Hawksmaid (15 page)

W
ITHIN THE SOULS OF
certain living things there is territory where humans and animals can meet and join in a perfect communion. Marian grew very still and her breathing shallower as she engaged in the greatest effort of her life. She felt something pushing in her brain, exploring hidden channels as the spirit of Marigold began to mesh with hers and her own brain sought out the recesses hidden within the maze of the bird's mind.

Then, suddenly, they were there together, the young woman and the bird. There, in a time before time, touching the spirits of all the creatures before they became separate ones. There in the time of shared memories, with the taste of the first warm salt water, the first oceans on their tongues, and the fragrance of the first forests from millions upon millions of years ago.

The scent of green flooded Matty's nostrils. She would always be Matty in yarak and never Marian, for it was as Matty that her birds knew her. She felt her own bloodstream joined with another's, and a stirring in her shoulders. She felt the mighty wings unfurl. She roused her feathers twice. A keenness streamed through her. She knew the response well. She was in yarak and ready to fly. Her wings beat as she rose on measured strokes.

Other lepers thought she had at this very instant died, but Helena looked out the window that now framed Marigold's flight as she disappeared over the orchard's trees and knew that the girl had not died but that her spirit rested within another creature.

Matty felt the wind through every quill of her primaries, and then, like an eddy, the air rustled softly through the secondary feathers that grew farther back
on her wings. The fan of tail feathers carved the air behind her. The slightest movement changed the pattern.

You fly well—no hunger traces
. A voice in her head spoke and she instantly recognized it as Marigold's.

I can't imagine why not,
she replied.

You lost the hunger traces when you molted back there at the abbey, I believe.

Is that what I was doing when I grew so still?

That's the best word
—molt—
for what happened to you, I think! You have left your body, for now, at least.

Yes,
said Matty, and as she spoke she realized precisely what she must do. It all came together quickly and clearly in her mind. With Marigold and her other hawks, she'd fly into the forest of Barnsdale and recover the rubies. They'd take them not to Robin but all the way across the English Channel to France, where Queen Eleanor, mother of King Richard, lived.

We must fly back to the castle mews. I must speak with the others. We will need their help.

A full moon began to rise in the sky as they approached the castle. They followed streams of silver light that seemed to pour directly into the arrow slit
windows at the top of the keep's tower. The moonlight made everything so clear that Matty could see a spider against the stone of the tower. She could see every fleck of mica in the rocks.

It's not just the moonlight. You are seeing like a bird now,
Marigold explained as she sensed Matty's astonishment.
Now when we get in there, Matty, it might come as a bit of a shock to the others—you being back as part of me. But they are quick to learn. Old Moss, of course, will be most pleased.

She is all right, old Moss?

She misses you fiercely. But she is a tough old hawk. Her anger at the abbess and the sheriff, I think, has made her stronger. She will murder for you, Matty.

She might have to,
Matty replied.

They swept in on a following breeze.

“You're back at last,” said Morgana from her perch as Marigold alit.

“Hush up, Morgana!” snapped Lyra. “Something's amiss here. I feel it, feel it from my primaries right down to my barbs. Feel it in my rachis! Something is odd.”

“She's here, isn't she?” Old Moss spoke. “Matty, you're here, aren't you?”

“Yes, dear, I'm here.”

“We have heard such terrible tales, child. No one knows whether you are dead or alive. Of course, Marigold told us you were alive. You know Fynn—he's quite good to us. Brings us food, takes the others out on his fist to hunt. No one could have ever predicted he had the makings of a falconer as a child. I shall never forget how you had him try to fly me once years ago. I think it was on the feast of Saints Simon and Jude, or maybe 'twas the day before on the feast of Saint Odhran.

“Oooh, Moss, do stop it with this endless chatter,” Morgana whined.

“Don't be short, Morgana,” Matty reprimanded the kestrel.

“Matty, is that you?” Morgana asked. “I'm confused.”

“Yes,” Marigold and Matty both answered.

“She's part of me, Morgana,” Marigold said. “And that doesn't change things a whit. She is still our mistress.”

“So, Matty,” said Lyra, “why are you here and, if I may be so bold, why in this form?”

“Well, now, you wouldn't expect her to come as
a hoofed creature, would you—a cow or a goat or a horse?” Moss said.

“How ridiculous! Not our Matty,” offered Ulysses in his slow, meditative voice.

“And what did you do with your other self?” Morgana asked.

“That's difficult to explain,” Marigold chimed in. “Her body lies in the abbey, seemingly close to death, while her spirit is free.”

“But—” Matty spoke quite softly now. The birds grew still on their perches. “It is only temporary, my friends. I could slip either way. I had decided that my last sanctuary was death. I know that you of all creatures understand this the best.” At those words each of the magnificent birds nodded. “But there is more at stake than my own life. There is the life of our country. Our king has been kidnapped. And now is the time for us to fly to the greenwood…. I understand now what you tried to explain before about the earth points—the two earth points. I feel them in my head, just as you must.”

Moss grew terribly excited. “You feel the
nwamelk,
Matty? The pull of the north point?”

“Yes. It was as if I lived in a flat world before and
now I feel the shape of this world…. It's as if I feel the shine of the stars in my hollow bones, the pull of the moon on my brain, the earth points in my gizzard.”

“When do we leave?” Ulysses asked. “What is the battle strategy?” Erect on his perch, his tufted shoulders squared, he appeared like a knight ready to receive his orders from his monarch.

“We go now.” Matty addressed the bird. “We'll recover the rubies, but before that there is something here I must get.”

“What's that?” Morgana asked.

Matty turned to Moss.

“It's still there, Matty. Don't worry.” The old peregrine made her way painfully to the dust bath trough and poked deep into the sand. When she lifted her head, Matty saw the Star of Jerusalem glittering in her beak.

“Yes,” Lyra said, “we're good at keeping secrets.”

“I know,” Matty replied. “So then, with the sapphire, once we get the rubies, we can fly on.”

“Fly on to where?” Lyra asked.

“Across the Channel, to France. To Queen Eleanor.”

Then Marigold spoke. “The winds are from the
west. We can make it within the space of a day and another night.”

“But, Matty,” Moss said in a quavering voice, “you know my vision is gone, my talons shrunk. My flight feathers are a mess. I molt only very occasionally. The last time—when was it? Saint Rupert's day? Or am I off entirely? Was it a summer molt or the feast of Saint Alban? I will go, but I am not the strongest of fliers.”

“It does not matter, dear.” Matty spoke gently. “For this flight I will be with you.” Matty knew the time had come to switch from Marigold to Moss. Once again Matty began to feel a pushing in her brain, and just as her spirit had meshed with Marigold's it began to interweave with Moss's. It was as if Moss were the warp and Matty the weft. Together they made a single cloth.

And suddenly the old peregrine experienced a peculiar sensation. This was unlike any molt she had ever undergone. Moss felt a tingle as if her feathers were infused with a new life and energy. There was a prickling and then a deep pain as her talons lengthened. The bird blinked, and for the first time in years Moss could see clearly. She roused her wings. A surge of new energy coursed through her.

Not yet,
Matty's voice within her head cautioned.

Matty, I feel as fresh as a young eyas,
Moss said, referring to the young hawks.

But I am counting on your older instincts, Moss,
Matty replied.
You taught me once how to be a falconer. Now you must teach me to be a bird of prey, a raptor!

A
GAINST THE PALE PINK
of the dawn five great-winged birds rose in flight. The birds' primary feathers glinted with a rosy luster as they caught the first rays of the sun.

“I feel completely re-imped from head to talons!” Moss said. “And my vision!”

Matty herself was astonished by the splendor of this flight at dawn. The minute adjustments of Moss's flight feathers enabled them to pass through the air effortlessly so she could ride thermal updrafts, to glide, to hover.

In no time they were over the greenwood of Barnsdale, and she had quickly spotted half a dozen royal foresters.
And just imagine we are about to steal the treasure right out from under them!
Matty thought gleefully.

“All right, bear north,” she commanded the others. “The first tree is a spruce. There it is, below. Moss and I land first. Marigold, there is an oak directly behind it. Take the others there and you'll find a nest in a hollow on the east side.” But Marian was not exactly sure if she had spoken the words
north
or
east
. She was aware of this new way of thinking about direction, aware of the slight pull in her brain toward an earth point. What talk there occurred between the birds was rather brief. “Moss and I will meet you, and then we'll go on to the next trees that are a bit harder to find.”

Moss settled onto a large branch of the spruce.
Now, Moss, close to where this branch joins the trunk,
Matty said,
there's a hollow above.
They quickly lofted the short distance. Matty blinked as Moss poked her head into the hole.
It looks like a nest!
the peregrine said.

We wrapped each ruby in moss and dried grass.

She felt Moss's beak tearing gently at a clump at the bottom of the hollow. Suddenly there was a bright
flicker of red.
That's it!
they both said at once.
Now can you hold it in your beak? And now hold the sapphire in your talon?

Certainly,
Moss replied, and clamped her beak onto the ruby.

They met the other birds at the oak and Moss, with Matty as guide, led on.

As they settled in the last tree to pluck the fifth ruby, a royal forester came tromping down the path. He looked up and might have briefly wondered why five hawks had gathered in one tree. The birds felt their gizzards freeze. “What's he doing?” Morgana asked.

“Just stay still,” Matty cautioned.

“I'll fight if I have to,” Ulysses said.

“No, not yet. Just stay still,” Matty repeated. The forester stood there, studying the hawks. He looked nervously at the leper tree and its scaly leaves; then he simply walked on. A feeling of great relief swept through the birds. “Lyra, that last one is yours,” Matty said.

 

“The ocean!” Matty cried. Ahead was the Channel dividing England from Europe. It boiled with whitecaps in the gusty winds. The wind had turned, and the tailwind was boosting their speed and making the flight
much less tiring. By late afternoon they were in France.

“Where is the queen?” Marigold asked.

“Barfleur,” Matty replied. On the old map of her father's he'd once marked the fields where he had fought when he was a young knight with Hodge as his squire. Barfleur was near Cherbourg, the port town where he had first set foot on French soil after crossing the Channel. She remembered exactly where the town was—west of the river Seine in a notch on the coast of Normandy. She could picture the map so clearly in her mind, but it was no longer simply a flat drawing. She felt its position precisely in reference to the
nwamelk,
and, as she did, she noticed that the sensation transmitted itself to Moss, who was flying the point position.

They had been flying over the water for not more than an hour when the peregrine began to carve a banking turn. The other birds followed. Now flying parallel to the coast they continued in a southerly direction. The sun had already set and twilight engulfed them in a fragile purple light.

Spotting the turrets, Matty exclaimed suddenly, “That must be it! I see a castle!”

S
O THE PEREGRINE, GUIDED
by Matty, swept through the courtyard and the various gardens of the castle of Barfleur. The other birds waited on a courtyard wall. The castle was not much bigger than her father's and the plan was quite similar. By now it was night, and Matty could tell that most of the candles and torches had been extinguished, but in a small building on the castle grounds she saw something bright hanging in the night like an illuminated flower. It possessed an enchanting, almost eerie beauty.
It's a window!
Matty thought.
A stained-glass window. So this must be the chapel, Moss, and someone must be inside.
Quietly Moss flew into the building through a small arched entrance.

The peregrine perched between two arches. Below, an elderly woman was kneeling. Her head was wrapped in a tight coif anchored on top by a simple gold crown.

This is the queen! Can we get closer, Moss, without being seen?

In a shadowy corner was a stone statue of the Madonna. Moss flew and landed on her shoulder. There was a tiny click as the sapphire ring Moss held in her talon touched the stone. The queen turned her head slightly. Had she heard them? The light from one of the tapers illuminated her profile. She had been crying. She turned her head back toward the altar and continued to pray.

Go with the jewels, Moss.
The bird lofted herself into the air and flew toward the queen. Now the woman turned and gave a little shriek as she saw the wingspread of the old peregrine. But then she caught sight of the gleaming jewel in the talon. Her flinty gray eyes suddenly sparkled. And when Moss landed directly in front of her, she leaned in closer, so close Matty could see every line in the woman's face. Her
cheekbones were high and a spray of pale freckles scattered across them. The strands of hair that poked out from beneath her coif were more brownish than gray. Matty thought she had probably once had fiery red hair like King Richard.

Matty had never been this close to a queen, and this queen did not even suspect that one of her son's loyal subjects now perched before her. Moss dipped her head in a gesture of deep reverence and dropped the sapphire into the soft folds of the hem of the queen's gown.

“God be praised.” The queen at first did not touch the jewel. She looked down at it as if the stone had fallen directly from heaven. “A star sapphire! The Star of Jerusalem!” She picked up the jewel. Her fingers were gnarled, her knuckles swollen. She opened her mouth, but no sound came as she glimpsed the twinkling at the sapphire's center. Then Moss dropped a ruby. Now the queen gasped and looked into the old peregrine's eyes. In that moment Matty felt a connection.
She senses me. I know it. She senses that there is something human within this bird. She was praying for a miracle for her son Richard and now she believes it has come. Well, it has!

A fine web of lines radiated from the corners of the old queen's flinty eyes. Though spots stained her
forehead, she was still a handsome woman. She tipped her head to the side and looked into Moss's eyes. There was a current, a pulse, like an invisible filament that sparked between the woman and the bird. The queen herself had been a falconer as a young girl and knew the way of hawks.

The queen's voice creaked like a rusted hinge as she began to speak aloud. “I do not presume to know everything, but I know that what stands before me is more than a bird.” Her jaw trembled slightly. “Is this to do with my son? With Richard?”

Moss nodded. And then, extending her talons, she gently touched the woman's hand. Queen Eleanor's eyes swam with confusion. She had never been touched by a creature in such a way. It was such a quintessentially human gesture, telling her to be calm, not to fear, to be patient. The peregrine then spread her wings and flew out of the church the way she had entered. Eleanor turned to follow the bird's flight. As old Moss passed through the high-arched opening, she emitted four shrill cries.

“The peregrine is calling others!” Queen Eleanor clasped the two gems in her hand. “I know that call. I know it.”

She waited tensely and soon she heard wingbeats. The peregrine reappeared, followed by a goshawk, a kestrel, a short-winged hawk, and a lovely little merlin with bright flecks of gold in its dark eyes. Each one dipped in a gesture of deep reverence and released a ruby. The five stones seemed to possess a life of their own, throbbing like five small hearts. The red glister of the light within them tinged the darkness of the chapel with a luminous glow.

“You have brought me a king's ransom, a ransom for my son!” Tears streamed down the queen's face. “Richard shall be free!”

Matty marveled for, like Moss, the old queen seemed mysteriously to become less frail. Something quickened in her. Her once-trembling hands grew steady.

 

That night a message was taken to the Holy Roman Emperor, who now held King Richard—a message delivered not by an ambassador but by Moss.

“What the devil?” the very emperor shouted as the peregrine flew into his audience chambers. He threw up his arms, for it appeared as if the bird were about to attack him.
Drop it now,
Matty commanded. There was a solid thunk as the ruby wrapped in cloth dropped at
the emperor's feet. A page bent to retrieve it.

“What is it?”

“I'm not sure, your majesty,” the page said.

“Well, find out.”

It tried the emperor's patience to wait for the twine to be unwrapped.

He gasped, then whispered a mighty oath as he saw the sparkling ruby that lay at the center of the cloth.

“There's a note with it, your majesty.”

“Yes, yes.” The emperor picked up a small furled piece of parchment. “A message from Queen Eleanor of England,” he whispered.

The emperor's minister had come to his side. “What does she write?”

“‘Sir, there are four more rubies equal to this one and the magnificent Star of Jerusalem, thus constituting a price far greater than your ransom of one hundred and fifty thousand marks. Send your ambassadors with my son and they shall be yours.' It is signed: Eleanor.”