The Silver Falcon (46 page)

William found the work with John’s falcon fascinating, and the better he got to know her, the better he understood why she was John’s favorite. She was exceptionally brave and had remained so despite her serious injury; her eagerness for the hunt was as strong as ever.

Marguerite had first trained her young passager with a lure and, after a successful introduction to hunting, had named the bird Sly and left it in William’s care.

“Is Lord Elmswick here?” she asked one morning when she came to the mews to look in on Sly.

“No, should he be?” replied William, frowning.

“No, no, it’s just that I saw him earlier, talking to Guy over there on the path behind the clover field. He probably rode straight on to Sir Walkelin’s. Perhaps he has news of Prince John. He should be coming back soon.” Marguerite beamed at William. “My uncle will be amazed how well his falcon has recovered.”

It was true; the falcon’s recovery bordered on miraculous. Prince John had been away for nearly four months, and William
now awaited his return impatiently. The only thing that bothered him was that John’s next visit would probably also end Marguerite’s stay at Ferrières.

William opened the door to the mews and made a gallant gesture indicating that Marguerite should enter first. Then he followed her in. His eyes probed the darkness in search of John’s falcon. She was not on her perch. William rushed forward and found the falcon motionless on the sand.

“She’s dead,” he croaked, lifting her up carefully. He checked the falcon and could not find any injury.

Tears ran down Marguerite’s face. It was a while before she recovered from the shock. At length she looked around the base of the perch, bent down, and picked something up from the ground. She looked at it closely and sniffed at it. “Isn’t that a piece of salt pork?”

William looked at her hand in bewilderment. “How did that get here? Haven’t I told everyone here a thousand times that you can’t give salt meat to falcons?” he shouted. Salt, and therefore cured meat, was pure poison for falcons, and that was one of the first things he taught new assistants. Whom could it have been?

“For heaven’s sake, what’s going on here?” scolded Robert, who’d heard the shouting and come running.

“Someone has poisoned the prince’s falcon with salt meat.” Marguerite made her accusation with an assurance that struck William like a blow to the throat. He had thought it might be an accident, but now he realized she was right. There was no other answer.

“What can I tell the prince when he comes back?” stammered William, looking at Robert wide-eyed. “How am I to explain this?” He could not grasp that all his efforts had been rendered futile at a stroke. “The prince will hold me responsible for the death of his falcon. It doesn’t matter whether it was caused deliberately by someone else or it was due to a stupid mistake,” he told them
bitterly. After a while, he added, “Marguerite saw Odon earlier. Perhaps the prince will be here sooner than we think.”

“Odon here? That’s a remarkable coincidence, don’t you think, Will? Where did you see him, Marguerite, here in the mews?” Robert inquired.

“No, behind the clover field. He was talking to Guy.”

“I can see Odon behind this outrage, and using a helper so he doesn’t get his hands dirty would be just like him, too,” exclaimed Robert heatedly. “And killing a falcon is severely punished. A man who is caught can hardly expect to escape with his life. Odon knows that full well.”

“I’m going to go and find Guy. If he’s got anything to do with this, I’ll beat him black and blue,” snarled William. He handed the dead bird over to Robert and left the mews, snorting with anger.

In the yard he met Alain, who raised his hand in greeting. William ignored him and sprinted off. But where would he find Guy? In the village or the tavern perhaps? William felt his head clearing as he ran. When he used to run every day to strengthen his foot, the longer he ran, the clearer everything became. He would never find Guy. The youth had appeared, as if from nowhere, after Prince John’s departure and asked for work in the falconry. Robert had been suspicious, but William had felt sympathy for the lad when he’d said he had lost his father and mother and was hungry. William had given him a few menial jobs, jobs the apprentices normally did, even though they would have managed fine without Guy. Why oh why had he had to play the Good Samaritan? Now John’s falcon was dead and the youth had disappeared for sure.

If Odon isn’t behind this, the devil is welcome to take me, William thought angrily as he pondered what to do.

It would be best not to say anything to John about the falcon’s recovery. The bird had not survived. Did the prince need to know more than that? John would certainly not believe she had been deliberately poisoned.

Enraged, William kicked a new molehill, sending the earth flying in all directions. Having failed to do what he had set out to do, he went back to the falconry. He found that Robert had already buried the falcon. When he saw that Marguerite had lovingly decorated the spot with crane feathers, William was deeply touched, and his boundless fury evaporated for a moment.

T
he disturbing news spread like wildfire; King Richard had died unexpectedly. They had been back from the mainland only a few weeks when they heard that he had been shot by mistake during the siege of Châlus. He had been struck by arrows many times during the Crusade, but he had always recovered quickly. Therefore, it was said, the king did not take seriously the risk of injury from crossbow bolts and did not protect himself sufficiently. His physicians did not succeed in removing the tip of the bolt from his injured shoulder, so the wound did not heal and started to fester. Knowing that his end was near, Richard called for his mother so that he could settle the succession in her presence. He died in her arms shortly thereafter.

Bowed down with grief at the death of her favorite son but still every inch a queen, Eleanor had buried his body beside the bones of her husband in Fontevraud. Although Richard had absolved the unfortunate archer of all guilt for his imminent death, he was done away with as soon as the king had drawn his last breath, and nobody shed a tear.

Both in England and on the mainland, however, everyone was concerned with the question of the succession. Everywhere, the people were distressed and worried. Although Richard had declared his younger brother heir to the throne, there were fierce disputes over the legality of his decision, and factions began to
form. Many loyal subjects of the king wanted to follow Richard’s last wish; others thought the rightful heir was Arthur of Brittany, the son of John’s dead older brother, who would otherwise have been the rightful heir to the throne. For some time, the Bretons had been fighting for the twelve-year-old Arthur’s ascendancy. As soon as the news of Richard’s death became known, they had handed over Arthur to the French king in order to secure his support.

Meanwhile, John did not waste any time before heading to Chinon as soon as he heard the news. Once there, he seized the royal treasure and managed to secure the support of important men like Marshal and the archbishop of Canterbury. His claim to the throne looked fairly secure, even if no one knew exactly what would happen next.

As his master falconer, William had become a confidant of old Sir Walkelin’s, so he spent enough time in his lord’s hall to learn of the situation’s difficulty.

“I hope John becomes king. At least he was born in England and speaks our language,” said Robert when William told him what was being said in the hall. “Unlike Richard, who never took any interest in England. And as for young Arthur, the Bretons will always come first for him, not the English.”

William shrugged doubtfully. Since the incident with the falcon, he feared John, the youngest Plantagenet, and he was afraid that Marguerite would move impossibly far away if he ascended to the throne.

“We’ll see,” he said darkly. John had given William the opportunity to show him what he could do. Had William succeeded, he could have entertained hopes of joining the court when the prince became king. But the death of the falcon had rendered this prospect null and void. Nothing could be proved against Odon, and he was sure there would never be another opportunity to convince John of his abilities.

“Come, let’s get to work. The falcons don’t care who is king of England. They won’t hunt any worse under one than the other,” he said to Robert.

Odon paced up and down in his room. Since his father’s death, a few things had changed at Elmswick, and the castle had become the place where he felt most at home.

Maud had borne him two sons and was with child again, but still she could not come to terms with life at Elmswick. Despite the various improvements Odon had set in motion before traveling to the mainland, all of which had progressed well during his absence, she still considered the castle beneath her. She grumbled constantly. The hall was too small, the bedchamber drafty, and the wall hangings understated. Even Odon was not up to her expectations.

Sometimes he wondered what he had done to deserve a shrewish wife whom he could never satisfy, having had a father for whom he had never been good enough, either. There were compensations, however, besides the extensive lands she had brought into the marriage. Because of her great beauty, Odon desired Maud with every fiber of his body. Although she showed no genuine fondness for anyone, neither him nor their sons, and was vain and coldhearted, he was nonetheless proud to have her as his wife. The envy he saw in other men’s eyes when Maud appeared was too delicious. It allowed him to put her peevishness aside and increased his desire for her.

It was only her mocking expression when she saw him naked that reminded him of other times, and when he felt most hurt he remembered Carla, who had never made fun of him. Since that day in January five years before, he had never again seen her or the son she had borne.

He and Maud had named their first legitimate son and heir Rotrou, after Odon’s father, as was customary; the second they had named Henry, after Maud’s father. Rotrou was only a few months younger than the son he had with Carla and whose name he still did not know.

Odon wondered what his oldest son might look like. He had not even had a chance to catch a glimpse of the infant child in his cradle. What kind of a boy might he be?

Henry was still small, but he was already quite cheeky, and Rotrou was a rascal, quite to Odon’s liking. He was only five years old, but he was already scrapping with the maids’ children and was not afraid to threaten the adults, too. He knew very well that he was the son of the lord and that he need fear none of them. Odon’s thoughts were still revolving around his sons when there was a knock on the door.

“Forgive me for disturbing you, my lord. A servant from Caldecote would like to speak to you. He refuses to leave and says he has important news he must give you in person. He won’t say more.” Odon’s page looked at his master timidly.

“Take him to the hall,” Odon replied brusquely. “I’m on my way.”

When Odon came down, the servant had already removed his headgear and was waiting for him. Odon looked curiously at the old man, who was wringing the coif in his hands like a washerwoman.