The Silver Falcon (37 page)

“I shall have sons,” cried William defiantly into the gathering darkness before tramping back to the others.

The wind had died down, but nightfall made the cold even more biting. They had blankets for all, but even those who had secured themselves a place by the fire did not sleep well.

They got up the next morning and continued on their way, stiff in their joints, tired, frozen through, and peevish.

How must soldiers feel when their masters ordered them into the field in weather like this, wondered William, shivering. When it was bitterly cold, did they go to their deaths with greater indifference? Did they fight in order not to freeze, or in order to go home sooner?

Every mile they put behind them felt like ten to William. At the same time, though, the closer they came to the southwest, the more tolerable the weather became. The cold let up, and it stayed dry. On the last day of their journey, the sun even appeared. It did not really warm them yet, but it gave hope for the approaching spring.

Soon, the first tender violet blossoms were nodding to them from the side of the road. They seemed to compete for the strange travelers’ favor with the sunny yellow of early blooming coltsfoot.

After a long ride across the lonely north of Devon, they at last reached Barnstaple. The cruciform shell of the castle keep sat mighty and proud on its position high above the town. The most important castle in north Devon was the property of Henry de
Tracey, who owned extensive and fertile lands and was one of the most powerful barons in the southwest of England.

“How wonderful that you have done me this honor, old friend.” De Tracey greeted William’s master with a friendly smile. He waited until Sir Walkelin had dismounted before embracing him.

A young girl stood beside their host. Judging by her fine clothes, William guessed she was de Tracey’s daughter. She had twisted her abundant nut-colored hair into a single heavy plait that reached all the way to her narrow hips. Her soft, smooth skin was of a highborn pallor; her nose was dainty and turned slightly upward toward the heavens. But it was her incredible sea-blue eyes that most impressed William. He stared at the girl as if struck by lightning. He could hardly breathe, his chest had become so tight. His heart began to pound as if he had been sprinting, and his hands were moist and cold. When the girl smiled at him, he felt like the happiest man alive. At a stroke, he was so sick with love that he could not swallow a single morsel at the banquet de Tracey held in honor of his guests.

Angels’ laughter, William thought, could not be more beautiful than that of this young girl. He found out that her name was Maud; he savored the name like a sweet fruit, tasting it slowly on his tongue. Pages and squires constantly surrounded her, buzzing around like bees on a flower, taking care of her every need. Several knights, both young and old, knelt at her feet. Anyone who had experienced anything told tales of his heroic deeds, making sure to trump all previous speakers with colorful words about his own daring. De Tracey clearly disliked the free and easy way the men courted Maud’s favor, so after the meal he sent his daughter to her room. Once she had stepped haughtily out of the hall to sulk, a measure of peace was restored. Robert and William left the falcons in the hall, as their master had ordered, and made their way to the quarters that had been assigned to them.

“Her eyes shine like stars,” said William passionately, pointing upward. “And when she smiles, it warms my heart, as if it were already spring.”

“I really don’t know what you see in her,” Robert sighed. “How can you be so blind? Can’t you see what a conceited goose she is? She’s leading you all by the nose.”

“Oh, you’re just jealous!”

Robert blushed and flung open the door to the servants’ quarters. “Jealous? Nonsense. What of?”

“Maybe it’s that she hasn’t cast an eye on
you
,” he replied spitefully, then immediately wished he had bitten his tongue. Robert was certainly embarrassed enough without his tactless remark, for Maud had not even looked at him. “I’m sorry,” William murmured, ashamed. He turned away and pretended to be busy locking the door.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry about, William. She means nothing to me. But
you
do. When I see you becoming obsessed with something hopeless…”

“There’s true friendship,” William said, directing an angry frown toward Robert. “Point out to me that I’m a worthless pauper and that a girl like Maud is unattainable. As if I didn’t know that myself!”

William moved through the cramped and cluttered room, dropped onto his bed, looked for his bundle, and took off his right shoe. Earlier, he had landed on a sharp stone when dismounting his horse. His foot was still in pain. Carefully, he started unwinding the bandage he had been wearing since the beginning of the journey. In winter, when it was very cold, the cracked skin on his foot was often so sensitive that the slightest scratch would bleed. He had learned to manage well with his twisted foot, and he scarcely hobbled at all anymore, but it was still a nuisance. Once he had unwound two of the bandages, William could see that the remaining layers were stuck together with dried blood. Although
he tried to remove the bandage with care, part of the wound came open again with a sharp pain. William gritted his teeth and rummaged among his things for the pot of vegetable fat.

“Here it is,” cried Robert with exaggerated cheerfulness, catching the little clay pot before it could roll off William’s bed. “Is it really painful?” he asked, trying to make peace. He opened the pot and held it out so William could use the ointment.

“It burns,” William replied, spreading a hazelnut-size ball onto the injury. He did not feel ashamed in front of Robert, though he did in front of the other boys and men, who would always make fun of his foot. He’d endured so much crassness, so many stupid jokes, and he had no desire to have to assert himself in this new group, too.

Robert knew very well what he was thinking, and he moved aside a little so that the others would not be able to see William’s foot.

William knew this was Robert’s way of apologizing, and he smiled at him gratefully as he massaged his foot.

“My master’s going to marry her in the spring,” they heard one of the younger squires boasting. “And then I’ll see her every day!”

“And while you’re pining, your master will be the buck that mounts her,” one of the other squires roared gleefully, slapping his thigh with hilarity.

Robert and William just looked at one another. What a disagreeable fellow. Couldn’t he just leave the boy alone? Both of them smiled. As so often was the case, they did not need words to know that they were of one mind.

William did not dream about Enid that night, but about Maud, whose glowing silk-soft skin was driving him wild. He woke up in the morning not only in turmoil but also feeling guilty. Torn this way and that, he tried to convince himself that he
couldn’t mourn Enid forever. After all, he was young and had his whole life in front of him. Nevertheless, he felt like a miserable traitor.

A little later, as he wandered through the castle like an infatuated tomcat in the hope of meeting the pretty Maud, he saw a large group of riders arriving. Although he had not seen him for an eternity, William recognized one of them immediately. Odon! Just the way he sat on his horse—as if he was superior to all others—was unmistakable. Cruelly and unexpectedly, the smell of the dungeon came back to William. Mad Leonard rattling his chains and his own feeling of hopelessness: they were suddenly as real to him again as if he were still sitting in the cell at Thorne. William could feel the sickness rising. He closed his eyes and took two deep breaths.

“You’ve done nothing wrong; he can’t do you any harm anymore,” he told himself quietly, trying to bolster his courage. He turned on his heel and hurriedly limped back to the servants’ quarters, where he found Robert.

“I was just looking for you,” said Robert happily. “We’re to get ready to go hawking.”

William made no reply.

“Goodness, you look terrible, as if you’d run into the devil incarnate.”

William remained silent.

“Will, what’s the matter?”

“Odon’s here,” William whispered hoarsely.

Robert scratched his head. “It might be best to tell old de Ferrers that you had some trouble with him, before Odon does.”

“No. He won’t go to de Ferrers. And neither will I.”

“As you wish.” Robert shrugged.

“I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of, so I won’t run away from him anymore.”

William limped away; his foot was still hellishly painful.

When they got back to the castle after the hunt, the banquet table had been set. The cooks would have to pluck and draw whatever the falcons had caught during that day’s hunt before preparing it for the next day, or the one after that. As usual, William and Robert sat on one side of the long table with the other falconers.

As was customary, the lord of the castle sat at the center of the other side of the table, with his back to the wall. By his side, where Lady de Tracey would have belonged if she was not dead, sat Sir Walkelin, the guest of honor. He had led an elite troop of soldiers that made a significant contribution to King Richard’s victory in the battle of Arsuf. De Ferrers was among the closest confidants of the king, whose return was still awaited.

William frowned, seeing that Odon was allowed to sit next to Maud, who was on her father’s other side. What in the world did that lout, of all people, hope to gain? When the meat was carried in, William understood. The young man serving Odon was the one who had bragged that his master was going to marry de Tracey’s daughter.

The idea that Odon would have this enchanting creature as his wife caused a burning pain in William’s stomach. His thoughts black as crows, he kept looking over at her. When Maud started making eyes at Odon, William tore off a piece of the fine bread before him, kneaded it into a ball, and took a grim bite. Didn’t Odon have anything better to do than kiss Maud’s hand? He was holding it to his mouth and nibbling on it like a chicken leg.

Nothing and nobody could distract William from the two of them—not the loud laughter and conversations around him, not even the music of the minstrels hired by de Tracey. William just kept watching Odon and Maud, though he could hardly bear to see them so close to each other. Her laughter cut him to the quick. William’s throat felt rough and dry. Odon kissed Maud’s hand as naturally as if he had done it all his life; he whispered sweet nothings in her ear and put his arm around her
waist in a familiar manner. When she blushed, threw her head back, and laughed throatily, her eyes sparkling with seductive charm, William could no longer stand it and rushed out of the noisy hall.

Outside, it was quieter, though a few servants and maids were sitting around the fire and feasting, too. The cool night air tempered William’s overheated mind. He paced restlessly.

“What’s the matter now?” he heard Robert ask suddenly. He had noticed his friend’s agitation and followed him outside.

“Did you see how shamelessly she was making eyes at that scoundrel?” said William, enraged. He kicked a stone and sent it flying across the courtyard.

“Well, Will, it looks as if she’s going to marry him.”

“Why must it be Odon, of all people?”

“Forget her, Will. She’s not for you.”

“I can’t. You don’t know what it’s like when your heart tells you to love someone you’ll never have. How could you understand my suffering?”

Robert swallowed hard and said nothing.

“I can’t sit there and watch any longer. I’m going to bed,” William growled.

“Nonsense. You’re going to pull yourself together and come back inside with me,” Robert said, taking his arm and pulling him back into the hall.

The meal had finished, and pipers and drummers were striking up the dance. The guests, especially those who had drunk their fill of de Tracey’s fine wines, were enjoying themselves tremendously. William saw that Odon and Maud were no longer sitting at their places, and he was taken by surprise when he heard Odon’s menacing voice.

“What are you doing here, William? I didn’t think you’d dare show yourself in front of me ever again.” Odon glared angrily. “You’re lucky my aunt decided to drop that matter with you and
the priest. If it had been up to me…” Odon drew his thumb across his throat.

William was innocent, and yet he was supposed to feel grateful that the lady of Thorne was no longer pursuing him. Nothing William had seen, not even the fact that Odon was guilty, counted in front of any judge in the world, not against the word of Lord Elmswick. It had not escaped William’s attention that Odon had inherited his father’s title.

“Aren’t you de Ferrers’s falconer?” said Maud, joining the conversation with an alluring smile. She seemed displeased neither of the young men was paying her any attention.

“Yes, mistress.” William bowed. She knew who he was! His body filled with warmth and happiness, as if the girl had set light to his heart. He felt his ears burning and worried that he would turn bright red.

“De Ferrers’s falconer?” Odon roared in disbelief. “Too great an honor for someone like you, even if you are a knight’s bastard.”

“Shall we call him Falconarius the Cripple?” She trilled with laughter. “One of our stable boys limps, too. A warhorse crushed his foot when he was little. Do you think we should have made him a falconer?” she asked Odon in mock innocence and then snorted.

Only a short while before, William had thought her laughter was like an angel’s. Now, though, he found it cruel and condescending.

Odon obviously found her contempt amusing, and he looked triumphantly at William. “My dear Maud, aren’t you being a bit unkind? Can’t you see how he’s pining for you, the poor thing? It breaks his heart that I’m going to get you and not him.” Odon roared with laughter.

“Well, he’ll soon find a girl he can marry. For someone like him, a wife doesn’t need to be of as high a station as I am, or as beautiful and clever. In his hut at night, he can’t see who he’s mounting anyway.”

However uncommon her beauty, her soul was obviously common enough. William turned away in disappointment. The flame in his breast had been abruptly extinguished; it was as if Maud had tipped a bucket of water over it. The look in her sea-blue eyes was so cold and disdainful, and her cruel mockery so humiliating. Her laughter just sounded dirty. There was nothing angelic about her now. How right Robert had been, whereas William had been blinded by love.