The Silver Falcon (44 page)

“Not for me, thanks,” Robert said, looking at the cake suspiciously and waving it away.

On the open sea, however, the galangal cakes revealed themselves to be quite helpful against seasickness. William was not spared the sensation of illness, but at least he did not feed the fishes with the contents of his stomach this time.

Robert, on the other hand, felt truly awful. He leaned over the rail as he had the first time. William tried to persuade him to try some galangal cake, but Robert stubbornly refused. Once they finally had solid ground underfoot, though, his sickness was forgotten.

William eagerly inhaled the fresh air. He enjoyed the ride through the green forests and bountiful meadows. The sky was a soft, fragrant blue, the air was warm and pleasant, and the rest of the journey almost felt like an outing.

When they arrived at Ferrières, Henry de Ferrers welcomed them with open arms. He greeted his father with exuberant joy, but he shot an irritated glance at William when he saw the hoods on his father’s falcons.

“I see you have not only sowed but also reaped the first fruits,” he hissed spitefully at the Saracen.

Sir Walkelin deliberately ignored his son’s words; the Saracen just shrugged and smiled.

“Prince John and Marshal are going to honor us with a visit in a few days,” Henry told his father proudly while they were still in the courtyard. “A messenger brought the news today.”

“Well, a little distraction from the life of a soldier is bound to do them good. I hear they have fought much and exceptionally successfully.” Walkelin nodded pensively. “We should arrange some hawking for them. If I know our prince well, it would be a welcome change.”

“A wonderful idea, my lord.” William beamed at his master. He knew from his previous stay at Ferrières, which had lasted more than a year, how pleasant the life could be. The people were friendly and the hunting grounds rich. That they could now look forward to a hunt with the king’s brother was a truly special piece of news.

“I’ll prepare Arrow and Storm so they’ll be in top condition and attract the prince’s attention,” William promised.

“Well, I certainly hope we can make a bit of an impression with them. Feeding the prince and his retinue—even if it’s only for a few days—will cost a fortune, so the visit had better be worth it and John should leave with a favorable recollection of it.”

“I’m sure he will, my lord.”

“We’ll take the best possible care of the prince, Father,” Henry said reassuringly. “The soldiers can pitch their tents out on the west field—the grass is short enough. And I’ll have servants brought in from the village to look after them all. You and Robert,” he went on, turning to William, “you take care of the hunt. You can put up the falconers and their animals in the mews. You know your way around, and Alain—you remember him, William?”

“Certainly. I trained him myself, a good falconer.”

“Well, Alain and our hunt assistants will be under your control. Together, you must choose the most suitable terrain for this hunt. Is that all right with you, Father?”

“Marvelous,” Sir Walkelin agreed, dismissing William and Robert with a friendly nod.

Four days later, Prince John and Marshal arrived, accompanied by at least three dozen impressive knights and a few nobly dressed ladies and damsels, as well as a swirling mass of squires, pages, servants, cooks, washerwomen, scribes, huntsmen, falconers, a minstrel, and a large number of foot soldiers.

Although Sir Walkelin had prepared, the endless stream still shocked him. He looked at William in bewilderment. Even when they had accompanied Richard to Lisieux four years before, the numbers had not been so high. Sir Walkelin groaned, “This is going to cost us a fortune.” But when John and Marshal were standing before him, he put on his most amiable face and pretended to be completely calm.

A young lady with long brown hair rode beside the prince. Her rather austere beauty caught William’s attention immediately. There was something familiar about her, as if he had seen her before, but however hard he racked his brains he could not work out where and when it might have been.

“You can close your mouth now, William,” said a familiar voice behind him.

“Sir William.” William’s pensive expression brightened immediately. Marshal approached him with a smile as his page led away his horse. William bowed. “Welcome to Ferrières, sir.”

“Four years really are an eternity in such a young life,” said Marshal, looking meaningfully at the young woman. William could hardly take his eyes off her. A young squire was helping her dismount. “She’s turned out well, hasn’t she?”

“Is that Mistress Marguerite?” William asked hesitantly.

Marshal nodded in confirmation.

William felt the blood rushing to his ears. They must be red as beetroots, he thought with shame.

“Girls become ladies, too. Come and greet her.”

But Marguerite had already cried, “William,” and was running toward him, slightly faster than a young lady should. “How lovely to see you here.”

Touched by her warm greeting, William bowed. His face burned as if it had been out in the blazing sun all day. “The pleasure is entirely mine.” He hardly dared look at her.

“Uncle John, may I introduce you to William, the falconer I told you about?”

William was taken aback, and before he could prepare himself, she was pulling him over to the prince and tugging at his sleeve.

William’s ears became even redder. “Welcome, sir, er…my lord,” he stammered, uncertain of the correct form of address for a prince. He bowed as quickly as he could.

“Well, well, so this is the young man I’ve been hearing about all these years. ‘William told me this, William said that,’” uttered the prince, teasing the girl with a smile.

“Don’t make fun, Uncle. Even Marshal thinks highly of William, don’t you, Sir William?” she said, looking for support. Marshal smiled in confirmation. “Uncle John, may I go to the mews and have a look at the falcons?”

Prince John sighed. “I dare say you won’t leave me in peace otherwise. William, would you be so kind as to take care of her?”

“It will be an honor, sir.” And a great pleasure, he would have liked to add, but he bit his tongue.

“And I can come on the hunt tomorrow, can’t I?” Marguerite begged.

John nodded graciously. “Now go away and leave me in peace.”

Marguerite was hopping about with excitement beside William, just as she had the first time he had met her.

William signaled to the falconers accompanying John and Marshal that they should go with Robert. He had Arrow and Storm on his fist and was to take them the short distance back to the mews.

William offered Marguerite his arm. As they walked, she asked him about the hoods, which had struck her immediately, even from a distance. William was only too glad to answer.

“I thought long and hard about what the Saracen told me before I decided to try to make a hood myself.”

“I couldn’t see what they were made of,” Marguerite broke in.

“Leather. They’re made of leather.” William smiled at her. “I got a cobbler to show me how to sew it, and then I bought a piece of hide so I could try it myself. The Saracen’s instructions were quite thorough, but I didn’t have any experience or skill in leatherwork. What was more, neither I nor Robert had ever held a hood in our hands. I didn’t know what was important. So I decided to start with a hood for a peregrine that had already been manned. The Saracen claimed birds accepted hoods quickly and wore them willingly, but the falcon I chose struggled as soon as I tried to put the hood on its head and still wasn’t used to it weeks later.”

“And then? What did you do next?”

“I made a new hood. But the falcon still resisted when I tried to put it over its head. The poor bird hated wearing it and behaved like a freshly seeled falcon every time, trying to tear it off. I tried it with the other falcons, but they wouldn’t accept it, either. After a few months, I was desperate, on the verge of giving up.”

“What happened? What made you go on?”

“I understood why the birds hated the hood so much.”

“How?”

“Two damp spots on the inside. I had noticed them, you understand, but I hadn’t paid enough attention. It wasn’t until I gave it a
bit more thought, looking at the hoods over and over again, that I asked myself where the spots were coming from. That’s all.”

“And then?”

“You ask just as many impatient questions as you always did,” William said, laughing. “Your poor uncle.”

“Oh, all Uncle John thinks about are boring things like politics and war, so I rarely ask him anything,” retorted Marguerite, a little sourly. “But I think I can make a guess about the damp spots. They came from the falcon’s eyes.”

“That’s right. The hoods were rubbing against their eyes. That was why the falcons hated them.” Marguerite’s understanding impressed William. She had obviously learned a great deal since their first meeting.

“And how did you solve the problem?”

“I remembered a detail of the Saracen’s description that I had paid no attention to until then and modified the hoods so the leather was raised on both sides of the head. That way the hood doesn’t touch the falcon’s eyes and doesn’t rub.”

“That must mean you have to make a special hood for every type of falcon, since they vary in size,” said Marguerite thoughtfully.

“That’s right, too,” William confirmed admiringly. Marguerite understood things better than most boys her age. She was clever and beautiful—and unattainable.

Soon they arrived at the falconry, where Alain and the assistants were waiting for them. They showed the prince’s falconers, and those of his followers, where they could house their birds and where they would find quarters for themselves. One assistant mocked the hooded falcons, earning an angry glare from Marguerite.

“You would be wise to hold your tongue. I know the king has a high regard for these Eastern hoods,” she declared, “and I’m sure my uncle will like them, too.”

The man who received this rebuke was about to answer back, but he was prevented by a severe glance from one of the older falconers. William knew he belonged to the de Hauville family.

Robert ordered one of the assistants to fill the shallow baths with water for the falcons who would hunt the next day, so they could cool down. Now it was his turn to greet Marguerite, which he did with accomplished courtesy.

She followed William into the mews, carefully examined de Ferrers’s birds and their hoods, and then led William to one of the falcons that just had been brought in. “This is my uncle’s favorite,” she said. “A beautiful creature, isn’t it?”

“Wonderful,” said William, but he was looking at Marguerite, not the falcon. It was not until John’s falconer came in to fetch the bird from its perch that he pulled himself together and forced himself not to stare at Marguerite. He cleared his throat, which felt dry as dust, and continued the tour until he had to take her back to the castle, savoring every moment he spent in the company of this beautiful young girl.

The following morning, shortly after daybreak, William, Robert, Alain, and the other falconers set off to meet de Ferrers and his guests for the hunt.

William had hardly closed his eyes the night before. He had been too preoccupied with thoughts of Marguerite. Her lively yet infinitely gentle brown eyes had ensnared him and would not let go.

Squires, pages, dog handlers, and hunt assistants swarmed the courtyard, making ready to leave for the hunt. Orders were barked out, harnesses checked, servants sent back and forth, oaths uttered, and helpers mocked.

William searched the crowd for the lovely creature with the long brown hair, but instead of Marguerite he found a blond
man on a magnificent white horse. “Oh no, not Odon again,” he muttered.

“Why does he have to be here, too?” remarked Robert, having caught sight of him at the same time.

“I must have missed him yesterday,” murmured William uneasily. He had so hoped he would never see Odon again. Moving in noble circles, he knew, meant coming across the same people all the time. In Marguerite’s case, that was fortunate; he hoped they’d be brought together often in the future. When it came to Odon, however, it was a curse. His evident closeness to Prince John, who seemed on quite intimate terms with him, overshadowed William’s pleasure in the hunt. It was not until Marguerite rode up to him, beaming with glee, that he began to feel more confident.

During the hunt, Arrow cut a particularly fine figure. He was in peak condition, brave, agile, and ruthless. From the very start, he flew so magnificently that all eyes were on him. In fewer than half a dozen flights he caught two substantial cranes, which was a remarkably good result.

Prince John’s falcon, on the other hand, was not particularly fortunate. When, after several unsuccessful attempts, she tried to bring down a crane, a terrible accident happened. The huge bird defended itself with all its might, eventually seizing the falcon in its dangerous bill. It pulled and hacked at the falcon until she was so badly injured that she tumbled down to earth in a spin. A shocked murmur ran through the crowd of onlookers as she plummeted out of the sky.

John hurried over to help his bird as soon as she hit the ground.

William handed Arrow to one of his helpers and then rode off as if the devil were snapping at his heels. When he reached the fallen falcon, the prince’s favorite, he came upon a terrible sight. The bird was flapping her wings helplessly, trying to lift herself, but
the injury was too serious. Her right wing was broken; the bone was clearly visible, protruding from the blood-soaked feathers. An open break like this was a death sentence.

Robert, who had rushed over, too, shook his head regretfully, as did Alain and the other falconers surrounding the prince.

John’s face was ashen. He looked helplessly from one man to the next, but no one said anything reassuring.

“Make way, make way,” cried Odon, pushing himself forward and hardly paying heed to the bird. He looked at the falconers and then turned to John. “If anyone can heal your falcon, it’s our good William,” he said, grinning duplicitously into the awkward silence and clapping William on the shoulder with a pretense of friendship.