Read an Excerpt
The Falcon Confession
By John V Norris John Norris
Copyright © 2015 John V Norris
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-9967618-9-5
CHAPTER 1
Odo
* * *
June 30, 1065
Alone in the bed of his palace chamber, Bishop Odo of Bayeux flinched awake to the sound of squeaking door hinges. His weariness vanished in a jolt of fear.
The ensuing steps, however, held a familiar softness. His cry for help died in his lungs. It is no murderer;it's my reward for last night's work.
Torch light from the hallway illuminated Elise's young, lithe frame. "You've slept through Lauds, lord father," the kitchen maid said, her shawl muffling her voice. "I came to see if I could be of service."
Odo spoke in a whisper. "Did anyone see you?"
"The barons are gone. The palace is near empty."
"And the duke?" The barons didn't worry him. His half-brother, Duke William of Normandy, did.
"Left on a hunt at first light, lord father."
Elise hung by the door, her head tilted and her bewitching eyes daring an upward look. In daylight, they shimmered like green sunlit ponds; in candlelight, they hardened into polished oak orbs. Even in the darkness, her stare cast its spell. Odo had only seen one other woman with such eyes.
With the palace quiet, temptation coursed through his veins. I deserve this. The first stage of his plan succeeded last night. William had secured England's crown after King Edward's death ... thanks to Odo's plot. He wanted this pleasure now, but his brother's presence loomed.
Discretion triumphed. "No. Now is not the time for this. Go before you are seen here."
To Odo's surprise, the girl hesitated. Then, he noticed the tears welling in her eyes. "What have I done, father? You turned from me last night and again now. I need your favor. Our son needs your favor."
Odo felt his heartbeat pause for the briefest moment. He sat up. "What do you mean?"
"I'm worried for his safety. I see people whispering. He has your blood, but not your protection —"
"Not about the boy. What do you mean about last night?" Elise's lips quivered.
"Speak!"
"You turned from me, father. You saw me emerge from Lord Beaumont's chamber after the midnight bells chimed. I didn't want to go with him, but he forced me."
"I saw you?"
"Yes. You turned away and descended the stairs before I could call out. It ... it looked as if you were angry."
"Impossible! I did not leave my chamber all night!"
She began shaking. "My lord, I ... I ..."
With a disgusted growl, he rose from the bed. "What did this man look like?"
"You! I ... I swear to God." Her eyes strained. "It was just a glimpse in the darkness, but he was tall like you and he wore your cloak ... who else could it have been? Please don't hurt me, lord father!"
Odo tried to make sense of this madness. Half the men in Normandy wore similar garments. As he focused, Elise's mewling grew untenable. "Be gone! And keep your mouth shut, or a whipping will be the best outcome to befall you."
The maid shivered a nod and fled the room.
Alone, Odo stood in darkness. He had stayed up until dawn discussing his plans with his military captain, Egenulf D'Laigle. No one else had entered or left. Since Elise saw the man at midnight, she must have stumbled on a spy.
When he became bishop at the age of nineteen, rebels against William's authority infested Bayeux. The purge had taken the better part of his fourteen years in office and his tactics earned him the title of Beelzebub's bishop, but no soul in his domain – serf, merchant, or lord – would dare spy on him. No one in my domain would ...
An answer forced his eyes to the door; he envisioned it breaking open then and there. If someone in the duke's employ overheard the conversation ... God could not be so cruel.
The prospect spurred him into action. He threw his vestments on, raced out of the chamber, and descended to the palace's great hall. His feet had just reached the floor when an overwhelming presence accosted him.
"You seem in a hurry, Odo."
The Duke of Normandy sat at the head of the torch-lit feasting board, stiff and tall. He wore a dark tunic and blood-red cloak that contrasted his pale skin. His eyes – deep-set, dark brown, and covered by full, angled brows – showed complete steadiness.
"William. I ... I was on my way to church. You've returned early."
"Very astute. Come. Sit next to me."
Flushing, Odo did as his half-brother bid. "Was the hunt unpleasing? I trust this has nothing to do with my guides or servants."
"Your servants mattered little ... at first. All morning I chased through the woods, relishing in last night's triumph." He looked at Odo with a dark expression. "And then, just moments ago, I learned what you were up to."
"You learned —"
"Yes. And my disgust knows no bounds."
Odo clutched William's forearm. "I ... I can explain."
"I need no explanation." William ripped his arm away. "The transgression couldn't be more naked. After all I've done for you, you repay me with subterfuge. I have half a mind to depose you right now."
The bishop thrust his hands out. "No. It's not what it seems."
"Oh? Tell me what it is then. The girl came crying down the stairs, rushed past my guards, and begged me to recognize my nephew. She had to be pried from my ankles."
"The girl? Your anger stems from Elise?"
"She knew your birthmark, Odo. If she hadn't seen it, another whore must've painted a pretty picture."
Collecting himself, Odo summoned his most penitent face. "I ... I won't deny it. She bewitched me, William. I fathered a child by her, an abomination that spits in the face of my Savior and my family."
William sprang from his chair. "Devil's eyes, Odo! How could you be so stupid? I tasked you with solidifying Bayeux, not scandalizing it. How many more bastards breathe?"
"None. I swear brother. I made one mistake. Just one. Please have mercy."
"If you were any other man, I'd gut you like a hooked trout. But my mother's blood runs through your veins and last night's feast was your idea. Because of those two reasons only, you will live to right your wrong."
"Yes brother. I'll do anything."
The duke folded his arms over his chest. "First, promise to do away with the wench and her spawn. I will not tolerate illegitimate branches growing from my noble stem."
"Yes brother. Right away." Odo maintained his beggar's face despite the smile threatening to form. William hated bastards, even though he was one himself. The result of a roadside dalliance between a tanner's daughter named Hereleva and Duke Robert of Normandy, William was nine years older than Odo. When Robert died on pilgrimage to the Levant, Hereleva passed into the arms of Odo's future father, a minor landholder named Hereluin.
"I'm not done," William said. "A detail from last night bothers me; it's why I returned early. I've tried to dismiss the agitation, but it persists."
"Well let me help. I may have been detained through the evening," Odo lied, "but I've been apprised of everything."
"It's Godwinson. He ... he didn't seem himself when he pledged to support my claim. I wish to question him about it."
Odo feigned shock. "Alas, I fear you're too late. He's already sailing home, per your orders. But don't fret, brother. Nothing's amiss most like. From all accounts, the earl had his senses and spoke of his own will. Twenty barons witnessed his pledge."
William's face did not lighten. "Make inquiries anyway. We chased Godwinson to Ireland once, but he came back stronger and more determined than ever to keep Normans away from England's crown. This oath was supposed to tame him, but I fear he may have some recourse to stray."
Rising from his chair, Odo acted like the idea abhorred him. "Invalidate the oath ... You think he'd do such a thing?"
"You never saw the fight in the man. The only time he looked docile was when he made that pledge."
Odo continued to calm. "Well, let's hope Harold's word proves true and we've spent our time on conjecture," he said. "Still, I should begin my inquiries immediately."
"Go with all haste." Odo tried to leave, but William held out a hand and blocked his way. The two brothers were of a similar height, but the duke's soldiery gave him the more powerful build. In Odo's thirty-three years on earth, no one made him feel smaller. "And remember one thing: Never keep secrets from me again."
"Of course, brother. And thank you. Your lenience is the greatest gift I could ask for."
After kissing William's hand, Odo crossed the hall and barged through the double-oak doors to the outside. Nervous sweat combined with thick, tepid air to coat his skin in perspiration.
He overlooked the courtyard separating his palace from Bayeux Cathedral. Construction tools, scaffolding, and chiseled stones were strewn about while dozens of workmen hefted beams, hammered nails, and yelled over the din. When finished, his cathedral would challenge any great house of God. The builders had already completed the sanctuary, transepts, and crypt, allowing for services ahead of schedule. My church rises; my calling nears; and yet my doom is eminent unless I quiet this spy.
Just then, Richard and Aubrey de Flers emerged from the cathedral's front entrance. The twin chevaliers walked side by side, each with a hand resting on a sheathed sword. Their chain mail coats and iron spurs gleamed in the sun. After guarding Godwinson for weeks, they had drawn the task of taking him to his ship this morning.
Odo stalked across the muddy yard and waved the warriors to a halt. "Well met, my sons. I trust the Englishman departed well enough?"
"Ye ... yes, lord bishop," Richard said. Neither brother spoke much, an attribute laudable for gaolers but useless for informants.
"Did he seem distressed in any way?"
"Seemed exhausted last night, l ... lord father, and ..."
Both warriors hesitated and Odo's temper flared. "What?"
"And stricken by the de ... Devil after he woke."
"Have no fear on his account," the bishop said. "Emotion from the feast drained him, that's all. Understood? If anyone asks, you say he left in fine spirits."
"Yes lord father," they said in unison.
After the brothers took their leave, Odo entered the church. Since the next divine office would not occur for some time, he knew it would offer a place of solitude. Crossing the nave, he assessed his danger. The twins had been set in line, so William wouldn't learn of the poisoning unless the spy told him.
Father Gilbert emerged from the northern transept as Odo neared the altar. He wore the gray robe of the Benedictine order and held a bible in his hands. The plump, tonsured priest should have returned to his monastic precinct by now. "What are you doing here?"
"The twins, Richard and Aubrey, needed a holy witness, lord father."
"A witness for what?"
"A sacred oath. They swore to resist all temptations of the grape for the rest of their lives after last night."
Odo stepped forward with his eyes leveled. "They drank last night?"
The priest's chin retracted into his neck. "Ye ... yes. The kitchener offered a barrel of stale wine to the garrison. The de Flers had just a little, but woke greatly discontented."
Without having to ask, he knew the kitchener released the same barrel Godwinson drank from. If Richard and Aubrey had more than a few sips, they would have slept through Armageddon. A scenario formed in Odo's mind that unleashed a deluge of fear. "In this oath, did they say anything about their prisoner?"
"The prisoner? Nothing untoward, Bishop Odo. When they woke, the room key lay safe with Richard and the Englishman slept soundly on his pallet."
Odo's chest constricted. He had given the key specifically to Aubrey. They may have switched possession during the evening, but Odo knew in his gut they did not. Odo grabbed Father Gilbert by his robe collar. "Go fetch those sinners. Now. No oath will protect them from this breach of discipline."
After the priest scrambled out of the church, Odo turned to the sanctuary altar and fell to his knees. "Why God? Why did you let my secret slip into Godwinson's hands?"
CHAPTER 2
Aidan
* * *
July 1, 1065
In the forest surrounding the small fishing village of Bosham, Aidan struggled to keep pace with the long-striding Bishop Wulfstan. The fading dusk offered dwindling assistance. The trees seemed to enjoy throwing obstacles in his path. The fifteen-year-old boy felt besieged by snapping twigs, crunching leaves, and his own heaving breath.
"This way," Wulfstan called. The old man seemed to get more energetic by the moment. "Hurry Aidan. Don't fall too far behind. We're almost there."
"Yes father. Coming." He gnashed his teeth and pushed even harder. As he mounted a small incline, his deformed foot snagged on a root. He stumbled and averted a fall only by snatching a nearby tree limb. "God's bones!"
"I heard that. Three Hail Mary's. Now."
Shoulders slumping, Aidan pulled a rosary from his robe and began the penance. He mouthed the rote prayer and chased the bishop once more. As he prayed, he wondered for the thousandth time why they rushed in the first place.
Wulfstan's nature had something to do with it, for certs. If Aidan had learned anything during his yearlong novitiate, it was Wulfstan of Worcester did not tolerate idleness. The two had met when Lady Edith sent Aidan to Worcester monastery for his education. Since that warm summer day, Wulfstan had instituted a rigorous schedule of study, chores, and prayer that mirrored the brotherhood's activities.
Five nights ago, however, the bishop flew into Aidan's sleeping cell. "Wake up boy. Grab your things, enough to fill two saddlebags but no more. We leave within the hour." They departed Worcester like thieves and spent every daylight hour in the saddle. During the entire trip, Wulfstan explained the journey by repeating one phrase: "God has called us to Bosham."
Now, as Aidan shuffled down this narrow path leading toward the fishing docks, he felt more baffled than ever. He assumed the calling involved Earl Harold, who was long overdue after a journey across the great channel. Similar villages lined Chichester Harbor, but Bosham claimed the earl's ancestral home and his most likely return port. But the village was empty and the earl was nowhere to be found.
So, after the prayers, Aidan asked God his own silent question. "Is this a punishment, Lord? I only smiled at the goldsmith's daughter once."
Up ahead, Wulfstan came to a stop where the forest thinned. He leaned on his staff, signed the cross over his chest, and fixed his stare on the distance. Aidan hobbled to the bishop's side and followed his gaze.
They stood at an opening to a crescent-shaped inlet fading into the blue blanket of night. The green water lay still and no sound disturbed the scene, save for the occasional jumping fish.
Then, beyond an old gray-wood dock, a snarling, black-eyed dragon head cut through the evening mist. The red-scaled monster bared its ivory fangs and lashed out with its stiff, forked tongue. Aidan recognized the prow carving with an audible gasp. The Dragon of Wessex was the same longship that carried Aidan from Ireland. Growing up in Lady Edith's household, he had spent several nights camped by its moorings. Earl Harold had indeed returned home.
"Father," Aidan said, his voice spilling wonder. "The longship ... God was right all along."
Wulfstan stroked his beard from chin to navel. "The Almighty works in mysterious ways ... mysterious, amazing ways. Come. Let's greet our old frie —"
A tortured yell broke the stillness. It came from the beach. After exchanging a quick glance, Aidan and Wulfstan raced toward the scream's source. The bishop rushed ahead as the boy raked his crippled foot over the uneven shore. With every step, shapes in the dark grew more definite. Then, Aidan heard frightened whispers.
He found two dozen men at the shore. Some sobbed. Others had fallen to their knees and were lifting handfuls of wet pebbles to the sky. "Thank you, God! Thank you," one man said as the pebbles sifted through his fingers and clicked to the ground. Most men huddled around an invalid who shook in uncontrollable violence with his back in the shallows. Aidan saw Wulfstan leaning over the afflicted person and hurried over.
What he saw shocked him to the core. Harold Godwinson, the Earl of Wessex, the Subregulus of England, the commander of the royal army, and the man who rescued Aidan from certain death, shook like a Devil-possessed child. His chest raised and lowered in disjointed breathes and his blue eyes searched everywhere and nowhere at once.
Earl Harold's head turned to the bishop. "F ... Father Wulfstan?" His voice was as broken as the rest of him.
"Yes, dear son. I'm here. Aidan is as well. Your men say this sickness overtook you on the journey home. We must get you to a hearth. You need dryness and warmth." The bishop motioned for the men to lift him.
"N ... No!" The earl convulsed and grasped for Wulfstan's Benedictine robe with ghost-white hands. "To church ... to confession! God what have I done? This pain is too much ... too much to bear!"
Aidan's whole body froze. He'd never heard this great man sound so desperate, so scared. Wulfstan, however, stared at the earl with narrowed, pensive eyes.
One of the crewmen looked up. "He's been rantin 'bout his sins the whole way home, lord bishop. It's a good thing you're here."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from The Falcon Confession by John V Norris. Copyright © 2015 John V Norris. Excerpted by permission of John Norris.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
