An Earthly Knight

by Janet Mcnaughton

  The falconer nodded. “I would expect so. How did you come upon them?”

  “Eudo and I were playing at battle near the top of a knowe early one summer. I was seven. I remember well because it was the summer before Eudo went to live at Sir Robert’s. We came close to a nest without knowing. One of the adults, the mother I think, came at us, screaming. I thought she would tear us to pieces. Eudo waved his wooden play sword to keep her off while we backed away.

  “She was a canny creature. After she had chased us, she sat on a dead tree, just watching. We had to pass her on a lower ridge to climb down, and I was afraid she would come at us again, but she seemed to know we could not reach her nest from there. Eudo spoke politely to her. He said, ‘Madame, if we had known where your eyrie was, we would never have passed that way.’ And at that, she flew back to her nest as if she understood him.”

  Ranulf laughed. “Well then, you have seen the best and worst of these birds. They can be fierce when defending their young, but, even then, I doubt the falcon would have harmed you. Most of the time, they are more docile than most horses. But they are wise beyond telling and know an angry word from a kind one.” Jenny could see this man loved his work. “Can you still find where the eyrie was?” he continued. “The birds use the same sites faithfully, year after year if left undisturbed.”

  “Oh yes, at the top of the nearest knowe. The track that leads that way is just ahead.” Jenny led the way. As the track to the knowe began to climb, the soft earth turned stony. The open forest gave way to stunted trees and heavy undergrowth until the woods thinned to nothing at the foot of a steep slope covered in broken bits of shale. “We can tether the horses here,” Jenny said, pointing to a stout little birch. “La Rose would wait for me, but Bravura might decide to make his own way home.”

  The falconer gazed up. “It looks like a hard climb, my lady. You could wait here.”

  “Nothing could keep me from going with you.”

  “As you wish.”

  Soon, Jenny was panting too hard to talk. She pointed out the path where the falconer might have missed it. He took direction wordlessly but without resentment. Sometimes they set off small rock slides that clattered down the slope like broken crockery, but neither lost their footing.

  Near the crest of the knowe, he put out his arm to stop her. “Wait,” he whispered.

  She followed his gaze to see a pair of falcons wing to the ridge above them. “We can go now,” Ranulf said. “That was all I needed to see.”

  “But I thought we would find the nest,” Jenny said. The depth of her disappointment surprised her.

  “The capture of a falcon takes patience, my lady. If we bother the birds so early in the spring, we might drive them to nest elsewhere. Even after the eyases hatch, the parents must raise them. The males, the tiercels, leave the nest first. They are of no account to us. The females, the falcons proper, remain a few days more, so we may know then if there is one worth taking. But the eggs are a month or more in hatching, and the eyases grow another month before they fledge. We have until midsummer.”

  Jenny sighed. “Patience has never been one of my virtues.”

  “Patience may be the only virtue I possess, my lady. Perhaps I can teach it to you.” Behind the mask of his disfigurement, Ranulf’s blue eyes twinkled. Jenny was surprised to find his looks no longer mattered to her. She liked this man.

  When they returned to the horses, Jenny opened her leather sack. “Hawise gave me a lunch for you,” she said, handing him one of the flagons and a napkin filled with food.

  He looked around, puzzled. “You intend to eat here?”

  “No, I was hoping to spend some hours alone in the woods.” She saw a look of protest forming, so she hurried on. “I will come to no harm. These woods are like a home to me. La Rose knows them as well as I do, and you have seen how well I ride. I was told you might appreciate an afternoon with your fishing weirs.”

  She could see he was swayed, just as Hawise had predicted. “But I promised your father you would not go to Carter Hall,” he said.

  Jenny sighed. “Then I shall not. I swear. We can meet on the main road, return together and pretend you trailed about after me all day. We will both be much happier.”

  “A maiden should not traipse around in the woods alone,” Ranulf said, but without conviction. Jenny knew she had won.

  “Thank you, Ranulf. Meet me where this track joins the main road when the shadows are longer than your height.” She was off before he had a chance to reconsider.

  Jenny quickly returned to the main road and guided La Rose onto a nearby track, away from the knowes and into the heart of the forest. This path did indeed lead to Carter Hall, but to keep her promise Jenny would stay on this side of the river. The air was still and smelled of healthy decay. Jenny remembered the oak galls. Perhaps she could find some for Brother Bertrand now. Tree climbing was hardly a lady’s sport, but Jenny had always loved to be up in these old giants.

  She spotted a likely oak and guided La Rose toward it. The main boughs were as big as the trunks of lesser trees and ran level with the ground like outstretched arms. Jenny brought her mare up to a bough not far above her head. “Steady now, La Rose. Steady, little one,” she coaxed as she slowly swung her legs around and tried to stand on the saddle. La Rose shied and Jenny almost fell. “Come now, joli coeur. Remember how I taught you.”

  This time, the mare held still and Jenny stood.

  Leaning toward the tree, she threw herself over the bough, legs pumping as La Rose trotted away. Grunting with effort, she swung a leg over to straddle the bough. There was nothing graceful about this trick. Jenny giggled to think what Brother Bertrand would say if he could see her. She brushed the front of her dress, happy she had chosen an everyday tunic of coarse, undyed wool. The rough oak bark had snagged it, but the cloth was easily repaired.

  La Rose was already away, searching for greens to graze on. The little mare would not wander far and always came when Jenny whistled. Jenny stood, grabbing a branch above to steady herself. The bough was as level as a road. Her flimsy leather shoes were more trouble than help. She slipped out of them and her stockings, leaning on the main trunk, which stood at her back like a solid wall. The tree was so unmoved by her weight, she might have been a butterfly on a branch.

  Jenny looked up. The leaves were just tight little clusters emerging from newly opened buds. Each pale-green, translucent bunch was decorated with tassels. These were catkins, the flowers of the oak. She brushed a bunch with her hand, and golden pollen dusted her fingers. Then she found what she was looking for, a cluster of galls hanging down from the tip of a branch. The small, hard galls were almost perfectly round. They seemed to have no purpose at all, and Jenny wondered why the tree would make them. She found more galls on a slightly higher bough. They were plentiful. She took a small knife from her sack and cut the galls cleanly from the twigs. Others might think it silly to be so careful, but she felt these ancient trees deserved her respect.

  Satisfied, Jenny returned to the lowest bough and put on her stockings and shoes. Then she sat cross-legged and spread Hawise’s napkin on her lap. The oatcakes were fresh, but the cheese was salty and somehow tasted of the sheep. Still, Jenny found she was ravenous. She washed the food down with the ale, licking her fingers and wishing for more. Then she lay down and stretched out full on the bough, pressing her back into the bark with her hands behind her head. She gazed up at the sky through a deep tangle of boughs and branches, feeling as if she were cradled. The profound peace of the forest washed over her, taking her troubles away.

  A sudden gust of wind blew her hair across her face, causing her to brace both arms flat on the bough beneath her. Then she realized nothing could shake her from this solid perch. It was as if the wind had played a joke on her. Her laughter rang across the open woodland. She closed her eyes, still smiling. The song of distant birds, the hum of bees in the catkins around her, the wind high above in the trees all lulled her into a doze.

&nbs
p; “Lady, are you the spirit of this tree?”

  The voice was so soft, Jenny thought it must have come from somewhere inside a dream. “If I were such a spirit,” she murmured to herself, “an oak like this would be my home.” Then her eyes flew open. She had not dreamed that voice. It was real. She raised herself on her elbow and looked down. A man was sitting on a white horse, smiling up at her. A young man on a fine horse, with a smile that matched his gentle voice. Jenny should have been afraid, but nothing about him inspired fear. He had spoken in English, so she answered the same way.

  “How did you come upon me so silently?” she asked, trying to make her voice stern. It might be unwise to be too friendly under these circumstances.

  The man patted his horse’s neck. “Snowdrop is silent by nature, but we were not so quiet as that. You seemed to be asleep. I heard laughter a moment ago and wondered what sort of creature might be afoot. Are you a wood sprite?”

  Jenny sat up and smoothed her dress. He must be teasing, yet he seemed to expect an answer. “Of course not. I am an ordinary lass.”

  His smile widened. “Not so ordinary as those who live on the ground. I can assure you I feel no disappointment.”

  Jenny laughed. “You sound like a Scot, but you must be a Norman, to flatter me so without blushing.”

  To her surprise, her blunt words did make him blush. “In truth, I am both. My father was a Scot, but my mother’s people are Norman.”

  “Just like me!” Jenny said. “My mother was a Scot, but my father is Norman. We are the same.”

  “Hardly. I live on the ground.”

  “As I do. My father’s hall is just beyond the forest. My name is Jeanette Avenel, but I am mostly called Jenny.” She waited for him to tell her his name. He smiled but did not speak. To hide her disappointment, she turned and gave a shrill whistle. “La Rose, viens ici.”

  La Rose appeared from behind some nearby trees.

  “Now I see how you got up there. And how do you propose to get down?”

  “I will jump onto my horse’s back.”

  “Does that work?”

  Jenny shrugged. “Only about half the time, but the ground is soft.”

  He shook his head. “You could break your neck. I will help you down.” He sidled his horse beneath the bough and held his arms up to catch her.

  Jenny hesitated. Should she trust this man? His clothes were worn and dusty but finely made. The horse obviously belonged to him in the way La Rose belonged to her. He was a man of rank, not some horse thief who might be tempted to hold her for ransom. Still, the stories and songs she heard around the fire were filled with maidens who were carried away by strange men.

  He frowned. “You do not trust me.”

  “I do not know you.”

  She expected he would finally introduce himself, but he did not. “Look at me,” he said instead. “Ask yourself if I am someone you can trust.”

  She did. His eyes were hazel, almost gold. He had a high brow, the kind the harpers would call noble. His fine, fair hair was worn long and he was clean-shaven. He carried himself like a knight, but, in his voice, his eyes and his manner, Jenny saw a gentleness that made him unlike any young man she had ever met. He seemed incapable of harming anyone.

  “Good,” he said, as if he had somehow read her thoughts. “La Rose, come here.” The mare obeyed as if he were an old friend. “You see? Your horse awaits. I will not run away with you, my lady.” Once more, he opened his arms.

  Jenny pushed off the bough and fell about a yard, landing squarely in his lap. His horse bolted in alarm. The man held Jenny tightly. For one awful moment, she thought he was going to ride off with her, but he calmed the horse and brought him back to La Rose, who had watched all this with a look of mild astonishment.

  He was taller than he had seemed from the tree.

  Jenny fitted under his chin, against his chest, as if she belonged there. A long moment passed. Finally, he eased his arms open and cleared his throat. “Your mare awaits, demoiselle.” He held Jenny’s arm with both hands to slow her fall while she slid from his tall horse. She took La Rose by the reins.

  “I must go,” he said abruptly and wheeled his horse away.

  The thought that she might never see him again filled Jenny with panic. “Wait,” she cried. “Who are you? Where do you live?” He was retreating rapidly. “Will I see you again?” The question was out before Jenny realized how bold she sounded.

  He must have thought so too, because he turned and grinned. “To see me, my lady, you need only come to Carter Hall.” He kicked his heels and his horse took flight.

  Jenny stood frozen beside La Rose, her mouth open in astonishment.

  Chapter Six

  “So that was Tam Lin. Why did I not stop to think he might be?”

  Jenny walked toward the main road, leading La Rose as if she had forgotten how to ride, talking to the little horse as though she were human.

  “He is not what I expected, La Rose. Not at all. Galiene spoke as if he were some madman. Even Brother Bertrand said he might not be of sound mind. But he was as sane as you or I. He could have harmed me, but he did not. You saw that, did you not?” She looked at La Rose as if she expected an answer. Jenny reached the main road before she noticed the light had changed. It was growing darker. She thought the sun must have gone behind a cloud, but the sky through the branches was still pure blue. Pure blue, but growing darker. How could that be?

  Up the road, she saw Ranulf waiting by the track to the knowes. The moment she appeared, he spurred Bravura toward her. At the sight of them, Jenny remembered what La Rose was for and mounted her horse.

  As he approached, she could see worry in Ranulf’s eyes, even anger. “This is not what we agreed upon, my lady. The day is almost over. Your father will have words for me. Perhaps even the back of his hand.” He was struggling to control his temper.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “I . . . I must have fallen asleep.” Jenny rubbed her eyes as if to chase the sleep from them, but she was really trying to bring the world back into focus. It seemed impossible that so much time had passed.

  Her sincerity seemed to calm him. “I could not think what to do. I could hardly return without you. I feared you had come to some harm. I was almost sick with worry.”

  “Please forgive me,” she said again. “I was not late through wilfulness.” At least that was the truth. “As for my father, I have never seen him raise a hand in anger.”

  “Neither have I, but the care of his daughter must matter to him more than most things.”

  “His anger will not fall on you. I will find a way to take the blame. Did you find fish in your weirs?”

  Ranulf almost smiled. He patted his saddlebag.

  “More than enough.”

  “That may curb his temper,” Jenny said. She was beginning to come back to herself now, trying to think of an excuse. “Could we not say that a wild animal ruined your weirs, a bear perhaps, and we stopped to mend them and forgot about time?”

  Ranulf shook his head. “Your father’s huntsmen would be off at dawn tomorrow, seeking a quarry that does not exist. A bear leaves signs, and they would find none. Try not to think of lies. Ride as quickly as you can to lessen the damage.”

  The April sun went down quickly. It was almost dark when they approached the bailey. In the stable, Jenny found the crippled boy who had come into the household yesterday, waiting by La Rose’s stall. “May I take your horse, my lady?” he asked.

  “Aye, if you can. Are you able to handle the saddle by yourself? Do you know how to care for her? I have ridden hard and she must be kept from a chill.“

  “Yes, my lady. She is small enough for me. At the abbey, they let me help with the horses. I will brush her down and cover her. You will see.”

  “Very well. What a good lad you are. Has anyone been looking for me?”

  The boy blushed. “I was, but no one else seemed to be.”

  Jenny laughed. She liked this forthright boy. “And why were
you waiting for me, Alric-the-Reed?”

  The boy blushed again, his fair skin turning so red that it glowed in the fading light. “You made my blanket,” he said. “No one ever made me anything. Not as I remember, leastways.”

  She smiled. “And you found a way to repay me. I will not forget.”

  Jenny rushed to the bower. Everyone had already gone to supper. Her absence would certainly have been noticed by now, but this snagged and moss-stained dress would not do for her father’s table. She pulled it off, then the sweaty linen kirtle beneath. Diving into the trunk where her clothes were kept, she shook out a fresh kirtle and slipped into it. The cool, soft linen calmed her as it fell the length of her body. She snatched up the red tunic she had worn the day before and quickly pulled a comb through her hair, stopping to untangle a twig. She hoped there were no others. There was no time to check. She braced herself for the confrontation ahead.

  The great hall was brightly lit, everyone seated and eating. When Jenny saw Isabel at the high table, her breath caught in her throat. Her sister was dressed in a fine yellow tunic, her hair elaborately braided. From this distance, Jenny could imagine that nothing bad had ever happened, that Isabel would be as cheerful as she had always been. Jenny moved to her place on the bench beside Isabel with what Galiene would call “seemly haste,” quickly but in a ladylike manner.

  “So there you are,” her father said. “Did you find your falcon?” There was no anger whatsoever in his voice.

  “We found a pair, Papa. Ranulf said it is too early to disturb them, but he marked the nesting place. We also visited his fishing weirs, and I found some oak galls.” Jenny hoped all this would excuse her lateness, but her father ignored her words.

  “See, Jeanette, your sister is returned to her rightful place. All our troubles are behind us now. Everything will be good again.” He raised his cup unsteadily to his lips. Jenny could see it was not the first time he had drained it. She sighed to herself. It was plain that Isabel was transformed in appearance only. She picked at her food without speaking or smiling and kept her eyes on the table. My father sees only what he wishes to see, Jenny thought.