The Silver Falcon Read Free

enough for him to squeeze through. I hope she doesn’t notice I’m not wearing my cloak…The thought struck him like a thunderbolt, for he had left the garment in the woodshed.
    The smoke from the fire left a bitter taste on William’s tongue. How could his mother love her work in the smithy so much? He shook his head pensively. Every day in the workshop was like every other: dark, dirty, stifling. William held his breath, closed his eyes, and conjured up the marvelous scents of nature: the wonderful, earthy smell of leaves and moss released from the humid soil by the autumn rains; the clear, clean smell of snow in winter; the fragrance of flowers and dry grass perfumed by the warmth of the summer sun. Outside in the open air, every season was wonderful. William smiled briefly. Summer’s heat did not scare him, and strong winds did not freeze him to the bone, though they might try. Icy cold, the kind that numbed one’s fingers and toes, held no terrors; rain, though often a nuisance, was not an enemy but mostly a friend, as he well knew, indispensable for survival in nature. To be exposed to the forces of nature meant, for William, to feel alive, though he was always glad for a warm bedchamber at night.
    He gasped for air suddenly, like a fish on dry land. He could not keep holding his breath forever! With some difficulty, he suppressed a cough. He tried to reach his place without being noticed, but his mother had already spotted him.
    “You’re the last one at the anvil again!” she rebuked him.
    “I was just…” muttered William, exchanging a quick glance with Isaac. It occurred to him that he had not even prepared a plausible excuse for his tardiness.
    “Go to your place,” his mother ordered brusquely.
    William dawdled on his way to his station and reluctantly began to work.
    “Haven’t I told you before to oil your tools and tidy them away?” she shouted at his back.
    William turned and nodded, but rather than look at her he stared at an oily stain on his shoe. How he hated this work!
    “Well? And is one single pair of pincers in its place?” Her voice rose menacingly.
    “No, Mother.” William shuffled his feet on the beaten dirt floor. When she was in a bad mood, it was better not to offer a flimsy excuse.
    “Don’t tell me you forgot again!”
    “No, Mother.”
    After his morning’s work, he had run to the meadow instead of carrying out his assigned tasks. He simply did not see why he should sit in the workshop alone and take care of the tools while the others could rest or do as they pleased before they commenced the forge work.
    “I’ll do it now,” William said, sighing audibly. After all, he was not allowed to help with the hardening of the swords anyway. Since he was permitted only to watch, he could just as easily oil the tools and put them away while doing so.
    “When I give you a job to do, you’re to do it at once and not put it off till later, understood? Just like the other apprentices!” His mother stared daggers at him and then took a deep breath, adding in a slightly conciliatory tone, “Now pass me the wolf-jaw tongs. I’ve lots to do before I can get started with the hardening.”
    William spun around helplessly, looking for the tool.
    “Get on with it,” his mother urged him. “The iron’s getting too hot!”
    William could hear two of the apprentices whispering behind him, and he sensed their gleeful glances like needles in his back. He felt the heat rise to his face as he flushed with shame. He would have found so much pleasure in throttling them. Instead, he grabbed the nearest pincers and handed them to his mother.
    “For heaven’s sake, child! I said the wolf-jaw tongs, not the round-jaw ones!” she scolded as the iron in the fire overheated and began to throw off sparks. “When I wasn’t even half your age, I could already tell all the tools apart.”
    William drew himself up to his full height, angrily filling his slender chest with air. Because he was