The Silver Falcon (41 page)

“You’re welcome here anytime, Robert. I pray to the Lord that I won’t have to wait so many years before William visits us again, and I hope you’ll come with him again,” Ellenweore said to Robert. “There’s something about you that reminds me of my first master. His name was Llewyn. He was a blond Irishman with a Welsh mother. But you don’t really look alike,” she said pensively, turning to her son. “You were right to listen to your heart and let your stubborn head prevail. You would have made a terrible smith. I’m very proud of you,” she said, looking straight into his eyes. “You’re so like your father in many ways. I truly loved him.”

“Who is he?” William asked shyly, but the question was lost in the tumult of departure. Or had his mother deliberately ignored it? Why had he not used the opportunity of his stay to question her about his father before? “I’ll find out who he is,” he muttered, then mounted his horse and rode off with a wave.

T
he days had grown shorter since the return from Saint Edmundsbury. Winter had marked its arrival with hoarfrost on trees and bushes, morning mists, and damp cold, keeping people inside their houses and huts. But early on this December morning, William and Robert were not the only ones who found themselves at Oakham, bidding farewell to Walkelin de Ferrers, who, with his two squires and the Saracen, was preparing to set off to follow the king’s mother. Apparently Queen Eleanor had assembled a substantial fleet at Ipswich, Dunwich, and Oxford. She had ordered it to be armed strongly enough to resist not only winter storms but also attacks from pirates, who might try to capture its immensely valuable freight. One hundred thousand of the required ransom of one hundred and fifty thousand silver marks, as well as the hostages, would at last be handed over in exchange for Richard.

Sir Walkelin and his retinue were also joining the fleet as part of the royal escort. Neighbors and friends had come to bid him farewell, amid great rejoicing. Among the crowds that had come from the village to the castle, however, a humble sniffling could be heard here and there, for he was well liked.

After he left Oakham, things returned to their humdrum routine. There would be no news for the time being, and everyone would have to practice forbearance. The royal ships’ route took them along the French coast and was by no means free from danger, and the onward journey overland would be just as challenging, especially protecting the ransom from capture. Efforts
were redoubled the day after Sir Walkelin’s departure, so that the remaining fifty thousand silver marks could be earned as quickly as possible and contribute to the lord’s early release.

Henry, Sir Walkelin’s eldest son, decided not to travel to see to his father’s lands in Normandy until the following spring. He spent the winter hunting in England and got to know and appreciate William and his falcons much better.

In March, news of Richard’s newly won freedom finally reached Oakham. Almost exactly a year after the glow in the sky at Candlemas, the Holy Roman Emperor, Henry VI of Germany, the last to hold Richard prisoner, released him in exchange for the money and hostages. First, though, Richard had to swear fealty to him and promise him an annual tribute of five thousand silver pounds.

Prince John, who had taken advantage of his brother’s absence to bring as many fiefdoms as possible under his control and to sow unrest wherever he could, found himself in an awkward position after the king’s release. In his efforts to seize the throne, he had practiced treachery with all the means at his disposal. It was only thanks to the resistance of many loyal barons that his plans had been thwarted. Now that Richard was free, John had reason to fear his brother’s righteous anger, so he fled.

The news spread like wildfire. Richard had landed at Sandwich shortly after the feast of Saint Gregory and hastened to the tomb of Saint Thomas à Becket at Canterbury to pray. After that, he traveled to London and went to Saint Paul’s alongside his mother. The whole city, led by FitzAilwyn, had come out to meet him, welcoming him with great rejoicing, despite his announcement—even before his Crusade began—that he would sell London to fill his war chest, if he could find a buyer.

But not even the magnificent celebrations arranged in his honor were enough to keep Richard in London for long. A short
time later, he rode north. He prayed for God’s help in the abbey at Saint Edmundsbury, one of the most important in his kingdom, and then went on to Huntingdon, where Marshal had ridden to welcome him.

When Henry de Ferrers heard that the king was now on his way to Nottingham, where Prince John was taking a stand against him, he recognized it as a fresh opportunity to serve his king and joined Richard’s army. While the king’s most loyal subjects besieged Marlborough, which John held, Richard set about conquering Nottingham and Tickhill.

John had amply equipped both fortresses with weapons and food so that they would be able to withstand a long siege, but Richard took them without lifting a sword. The defenders had not believed that the king would ever return. They trembled with fear when he appeared before the gates of Nottingham, completely unexpectedly, and their resistance crumbled amid much wringing of hands. They surrendered without a fight and threw themselves upon Richard’s royal mercy. Tickhill, too, fell into his hands without resistance.

Within two short weeks, the king had overcome every single rebel who had dared to stand against him. He let it be known everywhere that his brother, Prince John, had until the tenth of May to present himself at the royal court or be banished forever from England as a traitor.

At Easter, Richard held court at Northampton, with all due pomp, and then further demonstrated his power by having himself crowned king for a second time in a splendid ceremony staged by his mother at Winchester. But it did not matter how much joy and love his subjects showed him. Richard did not grace them with his presence in England for long. He soon made his way to Portsmouth in order to sail back to Barfleur. When he heard that Henry de Ferrers wanted to visit his lands in Ferrières, he offered him and his men a place on a ship in his fleet.

William and Robert were extremely proud and excited to hear that de Ferrers wanted to take the two of them and three of his best falcons with him, as well as a few armed men and his squire. He was probably hoping to go hunting with the king, for he and every other baron knew that Richard was very keen on hawking and had even done it in the East. William was all the more surprised, therefore, at de Ferrers’s harsh reaction to the idea of fashioning a hood like the ones used in the Orient.

“Out of the question. I have seen the terrible things the unbelievers do to Christians. Even if some of those heathens are real experts and great lovers of hawking, it doesn’t reconcile me to them one bit, unlike our king. You will therefore treat my animals as is customary in England!” he hissed, frowning at William. “You’ve never been on a crusade. How do you know about hoods at all?”

When he’s in a rage he looks even more like his father, thought William in astonishment. He wondered whether his resemblance to the mysterious knight who was his father was as strong.

“The Saracen your father brought home, sir,” Robert answered for William. “He told us about them.”

“I might have known he would try to bring the East into our house,” de Ferrers muttered angrily. “I have never understood why my father spared his life and brought him back to England. As far as I’m concerned, he’s still a godless heathen, even if he’s been baptized. So go and seel the birds and make yourselves ready for the journey. We’ll set off at the crack of dawn tomorrow. We can’t keep the king waiting.”

They reached Portsmouth in April, two days ahead of the king. Originally, the busy little harbor had been granted to Jean de Gisors, a Norman, and many of the ships there once belonged to him. Among his holdings was Brocheland Manor, where Richard installed himself when he arrived. De Gisors had joined
the rebellion in Normandy the previous year, and thus he had lost to the king not only his ships but also his lands on both sides of the English Channel. Richard ordered his army to march into Portsmouth and assembled a respectable fleet. Before his departure, he gave the town its royal charter, so that nothing would halt the ambitious development of the port.

Richard was in a hurry to reach the mainland. He was keen to take revenge on Philip II, king of France. He therefore drove the preparations for departure with all his might. But the weather changed, thwarting his plans. First, a strong onshore wind prevailed, driving the ships onto the coast and making it impossible to cast off. This was followed by days of storms, with variable winds that seemed to toy with the royal fleet. And finally there was a powerful storm that scourged the coast with unceasing rain and made the sea foam like a deadly potion. It was impossible even to dream of crossing the Channel.

William and Robert spent most of the wait either in one of the overcrowded inns or with the falcons. They could not let the creatures out of their sight for fear they would be stolen. One of them had to stay with the birds at all times, while the other made sure there was enough food for them or wandered through the narrow streets whenever the rain let up. The air in the taverns was close and humid with the sodden clothing of those who came in from the outside. De Ferrers visited the king from time to time, while his men spent their time playing dice and telling tales of their adventures in the East.

When at last the storm came to an end, the sea was smooth and brilliant like a gleaming, polished sword. The sky was blue as a field of cornflowers, and the few fluffy white clouds looked like islands of yarrow. Unfortunately it was impossible to set sail in such a dead calm.

Finally, after two weeks of waiting, the wind stood fair.

When de Ferrers reached the harbor with his men at first light, they met William Marshal.

“A fine day for a good crossing.” Marshal clapped the young de Ferrers on the shoulder. “I’ll see you in Barfleur.”

De Ferrers nodded.

“Will you be going on to Lisieux with the king?”

“Of course,” declared de Ferrers. “And then we’ll continue southeast, to Ferrières.”

“Good, then we’ll have a chance to see each other,” said Marshal, pleased. He nodded at William, who was standing beside his master. “Your first trip to the mainland?”

“Yes, sir.” Tired and frozen, he was hopping from one foot to the other and breathing on his clammy hands in an effort to warm them. The night had been damp, though it had not rained again.

“You’re sure to like it. Your mother liked Normandy,” Marshal said pensively.

“Oh, sir, my mother asked me to give you her greetings,” said William impulsively. During his stay at Saint Edmundsbury, he had told her of his encounters with Marshal, beaming with pleasure.

“When did you see her?”

William noticed, with some surprise, that the pulse in Marshal’s throat was suddenly beating quickly. “A little while ago, sir. I was at Saint Edmundsbury in the autumn.” The thought of home immediately made William feel a little warmer.

“Was she well?” Marshal asked.

“Very well, sir. She was very well. The whole family was fine.”

“That’s wonderful!” Marshal nodded with satisfaction and cleared his throat as if he had a tickle. “I knew it was the right decision,” he murmured.

“We must make haste, my lord. The king can hardly wait to reach Barfleur,” a young knight broke in.

“You’re right to remind me of it, John. I’m on my way,” replied Marshal. Then he clapped William on the shoulder. “Take care of yourself, my boy.” He turned to de Ferrers. “Godspeed, my friend.”

William bowed. When he looked up again, Marshal had already left and even de Ferrers had turned away.

“He seems to have taken a real liking to you,” said Robert. “I could almost envy you,
my boy
,” he teased William with a grin.

William changed the subject. “The captain will become disagreeable if we don’t get ourselves onto the ship soon.”

“Oh dear, the thought of not having good old Mother Earth beneath my feet makes me feel rather unwell,” Robert complained. “But there’s no turning back now. Let’s just hope the sea doesn’t swallow us up.” He crossed himself with a sigh. William’s initial eager anticipation was overtaken by a dull foreboding, which lodged itself in his stomach.

By the time they were finally on board, the sun was rising. One glance over the rail was enough to make William’s knees weak, and shortly after they had cast off he was hanging among the sheets, writhing and retching, vomiting the contents of his guts into the sea.

“Not even the meadows of Normandy can possibly be as green as your face right now, and they’re supposed to be the greenest on the mainland,” Robert joked, though he himself was paler than usual. Once they were out in open water, the wind freshened considerably, and by the afternoon he was feeling no better than William. He too was bent double, emptying his stomach in the same painful and humiliating way as his friend.

They were not the only ones; a few squires and some of the younger knights were seasick, too. They leaned over the buckets placed there for them by the smirking sailors, suffering pitiably. The experienced knights, among them de Ferrers, and of course the sailors, had felt such sickness many times before, and they were highly amused because they were not affected. The wind whipped the sea into towering waves, some of which broke on the deck with a great crash and soaked the travelers to the skin, but all the ships made the crossing without loss.