The Blue Falcon Read online

  ***

  Dawn’s first light had barely touched the land and many a worthy knight lay still upon the rushes, the night’s gaiety taking a heavy toll on those who had celebrated in earnest. In the courtyard, two horses were being loaded with bags holding feed and some small amount of provender to carry them and their riders through their journeys.

  Mallory stood near his steed in wait of Thurwell who was, of the two, the slower to rise this morn. Although the festivities had ended just a brace of hours before, they supported their plan to ride with the first dawning. Mallory was the more alert and somewhat melancholy of the two. He looked around the courtyard for what seemed the hundredth time.

  He secured the saddle again, shifted in his heavy mail and chafed in general at Thurwell’s tardiness.

  “You leave early, as you promised, Sir Mallory,” Edythe said from behind him.

  Mallory turned and looked at the maiden. Her hair was unbound and she had quickly donned a gown for this early morning vigil. Her bare feet showed her hasty dressing.

  “You would have left without a word,” she accused.

  “It seemed best, my lady.”

  “You thought it perhaps less painful, but it would not have been for the best. I would not send you away without a kind word.”

  Mallory seemed to shrink from her every word. “There have been too many words between us already, Edythe. Your father would be ill pleased.”

  “Nay, he loves you.”

  “Nay! He loves me for a true knight and a good friend to his son, but I tell you again: ‘twould set his temper to a fit to think of me courting his daughter.”

  Edythe hung her head in disappointment. Without looking at him she asked, “Will you find some bride upon the road, sir knight?”

  Mallory turned away and gave his attention to his horse. “I have told you, I will wed no one. And no one will have me. I am without land and my money is hard earned.”

  “You will return. And I will be here.”

  He turned sharply toward her. “Edythe, stop this foolish­ness. I have pledged no love, no promise. You are foolish to take such stock in a poor knight. There is nothing I can--”

  Thurwell stumbled out of the hall, tripping on the first stone that crossed his path. Mallory turned from Edythe again and the two stood watching while Thurwell went about the complicated business of getting astride. When Mallory turned to look at Edythe again, the pain was clear in his eyes.

  “I have something for you to carry with you,” she told him. She pulled a medal attached to a bright blue ribbon from her belt and handed it to him. “It was blessed by the friar and will keep you safe.”

  He took it and looked closely at the cross of Christ. He seemed at a loss for words and Thurwell cleared his throat as if impatient.

  “Thank you, my lady,” he said softly, starting to mount his horse.

  “Will you leave me with no token?” she asked.

  Reluctantly he turned to face her. He looked around the courtyard and could detect no eavesdropper present. He looked to Thurwell and saw him staring straight ahead as if he would be invisible. He faltered for a moment and then finally pulled her gently near and placed a light kiss on her lips.

  Edythe let her arms rest lightly on his and moved her mouth over his, warming with the touch, and feeling the passion in her tender young body. He would not let her do more; he set her from him.

  “You are a young and gentle maid and I would not have you hurt,” Mallory told her. “Take the choice of your father, and in good faith give your love to another. Do not linger for a fruitless fate.”

  “Nay,” she said stubbornly. “I will wait.”

  “Edythe, you must not! There is no hope I will change my mind.”

  She had the green eyes of her mother and they mirrored Udele’s determined nature, though tears sparkled in them now. “You may not, sir knight, but neither will I. My heart cannot countenance another, and I will not make you a false promise now. Go with God. I will pray for your safety.”

  Exasperated, Mallory shook his head and wearily mounted his horse. The huge oaken doors opened for their departure, and just before they closed behind them, Edythe saw him turn to look at her again. Quickly she raised a hand in farewell, but she was not sure he saw.

  With a tear tracing a slow path down her cheek, she turned and left the courtyard.

  Chapter 3

  Servant and noble alike made their stores of grain and sheared the sheep for their coats of wool: all thoughts seemed centered on enduring a long, cold winter. Sir Conan de Corbney installed himself firmly in the house of his father. The men who had lately chosen to ride with him were well received in Anselm and took their pallets with Alaric’s men-at-arms. And as fall pressed on to the land, Conan and his father mulled over plans for the future. To the northeast of Anselm was Stoddard, a keep and hamlet very small by comparison, but one of Alaric’s prize possessions. It was there that he bred and raised horses, trained specifically to carry the knight in heavy battle raiment and to respond to the rider’s command and touch. The quality of his horses was well known in England. Many were pledged to the king’s service, and those that could be sold brought a fine price from nobles who would travel far to select one of these destriers.

  It was in Alaric’s mind that Galen would one day have Stoddard, and a large portion of the undeveloped land surrounding the keep would go to Edythe for her dowry. Stoddard could be thusly divided, for little space was needed for the small amount of farming the peasants did there for their own subsistence. The glory of Stoddard was its horses, and the land needed for the breeding, grazing and running of the beasts was near the keep and well protected.

  Many years before, Alaric had placed the hall in the capable hands of Sir Rolfe, a Saxon with a good reputation among the Normans. The castellan had managed that holding well over the years, following Alaric’s orders when they were given and, when necessary, improvising and relying on his instincts. Alaric provided Rolfe and his family with a rich home and a fair percentage of the yearly income, and Rolfe held the keep against would-be raiders.

  Now word came that Rolfe had secured the keep with a great number of soldiers. Sir Rolfe had not left Stoddard in nearly two years, and had sent no revenues to Alaric in six months, giving away his intentions to claim the keep and protect it as his own, against even his liege lord: Alaric.

  These pretensions on the part of this once-loyal vassal caused Alaric much concern and frustration, the hurt of being betrayed having long since given way to anger. If there had been no son such as Conan, Alaric would have ridden with his men to storm Stoddard. Now, Alaric would make use of his son’s strong arm.

  Conan’s energy soared in anticipation of doing battle on his father’s behalf. Many nights wore thin as he and a combina­tion of his and Alaric’s men discussed the various means of attacking the barricaded walls.

  “I say send bowmen ahead of the horsed knights to absorb their first and early strength of the attack. Later, if the gates do not open, let us move in while foot soldiers try their luck with ropes over the walls,” said one.

  “Nay, hear me, my lord,” said another. “Meet their early attack with like strength, a full army great in numbers. Let the bowmen take those on the parapet holding the keep. The crossbow will make their work a simple matter if their aim is good and can strike through the embrasures. Then scaling the wall will be an easy task.”

  “Aye, Sir Conan,” said a third. “While the bowmen holding the keep for Rolfe are kept busy with flying arrows from foot and horsed warriors alike, they will find themselves also occupied with keeping the ropes from the walls and a battering ram from the gates. Their doom may likely come as much from confusion at your force as from their weakness of arms.”

  Conan took in every word, listening carefully to proposed battle plans, but never did he show agreement or argument. Those riding with him would not know until just prior to the attack what plan would be used. Though it seemed unlikely from this loyal group, th
ere could be a Judas to forewarn Rolfe of the method of attack devised. Conan had no great desire to break down the stout walls of the keep with a battering ram, for the time and cost to rebuild would lighten the purse he had barely started to fill. He would choose a craftier course of action.

  Though he had informed his men of very little, he had made one decision: he would attack Stoddard before Christmastide. The castellan had not earned the right to be left in peace through the celebration of the birth of Christ.

  One day in late November, the young lord rose and donned chain mail and armor and was having a squire carry other battle gear to the courtyard. The barbican was bolted and no one was allowed to enter or leave. The men were roused before the cock crowed and found a steaming brewis ready on the hearth, but they were warned not to partake in the absence of their leader. All were advised to don battle gear and have pages and squires make ready their instruments of war.

  In the hall were quickly gathered men of many stations: knights, bowmen, foot soldiers, pages, squires and servants. Father Ambert, the village priest, with two presbyters, stood behind a hastily constructed altar in the main hall. All looked at each other in question until Sir Conan, garbed in his chain mail and surcoat of blue and red, with Mars riding his favorite perch, strode into the room. He knelt before the priest shriven for battle. In a moment he rose and faced his men.

  “For those of you who have fasted, Father Ambert and his aides are prepared to hear your confession and offer you communion. For those of you who cannot partake, accept the good priest’s prayers in no fear of your souls. Today we depart for Stoddard and I promise you, the gates of heaven will not be crowded with my men.”

  Sir Conan stepped away and watched as the men in the room fell to their knees in the rushes. For the better part of an hour there were light mutterings of prayer and confession in Latin, French and English. The sun was just beginning to rise when the priest, blessing the men and giving them absolution, bade them go with God and spare what lives they could in their venture.

  Now all sat before their bowls while servants ran amongst them to deliver food to break the fast. But not one touched the food, for Sir Conan stood and spoke. “Today we ride, and Stoddard is but a day’s journey from us. From the time our troop departs until daybreak on the morrow, no man, woman or child shall leave Anselm. If there sits among us a traitor, I give him this advice: cast your lot quickly with the victor, for before we mount, I will tell you the battle is already won.”

  Cheers went up at the sound of this prediction and it looked as though none among them would even lightly consider betraying this youthful warrior-commander. From Conan’s vantage point there was no one suspect, but neither was he fool enough to take a chance. Their ride north would be secret to all. Even Alaric had not known on which morning they would depart.

  The meal was swift and silent. Conan was the first to finish, though he did not slight his appetite. As a warrior, his body was his most precious tool, and he did not foolishly test his endurance. Food was fuel for him now, for they would travel through no hamlet or town, partake of no landholder’s hospitality, and sleep in no sheltered hall or even a barn. They would take the swiftest route through path and passage without laying open the secret of an approaching conqueror. The next filling hot meal would come when the battle was won and Stoddard was in his possession.

  Alaric walked to the courtyard with his son, his hand upon the shoulder of the knight.

  “I will not return until I have quelled any disturbance in the town, but I will send you word when there is some quiet within Stoddard walls.”

  “I would know the details of the fight, if there is one.”

  “There will be one, rest assured. Rolfe has ignored your orders to yield revenues from Stoddard, and he pays the church in his own name and not in the name of his liege lord.”

  “ ‘Tis my hope that when he sees the size of your forces, he will find wisdom in surrender, but I fear he has planned this action for too long.”

  “And values his possession highly, for only if he yields before the first arrow is cast will he live.”

  Alaric nodded. He hated the thought of this once-valued friend and vassal’s death. He stood before the gibbet that displayed the justice brought to thief or murderer so that his people would not think him weak of mind or will, but the distaste in having to end a life, even a criminal one, was bitter in his mouth. And he confessed and did penance for his obligation in ruling.

  Those riding with Sir Conan began to enter the courtyard to mount, and to their surprise, horses were saddled and standing ready. While no one in the hall had been aware, provisions had been prepared for this excursion. Even those carrying out the orders of Sir Conan did not realize that they made ready for his attack on Stoddard. It was only early this morn that Conan personally woke several of those castle folk he wished to have accompany him and set them to the task of gathering equipment to be taken along.

  Many a knight stood gaping at the courtyard crowded with heavily loaded carts and horses awaiting riders. While they were often prepared enough to ride out at the first inkling of trouble, and more often alert to defend their walls, a journey such as this would usually take long days of planning. Several smiled as they passed Sir Conan on their way to mount up, for it suddenly was clear that in losing Alaric, as they one day would, they would not lose the wisdom that brought them their successes. Conan’s cunning would bring them even more. At this moment he was in complete control, and not a detail had been forgotten. More than a skilled combatant; he was in command.

  When most of the men were ready and awaiting Conan’s word, Udele stepped out into the courtyard. Behind her, Edythe trailed along.

  “The word is that you are bound for Stoddard, Conan,” Udele said a bit brittlely. “I am here to wish you well, though I was not forewarned of your leaving.”

  “I gave no clue to my departure so as to deter any betrayal.”

  “And did you suspect your family would betray you to your own cause?” she asked with eyes flashing.

  “Nay, madam, but a maid or huntsman might, and for that reason I made no announcement until the gate was bolted and the bridge drawn.”

  “No word was sent to me,” she said, looking at her husband with jealousy in her eyes. “I heard it from the lips of one servant who was set to the task of preparing the morning fare for two score soldiers and--”

  “Madam, I saw no need to have word delivered to your chamber. The lord of this hall and the men who will fight are those who needed the word.”

  “I am the lady of this hall!” she cried.

  “Aye!” he shouted, still louder than she. “Lady,” he said with more control, stressing the word, “I could not spend my time delivering messages to every member of this family if I was to prepare an army for travel.”

  Edythe, who had lingered behind her parents, boldly pushed her way forward and briefly curtsied before Conan. Raising green eyes to his, she said shyly, “I shall pray for your safety, my brother.”

  Conan was lately seeing the gentle beauty and gracious manner of his young sister. He touched her cheek and smiled. “Then I shall rest assured, knowing you pray for me.”

  He bowed briefly to his parents and moved to the head of his troop. Orion danced in anticipation of a hard ride. A hand raised high to the man atop the wall and the sounds of the bridge crashing down and the huge oaken doors opening signaled their departure. Mars, occupying Conan’s shoulder, let his wings flap, and his neck craned and beak opened as if to issue a war cry. Orion reared in lustful eagerness to stretch his flanks. The sense that Conan had a oneness with his animals cast an even more powerful light to his already envied status among his peers.

  Alaric watched them ride out and felt his chest expand with pride. He did not notice that Edythe stole away to the chapel, for he stood rooted until the gate was closed and the doors bolted. He then turned to his wife.

  “You should not question him now, madam. He will prosper if his masters are f
ew and his servants many. Remem­ber that.”

  “Yea, my lord.”

  It had taken great cunning to live with a man as stubborn as Alaric. Udele could enslave him by playing the part he adored: the beautiful and submissive wife. She could pacify him now, and later, when Conan ruled over Anselm and Phalen, she could seek a finer station.

  “Serve him as well as you have served me,” Alaric said softly.

  Udele’s eyes twinkled and she stroked her husband’s arm. “Of a certain, my lord.”

  ***

  As Sir Conan led his troop toward Stoddard, he thought heavily on his mission. Stoddard was not great and mighty, but it was terribly important. His father held much wealth and the arms were strong. All this would be his in any event. But Conan’s goals were different from most ambitious knights’: it was not his goal to be the wealthiest knight in all Christendom, but the finest among his peers.

  Much of what Conan lived by had come from the heritage of his family lands, a story told and retold many times over the years. The first de Corbney to establish himself in England was Sir Bayard, a knight of simple means, who fought by the side of William the Conqueror. When the Saxons were sufficiently brought to heel, Bayard built a hall on the spot where Anselm now stood and brought his wife and children from Normandy. Under Bayard’s firm hand and with his support, the Saxons rebuilt their village. A town and hall called Corbney flourished under his hand.

  The only son to survive Bayard was Sir Eldon, who inherited the land. His father had put thirty years of hard work into seeing the small hamlet grow into a substantial little town. But Eldon was more ambitious than his father, and he sought greater kingdoms. To that end, he pressed the people hard, forcing them to labor to provide him with more, but the serfs broke under his pressure and failed him in his quest.