A Lily on the Heath (Medieval Herb Garden #4)

A Lily on the Heath (Medieval Herb Garden #4) Page 9

Malcolm of Warwick would make a fine husband indeed.

Once beyond the main gate, Judith kicked her mare into a canter, then a full gallop just for the fun of the moment. The trees streamed by, the air was fresh and scented with something floral, and it brushed over her face, pushing the hood from her head. Her braid worked out from the cloak, bouncing along behind her. But because they had a long distance to go, she reined Crusty into a brisk trot before they’d galloped very far.

She and Piall briefly discussed the best route to take, with him making the suggestions and her agreeing with his opinion. They should reach the edge of the forest well before midday. Part of their journey would take them on well-traveled roads between Clarendon and the compact fief of Marchmonte, but they would also cross several meadows and skirt the edge of a small forest. As they rode, she divided her attention between the road ahead of them and the sky above, watching for the sight of the graceful birds she sought, swooping and diving after their prey.

There were two ways to find a new hunter, and each had its challenges and benefits. She could find a young raptor that wasn’t yet flying—an eyas—in its nest, and hope the mother or father wouldn’t be around to attack her. Or she could trap an older bird that was already flying, but that could be difficult to do without injuring it or breaking a feather. Aside from that, trapping could be a losing prospect, for she had no way of choosing which hawk took the bait. If he was too old or not strong or large enough, she could release him. But every time a hawk was trapped, there was the chance of injury to a wing, which would leave the bird vulnerable in the wild.

True to Piall’s estimate, the sun was high overhead when the tallest trees loomed just ahead of them. Pines, oaks and walnuts stood sentinel at the base of the low, rocky hills. They’d passed several wagons and a small group of men-at-arms escorting a wealthy youngest son to the court at Clarendon; but other than that, their journey thus far had been uneventful.

But now, as Judith spotted the first nest, high in a cluster of branches, she knew it was about to become more interesting. A thrill of excitement rushed through her as she saw the shadow of a hawk ripple over the meadow next to her.

“There,” she said, pointing to a group of trees. “I see a nest there, and another over there. It’s a good place to begin.”

“Aye,” Piall said, scrubbing his wiry brown and gray beard thoughtfully. “You do not intend to entrap a bird?”

“First I’ll see what’s to be found in those nests.” Judith was full aware the main reason she wanted to do so was for the joy of climbing the trees. “It’s early in the summer and mayhap they’ll be empty of all but eggs. But I intend to look.”

While Piall fed and watered the horses, she prepared for her climb. The first tree she meant to scale was a tall, scrubby pine with many horizontal branches at regular intervals. ’Twould be nearly like climbing a ladder, but nevertheless, Judith intended to be prepared. If she fell and broke her neck, the queen would never get her special hawk, and that would be a shame.

She donned the special boots her father and Tessing had designed: heavy leather ones with small spur-like spikes on the bottom and at the toe to help keep her feet from slipping on the tree bark. She’d never seen such footwear elsewhere—nor gloves like the special ones she used for climbing. They were smooth and supple leather, fitting her hand perfectly so as to give her a good grip. Tessing had sewn a patch of rough chain mail just over the palm and the undersides of the fingers in order to help keep her hands from slipping.

Judith slung a small linen sack over her shoulder. Inside was a light, loosely woven cloth to wrap the eyas in so he wouldn’t injure himself when she put him inside the sack for the climb down. Her final necessity was the light rope she wrapped around her waist. When she reached the nest, she’d tie herself to the tree trunk for stability while she removed the hawk and wrapped him up.

“Up I shall go,” she told Piall brightly.

He shielded his eyes against the sun, looking up into the branches. “’Tis a long height, my lady. Be slow and take care,” he said as he always did before she embarked on such a task. Then he moved to stand near the tree, making a cup with his two joined hands onto which she could step.

“Aye,” she told him, placing her foot carefully on his palms so as not to stab him with one of the spikes. “Always. Up!”

Piall had done this many times before, and he gave her a good, sharp boost up to the lowest branch. She curled her hands around it and pulled herself up.

And then she was on her way, easily scrabbling from one limb to the another. Before she knew it, Judith was as high in the pine as her chamber window was above the ground. Up here, the trunk was more slender and the upper part of the tree swayed gently in the wind. In the distance, she heard a pack of dogs barking raucously and the way-off call of a bird. Judith could see as far away as forever, it seemed: the green-brown heath, the small blue ribbon of a creek they’d splashed through, a thick forest to the north and rough, rocky hills to the east.

To the south lay Clarendon, nearly two hours away and where, Judith sincerely hoped, the queen had found someone else to amuse her. What a fine temper Eleanor had been in yesterday, flouncing around the chamber, railing about the fact that her belly would grow huge again and her husband wouldn’t care for her….

Judith shook her head and reached for the next branch. Little bits of bark wafted down like dust every time she gripped the tree, thanks to her rough gloves. This would be Eleanor’s tenth pregnancy. One would think she’d be used to it by now.

A surprise pang of grief caught Judith by surprise. It had been a long time since she’d thought about having a baby herself. A long time since she’d had the luxury to even think it a real possibility. For after Gregory died, Judith had certainly grieved…but she expected she would soon be betrothed to someone else, then wed and be bearing children within a year or two. For that was how it worked and that was the best for Lilyfare: to have a lord and lady and heir.

But her father had been dead for three years when Gregory was killed, so there was no one to speak for Judith except her cousin Gavin, Lord of Mal Verne…and at that time, he was so wrapped in his ball of guilt and grief he gave little thought to Judith’s marital state.

Meanwhile, the queen had become very fond of Judith and decided she must stay with her at court. The king had no argument with this, for that meant he had an heiress for a bargaining chip as well as a greater portion of the rents from Lilyfare and Kentworth to flow into his coffers.

And now, six years after Gregory’s death, Judith knew she’d never have to worry about her belly growing to the size of basket.

Don’t think on it, she told herself fiercely. ’Twill do you no good to stew. Your lot is your lot…and it could be much, much worse.

And so she climbed higher, and higher…and finally the nest was just above her head. One more branch and she’d be just high enough to look down into it. She couldn’t see Piall on the ground any longer, but she knew he was still below.

As she approached the nest, Judith hadn’t seen any sign of a parental hawk coming or going. Her optimism waned that she’d find anything in the large bundle of sticks, but she’d come too far not to check. The branches were strong and steady beneath her feet, and she hoisted herself up once more and peered into the nest.

“Greetings there, young chick,” she said softly in surprise. A bundle of gold, black, brown and rust-colored feathers tufted with thick white baby molting nestled in its rudimentary basket. “Or shall I say, chicks.”

There were two of them, shifting and moving about hungrily. Judith looked around again, expecting to see a parent charging toward her at any moment, talons and fierce beak at the ready…but the sky was clear.

She pulled herself up onto the branch nearest the vee-shaped crook where the nest was situated and got a better view into the bedding. “Oh,” she said sadly when she saw that there were—or had been—two other eyases. Their soft corpses had fallen down half beneath their siblings as the survivors begged for food, jockeying for position.

“Something happened to your parents, then,” Judith said. And glanced around once more. It wasn’t an uncommon thing. Between disease and predators, not to mention injuries—for even the graceful hawks flew into trees while hunting, often killing or damaging themselves—it was rare for an entire family of raptors to live out their first year. As she looked down at the babies, she noticed the barking dogs were closer now and fancied she heard them rustling through the forest nearby. Perhaps it was the lord of Marchmonte on a hunt with his dogs.

“Hail, Lady Judith,” came Piall’s call from below. “What do you see?”

“Two fledglings,” she shouted down. “Orphans. I’ll feed them a bit then be down in a trice.”

Judith took a minute to loop the rope around the trunk then her waist, tying it securely the way her father and Tessing had shown her. Now she could move about more easily without fear of falling. She pulled off her climbing gloves and tucked them into their place on her belt, then loosened the drawstring on her food pouch. The hawks would prefer fresh meat, but the dried beef would do in a pinch.

She had just slipped a morsel of food into the second eyas’s wide-open mouth when a horrible, snarling barking sound came up from below. Piall shouted and then Judith heard the unmistakable scream of a horse.

The sound of a dying horse was enough to haunt one’s dreams, and Judith jerked upright against the tree, her heart pounding. The snarling and growling became even louder and more fierce as she cried, “What is it? Piall!”

Her knight shouted something, but whatever he said was drowned out by squealing, snarling, barking and growling. She heard more snarling and wild barking, thrashing in the brush below. Then the clang of a sword and an agonized human cry.

“Piall!” Judith screamed and untied herself quickly from the tree trunk. She began to work herself down, branch by branch. All the while, the horrible sounds continued below—clearly a ferocious battle between a pack of dogs, her man-at-arms, and the horses.