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Gaston sprang to his feet and snatched up the musket. At the same moment as the large wolf hurled itself at him, the musket was raised and fired with a sharp crack that brought Le Fou sharply to his feet and set the horses skittering and dragging at their halters. The body of the wolf hit Gaston in the chest, teeth and claws still bared in death. He shouldered it off instantly and grabbed the crossbow, flinging the musket back to Le Fou. He sighted and shot into the darkness beyond the clearing and another wolf fell with a choking whine.
'Get back to the horses!' he gestured Maurice back with his free hand as Le Fou handed him the musket again.
Two more adult wolves charged into the clearing, one springing for Maurice as he stumbled back towards the horses, the other hurling itself at Gaston. Without a second's hesitation, Gaston drove a booted foot into the fire, kicking burning embers into the face of the nearest wolf and in the same movement swung round, aimed through the fire, shot the other wolf stone dead and completed the arc by clubbing the first animal with the musket. It was a powerful blow with the full weight of his shoulders behind it and the wolf staggered back for a second.
Dropping the gun and snatching up a knife from his belt, Gaston leaped forward, a dark shape against the firelight as Maurice pulled up the sharpened stake to protect the horses. Magnifique was quivering for action but remained stock still, the dark cob was skittering back and whinnying with distress but it was the wolf-hating Mon Ami, who caused the problem.
Rearing back at the fire and the smell of the wolves' blood, the frightened horse tore the tether loose and bucked madly to fight free of the other two, delivering a powerful kick into Magnifique's chest. The bigger beast reared back to deliver a punishing blow with his front hooves but the gap in the milling horses was created and the little Mon Ami leaped for freedom.
Galloping round the fire, reins flying, the horse almost stumbled straight onto Gaston who at that moment succeeded in driving the knife deep into the wolf's chest, kneeling over it, hand and knees holding the razor sharp claws and teeth away from him. As Mon Ami thundered towards them, Gaston dropped flat to the ground beside the dying wolf and the horse scrambled over them, heavy hooves a few inches over their heads. Unrestrained for a second, the dying wolf managed to turn its head and bite Gaston powerfully on the forearm before the light went out of its eyes.
The night was suddenly quiet again, broken only by the distant crashing of bushes as Mon Ami charged through the forest. Gaston pushed himself up heavily, putting a foot on the dead wolf to draw back the knife. Le Fou set the freshly loaded musket carefully against a tree.
Suddenly, Gaston froze, not with fear but with intent. Entirely still, he studied the darkness to the edges of the clearing, as poised and dangerous as the hunting wolves. For a second, something glittered close to the ground and then was gone.
Gaston took up the musket in one hand and lit a torch from the fire. He stalked towards the edge of the clearing, torch held low, blood dripping from his arm onto the musket. Then without warning he hurled himself forward, snarling, sweeping the torch in front of him. There was a scuffling of feet, a sudden volley of sharp yapping and howling and the noise of animals fleeing for their lives. Dropping the torch on the wet ground, he raised the gun, fired almost immediately. One of the howls cut off abruptly, the others disappeared into the distance.
Maurice and Le Fou hadn't had time to move as Gaston disappeared into the darkness and reappeared. They were both staring at him - Maurice glanced quickly across at Le Fou - yes, him too - with open mouths.
'Juveniles' Gaston explained briefly, nodding towards the disappearing pack. He tossed the musket back to Le Fou. 'I knew they'd run for their lives.' Maurice couldn't find any words to respond. All he could do was nod. The speed of the events had rendered him speechless. The sickness of shock, fear and relief were mixed with a certain amount of admiration for Gaston's bravery, concern that the young man had been injured and a grain of shame that as a man, he himself hadn't contributed to their protection.
Evidently, Gaston interpreted his stunned silence as a tribute. He grinned. 'What can I say? No one fights wolves like Gaston.'
'Yeah! You showed those wolves who was boss alright,' Le Fou crowed. 'They never knew what hit them. Pow! Pow!' he mimicked shooting the wolves in quick succession.
Something about Le Fou's clownish reaction to the death of the wolves awoke a disgust in Maurice. His gentle nature rebelled against celebrating the whole violent episode, even as he understood that Jean-Luc and Etienne had been trying to draw the wolves away from Belle.
Maurice cleared his throat. 'I'm very grateful that you drove them off, Captain, but I'm afraid you've been hurt.'
Gaston glanced down at the bloodstained sleeve.
'It's nothing.'
'May I see?'
Gaston drew back his bloodstained shirt sleeve to reveal a deep bite mark, sunk deep into his wrist.
'This looks rather serious.' Maurice managed to rip off the corner of his own shirt and began to wrap it around the injured wrist.
'It's just a scratch,' Gaston responded cheerfully. Their eyes met.
'You saved my life, you know' Maurice said simply. 'I am very much in your debt.'
'It was your lucky day you met me,' Gaston responded with equal sincerity.
'Mine, rather than yours, Maurice said dryly. 'I feel that it's all my fault you've been caught up in this.'
'Oh, I've never begrudged the odd scratch and scrape in a good cause. When I was in the War….'
Maurice forced himself to wait with an interested expression as Gaston leaped readily into an anecdote about the war. He barely heard a thing, consumed with guilt again that the desperate effort of luring wolves to their campsite had been for nothing as Belle lay in a stone cell in a castle.
'…and we took ten of them prisoner that night,' Gaston finished with a satisfied expression. Le Fou finished reloading the weapons and straightened up.
'Shouldn't we look for Mon Ami, Gaston?' Le Fou turned to Maurice. 'He didn't get bitten, did he?'
'No, I think he was only afraid.' Maurice looked at Gaston. 'I think he kicked your horse, though, I'm afraid.'
Gaston felt Magnifique carefully on the chest and ran a hand down his legs. His horse nudged affectionately at his shoulder.
'He's left a mark, alright,' Gaston grumbled. 'Nothing serious, luckily.' He rubbed the horse on the forehead until it leaned in with pleasure. 'Curse that little coward of yours, Le Fou. We'd better track him down.'
The three men surveyed the camp site. It looked like a battle scene, with the dark, bulky bodies of wolves strewn across the ground. For a moment all three were silent, lost in separate thoughts. Maurice was the first to recover, tightening girths and gently encouraging the horses to take the bits. Le Fou kicked at the fire until it broke up into dying embers on the damp ground. Finally, Gaston broke out of his reverie and hoisted the five dead wolves into the nearest tree, explaining that they would return for the fur later. The sight of the dead wolves hanging limply in a tree was decidedly macabre.
Maurice was glad when the short preparations were over and Le Fou was just lighting the torches from the last of the fire.
Finally, they were away, leading the two tired horses, following the path of destruction through the woods. Unencumbered by a horse, Le Fou trotted alongside Gaston. Behind them, leading the patient cob, Maurice listened to their conversation. It sounded like a familiar argument. Even the indomitable Gaston sounded increasingly weary.
'You should get yourself a better horse. That beast of yours is a menace.'
'He's just afraid of wolves. He's as brave as a lion with anything else.'
Gaston gave a short laugh. 'He bolted with you through the village when Clothilde's goat got loose.' He chuckled at the memory.
'He's sensitive, that's all. Anyway, he won't run far. He needs his papa.'
'He wants his food,' Gaston disagreed. 'You make an idiot of that horse and see where it gets you. He picked his way carefully down a slope.
'I wouldn't sell him for the world.'
'No-one would buy him.'
'He won't have gone far. If we don't find him soon, I'll eat my hat.'
'He's too fat to keep run -' Gaston broke off. 'What's that?'
'What's what?' Le Fou stopped too, squinting into the darkness as Maurice came up alongside them.
'I saw a light - come on!' Gaston set off with renewed energy, leaving Maurice and Le Fou trailing in his wake.
As they drew nearer, an enormous dark shape loomed up around them. Patches of moonlight lit high stone walls that were covered by heavy brambles. Maurice's heart caught in his throat. The castle at last!
The missing Mon Ami stood shivering, tangled up in a thick bush and Le Fou hurried forward to unravel him, stroking his mane and praising him for staying still. It came to Maurice in a surreal haze of exhaustion that perhaps the castle could only be found by creatures who were fleeing from other dangers.
'What castle is this?' Le Fou asked in confusion. 'There's never been a castle in these woods, has there?'
Maurice managed a believable expression of doubt. 'Does it belong to the Duke?' The Duke governed their region, albeit loosely, for which they were all thankful.
'I've never heard of anything here,' Gaston put in although he was frowning again with fierce concentration, as if trying to remember an old story.
Their ignorance about the castle made it appear more sinister to Maurice. Somehow even men who had grown up in the region and hunted widely in its woods had never heard so much as rumors of an enormous castle buried deep in the forest.
'How can there be something so big here and nobody knew about it?' he asked.
'A good question,' Gaston responded. He surveyed the castle suspiciously, mouth set in a grim line.
'Perhaps it's abandoned,' Le Fou suggested. The castle towered above them, dark and brooding.
'I saw a light,' Gaston insisted. 'Besides', he gestured at the tangle of hoof prints on the ground, 'a second horse has been here.' He squared his shoulders. 'It must be Belle.'
