The Silver Falcon (15 page)

And Nesta did move her head slightly, and her feverishly bright eyes opened for a brief moment. Then she closed them for the last time. On her lips there remained only a tender smile.

Logan sobbed uncontrollably. “Please, Lord, let me keep her for tonight. Tomorrow, when the priest has anointed her, I’ll give her into your hands.”

But it was too late. God had already taken the child to him.

W
illiam, Robert, are you ready?” Up since the crack of dawn, Logan was getting more and more agitated, standing there with one of his favorite hunting peregrines on his fist. “We must set off. I’m sure Sir Ralph is wondering where we are. What are you waiting for, William? Go fetch the gyr.”

William, who had turned fifteen at Easter and was at last taller than Robert, had become his master’s right hand. He had been at the mews for nearly three years. He now knew everything about falcons that he could learn from Logan. Robert’s early jealousy had turned into respect, and even Logan had long since understood that William had emerged from the cradle with a special talent for handling falcons. He valued his prudence, his expertise, and the feel he had for each individual falcon.

On this particular day, Logan had especially high hopes for William. Sir Ralph had organized a duck and heron hunt in honor of the Earl of Chester and other important barons. It was the first time William had been permitted to join a hunt with such powerful men and fly a falcon he had trained.

William entered the tower’s dark room quietly, greeted his favorite falcon with a cooing sound, and stroked her head and back. On her very first hunt, this two-year-old gyrfalcon had struck her prey with such ease that William had named her Easy. Deftly, he took her down from her perch and prepared her jesses.

“You’re going to catch a fine heron today, aren’t you?” he murmured to Easy, carrying her outside, her head covered so that she would not become agitated during their ride.

“At last,” grumbled Logan, visibly anxious.

Most of the trees were still bare; only the willows and alders were starting to bud. William inhaled the invigorating cold air. It had a tangy scent of dew-moist earth. A few yellow cowslips stood out among the still-withered grass around the mews, their bell-shaped flowers swaying gracefully in the spring breeze. William glanced up at the slightly overcast sky and held up his free hand. The wind was neither too weak nor too strong, ideal for hunting.

Robert looked on encouragingly. He was still too young to take his falcon on this hunt.

If he’s envious, he hides it well, thought William, digging his spurs into the horse’s flanks in order to catch up with Logan, who had gone on ahead.

As Sir Ralph climbed down the wooden stairs on the outer wall of the keep to welcome his falconer and the falconer’s men, the tower guard’s horn announced the arrival of the expected guests.

Presently, the clattering of horses’ hooves could be heard on the wooden bridge. Into the bailey rode Ranulf de Blondeville, the young Earl of Chester; Peter de Sandicare; Walter de Hauville and his nephew Richard, who was scarcely younger than his uncle; and William de Vere, who was not only bishop of Hereford but also a relative of the fencing master’s. Their retinue included three ladies and several hunt assistants, pages, and squires.

Sir Ralph’s hounds sensed that a hunt was in the offing. They yapped loudly with excitement, pulling so hard on their leashes that the dog handlers struggled to hold them back.

When William saw the richly dressed lords and ladies and the magnificent horses and superb birds they brought with them,
he felt thoroughly out of place. How was it possible that he, the son of a smith, could think for one moment that he might belong in such exalted company? Most falconers came from families steeped in the rich tradition of falconry; many of them had lands, frequently even titles. He, on the other hand, was nothing, a bastard whose father didn’t even acknowledge him as his son. In other words, William was a nobody, as Odon had recently reminded him in no uncertain terms. William twisted the reins between his fingers. He had never been this nervous before, not even on the day King Henry had come to the smithy, looking for Blanchpenny. Observing the guests, he saw that one of them was staring at him particularly intently. William could not remember meeting him before, and he turned away uneasily.

Sir Ralph greeted his guests most warmly. He clapped shoulders, kissed hands, offered refreshing wine and must, and at length, with great excitement, announced the opening of the hunt. He invited the ladies to join the hunt, too, but neither the lady of the manor, who was obviously glad of the change provided by some female guests, nor the other ladies, who had been on the road since morning, felt it necessary to join the men. They chose instead to spend their time eating dainty morsels of food, embroidering, sewing, and exchanging news. Sibylle had decided to stay with the ladies, and she waved at William and Robert from a distance.

They both indicated, with discreet nods, that they had seen her.

Odon was as frisky as a rooster in a henhouse. Craving attention, he continually sought out the earl’s company.

William knew from Sibylle that Chester had only recently received his knighthood, so he must be slightly older than Odon. Was he as stupid and conceited as the young squires and Odon? William decided to watch the fine lords carefully, to learn what they were like.

“I hear you are to wed Constance of Brittany, Prince Geoffrey’s widow, next year,” said Odon so loudly that everyone heard it. He bared his teeth in a broad grin.

William wondered whether Odon was forcing himself on the earl to flatter him or was just using his uncle’s distinguished guest to impress his friends. If Chester was marrying into the royal family soon, it could be very useful to Odon to cultivate a friendship with him.

William could not stomach the thought of judging people by their social status; the thought was utterly alien to him, even repellent. But he knew, from both his mother and Sibylle, that the rich and powerful were accustomed to thinking this way, and he behaved accordingly.

“Quite right, my young friend,” replied Sir Ranulf, with a touch of arrogance, as he mounted his horse. He was neither particularly tall nor imposing, nor could he be called handsome, but he had a certain youthful charm, and he was obviously aware of its effect on women. “Not an attractive lady, like the ones I prefer to have around me, and a few years too old for my taste, but a truly excellent match. Prince John himself arranged it with his sister-in-law, which means, I fear, that I shall be in his debt forever and a day.” He gave Odon a theatrical look. “You’re not married yet, my friend, so enjoy your freedom while you still have it.”

Odon grinned lewdly. “Well, if you want some company tonight, let me know. You’re still a free man!”

Sir Ralph frowned at his nephew. Although marriage had never yet prevented a man from having a lover, he found the subject disagreeable. The bishop was within earshot. He would certainly not be pleased by the young men’s banter.

“That’s a magnificent falcon you’ve brought with you,” he said to the earl to distract his attention, referring to the bird Sir Ranulf’s squire was carrying on his fist.

“A superb creature, is it not? A gift upon my knighthood. My favorite tiercel, agile and a remarkably effective hunter,” he began enthusiastically, going on to describe the bird’s breathtaking flights during their most recent hunt. He looked at one of his men and nodded toward him complacently. “Richard de Hauville is an excellent falconer. He trained him. As it happens, Prince John has a female from the same clutch,” he said with unconcealed pride, stroking his little mustache.

As the hunting party set off, William had to get in line behind them, so he could not follow the conversation as it continued. He rode beside Logan and asked a great many questions about the barons.

The guests, meanwhile, passed the time with the exchange of important news, gossip, and laughter.

When they reached the open, expansive area that Logan and Sir Ralph had chosen for the hunt, the hounds were unleashed. The flat land, with its small ponds, watercourses, and marshy meadows, was a perfect habitat for waterfowl and an ideal hunting arena for the falcons. As the party split up, the hounds began to sniff about, flushing out wildfowl, ducks, and songbirds. The smaller falcons of the older squires were let loose on the prey first, and a frenzied hunt began.

When a few gray herons rose as well, it was the turn of the first peregrines and saker falcons. Falcons were cast off at the herons one by one so they would not attack each other. When a lone gray heron rose, the falconer who had looked at William so suspiciously earlier cast off his peregrine at it.

William now knew that this was Walter de Hauville, and that he was in charge of one of the royal mews at Winchester. He watched the peregrine’s flight tensely. After a while, he noticed that she was on the point of abandoning her prey and flying away. William held his breath, spellbound, but de Hauville showed no reaction; he did not even appear to notice the signs of imminent loss. It was not
until the peregrine let the heron go and started pursuing a duck, which she must have hoped she could strike down more easily, that de Hauville started riding after her, cursing. He tried to attract her with a lure, spinning it in circles above his head and calling her. But she seemed uninterested in either the lure or the falconer’s voice.

He’s probably made it hunt too soon, thought William. After all the things Logan had told him about Walter de Hauville, he was very disappointed. A man with such a reputation as a falconer should have known that to prevent peregrines from flying away they needed to be “made” to the lure more often than other falcons. Logan had told him so many times. William caught his master’s eye and read the same disappointment.

Shortly afterward, when a gray heron rose from the reeds and climbed into the sky with dizzying speed, it was William’s turn. He removed Easy’s hood, spoke to her quietly, then cast her off into the air.

Again and again, the heron swerved skillfully to escape the falcon’s pursuit, but Easy did not let herself be discouraged. As she spiraled up above the heron and then stooped, someone cried out in horror, “Look at that.”

All eyes were on the heron’s sharp beak, which threatened to spear Easy.

William, too, looked up breathlessly. His heart pounded. He was afraid for Easy. A falcon needed to be hungry in order to hunt successfully. On the other hand, overpowering hunger could cause it to forget its natural instincts and could lead to recklessness and uncharacteristic boldness. William had tried to find the middle way. He had obviously succeeded, for Easy was in excellent condition, saw the danger in time, and knew what she had to do. She plunged elegantly past the heron.

Gasps of relief could be heard all around.

When the heron tried to come back to earth, where the falcon would not be able to strike, Easy spiraled up into the heavens
again. The hounds kept flushing the heron out, not leaving it in peace. Distracted by their baying, it flew up and did not notice Easy overhead until it was too late. She stooped toward the oblivious creature and landed a powerful, wounding stab with her hallux, the claw of her backward-facing talon.

The onlookers murmured with admiration as the gray heron fell out of the sky, spinning and flailing. Easy followed the mortally wounded bird and seized it in midair.

William and Robert knew that the risk from the heron’s sharp beak had not disappeared. The injured bird could still defend itself. So they hastened, one from each side, toward the spot where the falcon and her prey would land.

Their horses’ hooves squelched across the damp ground, sending up a fine spray. William was gazing skyward, keeping Easy in view, when he was suddenly catapulted off his horse. Before he knew what was happening, he was flying through the air. He landed on his back in the mud with a bone-shaking impact.

“Can’t you watch where you’re going?” Walter de Hauville shouted at him. “Are you blind?”

William struggled to his feet. His foot was injured, and his backside hurt like hell. “I have to get to my falcon,” he growled, glaring resentfully at the falconer. De Hauville had cut him off, and William felt sure he had done it on purpose, though he did not understand why. Grimacing with pain, he limped toward Easy as quickly as he could. The little bell on her foot led him to the place where she stood over her prey.

To prevent the heron’s beak from hurting her at this late stage, Robert had drilled it into the ground.

William found a particularly good piece of meat in his satchel and gave it to Easy, who was still perched on the heron, to gorge on as a reward. Deftly, he got her to step onto his fist and finish her meal there. The amount of meat was so meager that Easy would remain hungry enough to be let loose on another heron later.

William carried the falcon away from her prey so that Robert could pick up the heron and take it to Sir Ralph.

Since Easy had struck the first gray heron of the day in such a spectacular fashion, both bird and falconer were greeted with delighted applause. But as William limped past de Hauville, the latter glared at him sullenly.