”

  Cavall thought about that, about the family he had left behind at the barn and the new family he had here in Camelot with Arthur, and he supposed he understood what Anwen meant.

  “So . . . you’re the king’s dog,” she said. “You made a bit of a stir, knocking him over like that. One dog’s behavior reflects on the whole pack.” Her face grew serious. “You do realize that, right?”

  Cavall’s tail drooped in shame. “I already made one mistake during Arthur’s meeting. How many mistakes do you think I’m allowed before he gets fed up with me?”

  The scrunch went out of Anwen’s brow. “It’s all right,” she said, more gently. “I made my own share of mistakes when I was a pup myself. Edelm straightened me out.”

  “Edelm taught you how to hunt?”

  She puffed out her chest in pride. “He was the best, pup, the absolute best hunter there ever was. He taught me everything there was to know, so now it’s my turn to teach you.” She bumped into him playfully. “Just follow me and do what I say and you’ll be fine.”

  Cavall’s tail wagged uncertainly.

  The long grass tickled as it brushed Cavall’s knees. Small animals and birds scattered before them. Something with a bushy tail darted away, carrying its enticing smell with it. Cavall made a lunge after it, but Anwen nipped at his paws to keep him on track. “Stay focused,” she barked. “Tristan will tell us when he’s found what we’re looking for. Then he’ll set us on the chase. We all work together, as a pack. You just follow my lead for today, but on a real hunt, we’ll be sent out to various locations where the animal is predicted to run. The position you’re given depends on your breed’s specialty. Since you’re a running dog, you’ll be farther along the trail for the very last stage in the hunt.”

  “Why’s that?” Cavall asked.

  “Running dogs don’t have great stamina or scenting skills. They’re much better suited to taking down an animal after it grows tired from a long hunt.”

  “You mean we chase the animal until it’s too tired to run anymor
e?” Cavall asked. “That doesn’t sound fair.”

  “That’s what hunting is,” Anwen said.

  “But there will be many of us and only one animal we’re chasing. And we’ll be rested after the other dogs have been chasing it for so long.”

  Anwen stared at him, as if what he’d just said was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “It’s the way things are,” she said at last. “Dogs hunt, and the other animals are hunted. Or kept for food, like the chickens and cows in the stable. If you start to feel sorry for the animals you’re hunting, you’ll never become a great hunter.”

  “No, I want to become a great hunter,” Cavall said. “I do. I want to be a great hunter and a great dog. That’s how you win your person’s love, isn’t it?”

  Just then, they reached the edge of the forest. Tristan dismounted and began searching among the trees. Cavall came to a stop when Anwen did, and the pack stood ready and waiting for something. Tristan marched up and down, crouching here, leaning over there, bending to run his fingers along the ground. He disappeared between the trees, but none of the dogs made to go after him. Cavall wondered if this was normal for a hunt.

  Eventually, a high whistle sounded, and the pack leapt into action. Cavall followed eagerly as they crossed into the forest, following his nose to where Tristan was kneeling along a beaten path. He smiled when the dogs came.

  “Anwen,” Tristan called.

  Anwen gave Cavall one last encouraging look before she ran to Tristan.

  Tristan pointed Anwen’s nose to the ground. She buried her face in the dirt and sniffed. She trotted a little ways along the path, then back. Cavall was amazed she didn’t trip over her own ears. Finally, Anwen lifted her head and howled a short, high-pitched howl.

  “Good job, Anwen.” Tristan once more mounted his horse. The horse whinnied as he pulled back on the reins. “Now, show them how it’s done.”

  Anwen took off with a speed Cavall did not expect from such tiny little legs. Her long ears billowed out behind her, and her jowls flopped with every bouncing stride. She followed the narrower beaten path, which didn’t smell like it was used by people very often. Branches and scrub brush whipped out as if trying to trip her.