The Blue Falcon Read online

  The Blue Falcon

  Robyn Carr

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  The translation of Der von Kurenberc’s poem “I Trained Myself a Falcon” is by R. W. Barber and appeared in The Knight and Chivalry by R. W. Barber. It is reprinted by permission of the translator.

  Copyright © 1981 by Robyn Carr

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  For Jim, with love

  The author wishes to thank Neva Hoofnagle and Lowell Stokes for their interest in this work.

  FALCONS AND LOVE

  I trained myself a falcon through a year’s long days.

  When he was safely tamed to follow my ways

  And his plumage shone golden, painted by my hand,

  With powerful wingbeats rising, he sought another land.

  Since then I’ve often seen him, soaring in fair flight,

  For on his feet my silken jesses still shine bright

  And his plumage gleams with scarlet and with gold.

  May God grace lovers and reunite them as of old.

  Der von Kurenberc

  Prologue

  Before the sun rose over the tall walls of Anselm Keep, a small figure concealed within the folds of a heavy cloak crept through the streets. The woman kept her hands clutched inside of her wrap, and a basket dangled from her arm. Her head was shrouded, and she glided through the mists more like a spirit than a mortal.

  The tinkling of the vespers bell alerted her to slow her pace, and she sank to her knees and crossed herself as the priest passed. She did not glance up at him and he did not look in her direction, but each was profoundly aware of the other. Once he had passed, she was again moving quickly, her head bent and obvious determination guiding her step.

  She stopped before a humble shop and tapped impatiently at the door. It opened immediately. A woman of perhaps fifty years and of robust health stood in the portal. “My lady,” she greeted her. “Please, come within and sit by the fire.”

  She entered eagerly, almost before the woman completed the invitation. Once inside, she pushed back the hood of her cloak and her exquisite beauty was revealed. She shook out her thick, dark hair, not yet properly bound for the day, giving away the fact that she had not partaken of her morning grooming rituals, but had come on her errand quickly upon rising. “You knew I was coming,” she said. It was not a question.

  The room was crowded with spools of fine threads and sewing trivia. Lace hung as if on display, and articles not yet completed were stacked about the simple shop. Near the door that led to the shopkeeper’s living quarters there sat a table covered with a rich cloth of scarlet. Upon the cloth rested a stone of crystal, which seemed to twinkle of its own. The lacemaker, Giselle, looked toward it and said, “Your foot­steps in your chamber early this morn roused me from my sleep. I knew you were bound here.”

  Lady Udele turned her attention to the fire to hide the light of impatience that glittered in her emerald-green eyes. She stretched her hands toward the fire, though in truth she was not cold. Indeed, the high flush on her cheeks indicated that she was filled with the warmth of great energy. “Then would you also know why I have come?” she asked without looking at the woman.

  Giselle did not answer at once. She let her mind go back over the past. Twenty years ago, Lady Udele had been the youthful bride of Lord Alaric de Corbney. She was directed to Giselle by one of the serving women in the castle. Then her belly was swollen with babe and her eyes had that same excited, almost desperate, light. She was only four­teen years old.

  “It must be a son,” she had said passionately. “Strong and powerful. He will be a great success and the master of my house when my husband is gone. He will be devoted to me.”

  Reading in Udele’s future that she would bear a son who would be a powerful figure was an easy thing. This son would be all that his father was; Lord Alaric was a high and mighty man. Giselle could see, also, that this son would be skilled in the knightly arts, and his devotion to his parents would be beyond question.

  The prediction did not satisfy the lady. Udele insisted on potions and incantations to ensure such a future for the unborn child. Giselle gave her heavily herbed wine and mumbled words that had no meaning, for she was terribly opposed to attempts to alter the future. When the child was born, he was handsome and healthy.

  Udele felt great joy and elation in the birth, but she did not see that Conan was the image of his father. To Udele, Alaric was already an old man--thirty-seven--when his first child was born. The young noblewoman had little passion for her aging groom.

  Udele turned from the fire and stared at Giselle. “I have heard Sir Conan is home. Is that why you’ve come?” Giselle asked.

  “My lord husband has sent word far and wide that Conan is come. There will be a tournament today. And the knight will no doubt prove himself worthy of his father’s boasting.”

  “You do not fear for Sir Conan’s well-being, lady? He is by far the best to ride through the gates of Anselm in many years.”

  “I do not fear!” Udele snapped. Her face fell. In this humble cottage there was no need for pretense. Although Udele’s beauty and vitality were sung throughout this land, here, in the company of only Giselle, she could relax her features and let the lines of years of unhappiness show. Alaric was envied by his peers, for Udele was possibly the most beautiful woman in England, but only Giselle knew that Udele scorned her husband. “If I fear, it is only because my son loves fighting better than anything,” she said more calmly.

  Giselle felt pity for the great lady. “Come,” she bade her. “Sit with me here and give me your hands. I see a proud day ahead for the mother of a great knight.”

  “I will manage the day,” Udele replied. “You must tell me what is ahead for Conan.”

  “But, madam--”

  “I’ve brought you something,” Udele interrupted. She reached into the basket and pulled out a soiled and torn shirt, the type a man would wear under his tunic and mail. Giselle fingered the garment. The many hours of wear, the odor of a man’s perspiration and the smell of leather and horses aided her in feeling a closeness with the owner. She knew at once that it belonged to Sir Conan.

  Giselle went to sit at the table. With one hand she fondled the linen shirt, and with the other hand resting on the crystal stone, she closed her eyes lightly. He was there then, his image burned into her mind. She smiled, feeling a special fondness for him. She had, after all, predicted his birth and much of his life. Giselle had been the one to suggest the boy be given a merlin, and the child immediately proved his natural ability to handle the bird. Next, he was given a falcon and soon after, many falcons. Even now his shield bore the blue falcon, and one beautiful bird of a deep midnight blue rested more often on Conan’s forearm than anyplace else.

  It had pleased Udele to see this child excel. She had seen him leave his home at the age of only six to serve as a page to a skilled and seasoned knight, Sir Theodoric. While Lord Alaric certainly approved of the teacher, he would not have sent his son at such an early age. But Udele prodded and pushed, for she had great ambitions for the lad.

  Conan learned quickly. He served as a squire and was knighted ahead of his peers. Now, at the age of twenty, Conan’s gift for fighting was well known in this part of England. All those qualities--strength, power, loyalty--that Udele had yearned for her firstborn to have were certainly his. Still, she did not see that he was his father’s son.

  Giselle could see him in her mind’s eye, a handsome young
man standing taller than his father. His deep blue eyes and full beard drew a sigh from many a maid; the cold glint those same eyes could possess when he took up his sword caused his opponents to shudder. Giselle was one of the few to remem­ber that Lord Alaric’s eyes had once held that same powerful and hypnotic quality, for now they were faded and tired, and only in moments of great passion or anger did they light as Conan’s did now.

  “I can tell you of his greatest moment in the day,” Giselle offered without opening her eyes.

  “He will fare the tourney well?”

  “Certainly,” Giselle replied.

  “I will rest easy. There is another matter that plagues me,” Udele announced. Giselle frowned. She could feel the ten­sion radiating from Lady Udele, “My lord husband insists it is time for Conan to take a bride.”

  Giselle nodded. Of course Alaric would feel strongly about Conan’s marriage. Conan could take some of the burden from his father by managing at least the farthest corners of his lands. He would have time to sire at least one child before King Henry found some battle to fight. At the moment the prospect of his marriage seemed bright, but Giselle felt the presence of a cloud on this otherwise sunny image.

  “Has he brought you a bride?” Giselle asked.

  “No. He dallies with his chore.”

  Giselle smiled faintly as she let the vision of Conan come clearly to mind. “There will be many maidens turning their heads to the Blue Falcon on this day, madam. But none of these, I pray you. Today is not the day for him to choose a bride. I fear he would choose poorly.”

  “Whom does he love?” Udele asked sharply.

  Giselle was not perturbed. She was accustomed to Udele’s restlessness. “So many will bid the knight take their colors to the contest, and in the garden of his mind many blossoms abide.” She laughed lightly. “Sir Conan has the flesh of woman much upon his mind, but not of one woman. He loves no one so well as his horse and his blade.”

  “But the time is now! If we are to wait upon his pleasure, I must at least know why--” Udele stopped and saw that Giselle’s kind gray eyes were open and locked with her own. “Whom will he choose? The name.”

  “I dare not give you a name, lady,” Giselle said firmly. “I seldom--almost never--see a name. And Conan’s life is no longer in your charge.”

  “You can tell me what I wish to know,” Udele said.

  “Madam, I must warn you again of dangerous matters.”

  “But there has never been any danger.” She laughed nervously. “You fret too much, Giselle.”

  “You ask too much, madam,” Giselle said, knowing the harm was not so much in the asking. It was the touch of Udele’s interference in an otherwise perfect picture in her mind. Left alone, Conan would have his share of problems, but would manage them well, and the overall image showed a content and prosperous man. “You take these gifts of the spirits too lightly.”

  Udele’s expression was closed. Her voice dropped to a lower pitch. “You’ve played your witch’s games with me and you’ve done as I bade you before. Now you will say me nay?”

  “For your own life or for the future of a child in your charge, I can freely tell you what you want to know. But, madam, Conan is a man fully grown. I cannot say too much to another.”

  Udele looked at the lacemaker closely. “You’ve given me potions and said witch’s words. You would be killed were it known.”

  The two stared at each other. Giselle’s eyes showed wisdom and compassion, not the ability to play games with spirits or impose hexes and curses. Udele’s eyes, on the other hand, sparked with life, the green shining like emeralds in her determination to be satisfied.

  The history of these two was long and unchanging. Giselle was a woman of gentle manners, helping those in need whenever she could, but using caution and discretion with her special gift. And fearing somewhat this special sight. For twenty years, Udele had intimidated and threatened her when she would balk from her desires.

  Giselle many times regretted that first meeting when she had taken pity on the frightened lass wed to Lord Alaric. Unsure and afraid, with the awesome duties of being lady of Anselm, Udele begged aid from the sighted lacemaker. From the time Udele was aware of the potential of this gift, she was intent on securing her future beyond doubt, and always seeing her own will met. If Giselle predicted a lean year for crops, Udele would store more provender than usual. If a heavy tax or tithe lay ahead, Udele would quickly make many purchases for herself.

  “Though you would make this difficult for me, I would know. You will be soundly beaten if you do not.”

  “I will tell you what I can,” Giselle said wearily.

  Giselle placed her hand again on the crystal and closed her eyes. Her fingertips gently caressed the linen shirt, and through them she let her mind lead her into the future. Again the handsome young knight was in her sight. She searched for a woman in his life, for already she could see there would be one. It was as if she held Conan in the palm of her hand. Alternating between the world as others knew it and the world as she saw it, she spoke to the knight. “So--you will love as passionately as you fight--holding your love with a fierce strength--yielding so much--Ah! Not a portion of your heart--but the whole of yourself. But then nothing else would befit the Falcon--the loyalty and commitment of your love will match your dedication in knighthood. And so you shall be bound--through all eternity.”

  Udele leaned forward in her chair. Alert, she listened for more.

  “She will be his lady fair. Her hair is flaxen and her cheeks flushed with youth. Young--yea, she is young and has not seen full womanhood, but she nears that threshold. I see beauty and courage--forsooth, her courage matches the knight’s! A worthy match. But--Sir Conan does not see her yet. Yea, she is there, available to him. When he is ready for her, when his eyes choose to see, she will be under his hand and he will take her. For now, the knight’s spirit is moved by other things, but he will have his lady.”

  Udele’s hands were together just under her chin as if in prayer. “And her family?” she questioned softly.

  “I see a strong family bond,” Giselle said, straining for a vision. “And a strong family. Strong and respected.”

  Udele nodded. “And wealthy?” she asked.

  Giselle’s brow was creased. “Beauty and abundance,” she said softly. “There is wealth to be had, but what belongs to the lass is modest. Nay, she is not rich, but in her many strengths she is wealthy.”

  Udele sat back, her mouth slightly open, yet silent. Finally Giselle opened her eyes and looked at her.

  “She has no fortune?” Udele questioned with discomfort.

  Giselle smiled tolerantly. “Fear not, lady. Conan will never be poor. And what he will attain through marriage to this lass will be modest, true, but not to be ignored. Her dowry will please--”

  “Please a poor knight perhaps,” Udele said tartly. “My son is among England’s finest knights. These lands his father holds, rich and wide! He could easily have a princess!”

  “Nay, I think not, madam. Sir Conan does not seek--”

  “Ah! And what does he seek?”

  Giselle let her gaze drop. “I cannot say, madam, but that the knight proves himself to be honest and chivalrous. I can tell you that he will surely have the respect of his country­men.”

  Udele shook her head in obvious discontent. “Respect will not clothe and feed us,” she said. “And do you warn me that Conan will choose a simple bride, without regard for our family?”

  “I do not see a simple lass, but one nobly bred. And though her family is not as rich as yours, she is not without coin. She will bring Sir Conan much, managing his house with care and--”

  “His house. It is not his house yet, nor will it be her house. And I will not easily stand aside to watch a young lass barely ripe dole out my possessions.”

  “Madam, if she is his choice--”

  “You must tell me how to prevent this. My son must not be so bent to a woman of little means. Not now.�
�

  “There is no way to prevent this,” Giselle said slowly.

  “There must be a way.”

  Giselle shook her head. “You must not interfere. It would be your ruin and his. Let it be, madam, and rejoice that your son has a future so bright. Forget--”

  “Forget,” she barked. “Forget my only hope? Forget that at the tender age of three and ten I was given to a man older than my own father and used freely and without tenderness? Forget that I was a child myself when I labored with my son?” Udele shook her head and her eyes burned bright with a rage that almost overwhelmed her. “I cannot forget that I have been chained to serve my lord husband for twenty years! When Conan prospers, I can live as I will and not bend to the whims of a stubborn and foolish old man. I have had to plot and pray for a few extra coins!”

  “Lord Alaric has given you much--”

  “Alaric throws his gold to an army that does naught but decorate yon wall!” she fairly snarled. “And I have not worked and waited all these years for more of the same from my son!”

  “Madam--”

  “If you will not help me, I will help myself. But I warn you, one day you will regret your reluctance.”

  Giselle shook her head sadly. “You will find no success, my lady, for there is a plan and it is not yours to decide. Conan is bound to her already, the stars in the heavens know this. He will seek her, even in death.”

  Udele sprang to her feet, knocking over the chair in her haste and anger. Her cloak swirled wide as she spun and reached for the basket on the bench. “I would have some lace,” she said coolly. A few coins were dropped onto the table where Giselle sat.

  Wearily, the woman rose and carefully drew out some lengths of lace that had been many tedious hours in the making. She spread a half dozen samples across a bench and stood back so that Lady Udele could make her choice.