The aurochs (ur ox) was the wild ancestor of domesticated cattle. It once roamed throughout the Old World, as evidenced by its widespread depiction in prehistoric cave paintings. It survived into the early modern era in the forests and marshes of eastern Europe.
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The calf lay at the edge of a small meadow, his hairy coat still matted and wet. He blinked curiously at the green new world into which he had just been born. His mother stood over him, gently caressing his face with her broad muzzle. She regarded me, patiently, but warily. The calf did not yet know patience or wariness and bleated a joyful welcome.
"Happy birthday, young fellow," I answered him back. "Welcome to the world. I will convey your kind salutation to the King. He will be pleased to hear of your arrival."
The calf listened with friendly interest. His mother looked on, but still held her tongue. I took my leave of them both. The hour was late, and the clouds were low and dark with rain. I still hoped to reach the lodge before they gave way. The newest denizen of the King's Preserve would spend a wet first night under the trees with his mother.
I had not been down this way since the snows. It was nice to see the forest and the glades waking up from their winter slumber. There were no signs of havoc or mischief. The paths were in decent repair. Another day, maybe two, would be enough to finish clearing the fallen brush.
Half a mile beyond the little meadow I spotted a boot print in a patch of mud. It was the first human sign I had seen all day. Poaching was not common in the Preserve, since the King had set aside ample territory for hunting elsewhere. But it was not unheard of.
It was not long after that I spotted the boot that had made the print. It was affixed to the foot of a motley colored youth who was seated by the side of the path leaning back against the trunk of a large sycamore tree. His bright red jacket and forest green cap gave him the appearance of an exotic jungle bird. His backpack lay beside him as if he had settled down for the night. He regarded me with the same wariness as the young calf's mother, the wariness of a solitary traveler encountered in the woods at dusk.
"Good evening, sir," I greeted him. "Are you aware whose woods these are?"
"Good evening to you, sir," he replied, coming at once to his feet. "I was not aware that these woods were owned by anyone save God Himself." He was quite young, his voice not yet broken. Under his cap was a sheaf of blond hair and a very fair complexion.
"These woods, sir, belong to the King, sir. They are part of his Royal Preserve. The King, sir, does not suffer trespassers lightly."
The lad was startled by this news. He held up his hands to show that they were empty. "I am a wayfarer, sir, nothing more. If I have lost my way I beg the King's pardon." His hands were soft and uncalloused, not the hands of a farmer or a laborer. Certainly not the hands of a poacher.
"And whither, sir, do you fare?"
"To Bohemia, sir," he answered, as if that country lay just around the next bend rather than a fortnight's journey off. "To seek my fortune."
"Well, sir, you will reach neither tonight. And when the rain begins"—I looked up at the threatening sky—"I daresay you will find this a poor spot to bivouac. Come. The King will extend you shelter for the night. And over supper the King's warden will consider whether to place you under arrest or to send you on your way."
The lodge was not far off, nestled in the lap of a small oak-covered hill. It was rude but sound, with a shuttered window and a stone chimney. I stopped to piddle at the edge of the clearing, but the lad apparently had no urgent need himself. I unbarred the door, and we went inside. There was a rough table facing the hearth, a rough bed against the wall, a good supply of firewood from my last visit. I sent the lad to fetch a pail of water from the creek, and by the time he returned I had a nice fire blazing. I took out a measure of dried peas from my knapsack and put them to soak just as the first drops of rain began to patter against the roof.
The lad was pleasant enough company, if a bit taciturn. As the peas simmered he listened respectfully to my accounts of forest management and to my tales of the King's hunts. He was particularly interested to hear about the beasts—about the boar, the most dangerous of forest animals, who will charge without provocation and slash without quarter—about the ur ox, the mightiest of beasts, who can sweep a man up in his prodigious horns and toss him to his death against a tree. I told him how the herds had been diminishing since my grandfather's day, to the point that they were now protected by the King's royal order. I told him about the newborn calf, and about how happy the King would be to hear the news.
The rain was falling harder now, pelting with some force against the shutter and the door. I spooned the steaming peas onto two tin plates and divided a crust of rye bread. As we ate I coaxed out a bit of the lad's story. His father, apparently, was a man of some standing in the town. His older brother stood to inherit the father's business, leaving him with little choice but to strike out on his own. He had no real trade, but he was clever and had studied mathematics and philosophy. Thus armed, he hoped to earn his living as a tutor among the Bohemian bourgeoisie.
The mere bringing up of those scholarly subjects had a lubricating effect on the lad's tongue. After supper he endeavored at some length to elucidate a new philosophy about the movement of the heavenly spheres. He became quite animated, in fact, dancing across the room like a top to illustrate one particular aspect of his theory. I was not able to follow much more than the gist of his argument, but I was struck by the passion of his exposition. It made me worry a little less about the viability of his plan.
Finally it came time to retire. The fire had burned low, the room was becoming chill. The rain gave no sign of stopping. I fluffed the mattress and shook the comforter. I took off my boots and undressed down to my linen shirt and britches.
The lad was somewhat reticent to undress, but at last he took off his own boots, and then his colorful jacket, and then his woolen hose. He untied the cinch of his trousers and slid them down, revealing that his loose linen shirt was really a chemise that reached below his knees. I held up the edge of the comforter for him. Avoiding my eye, he took off his last remaining piece of outer clothing—his jaunty cap.
And in so doing he revealed the reason for his reticence—and for his unbroken voice, his uncalloused hands, his girlish complexion, his shyness to piddle. My companion was not a lad at all, but a comely young woman, his—her—long golden hair neatly braided and prettily coiled atop her head. She placed the cap on the table and shyly turned her eyes back to meet mine.
I felt somewhat betrayed. I'd thought that the cordiality of the evening had bespoken a certain frankness between the two of us. I was still holding the edge of the comforter, but my companion hesitated, unable to interpret my reaction. I gestured with my head. Hospitality offered is hospitality pledged.
She got into bed and I got in beside her. She turned to face me, her wariness redonned, her arms crossed in front of her. I couldn't really fault her for wearing a disguise, a girl traveling alone in the forest. And I had to admit that even if she had kept her secret from me at first, she was revealing it to me frankly now. But still I felt somewhat betrayed.
Her eyes were searching my face for some sign of my reaction. Eyes that I should have recognized as feminine long before she took off her cap. Eyes that should have been recognized as feminine by any woodsman worthy of the name. Eyes that undoubtedly would be recognized as feminine by other strangers at other way-stops along the road.
A girl traveling alone in the forest. I had to remind myself that every little calf leaves her mother one day and sets off to seek a life of her own. It was not my job to care for them all, even if I couldn't help but care about them.
"Do you intend to wear your cap even while you lecture?"
Her face lost some of its tension hearing no tone of reproach in my voice. "In Bohemia, a woman may tutor in her own right," she answered. "Or so I have been told."
"But wouldn't it make more sense to seek your fortune closer to home? In the form of a husband and a cottage and a yard full of children? Surely your father would not begrudge you your dowry?"
She sighed. "My father has gone so far as to even select the bridegroom. A wizened old burgher from a far-off county who walks with a cane and cannot gum his crust unsoaked. I would as soon marry a haystack as spend my life attending to the whining of such a creaky dullard."
I was taken aback by the vehemence of her fusillade. "You're not one to mince words, are you? But your father must surely see some advantage to the union. This burgher of yours, is he rich? There are worse positions in life than being the wife of a wealthy burgher, haystack though he may be."
