Chapter 1
“That bird should be destroyed!”
Andreas stared at Ethelbert in shock. Blood from an angry looking gash on the young lord’s cheek dripped onto his embroidered tunic. Andreas clutched the handles of the basket containing the young peregrine. Perhaps this was a dream—if he blinked, he would wake up in the boys’ dormitory.
The night before Andreas had not been able to sleep for a long time. Oswald, the head falconer at Castle Kragenberg, had asked Andreas to help during the hunt. Until that April morning, Andreas had never been allowed to go along when a hunt party set out. He always stayed behind, cleaning the mews and doing his other chores. Maybe a visiting lord would be so impressed by his skills that he would make Andreas falconer in his mews. Andreas smiled ruefully as he lay on his pallet in the dark and stuffy dormitory. The chances of something like this happening were about as great as Andreas getting to fly a gyrfalcon, the falcon of emperors.
Andreas woke up at first light, filled with anticipation. The other boys with whom he shared the dormitory were still asleep. Quickly he pulled on his tunic and splashed water on his face from the little basin in the corner. When he got down to the kitchen, Matilda was already at her post, getting the fire going and filling large pots with water. Her solid bulk exuded energy and warmth.
“What are you doing up so early?” she asked.
Andreas said: “I am supposed to help Oswald today.”
“Well, eat something before you go.” Matilda placed a wooden bowl filled with gruel on the table. A little puddle of honey melted in the center of the steaming oatmeal. Occasionally glancing at Andreas as he ate, Matilda rolled out dough, pushing it and folding it over again and again in a smooth rhythm. Ever since Andreas had first come to live in the castle as an eight-year old boy, lost and desolate after his mother’s death, Matilda had taken care of him, fussing and scolding as if he were her son.
Finally Andreas scraped his bowl and got up. He took it over to the scullery. “I will be back in the afternoon.” He smiled at her.
Matilda’s face, reddened and rough from years of work in the castle kitchen and accustomed to an expression of severity, struggled into a responding smile. She reached up as if to stroke his arm, but then her gesture turned into an abrupt pat. “Get on with you! Don’t get back too late, or there will be trouble.”
In the mews, Oswald was setting out the equipment and baskets needed for the hunt. “It’s about time you got here!” he said grumpily.
“Good morning to you too!” Andreas had lost his fear of Oswald a long time ago. Oswald was like a grandfather to Andreas, a stern mentor, and the purveyor of endless stories about worlds far away from the drafty rooms of Castle Kragenberg. “How is the merlin doing?”
“Go see for yourself.”
Yesterday, on his way back from the woods, carrying a basket filled with dandelion flowers and young nettle leaves for Matilda, he had encountered four boys from the village bent on torturing the young merlin. The bird was on the ground, unable to fly away. Its jesses had gotten entangled in a branch. These thin leather straps, attached to a hunting bird’s feet, were used to secure the bird on its perch and to make retrieval easier, but could turn into a trap for a bird lost in the woods.
Normally Andreas avoided these boys. He was afraid of them; besides, if he fought back, he might end up getting punished by the castellan. But yesterday, when Andreas saw them pelting the bird with stones, he was enraged and threw all caution to the wind. Armed with a stick, he raced toward the boys, yelling as loudly as he could. To his surprise, when they saw Andreas, they fled. Elated by his success, Andreas carefully picked up the injured young bird, wrapped it into his jerkin, and brought it back to the mews.
This morning, the merlin looked content and apparently recovered from the shock of being attacked. His eyes were bright, and he did not seem to be afraid. Other than the crusted spot where a stone had hit him, Andreas could not see anything wrong with him.
Oswald said: “Lady Bertha is sending someone over later to pick him up. She was very grateful. But, Andreas, I did not tell her any details of who had found him or how he got hurt, because I did not want to make more trouble for you with the other boys.”
Andreas nodded. The village boys hated him for living in the castle. “You think you are so fine! You are just an upstart!” they jeered. “I bet it wasn’t your mother’s needlework that got you into the castle!”
It did not help that the pages and Count Cuno’s sons, with whom Andreas attended lessons, also despised him and considered him as little more than a cadger. Brother Stefan, the tutor, had done what he could to improve Andreas’s lot after his mother died. As Andreas’ uncle and his mother’s only living relative, he had arranged for Andreas to live in the castle and to take lessons with the other boys, but he could not do anything about the treatment meted out to Andreas as an orphan without any social status. Andreas had learned the value of keeping his head down. But lately, he found it increasingly difficult to do so. He sighed and then without further comment turned to help Oswald get the birds ready.
The hunting birds sat quietly on their perches, only occasionally lifting a foot or shaking out their wings, to the sound of little bells tinkling gently. All hunting birds wore these bells to help falconers find them if they went astray. Three birds were going out today, a goshawk and a lanner falcon, both fully trained and used to being handled, and a young peregrine in training. Andreas liked the peregrine.
Oswald joked that Andreas and the peregrine were about the same age as far as their respective learning was concerned. “I don’t know what you see in that bird! Maybe it’s because you both have birdbrains!” he chaffed.
“I just like her. I don’t know why.” Andreas said. Nobody knew where she came from. Count Cuno had brought the peregrine home from one of his trips a few months ago. Rumor had it that he won her from another knight after defeating him in a joust. According to Oswald, the blue coloring of the young peregrine falcon’s legs and down feathers was a demerit and made her less valuable. Andreas thought she was beautiful.
“You should see Adela when she is in full flight and the sun light catches the white feathers of her underparts and the shimmer of the down feathers, set off by the black bars on her chest! It’s magical,” Andreas had told Tom one afternoon, trying to get him excited.
“Why do you call her that?” Tom, his only friend among the pages, had asked curiously.
“Oh, you know—remember how Brother Stefan talked about Adela, the daughter of William the Conqueror, the one who acted as regent for her husband repeatedly? I think Adela is a perfect name for a proud and noble bird.”
Tom had laughed. “I can never figure out how you can remember things like that from Brother Stefan’s lessons!”
Now, talking gently to the young falcon to keep her calm and relaxed, Andreas checked her jesses and the little bell on her foot, and then placed her in the traveling basket.
Oswald closed the lid of the goshawk’s basket. “Let’s go.”
By the time they reached the field near the swamp where the hunt was to be opened, the early morning mist had lifted. Andreas shivered in his thin jerkin and tunic. He could feel the damp seep into the hole in his right boot. But he forgot every sense of discomfort when he saw the huntsman lift the horn to his lips. The sunlight bounced off the polished surface of the horn as the huntsman brought forth the piercingly sweet, long, high notes announcing the opening of the hunt. Halali! Halali!
The hunt party consisted of Ethelbert, Count Cuno’s eldest son, several neighboring landowners, squires, and knights, as well as numerous servants and attendants. Andreas’ task was to keep an eye on the birds waiting for their turn and to hand needed items to Oswald from the equipment basket.
The last note trilled and faded, followed by suspenseful silence. Then a bird rose swiftly into the sky, and Ethelbert released the first falcon of the day. The hounds resumed their baying. The lanner falcon, a mere speck against the bright blue sky, wheeled in wide arcs high above the cluster of men and horses. Straining his ears, Andreas thought he could hear the tinkle of the bells on the falcon’s feet. Then, in a movement too fast to follow, the falcon hurtled through the air in pursuit of a pigeon. Andreas could no longer see the pigeon, but he knew that the lanner had been successful. There had been something in that lethal self-assurance of the falcon’s attack that spelled a quick death for a hapless prey.
The lanner landed on the ground and hovered over its kill. Ethelbert watched him, a broad grin on his face.
Oswald, who stood next to him, murmured: “My lord, it is important to reward the bird.”
Ethelbert nodded and went to the falcon, though Andreas thought he looked sulky at the reminder. The bird was well trained. Compliantly, it stepped onto Ethelbert’s gloved arm and accepted his tribute.
This was the third time that Ethelbert flew falcons in a hunt. His father, Count Cuno, was an experienced falconer and wanted his son to learn the art. Harsh and with little patience with his son, Count Cuno had charged Oswald with instructing Ethelbert in falconry. Oswald was not happy about this. He knew Ethelbert too well to trust him with the volatile young birds. Today was going to be particularly challenging. Count Cuno was away, and there was nobody to keep Ethelbert in check.
Andreas watched Ethelbert out of the corner of his eye. The tall lanky boy was mean and unpredictable. However, the first half hour went by without any mishaps. The goshawk, flying fast and low to the ground, caught a partridge that the dogs had chased out the bushes. Pleased with his success, Ethelbert acquitted himself well, feeding the bird without prompting by Oswald. Now he wanted to fly the young peregrine.
The hounds moved closer to the swamp, sniffing the ground and momentarily quiet in their intent search for prey. Peering between the men standing around, Andreas saw the grey and white feathers of a heron in the reeds.
Oswald brought Adela over to Ethelbert. “Here she is, my lord. Give her time to settle.”
Ethelbert scowled. Andreas was not surprised when he did not heed Oswald’s advice. He pulled off the peregrine’s hood abruptly. Without waiting for the dogs to flush out the heron, he raised his arm and pushed Adela into the air. The young falcon wobbled before she caught herself; then she flew swiftly upward before banking sharply to the left. She had her eye on another prey—a young hare in the grass near a clump of brambleberry bushes, munching clover and oblivious to its surroundings. Adela swooped down and fell on the hare. The heron lifted off, sailing away over the swamp.
Ethelbert cursed. Impatiently he brushed past Andreas, standing close by with Adela’s basket. The falcon was intent on the hare and did not move when Ethelbert reached her. He threw the carcass of the hare into the weeds and seized Adela roughly by her jesses. Before she could settle on his arm, Ethelbert tried to force the hood on her head. Frustrated and frightened, Adela moved violently and scraped Ethelbert’s cheek with one of her talons. Ethelbert yelped and shook her off. She landed hard on the ground and lay there as if stunned.
Andreas reacted without thinking. Afraid for Adela, he rushed forward and turned the basket directly over her like a sheltering tent.
“Well done,” Oswald said quietly. He had moved with a speed that belied his years and was already next to Andreas. He reached underneath the makeshift shelter and grabbed the falcon’s jesses. Andreas upended the basket. Oswald fed the agitated bird a piece of meat, gently slipped the hood over her head, and placed her into the basket. Andreas immediately closed the cover.
“That bird should be destroyed! Take it away!” Ethelbert yelled.
Andreas tightened his grip on the basket. The other members of the hunt party had fallen silent. Lady Bertha had an expression of polite indifference on her face; after a moment, she turned to check her horse’s harness.
Oswald gaped at Ethelbert, stunned and momentarily speechless. Then he said in a placating tone: “But my lord, it was a mistake. It did not mean to hurt you.”
“I don’t care. It is not fit for a lord. How dare you question me? I will tell my father about this. Take it away! I don’t want to see it again!” Ethelbert’s voice rose to a screech. A line of spittle ran out of the corner of his mouth, mingling with the blood from the gash on his cheek.
Oswald looked down and then turned away. He motioned to Andreas to pick up Adela’s basket.
“Look at me when I am talking to you!” Ethelbert shouted. “I expect you to obey.”
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