The Silver Falcon (50 page)

W
hen the news reached them that King John was on his way to Stamford and wanted to see them all there—Walkelin and Henry de Ferrers, William and the falcons he had been taking care of for the king all summer—William could not contain his excitement.

“I wonder if Marguerite will be there, too?” he mused out loud as he replaced the falcons’ jesses.

“I doubt it. He probably left her as a lady-in-waiting to his new wife. I’ve heard the queen is only a bit younger than Marguerite. Fourteen, apparently.” Robert raised his eyebrows. “What do grown men see in such young girls? Most of them just stand around giggling all the time, laughing at stuff no one else finds funny.”

“Marguerite’s different.”

“Of course she is,” replied Robert soothingly.

“Maybe she really is with the queen,” murmured William, ignoring Robert’s shrug.

It was said that John had divorced his first wife because she had not given him any children. But perhaps he had other reasons, thought William. Isabel of Gloucester was not only John’s wife but also his cousin. It was common knowledge that a marriage between two such close blood relations was forbidden, though kings frequently ignored the prohibition. For John it would be possible to have the marriage annulled and to marry again without difficulty.

There had been widespread speculation as to which lady he would choose as queen of England. And there had already been
discussions with the king of Portugal, whose daughter was old enough to marry. John even sent a delegation south to continue the negotiations, but his eventual choice, more than surprising to many, was Isabelle d’Angoulême. Already promised to her neighbor, Hugh le Brun, a member of the Lusignan family, she had to cancel the betrothal in order to marry John, who by all accounts was consumed with passion for her.

After the wedding in August, the couple returned from the mainland in October and made their way to Westminster, where they were crowned on the eighth day of the month.

If the king has married a woman younger than his favorite ward, it won’t be long before he marries off Marguerite, too, William thought despondently. It would probably be best to forget her and never see her again.

When de Ferrers and his men reached Stamford a few days later, the king had already arrived and was waiting for them. Try as he might, William had not been able to forget Marguerite. So he could not help eyeing the crowd of people in the hope of catching sight of her.

“Ah, William, I see you’ve brought my falcon,” cried John joyfully, once he had greeted Walkelin and Henry de Ferrers and waved to William to join them.

He bowed down on one knee before the king and held out his fist with the falcon on it. “He’s completely recovered. A magnificent creature, sire.”

“Put him on the perch there,” John commanded, smiling at William and pointing at the stand beside him.

He did as the king asked and then, after a questioning glance at Sir Walkelin, who responded with a tired nod, turned to the king again.

“Forgive me, sire, but my master has brought you another falcon as a wedding gift.” William bowed briefly toward de Ferrers.
Then he signaled to Robert, who like him was kneeling before the king. A gorgeous female gyrfalcon stood on his fist. William took her and presented her to the king.

John stood up and looked at her intently.

“Magnificent,” he cried. “Beautiful markings and a noble posture. You have my thanks, Walkelin, a splendid beast!” He turned to William. “Did you train her?”

“Yes, sire.”

“Well, in that case I’m going to put both birds to the test tomorrow. I’m keen to see how they perform. Tomorrow we’re going hawking,” he announced with satisfaction, dismissing William and Robert with a courteous nod.

William spent the rest of the evening keeping watch for Marguerite. Over and over again he thought he saw her, only to be disappointed when he found he was wrong.

By the time the benches and tables were being brought in and the banquet was beginning, William had given up hope. He sat down beside Robert, bored, ate without much appetite, and did not take any pleasure in the music or conversations with other falconers, which normally meant so much to him.

Stamford was famous for its large population of herons, and the king hoped to bag a few with his falcons. At his command, the falconers and their assistants set off to prepare the hunt.

Once they had reached the most promising area—close to the herons’ breeding grounds—William tested the direction of the wind. To ensure that the king’s falcons would perform optimally, he chose a position downwind from the heron colony and had his helpers put up solid shelters to protect the hunting party, the falcons, and the horses from the wind. William was very conscious of the great honor of his position. The king wanted to test him, and he would not fail. He knew precisely
what needed to be done and was far too busy with the preparations to worry.

They still had a great deal to do before the hunt began that afternoon. He would meticulously ensure that nothing went wrong. As for what the falcons did during the hunt, that was in God’s hands.

During all this, William had the falcons tethered to the ground with pegs so that they would not tire out, and he ordered a servant to guard them from attacks by other animals.

When the king and his retinue finally arrived, William sent one of his assistants to a previously selected lookout post. As arranged, the young man placed himself in an elevated position downwind from the herons but upwind from the hunting party, so that everyone could see him and he could spot the herons as they flew toward them.

William and Robert rode off with the falcons on their fists until they were a few hundred paces away from the hunting party and closer to the heron colony, taking care to remain upwind. When the young assistant at last spotted a heron flying toward them, he dismounted his horse and pointed its head in the direction of the approaching quarry.

Upon this signal, the whole party started to move. They rushed over, looking tensely into the sky and, as soon as they could make out the heron, tried to get to the best vantage point from which to follow the drama. At the same time, they all did their best to avoid scaring the bird with unnecessary noise.

Meanwhile, William and Robert had managed to approach their quarry without causing it to change direction. William let it fly overhead and did not remove his falcon’s hood until the heron had flown on a few hundred paces. Now that he knew how to use hoods and had learned their advantages, William no longer practiced seeling.

Robert brought out Pilgrim from under his cloak, as the bird was not used to a hood. On William’s command, they both cast
their falcons into the air. Although at first both birds stayed low and flew in different directions, not gaining on their quarry at all, the heron appeared to realize that they were after it. It stretched out its neck and regurgitated a fish from its crop. This made its body lighter and helped it to fly better. With all its strength, it now tried to reach the heron colony or at least a nearby grove of trees.

The falcons promptly began to climb. The heron, finding itself unable to gain on the falcons, seemed to know that they were only a danger if they came from above, so it began to spiral upward, too, higher and higher in the air. Since it could not both climb and fly into the wind, however, eventually it had to turn and fly toward the falcons.

The start William and Robert had originally given it now gave the advantage to the falcons. The three birds, which had started out flying in different directions, were now heading toward each other at incredible speed, and the excitement of the onlookers reached fever pitch. Every now and then the heron let out an alarming squawk, all the time trying to climb higher, using the wind to escape its pursuers.

Suddenly, one of the falcons caught up and attacked. The heron tried to escape by abruptly swerving away. The maneuver was successful, and the falcon, now more than twenty yards below, no longer represented a danger—for the moment at least. Meanwhile, though, the other falcon was swooping down toward it.

The onlookers held their breath. The first falcon had missed its target, but the second had spent the intervening time climbing again and now launched its own attack. The attacks alternated in this way, more or less equally, until one of the falcons seized the heron by its neck and the other one joined in immediately.

The three birds fell out of the sky like a single body, but before they reached the ground, one of the falcons let go. The other one did the same, in order not to hit the ground hard. Once the heron
had fallen to earth, it tried to fly away, but the falcons immediately started tearing at it.

William and Robert had followed the hunt at a gallop, so that they could be on the spot when the falcons brought down their prey. They were in such a hurry that they sprang straight out of their saddles. Holding out a pigeon, Robert tempted the first falcon to release the prey, while William cautiously approached the heron and tried to grab it by the neck. Once he had done so, he too offered the other falcon a pigeon, which it consumed while still standing on the heron. Once the falcons had gorged themselves, William hooded his and Robert put Pilgrim back under his cover. Then they made their way back to the agreed meeting point. They handed the captured heron over to the king with a deep bow.

“I’ve seldom seen such excellently trained falcons,” John complimented William, clapping him on the shoulder. “In the future you’ll be looking after more than one of my birds.” Turning to old de Ferrers, he said, “Walkelin, you’ve no choice but to let me have him.”

Walkelin de Ferrers bowed. “As you wish, sire.”

But Henry de Ferrers’s cheek was twitching. It was not hard to guess that he was hardly delighted with this turn of events. The de Ferrerses had been faithful servants to the Plantagenets for decades, and it was doubtless a great honor that the king was appropriating their falconer for his own use. On the other hand, not having William in their falconry anymore would be a bitter loss.

“Yes, I think I should marry him off,” John remarked pensively. He frowned and put his finger to his lips.

William’s heart skipped a beat. Was the king really going to allow him to wed Marguerite? No, that was impossible, wasn’t it?

“Let me think who comes to mind,” John murmured, but he did not seem to need to think for long. “Yes, I know. Richard de Hauville’s fief would be perfect. The falconry’s been derelict for
years, true, but a man like William will soon put that to rights. He’d have enough space for the falcons there and could raise more for me, too. The surrounding area is excellent for hunting: I know it from my youth. Yes, it’s a great sorrow to me that the falconry went to ruin when de Hauville died.”

William was crestfallen. The king had not so much as looked at him during all this. He had spoken to old de Ferrers as if it affected only him. But now he turned to William, his face expressionless, and looked challengingly into his eyes.

“A young and fertile wife who will bear you children, a pretty holding with cattle, three villages, a large forest, a falconry with plentiful pasture and farmland. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it, William?” He leaned forward and whispered, “For a knight’s bastard with your talents, an estate like that is eminently suitable, I think.”

“I shall be forever indebted to you, sire,” William stammered, bowing. He would get as a wife not Marguerite but Richard de Hauville’s daughter, a stranger. William had never met Richard, but the de Hauvilles were a well-respected family and had produced many great falconers. It was therefore an honor to marry into it. What would they say about it when they heard? he wondered, a little worried.

Suddenly, though, a number of thoughts tumbled into William’s head. How did John know he was a bastard? His heart started racing. Did the king know his father’s name? If so, how? For a moment he considered asking, but he did not have the courage. Besides, he had Isaac. Wasn’t he his real father? William knew how much Isaac wanted a grandchild. I’m going to be a husband, he thought, and Isaac will soon be a grandfather.

When he thought about the marriage, more questions assailed him. Who was the wife John intended for him? What was she like? William turned to the king, but he had since directed his attention to some other men and was no longer heeding him.

“God, I feel sick.” William said to Robert after they had parted with the king. “It won’t be long before I do what the heron did.”

“Oh no, please don’t,” Robert laughed, but he looked pale and did not seem happy at all.

William rubbed his stomach nervously. He didn’t know whether to be unhappy or glad about his forthcoming marriage. For the past few weeks, the thought that his beloved Marguerite would get married one day, and that he would lose her, had never been far from his mind. But he had not really given any thought to his own future. He would probably never see Marguerite again; if he did, it would be on the arm of some powerful baron to whom she had been given as wife. So why shouldn’t he get married, too? The longer William thought about it, the more sensible the idea seemed, and the prospect of hunting only with royal falcons in the future, caring for them, and raising new birds for the king began to intrigue him. If he approached things with sufficient skill, soon every baron would be talking about his falcons.

“Just think what opportunities would be open to me as a landholder,” William said to Robert, and the thought made him feel weak with excitement. “Arise, Sir So-and-So. Heavens, Robert. What an adventure stands before me. And it’s unexpected, fascinating, exciting,” he gasped.

With this promised marriage he would rise higher than he had ever dared hope, higher than his mother. He knew, of course, that bastard sons had a good chance of rising at court, but normally their fathers exerted influence on their behalf. But he had done it alone, through his abilities alone. The thought that he would soon be a lord, albeit of lowly rank, seemed increasingly sensible. Why shouldn’t the son of a smith rise to the rank of royal falconer?