The Blue Falcon

by Robyn Carr

  With some uneasiness Conan faced Mallory. “Do not say anything to my riders. They are loyal to me and thus to Henry. There is no need to tell them where you are going. Go from Phalen in secrecy and I will hear of your departure from my returning troop.”

  “Go with God, Conan,” Mallory said.

  “Good fortune, friend,” Conan said, grasping him by the hand and upper arm. It was his intention to go back into the hall so as to be spared the departure of his friends and Chandra, but she came with her ladies to the courtyard at the very moment he would have fled.

  “I have said my farewells in the hall,” she said quietly.

  “I wish I could properly thank you for the service you’ve given, Lady Chandra. I fear there is no adequate reward.”

  “I seek no reward but that you think kind thoughts of me, sir knight.”

  She looked past Conan and saw Edythe in the courtyard behind her brother. She brushed past Conan and embraced her fondly, murmuring in her ear. Edythe nodded and whispered to Chandra.

  Conan could not escape, so he stiffened his back and took Chandra’s arm to lead her to her horse. He lifted her to her saddle himself, helping her find the stirrup with her foot and positioning her knee about the pommel. A servant stood near with a woolen blanket and Conan took that, tucking it about her lap.

  Their eyes met for a moment as he looked up at her, hers with a hint of tears and his with naked adoration and longing. He touched her hand. “Thank you, fair lady.”

  “Goodbye, monseigneur,” she replied with a trembling voice.

  He handed her the reins and she looked straight ahead, her eyes brimming. He knew her agony and would not prolong it. He stepped away from her horse and raised a hand to the gatekeeper. The creaking and snapping of the portcullis signaled their parting. He waved to his friends and felt his breath catch as the three people he loved most in his life rode away from him. He stood beside his sister until the gate began to close.

  “They will be safe upon the road,” he said, half to himself. “ ‘Tis too cold for even the hardiest thieves.”

  He looked down and met Edythe’s round green eyes, which were filled with tears that glistened beneath the sooty lashes. “Aye, brother. They will be safe.” Her voice was barely a whisper. She turned from him and, pulling her mantle tightly about her, went back into the hall.

  Conan looked again at the Stoddard doors that had seen his friends’ departure, then he looked at Edythe’s disappearing form. Edythe? he asked himself. Could Edythe be the maid that Mallory struggled to win?

  My brain grows thick with romance and knows not beef from grain, he thought. He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair and shook his head. If war does not come, he thought, I will make a better poet than a knight. He turned in the direction of the hall and with long, determined strides made his way to his wife’s chamber.

  Part II

  Chapter 9

  In the pale glow of dawn, the beasts and critters of the forest were already awake and about their morning work. Mice skittered from hay to brush; rabbits darted from tree to hole. Sir Conan stood in the field outside Anselm’s walls with Mars perched on his gauntleted hand. Though the hood had not yet been removed, the great bird sensed the morning and was eager to be set free; his jesses pulled and the bell tied to them tinkled.

  “No patience this morn, eh? Ready, then ...”

  The hood was removed and the feathers close to Mars’s breast tensed and stood out. His beak opened and he roused. Conan’s hand jolted him into the air. The great bird soared, tucked his head when he spotted his prey, and flew to a brown spot that stood out among the golden layers of hay.

  Conan rode to where his falcon had lighted, lifted the bird, and fed him a piece of meat, the meat of a domestic dove. “Fine catch,” Conan said.

  “My lord?”

  Conan turned abruptly at the sound of a woman’s voice.

  “Edwina, what are you doing here?”

  “I beg your forgiveness, Conan, but the boy in the mews told me where you might be found. I hoped it would leave us a moment alone to talk.”

  “And it could not wait?”

  She was quiet for a moment, her sad eyes looking down and not at him. Conan steadied himself. It was not her fault, he reminded himself. He was to blame. He had done her a great injustice in seeking her so quickly, thinking so little of her needs. He had been moved by her beauty, her estate and a vengeance that would not allow him to stand by and give all that to Tedric.

  He replaced the hood over Mars’s head and faced his wife with more gentleness. Perhaps he had protected her from a worse fate. Their marriage had not been rich or fruitful, but for her goodness he loved her.

  “Come, love, what troubles you so early this morn?”

  “‘Tis no trouble, my lord, but you have been surrounded by family and men-at-arms. There is never time for a wife to speak.”

  “Edwina, you are my lady. When you have need of your husband, send the others from us and speak your mind. I am at your call.”

  “Conan, I am your lady, but I am not the lady here. You may have the courage to send Lady Udele and Lord Alaric from the room, but I dare not presume so much.”

  Conan laughed lightly. “I can see your problem. Clearly, you would have a difficult time ordering my mother to do anything.”

  Edwina grimaced slightly at hearing her husband speak with such light affection of his mother’s overbearing nature. In over two years of marriage, she had not learned the way to please Udele.

  A second miscarriage had been Edwina’s fate. Shortly after Conan returned to their marriage bed she had come with child. A few months later the child had been lost, this one too early to tell the sex. Edwina had not suffered so this second time, except for the agony she knew at letting Conan down again.

  Lady Udele came quickly to manage Stoddard and care for Edwina. She convinced Conan that another attempt might endanger Edwina’s life, and for a time Edwina should reside at Anselm where her health could be carefully guarded.

  Thus Edwina had been living with Conan’s parents, seeing Conan only when he could leave Stoddard and other duties for visits. They had not shared a bed and did not even sit beside each other at the dining table when Conan was in residence.

  “Conan, after the coronation, will you return to Stod­dard?”

  “Aye, you know I must.”

  “I have been frightened of Stoddard,” she said quietly. “It was a dark and lonely place when I was there. And the memories--the children I could not give you ...” Her voice trailed off for a moment. She took a deep breath and looked at him. “But my place is not here, Conan. If I am not to live with you at Stoddard Keep, might I go to Phalen?”

  Conan stiffened slightly, wondering if this was indeed the end of their marriage. He could let her go to Phalen and she would be his wife, but there would be no marriage, no children. “What is your preference?”

  “I should like to go with you to Stoddard, but Conan, I would understand if that does not please you.”

  “Why would I be displeased? You are my wife. Your place is with me, in the home I call my own, not with your father.”

  “I am of little use to you. I cannot promise that the next time I bring your seed to fertile ground I will deliver you a live child.”

  “Does this mean that you would like to try? You are not afraid?”

  “I am not afraid,” she said softly. “It will be as God wills it.”

  “Then you shall have Stoddard,” he returned.

  “There is another thing I would ask, if you will hear me. When we return from London, I should like to travel to Bury Saint Edmunds and pray for a healthy child.”

  The shrine, almost directly north of Cordell, was a place of miracles. Women who could not conceive and women already with child prayed and made offerings there. The spirit of Saint Edmund was said to be so strong as to strike down thieves who would pillage the shrine, killing them on the spot.

  “I will take you there myself, after Lo
ndon.”

  “And then to Stoddard,” she said, smiling now. She was lovely when she smiled. He remembered that sweet and shy smile she gave to him when he first spoke to her of marriage and the alliance of two powerful families. The estate the marriage brought would be mighty and strong and would need sons to carry it on.

  “Stoddard shall have its lady again,” he said, touching her cheek with his hand.

  Edwina pressed his hand harder to her face. “Conan, I know I am not your match. I am not the lusty wench who can return your passion in a manner that would please you most.

  But Conan, you have been good to me. I want only to serve you well, to give you a son.”

  “Edwina, do not torture yourself--I have not complained. I know you wish to serve me well. And there will be sons.”

  “The dowry means so little if you are not given children to support you.”

  “There will be children, love, in time. Worry will not bring them. You must not blame yourself for things that are not your fault. Let us look ahead to more fruitful days and forget our past sufferings.”

  Edwina looked at her husband with adoration shining in her eyes. She brought his hand to her lips and pressed a kiss into the palm. “I love you, Conan.”

  He put his arm around her and walked with her toward his horse. “We have not been allowed much time to think about love,” he said quietly. “You have been kept here, though I did not think it was against your wishes. And I have been set to the task of bettering my name, representing our fathers in every council and conference. They will have to allow us a brief space of time for family matters.”

  He remembered the feeling that came to his breast when he first learned that Edwina had conceived. Though their mar­riage had many weaknesses, he was filled with joy over the prospect of a son. It was a great strength in their relationship, a common bond and goal. He had a vision of the boys that would bow before him, seek him out as teacher, master and father. It was the only grasp at immortality that a man had, the truest reason he could find for hard work: to pass his possessions and his high standards on to his sons.

  But the first two children his wife carried were lost, and lost too was Conan’s reason for toiling. He had become a stranger to his wife’s bed and had come to think there would never be a child of this union. This was the first time, in more than a year, that he heard his wife give the slightest indication that she wished to feel his weight in their bed again.

  “You have walked a great distance to speak to me,” he said softly.

  “Had I waited for a mount, you might have already returned. I ran most of the way.”

  He arched a brow as he tried to consider this, for Edwina’s pace was quite slow in the most hurried instances. He chuckled to himself and mounted Orion, offering her a hand to pull her up in front of him. With an easy motion she was raised to the saddle and he pulled his mantle tightly around her shoulders.

  Edwina leaned back against him and sighed her content­ment and sense of security. Conan held her closer, acting as her protector and strong arm. There would never be great passion in this union. But as they rode toward Anselm together, Conan finding warmth and devotion in his wife’s manner and giving back to her as much caring and love, there was a certain peace.

  Conan clicked his tongue and urged Orion slowly in the direction of the rising stone wall that surrounded the hall and hamlet that would one day be his. The steed stepped daintily through the field of rye, moved around the rows of vegetables nearer the wall, and finally found the dirt road that led through the gatehouse into the courtyard with almost no direction from his master. She worries that she is not enough of a wife, Conan thought. Were I more of a husband she would know a total love, and it would make her strong.

  He hoped, for the hundredth time, that they could give each other more, thus finding contentment in their marriage.

  The next morning Conan took Mars again to the field for their morning exercise, and when he returned to the hall he found his family seated to break the fast. He placed the hooded falcon on the back of his chair, and a servant brought him a horn of milk. Pork and coddled eggs were placed before him to tease his nostrils and start his stomach juices working. He felt fit and fine.

  “I sought you in your chamber this morn, but you were not there,” Udele said. Edwina’s face flushed and she concen­trated on her meal. Edythe looked up and listened with interest. Alaric’s eyes focused on his wife.

  “I was with my wife,” Conan said easily, mopping up the yellow of the yolk with bread. “You will find me in her chamber henceforth.”

  “Do you think that wise?” Udele asked pointedly.

  Conan looked at his mother and smiled in spite of himself. “Yea, madam, I think it wise.”

  “Edwina is not strong, Conan. You should not press her.”

  Alaric cleared his throat and frowned at his wife. She did not notice. Conan shrugged and declined further comment.

  “And if she proves with child?” Udele asked.

  “That is our wish, madam, that Edwina will prove with child. And though it was not my intention to inform you of my plans this very morn, you might be interested to know that after Richard is crowned in London, we will travel to Bury Saint Edmunds to make an offering and pray for a healthy son.”

  Udele grunted in disapproval. “You must make the offer­ing generous,” she sneered. “And I shall have her bed ready when you return.”

  “We go to Stoddard,” Conan said.

  “Stoddard! And who will care for Edwina there? Will you shirk your duties to take care of her when she is stricken again? You have obligations. How much will prosper by sitting at your wife’s bedside?”

  Edythe went back to her breakfast with a sigh. Alaric put his goblet down with a loud bang and glared at his wife, hoping Conan would stop her as well he should.

  ‘“Tis Edwina’s wish to go with me to Stoddard, and rest assured, madam, she will be well cared for. Tis time we lived as man and wife--duty will always be close at hand to reclaim me.”

  Something of a snort escaped Udele and her mouth was twisted to show her displeasure. She looked at Edwina until the latter met her eyes and blushed in discomfort, and then she glared at Conan. “I had not thought you fool enough to bed her when all you will gain is a burden to keep you from giving good service and bettering your reputation here and--”

  “Madam!” Alaric shouted. “Still your tongue or I shall still it for you!”

  Udele fell suddenly quiet and picked at her meal. That was a command that could not be ignored. Though Alaric loved her and openly adored her, he would allow her to move only within the perimeters of his design.

  She would not beg pardon for her bad behavior, but she was silent for many moments. It was not until conversation had resumed in a light manner that Udele spoke again, careful that her voice was pleasant.

  “Word came from Medwin late yesterday and I only just remembered the news.” Many faces turned her way. “Follow­ing the coronation there will be a wedding. Chandra will marry Tedric and we are all invited to attend.”

  Edwina smiled, but the other faces that were turned toward Udele were stunned and expressionless. Udele laughed as if in confused embarrassment. “Does the thought of a wedding distress you all?” she asked, looking mostly between her husband and son.

  “Chandra deserves a richer man than Tedric,” Alaric finally said, signaling a page with his empty mug. “I have long loved Theodoric and his sons, but that that one is a disap­pointment even his father cannot deny.”

  “But Tedric has done well for himself in spite of his lack of inheritance, and he stayed by King Henry’s side through his death and served him well. I am to understand that he has accumulated considerable wealth,” Udele argued. “Chan­dra’s estate is not worth much and she should be grateful.”

  “Tedric stayed by Henry as a friend to that fiend, Count John,” Conan said testily. “He hoped John would inherit the crown he did not deserve, and in the end he was not by Henry at al
l, but fleeing to Philip’s side with that worthless whelp, John. Though the king unwisely would have risked all to save the crown for his youngest, that ungrateful wretch abandoned him. Tedric was no loyal knight, madam, but the same undeserving leech he has always been. You can be sure this is not a marriage born of love and tenderness.”

  Udele’s jaw had a firm set. “I knew there was no great love in your heart for Tedric, but I had not thought you hated him so.”

  “Hate him?” Conan asked. “It is more that I can only abide him when I can see him. When he is out of my sight I keep an eye turned to my back. He cannot be trusted, and the oath he took to protect the code of chivalry is a sham. I would have hoped for better for Chandra.”

  “Will you celebrate his wedding?” Udele asked.

  Conan looked at his wife, whose eyes were now downcast. In his blatant defamation of Tedric’s character, he had forgotten that Edwina once considered marriage with him and did not think him such a terrible wretch. Perhaps she had even felt some happiness for Chandra, not thinking that perhaps Chandra was being taken advantage of by a knave. “Edwina will want to be with her family--with her sister--on that occasion. I will not shame my family with improper behavior, but I think I shall find little joy in it.”

  His hunger seeming to have vanished, he took a last drink of his milk and rose from the table, leaving the hall to seek out a quiet place to try to regain his good spirits.

  ***

  Medwin did not feel that he was selling Chandra into some torturous bondage. He saw Tedric as a decent choice and a heaven-sent redeemer in this time of need. The tithe he had to pay to finance the crusade against Saladin had bled the wealth from Phalen, and Medwin was hard pressed to meet his obligations. And now that Richard would be king and leaving soon for the Crusade to the Holy Land, Medwin would either pay his scutage for the privilege of staying behind, or he would have to yield men for war. The men could not be spared, for they were already few, and the scutage was hard to meet. Tedric, though he would not confide his means, backed his marriage proposal with much money.