The Silver Falcon Read Free Page B

pale linen bonnet. She wiped both hands on her long leather apron before readying herself to go out.
    “Wait.” Isaac grabbed her arm. “You have a big fat streak of soot around your mouth. It looks like a little beard. No wonder the boy couldn’t stop laughing.” He licked the corner of his right sleeve and affectionately wiped the black stripe off his wife’s face.
    As Ellenweore left the smithy, she glanced at her son. Along with happy expectancy, William thought he also saw forgiveness in her expression, and he was relieved.
    Isaac put his right arm around William’s shoulders in a friendly manner, hiding his left arm to conceal the stump. He nodded to the smiths to indicate that they should follow him outside.
    The evening sun hung over the horizon like a glowing ball, as if it, too, had turned red with pleasure at the king’s visit. It bathed the yard with its soft light, glittering off the chain mail tunics, weapons, and silver harnesses, making the knights look like figures oflegend. This dreamlike sight enchanted William and confirmed that afternoon’s intimation that this was a rather special day, one he would never forget.
    The king, whom William recognized at once from the insignia on his horsecloth, had broad shoulders, a powerful chest that emphasized the cut of his clothing, and the beginnings of a slight paunch. Despite his decidedly advanced age—he was about fifty—he remained an impressive and stately figure. The tonsure-like bare patch on the top of his head was wreathed with light-red hair whose brilliant hue was increasingly dulled by streaks of gray. His cheeks were clean shaven, and his skin looked leathery and weather beaten. His round eyes looked out at the world severely but above all alertly. The deep vertical clefts etched in his brow revealed an eternal doubter. Over his fairly plain hunting clothes of fine moss-green fabric, Henry wore a short woolen cloak trimmed with ermine. As William knew from stories his mother had told him, Henry’s preference for short cloaks as a young man, at a time when cloaks were still worn long, had earned him the nickname Curtmantle.
    Ellenweore had often talked at the table about Henry II and his dead son, Henry the so-called Young King. Eleanor of Aquitaine, King Henry’s wife, had previously been married to King Louis VII of France. After the annulment of her marriage to Louis, she had brought all her lands with her, making Henry an extremely powerful man, though at the time he was only Duke of Normandy and not yet king. William’s mother loved describing how Henry’s coronation had ended years of anarchy and war. Stephen, the previous king, and his cousin, the Empress Matilda, had fought each other bitterly for the throne of England. But since Stephen had no heir, he had adopted Matilda’s son Henry and named him as his successor. Thirty years had passed since then, and Henry had brought peace and prosperity to England. Although they feared his notorious fits of rage and his severity, the English still loved their king.
    As well as daughters, Henry’s wife had given him four healthy sons, so the succession was assured. Eleanor was a little older than her husband, but she was blessed with great beauty and exceptional intelligence, and they had been a happy couple for many years. At some point, however, the king had turned to other women. The embittered Eleanor had withdrawn from her husband and skillfully exploited the princes’ hunger for power to wreak her revenge. On several occasions, she had spurred on her sons to rebel against their own father, until the king felt he had no choice but to lock up his disobedient wife to keep her from further intrigues.
    William could only stare at the king. His mother said the queen must have loved him very much, if she now hated him so. Could that be right?
    A large number of lightly armed knights and their squires had gathered close behind the king. The dog handlers waited a little farther off, their lead