The Silver Falcon (28 page)

Tanner was satisfied, because his new servant was back before the midday bell, and he gave him further tasks. William had to
turn the hides in the bath of tanbark, rinse them out, and hang them up to dry. Then he had to shave half a dozen hides until there was not a single hair to be found on them. His day was hard, and the leather and tanbark gave off a foul, penetrating reek of oak and urine, but the work distracted him from his troubles, and with time it would likely strengthen his body, for the wet hides were heavy.

He was on his feet from daybreak till sunset. In the evening, as he used to before, he rubbed his foot with some herbal ointment he bought with his first few coins and bandaged it so that it would heal quickly. Once in the tanner’s outhouse, he sank into a deep and dreamless sleep.

The next morning, his master’s wife imposed one of her husband’s discarded shirts on William and kept a half-day’s wages for it. William was pleased though. He fetched a large bucket of water from the spring and washed discreetly in a corner. Using an old brush he found in the tanner’s outhouse, he scrubbed his hands and arms until they were red and raw, but it was hard work to get rid of the urine-yellow stains the tanning mixture left on his skin. Then he slipped on his new shirt. The clean cloth, though threadbare and stained in several places, felt good.

So now he was wearing Tanner’s old shirt and was his servant.
Servant.
It was a harsh word that spoke of hard work and poverty, not the freedom, renown, and successful hunting that William had known as a falconer. But he had no intention of being dissatisfied with his lot. First he wanted to save as much as he could. Then he would see.

Mrs. Tanner was not a particularly good cook, but she was generous—so he soon had more flesh on his ribs. William scarcely touched ale anymore, and there was little else on which for him to spend his meager wage. In winter, to be sure, he would need new shoes and warm clothes, but that was a long way off. At present it was warm and his shirt was sufficient. So he saved every penny.

On the very first Sunday of his new life he walked to Saint Bartholomew’s to visit David. The poor fellow looked downcast, but then he saw William and threw himself into his arms, weeping with joy. He would not have had the words to discuss William’s long absence, but William could find no reproach in his eyes, just happiness at seeing him again. He even accepted with a smile William’s explanation that he could not take him back just yet. He seemed to know now that William would never let him down. Although the separation hurt him no less than it hurt David, William left feeling good. He was on the right path. One day, somehow, he would manage to take care of Enid’s brother on his own.

The opening of the annual fair at Smithfield came a week later, on the twenty-fourth day of the eighth month, the feast of Saint Bartholomew. Vast numbers of people streamed in for the occasion. In particular, breeders of thoroughbred horses, both for riding and for war, came from far and wide. Cattle and calves, sheep and lambs, pigs and piglets would also be bought and sold, as well as geese, ducks, and other poultry for household use; all manner of ceramics, basketwork, leather goods, and metalware were available, too. The variety was so wide that a trip to the fair was worthwhile not only for knights and nobles but also for farmers and even monks and other clerics. For two solid weeks, traders from all over the country would offer their wares alongside London’s merchants.

Tanner had earned an excellent reputation for his wares, and this year he planned to set up his own stall to sell a wide range of animal hides.

William had his hands full the day before. Using a cart, he helped Tanner carry the wooden frame for the stall to Smithfield, and then they set it up. It took them until well past midnight, for William had to make the long journey from Tanner’s to the market
and back three times in order to move the hides and all the parts of the stand. When the stall was finally ready, Tanner ordered him to keep watch during the night.

“And don’t you dare fall asleep. Woe betide you if a single piece of leather goes missing,” he warned him before leaving him alone in the Smithfield marketplace.

William was not the only servant keeping watch. The market watchman did his rounds regularly, of course, but he could not see everything. None of the traders could afford to leave their stands unguarded. And since the first customers would arrive early in the morning, none of them wanted to risk losing a good deal by setting up their stalls the following day.

William sprawled out across the evil-smelling hides and stared up into the sky. This being London, the stand’s roof was also made of leather to protect the valuable hides against the rain that might fall on any day and in any season, even in August. William peered out at the night sky from under the roof. It was deep black. Probably overcast, he thought, since there were no stars visible.

Just as well, he said to himself, for stars reminded him of Enid. He had known her often out in the open on warm summer nights; afterward, embracing one another, they would look at the sky with its thousands and thousands of twinkling points of light. William felt his eyes begin to burn. He was weary. Carefully, he opened the little leather purse he carried on his belt. The purse had belonged to Enid once; she had been given it by Nana. William stroked the waxy leather and, for the first time since he had left the forest, took out the little enamel plaque. He tried to remember whether he had ever seen a piece of jewelry on Enid, but he could not think of one. So where did it come from?

William held it up close to his face and squinted, but it was too dark to make out anything. He touched the enamel gently with his finger, then put it back in the purse. Where had she gotten it from?

William’s head fell forward. He must have nodded off briefly. He leaped up guiltily, shook out his legs to keep awake, then perched himself on the hides again to keep watch.

By dawn, all the traders had arrived at the fair, bringing further wares and issuing final instructions to their servants. A long day awaited them all.

The sun was scarcely high enough for daylight to appear, and yet the first curious customers started arriving. Many just wanted to look and marvel; they could not afford to buy anything. Others hoped to scoop up the finest, rarest, most beautiful items, and that was why they were up and about so early. Only those who compared all the wares and prices, weighed everything up carefully, and haggled skillfully could be sure of a good bargain.

“Here, go and buy yourself something to eat,” said Tanner a little before midday, smiling indulgently and pulling a couple of coins from his purse. He had already secured two substantial contracts, with the prospect of further orders, and was more than satisfied with the first day of the fair. “Don’t dawdle about, mind,” he called to William’s back.

William had heard from some visitors at the tanner’s stand that there were falcons on sale, too, and since that moment he’d wanted to go and look at them. First, however, he bought a large onion pie. It was cheap, but it satisfied his hunger just as well as a much more expensive meat pie, and it meant he could save a penny from the tanner’s food money. William bit hungrily into the still-warm dough and promptly burned his tongue on the steaming, roughly chopped onions. He wandered through the market and looked at the various stands. But none of them interested him, for there were no falcons to be seen.

He stopped suddenly and listened. There it was again—the loud keening of a falcon demanding food. William’s heart beat
faster, and he forgot the fatigue that had resulted from his sleepless night. He jumped up in the air to see over the many heads, heard the grating cry again, and followed the sound until at last he found a stand selling falcons. A large number of expensively dressed men, nobles, and wealthy merchants crowded around the birds. Within a stone’s throw of this stand, several other falconers were selling their birds. Some had only a few, while others had just one. William glanced at the birds on the large stand. They were of good to very good quality; that much was immediately obvious. The prices being called out took William’s breath away. And the other falconers were demanding similar sums for their birds. If his goshawk was worth only half as much, the prior had struck a good bargain because of William’s inexperience.

A female saker falcon caught William’s eye. He approached the falconer and examined her more closely.

“She’s been made to ducks, a splendid beast,” the falconer was saying to an elderly merchant, who scratched his chin pensively.

A younger, conspicuously richly dressed merchant suddenly pushed his way through the crowd and interrupted the older one as he requested further details.

“How much do you want for the bird?” he asked the falconer, acknowledging the older merchant with a casual nod and then paying him no further attention.

The falconer now had eyes only for the younger merchant and named his price. It seemed fair for a saker falcon of that size, but William, who had examined the bird, shook his head.

“This bird is sick,” he said, almost to himself. “Every penny this man pays is a penny too much. She’ll be dead within five days.”

The falconer started berating him, and even the merchant who had asked the question looked at William with a disdainful shake of the head.

“What does a pauper like him know about such noble beasts?” snorted the falconer.

William simply shrugged and went on to the next stand. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the falconer and the young merchant quickly agreed on a price, despite his comments, and the bird changed hands. Fools will learn only by experience, thought William. His mother had used the expression more often than he had really liked, but she’d always been proved right.

It occurred to William that Tanner was probably waiting impatiently for him. He headed back at a run. He felt someone’s eyes boring into his back, and when he turned he saw the older merchant looking at him curiously.

When he got back to the stall, William received a sharp clip on the ear.

“I told you not to dawdle, and you’ve kept me waiting forever. You’ve three deliveries to make.” He thrust the handle of the cart into William’s hand. “The first hide—I’ve put it on top, so you won’t get them mixed up—goes to Hagan, in Wood Street. Then take the rough goatskins to Alvin the shoemaker. He sent his boy because he needs the skins urgently. Last, take the fine goatskins to Jacob the tailor in Threadneedle Street. With so many highborn visitors in town, they’re all hoping to do some good trade. If they can’t deliver because they’ve run out of leather, it’s bad for trade. So look sharp.” Tanner patted his chest with satisfaction, and his sweaty hand left a mark on his new shirt. “Now be on your way.”

William wiped his brow and lifted the cart. Threadneedle Street was almost as far away as the street where Tanner and his wife lived, and the shoemaker’s workshop was on the other side of the city, so William girded himself for a long walk.

“Mind your backs,” he called out, loud and clear, so that he could get through the mass of people. Again and again, the crowd almost ran under his cart or stood in the way. If they were people of high rank, William had to go around them; careless peasants he
addressed with a loud “Would you mind?” and on the whole they let him pass.

William had almost left the market behind him when he came within an inch of running over an elegantly dressed man.

“You’re in a rush, lad. At least let an old man live out his life in peace,” laughed the man, leaping to one side and nearly tripping over a low wall.

“Oh my heavens, forgive me. Are you hurt?” William dropped the handle of the cart and turned to face the gray-haired man.

“Don’t worry, my boy. No harm done.” The man sat on the low wall and looked at William. “What makes you think the falcon is going to die?”

William now recognized the older of the two merchants he had seen at the falconer’s stand. “You remember me?”

“A boy who claims a magnificent falcon is going to die? I certainly should remember that, even if I’m no longer young.”

“The falcon’s plumage may have looked magnificent at first sight, but there were two tail feathers missing. They’ll never grow back.” William felt his face flush and cleared his throat, embarrassed. “On its own that wouldn’t be a reason to say the bird is doomed. But one look in her eyes told me she was sick and couldn’t be saved. If I may, sir, either the falconer knows this, and he’s trying to sell her before she gives up the ghost in his hands and he has to bear the loss, or the man has about as much idea of falconry as I have of pig rearing.”

The merchant burst out laughing, highly amused, and glanced appraisingly at the pile of hides. “You look like a tanner’s apprentice, but you sound like a falconer.”

“I used to be a falconer. In another life, or so it seems to me. But though my heart is still with falconry, I no longer have a master to serve.”

“Tell me your name, my boy, and where you learned your falconry.”

“My name is William FitzEllen. I’m from Saint Edmundsbury, and I’m the son of Ellenweore the swordsmith. I once found our late king’s escaped gyrfalcon—” William broke off and crossed himself. “God rest his soul. I found his falcon, and as a reward for taking good care of her, I was allowed to learn the art of falconry at Thorne Castle.”

“So, William FitzEllen, what brought you to London, and to a tanner at that?”

“Forgive me, I would like to tell you everything, but it’s a long story and I find it painful, and I have to deliver these goods for my master. He beats me if I take too long about it.”

The merchant nodded. “My falconer could do with a hardworking assistant. Someone who can knuckle down to it properly and help with the dogs in the stables from time to time. How would that be?” He told him the wage he was prepared to pay and the other terms.

William could hardly believe his ears. The merchant was offering three times as much as he was getting from the tanner, plus winter clothing and, on Sundays, a piece of the roast from the master’s table.

“There’s nothing I would rather do, for tanning work doesn’t exactly gladden my heart,” William answered incredulously. “But do you really mean it?”