The Silver Falcon (25 page)

As soon as David had recovered a little, William, anxious to set off, had tied everything he thought he needed in a cloth from Enid’s oak chest. While doing this, he came across the little enamel plaque again. With the vague idea that he might be glad one day to have this last souvenir of her, he slipped it into his purse without looking at it more closely. Any thought of her was still too painful. At first he had wanted to release the goshawk to which he had pinned his family’s future that fateful night, but in the end he didn’t have the heart.

Now that he had finally left the hut, William was glad. The feel of the hawk’s claws was comforting, even through the thin cloth he had wound around his fist in the absence of a falconer’s glove.
His shoulders bowed with grief, he plodded onward, mile after mile. Not knowing where they should go, he wandered on, losing himself in waking dreams that tore him violently back and forth between deep sorrow and destructive self-reproach.

David trotted alongside him silently, complaining only when he felt hungry or thirsty. Then he would get William’s attention with vehement gestures. His face was still bluish green, keeping alive William’s memory of the awful events that had come to pass.

It had been two days since they had left the woods, heading south. They just walked away. “Always follow your nose,” Jean would have said. Miserably, William recalled the people he had left behind in Saint Edmundsbury years before. He could see them clearly and felt he could almost hear their voices and taste Rose’s delicious fish pasties. How good it would feel now to let them pamper him, to sit at a table with the others and laugh, and to go for a walk with Isaac after their meal, not talking, but in understanding and companionable silence.

A short while later, William considered returning to his mother’s house. But then he remembered her constant carping at his inability to master smithing, and he thrust out his chest. He was a falconer and would never again work as an odd-jobs man in a workshop. Never! He knew enough about falcons to find work elsewhere. He was not a failure, and he refused to be seen as one at home with his mother. For a brief moment, William was determined not to allow himself to be downcast, but with every step oppression, fatigue, and despair returned.

The air shimmered with heat. William struggled for breath and wiped the sweat from his forehead. The ground was dusty and dried out; the grass was shriveled. William looked anxiously at David as he shuffled along half a step behind him. The giant child was so thickly covered with dust that he looked like an old man with gray hair. I probably look just as pitiful to him, it occurred to William, and he stopped abruptly. He was not capable of a single
coherent thought. The blazing sun was burning up his head, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth with thirst.

Stunned by the heat, he took the water skin from his belt, gave David some, and then slaked his own thirst. He drained the pouch, even though the water was warm and tasted stale. Then he listened for a while in the vain hope of hearing the babbling of a nearby brook. But even if such a water source existed, it could not be heard over the scraping sound of many feet, the clattering of horses’ hooves, and the creaking of passing carts.

As if waking from a deep sleep, William looked around in amazement. Where had all these people come from? Buried so deep in his distressing thoughts, he had stopped paying attention to his surroundings.

“Hey, you two! Move aside,” someone roared from behind him, putting two fingers to his lips and whistling piercingly.

William started, grabbed David’s hand, and pulled the boy to one side. David wanted to break loose, but William managed to hold him back just before a massive oxcart rumbled past. The goshawk took fright at this unaccustomed noise and tried to bate off. But since she was still fastened to her leash, she dangled upside down from William’s fist, flapping her wings helplessly. David stood beside William, trembling with fright and clutching him anxiously.

William tried to remain composed. First he helped the goshawk back into position. Then, with reassuring words, he alternately stroked both David and the bird on their backs.

They stood by the side of the road for some time. Many people passed them, but no one paid them any heed. You must pull yourself together now, William told himself as despair threatened to overwhelm him again. David needs you, and so does the goshawk. William took a deep breath. First of all, he had to decide which way they should go; then he had to let the bird hunt.

When a motherly old woman with a wrinkled face and hunched back appeared near them and nodded in a friendly manner, William plucked up his courage.

“Excuse me, mother, where are all these people going?”

“Why, they’re heading for London, dearie. London. Why not go there and seek your fortune? Who knows, perhaps it’s waiting for you there.” The toothless old crone laughed at him, mockery glinting in her eyes, and walked by with surprising speed.

London, what are we to do in London? thought William peevishly, tapping David on the shoulder. “Come, let’s find some water before we go any farther.”

But David did not move. A traveling peddler had stopped near them to reattach some of his wares, which had worked themselves loose on the bumpy road. Mesmerized, the boy was staring at the brightly colored things on the heavily laden wooden cart.

“You can search high and low around here and not find a drop of water,” said the peddler, who had obviously heard William’s words. “Trust me, this isn’t the first time I’ve traveled this way.” He pulled the ropes tight with a grunt and smiled encouragingly. “But don’t you worry! There’s a spring in a couple of miles, and you can fill up with water there. You’ll have to line up for a long time, though.” The peddler pointed at the other travelers. “Most of these people will spend the night by the spring. You’d better hurry, rather than standing around here, else you won’t find a decent spot.” He raised his hand in farewell, merged into the throng, and went on past them.

William sighed and looked at all the farmers and merchants and their various wares in baskets and sacks loaded on donkeys and carts. “All right, we’ll go to London.” He took David by the arm and pulled him on.

There were also laborers, pilgrims, and simple clerics walking alongside them. The more well-to-do among the travelers, prosperous merchants and princes of the church, overtook them on
horseback, demanding most of the road for themselves. If one did not wish to be trampled to death, it was better to yield willingly.

When William and David finally reached the spring, a long line of people had already formed. They were arguing among themselves, cursing, and shoving, and many a lout was threatened with a beating. For better or worse, William and David joined the line.

At first they waited patiently, but after a while David began to complain. He was thirsty and was not accustomed to having to wait for water. But it made no difference. They had to wait like all the others. None of them were willing to give up their place for a simpleminded boy. Why should they? After all, everyone was thirsty.

Dusk was falling by the time their turn came, after they had been standing there with their containers for half an eternity. William lowered the bucket into the spring and pulled it up again, filled with fresh, cool water. He gave it to David, let him drink, and then filled both water skins before taking some refreshment himself.

“Hurry up. We want some, too!” shouted an impatient man from the back of the line.

William paid no attention, took another few gulps, and then passed the bucket to the young woman who had been waiting patiently behind him.

“Do you know how far it is to London?” he asked her shyly as she lowered the bucket into the depths.

“A good half day’s walk, I’d say. The people on horses are hoping to get there tonight, before the city gates close.”

William nodded his thanks and led David away from the spring.

“Let’s look for a place to sleep.” He put his hand to his cheek as an illustration for David.

But the boy’s eyes opened wide as he rubbed his belly resentfully.

“Yes, yes, don’t worry, I’ll find you something to eat,” William reassured him. For David’s sake, William was taking only a tiny
morsel every now and again—not to drive away the pangs of hunger, for in view of his guilt he felt they were thoroughly deserved.

Travelers were bedding down all around the spring. A few women were selling food, and buyers thronged around them. William could have taken the goshawk hunting in the woods on either side of the path, but he felt too weak. He had fed the bird generously that morning, so it could wait. With trembling hands, exhausted and hopeless, he took a marten’s pelt from his bundle and offered it to a trader in exchange for some fragrant pies. William was offered two large pies filled with plenty of cabbage but not much meat and no more. He stepped back, hesitating. This pelt is worth more than that, he thought. On the other hand, he had the goshawk. With her it would be easy to get more skins from small animals like martens and weasels, as soon as he could take her hunting again. So he accepted the pies. While David was greedily devouring his meal, despite his injured jaw, William chewed listlessly on his food and finally gave half of it to the boy.

That night they tried to sleep side by side on the hard, dusty ground. David fell asleep after only a few breaths. But since Enid’s death his nights were not as calm and peaceful as they had been. He would moan and whimper, and then a deep crease would appear on his brow, as if he was making an effort to think. William watched him without moving. He was afraid of falling asleep, too, and tried strenuously to keep his eyes open. Whenever they closed, he saw Enid and the infant child in their damp, dark grave. He would shudder, and his gut would tense in spasms. To escape the pain, William tried to stay awake as long as he possibly could, but his eyes closed with fatigue from time to time anyway.

The outlines of the trees were scarcely discernible in the early dawn light, but the first travelers were already getting up and waking the others with their bustling. None of them had slept
deeply, for fear of being robbed. Well before the sun rose, almost all of them were on their feet, preparing for their onward journeys. Many were silent this morning. Some scowled sullenly; others were bad tempered and argumentative.

William had been among the first to rise in the early dawn, but neither the departure noises around him nor the rising sun had awakened David. It was not until William shook him vigorously that he stood up laboriously and rubbed his sleep-filled eyes.

William had hardly noticed the landscape they had walked through the previous day. Now, though, he paid attention to every change. The nearer they came to London, the closer together stood the small settlements through which their road snaked. They were well tended; things seemed to be going well for the people here. Pretty houses with large gardens and trees with children playing in their shade lined the road and gave off a peaceful air.

Late that morning, William finally caught his first glimpse of London from a hilltop. He stood rooted to the spot. Surrounded by thick stone walls topped by massive watchtowers, the city radiated dignity and safety. Probably as good as unassailable, he thought, impressed by this breathtaking vision.

Suddenly, though, other travelers pushed him forward.

“Hey, move along,” someone shouted behind him.

William succumbed to the ever-increasing pressure of the crowds heading into the city. Swarms of people and animals forced their way in and out through the gates. He had heard that London possessed seven double-span gates like these. Was there a similar crush at all of them? He reached for David’s hand and held it tightly, so the crowd would not separate them.

As they struggled through the city gate, William worried most about David and protected the goshawk against blows. But he could not prevent people from jabbing him in the ribs with their elbows or stepping on his toes. Once inside the gates, the crush of humanity at last spread out a little, for many streets were wide enough to
allow two oxcarts to pass side by side and still leave room for those on foot. Where the majority went, William and David followed.

William was astonished to see many expensively dressed women everywhere and men parading through the city with falcons on their fists. Only a few carried their birds with due care. For most of them, it seemed, the raptor was just an accessory intended to demonstrate their prosperity.

William noticed how skeptically these well-dressed people looked at him, and some of the fine men even smirked complacently. William knew his humble clothes did not match his elegant handling or the noble goshawk on his fist. More than once, people looked at him suspiciously and shook their heads, whispering.

William spoke to some of these men, asking for work. But in vain. He had no sponsor and could not even give his apprenticeship at Thorne as a reference, since he had fled there as a criminal. The merchants he spoke to greeted him with disdain and exaggerated suspicion. They seemed to fear he was going to rob them or hurt their birds.

Despair flared up within William again: Was not his desire to be a falconer at the root of all his troubles and the cause of Enid’s and the child’s deaths? His head sank. His eyes burned with tears. No, he had no right to happiness. He had to atone. But what about David? Hadn’t the boy suffered enough? William had to look after him; he couldn’t allow David to suffer from want, along with all his other woes.

He had no idea where it led, but William turned onto Bread Street, where one baker after another was selling his fragrant wares. He immediately cursed his choice, for David promptly plucked at his arm and put his hand to his mouth, his eyes glittering with intense hunger.

Truly the boy always had an appetite, but the price of the loaves was horrifying.

“Later, David, later,” William said quickly to put him off, then pulled him onward so that they could escape the seductive scent of baking.

How could they survive in London? In a city like this one needed money, a lot of it. Those who had no money or work sat in the street and begged. He had only to look around. There were men and women loitering everywhere, dressed in rags, holding out a pleading hand to the people hurrying by and promising to pray for the donor’s soul in recompense. One-legged men leaned on wooden crutches; others had to go through life without any arms or legs at all, whining loudly for alms. People with scalds and burns showed off their scarred flesh; the blind, the mute, the sick, the simple, like David—they all begged and pleaded for donations.