The Silver Falcon (10 page)

“Nana, look what we’ve…” Enid’s words stuck in her throat upon discovering Nana lying on the ground, groaning quietly.

“David!” The shrill sound of her own voice frightened Enid.

Grinning foolishly as always, David approached, stopped in the doorway, and looked questioningly at his sister. “Wha?” He brought it out laboriously, tilting his head to one side and pressing his clenched hands to his cheek.

“She’s sick. Help me. Onto her pallet.” She pointed to Nana’s feet and grabbed the old woman under the armpits.

As usual, it took a moment for David to understand Enid’s instructions.

Nana came to as they moved her to a straw mattress. “It’s nearly…over for me,” she breathed.

Enid shook her head. There were tears in her eyes. She stroked a strand of white hair away from the old woman’s face and kissed her lovingly on the forehead. “Please, no,” she whispered.

“You must…be strong. David needs you.” Nana coughed. “When I’m dead, you must dig a deep hole and bury me. You mustn’t let me lie here more than a day. Do you understand?” Groaning, the old woman lifted her upper body toward Enid. When she fell back onto her mattress, she looked as if a hundred years of sleeping would not help her recover.

“Sit with her,” Enid ordered her brother as she searched through her stores of herbs. She scooped water into a pot from a half-filled bucket under the table, stoked the fire, and hung the pot over it. “I’ll make her an infusion. It’s bound to help.” She looked anxiously at the old woman. Her pale face was wrinkled like newly washed linen. Fear clutched Enid’s heart. They still needed Nana.

Although they had been strangers to her, Nana had raised the siblings with infinite love and goodness. Enid had long since learned the story by heart, but Nana had to tell it again and again anyway. Only a few days before, they had sat by the fire and listened to her.

It was thirteen winters ago that the Lord showed me his great favor by placing the two of you in my path. The snow was waist deep, and I was looking for something to eat when I heard a soft whimpering. Beneath a mighty oak tree not far off, a young woman sat cowering, an infant in her arms. She was bleeding heavily and sat still as if her child’s crying had no effect on her. I went up to her cautiously and saw that she was with child. She seemed utterly exhausted. So, speaking soothingly to her, I took the starving child,
helped her to her feet, and supported her emaciated body all the way back here to the hut.

I was glad to have a little company, for by then I had been living alone for years. I fed the tiny infant gruel, and when I wrapped it up in a fresh cloth I saw that it was a little girl.

“Enid,” the strange woman croaked in her distress. She said no more. I wrapped the girl in a warm blanket and thought sadly of my own daughters, whom the Lord had taken to him much too soon.

That night, the woman gave birth to a tiny boy with a head that was much too big. I knew there and then that he would never be like other children, and yet I loved him immediately.

His mother never saw him. She was unconscious when he was born and died two days later. There was nothing I could do for her.

The Lord sent you to me, and I accepted his gift with great gratitude, for to me you are the dearest things in the world.

Enid felt as if she could still hear Nana’s loving voice telling the story. But the old woman was motionless on her mattress. Enid glanced affectionately at her brother, drained the infusion, and poured it into a small clay cup to cool it down more quickly. She tried to get the old woman, weak as she was, to drink some.

Nana’s tiny sips took great effort, but she looked at Enid gratefully. “Tastes of sweet woodruff. Did you add speedwell…?”

“And cowslips and mistletoe, too, yes, Nana,” Enid broke in gently. “Drink, it will do you good.”

Everything she knew about herbs, roots, trees, fruits, mushrooms, and the animals of the forest she had learned from Nana. For her, the forest was not just an herb garden but also an abundant larder, a place where you never had to go hungry as long as you knew it well enough.

“I’ll cook you something nice. That will bring your strength back.” Enid smiled confidently.

“It’s all right, child.” Nana sighed dully. “I’m old and weary. The Lord is calling me, and I’m ready.”

“But you
can’t
leave us alone.” Enid felt the fear of death rising in her, even though it was Nana who should have been afraid of death.

The old woman looked at her with infinite peace and goodness. “Enid, you know the forest better than anyone else.” Nana wheezed breathlessly. “From now on you’ll have to look out for the both of you. Just be sure to watch out for strangers, won’t you,” she warned before the cottage fell completely silent.

Enid pressed her ear to the old woman’s chest. The heart had stopped beating. “No, Nana, no!” A wave of pain broke over Enid, and she began to weep bitterly. After a while she looked over at David. Obviously distressed, he was crouching on the ground and rocking back and forth. Even he understood that Nana was dead.

Enid gripped the ever-colder hand like a frightened child. She did not even notice how long she sat there weeping. She did not come to her senses until it was dark and her brother’s voice reached her indistinctly.

“Foo,” he whined, pointing at his belly and rubbing it.

“Nana’s dead, and all you can think of is food,” she scolded him, sobbing without tears.

David looked at her contritely, hugged himself, and started rocking back and forth again.

All of a sudden, Enid felt guilty. David must be just as sad as she was, but he could not express himself. “It’s all right,” she said gently to reassure him. She stroked his matted blond hair. “I’m not going to let you starve. You’re all I’ve got now.” Tears came into her eyes again, but she wiped them away bravely and started to prepare a meal for him.

T
he amount of work falconry required exceeded William’s imagination. Including Logan’s other assistant, Alfred, the four of them always had their hands full and never seemed to finish. William diligently carried out every task he was given, trying to complete them to Logan’s satisfaction. Mostly he helped Alfred take care of the hounds, clean their kennels, and feed them. Sir Ralph’s hunters would bring them scraps and bones from the hunt, or else Logan would go hunting with the boys.

Only the best meat would do for the falcons, and it could come not only from chickens and pigeons but also from hare and deer. Logan had a marked preference for wild birds. He thought wood pigeons, turtledoves, thrushes, sparrows, and larks were the most suitable feed for falcons, so he had built a large wooden shed beside the house, where he kept a considerable number of small birds. Every month, bird catchers would come from far and wide, bringing him their catches. William and Robert nonetheless had to set and check traps every day and go hunting with nets and catapults in order to keep the shed adequately stocked.

Robert was allowed to help his father with the falcons, while William, who had been with the falconry for a good month now, had hardly been allowed to work with them.

“The puppies are old enough now. Bring them to join the pack, William,” Logan ordered one morning after breakfast before setting off toward the tower to join Robert.

Once again, William was not allowed to go with them. Suddenly he missed his mother. She was strict and had high expectations, but she had never held him back the way Logan was doing. Disillusioned and near tears, he went after Logan. “Please, master, wait,” he cried to his back.

Logan stopped and turned. “What is it?”

“Master, listen to me, I beg you. I was so happy I could learn about falconry from you, but you pay me no attention.” William took a deep breath and plucked up his courage. “My greatest wish is to learn everything, every detail, about falcons. Not because I dream of fame and honor and fine clothes, as you seem to think, but because falcons fill my heart with joy. If my mother had her way, I would have become a swordsmith, like her. But all I want is to raise falcons. The best, the bravest, good hunters—healthy, beautiful creatures.” William, out of breath, paused for a moment. It was the first time he had spoken his mind, and he looked deep into Logan’s watery blue eyes as he did so.

“So you were supposed to be a swordsmith?” said Logan, stroking his bushy beard.

“I’m the eldest son, and I was supposed to take over the smithy eventually, but I want to be a falconer, nothing else. Please, master, teach me the most beautiful of all the arts. I will do everything the way you tell me to, and I’ll do it willingly. I will work, work hard, whenever and whatever you want, just as long as you teach me everything there is to know about falcons.”

William’s earnest words appeared to placate Logan, for he nodded pensively. “Good, now go and take care of the hounds,” he said at last, not unkindly, and turned away.

William’s heart beat faster with rage. “Hounds are wonderful, but I want to be a falconer, not a dog handler!”

“Do you think I’m so dense I didn’t understand you?”

William held the master falconer’s gaze and did not move.

“Falcons and hounds must work together in the hunt, else they won’t catch anything. Besides, many’s the hound that has saved a falcon’s life.”

William was reminded of Blanchpenny and nodded.

“You want to train good falcons? Then mark this: a successful falconer has to have an excellent eye for dogs, with the ability to pick from the pack the right one for hunting, get it used to the falcons, and train it to hunt alongside them. So when I send you to the hounds, you’ll go, without complaint, and you’ll do your best. Understood?”

“Yes, master,” William answered, looking down in shame.

For the rest of the day, he stayed out of the falconer’s way as best he could. Even when they were eating, he remained silent and avoided looking at Logan.

“Tomorrow we can remove half the blinding from the female peregrine. I’ve already brought the passagers down from the aerie. They’ll need seeling. Since Alfred won’t be there tomorrow, you can both help me,” Logan announced before going to bed without further explanation.

William had not the slightest idea what to expect. He asked Robert to explain the meaning of blinding and seeling but received only a curt reply. William was sure that Robert was not exactly happy about his presence. He was never unfair, admittedly, but he was often quite dismissive. William, therefore, decided not to ask him about anything in the future unless it was unavoidable. Besides, he told himself, it would be no bad thing for him to learn certain things over time.

Very early the following morning, William and Robert followed their master to the tower. Without a word, Logan pointed to a peregrine that was standing on one of the previously unoccupied blocks.

“The leftmost passager first, Robert,” he told his son, pointing.

The boy picked up the bird with both hands, enclosing its breast and back with his fingers. William admired Robert’s relaxed manner. Whenever Logan was in the vicinity, William trembled with anxiety.

“This is a merlin. Why do I call it a passager, do you know?” Logan asked, looking at William.

“Because it hasn’t molted yet,” replied William confidently. He knew from Marshal that every falcon, regardless of its type, was given this name until its first molt, when it grew new feathers.

“Good. Do you know what seeling is?”

“No, master.”

“To get the bird accustomed to the hand, we must prevent it from seeing people. So we stitch its eyes shut. This is called ‘seeling’ or ‘blinding.’ When it has grown used to being handled by people, we first half and then fully ‘unseel’ it.”

William nodded, though the thought of having to help with this operation made him feel uneasy inside.

“Here, take a gauntlet and hold its feet firmly, but watch out for the talons.”

William obeyed, gripping the passager’s legs with trembling hands.

“If there are only two of you doing the seeling, it’s best to wrap the bird in a damp cloth that covers its feet, too. Watch out—you’ll see how strong its legs are when it defends itself.” Logan took the needle and horsehair from his quilted jerkin and pushed it through the falcon’s lower eyelid from the inside to the outside. Then he tugged on the needle until he had pulled most of the thread through.

William’s knees felt weak.

The falcon struggled. William felt the little bird’s strength and felt sorry for it, but he continued to hold its feet tightly.

“You have to be careful not to stick the needle in too close to the edge of the lid, else the stitches tear easily,” Logan explained without looking up.

William felt sick, and his mouth was filling with saliva; he gulped it down desperately, fearing that the falcon must be suffering.

Logan drew the thread over the falcon’s head and pierced the eyelid on the other side. Then he pulled the lower lids up toward the brow until both eyes were completely closed. He brought the ends of the thread together at the back of the bird’s head, tied them in a knot, and trimmed the ends using the knife he carried in his belt.