Hawk Quest

still lay rotting in the shadows, but banks of primroses had flowered and from every thicket birds sang with pent-up energy. In the fields around the castle peasants followed the age-old rhythm of the plough. Hero closed his eyes, relishing the sun on his face, the smell of turned earth. Spring had arrived. The knot of dread in his guts relaxed. He felt an intense sense of well-being.

When the tableau had passed from sight, he returned to the guesthouse and laid out parchment and gall ink on the rough table. He dipped his quill and raised it like a wand, but the magic he expected to conjure wasn’t forthcoming. He knuckled his brow. He scratched his head. He sighed. Transferring thoughts onto parchment was no easy task. So many words to choose from, so many ways of arranging them. He sucked the end of his quill, trying to decide what rhetorical style was most appropriate for his subject.

The flame of creativity dwindled and died. He puffed out his cheeks, crossed his hands behind his head and stared at the roof. The day that had only a short while ago seemed full of promise now stretched into limbo. A bee droned through the door, bumbled around the room and flew back out. Hero looked vacantly through the sunlit doorway. After a while he became aware of the silence. He stood up, tiptoed to the entrance and peered in all directions. The bailey was empty except for two guards sunning themselves outside the gatehouse. He went back inside, lifted his medicine casket from beside his bed and carried it to the table. The lid was carved with floral designs. He raised it, placed one hand under it and pressed one of the carved flowers. The false bottom swung down and out slid the leather folder that Master Cosmas had pressed on him in his dying moments. He opened it. Inside were six manuscript pages. It was a letter — part of a letter — written in poor Greek on stained and creased sheets made, so Cosmas had told him, from pulverised hemp.

Hero’s heart had begun to beat fast.

Our Majesty John, by the grace of God and the might of our Lord Jesus, greets his brother ruler, the emperor of the Romans, wishing you health, prosperity and continued enjoyment of divine favour.

Our Excellency has been informed that reports of our greatness have reached you. If you wish to know the vastness of our power, then believe that our Majesty exceeds in might and riches all the kings of the earth. Only if you can count the stars of the heavens and the sands of the desert will you be able to measure the vastness of our realm. Our Magnificence rules the Three Indias and our lands extend from Greater India, where the body of our beloved St Thomas the Apostle rests — he who brought the gospel of Jesus to our realm — to Far India across the sea.

Hero turned the pages, skipping dozens of paragraphs describing in mind-boggling detail the wonders and amazements of this ruler’s territories.

As a devout Christian, the writer went on, it grieves us to hear that a great schism has opened between the Church in Rome and the Church in Constantinople. Surely it is Satan’s work that enmity and strife have broken out in Christendom at a time when she has never been more threatened. Noble brother, I beseech you to make peace with the father in Rome and set aside your differences so that you stand united against our common foes, the Arabs and Turks. Be assured you will not face them alone. Know that we are under vow to visit the sepulchre of our Lord Jesus with a great army, as befits the glory of our Majesty, to subdue and destroy the enemies of Christ, and to exalt his blessed name.

In token of our Christian friendship, I send you not gold or jewels — notwithstanding we possess treasures unequalled under heaven. Instead I send you riches for the soul, the true account of Jesus’s life and teachings, written by he who knew him best, he who alone possesses the hidden wisdom imparted by our Lord Saviour during …

A shadow slipped through the door. Hero looked up to register Richard’s presence. There was no time to hide the letter. Covering it with his blank sheet of parchment, he began to scrawl the first thing that came into his head.

Another wonder that Master Cosmas told me. In the year I was born a great fire appeared in the southern sky and burned so bright that it was no hardship to read outside at midnight. For ten years the light shone, gradually waning, and when it was gone that part of the heavens where it had blazed was filled with many stars that had not shone before.

Richard had sidled up and was leaning over in a way that Hero found intensely irritating. ‘What are you writing?’ the Norman asked from behind his hand.

‘An account of our journey. If you don’t mind, I require peace to pen my recollections.’

‘When your narrative reaches these parts, you should include a description of the wall built by Hadrian. Not far from here stand shrines and castles unchanged since Rome’s legions occupied them.’

‘That might be worth a visit,’ Hero conceded. ‘Perhaps I’ll go tomorrow.’

‘Not on your own. It’s too dangerous.’

Hero smiled condescendingly. ‘You’re speaking to a man who’s crossed the Alps.’

‘A month before you arrived, three scouts rode north and never returned. The Scots probably ate them.’

Hero went back to his manuscript, but found he’d lost the thread.

‘I’ll arrange an escort if you teach me the mystery of writing.’

‘It takes years of study.’

‘I would be a diligent student. I’d like to cultivate at least one talent.’

Hero put down his pen. ‘Show me your face. Come on. Don’t be shy.’

Richard lowered his hand, revealing a plum-coloured birthmark that stained one cheek from mouth to ear. His features were pale and pinched, but his eyes, Hero decided, held a spark of intelligence.

‘I’ve seen worse disfigurements.’

‘Is it a bargain?’

Hero gave a resigned sigh. ‘We begin with alpha-beta, the letters that form the bricks of language. First is alpha, from the Hebrew hieroglyph of an ox’s head, signifying “leader”.’

The light dimmed. A burly figure blocked the doorway. Richard jumped up, knocking over the inkpot.

‘Now look what you’ve done. Your hands are as clumsy as your wits.’

‘Get out,’ Olbec ordered, cuffing Richard as he scuttled past. ‘God, how could I have fathered such a maggot? Can’t handle a sword or lance. Can’t stay on a horse. Should have been drowned at birth.’ Olbec’s attention turned to Hero, who was frantically blotting the page. ‘Forget about that,’ he growled.

‘He’s ruined my only sheet.’

‘I might be able to help there,’ Olbec said. He straddled the bench and examined Hero like a peasant sizing up livestock. ‘A doctor, eh?’

‘Not yet licensed. I still have to complete my practical study, and then I intend to do a year’s anatomy course.’

‘How old are you?’

‘Nineteen this summer.’

‘Dear Lord, what I’d give to be nineteen again. Everything to look forward to — battles to fight, lands to win, women to bed.’

‘I’m not sure that my vocation leads me on such an heroic course. If you’d care to tell me what ails you. I understand that your wounds trouble you.’

Olbec glanced at the doorway.

‘Nothing you tell me will pass beyond these walls,’ said Hero. ‘My oath to Hippocrates binds me to confidentiality.’

Olbec prodded the Sicilian’s chest. ‘Forget Hippo-what’s-his-name. You’ll keep your trap shut because I’ll cut your heart out if you repeat one word.’ He went to the entrance, peered about, then pulled the door shut. ‘What opinion have you formed of my wife?’

‘A chaste and pious lady of impeccable morals,’ Hero said in a rush.

Olbec digested this character reference. ‘All those things, of course, but speaking man to man, I must tell you that my lady knows how to give and receive earthly pleasures.’

‘Piety and passion in perfect balance. You’re blessed, my lord.’

‘Not as much as I’d like to be. Margaret hasn’t spoken to me since the night I refused her plea for an expedition to Norway. Women wield silence as soldiers use a lance.’

‘I sympathise, sir. My sisters made my-’

‘Younger than me, of course. No problem there until I picked up this wound at Senlac. We were blade to