The Blue Falcon

by Robyn Carr

  “Milord, game is not so deep in the forest and our fishermen are finding more catch near the shore. I would send a hunting party out, since meat is desired.”

  Chandra smiled to herself. William knew the land and the sky. He would not have bothered for Tedric’s permission to enter the forest. He looked for a way to tell Chandra that spring was near. The weather would be warm enough for travel--and war.

  Late one night in the month of March, Chandra stood outside her bedchamber and looked up at the first clear sky she had seen in some time. The wind was still cold off the sea, but the sleet and snow would be no more.

  She cuddled her son close to her breast, though he was not much interested in being cuddled. There were other things on his busy little mind. But she cooed to him with a sadness in her voice.

  “Lady,” Wynne said softly to her back.

  Chandra turned and, with tear-filled eyes, handed over her son. “Take him quickly,” she begged.

  “I will guard him carefully, lady,” Wynne promised.

  She could not bear to watch the door to her bedchamber close behind Wynne and her son. She would not be allowed the luxury of knowing if they made their way to Laine safely. If Tedric should notice the child missing and set out after them, all three might lose their lives.

  She looked up at the sky, her tears hot on her cheeks. The pain and fear she knew in sending her son to safety were almost more than she could bear.

  Conan, she thought wildly. Will you know your son? Will he ever know a father’s love and strength? Am I alone--truly alone--without a protector, without hope? Oh, God above me--am I alone?

  ***

  While Eleanor, the Queen Mother, worked toward the release of her son Richard, Count John was rumored to be busily plotting his royal brother’s death. His treachery was known to be limitless.

  In a small village near the Anglesey monastery, there were two returned soldiers keeping meager lodgings through the winter. They called themselves John and Michael. The man called John had a wife, a lovely woman dark of hair, with bewitching green eyes. The three kept quietly to themselves, the man called Michael taking his meals with the couple and sleeping each night in the stable behind the house. They bought their provender sparingly and the men did simple chores from time to time in exchange for a meal or a few coins. The only thing that set them apart from the many misplaced soldiers was the fact that they had stabled three fine horses.

  Their secrets were held behind the door of their one room.

  “The time is near when we can stay in the wood around Cordell. The nights are warmer and the brush thicker. Edythe, I think it safer that you stay here,” Mallory said.

  Edythe nodded, though she feared the length of time she might be forced to keep this tiny room. Their money was running low.

  “Did you send the message?” Mallory asked Thurwell.

  “I paid the man to put it in Conan’s hand. And when he returns I shall have to pay him again for his answer.”

  “What did you write?”

  “That one in his house betrays him. I dared not name the lady for fear the message would not reach him. And I wrote the rest: that we await the dove and watch. He should know it has come from us.”

  “Unless he has grown slow-witted through the winter, he will know where to find us. Edythe, soon he will know that you live.”

  “He will not guess our mother betrays him,” she said sadly.

  Few travelers passed through the single street of the small burgh. There was a better road to the monastery and a faster way to Colchester. That was the very reason Mallory and Thurwell had chosen the little farming village. Therefore, Thurwell looked suspiciously at a cart bearing two women and a small child. The wheel on the cart wobbled dangerously and Thurwell pointed out the trouble to Mallory.

  “The old hag travels without a man. Mayhaps she has need of help. Soon the thing will topple and spill out the young woman and her child.”

  “Never mind their troubles now,” Mallory returned.

  “The woman, Mallory,” he murmured. “I have seen her before.”

  “You lay claim to every wench who passes,” Mallory remarked.

  “Nay, I have seen her before. Look at her.”

  As the cart passed, both women kept their heads bent low.

  Although Mallory was not very curious, when he bent his head to look at the younger woman’s face he ceded she was familiar, but since he could not place her he turned to follow Edythe.

  “Old woman,” Thurwell called, causing her to rein in her tired horse. “Your wheel needs repair.”

  “I go not far, sir,” she said, urging the horse forward again.

  “Do not fear I would cheat you,” Thurwell said, grabbing the rein. “I will help you.”

  The child at the younger woman’s side began to whimper and tugged at her mantle. Thurwell looked at the child and frowned. Then he looked at the younger woman and saw a pleading look in her eyes. A wisp of the blond hair she attempted to conceal under the hood of her cloak fell along her cheek. The pleasant face touched a place in his memory. With a snap he connected the face to the name. He had many times seen her serving Chandra in the past.

  “Wynne?” he asked.

  “Please,” she begged softly. “Let us pass.”

  “You do not know me?” he asked in a whisper.

  “Nay,” she breathed. “Let us pass.”

  “Wynne,” he pressed. “Thurwell. I am Sir Thurwell, Co­nan’s friend.”

  A tear came to her eye. “Please do not stop us here. No one must remember our passing or we will be found.”

  “The child?” he questioned.

  “My lady’s son.”

  Thurwell straightened and let go of the rein. “Move along,” he said. He watched them pass down the street. There were a few simple bundles in the cart, enough to allow Thurwell to guess that wherever they were bound, they intended to stay for a time. He could not guess their destination, but he could reason the purpose. He was certain they sought to escape Tedric.

  Mallory approached Thurwell. “The woman,” Thurwell said softly. “Tis Chandra’s handmaiden, Wynne. She flees Cordell with Chandra’s son.”

  “Conan’s son,” Mallory said.

  “She is fearful. She would not talk to me here. Trouble may follow her and we must see her to safety.”

  They allowed time enough to pass, and then the two knights took their horses and followed the cart. It was not difficult to catch up with.

  “We fly to Thetford,” Wynne told them anxiously. “My father is taking many men into the forest, and Sir Tedric grows more impatient every day, and my lady was fearful for her son. We seek haven with her sister in the convent.”

  “Thetford!” Mallory choked. “The child would be safer in the wood. Tedric will go first to Thetford in search of him.”

  “There is no place else,” Wynne said tremulously. “Hugh cannot survive the cold and damp nights in the forest. He needs special care. He is still a baby.”

  Mallory reached out a hand and pulled back the hood that covered the lad’s head and looked at the thick, dark hair and chubby face. He smiled and lifted the little chin to look into the boy’s blue eyes. “How has Tedric accepted the boy?”

  “He pays little attention to him,” Wynne answered.

  “He must not have seen him since his birth,” Thurwell put in.

  “We will take you back with us,” Mallory told Wynne. “You will be safer in our room with Edythe than you would be at Thetford.”

  “I fear being so close to Cordell,” Wynne said, worried.

  “There is no help for it,” Mallory advised. “Old woman, can you make the journey to the convent alone?”

  “If the wheel is repaired I have no other fears,” she replied.

  “Since you have no money for lodgings, Tedric would not look for you anywhere but the convent. I think you will be safe in our room and we will go pay a call on Sir William.”

  “But I have money,” Wynne protested.
“Not much, but enough for a time. Enough for some food.”

  Thurwell reached up to lift Wynne down from the cart. “The money is badly needed,” he told her. “And it will be repaid when we are free to join Conan.” Wynne shivered slightly as her feet hit the ground. “Fear not, lass, for Tedric will not search long. He has better use for his men. He plans to start a war.”

  “Oh, nay,” Wynne said. “I do not think he will fight. He has men-at-arms, but my lady says he will never meet Conan. He fears him. Tedric will find a way to trick him.”

  “And how will he do that, lass?”

  Wynne’s chin quivered slightly. Tedric had overpowered her so easily and treated her with such cruelty that she feared he might succeed. “He keeps my lady within the keep. She has not ventured even into the town since he killed the priest.” She shook her head sadly. “I do not know what Sir Tedric will do, but he promises my lady that Conan will die.”

  “What priest was killed?” Mallory asked.

  “Father Merrick--for hiding Sir Conan in the church.”

  Mallory and Thurwell were silent for a moment. Thurwell began to examine the wheel. “We have tarried too long,” he said under his breath. “Let us make haste for Cordell.”

  Every day just after breaking the fast, Sir Conan would walk the perimeter of the Anselm wall just as his father had done before him. Now it was the Blue Falcon committing to memory every curve of the land and every tree. He would know instantly if there was so much as a bush out of place. Conan had increased the number of bowmen looking out through the parapets and had many men inside the great, long wall ready to take up arms at a moment’s notice.

  Conan looked out over the land that would be his when his father was gone. He remembered a time when he attached much glory to the thought. But he had since learned that being the ruler of land and men was not a glorious job.

  With spring on the horizon, the time for a confrontation was near. He would be cautious. He worried about Theodoric’s support of Tedric. Fighting Tedric would be easier than battling those many heathens on the Crusade, but finishing him would only commit two great families to war; not even Phalen Castle was worth that price. But Chandra’s well-being was worth a great deal more than that.

  As he walked toward the keep, he noticed that his mother stood, hands held in front of her, watching him. She no longer held her head high and there was no bright smile--nor had there been for a very long time. The face that greeted him was frozen in a sour, pained expression. Udele had grown old.

  Conan bowed somewhat stiffly, wondering what problems she would air this time. “Good morning, madam,” he greeted.

  “I see your army rises,” she said, indicating the men moving around them. “They prepare daily, but no one can say for what.”

  “I have told you, madam, they are ready for a fox that will sneak in the night.”

  “But will you take Phalen? It is yours. Why do you tarry?”

  “I wait, but the time spent is not wasted. A hasty attack could see the lady Chandra hurt or even killed. I will take care with my moves, but when I move, Tedric will have no doubt that I have arrived.”

  “Chandra,” she sighed. “You still fret for the wench?”

  “And if I give no care to her safety, madam, who will?”

  “It is not your concern.”

  “Nay, madam, others forced her marriage to Tedric and she has suffered greatly. Even now she is abused and without a protector.”

  Udele raised one brow and looked at her son suspiciously. Conan had never confessed his brief visit to Cordell after returning from war. “How do you know she is abused?”

  “I have it on the best authority. I intend to free her.”

  “Free her,” Udele gasped. She reached out a hand and clutched at Conan’s arm. “Conan, you must tell me true. Do you intend to claim the wench?”

  “Madam, do not speak of the lady Chandra in such a way again,” he said angrily. “She is good and kind and never deserved to have such trouble nestle on her own stoop. I have known many women, but there is none to compare to Lady Chandra in strength, wisdom and goodness.”

  “But Conan, you have other things to fight for! Your land! Your family!”

  Conan looked at her closely. “And will my lands desert me if I free Lady Chandra from her bondage? Will my family turn from me? You speak of her as if she is naught but a beggarly camp follower. She is a lady.”

  Udele lowered her eyes. “She has no family, no wealth. Her name is attached only to Tedric--”

  “Is that reason enough not to free her?”

  Udele’s eyes snapped up to her son’s. “Do you mean to have her?”

  “I intend to free her from Tedric’s bondage and cruelty. What may come later, I will not guess.”

  “You love her.”

  “Yea,” he said softly.

  “And if she is free of her husband, will you take her? Will you bring her here to my home and make her lady of this keep?”

  Conan looked into the green eyes of his mother. Make her the lady? He would be proud to have Chandra stand at his side. He loved her true, and he felt her love reaching out to him even from this distance. He prayed there would come a day when all strife would be laid away and he could go to Chandra in love, promising her his devotion and protection. For now he would make her safe.

  He was about to answer his mother, but the guard from the tower shouted to get his attention.

  “A man approaches!”

  As Conan turned to go to the wall, Udele pulled at his sleeve. “Conan, answer me!”

  A warrior and lord first, he pulled his arm free from her grasp and went to the wall to view this man before allowing his entry.

  Udele stared at her son’s back for many moments. Would he dare to bring Chandra to Anselm and place her above his own mother? I am the lady of this hall, she thought angrily. There will be no other lady here while I live!

  She turned sharply and her angry steps took her back into the hall. She had waited upon the hope that Conan would ruthlessly attack Phalen Castle, retrieve his lands and have the matter done. But now his intention was clear. He would not sacrifice Chandra. He meant to have her or nothing. And Udele could not allow it. She knew the way to enrage Tedric.

  No one entered Anselm easily. Conan was cautious about letting even a lone man bearing a message inside his walls. He expected nothing but trickery from Tedric.

  The man was nervous and would not place the message in the guard’s hand. When Conan approached, the rider looked him over carefully.

  “You are Sir Conan?” he questioned.

  “Aye.”

  “I see no falcon,” the man said uneasily. “I was told you would have a falcon upon your shoulder.”

  “The bird is in the mews. He is new.”

  “I see no scar,” the man attempted.

  Conan cocked one brow and smiled at the little man.

  Whoever had a message for him had certainly described Conan carefully. He leaned closer so that the man might view part of the scar still visible near his temple. The remainder of it was now covered by a beard.

  The man shrugged and put the rolled parchment in Conan’s hand. Conan broke the seal and opened the missive. The message was short and concise. He started and quickly looked over his shoulder before reading the rest of his message.

  “The man who sent this letter,” he said to the messenger. “What was his name?”

  “I do not know, Sir Conan,” the man replied.

  “Where can he be found?”

  The man shrugged. “I was sent from Colchester, but he does not live there. He will meet me at the same inn for your reply on a day I am not to reveal.”

  Conan smiled to himself. How cautious they were. He whistled for a page, and a young lad came running eagerly. “Go to the mews and bring me two feathers from my bird. Be certain they come from Mars even if you have to pluck them yourself.” The lad’s eyes grew round at the thought of his errand, but Conan urged him on.

&
nbsp; “There is food and drink for you in the hall and a place to sleep one night if you wish it. Return to your man with just two feathers and tell him that I will know where to find him. And tell him the time is soon.”

  The man nodded, though he could make no sense of the message. Conan pointed in the direction of the hall and watched as the man walked toward it.

  With the parchment rolled up in one hand, he idly struck the palm of the other. A traitor in his house. And they watched for the dove. As in the past, he and his friends would not be parted for long.

  Chapter 24

  Another lone messenger came meekly to the Anselm gate, a youth of less than twenty years. There were no protectors to ensure that he would return to his master. He called out to the guard, “I bear letters from Sir Tedric, for Sir Conan--” He faltered and choked on the words he was sent to bear.

  Many tension-filled minutes passed before he heard the loud creaking of the drawbridge. The doors to the gatehouse opened and the messenger spurred his horse. He rode through the gatehouse, over the bridge, through the great oaken doors and into the huge yard, the bridge raising behind him. On either side of him were lines of completely costumed infantry, all wearing the red and blue of Anselm, all with their hands fixed on the hilts of their swords, completely outfitted in mail and armor.

  Conan would take no chance that Tedric’s plan was to use his messenger to open the doors to his army.

  Trembling, the lad dismounted. He was surrounded by an army, and he wondered if the Blue Falcon, the man whose warrior skills he had heard so much about, would kill him with his own sword, or if one of these many soldiers would be ordered to slay him after the message was read.

  He looked anxiously about, his legs barely able to hold him up in the midst of this army. Finally, from the end of the long line of handsomely garbed warriors, a man approached. His red and blue tunic fitted handsomely across his broad shoul­ders. He limped slightly as he walked, and the messenger wondered if that was the injury he had incurred in the battle of Acre, when he was said to have slain more than twenty heathens whilst his leg dripped blood. A falcon, his jesses painted red against the blue-black of his feathers, rode the knight’s shoulder.