The Life of Matthias de Véreaux - Part 3

The Life of Matthias de Véreaux

Seigneur of Montclair

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Part III

The Honor of the Hunt

 

There is a tradition in Montclair that I have maintained for many years now.

Once each month, when the work of the estate allows it and the weather is agreeable, I choose a man from the town to accompany me on a hunting or fishing trip into the forest.

It is not a grand affair by any measure. We take only what is necessary - simple provisions, small tents, and the tools required for the hunt. Yet for reasons I have never fully understood, the people of Montclair regard the invitation as a considerable honor.

When word spreads that a man has been chosen, he is congratulated warmly by his neighbors. Men clap him on the shoulder in the square, and children follow him about asking what he expects to catch in the forest. For a short time he becomes the subject of the town’s attention.

I suspect some of the pride comes from the idea that the chosen man will spend several days beside the Seigneur himself, traveling beyond the town into lands most of them rarely see.

If the truth were known, the honor belongs equally to me.

For those few days in the forest, the distance between lord and townsman seems to fade somewhat, and conversation becomes far easier than it ever is in the halls of the château.

On the morning of one such journey not long ago, I arrived in Montclair as I often do and walked through the market square before making my choice.

I try not to overthink the decision. Usually I select someone whose work will not suffer too greatly from a short absence, or a man who seems in need of a few days away from the routine of the town.

That morning my attention settled upon a quiet farmer named Thomas.

Thomas worked a small plot of land along the eastern edge of the valley. He was not a man known for speaking loudly or drawing attention to himself, which I suppose made him an agreeable companion in my mind.

When I approached him in the square and extended the invitation, his expression shifted first to surprise and then to a kind of cautious pride.

“If it pleases you, Seigneur,” he said.

The news traveled quickly, as it always does.

By the time we prepared to depart later that day, several villagers had gathered near the road to wish him well. One of the fishermen from the square called out that Thomas should return with a deer large enough to feed the entire town.

Thomas laughed and promised to do his best, though I suspect he knew as well as I did that the forest rarely grants such generous trophies.

Before long we left the town behind and followed the familiar road beside the river until the houses of Montclair disappeared from view.

The forest soon closed around us.

Tall trees lined the path, their branches forming a loose canopy that softened the sunlight as it reached the ground. The sounds of the town faded quickly, replaced by the quieter rhythm of the woods - the wind moving through the leaves and the distant murmur of water.

I have always found the forest comforting in a way that is difficult to describe.

Perhaps it is the stillness.

Perhaps it is the absence of expectations.

In the woods a man may simply walk, breathe, and listen.

After some distance we left the road entirely and entered a narrower path that wound deeper among the trees. The ground grew uneven, and the air cooled slightly beneath the shade.

Eventually we reached a place I have come to favor over the years.

There, hidden within the forest, a smaller river branches quietly away from the main river that runs past the château. The stream moves gently between moss-covered banks, and the trees gather closely along its edges, sheltering the water in cool shadow.

Few people know this place.

It has served me well for many seasons of fishing.

Thomas stood for a moment beside the river, taking in the quiet surroundings.

“I had no idea this was here,” he said.

“That is precisely why I come,” I replied.

We set our small camp nearby, erecting two modest tents beneath a stand of tall pines. The work required little time, and before long we had our lines cast into the water.

Fishing encourages a certain kind of conversation.

There are long stretches of silence, broken occasionally by stories or observations that drift naturally between the participants. Thomas spoke about his farm and the difficulties of last year’s harvest, while I listened and offered what thoughts I could.

From time to time we caught a fish and added it to the small pile beside the camp.

As evening approached, we selected one of the trout for our supper and cooked it over a simple fire. The forest grew darker around us, and the only light came from the flames and the pale reflection of the sky in the water.

It was during moments like these that the distance between us seemed smallest.

For a short while we were not Seigneur and farmer.

We were simply two men sharing a quiet place in the woods.

When morning came, we fished again along the river and walked farther through the forest in search of game.

By the time the journey ended, we had secured a respectable prize - a fine deer taken along a clearing not far from the riverbank.

As we returned toward Montclair, I did what I always do at the conclusion of these trips.

The prize of the hunt belonged to Thomas.

He protested at first, as most men do.

“Seigneur, you should keep it,” he said. “You were the one who brought us here.”

But I shook my head.

“A man should return home with something to show for his journey,” I told him.

Thomas accepted the gift with visible pride, and when we reached the edge of the town he carried the deer ahead toward the square where several villagers were already gathering.

I watched him go for a moment before turning my horse toward the road that leads back to the château.

The townspeople would congratulate him, ask him about the forest, and admire the prize he had brought home.

For a few days, perhaps, he would be the subject of many conversations.

And then, as always, life in Montclair would return to its usual rhythm.

Such things have a way of fading quickly.

Still, the forest had been peaceful, and the journey had been a good one.

For that, I was grateful.

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(To be continued in Part 4: The Storm in the Forest)