Wildwing (9 page)

Eustace Steps out of a Tapestry

B
eatrix leads me down to a huge room with a towering timbered ceiling. Smoky candles spread wavering circles of light, but there are so few windows, much of the room disappears into shadow. The floor is strewn with rushes. A boy is pushing them into piles and lugging them out; a stench trails after him. Just yesterday that’s the sort of work I was doing, keeping things clean for those above me.

There’s a raised platform at the far end of the hall, and on the platform a table, and behind the table a thronelike chair, and behind the chair a life-size tapestry of trees, a leaping stag, and hunters clad in green.

And then the shortest hunter peels away from the fabric, turning to stare at me with penetrating eyes.

I gasp, grabbing Beatrix’s hand. He takes another step—why, I could almost laugh, I’m so relieved! It isn’t the tapestry come to life, just a green-cloaked man, and one with a paunch and a mincing walk at that.

And yet, as he comes closer, my sense of unease returns. It’s not that he’s short and overweight, or that he has a bulbous nose; it’s more the calculating look in his eyes that puts me on edge. The stingy set of his mouth makes me think he’s the one who watches the castle’s purse strings. But he clearly doesn’t stint on himself: his cape is lined with fur so fine, it ripples as he walks, and at the neck he sports a sparkling jeweled pin.

I’m just about to curtsey when, thank God, I remember and catch myself in time. He stops a few steps away and bows deeply, his cloak sweeping the dirty rushes.

He rises. “Lady Matilda, in the absence of Sir Hugh, allow me to bid you welcome.”

A confident tone, that’s what my role calls for. Almost hoity-toity. “And you would be … ?”

“Eustace, Steward of Berringstoke, and at your service, my lady.”

He pauses, waiting, while I search for another line. “What a charming castle,” I finally say.

He bows again. “As you see, we did not expect you so soon. You find us somewhat unprepared.” He glares at the boy sweeping rushes. “Look sharp there! Can you work no faster? Sir Hugh will hear of this!”

A panicked look crosses the boy’s face, and he starts moving in double time, like one of those books of pictures where you flip the pages to make the characters leap.

Eustace turns back to me as if expecting congratulations for keeping things in line. “But you shall see us at our best anon.”

Anon
. That’s a good one to stash away.

He takes a deep breath, and his tone becomes one of studied concern. “We grieved to hear of your losses, and yet we rejoice at your survival. I am sending a messenger to Sir Hugh today, requesting that he return as soon as possible.”

“Oh, there’s no need,” I say. “Verily.”

As far as I’m concerned, the longer this Sir Hugh is away, the better. Isn’t the lord of the house likely to know his guests? I can use the time to think what to do if he sees I’m not Lady Matilda. And until he returns, I don’t have to be so careful. Servants are always more relaxed when the head of a household is gone.

Or they would be, I think, watching the steward’s face, if this sharp-eyed man weren’t ferreting about every corner.

He reaches a hand under his cloak and brings out something that glitters in the candlelight. “His lordship wished you to have this as a token of his regard.”

He hands me a small flat case. It’s covered in green silk, heavily embroidered in gold. I step closer to a candle tomake out the picture: a lady sits in a bower, and a unicorn approaches as if to lay its great horned head in her lap; her hand is raised, not to ward off the beast, but to welcome it.

“I’ve never seen such needlework,” I say, and that’s the truth. I sew all the time, but practical things like seams and hems and buttons. Nothing like this.

Eustace bows his head. “Word of your talent precedes you, my lady. Perhaps plying the needle will soothe you in your grief.”

Oh, right. Grief. I lower my eyes and sigh.

“Perhaps you would care to open it?” he asks.

There’s a little latch. Inside are compartments with needles and pins, an elaborately etched thimble, and colorful skeins of silk.

“It’s lovely,” I say.

He bows low, and then starts to back away. Why, I’m so grand he doesn’t dare turn his back! I try to restrain my smile, but once he’s scooted out the door, I find myself breaking into a grin. That went rather well! This man, at least, seems quite certain of who I am. I turn to Beatrix?and clamp my mouth shut as I see, from her expression, that grinning isn’t the thing for a lady.

She leans forward and surprises me by whispering, “You’d be wise not to take that one lightly, my lady. Keep youreyes open.” Then she straightens and, as if I’d imagined the moment, says in a normal voice, “I do beg your pardon, but I’m afraid I have a few things need doing. May I leave you for a time? You could look around the great hall, if it please you.”

I’m glad to have the chance to be on my own, go where I want to go, with no one looking at me too closely.

“Take your time,” I say. “I’ll walk around in the courtyard.”

“The court—” She follows my glance to the door. “Oh! You mean the bailey!” She clucks again. That’s right, me and my poor hurt head.

“Verily, I’ll be fine,” I say. “I’ll see you anon.”

With raised eyebrows, she bobs a curtsey, and then hurries away.

The bailey. That’s where I’ll start. Not in this echoing room where the boy is still sweeping and spreading new rushes. I give him a smile on my way to the door, and he almost drops the armload he’s lugging, he’s that surprised. I
must
start being more condescending.

I step out into the beautiful autumn morning and pause for a moment at the top of the stairs, smelling smoke and fresh bread, hearing hammers and horses. I’m a lady, I am, and I can go anywhere I want! I’ll make a round of the thatched buildings against the walls, and find out what each is for. That one, so clean and neat, between the dovecot and the kennels. That’s where I’ll start.

My Falcon

I
’m standing outside the door when I hear a funny little whistle, a fragment of a tune that sounds out of place and just right at the same time. In my eagerness to see what’s making the sound, I push the door too hard, and it goes slamming into the far wall. Someone whirls around: William, his eyes blazing with anger. And on his arm, with its feathered helmet, my greeter, my guide?

“My bird!” I cry, all loud and excited.

There’s a frantic flapping of wings as the bird leaps off backward. The next thing I know, William is settling it again on his glove. He seems to look inside himself and go still; without a word to me, he lowers his head and speaks to the bird as if there’s nothing in the world but the two of them. “There, now. Don’t worry. There.”

He must be a few years older than I am, seventeen or so. Slim, but with strong shoulders and a way of standing that shows how easy he is in his body. His eyes are as blue and untamed as the sky.

He lifts a pouch from his side, takes a sip—and then he’s spitting it out at the bird’s face! A fine mist coats its feathers. I’d laugh, but a look comes over the bird, a look that if I saw it on a person, I’d say was happiness. William sprays again, and it opens its beak to catch some of the water as it mists that fine head, those wings.

What a magnificent creature! The tilt of its head, the bright gleam in its eye, like a candle shining in a deep cavern … Caught up in the vision before me, I forget, for a moment, where I am. Who I’m pretending to be.

“There now,” William says again, sounding strong and gentle, all at the same time. The bird relaxes before my eyes. Its feathers fluff out, and for a second it looks almost vulnerable, but then it gives a little shiver, and instantly every feather is once again sleek and in place, molded to its body like armor. Except for that alert eye, the bird is still.

William flashes me a glance, warning me not to say a word. He reaches to his side and comes up with a strip of meat. The bird bends its head to take it, and he whistles those haunting notes again, like an incantation floating in the air.

My heart is in my throat. I can feel the power he just calmed with his gentleness.

He lifts his hand to a perch, and the bird steps over, one yellow, taloned foot and then the other. He ties a line rapidly with his free hand, then steps away, nodding at me to follow him out the door. The bird chirrups after him as if it wants him to stay near.

He closes the door softly behind us. I blink in sunlight so bright, it blazes my thoughts blank. There’s nothing in my head but sun. It’s as if I’ve been entranced.

Finally he speaks. “I beg your pardon, my lady. That’s my fault, Pilgrim bating like that. I thought you were the boy come to clean, as should know better.” His voice is low, his words respectful, but his gaze has borrowed its intensity from the falcon.

Then I remember. “You found my bird!” I cry. “The one I saw when—” I stop as fast as I started. I nearly told him about the lift! That won’t do. I smooth my skirt with my hands. “When I was riding back from the shore. From the … disaster.”

“You saw a peregrine?” he asks, a quick, interested look coming into his eyes. “Where?”

I don’t want to mention the field, so instead I say feebly, “I don’t remember.”

“It wasn’t Pilgrim,” he says, glancing back at the door. “She’s been in the mews. You saw another, a haggard, mayhap.”

“Mayhap,” I say, pretending to know what he’s talking about.

Suddenly a smile lights up William’s face. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “I was going to ask for an audience. You see, I’ve been training one special for you.”

A magnificent falcon for my very own! I imagine carrying it on my fist, stroking its breast with a gentle finger, seeing what those feathers feel like on my skin.

He indicates another door with a tilt of his head. “His lordship asked me to have her manned for your arrival. You’ll have to be quiet and gentle when we—” He stops suddenly. “I beg your pardon, my lady. Forgive me if I overstep my place. I forget what you …”

“You forget what I’ve forgotten,” I say, filling the empty space. “I do, too. I can’t even remember being near falcons.” Lord, is that true! “So just tell me everything. Pretend I know nothing at all. That’s the best.”

It’s how I’ll learn.

But he doesn’t go on about how I’m to act with the bird. He pauses and looks at the ground, long eyelashes close to high cheekbones. “If you don’t mind my saying”?he looks up—”you’re not how I expected.”

Now those brilliant eyes are gazing right into mine, andsuddenly I realize I’m talking with a lad, a handsome one at that, and for once I’m not lowering my head and rushing in the opposite direction. I feel my cheeks flush. I can’t look away.

There’s a long moment of silence. He’s standing there, waiting. As if he expects me to say something.

Then I blush again, hotter, as it comes to me. Not how he expected? He must mean I’m being too familiar for someone of my rank. How could I have let myself slip so soon? If I’m to convince this castle I’m their lady, I need to be as dignified and demanding as everyone expects.

I gather my grandeur back around me like a cloak. “And why, pray tell, are we standing here? Bring me my falcon.”

He gives a slight bow. “Do you mind waiting here? I’ll bring her out on the glove.”

I stand in the sun, almost dizzy from the unfamiliar feelings swirling around inside me. Apparently, when Lady Matilda wants something, people listen. I want that bird on my arm, that strength, that power. I want—

The door opens. William steps out, and on his arm—My heart plummets. On his arm is the little chirp of a bird he was carrying when I rode through the gates. It can’t be even half the size of Pilgrim, and those brown feathers remind me of an old speckled hen. “Where is my
falcon?”
I say.

“Right here. She isn’t named yet; that’s for you to do, of course. The calmest little merlin you ever saw. Doesn’t get upset about anything.”

With his free hand, William reaches into that pouch at his side, pulls out a strip of meat, and offers it to her. She gobbles it up, like a lady gulping cakes at a tea party. She’s got that kind of body, too: small and soft and round. Like she never flies anywhere, just sits around all day, eating. Why does he even bother with a glove for this bird?

He strokes her brown breast gently with a finger, then lifts his head, smiling. Until he sees my face.

“Don’t you like her?” he asks, a note of worry creeping into his voice. “I’ve trained her carefully, so she’ll be sweet for you. Beautiful markings. But of course, if you want a different one …”

“I want Pilgrim.”

My words ring out around us. They surprise me so much, I almost jump.

“Pilgrim is a peregrine,” he says carefully. “I’ve been manning her for Sir Hugh. This one will sleep in your room, come with you to town, to church. Not all edgy and particular, like Pilgrim. And you know the saying: A merlin for my lady.”

A saying, as if the rule were etched in stone. Mum was always telling me I should be happy with what I have. And yet, my
wanting
is still there, delicious, demanding. Well, I’m not with Mum, and this isn’t
always
anymore.

“I want Pilgrim,” I say again, clipping off each word.

William’s jaw sets. That’s not what I expected. “It’s true Sir Hugh hasn’t met Pilgrim yet. But you don’t expect me to give
him
the merlin, do you?”

He’s getting that stony feeling. I can sense it in the air. This doesn’t feel right at all, not with him. So, even though it may not be wise, I drop the ladying. “I’ll discuss it with Sir Hugh when he comes,” I say. “Until then, I’d like to be around Pilgrim. Not say she’s mine, just be near when you care for her. Perhaps learn to work with her, like you do. That will be all right, won’t it?”

William looks thoughtful; his face eases. It’s like his feathers got smoothed back down. “It’s time she was getting used to more people,” he says. He tilts his head, about to say more, when Beatrix comes panting up.

“Where have you been, my lady?” she says, all red in the face. “I’ve been this worried about you! Couldn’t find you anywhere, and here it is time to eat almost, and you making your appearance at the high table, and we want you at your finest, don’t we?”

She turns and bustles me toward the castle, herding me like a sheepdog. I let myself get pushed upstairs.