.png)
The Life of Matthias de Véreaux
Seigneur of Montclair
Part VIII
The Last Hunting Trip
There are times in a man’s life when the world seems unusually balanced.
The troubles that usually linger in the back of his mind grow quiet, the burdens of responsibility feel lighter, and for a brief while everything appears to rest in its proper place.
It was during such a time that my final hunting trip took place.
The weeks following my discussion with my siblings passed with little visible change. They kept mostly to their side of the château, and though the servants continued to whisper occasional rumors, no direct challenges appeared.
In Montclair, life continued as it always had.
The market square remained lively, the harvest showed promise, and the river moved steadily past the town as it had for generations.
When the time came for the monthly hunting trip, I found myself looking forward to it more than usual.
Perhaps I needed the forest.
Perhaps I simply needed a few days away from the stone corridors of the château.
That month I invited a man named Bernard to accompany me.
Bernard was a broad-shouldered woodsman who often worked cutting timber in the forests near the valley. He was known in Montclair as a man who preferred honest labor to long conversations, which I believed would suit the quiet rhythm of the forest well.
When I extended the invitation in the square, Bernard looked almost startled.
“Seigneur?” he said.
“If you are willing,” I replied.
He nodded slowly.
“It would be an honor.”
As always, the town took immediate notice.
By the time we prepared to leave, several villagers had gathered along the road. The fishermen who had once argued over the trout called out jokingly that Bernard should bring back a deer large enough to settle their next argument.
Bernard promised nothing but smiled as we rode away.
The road followed the familiar path beside the river before we entered the forest.
The day was clear, and the air carried the clean scent of pine and damp earth beneath the trees.
For some time we rode without speaking.
Bernard seemed comfortable with the silence, which I appreciated.
Eventually he glanced toward me.
“Do you come here often, Seigneur?” he asked.
“Often enough,” I said.
The deeper we traveled into the forest, the more the concerns of the château seemed to fade behind us.
By the time we reached the hidden river, the valley of Montclair might as well have been a distant memory.
Bernard stood beside the stream for a long moment.
“This place is something,” he said quietly.
“It has been a reliable companion,” I replied.
We set our camp beneath the familiar stand of pines and spent the afternoon fishing along the shaded banks of the river.
The fish were cooperative that day.
By evening we had several trout resting beside the campfire and a comfortable silence settled over the clearing.
Bernard proved to be thoughtful company.
He spoke about the forests, about the patterns of animals in the valley, and about the ways a man could read the land if he paid close enough attention.
I listened with interest.
Few men in Montclair knew the forest as well as he did.
At one point Bernard studied the fire quietly before speaking again.
“You seem to like it here,” he said.
“Yes,” I admitted.
“More than the château?”
I considered the question.
“The château has its purpose,” I said carefully.
“And the forest?”
“The forest has its peace.”
Bernard nodded.
“That makes sense.”
Later the next morning we tracked a deer through a clearing not far from the river.
The shot was clean, and the animal fell quickly.
Bernard helped prepare the prize with the practiced efficiency of a man accustomed to the work.
When we began the journey back toward Montclair, the deer was secured carefully across his horse.
As we approached the edge of the town, I did what I always do.
“The deer belongs to you,” I said.
Bernard looked surprised.
“Seigneur…”
“A man should return home with the prize of his journey.”
For a moment he seemed uncertain what to say.
Then he nodded once.
“Thank you.”
When the rooftops of Montclair appeared through the trees, I slowed my horse.
Bernard continued ahead toward the square where the townspeople would soon gather to see the prize of the hunt.
I remained where I was for a moment, watching him ride toward the town.
Something about the trip had felt particularly good.
The forest had been calm.
The conversation had been easy.
For a brief while it had seemed that everything in my life rested exactly where it should.
Eventually I turned my horse back toward the road that leads to the château.
The sun was already beginning to lower behind the mountains, casting long shadows across the valley.
By the time I reached the gates of the château, evening had begun to settle.
I felt tired, but it was the good kind of tired that follows a long day in the forest.
As I stepped through the main doors and into the dim corridors beyond, I realized something that had not occurred to me in quite some time.
For the first time in many weeks, I felt completely at ease.
So much so that when my guards began to follow me down the hall toward my quarters, I dismissed them.
“You may go,” I told them. “I will manage from here.”
They hesitated briefly.
But the hallway ahead appeared quiet.
And I was in good spirits.
So I walked alone.
Toward the corner at the end of the corridor.
And the darkness waiting beyond it.
(To be continued in Part 9: The Hallway)
