The Silver Falcon (26 page)

The ones who seemed to have it worst, however, were the lepers. They tried to hide their lesions with bandages, but whenever they rang their bells to signal their approach, as required by law, people fled in panic.

William pulled along the astonished David. He needed all his strength, for the boy was utterly fascinated by this unfamiliar world. His childlike eyes wide-open, he stared fearlessly at people, buildings, and animals. He laughed when he saw children playing and frowned when he saw a girl driving a pig along by beating its back with a crop.

The people were thronging toward an impressive cathedral that towered over the street. From a woman walking alongside him, William learned that it was dedicated to Saint Paul.

Amazed, he stopped in front of the dark and imposing stone facade, looking up into its heights. He had never seen such a big building. Someone threw a coin to David, who was standing just behind him, and a beggar hobbled up to the boy, gesticulating furiously and trying to chase him away from what he considered his place.

David began whimpering and rubbing his belly. This moved the gentle heart of a nobly dressed lady who had apparently come
to evening prayer at Saint Paul’s. Smiling kindly, she walked up to him and presented him with two copper coins. But no sooner had she turned her back than other angry beggars hurried over. This time, they threatened to beat David up if he did not make himself scarce, and William pulled him away quickly.

The coins were enough for a big loaf of the bread. They ate on the steps of a small and shabby church. There were no beggars here, for it was clear that the people who came to this house of God lived from hand to mouth themselves and could not afford acts of generosity.

William did not touch the bread himself, whereas David ate with gusto and devoured every last crumb. It did not bother him that it was dry and hard.

William noticed that the priest from the small church had been watching them from the doorway. He was about to leave when the simply dressed man of God approached and offered them a place to sleep. They accepted gratefully, and a short time later they were settling down for the night on the church’s beaten-earth floor. Before David lay down to sleep, the priest brought them two handfuls of cherries and insisted that William eat at least half of the offering. William obediently ate his share of the sweet, juicy fruit and realized for the first time that he was indeed hungry.

Once David had finally curled up and fallen asleep, and the goshawk was resting, too, William got up again and asked the priest to take his confession. Perhaps the sacrament would lighten his heart.

At first it was hard to find the right words to express all the painful things for which he blamed himself, but after a while it all came pouring out. How Enid must have gone through hell because he had not been there for her. How she must have suffered, fearing for her life and that of her unborn child. William’s sense of guilt came close to stifling him. He struggled for breath, reproached himself, sobbed. What sort of sense did it make for God to put him to such a test?

“I swear by almighty God that I will avenge your deaths,” he cried angrily, shaking his fist, before collapsing in helpless tears.

William’s anguished confession lasted half the night. The priest sat before him quietly. He tried to encourage him, gave him a mild penance, and absolved him of his guilt, but William did not feel the relief he had hoped for. At last, desperate and having no idea how to take control of his future, he asked the priest for advice on what he could do to ensure that David did not suffer in London.

The man of God thought for a while before saying, “Take him to the church of Saint Bartholomew. He has worked many miracles. Sometimes he heals the sick and the simple. Rahere, the man who founded the church, the priory, and the hospital there, receives the prayers of believers. Have the boy kneel down in front of Rahere’s tomb and humbly ask to be cured. It certainly won’t do any harm if you pray for him, too. You’re young and you’re bound to find work, but not with him by your side. Go, and ask Saint Bartholomew for his help.”

William nodded gratefully, although he secretly feared that no one could do anything to alter David’s destiny. Not even a saint. He wiped the tears from his face and joined David on the floor. William closed his eyes and, for the first time since Enid’s death, fell asleep instantly.

When he woke up the next day, the priest was not in the church. They could not bid him farewell, so they set off on their way. William asked directions to the church of Saint Bartholomew and learned that it was outside the city walls, not far from Smithfield. He did not dare to hope for a miracle, but what else could he do for David?

Once out in Smithfield, he let the goshawk hunt before they entered the church. Seeing her fly brought him happiness but also bitter pain. Every beat of her wings made him think of Enid and
their quarrel. Despite his harsh words, did she know he would never have let her down? William had a lump in his throat. If only he had been able to tell her.

When the bird had eaten her fill and was perched on William’s fist once more, they entered the church. David was already rubbing his belly to show how hungry he was, but this time William did not take the hint. The darkness inside the church would do the goshawk good, and he too longed to pause for rest and reflection.

There was construction work going on. It looked as though the church was being enlarged and, as William could tell as soon as he stepped inside, embellished. High up in the nave, artists and their apprentices were busy decorating the whitewashed walls with colorful biblical scenes. The men sat on wooden scaffolding, chattering, with their legs dangling down over the throngs of the faithful below.

If William had been expecting quiet and time for introspection, Saint Bartholomew’s was a disappointment. Among all the builders, stonemasons, painters, and laborers, there were also swarms of pilgrims and clerics. Those who could enter the church on two feet, or at least on all fours, did so. Only the wealthy and those too sorely afflicted by disease allowed themselves to be carried in on stretchers or litters. How much money an individual possessed did not matter—all visitors to the church had one thing in common: hope in God’s mercy and a cure.

There was not enough space on the ground in front of Rahere’s tomb for all the supplicants, so David had to wait a while before he could prostrate himself there. He looked questioningly at his friend. He obviously did not quite understand what he was supposed to do, but he obeyed because William asked him to.

“Ask the Lord for a cure,” William whispered to him, knowing very well that David would not know what to do. So he knelt down on the hard stone floor close by, rested the fist that was holding the goshawk on a raised knee, and prayed awkwardly but with great sincerity.

“Lord, Sir Rahere, Saint Bartholomew, I beg you from the bottom of my heart, help my David. He is soft in his head but rich in his heart. He has suffered great pain. Lift him up through your gracious mercy.”

William was deep in prayer when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Who would disturb his worship? A man of the church, wearing a dark cowl, was standing close behind him and indicated with his finger that he should follow.

“I can’t leave him alone,” William objected in a whisper, pointing at David.

“Don’t worry—we won’t go far,” the monk reassured him quietly. He waited for William to rise and then led him away from the crowd of supplicants toward a quiet corner.

“A beautiful creature.” The monk pointed at the goshawk.

William smiled shyly. Was this cleric hinting that the presence of the bird in the church was unwelcome? Nobles frequently entered churches on horseback, and many peasants sought God’s blessing for their animals by bringing them into church.

“Is the boy your brother?” the monk asked in a friendly manner.

William answered no and explained in few words how he came to care for David.

The man of God nodded approvingly and sighed audibly. “Saint Bartholomew’s help is sought by so many sick people every day, but when the sin for which a person is being punished with his affliction is great, help is often impossible.” He raised his eyebrows and glanced at David. “Does he pray regularly?”

“I’m not even sure he knows what praying means. He can’t speak, and nobody knows what he thinks. David knows hunger, thirst, fear, and happiness and shows them. But does he know who the Lord God is?” William shrugged helplessly.

The monk shook his head regretfully. “Saint Bartholomew frequently makes the blind see and the lame walk. But it is hard
for the simpleminded to ask for forgiveness. It is charitable of you to pray for him, but I fear the prayers of one person will not be enough.”

“But what more can I do?” William whispered pleadingly. “How can I look after him? I have no work, and with him it will be difficult for me to find any. Should we beg for the rest of our lives, even though I’m strong and could work?”

“No, that would not be pleasing to God.” After a short pause, he continued. “Now, I may perhaps have a solution. If the boy stayed here for longer and prayers were said for him every day—it would certainly take months, perhaps longer and yet, maybe…” The monk sighed resignedly and shook his head doubtfully.

“Please tell me. How could it be done?”

“There are so many in need of help, and the hospital hasn’t enough room…” He raised his shoulders and then let them drop again, discouraged. He looked into the distance for a while. Then a smile flickered over his face.

The monk cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “Our father prior saw your hawk hunting earlier. He is a keen hunting enthusiast. I know he longs for nothing more than to own such a bird. Unfortunately, the priory’s coffers are empty. Perhaps it would be possible to reach an agreement?” His gaze shifted briefly to David, who was still lying obediently on the floor.

“What sort of agreement?” asked William anxiously.

“Well, I could try to persuade the prior to take in the boy so that my brothers and I could pray for a cure every day.”

William was now all ears.

“Perhaps the poor creature will receive the Lord’s mercy and be healed. If not, I would make sure he could at least spend the winter with us. That would give you the chance to look for work and lead a life that is pleasing to God. You would have to pay for David’s food and lodging, though.”

William, who had listened to the proposal with shining eyes, puffed all the air out of his chest in disappointment. “But I have nothing.”

“Yes, you have. You have the bird.” He lowered his voice. “Perhaps I can convince the prior to accept it as payment. If I put in a good word for you, it’s possible he won’t demand any more from you than the bird.”

William thought. David was sure to be raised well. Perhaps the Lord was in fact showing him mercy. At least he wouldn’t have to freeze or starve, and he wouldn’t be pushed around in the street. As far as the goshawk was concerned, it would probably be better housed with the prior than in the streets of London, where sooner or later someone was bound to suspect William of having stolen it. The thought that he was giving away the bird for David’s benefit felt like a penance he could bear.

“But David must have three meals a day and warm clothes in the winter. And I’ll visit him regularly, to be sure he’s all right,” William demanded, almost defiantly.

The monk smiled thinly. “Don’t you trust mother church?”

“I do, I do, forgive me! But David could fall ill or stop eating because he’s troubled, though he’s always hungry. And if he didn’t get enough to eat, he might think I’d forgotten him and die of grief,” said William in a small voice.

“I understand your concern for the boy, and it does you honor.” The monk laid a reassuring hand on William’s arm. “I shall speak to the prior right away. Wait here for me.”

It was a while before the monk came back. William suspected the prior did not want to appear too bent on this bargain. To obtain such a magnificent goshawk without paying a penny for it was a real stroke of luck, even for a man of God. Surely, so many hungry mouths were fed at the priory that one more would make no difference.

William paced up and down, thinking. Monks took vows to do good. It couldn’t be wrong to trust them and house David here. Perhaps this is the first miracle and a cure is still to come, he tried to tell himself. But Pater John’s shameful behavior gnawed at him.

“The prior agrees,” the monk reported finally. “You can visit the boy on Sundays, after mass. For the next three weeks, though, you must stay away so that he can settle in.”

“Thank you. Before I leave, I shall explain to David that he’s in good hands and mustn’t be afraid. Is the prior experienced with hawks, or might he need my help at first?”

“Don’t worry, young man, the prior used to look after the bishop of York’s falcons. He knows what he’s doing.”

“In that case, would you be so good as to take the bird from me?”

The monk looked at him in shock, but he slipped the sleeve of his cowl down over his hand and held out his fist as William instructed him. Walking deliberately and looking uncertainly at the beautiful bird, he carried the goshawk out of the church.

William went over to David. How could he explain this arrangement? And how could he make him understand that he wasn’t abandoning him but would fetch him back at some point in the future? For William, that point was foreseeable, but for David it would seem like an eternity. How much of his explanation would David even understand? William led him out of the crowd of supplicants and took him to a quiet corner. In few words, with the help of hand gestures, William explained that David would have to stay with the monks for a while.

David looked at him in disbelief. Tears sprang to his eyes. They rolled down his cheeks, leaving a dirty gray trail.

William felt terrible. He threw his arms around David and held him tightly for a long time. The boy did not want to let him leave, but at length, with a heavy heart, he let go.

“I’ll come back, I promise,” he said hoarsely. I sound like a liar, he thought to himself. Since his quarrel with Enid and everything
that happened thereafter, his guilty conscience tormented him without respite.