The Silver Falcon (8 page)

“Thank you for everything,” he called to them, then followed Sir Baudouin.

“You do know how to ride?” the knight asked, offering him the reins of the horse he had brought with him.

William nodded and mounted the horse. As they leaped into motion, he looked back, just once, and tried to catch a last glimpse of Orford. Then they came to a bend in the road, and from that point on William looked only ahead.

“Hey you, boy. Wait!”

Robert turned, frightened. He had recognized the voice immediately, and he tried to weigh up the situation in a flash. Odon looked as though he felt as strong as a bear again, which was not surprising, since he was accompanied by three of his friends. A chill ran down Robert’s spine. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, he could do against the four squires, for each of them was at least five years older than he was and two heads taller. They enjoyed picking on those weaker than themselves, and he had walked right into it. Even running away was out of the question.

“Come here,” ordered one of them, a lean youth with dark hair and a thin beard.

Since he had no choice, Robert walked toward them with his head bowed.

“Clean my boots,” the squire commanded.

Robert knelt down and began to wipe the dust off the boots with his sleeve, gritting his teeth. He bit down on his quivering lip.

“Lick them,” the squire ordered arrogantly, and his companions roared with pleasure. “They’re supposed to shine.”

Robert’s eyes grew moist, and his nose began to run. Only cowards sought out the weak in order to humiliate them. But if he did not do as the squire ordered, they would all pounce on him. He bowed down over the boot and dribbled spittle from his mouth.

“I said lick!” roared the squire. He gave Robert such a kick in the shoulder that he fell backward. “What a simpleton.”

Robert was rattled. In desperation, he did as the squire commanded. When Robert’s tears dropped onto the boot, Odon waded in.

“Look at him, blubbing like a maid,” he cried. He grabbed Robert by the arm and hoisted him high. “If you’ll lick
his
boot, what will you do for me?”

Odon’s face was so close that, for a moment, Robert considered head-butting him. But he quickly rejected the idea. Everyone knew that Odon was a bad loser and a thoroughly vindictive person to boot.

“Whatever you wish, Master Odon.”

“So, whatever I wish.” Odon looked at his friends with satisfaction. “You heard: he knows who his master is,” he said triumphantly, waving him away dismissively. “That’s enough—you may go now.”

Robert turned away and was about to make his escape when he fell full length to the ground. Odon, the odious fellow, had tripped him.

“Did you hurt yourself?” Odon asked with artificial compassion. “I hope you take a bit more care with our falcons and don’t fall on your face when you’re carrying them!”

Robert stood up in silence. Just as he was about to leave, a knight rushed up. Robert knew him: it was Reginald de Vere, a
cousin of the Earl of Oxford and fencing master to the squires. He had a reputation for being strict but fair. Moreover, he was the only person the arrogant squires respected, for he came down hard on them if they tried to play their games with him.

“Why aren’t you in the practice area?” he demanded. “Run around the field five times!” The squires just smirked at each other surreptitiously, showing no sign of making themselves scarce, so he added, “With the big sandbags.”

They moved off, groaning.

“Lazy good-for-nothings!” he shouted after them. “They’ve a long way to go before they become men,” he muttered to himself as he turned to Robert. “Go home and give your father a message: Sir Ralph is sending him a new apprentice for a few days. You’ll save me a trip to the mews.”

“Yes, Sir Reginald. I’ll tell him.”

The fencing master spun his horse around and dug in his spurs, leaving Robert feeling puzzled.

“An apprentice,” he muttered to himself. “What does my father need an apprentice for? He’s got me, after all. Aren’t I good enough for him? Things could go badly for me if the lord of Thorne is sending some nobleman’s spoiled brat into my father’s house to compete for my post.”

T
he weather was mild and dry during their ride, so Sir Baudouin and William reached their destination in three days. The castle at Thorne sat on a gentle rise in the land. To the west, where the sun was already low in the sky, a narrow strip of muddy ground fringed by dense forest abutted the lower bailey. To the east, the cottages of the day laborers and serfs huddled together on the hillside, all the way up to the oak palisades that protected the stone accommodation tower and a few other buildings against intruders.

In William’s imagination, the castle had been bigger, and he came close to being a little disappointed. The tower was not half as imposing as the keep of the castle at Orford. Moreover, it was not made of pale, welcoming stone like the latter, but of dark-brown bricks, creating a gloomy, almost eerie atmosphere.

Once they had ridden over the wooden bridge and into the bailey, Sir Baudouin handed over the horses to a stable lad. “Bring your bundle and come with me,” he ordered William curtly, hurrying ahead.

William rubbed his aching back and behind, which would probably continue to ache for a few days more, and limped hurriedly after the knight. Whenever he sat in the saddle for such a long time, his foot became stiff, and it took a while before he could walk properly again.

“Sir Ralph.” Sir Baudouin walked into the hall and strode toward the lord of the manor.

“Baudouin, what a pleasure!” His host smiled and came toward him. They embraced each other warmly.

“I was expecting you yesterday.” Sir Ralph put his hands on Sir Baudouin’s shoulders and examined him closely. “You look as though things couldn’t be better. A bit dusty, perhaps, but otherwise quite splendid.” He turned away and poured some wine into a tin goblet.

“I was delayed,” Sir Baudouin said, looking at William and winking conspiratorially.

“Nothing unpleasant, I hope.”

“No, no, don’t worry. Nothing important. Unfortunately, the king is expecting me back as soon as possible.” He took the goblet that Sir Ralph offered him and drank. “Very good wine, as is to be expected in your house.”

“Will you stay the night, despite your haste? I’ll have something delicious cooked for us.”

“Gladly. If I leave Thorne at sunrise, I can still reach the royal encampment before darkness falls.”

William was standing by the entrance and did not dare move.

“Your new page?” asked Sir Ralph, nodding in William’s direction. “Come closer, my son.”

“No, forgive me. This is William.” Sir Baudouin held William’s shoulder and pulled him closer.

“William Fitz…?”

“FitzEllen, the swordsmith’s son.” Sir Baudouin finished the word hastily.

“Oh yes, of course.” The lord of the manor considered William for a moment. “I remember now. You can’t miss a certain resemblance,” he said through a grin directed at Sir Baudouin.

“You know my mother?” William asked happily, then immediately bit his lower lip. Sir Baudouin had impressed on him that he should never address a knight without invitation. “Forgive me, my lord,” he whispered, looking down in shame.

“That’s all right.” Sir Ralph smiled expressively. “Odon!” he shouted. A broad-shouldered, straw-blond squire of about fifteen rushed in.

“Welcome to Thorne, Sir Baudouin,” he said, bowing as he spoke. Then he turned to his master. “My lord?”

“Take this lad to the master falconer.” Sir Ralph turned back to Sir Baudouin. “And between us we’ll dispatch a couple of jugs of good red wine. What do you say?”

“Excellent idea!” Sir Baudouin nodded to William. “Good-bye, lad.”

“Come on, then.” The squire poked his side. “I have to be back when supper is served.”

William suppressed a sigh and followed him. He tried not to limp too much, but the squire noticed soon enough.

“Are you hurt?” he asked after they had walked a short way, pointing at William’s foot.

“No, it’s been like that since I was born,” he explained with a shy smile, “but it’s not too bad.”

Odon snorted in disbelief. “Who is your father, that they take you on as a hunt assistant even though you’re a cripple? That is what you’re here for, isn’t it?”

“Falconer,” William corrected him proudly. “The king—” William broke off. Perhaps it would be better if he did not say the king had sent him here. “The king has fantastic falcons,” he said, knowing full well that it did not sound right.

Odon merely nodded. “Me, I’m going to be a famous knight one day. The lord of the manor is my uncle. He was a knight-errant, a second son. Until he married my father’s sister, he didn’t have a title or lands,” he explained condescendingly. “I’m better off. I’m the firstborn, and I’ll inherit my father’s estate. Beside, I’m going to marry a rich lady later, which will make me even more powerful.” He looked at the smaller William complacently. “What about your father. Is he a falconer, too?”

“Oh no, he’s a famous knight. A friend of Sir Baudouin.” He beamed at Odon, full of pride.

“And does he have a name? I know all the famous knights,” he boasted self-importantly.

At this, William just shrugged.

“You’re probably a bastard, and he doesn’t even know you exist.” There was a certain note of satisfaction in Odon’s voice. “And your mother?”

“Is the best swordsmith in all England,” replied William. His green eyes shone with pride.

“A swordsmith’s bastard! No wonder your father wants nothing to do with you. What’s your name, anyway?”

“William.”

“William the Bastard. That’s a name to conjure with. Have you ever heard of William the Conqueror?”

“No, who’s he?”

“He died long ago. He was a Norman duke who conquered England more than a hundred years ago. My grandfather’s grandfather fought for him.”

After they had been walking through fields and meadows for a good while, they reached a house with several outbuildings and a wooden tower.

“This is where the head falconer lives. His name is Logan. I reckon he’ll be overjoyed to see you,” Odon said smugly, then turned away without another word.

The sun was already half-submerged below the horizon. It would be dark soon. William stood in front of the falconry for a while, not daring to knock on the door. There was not a soul to be seen. Was anyone actually expecting him? William gathered his courage and was thinking about how he should introduce himself to the falconer when the door of the main house opened. A boy about William’s age, if not younger, stumbled out.

“Three buckets,” a man shouted from behind him.

The boy picked up two leather buckets and muttered crossly, “Three buckets with two arms.”

“Either you’ll have to make two trips, or I can help you—if you’ve got another bucket,” William suggested, managing a timid smile.

“Who are you, now?” A frown passed over the boy’s face.

“My name’s William.” He wiped his hand conscientiously on his smock and held it out. “I’m here because I want to be a falconer. I hope I’m expected.”

“Maybe.” The boy shrugged and took no notice of William’s proffered hand. “We’d better hurry up—he can get pretty angry.” With his thumb, he pointed over his shoulder at the house.

Disappointed, William picked up the third bucket the lad pointed at and followed him.

“I’m Robert,” said the boy, without looking at William. “The falconer is my father. Why have you come to him of all people?”

William did not know what he should understand by this. Did the boy think his father was a bad master? Or did he just find him too strict?

“To be honest, I’m just happy I can become a falconer. I didn’t have any choice about where.” William smiled uncomfortably. If Sir Baudouin had brought him here on the king’s orders, there must be some reason.

“Hmm,” replied Robert dismissively.

Something was not right about this Robert. William decided to watch him and, for the time being, to be careful in his presence.

Once they had filled the buckets with water from a nearby stream, he followed the falconer’s son into the house, heart pounding.