The Ironhand's Daughter

Will shook his head. 'It's not true. There was one attack, but the Foresters caught the men and killed them. They weren't Highlanders. No, I'm looking forward to summer, son. I'll take the family south.'

The apothecary handed over the bottle and Will gave him two copper coins.

Outside Relph tapped him on the arm. 'How come you pay? I don't. Bastard townies can afford to look after us. After all, we look after them.'

'I always pay my way,' said Will. 'It's an old habit.'

*

Grame the Smith delivered the Baron's grey stallions and left the Citadel. It had been no surprise when the Baron failed to pay for the work, and Grame had been expecting nothing more. He wandered through the town, and considered buying a meal at the Blue Duck tavern. Roast pork with crackling was a speciality there. Grame tapped his ample stomach. 'You're getting old and fat,' he told himself. There was a time when he'd been considered one of the handsomest men in Cilfallen, and he had grown used to the eyes of women lingering on him as he passed. They didn't linger much now.

His hair had long since departed his skull, and sprouted unattractively from his shoulders and back. He'd lost three front teeth and had his lips crushed at Golden Moor, the teeth smashed from his head by an iron club wielded by an Outland soldier. God, that hurt, he remembered. It was a kind of double pain. As he fell he knew his good looks were gone for ever.

Now he sported the bushiest white beard, with a long, drooping moustache to cover the mouth.

He reluctantly passed the Blue Duck and continued along Market Street, catching sight of Sigarni talking to two soldiers. The first was a tall man, middle-aged,with the look of the warrior about him. The second was smaller; this one took hold of Sigarni's arm, but she spoke to him and moved away. Grame saw the man's face turn crimson. The smith chuckled, and made his way to where Sigarni was standing before a knick-knack stall. She was examining a brass tail-bell.

'Good day to you,' said Grame. Sigarni gave him a friendly smile, but he saw her cast her eyes back towards where the two soldiers were standing.

'I'm thinking of buying Abby a bell,' she said. 'All the other hawks here have them.'

'For what purpose?' asked the smith, 'apart from the fact that all the others have them?'

Sigarni thought about it for a moment, then grinned. 'I don't know, Grame,' she admitted. 'But they are pretty, don't you think?'

Grame took the bell from her fingers and looked at it closely. They're well made,' he said, 'and they'd be silent in flight. Falconers use them to locate their birds. You can hear them when they land in a tree. Do you have trouble with Abby? Do you lose her?'

'Never.'

'Then you don't need a bell. What brings you to Citadel?"

'There is a hawking tourney, with a money prize of two gold guineas. I think Abby could win it.'

Grame scratched at his thick white beard. 'Maybe. It will depend on how they structure the contest. If obedience is marked highly you would have a good chance. But speed? The goshawk is lighter and faster than Abby.'

'You surprise me, Grame. I didn't know you understood falconry.'

'Had a gos myself once. Beautiful creature .. . but wilful. Lost her in the year before Golden. I take it you're trying to get Abby used to crowds before the tourney?'

'Yes,' answered Sigarni, stroking Abby's sleek head. 'They don't seem to bother her. She's baited a few times, but I think she'll perform well. I'll bring her again tomorrow.'

'Is there an entrance fee to this tournament?'

'Yes. One silver penny. I paid it this morning.' Sigarni's expression changed. 'The cleric had to get permission from the Captain of the Tourney to allow me to enter. He wasn't sure if women were permitted to take part.'

Grame chuckled. 'Well, it is unusual, girl. They don't understand that Highland women are ... shall we say different.'

'From what?' she countered.

'From their own timid females,' said Grame. 'Their women have no rights. When they marry, all their fortunes become the property of their husbands. They can be beaten, humiliated and cast aside, with no recourse to the law.'

'That is awful. Why do the women stand for it?'

Grame shrugged. 'Habit? God only knows. Their fathers choose their husbands, their husbands dominate their lives. It's a world ruled by men. So, the Captain of the Tourney allowed your entry? He must be an enlightened man.'

'He was fascinated by Abby. I could tell. He asked me where I got her, and how many kills she had.

That sort of thing. He said the Baron would be interested in her.'

Grame said nothing for a moment. Then, 'I'm not sure I like the sound of that, Sigarni.'

'Why?'

'You don't come to the Citadel much, do you?-No, of course you don't. You sell your skins to the tanner and the furrier, and you buy your supplies - what... three times a year?'

'Four times. What does that matter?'

'The Baron is a keen falconer. He will certainly be interested in Abby. He may want her for his own.'

'Well, he can't have her,' she said.

Grame smiled, but there was no humour in the expression. 'The Baron will have anything he desires.

He is the Lord here. My advice is to forget the tourney and take Abby back into the mountains.'

'I paid my silver penny!'

Grame reached into his pouch and produced a coin. 'I'll pay that-aye and gladly.'

'I don't want your money, Grame - though I thank you for the offer. You think he would steal her from me?' Grame nodded. 'But how could he do this. By what right?'

'Conquest. You are a clan-woman. You have no rights, save those he allows.'

Sigarni's face darkened. 'By God, that is wrong!'

'I don't doubt that by God it is wrong. But it is not God who makes the laws here; it is the Baron. I have some business here, but I will be ready to leave by dusk. My wagon is by the north wall, behind the armourer's shop. I'd be pleased to have the company, if you'd like a ride back to Cilfallen.'

'Yes, I would,' said Sigarni. 'I'll meet you there at dusk.'

*

Grame's words both irritated and upset Sigarni. She had wanted to compete, to show Abby's skills to a wider audience, to revel in their approbation. And she wanted to show that a woman could train a hawk as well as any man. Yet Grame was no fool. If he said she was in danger of losing Abby then she had to listen, and act accordingly. It was unfair, but then life was unfair. If not, then she would have loved Bernt, and he would still be alive.

Sigarni strolled through the crowds and on to Falcon Field, passing the rows of hutches containing the hares to be used in the falcon displays, snared over the past few days, the little beasts would be freed individually to dart and run across the field, seeking escape from the silent killers sent to despatch them. Abby's golden eyes focused on the cowering creatures. 'Not for you, pretty one,' said Sigarni. 'Not this time. No applause for my beautiful Abby.'

The cleric was still sitting at his desk on the outer edge of the field, and several falconers were waiting to sign their names, or make their marks on the broad ledger. A cadger had been set close by, hooded falcons sitting on the many perches. All were goshawks. Abby bridled and baited as she saw them, her wings flaring out. 'Hush, now,' whispered Sigarni. 'Best behaviour from you, sweet one.' Behind the cleric she saw the two soldiers who had spoken to her earlier. The big one was no problem, but the shorter man had mean eyes. Beyond them stood the Captain of the Tourney.

She could not remember his name, save that it began with Red, which matched his beard and his complexion.

Taking her place behind the men, she waited her turn. One of the falconers looked closely at Abby.

'Fine creature,' he said. 'Never thought to see another. Kushir bird, ain't she?'