Plaint for Provence by Jean Gill

Author:Jean Gill
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: romance, series, medieval, provence, chivalry, romance historical, medieval adventure, troubadours, medieval action, france 12th century
Publisher: Jean Gill

All morning, hawks and falcons toured the cobbled streets of Les Baux on human perches, either with servants or, in the case of real afficionados, the masters themselves. Dragonetz had worn Vertat like a cloak brooch since dawn, talking softly to her, learning her foibles.

Typical of a yeoman’s hawk, she was solid amid noise, even sudden shouts or clanking: less steady visually. A sudden downpour of slops from a window startled her and a swirl of a silk cloak flicking at her side caused her to bate. The full weight of anxious hawk, digging heels into his shoulder and beating her great wings in an attempt at flight was a bruising experience. Even more than a horse, she saw movement so far around that it was behind them, out of Dragonetz’ periphery.

‘Later girl, later,’ Dragonetz soothed, and she calmed to his murmured compliments. He could sense the muscle and hunger, in perfect yarak. Moisset would have approved her preparation.

The minuscule portion of bloody meat which Dragonetz gave her, supervised by Bran, was just enough to take the rawness off her famine but not enough to dull her for the day’s work. She would be ravenous by the afternoon and his own senses heightened as he focused on his hawk. In the castle walkways with pages scurrying, in the crowds of street vendors, there were only the two of them. He felt her heartbeat quicken and slow.

He visited the stables, made sure Sadeek would be readied for him, met the lad’s hesitation and understood. He even did the stable-boy the courtesy of an explanation. ‘I know. A destrier for a hawking party is like wearing cloth of gold to till soil. But Sadeek is Arab bred, knows hawk as well as he knows fancy footsteps and has no more fear of bog than of battle. This is a pleasure outing with no risk to my friend.’ He stroked the arch of satin neck.

The boy’s eyes shone, reminding Dragonetz of another boy, in another land, his protégé Muganni. A pang of loss and regret. Perhaps he should have brought the boy with him instead of freeing him to rejoin his tribe of Hashashins. Few were born with such a voice and even fewer came through a man’s changes to find their new voice pleasing. The fleeting sweetness of youth…

Shaking off his nostalgia, and earning a reprimand from Vertat, Dragonetz left the stable, happy with the encounter between hawk and stallion. As fully prepared as he could be, Dragonetz broke fast and rested in his chamber, not alone. The room’s dark filled with another’s breathing and heartbeat, a stir of feathers, a small ‘chuff’ of complaint and whenever he looked her way, the orange eyes of the goshawk stared him out.

What were the hunting verses of the Moorish poet Abu Nuwas? Horse, hawk and cheetah. There would be dogs instead of hunting cats but Dragonetz thought the poet would approve of Sadeek and Vertat, who looked every bit the ‘demon spirit’ of the Arab verse.

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