in a scowl. He said something to Walter that made the Norman wince.
‘Once again we have two stories,’ Faruq said. ‘One from the Greek and one from you. Where lies the truth? Be warned. His Excellency will find it.’
Suleyman shielded his mouth and held muttered discussions with his counsellors. Vallon’s company all spoke at once, Drogo demanding to know why Suleyman had mentioned Caitlin and Hero apologising for creating the awful misunderstanding. Out of the clamour it was Wayland who made himself heard.
‘Ask him why he needs two casts of gyrfalcons.’
‘Because that’s what he demanded. Forget it. This is no longer about the falcons.’
‘No, I mean what practical purpose do four falcons serve? Ask him. Go on.’
Vallon put the question wearily and passed on Faruq’s blunt reply. ‘He says that one falcon can’t catch a crane.’
‘Not one of his sakers, perhaps. The gyrfalcon can kill almost anything that flies.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘You’ve only seen the falcon in a cage. I watched her hunting and she’s deadly. On the night we first met, Hero said that the Emir was planning to hold a contest with a neighbour to see who had the best falcon. I’ll back my gyrfalcon against any cast of sakers. Tell him.’
‘She’s not your falcon. If you’re convinced of her qualities, describe them to the Emir and let him test them for himself.’
‘She won’t fly at her best for anyone but me.’
Hero broke in. ‘Do as Wayland says. The Emir’s about to announce a decision, and you can be sure it won’t go in our favour. If Suleyman agrees to the contest, it will give us time to straighten out the lies and confusion.’
Vallon saw the wisdom of Hero’s suggestion. ‘You tell him. Dress it up in such flowery language that the Emir won’t be able to refuse. Get the audience on our side.’
Hero began to speak just as Faruq turned away from Suleyman. He spoke again of the perils of their journey into the realms of ice and fire. He described Wayland’s ordeal with the white bear, the battle with the Vikings, the four-month journey to the south. He extolled the gyrfalcon’s virtues, pointing out that she alone had survived the ordeal and that the Emir must surely take this as a sign of God’s will.
Suleyman chewed one of his moustaches while the audience waited for his decision. He summoned his hawkmaster and the two men spoke at length, breaking off to point or stare at Wayland. Faruq hovered in an attentive stoop until the Emir raised his mace, and then he straightened up.
‘This is not a trifling matter. Is the English falconer certain that the falcon can kill a crane unaided?’
Vallon glanced at Wayland. ‘I’ve never heard him make an empty boast.’
‘On no account must the falcon disgrace his Excellency. She must win the contest.’
‘Even if she doesn’t,’ said Wayland, ‘she won’t shame him.’
‘You don’t understand,’ Vallon said. ‘She has to win.’
‘She will.’
‘You don’t even know the rules of the contest.’
‘There’s time to learn them.’
Vallon put aside his misgivings. He looked at the Emir and gave a stiff nod. ‘The falcon won’t disappoint.’
Faruq glanced at Suleyman. ‘His Excellency agrees.’
The audience buzzed. Faruq raised his voice to outline various practical matters.
Vallon turned to Wayland. ‘How long do you need to prepare the falcon?’
‘Three weeks.’
‘You have twelve days. If that isn’t enough, say so.’
‘She’s a haggard. She’s been killing almost daily for more than a year. All I need to do is get her fit.’
Vallon faced the interpreter. ‘The falcon will be ready.’
‘His Excellency will issue a challenge tomorrow. If the white falcon outflies his neighbour’s sakers, he will release the Norman and send you away with gifts.’
‘And if it doesn’t?’
‘His Excellency is even-handed in his dealings. You have declared before his court that the falcon won’t fail.’ Faruq let the claim linger. ‘If it does, his Excellency will be put to scorn by his rival. You can’t accept the rewards of success while refusing to pay the cost of failure.’
Too late, Vallon saw the pit he’d dug.
Faruq continued. ‘If the falcon doesn’t triumph, his Excellency will give the English youth to Walter as his slave.’ Faruq stayed Vallon with an upraised palm. ‘And you as champion of the falconer must also pay a forfeit.’ Faruq allowed a space so that there could be no misunderstanding. ‘In your case, the Varangian woman.’
Wayland grinned. ‘What was that last bit?’
Vallon knew there was no way back. Before an audience of a hundred, he’d promised Suleyman a victory. It took all his self control to give a calm response. Behind Wayland he could see Hero’s appalled gaze and Walter’s smirk. He smiled and patted Wayland’s arm. ‘Nothing important. From now on, concentrate all your attention on preparing the falcon.’
XLIX
Wayland began planning his campaign the moment he hurried away from the Emir’s pavilion. First he had to sharpen the haggard’s hunting urge by cleansing her of the internal fat she’d accumulated during her months of inactivity. Washed meat and stones was the remedy. He calculated that two days after purging her she would be ready to fly free, giving him nine or ten days to harden her muscles. Her flight at the bustards had demonstrated her innate fitness. The cold would act as a tonic. In his mind’s eye she was already raking through the sky, climbing into the clouds, stooping with destructive splendour.
Ibrahim the hawkmaster brought him back to earth. He was waiting beside the gyrfalcon’s enclosure at the far end of the tent. He shook his head and was still shaking it when Wayland reached him.
‘You wait and see,’ Wayland told him. He rummaged in his bag of hawking furniture and brought out a dozen pebbles, each about the size of a horsebean. He showed them to the hawkmaster. ‘Rangle,’ he said. He set a pot of water on the brazier and dropped the pebbles into it. When the water was scalding, he drained the pebbles and spread them on a cloth. He mimed eating them and rubbed his stomach to show that they would stir up the grease and mucus in the falcon’s crop. In the morning she would cast them up covered with glut. A four- or five-day course of stones would make her as keen as if she’d gone without food for a week.
He prepared to unhood the falcon. Ibrahim stopped his hand. He waggled a finger and went off to his store of nostrums and potions. He muttered to himself and returned with a spatula heaped with fine white crystals.
‘What’s that?’
Ibrahim didn’t say. He told Wayland to cast the falcon. With the falcon firmly gripped, Ibrahim cut a piece of pigeon breast about the size of a grape and coated it with the crystals. He opened the falcon’s beak and shoved the meat so far back in her throat that she was forced to swallow it.
He indicated that Wayland should place her on her block and give the purgative time to work. Then he retired yawning into his sleeping quarters. Wayland stayed up, watching the falcon. Only one lamp had been left burning and it was very quiet in the mews. After a while the falcon stretched her neck up and gaped. Wayland looked towards the hawkmaster’s quarters. He tried to relax. His thoughts turned to Syth. He hadn’t seen her since they’d arrived. Hero had told him she was well looked after, but why had the Emir mentioned her name? Vallon hadn’t explained. There didn’t appear to be any Seljuk women in the camp.
The falcon staggered on her perch. Wayland jumped up. She hunched over, making gagging sounds. He hurried into the sleeping chamber and shook the hawkmaster.
‘Something’s wrong with the falcon.’
Ibrahim grumbled and rolled over, pulling his blanket over his head.
When Wayland returned to the mews, he found the falcon on the ground, snaking her head back and forth.
