The Silver Falcon (16 page)

If only I knew what he has against me, thought William furiously.

After Easy’s success, the hunt was resumed with even greater enthusiasm, and both horses and riders were soon covered with mud. As always, many a hunter fell from his horse and landed in the filth. Most of them, like William, came away with sore buttocks, a few bruises, and minor sprains. Fortunately, there were no more serious injuries.

By the end of the hunt, they had all worn themselves out to the point of exhaustion. Ecstatic at the plentiful catch and the happy outcome of the hunt, the party headed back.

Walter de Hauville, who had recaptured his peregrine, kept shooting spine-chilling glances at William. Had de Hauville seen his critical expression when his falcon flew off? Was that why he was angry? But why had he looked at him in such a strange way before that? William was still puzzled by this when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

“Congratulations, William! Easy flew superbly today. The earl is delighted with her, and Sir Ralph would like to give her to him as a wedding present,” Logan said, looking very pleased. “You’ve done us proud with her.”

Easy at the Earl of Chester’s court. William nodded proudly, though it would be hard for him to give up this marvelous creature. The king would certainly be pleased with him, if he knew how well he was doing. With gladness in his heart, he thought back to the day when Henry had visited them at the smithy, and suddenly he knew where he had seen Walter de Hauville before. He was the falconer with no falcon, the one to whom the king had handed Blanchpenny.

W
illiam folded his cloak more tightly around his shoulders, but he was freezing cold even so. Spring had begun very promisingly, but shortly after the great hunt the weather had become distinctly unpleasant again. Sometimes the air was cold enough to turn raindrops into heavy, wet snowflakes that melted as soon as they touched the sodden earth. The sky had been the same uniform, brooding gray for more than two weeks. The damp cold gnawed at William’s joints and his spirits.

“Only fifteen, and already sensitive to the weather,” he grumbled. These were the remnants of the fever that had struck him without warning two weeks after the hunt and forced him to stay in bed for several days. His nose was still red and sore, and he continued to cough. Today was the first time he had been on his feet for any length of time. He wheezed breathlessly, and his whole body felt too heavy. Every step was an effort. This is what it must feel like to wear a tunic of chain mail, he thought as he ran toward the small pond. He urgently needed some more ducks in order to fashion a lure for the magnificent peregrine that was soon to be unseeled fully.

William would have loved a dish of Rose’s chicken soup. She fed it to anyone who was ill, and it made them stronger and put them back on their feet. William missed Saint Edmundsbury and his family.

The pond was still some way off. William stopped to catch his breath for a moment and sat down on a tree stump, exhausted.
Several dozen trees had been blown over like straws during the previous year’s ferocious autumn storms. The serfs had chopped up the splintered trunks and used them for firewood. Only the many stumps remained.

William stared into the distance, lost in thought. A bit of sunlight would do me good, he thought.

From where he was sitting, he could barely make out the pond. The reeds, which grew taller than the grass, gave away the water’s location. William glimpsed a group of riders in the distance, and he shaded his eyes with his hand. If he was not mistaken, it was Odon and his friends. William sat stock-still so they would not see him. He could hear their braying laughter from afar. They were obviously pursuing something. William squinted. It couldn’t be an animal; it was too big. He stared so long and so intently that his eyes began to smart. The quarry was a human being, but they were hunting him like an animal. Judging by the brown clothing, it was one of the peasant boys. William shook his head with disgust. Four on horseback against one on foot. Only cowards did that sort of thing. Had he been stronger, he would have gone to the aid of the quarry, but, wobbly on his feet as he was, he would not have been able to achieve anything. William lowered his head in shame.

When he looked up again, the hunted person was no longer visible. The squires rode round and round a few times and finally lost interest. The victim must have found a hiding place, thought William, relieved, as the young men galloped off, laughing uproariously.

William stood up and staggered, admitting to himself, much to his chagrin, that he was still too weak to go duck hunting. With a heavy heart, he decided to turn back with his task uncompleted. Even Logan had advised against this undertaking, but his obstinacy would not let him yield.

With an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, William headed back to the mews.

When the new village priest did not appear for Easter Sunday mass, there was an uproar. He had been missing for a while, it was true, and there were rumors he had been summoned to the castle. Some said he had gone to the forest to hear confession and administer last rites to the father of the pretty charcoal-burner. Others sniped that the old charcoal-burner must have had a good many sins to confess if the young priest had to stay away so long. Some even thought he must have succumbed to the daughter’s charms, so accustomed were they to his predecessor’s excesses. When the priest did not come to church on Easter Sunday, though, the villagers were furious. He had done nothing blameworthy since he had arrived a few months before, but they all weighed in with their complaints.

At first, he had seemed quite different from his recently deceased predecessor. The old priest had taken more than one lover, and he had collapsed and died in the last one’s bed after being with her. A fitting punishment, the villagers had murmured, but nobody said anything publicly.

Now, though, since the young cleric had disappeared so unexpectedly, people suspected him of straying, too, and whispered behind their hands. But nobody was worried. Their only concern was the Easter blessing, which they did not want to miss. When the priest did not appear, the villagers decided to go up to the castle and ask old Pater John, who had been in the lord’s service since time immemorial, for his Easter blessing.

They walked up to the castle like a flock of pilgrims, only more boisterous and chattering loudly. William and Robert were among them. Logan, who had not set foot in the village church since Nesta’s death, had stayed at the mews.

The village elder went ahead to present the villagers’ request to the lady of the manor in her husband’s absence.

As the first serfs and laborers entered the upper bailey, they were driven forward by those behind them, until a sudden cry
of horror ran through the crowd and people on all sides started crossing themselves.

William and Robert pushed forward to see what had happened.

They were greeted by the gruesome sight of the village priest on his back in a wheelbarrow. He was dripping wet; his head dangled to one side, like a wilted flower. His face was white and bloated, his eyes wide with fear, his expression pleading. His cowl was smeared all over with mud. His right foot was missing its sandal, and a few lengths of weed were wound around his ankle. A dark snail with a pointed, horn-colored shell was smearing a slimy trail across his naked calf.

William shuddered.

A few women started wailing, and children began to howl.

One of the two servants who had probably brought him into the bailey, and who were now standing beside the barrow, realized what was happening, took pity, and made the small gesture of closing the dead man’s accusing eyes.

But the excited whispering and murmuring continued to swell until Pater John appeared in the yard with another servant. With a crucifix and a rosary in one hand and the staff he used to support himself while walking in the other, for he was afflicted with gout, he shuffled toward the dead priest.

“Who among you saw what happened?” he asked the assembled company. When no one answered, he walked around the barrow, looking at the dead man.

“He drowned, that much is obvious,” someone mocked from the crowd. It was one of Odon’s friends, grinning as if he thought the common folk around him were too dense to arrive at this simple conclusion for themselves.

Pater John said nothing in response, but he examined the priest’s hands intently. They were balled up in fists. There were a few blades of grass between the fingers, as if the poor man had tried to save himself by clutching at the bank. He also had cuts on his hands, of the kind caused by reeds.

“Had he been drinking?” said Pater John, probably thinking of the young priest’s predecessor. He looked questioningly at the villagers.

“No, Pater,” the village elder declared. “He was a decent, God-fearing man. He didn’t go whoring, either.”

“We’ll bury him in the graveyard tomorrow,” Pater John announced. Then he said a few words about Jesus and the cross they all had to bear and gave the dismayed villagers his Easter blessing. When his comforting homily came to an end, the crowd dispersed. Whispering quietly, the serfs and laborers went back to the village in small groups with their families.

“By our lady, you’re pale!” Robert gave William a friendly nudge in the ribs with his elbow. “Bad thing that. I suppose it’s upset you?”

“I need to speak to you. Alone,” hissed William, dragging his friend away without turning toward Odon and his companions. He had been watching them the whole time. At first they had seemed frightened, but soon they had started cracking coarse jokes. Neither angry comments from the villagers about their disrespectful behavior nor several reproachful looks from Pater John had any effect on them. But they knew exactly what had happened. They obviously felt completely safe, untouchable. None of them could have an inkling of what William had seen.

When he was alone with Robert, he looked around cautiously.

“It was Odon and his friends.”

“What was?”

“They’ve got him on their conscience.”

“The priest? Come on, William—he drowned. Not everyone can swim.”

“And what was the priest doing by the water? Swimming, in this weather? With his cowl on? Everyone knows how heavy a thing like that is when it’s full of water.”

Robert tugged at the sparse beard that had just begun to sprout on his chin and shrugged. “He must have fallen in.”

“Fallen in?” William grimaced. “The path is far enough from the pond, why should he leave it, unless…”

“Unless?”

“Unless someone was after him?”

Robert raised his eyebrows in disbelief, creating small furrows in his forehead.

“I saw it with my own eyes, Rob.”

“Odon?”

“Him and his charming friends, yes.” William sat down on the ground, uneasy. “I didn’t know it was the priest they were chasing. I thought it was one of the village lads. They’re nimble and wily, so I didn’t worry too much. But it was the priest, I’m sure. I know it now. Suddenly he wasn’t there. I assumed he had escaped. But now I think they pushed him into the water and let him drown like a rat. They just rode off, the swine.”

Robert was at a loss for words.

“What should I do, Robert?”

“You’re better off forgetting what happened.”

“And let them get away with it?”

“It would be your word against theirs.”

“But…”

“William, trust me, you’ll find yourself in a hell of your own making.”

“But I can’t just…”

“You must, William. Now come, before they all start wondering where we’ve got to.”

For the next two weeks, William carried around with him what he knew, but the death of the priest would not leave him in peace. The image of the corpse kept appearing before him. On Sunday,
after mass, his guilty conscience could not bear it any longer. He asked Pater John, who was now conducting the services in the village, to hear his confession.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

“Speak, my son.”

“I know what happened.”

“Explain yourself more clearly, my son.”

William told him what he had seen that afternoon before Easter, and Pater John listened to his words without interrupting. “When the sheriff comes to Thorne, I shall have to tell him. Otherwise my soul will not rest. I feel guilty. If I had only suspected what was happening, I’m sure I could have saved him.”

“You have committed no sin, my son. God knows your heart is pure. You did right to come to me.” Pater John gave him absolution and two Our Fathers to pray. Then he blessed him and sent him on his way.