by Robert Irwin
When I turned away I saw that Hellequin had entered the hall. He bore the gerfalcon on one arm and carried two dead partridges. He recognised me.
‘So, Lord Scales, you have come – but too late.’
One of the Templars by the fire cried out,
‘Hellequin, these are fine plump birds you have brought us. We shall feast royally tonight!’
‘But you are dead!’ I protested.
‘And so are the birds,’ the Templar replied. ‘Like calls to like. You were once dead too and that is why you have found our castle.’
Then Hellequin told the Templars that it was the last such meal that they would enjoy, for he would shortly give me the gerfalcon to take to King Edward. The Maimed King was dead, the Grail departed and, with the passing of the Grail, its attendant maidens and the bleeding lance were also departed. So it was time therefore to yield up the bird, for there would never again be a procession at which it must be shown.
The Templars were dismayed at his speech.
‘Without our bird, how shall we eat?’ And the four of them set up a great wailing and feebly flapped their hands at Hellequin. He made no reply, but merely passed the gerfalcon to me and then gestured that I should leave. The Templars came shuffling and wailing after me.
‘What will we eat if he takes our falcon?’
‘He is stealing our dinners!’
But they could not catch me up as I ran out to find my horse. However, since I carried the gerfalcon on my wrist, I was slow to mount Black Saladin and by the time I was in the saddle the Templars had formed a line that blocked the outer gate. I rode directly at them and, when we reached the gateway, Black Saladin reared and struck at two of the Templars with his hooves and so I rode free from the dolorous place and back into the forest.
Once I judged that I had covered enough distance to be safe from those half-men who called themselves Templars, I dismounted in a clearing and laid myself down to sleep on the soggy ground. I was so very tired that it was no matter where I slept. Much later I was awoken by the sound of church bells. It was morning and Black Saladin and the gerfalcon stood as sentinels over me. The sound of those bells guided me to a village where I was able to get directions to Newcastle and there I rejoined my troop.
That is the tale of the winning of the gerfalcon that Anthony composes as soon as he has arrived back in London. The truth is that during the long ride down from the north he had been beset by fears that he would be overtaken on the road by a posse of Warwick’s men armed with freshly forged evidence of treason. Now Anthony’s writing of the tale in the Woodville townhouse passes the time while he waits for his father to come up from Grafton and join him. Once his father arrives, Anthony loses no time in telling him about the encounters with Warwick, Malory and Tiptoft and the attempt to ensnare him with a charge of treason.
His father listens carefully and when Anthony has finished, he says, ‘I am most sorry for this. You were not Warwick’s real target, since he was seeking to strike at me through you. He fears that I may be returned to the King’s favour and he is right to be so afraid. I have had several secret meetings with Edward outside London where I have been allowed to present the case for a marriage alliance and treaty with Burgundy. At least I hope those meetings were secret, but Warwick has allies and informants everywhere. Therefore I have been most careful in all my dealings and always travel with an armed escort. Now you must be similarly careful. Do not ride out alone. Be suspicious of unsolicited gifts. Be careful of what you eat and drink. Shun strangers who say they want to be your friend. Send no letters that are not sealed. Keep your doors bolted. Your days and nights will be full of peril and I am most sad to have brought this upon you, my son.’
Anthony is not in the least interested in international politics. Nevertheless he asks his father, ‘Why are you urging the King to ally with Burgundy?’
‘Why? Because Warwick is pressing Edward to conclude a treaty with Louis of France and marry a French princess. But if Edward instead chooses the Burgundian alliance, it will be a sign that Warwick’s influence at court is waning. Rage and despair will overwhelm him. He might even kill himself. If he does not, then I shall find some other means to ensure his disgrace and death. As God is my witness, I swear that Warwick will repent the day that he abused and dishonoured us at Calais. I will see him grovel before he dies.’
After a long silence, Anthony summons up the courage to say what he really wants to say, ‘Why not forget what happened at Calais? I have. Leave Warwick to his King-making and live at ease. We have wives, money, rank and health. What should the whisperings, the malice, the vying for influence, the hunt for patronage, and the ups and downs at court matter to us? We have all we need at Grafton and Bishop’s Lynn.’
But his father replies, ‘I am who I am and I will do what I will do.’
Further argument is useless and to change the subject Anthony asks about Malory. Anthony had come to the conclusion that all Malory’s enthusiasm for Arthur, Lancelot and Camelot was all a verbose subterfuge that prepared the way for passing on to Anthony The Avowing of Arthur and the forged letter concealed within it. But his father says that Malory is indeed much esteemed for his knowledge of Arthurian matters and is said to be writing a great book on the Matter of Britain.
‘He is an evil man and doubtless it will be an evil book,’ is his father’s verdict.
When Anthony presses him further, his father continues, ‘Malory is a hard man. He has been in and out of prison many times and I only wonder that he has kept his head upon his shoulders, since at sundry times he has been found guilty of robbery, abduction, rape, extortion, rustling, poaching, and most recently the felonious sheltering of horse thieves, for which last he ended up in Newgate Gaol, but from there he was ransomed by Warwick’s kinsman, Fauconberg. Malory is one of Warwick’s retainers and an embarrassment to him – doubly so, since Malory is known to be at heart still loyal to Henry of Lancaster. Yet Warwick tolerates this, since he finds it useful to have a go-between who can carry messages to and from the Lancastrians. But one day Malory will go too far and it may be that his crimes and his treason will serve also to bring down his overmighty master…’
And, since his father then resumes his ranting against the Earl of Warwick, Anthony leaves as soon as he politely can. He has no intention of hiring bodyguards and spending his days in fear.
The following morning Anthony presents his narrative of the reclaiming of the gerfalcon to Ripley who skims it rapidly before looking up and smiling. His teeth are so white that they shine like stars.
‘Well done, Lord Scales! Well done indeed! You are as skilled with the pen as you are with the lance. This could hardly be bettered.’
Then he frowns.
‘But perhaps it could be bettered.’ Ripley hesitates before continuing, ‘For I have no sense that you were in any danger in the castle. Yet a story will run better if there is a feeling of jeopardy and the listener cannot be sure whether the hero will finish the tale alive… Also the fervour of your devotion to God is not apparent… I should not say this as I am a priest, but I find that a story is more interesting if there is a beautiful woman in it and the hero is carnally tempted.’
The brilliant smile again.
‘You are too modest, but I shall be bold on your behalf. Leave this with me and I will refashion your story in such a manner that it will serve you and your King better. Come to me tomorrow evening at around the time of compline and you will see what I have for you.’
The following evening Anthony returns to Ripley’s laboratory and this is what he reads:
After our taking of the castle of Alnwick, I was sent south with the first detachment of discharged troops. Early on the second morning and some way north of Newcastle I became impatient with the slow progress of the marching men and I pressed my horse to a canter and rode ahead, planning to wait for them further up the road, but as I rode on a thick fog descended and I thought it better to advance no further. So I dismounted and waited for
them to join me. I waited a long time but I neither heard nor saw anything of my troop. I had then no recourse but to follow the path I was on and travel in the direction which I judged to be south. Surely my route would eventually take me to a habitation where I would get better guidance.
I was in a dark wood in which the right way was obscure. Though fear then filled my blood, I gained so much good from my adventure that I will now relate what happened next. Eventually I came to a steep hillside and, as I spurred on down the hill, I was amazed and afraid to encounter a gaunt, lean-flanked wolf. I had not thought that there were still wolves in these parts. My horse reared and I struggled to control it. It was not possible to force my horse any closer to the beast. Then, as we turned, I saw another horseman on the brow of the hill. He looked down at me as if I was the person he had been waiting for. I spurred my horse to join him and called out, ‘Help! Have pity on me, whether you be man or ghost.’
And he replied, ‘I am no man, though I once was one.’
And now that I had ridden close to him, I knew that I had seen him before and his next words confirmed this, ‘I was born in Knaresborough. Hellequin is my name. I was known throughout Yorkshire as the chief falconer of Richard Duke of York.’
Then I pointed to the slavering wolf which crouched and waited at the foot of the hill and asked, ‘Will you help me kill that beast?’
But he replied, ‘That wolf has come from the mouth of Hell and there will be no getting past this creature until the last King of England shall lead me and his other huntsmen in pursuit of it. But come ride with me and we shall take another way.’
And saying this, he led me back down the other side of the hill and along a valley until we came to a fair-seeming castle. As we approached, I heard shouting and the blowing of trumpets from the battlements.
‘This is the joyous castle of Corbenic where all hearts are blessed,’ said Hellequin.
Once we were inside the castle and I had handed over my horse to a groom, Hellequin led me into a narrow courtyard with benches along its sides. I was to wait here while he fetched the steward who would find me lodgings in the castle. After Hellequin had gone, I saw that there was one other person seated on a bench at the far end of the courtyard. Since he was moaning piteously, I approached and, as I got closer, I perceived that this man was a leper and that there was a bowl of water at his feet.
‘Ah, here you are at last!’ he said. ‘The steward said that someone would be here very shortly to wash my feet, but you have been an age getting here. Well, set to it man. I want my feet washed, as was promised.’
He was ill-tempered and horrible looking, for part of his nose had been eaten away and there were only a few wisps of hair on his head, so that his face somewhat resembled a skull. I was minded to reply that the servant who was to perform this task had not yet arrived and that I would go and see if he was coming soon, but I saw that the leper was in an agony of impatience and distress and so I knelt and placed one of the man’s feet in the water and began to wash it. I was shaking with revulsion, for the foot was filthy and deformed. Some of the toes were missing, the arch under the foot was gone and, once I had cleared the mud off, I saw that the upper part of the foot was covered in open ulcers. Having washed one foot, I then took hold of the other, though my hands shook so badly that I could hardly manage this task. The leper crooned with pleasure as he looked down on me.
At last the task was done and I stood up and drew away shuddering. But no sooner had I done so than I reflected that it was not right to nourish such a contemptuous attitude to one of God’s creatures and one, moreover, who had been so badly afflicted. So I knelt once more at the leper’s feet and, taking the bowl in both hands, I drank from its water in great gulps and I found that it had an oddly sweet flavour. The leper looked down on me curiously. Then I arose and told him that I would go and find others to attend to his further needs.
As I came out of the courtyard, I met the steward who was hurrying to find me. I told him that, since I had washed the leper’s feet, there was no need for him to find anyone else to perform this disagreeable task.
‘What leper?’ he said. ‘There are no lepers in this joyous castle.’
And he drew me into the courtyard and I saw that indeed there was no leper there, nor was there a bowl of water.
‘That was surely an angel,’ said the steward. ‘And that was the first of the two trials that you must face while you are here. Only if you also succeed in the second trial will we give you the gerfalcon that was taken from your King. Now I will show you the room in which you are to sleep.’
The room was comfortable and furnished with a few books. I sat on the bed and read from a psalter until I was summoned to dinner. The senior officers of the castle and their wives were all seated at one long table. There were two empty places. One at the head of the table was for the master of this castle. Though he was unwell and would not dine with us this night, I was told that I would be presented to him tomorrow. The other chair was mine and I found myself placed opposite the lady of the castle, very pale with raven-dark hair, and Hellequin was seated beside me. He had no need of food and he only sat with us to keep us company. Indeed, he did most of the talking, as he reminisced about his late master, Richard of York, and what a generous patron and outstanding huntsman this great Duke had been. Though in truth Hellequin rarely had occasion to serve the Duke on hunts, for Richard was so often away fighting in France and Ireland, or deliberating with the other great lords in Westminster. Hellequin swore that Richard had died a martyr for the cause of good government and his death at the Battle of Wakefield made him the greatest King England never had.
The lady was quieter. She seemed displeased by Hellequin’s words and, ignoring him, she questioned me about my lineage and achievements and I told her how I had fought for Lancaster at the Battle of Palm Sunday and had been left for dead. But then, when I recovered, I had seen the error of my ways and embraced the cause of the true King, who is Edward. I spoke also about the hardships I and my men had endured during the sieges of the northern castles and I talked about my struggle to master every aspect of swordsmanship and make myself worthy to be the champion of all England. She seemed very interested in everything I had to say and, when the meal was over, she offered to light me to my chamber and make sure that I was comfortable.
Once there she looked round the room and then hurried out of the door without saying good night. I thought this odd. The night was cold and when I got into bed I was still wearing my surcoat, the one which my sister Elizabeth had embroidered with the Woodville blazon: a wreath vert, gules and argent. I was about to blow out my guttering candle, when I saw that the door was being stealthily opened. In another moment I would have tumbled out of bed and grabbed for my sword, but then I saw that it was the lady of the castle who had returned.
‘I noticed that your candle was low and thought that you should have a new one,’ she said.
Then she sat upon the bed and reached across to press down upon the blanket, so that I was trapped under it.
‘Now you are my prisoner,’ she said laughing.
‘Then I must surrender and there is no one I would rather surrender to.’
But she replied, ‘It is I who wish to surrender to you.’ And she pressed down upon the blanket between my thighs. ‘Perhaps your candle will burn more brightly now. Take me, for my body aches for you and I must be yours.’
I was horrified, for I had meant nothing very much by my gallant offer of surrender and, may God forgive me, I was now tempted. It was as if I had strayed into an orchard in which all the sinful fruits were low hanging. Nevertheless I replied, ‘Lady, though this is a fair offer, I cannot take it, for your husband is my host and it would be against my honour to betray his hospitality.’
‘Your concern with honour does you credit and I love you the more for it. But my husband will not mind. Rather he will be pleased, for since he was horribly wounded, he has been unable to take me to bed. He cannot satisfy me any mo
re and he knows of my strong needs. So he will be pleased that they have been met by such a man as you.’
I just shook my head at this and she, sweetly sighing, released me from my comfortable prison. Still she sat for a while on the bed, talking of many strange things which I may relate on some future occasion. For now I will only pass on these words of hers.
‘You are not as other men, for you are a man of destiny, born to be a hero. Adventures will come running up to you like hungry dogs.’
At length she finished talking and, after she had given me a good night kiss, she departed. When she had gone, I lay awake a long time wondering what kind of thing the second ordeal might be.
I was awoken in the morning by a servant bringing in breakfast on a tray. Later I girded on my sword and went down into the yard of the castle to exercise and practice certain strokes with my sword. After a while the master of the castle’s armoury brought out two blunted swords and offered to train with me, and so we lunged and parried for over an hour. Then I saw that my exercising was being observed by a man propped up on a litter borne by four sturdy porters and I knew that this must be my host, the master of the castle, the Maimed King. The armourer and I put down our swords, while the King instructed his porters to lower his litter to the ground.
Then he crooked his finger to summon me over. He had long hair and a greying beard. Pain had driven deep grooves down his face and I thought that he much resembled Christ as I had seen Him portrayed in images of the Crucifixion.