The Silver Falcon (32 page)

FitzOwen could hardly believe what a noble company had assembled when William went through the list of those he could see on the site of the hunt. Logan had insisted that William learn which colors belonged to which noblemen and which families were related by marriage. He was a little out of touch—new lords had been created and new marriages made, and alliances and titles had changed—but at least William knew of the most important earls and counts.

Marshal was one of those William recognized from afar. He looked stately and proud on his elegant hunter. He had grown older and richer, and both suited him very well. When William first saw him, that time in the smithy, he had been the young king’s tutor, with no other means to his name. Now, however, he was one of the wealthiest and most influential barons in the land, and that was evident even from a distance. He wore hunting clothes of the finest cloth, rode a valuable horse, and was surrounded by young knights striving to be noticed by him. Ladies smiled at him graciously, though it was known that his young wife had already presented him with an heir and was with child again. Marshal’s charm, his astonishing rise, his courtly manners, and his skill in the arts of war made him irresistible to all.

William watched him, fascinated, and took fright when Marshal looked over at him. For a moment, they gazed into each other’s eyes until a pair of squires rode by and blocked their view. By the time they had passed, Marshal had turned away and was deep in conversation with one of his attendants.

“You see, not a single baron has decked out his falconers like the London merchants,” William told FitzOwen with quiet triumph in his voice. “People will admire this modesty on your part, believe me.”

But the merchant was awed by the splendor of the nobles and just nodded absently.

William had been nervous since he found out that Marshal was taking part in the hunt, too, and glanced in his direction again. His retinue had several falconers with marvelous birds. But it was not only the barons who could count magnificent beasts among their holdings; the London merchants could as well.

Although FitzOwen’s two lanner falcons were thoroughly acceptable birds, William feared they would be no match for the others. It didn’t bear thinking about how FitzOwen would react if they didn’t catch any prey. He was not one of those men for whom the beauty of the bird’s flight was more important than a successful hunt. Briefly, William wondered whether he should have kept the falcons hungry for a little longer, in order to make them more courageous, but then he put the thought aside. It was not recklessness alone that turned a falcon into a good hunter. A thinner falcon might become more daring but would also tire more quickly and become careless.

FitzOwen was soon absorbed in conversation with various lords and merchants, discussing his commercial intentions and successes and making jokes. William watched the opening forays carefully. Every now and again, he scanned the crowd in search of Marshal.

The ladies who had joined the hunting party took up positions on blankets at the edge of the large field, where pages served them wine and morsels of food as they chatted animatedly. From time to time they would look up, point at a bird, and admire its flight.

William stayed close to his master but did not pay any further attention to him. He had taken the tiercel away from his master after the first round of greetings, so that he would not become tired. William had immediately noticed that FitzOwen did not hold the raptor securely, which fatigued the bird unnecessarily. Since then he had been watching the hunt, and when the
right moment approached he went over to his master, noticing with surprise that he was deep in conversation with Marshal. William went weak at the knees. He had to get a grip on himself and greet the baron without the slightest hope of being recognized. It must have been almost ten years since they’d spent the afternoon with Princess, Marshal’s lanner falcon. For William it had been a special day, but Marshal was bound to have forgotten about it long ago; besides, the boy had become a man in the meantime.

“Sir William,” William bowed.

“William, what a pleasure to see you.” Marshal looked at his face searchingly. “You’ve changed, and yet you’re still the same. When I caught your eye earlier, I wasn’t sure, but you have your mother’s eyes and look just like her. How is she?” he asked, with a serious, almost anxious expression. “The last time I saw her, she was expecting.”

“My brother must be about seven by now. I’ve been gone from Saint Edmundsbury for a long time and I don’t know how my mother is, sir. I hope she is well.”

“You should go and visit her,” Marshal murmured.

FitzOwen remained silent, quite unlike his usual self, and looked questioningly from one to the other.

William glanced up. He was filled with pride and happiness, for Marshal had recognized him and spoken to him with such warmth. But if they did not want to miss the chance for their falcons to shine, they couldn’t wait any longer. He could not allow himself to be distracted by Marshal’s presence.

William took his master’s arm unobtrusively but firmly and bowed. “You ordered me to bring your bird to you.” He placed the tiercel on FitzOwen’s fist, casually straightened his arm, and looked up again. With a tiny nudge at the merchant’s elbow, he gave him to understand that he should cast off the bird.

The tiercel climbed swiftly into the sky.

William did not let much time pass before he cast off the female, too. During the breeding season, lanner falcons often hunted together, and recently William had repeatedly set the two birds after the same prey.

FitzOwen gave William a brief, slightly irritated glance, but William did not heed it. He knew his master thought he was trying to compete with him, but he would understand William’s intention as soon as the lords around them fell silent and watched the birds.

The two falcons were an ideal pair for hunting. They combined spectacular flying ability with unerring precision. The agile tiercel pursued his prey with powerful beats of his wings, tiring it out; he wounded the creature with its talons, and it began to drop. With the speed of an arrow, the female pounced on it as it plummeted downward, administering the coup de grâce with a bite to the head.

William waved to Jack to follow and set off at a run. He hurried to separate the birds from their prey before they could begin to gorge on it, and he rewarded them with some savory treats.

He was on his way back to FitzOwen when Marshal approached him again. “Did you train the falcons yourself?”

“They were already in my master’s household when I began working there. I had to train them afresh, though, because they were timid and unreliable, my lord.” William tried to sound modest, but he did not quite manage it.

“I already noticed how skillful you are with the birds when you held Princess for the first time.” Carefully, he stroked the breast of the bird on William’s fist. “Your mother must be very proud of you.”

“With respect, sir, I hardly think so. She wanted me to become a swordsmith.”

“Because of Hephaestus, Wayland, and your foot, I know. But I’m sure she knew, despite everything, that it wouldn’t suit
you, even if she did try everything to get her way.” Marshal smiled.

“You seem to know my mother better than I thought,” he said, intrigued.

Marshal just smiled knowingly, leaving his comment unanswered.

“Forgive me, I must return to my master.” William bowed.

“Tell him I shall invite him on a hunt in the spring. We’ll see each other again then,” he said with an amiable nod.

His thoughts in turmoil after this encounter, William returned to FitzOwen.

“How does someone like you know one of the most important men in the kingdom?” the merchant immediately inquired. “I’m quite sure he only engaged me in conversation so that he could ask me about you.” FitzOwen seemed to be hovering between envy and admiration.

“Sir William requires me to inform you that you will be invited on a hunt in the spring.” William feigned indifference, but he was agitated to the core as he fiddled with the falcon’s jesses on his fist.

“I’d very much like to know what’s behind all this,” FitzOwen muttered, shaking his head, as William went off to see to Jack and the tiercel.

FitzOwen’s falcons showed their capabilities with two more splendid flights, and by the end of the day, FitzOwen was being greeted affably by merchants who had previously ignored him because they were too refined to have dealings with an upstart like him.

“I don’t mind whether they bid me good day because my falcons have flown so well or because Sir William was so good as to speak to me. I am thoroughly satisfied—with you, too, William,” the merchant said at the end of the day, thrusting a few coins in William’s hand.

It was more than twice his normal weekly wage.

“You have truly earned it.” FitzOwen laughed. “Even FitzAilwyn the mayor exchanged a few words with me. He will do me the honor of visiting me in my shop as soon as he can. This has been a thoroughly worthwhile day.”

B
arely six months had passed since the great hunt, which had been an outstanding success. Since then, FitzOwen had been able to consolidate his contacts and use them to great advantage.

Over and over again, he told William how advantageous it would be to know Marshal better, and how keen he was to meet him again. He tried to learn from William how he knew the baron and what he knew about him. William answered tersely that Marshal was a customer of his mother’s, but he otherwise avoided the subject.

William said next to nothing about his life, concentrating silently on the falcons instead, but this loosened FitzOwen’s tongue like a swiftly drained jug of wine. Almost every day, he paid William a visit and chattered tirelessly.

In this way, William learned that his master had entered the service of an elderly merchant at the age of sixteen. While working as an errand boy and assistant at the counter, he kept his eyes and ears open and learned to read and count; over time, he acquired more and more duties. Thanks to brains and hard work, he had made himself indispensable before he was twenty, and the old merchant, whose only son had died, left the shop to FitzOwen. This inheritance did not make him rich right away—the old man was not that rash—but he did at least become a member of the merchants’ guild, and that was the foundation of his future success. FitzOwen, who could be utterly charming when it was worth his while, managed to find backers for his
ventures despite being unable to offer any sureties to speak of. He took great risks, showed skill, and had a fair amount of luck. In this way, the son of a simple servant had become a successful merchant.

Until the recent hunt, though, he had been made to feel unworthy by merchants whose fathers and grandfathers had grown rich by trading expensive goods. No one had ever asked his opinion when important decisions were being made within the guild; only his money contributions were welcome.

Now all that had changed. Suddenly, even the worthiest merchants greeted him on the street; some of them even invited him to their homes or asked his advice. FitzOwen was still obsessed with the idea of one day rising even higher than FitzEldred, whom he envied as much for his success as for his high standing, and so got it in his head that he should wed Robena. By marrying her, he would finally join the circle of the most influential merchant families, the very people who had so long despised him for his humble origins.

William sometimes wondered whether FitzOwen had made him his falconer mainly in order to take him away from FitzEldred. And since he had no desire to continue to be a mere pawn in the merchant’s game, he did not tell him that Robena was already promised to FitzAilwyn’s son.

When FitzOwen found out for himself, he just laughed bitterly. “We’ll see if FitzAilwyn still approves the wedding to sweet Robena when it comes out that her father can’t pay the dowry. I shall bring FitzEldred to his knees. He’ll beg me to marry his daughter yet,” he predicted confidently.

When FitzOwen received Marshal’s invitation to the next hunt, he immediately ordered new clothes and started parading about like a peacock. It was customary for successful men to demonstrate their riches with thoroughbred horses, splendid falcons,
costly clothes, the company of a beautiful wife, and a large number of servants.

Fascinated, FitzOwen watched the barons who had been invited and eyed the merchants critically as they joined the assembled hunt one by one. It was obvious that he did not yet belong among the noblest men in London. They stood together in a small group in the center, clad in even more magnificent clothes, leading the costliest horses, and radiating invincible self-confidence. Several of them, it was said, were trying to rise to the lesser nobility by marrying a daughter of an impoverished nobleman who needed a generous dowry.

William knew that FitzOwen admired these men and wanted nothing more than to belong among them. He was therefore particularly pleased when Marshal, after greeting the most important barons, came first to him rather than to the other merchants. FitzOwen looked around, craning his neck, as if convincing himself that the other merchants had noticed the honor that was being accorded him.