The three other hawks were suddenly jolted from their grief. “We fly at daybreak!” Marigold said.
A cacophony of raucous caws filled in the mews.
Below, old Meg turned in her sleep and thought, Ah yes, Matty must be back stirring up the hawks. Imping their feathers, filing their talons… but then she blinked her eyes, opened them wide, and she realized how silly that was. Matty had been gone for weeks and she knew not where. She was completely alone now in the castle. Hodge had died the day after Matty had disappeared. The loneliness she felt was as sharp and painful as any ache in her stiff old bones.
It had not been more than a few days since Robin had received the message that Marian was being kept at the Nottingham abbey. He did not know all that had transpired since and that her hawks were mourning what they sensed might be her death. Instead, he was merry with an ingenious scheme to free her.
“You see, fellows, it has taken me a while to plan this. But I have gone out and watched that abbey and come to see they do a thriving business in funerals for lepers. So here is my idea.” He looked around, his eyes lively. “I propose that we have a leper’s funeral…but for an uncommon leper.”
“Yes,” said Rich slowly, a sly twinkle in his eyes. “Do go on? Who is this leper?”
“Me, of course!”
“Oh, this beats all!” Little John whooped. “Can I be the priest?”
“And of course I’ll be the friar,” said Friar Tuck.
“Yes, and the rest of you the mourners. And call in all the boys—we need lots of mourners. Spread the word that this is a rather well-off leper. They’ll swing open the gates for us. Get ready, boys. Time to mourn! And time at last to rescue Marian.”
Chapter 37
THE DEATH WALKERS
It has been said that in the rank of living things hawks are not below or above humans but share the splendors of this world and its hardships. They are raptors, but humans, too, are predators. Nonetheless, these two living orders can, like nations separated by borders or oceans, when necessary, help each other.
“LOOK DOWN THERE.” MARIGOLD tipped her head as they approached the abbey.
“What is it?” Lyra asked.
“Matty’s friend, the friar.” Her voice broke. “I—I think it’s what humans call a death walk, one they do for their final ceremonies.”
“Final ceremonies?” Ulysses asked.
“Yes, when someone dies. I learned about it those times I visited Matty at the abbey. They call them funerals. But they also have them for lepers even before they die. And I think this one is for a leper.”
“Not Matty?” Morgana said with excitement.
“No. See that limping figure, the one with a crutch. They are bringing him to the abbey. But—but…”
“But what?” Ulysses asked.
“There’s something about him. I’m not sure. Let me go explore.”
Marigold plunged down, then peeled off as she approached the procession so she was hovering just above the straggly line of marchers. She managed to flit through the line and peer deeply into the hooded face of the limping man. “Marigold!” Robin exclaimed. Next to him in the garb of a priest was the towering figure of Little John and then Rich. Behind them, dressed as monks and mourners, were many more of Robin’s men.
Marigold flew back to the other hawks. “It is Robin Hood!” She swiveled her head toward the goshawk. “Ulysses, now that Moss is gone, you fly point the best. We need to support the death walkers. There will be an attack, I am sure.”
“All right!” Ulysses cawed, like the voice of a commander, experienced in battle. “Form up. Marigold, fly port flank. Lyra, fly starboard. Morgana, follow them.”
The abbess stood erect at the gates of the abbey. She wondered briefly why it was not the usual priest heading the procession. Well, no matter. She had been told that one of these lepers was quite well off and with no heirs. It would be easy to confiscate his money and possessions.
As the procession filed into the courtyard and finally into the chantry, the abbess did not notice the four birds hovering in the sky.
The trestles in the chantry were draped with the black cloth. The leper began to kneel for his last confession. The service had just begun when Will, shrouded in his monk’s habit, slipped in beside Robin. “A contingent of sheriff’s men on the way. News of your wealth, I think, has spread a bit wider than we might like. Seems that the sheriff wants to get the same share as his sister.”
“Sibling squabbles. How tiresome. Are we outnumbered?”
“About even.”
“Fear not, we’ve got the birds on our side. That puts us ahead.”
The service was brief. It was time for the symbolic burial. The abbess stood by the priest as he prepared to sprinkle the dirt on the leper’s feet. “Thou art dead to the living, but alive again to God.”
Suddenly the leper’s black shroud swirled into the air. “By the bishop’s buttocks, I’m dead!” roared Robin Hood, flashing his sword. The abbess swayed. Her mouth pulled into a grimace of disbelief. The other mourners were instantly transformed. Rich and Scarlet tore off their dark clothes and stood in the green of the men of Sherwood Forest. Through the chantry doors burst Little John.
Then, seemingly from nowhere, a forward guard of the sheriff’s men began swarming into the outer courtyard of the abbey.
“We have a fight on our hands, lads,” Robin shouted. More men in green rushed over the courtyard walls. Robin turned to his followers “Listen to me, men of Sherwood. Head for the rooftop. Fit shafts to your bows and aim for their hearts. And now, milady”—he addressed the abbess, who was stunned beyond speech—“kindly direct us to your prisoner.”
The abbess remained silent. “You are a common thief.”
“And so are you! God’s kneecaps, woman, do you hear me! Take me to Marian,” Robin roared. He glimpsed the flash of metal just as she dragged a dagger from within her robes and raised it to slash his throat.
The four hawks caught the glint of the dagger and, as if one, they hurled toward the figure. Marigold had never flown with such fury. She thrust her legs forward and extended her murderous talons. A bloodcurdling scream ripped from the abbess’s throat. Her hands were useless to protect her from the bird’s brutal attack. Fingers were broken, and then the abbess’s translucent eyes were gouged out. In one quick slash of the talons her throat was cut. The abbess collapsed to the ground.
“Marigold,” Ulysses commanded, “you and Morgana stay here. Lyra and I will meet the sheriff’s force on the road.” Instantly, Ulysses and Lyra were flying in low passes over the sheriff’s men. They aimed for throats and heads, knocking the men off their horses more by surprise than force.
Inside the courtyard Marigold and Morgana continued to wreak havoc while Robin hurried toward the leper hospital with Little John at his side.
Robin plunged into the room with its wreckage of humanity, and his blood ran cold. There on a pallet lay Marian, barely breathing, her face the color of stone. Nearby was a heap of bones with a few fragments of flesh remaining wrapped in a shroud. From that heap came a voice.
“She is not living, but she is not dead. She is elsewhere, Robin. She has shed this body for now, as one might leave their clothes. Do not fear. Gather her close, and take her to the greenwood, once more to the blasted oak of Sherwood.”
Chapter 38
YARAK!
Never discard a molted feather or a broken one. For imping, a falconer needs a good supply so that the best selection might be made for the closest match.
MARIAN HAD BEEN SO close, so far down the road, and her old friend Death had been waiting, when suddenly it was as if that friend turned away. “But Moss…you took Moss…. Why not me? I’m tired…so tired I don’t want to go on!” Death paused, and Marian felt hope. But then Death said, almost casually, looking over her shoulder, “It’s not your time!” and walked on without a backward glance.
Still Marian tried to argue. “It is my time!”
“L
ive, Marian! Live! Please live! I love you. You can’t die.”
Someone was kneeling by her. He had been there for days, possibly weeks, crying, begging her not to die. Now for the first time since she had been rescued, Marian’s eyelids fluttered open.
“Robin? Robin, it’s you?”
“Yes. Me.”
“How long have I been this way?”
“More than a fortnight. Marian, there is much to live for. Richard has been freed. He makes his way back to England.”
“Then it worked. The ransom worked.”
“You made it work. You and your hawks. You see, you must live. I love you.”
Marian felt a glad thrill in her weakened heart. In a voice that was barely a whisper she said, “Then you must imp me back to health.”
“What do I do?”
“You must hunt me a hare and make a rich broth from its flesh and at first feed it to me slowly. And my ankles that are sore and bloody from the jesses, you must bathe them in a tincture of henbane and water of lettuce and just a touch of nightshade. Then dry them and rub them with balm of aloe.”
“And this will make you well, Marian?”
“Oh yes, Robin. And I shall love you forever and ever.” They were now beyond words and could only peer so deeply into each other’s eyes that, for them, all the world disappeared.
At that moment Little John came into the blasted oak. His eyes brimmed with joy.
“Robin, at last!”
Robin looked up at his old friend. “He’s back, truly?”
Little John nodded. “Truly, and he wants to see Marian.”
“She is too weak.”
“He insists.”
“Insists?”
“I would not argue. I think he has the right.”
“Then bring him in, but tell him he cannot stay for long.”
The shadow of a tall man sliced across the hollow, and there was the clank of metal. The man knelt by the animal furs on which Marian rested. “Your majesty!” Marian gasped.
“Milady, I understand you are the reason I am here today. And although precious jewels were the ransom for my own life, you are England’s most precious jewel.”
Marian closed her eyes. She remembered that terrible day when her father had told her mother to hide her. His words came back so clearly it was as if he were right here with her. “Hide. Suzanne! Hide Matty!…Forget the jewels. Matty is our only jewel.”
She felt the king lean closer to her. “Can she hear me?” he asked.
A trace of a smile crossed her face. She began to speak in a low whisper. Everyone leaned toward her, for she could barely be heard, but it sounded as if she was laughing. “I wouldn’t fit in the potato hole.” She chuckled.
“Potato hole?” whispered the king.
“She must be talking about the raid on her father’s castle. Her parents tried to hide her in a potato hole,” Robin said. “But I’m not sure why she is talking about this now. It was so long ago.”
“Because I was my father’s only jewel,” Marian replied in a much stronger voice.
A wonderful sense of relief swept through the blasted oak. The king now rose. He turned to Robin. “Can you perhaps lift her up a bit?”
Robin put his arm around Marian and, supporting her back, held her so that she was almost sitting. The king drew his sword. He raised it and then tapped her on each shoulder.
“Right mindful of your prowess on the field, I, Richard, king of England, dub thee Lady Marian of the forests of Sherwood and Barnsdale, a knight of the realm.”
A knight am I! Oh! thought Marian. How much nicer to be a knight than a jewel.
She looked at Robin. She felt a surge deep within her, a new keenness. Yarak. I am yarak once more!
EPILOGUE
More than four hundred years later a book was found in the ruins of an ancient castle’s library, a book from medieval times. The title was The Art of Falconry: A Compleat Guide to the Principles and Practices of Hawking. It is thought to be the first book ever written on hawking by a woman. The author’s name was Marian Greenleaf. The book was dedicated “To Moss, Marigold, Ulysses, Lyra, Morgana, my greatest teachers, and to Robin, my greatest love.”
GLOSSARY
THE BIRDS
MORGANA: Kestrel, a small hawk, also known as a sparrow hawk or a killy hawk, because its high-pitched call sounds like killy killy. It is grouped with the longwing hawks.
ULYSSES: Goshawk, a medium to large hawk, one of the fastest and most lethal trained hawks. Skilled at maneuvering through dense forests.
LYRA: Shortwing, a true hawk of the genus Accipiter, with short, rounded wings and light eyes.
MARIGOLD: Merlin, a small falcon, known as a strong flier. Merlins have horny teeth, which prove effective in tearing flesh of prey. Difficult to train.
MOSS: Peregrine, large, about the size of a crow. Considered the fastest animal in the world. With its long wings, it can achieve speeds of more than two hundred miles per hour.
NOTES
taken by Matty Fitzwalter, daughter of Lord William Fitzwalter, during her recovery in the winter of 1187
BATE: To attempt to fly off the hand or perch when held or tied.
EYAS: A nestling or young hawk taken from a nest.
FALCON: A female peregrine, also used for females of other species of hawks.
HAGGARD: A hawk trapped when it is mature.
HOOD: A close-fitting leather hood is used to blindfold a hawk.
IMP: A method of repairing broken flight feathers by replacing the broken section with part of another feather.
IMPING NEEDLE: A splint used to join the two parts of a broken feather.
JESSES: The narrow strips of leather placed around a hawk’s leg to hold it tethered.
LONGWINGS: All falcons that have long, pointed wings and dark eyes, like Morgana.
LURE: An imitation bird or animal used to attract a hawk in training.
QUARRY: The game, or prey, that is the object of a hawk’s hunt.
RING UP: To climb in a spiral flight.
RINGING FLIGHT: When a hawk rings up, chasing quarry.
SHORTWING: A true hawk of the genus Accipiter, with short, rounded wings and light-colored eyes, like Lyra.
SOAR: When a hawk flies for the fun of it, gliding on thermals and air currents rather than chasing prey.
STOOP: Diving descent of a longwing attacking with wings nearly closed.
TIERCEL: The male peregrine, which is a third smaller than the female. The term is often misused for the male of any species of hawk.
WAIT ON: To wait in flight high over the falconer.
WEATHER: To place the hawk on her block in open air during the day.
YARAK: Fit, keen, and ready to be flown.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Was there really an outlaw named Robin Hood who became the hero to the people of England during the lawless rule of Prince John? Was there a Maid Marian? A Little John? There are as many theories about the Robin Hood legends as grains of sand in an hourglass. Although this prince of thieves and his merry band of outlaws purportedly lived during the late twelfth century, the legends and ballads of their exploits did not become popular until the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries as part of May Day celebrations. Some said that Robin and Marian were woodland gods who were celebrated at these revels. Other scholars have suggested that the Robin Hood character was based on a real nobleman—an earl, no less—the Earl of Huntington; while some say he was a farmer named Robyn Hoode. He has also been known as Robin of Locksley, Robehod, Hobbehod, and as a fisherman called Simon over the Lee. His occupation has changed over the years. In the earliest ballads that appeared between 1200 and 1400, he was said to be a yeoman. By the time of Elizabeth I, he had become an earl. He was always, however, a robber.
The other Merry Men also had, at one time or another, slightly different names. Will Scarlet, it is said, was originally called Will Scarloke, Scadlock, or Scathelok. Little John was said to have been John Little or John o
f Hathersage or John Naylor or John the Nailer. Rich Much had sometimes been called Midge.
In the earliest Robin Hood stories, there was no Maid Marian. There was no Friar Tuck. Marian began to appear as a character in the May Day celebrations. In some, she was portrayed as a dainty maid, a shepherdess; in other stories, she, too, was of noble origins. She was called a variety of names. Miriam, Mary, the Nut Brown Girl, and Matilda Fitzwalter, the daughter of a baron. In the legends, she has often been portrayed as being as fine an archer as Robin and equally good with a sword. Matty as a falconer was my invention. Falconry itself did not become widespread in England until after the Crusades.
The mists of time mingling with the shadow of legend have obscured true identities or often transformed them. But nevertheless, the tales endure and fascinate. For my own story, I decided to take shreds of various legends and of real history. It was my notion that Robin and Marian and some of his Merry Men had known each other as children, played together, and found solace and inspiration in the greenwood of Barnsdale near the supposed birthplace of Robin Hood. I wanted to know them, imagine them as boys and girls—spirited, mischievous, but with a keen sense of justice and mistrust of authority and the monarchy that was putting a terrible burden on the people of England.
Despite these mists and shadows, certain elements of my story rest on true historical events. King Richard really had left England in the charge of his brother, John, to fight in the Holy Land. On his return, Richard was captured by Duke Leopold of Austria and held for ransom. Richard’s mother, Queen Eleanor, living in Barfleur, France, at the time, was desperate to raise his ransom that was said to be the equivalent of three tons of silver. She had asked for the pope’s assistance. Richard was finally released in February 1194. At this time, King Philip of France sent a message to Prince John that read, “Look to yourself. The devil is loose.”