The Silver Falcon (47 page)

“What is this news you have, and from whom does it come? Speak up, man,” Odon ordered harshly, looking at the man severely. He liked to see the simple folk trembling before him.

“Ah, my lord.” The old man bowed humbly several times. “The pigsticker’s wife sent me.” He sniffed. “She’s…she’s dying,” he stammered. His voice, already shaky, seemed about to forsake him entirely. “And she asked for you to come.” He bowed, hunching his shoulders as if expecting to be whipped on the spot.

Odon began to shake like an aspen leaf in the wind and rushed out without saying anything. On his way to the stables, he shouted to his squire that he was riding to Caldecote.

“Alone,” he barked when the youth made as if to join him.

He rode the few miles to Caldecote at breakneck speed. He did not know where the pigsticker lived, but he would find his house. If Carla was calling for him after such a long time, things were probably worse than bad with her. Would he reach her in time? Odon drove the horse on pitilessly.

He did not have to ask around much in Caldecote. The people in the very second house knew the pigsticker with the birthmark and told Odon the way. Burning with haste and worry, he got down from his horse in front of the house and hammered on the door until a maid shuffled up and opened it for him. She stared at him, as if turned to a pillar of salt, when she saw what a fine man he was.

Odon pushed her aside. “Take care of my horse,” he called out over his shoulder, rushing into the house without paying any further heed to the valuable creature.

Carla was thin and pale. Her cheeks were sunken, her eyes ringed with dark shadows. She was dying. Only her gently rising and falling chest told Odon that she was still alive.

The smell in the room was sour. It reminded him of the unpleasant exhalation of rot and disintegration that had surrounded his father as he battled against death. This time, however, it did not arouse disgust in him but pure terror. He had lost Carla long ago, but Odon now feared for her life as if it were his own. She was the only person who had ever meant anything to him. Despite his horror of sickness and disease, he approached her bed.

She opened her feverishly glittering eyes and smiled with gratitude. “Please take your son.” She coughed breathlessly. “I don’t want him to grow up here without me. The pigsticker has a son of his own, and he won’t want to support my boy after I’m dead.
When he comes back from playing dice at the tavern, it would be better if the boy weren’t here.”

“You’re not going to die, Carla. I’ll go and fetch the physician.” He was about to leave when Carla held him back.

“He won’t come to the house of a simple pigsticker, Odon.”

“I’ll persuade him. Trust me.”

“No, please stay here. I’m dying. Don’t leave me alone.” A tear ran down her cheek.

“But I won’t let you go,” protested Odon.

“It’s too late. The Lord is already calling me.” Carla took a couple of wheezing breaths. “A bastard can become something worthwhile, something better than a pigsticker. Accept your responsibility, Odon. Your son is a good boy.”

“I shall acknowledge him and take him in, I promise.” Odon stayed at Carla’s bedside for a long time, choking back his emotions and holding her hand as she told him, haltingly, about the boy and his early years. At Odon’s behest, she also told him about the man who had informed her of the death of the woman in the forest.

Odon asked what the stranger looked like, and when she said he was from Thorne he knew it had been Robert. Why did he stick his nose in and meddle with things that weren’t his? He would pay.

As if she could read his thoughts, Carla clung tightly to his hand, sat up effortfully, and pleaded with him, the exertion making her breath noisy. “You mustn’t be angry with him. He just wanted to warn me, because he was afraid you would harm me, too. I was with child. It honors him that he wanted to protect me. So let him come to no harm, do you hear me?”

Odon feared she might exhaust herself, so he promised not to do anything to Robert. Tenderly, he pushed Carla back down on her bed, forcing himself to smile at her gently to calm her down, although his soul was still bent on revenge.

Carla paused for breath, then asked him in a low voice to tell the maid to bring her son to her.

When the boy was standing in front of her, she lifted herself up again; her elbow was trembling where it supported her weight. Carla took Odon’s hand and placed it on the boy’s head. “This is your son. His name is Adam, and I beg you, take care of him.” Then she took the boy’s hand and placed it on Odon’s belt. “Adam, this is Sir Odon of Elmswick, your father. Go with him and obey him always.” She sank back in the bed and turned her head to one side. She exhaled noisily and died.

Odon stood stock-still by her bed. Gray and shrunken, she was suddenly as strange to him as if he had never known her. He crossed himself and turned away without a word. As he strode out of the room, the child kept hold of his belt, looked at him wide-eyed, and scampered after him. The boy clearly did not understand that his life had just changed dramatically.

Odon sat the boy on his horse in silence. The maid, who had also heard Carla’s last words, rubbed her red eyes dry, caressed the child’s foot now that he was high up on the horse, gave him a last wave, and then went back into the house.

Odon swung up behind his son and rode off. After a little while, the boy began to ask questions. He wanted to know when they would go back to his mother and whether it was true that his father lived in a castle. He called Odon “Father” as if he had never known anything else.

At first, Odon was unpleasantly affected by this and wondered whether taking the boy had been a mistake. Who would take care of him and make a man of him? A son he could be proud of, for once? He could put him in a monastery. But that would mean sending him away for a long time, and he didn’t like that idea at all. He decided to let Adam grow up with his half brother Rotrou. It was not unusual at all for bastards to be raised alongside legitimate children, and it was the best way to give the boy a reasonable education. Maud would not be enthusiastic, but he would insist on it, and he would ensure that she obeyed. He
had nothing more to fear aside from her refusing him her bed for a while.

As he lifted Adam down from the horse at Elmswick, he noticed how much he resembled Carla, and he was gripped by an unexpected wave of affection for him.

“This is my son Adam. He’s going to live under my roof from now on,” he told everyone in the house by way of introduction. He felt prouder than he ever had before.

Maud complained, as she always did when she did not like something. She threatened, she screamed, and she shouted. But when she saw that Odon was meeting her outbursts of rage with complete indifference, she calmed down.

“He will learn to read, write, and count with Rotrou. And he will also ride, fight, and do battle like him,” Odon declared firmly. “You had better get used to the idea that I have another son.”

“As long as your lady love’s bastard doesn’t sleep in our room,” Maud hissed. “I wouldn’t get a moment’s sleep.”

Odon accepted this condition and told Adam to sleep in the hall with the knights and servants.

W
hile Adam gradually settled in, Odon waited to hear who would be king of England. He prayed to the Lord with all his heart that it would be John, for if Arthur ascended the throne and came to hear how cruelly Odon had rampaged in Brittany, it would cost him dearly.

It was at Ascensiontide, Odon found out later, only two days after landing at Shoreham with a few allies, that John Lackland, youngest son of King Henry II, was crowned king of England at Westminster. John’s mother, Eleanor, sat at his side for the occasion instead of his wife. People on all sides remarked how alert she still was for her age. Beautiful despite her long gray hair, she still sat lightly and elegantly in the saddle, and as always she was dressed in the finest clothes and noblest jewels.

But John was in a hurry and did not stay at Westminster for long. Immediately after his coronation, he gathered as many men around him as he could and then traveled the length and breadth of England. He visited the abbey at Saint Edmundsbury, journeyed from one important castle to the next, participated in hunts with and without hawks, and tried to ensure the support of as many barons as he could. He had to persuade former enemies, some of whom had mistrusted him for many years, to become loyal subjects and support him.

Odon, too, associated himself with the king. He left no stone unturned in his efforts to make himself indispensable, and so it came about that John finally invited Odon to follow him to the
mainland. Overjoyed that the king had noticed him at all, and done him this great honor besides, Odon returned home for a short while to settle his affairs and bid farewell to his wife and sons, whom he would not see for quite some time.

J
ohn came to Oakham, too, accompanied by some of the most important men in the land. De Ferrers, who had known him as a boy and knew how determined and difficult the young king was, welcomed him with full honors. He bowed deeply, dismissed his knights and servants, and invited the king into his hall with an expansive gesture.

William had watched the royal party arrive from afar. He squinted, looking for Marguerite. It did not take long to find her.

Nearly half a year had passed since Marguerite had left Ferrières at John’s side—more than five months, during which William had thought of nothing but her and of her expressive eyes, in which tears had glistened as she’d breathed a featherlight kiss on his cheek when they had said good-bye. The days, weeks, and months that had passed since then had felt endless. Life in her absence seemed dull and colorless. He had experienced the journey back to England that February as if in a fog. He had not even noticed the first green shoots of spring at Oakham. Even hunting and working with the falcons had gladdened his heart less than usual.

Now that Marguerite was here, though, he noticed how gloriously the flowers were blooming around him. Their many-colored heads nodded gaily in the light summer breeze. The sky looked bluer than it had before, the sun felt warmer, and the fields seemed more luxuriant.

Marguerite was even more beautiful than he remembered. I shall tell her what I feel, thought William. This time, I’m not going
to let her leave without her knowing how things stand with me—whether it’s seemly or not.

William looked over at the king, whose expression—a little condescending, masterful, commanding attention—made his still-fresh resolve crumble like a handful of earth. Never, thought William, never will I see forgiveness in his eyes. Not after what happened to his falcon.

Although John had not punished William, and no word of reproach passed his lips, there had been blame and displeasure in his eyes. William had tried to explain, but he did not know what he could say in his own defense. How could he make John understand what had happened? After all, he could not name any witnesses to a deliberate act of poisoning, and it was only his suspicion that pointed to Odon’s involvement.

William sighed. Nothing had changed since then. He would have to make the best of things as he found them, now and forever. John would now always consider him a mediocre falconer who could not be trusted with duties beyond the ordinary.

The king was instantly forgotten when William saw one of the younger barons helping Marguerite dismount her horse. William’s gaze flicked quickly from him to her and back again. Marguerite was giggling. The sound was bright and harmonious but did not make William happy. On the contrary, it stabbed his heart like a sharp hunting knife. The young man was laughing now. He bowed chivalrously, offered Marguerite his arm, and led her to the hall. William sighed again. If he did not think of something quickly, he might not even get the opportunity to exchange a few words with her. Even if he was invited to the hall to join the banquet that was being prepared for the king, he would sit too far down the table to be able to speak to her.

William took a deep breath of the warm June air. He was so thirsty for her closeness that it hurt. He wanted to make her laugh, to lose himself in her eyes. He had to come up with something, so
that he could see her alone for a short while. As he thought about the possibilities, he made his way back to the falconry.