As is the way of the world we did not stop at one flagon and cloudy heads the next day meant the men of our party were quite relieved that the hounds took a good hour to flush out a stag. However, when the horn finally sounded the chase I was astonished at Margaret’s horsemanship. Eager for the scent, she rode her small dapple-grey palfrey in the same way that she danced; lightly, with delicate touches of her heels on the mare’s flanks and soft, coaxing hands on the reins. I kept a close eye on her and she did not falter or fall behind. I had assumed that she would have more desire for the chase than for the kill but she stuck with the pack, keeping her nimble little horse in the wake of our larger, stronger steeds by taking a more direct line through the trees and undergrowth. She reminded me of a woodland hawk after its prey, swooping under low branches and between close tree-trunks where heavier, bulkier creatures could not go. When the hounds eventually held the stag at bay against a steep rock face she was a close witness to the despatch of our first quarry.

It was a fine, mature animal, velvet still soft on its half-grown antlers, which it lowered and flicked menacingly at the baying and snarling pack of hounds surrounding it. The huntsmen stood well back as Geoffrey Pole quietly dismounted, unslung his bow and walked forward, gravely saluting the panting stag, whose attention was concentrated on the dogs rather than the calm man with the long bent stick. Sunlight shining through the wind-tossed canopy dappled the scene in a moving pattern of light and shade, distracting to any marksman, but I watched in admiration as the capable squire nocked a barbed arrow, took slow and careful aim and shot the beast straight through the heart as he had promised. Edith caught up with us just in time to view the kill, hand over mouth and eyes wide, then she dismounted as the stag sagged to its knees and hit the ground. Walking proudly up to Geoffrey she kissed him on the lips, an embrace he returned with victorious gusto. At this Margaret smiled and dropped her reins to put her hands together in delight.

The sounding of the hounds rose in a crescendo as huntsmen beat their way through to the stag, sliced out its entrails and tossed them away for the dogs to fight over. I turned to check Margaret’s reaction to the bloodiest part of the proceedings, and found that Edmund had already urged his mount alongside hers and they were both clapping, he with slow applause and she with childish enthusiasm.

‘Oh, that was well done, Master Pole!’ the girl cried. ‘A deft and swift dispatch.’