The Silver Falcon (7 page)

On the morning of Whitsunday, William was decidedly anxious. He had to take his leave without anyone noticing. Now that he had come to a decision, the thought of going weighed surprisingly heavily. Elfreda and Arthur would worry about him when he did not come to the table at supper time. The thought of disappointing them, when they had been so good to him, sat uneasily. But if he did not want to spend his life as a blacksmith, the sooner he acted the better.

During mass he pulled himself together, praying to the Lord for his blessing and for forgiveness for his disobedience. Just before the end of the service, he slipped out of the church. The sun was already quite warm. Up in the sky, which was almost unnaturally blue, seagulls cawed as they wheeled around in their endless circles. They knew no Sunday and did not understand that the fishermen’s boats would remain in the harbor today.

A strong breeze brought with it the sharp scent of the salt water that flowed in the River Ore. With all of his strength, William ran along the western edge of the meadow toward the woods. The
bright sunshine coaxed out of the rain-heavy land brightly colored blooms that lined the river. The first buttercups beckoned with their radiant yellow. Lady’s-smock and campion flowers, soft pink and bluish violet, stretched up toward the sun. Bumblebees and butterflies flitted to and fro among the flowers.

William ran in a straight line across the colorful meadow. A few of the flowers and grasses reached almost to his hips, so he had to take some care that no bees strayed under his smock. Don’t turn around now, he thought as he crossed the meadow, but still he glanced back. A rider was arriving at the church at a full gallop. A riderless horse followed behind.

William hesitated. Who could that be? He turned away abruptly. It didn’t matter anymore. Determined to grasp his destiny, he removed his bundle and cloak from their hiding place. He fastened his knife and water skin to his belt.

Had his mother also traveled through Tunstall Wood when she had fled all those years ago? She had never told him exactly why she had fled, or where she had gone. Still, she had achieved her dream, and he would, too. In an optimistic frame of mind, he followed the narrow path into the wood.

The trunks of the tall trees were completely bare until far above his head; only high up did their vigorous branches form a diffusely lit canopy of tender green leaves. Younger saplings, with slender stems and thin branches, sprang up all around. A squirrel ran adroitly from one branch to another. A second one ran headfirst down a tree trunk, crossed the path William was on, stood up on its hind legs, and peeked around before disappearing into the undergrowth. It must have been looking for food. Not far from the place where it disappeared, William spotted the first mushrooms among the half-decayed leaves of the previous winter. The pale-green fern that grew like a weed around Orford made the ground seem brightly lit. In the distance, he could hear the call of a cuckoo and the tock-tock-tock of a woodpecker.

William was in good spirits. His stamina had improved, and his foot hurt less. His return to running circuits in the past few months was finally paying off. That morning, as usual, he had rubbed ointment into his foot, and, as he bound it, he had taken particular care to avoid any creases in the bandage, so that he would not get blisters so quickly. He had some clean strips of cloth and a small clay pot with ointment in his bundle. William knew the path would lead him to the road that connected Orford with Ipswich to the south and Norwich to the north. When he got to the fork, he would have to decide which way to go. He had time enough to think about that between now and then.

The sun’s rays, filtering down through the thin ceiling of fresh green leaves, bathed the wood in a marvelously gentle and benevolent light. What a fool I was to be afraid of being alone, thought William optimistically.

He did not rest until it was getting dark, and then he spread out his cloak beneath a beech tree and sat down. Because of his work in the smithy, he was accustomed to regular mealtimes, and now he felt a powerful hunger. He got a fish pasty out of his bundle. Biting into it reminded him of Rose. Her pasties were better than Elfreda’s by a good margin. They tasted of dill and cloves. William sighed. Was everyone in Saint Edmundsbury well? Something clutched at his heart, and he knew he was homesick. He wondered whether his mother and the others thought of him from time to time.

William was still quite sunk in thought when he heard a rustling in the bushes. He looked in the direction of the sound. Two curious young boars were running toward him. One of the little wild piglets with white stripes along its hairy back snuffled busily at William’s bundle. Its expression was so sweet that William broke into a smile. But then he was suddenly struck by a frightening thought: where there were piglets, the mother boar could
not be far off. He leaped to his feet. There were few things more dangerous than a wild boar protecting its young.

Sure enough, William heard stamping on the forest floor. It was the little fellows’ mother, running toward him in a fury. He had only a brief moment to decide what to do.

He shouted loudly and waved his arms about, but that only seemed to make the boar even angrier. Panting with fear, William started to climb the tree under which he had been sitting only moments ago. He slipped, scraping his forearm and right knee, dangled briefly from a broken branch, tore a hole in his smock, and finally reached safety. Breathless, with heart pounding, he settled himself on the sturdy limb. Instead of retreating into the wood, however, the enraged beast trampled around and about his cloak and bundle, grunting furiously. She rooted through his provisions with her snout and ate every last bit. To make matters worse, the sow decided to rest at the base of the tree and suckle her young. When the little ones were sated, she made no move to leave. On the contrary, she seemed to have settled in for the night. As long as she remained there, he could not possibly climb down.

For better or worse, William decided to climb a little higher, to a stronger branch. Once there, he tried to make himself as comfortable as he could.

As darkness fell, he began to doze off. His head dropped to one side. William started. He had come a whisker away from falling out of the tree. He clung tightly. Whatever happened, he mustn’t fall asleep again. If he fell, the sow would trample him to a pulp, perhaps even eat him. Wild boar was delicious, but they were ferocious and fearsome beasts, as William knew from Jean. He shifted about despondently on his uncomfortable seat. His tongue was sticking to the roof of his mouth. The fish pasty had made him thirsty. Unfortunately, his water pouch was on the ground, trampled to pieces.

“If you think I’m going to give up on your account,” muttered William angrily, “you’ve got another think coming.” He was determined to leave Orford. As soon as the boar had left and he could climb down, he would be on his way. He would not lose heart so soon.

He reached for the leather pouch on his belt, in which he kept a couple of copper coins and the king’s silver piece. He opened it reverently. It also contained the little falcon that Isaac had carved for him.

William took it out. He had looked at the wooden creature often in the days since he had left Saint Edmundsbury. As he admired it now, so comforting and enticing, he got a lump in his throat. He took a deep breath. Better to put it back in the pouch. He wouldn’t see Isaac, or any other familiar faces, for quite a while. If he wanted to become a falconer, he had to go out into unfamiliar territory. He had known it wouldn’t be easy, and that was why he wouldn’t give up at the first hurdle.

William moved his fingers. They were stiff with cold, as were his feet, which he could scarcely feel. “I have to stay awake,” he said, half-aloud. How good it felt to hear one’s own voice. Loneliness was a poor traveling companion. William looked up toward the crown of the tree. Like an old friend, the moon sent its pale, unexpectedly comforting light down into the dark forest. William admitted to himself that his situation, on closer examination, was almost hopeless. Sooner or later, he would be so tired that he wouldn’t be able to hold himself up any longer. What if the boars still hadn’t sought out the open spaces in the morning? William began to sob. He so wanted to become a falconer. Fighting his rising desperation with all his might, William closed his eyes and began to sing.

His voice trembled with cold, but it calmed him down. His singing became more enthusiastic with each new song, so he did not hear the horse approach or see the glow from the torch in the rider’s hand.

“William? William, is that you? What are you doing up there?” someone shouted.

William froze, holding his breath before he recognized Arthur’s voice. The blacksmith did not even seem angry with him, though he had every reason to be. On the contrary, he seemed amused by the situation.

“There’s a wild boar with her young sitting under the tree,” William called out in warning.

Arthur dismounted and tied his horse to a young oak tree. Only then did he approach.

“Hey! Ho there!” He waved his torch from side to side and charged at the boar. “Be off with you. Make haste,” he roared, brandishing the torch in a threatening manner.

Although it looked for a moment as though she was going to attack, the sow decided on flight.

“You can come down now.”

William clambered down, scraping his knee a bit more in the process. As quickly as possible, and without saying a word, he checked his cloak and the little that remained of his bundle. Head bowed, he walked toward Arthur.

The smith clapped him on the shoulder amiably. “Elfreda was worried when you weren’t home for supper, hungry as you always are.” He smiled briefly, then fell serious again. “You should know that I’m not happy about your leaving. I’d have really liked to keep you with me, though it hasn’t escaped me that you don’t get anything out of the work in the smithy.”

William felt the blood rush to his face and hoped Arthur could not see it in the darkness. “But I—” he began, then broke off. Why should he lie to Arthur?

“Well, William, if the king gives an order, we must obey. There’s nothing for it.” Arthur sighed. “Not even running away.”

William did not understand what Arthur meant. “But I…” he said hesitantly.

The smith climbed back onto his horse. He offered William his hand, so that he could swing up behind him.

“Elfreda said I should tell you tactfully, but it looks as though you already know. You must have been eavesdropping, is that it?”

“No,” replied William in a thin voice, shaking his head.

“The knight that came to the church today wants to take you to some castle or other. King’s orders, he says. I’ve never heard of the castle before, but that doesn’t mean anything.”

“The knight, where is he now?” William’s heart was beating so hard it hurt. The king had kept his word.

“He’s searching for you on the other side of the wood. We agreed to meet at the workshop at dawn. I don’t think you need fear him. Who knows what God has in store for you. Perhaps you’ll become something really special. The ways of the Lord are mysterious.” His efforts to reassure William were well-intentioned, but Arthur could not have suspected how long his charge had been waiting for this day.

William thought of the wild boars with something close to gratitude. But for them, he would not have heard about the king’s messenger.

“You must be hungry. There’s some porridge left,” said Elfreda, relieved, when they returned to the smithy.

“I’m thirsty more than anything else.”

Elfreda placed a cup of water and some food in front of him.

“There’s still a little time before sunrise. Go and lie down for a while,” Arthur suggested. “I suspect the knight will be here at first light. He seemed in a hurry.”

William obeyed without protest, curled up in his pallet, wrapped the wool blanket around him, and fell asleep instantly.

It seemed to him that he had hardly closed his eyes before voices and the rattling of spurs woke him. He sprang out of bed
immediately and straightened his clothes. Dawn was breaking, so he had had a little sleep, after all. William rubbed his eyes briefly, and then he was wide-awake.

“Sir Baudouin!” Filled with joy, he rushed toward the knight. Just in time, he remembered himself and made a small bow in front of him.

“Well, you little runaway, where were you off to?” de Béthune greeted him with playful severity in his voice.

Arthur was surprised that William knew the strange knight, and he looked from one to the other questioningly.

“May I be a falconer now?” William looked expectantly at Sir Baudouin.

The knight smiled. “Yes, William, you may. That’s why I’m taking you to Thorne.”

“How on earth did you know I was here? Did my mother…?”

“She would have preferred not to give away where you were. She wasn’t even in favor of letting you go,” he answered mischievously. “Not even an order for ten knights’ swords, which I had brought her from the king, was enough to placate her. Isaac explained that she had placed all her hopes in you and was afraid of losing you. She was always pigheaded, your mother. She never hid her thoughts from me, and yet I like her. Fortunately, Isaac told me where you were. Your headstrong mother actually wanted to stand in our way.” He laughed out loud. “The look she gave Isaac when I told her I was going to fetch you away from here was almost as deadly as her swords. But I dare say he’ll survive.”

“So does she know where you’re taking me?”

“Of course, my boy. Don’t worry. She’ll get used to the idea that you won’t become a smith.” He turned to Arthur. “I must make up for the time I lost yesterday. We have to leave right away.”

William put his bundle, and what the boar had left of his possessions, under his arm and was ready to leave immediately. For a
brief moment he had to fight back an attack of homesickness, but then he pulled himself together and stood up straight.

Arthur and Elfreda said good-bye to him with such sincerity that his eyes began to burn despite his best efforts, and suddenly a nameless fear crept over him. For all that’s holy, what is there to be afraid of? I’m going to be a falconer at last. He beamed at them both.