RoS: Addendum, “The Power of Albion” – On falconry.

I can’t guess how much of the symbolism in The Power of Albion was deliberate, but RoS was very well-researched, and how much medieval literature can you read before it starts to inspire rather than merely inform? We’ve already seen much skillful usage of medieval architecture, clothing, and language; I’ve mentioned some instances in past reviews, in discussions of location and costume, and there are more cultural references that appear in the scripts, so subtly and seamlessly incorporated that it’s impossible to tell whether they were included by synchronicity or design.

For example, Guy’s reference to his “lord and master” in Alan-a-Dale was a construction called a linguistic doublet. Such quirky phrases originated in the Anglo-Norman era: “lord” was the Anglo-Saxon word, “master” the Norman one, and it was advisable to use both when addressing an audience of mixed background. And in that same episode, rose petals are showered over de Rainault while he bathes, probably because such fripperies were expensive and strike modern viewers as effeminate and decadent. But in medieval art, a flower (and specifically a rose) could symbolise female virginity, and that knowledge gives added meaning to the all-male scene in which a servant tosses flower petals at the angry Sheriff, while he grouses about the bride being similarly thrown at him (and then speculates upon the girl’s virginity a few lines later). The detail of the roses was also given in the novel, hinting that the writer felt it significant and maybe even had literary references in mind:

“At the time when roses show many lovely petals, anyone who is unhappy is damned; there are critics all around who hate love and want to harm it.”
–Heinrich von Veldeke, 12th century.

The point is, this sort of “might be there for a reason” metaphor appears a lot in Robin of Sherwood, and here, I intend to focus upon the symbolism of birds, of which the show’s already included quite a bit. The Sheriff unhoods a hawk in his very first scene, and his casual brutality and fear of Belleme are implied by the creature’s reactions. In the third season opener, the Earl of Huntingdon establishes dominance over his hall by carrying a hunting-bird on his wrist, and later in that same storyline, Owen of Clun calls Robert of Huntingdon a “fighting cock” when he challenges Owen’s champion. That aggressive image is earlier contrasted by a robin singing at Marion’s window, signalling Robin’s fledgling love for Marion.

The primary symbolism threading through The Power of Albion is that of falconry, associated with the Norman elite since the Conquest (1) and quite charged with meaning by the early 13th century. Now, this particular story uses Nottingham’s hawks primarily as plot devices, deploying them so that the villains can discover the serfs’ burial party in Sherwood. But if the falcons’ sole purpose was plot advancement, Carpenter could’ve just shown the birds-of-prey and then started the hunting trip; the characters didn’t need to discuss or interact with the birds, unless there was some sort of meaning conveyed by it.

So what’s up with the villains and the falcons?

In Team Norman’s first scene, the Sheriff prepares for a hunting excursion, examining his birds with Gisburne walking at his side. The novel explains that the Huntingdon Castle party rekindled the Sheriff’s enthusiasm for hawking, and the text also reveals a surprising difference between Sheriff and deputy:

“Ever since he had seen a fine specimen on the wrist of the Earl of Huntingdon, the Sheriff had determined to renew his own interest in the sport. After all, if it was good enough for the nobility, it had to be good enough for him. He had therefore taken to hunting in the afternoon, whenever he was free, and had purchased several birds as well as a falconer to indulge the whim.”

This is the only statement, in book or series, to tell that the Sheriff isn’t noble-born, and it shows de Rainault in a new light, giving a desperately ambitious motivation for everything from his elaborate clothing to his iron control of the nobleman Gisburne. Still, circumstances of birth aside, his possession of this aviary indicates him to be fabulously wealthy, rich to a confounding degree. One hunting-hawk required a lot of stuff, space, and staff for training and maintenance; only kings and very highly-ranked noblemen could afford multiple birds of different species, and few men anywhere could’ve brought together this assemblage on a “whim.”

It’s also surprising to see several kinds of birds present; at this point in history, the possession of specific birds was not yet regulated by law, but it was controlled somewhat by social standing and peer pressure. The novel names one of the Sheriff’s birds as a goshawk, which follows a later text (the 15th century Boke of St. Alban’s) that matches birds with social ranks and places the goshawk with the yeoman class. But de Rainault’s prize falcon is later called a peregrine, a bird associated with an Earldom. Of course, the aired episode was probably limited by what birds were available for filming, and I don’t know enough about breeds to point out each one. (However, one of them resembles a sacre falcon; if that’s correct, then it corresponds to Gisburne’s rank of knight and hints at the prestige and privilege de Rainault gains by having a nobleman at his command.)

This idea of birds representing the social hierarchy appears in several surviving texts, such as the work of the 13th-century minstrel Baudouin de Condé, who was not speaking with optimism when he predicted, “There will come a day when lanners {serfs} will fly higher than the crane-falcons {nobles}.” That the Lady Marion and Lord!heir Robert are both fallen nobles is shown when Huntingdon’s affections are communicated by a simple robin’s song, in contrast to the youth’s falcon-carrying father. The falcon was the “royal” raptor, and falconry a noble art with echoes in feudal society. In the work of scholar Dafydd Evans – specifically, a paper called The Nobility of Knight and Falcon – we read that, “the most obvious social ground for comparison of knight with falcon was between falcon as successful bird of prey and knight as proficient fighting man…direct comparisons tend to be based more on similarities of character, the bird’s qualities being assessed anthropomorphically.” Later he states that, “associated with the more martial virtues are moral qualities, not only lack of cowardice or irresolution, but, through the identification of the liege-lord with the falconer, duty, loyalty and obedience.”

With that context in mind, here are the falconry scenes of this episode, in which we see a base-born Sheriff (mis-)managing an aviary of royal birds, much like he mistreats the high-born Gisburne. As they discuss that Robin Hood thing again – because the deputy is still harassing the Sheriff about it – the underlying theme is that of baseless power, wrongfully directed. This first scene benefits from some brilliant coincidence, too; that is, I’m sure the birds weren’t orchestrated to reflect the men’s statements and reactions, but this scene couldn’t have gone better if they’d tried:

Guy: It’s Robert of Huntingdon. I’m sure of it!
Robert: You don’t know, Gisburne. You only think. {The bird standing before Guy becomes disturbed, fluttering his wings and crying out; the bird in front of Robert remains calm.}
Robert: {gesturing to the bird before him – a goshawk, per the novel – and addressing the falconer} Will he come to the fist? {The falconer steps forward and nods. Robert then faces Guy.} And thinking isn’t enough. {They move on.}
Guy: It’s enough for me. {They pause.} I’m sure it’s him. {The bird standing in front of Robert flaps and squawks.}
Robert: There’s only one way to be sure. And that’s to catch him with a longbow in his hand, robbing some wretched traveler. {The bird hops closer to Robert, further away from Guy.} And quite frankly, Gisburne– {The bird is standing on Robert’s side now. Robert turns to Guy.} –I doubt if you can manage that!

{They take another few steps, Guy obviously annoyed and smarting from the remark. Then they stop at a new bird, Robert reaches for the creature, and it startles, flying clear off of the perch. The falconer recovers the bird under Robert’s scornful eye, and the bird flaps his wings in front of Guy as Robert speaks to the falconer.} Still seems a bit nervous?
Guy: {starts to protest, as the bird agitates} My lord, I–
Robert: Gisburne! {The bird squeaks at Robert’s scold and continues to cry out as the Sheriff begins the next sentence.} You’re speaking of the son of one of the most powerful men in England! {The bird finally quiets. Guy then eyes the bird – which is framed by his body and matches his clothing perfectly – as though wondering wait, is this, like–}
Audience: YES GUY THAT’S YOU

In this context, the falcon could represent either man and/or the bond between them. But of itself it’s a fearsome bird of prey, and we certainly get some of that association as well:

Robert: {again rebuking the falconer} His cere looks bruised.
(The creature has its back to de Rainault when he says this, so I get the impression the Sheriff’s just using bird words to sound smart.)
{Robert then turns his head back to Guy; the hawk turns his head simultaneously, revealing similar markings to Robert’s hair and mustache.}

{The two men walk on.}
Robert: {to Guy} Suppose I did accuse young Robert, and was proved wrong? {As they reach a new bird, it squawks at the end of de Rainault’s question. The falconer steps aside, again placing the bird in front of Guy.} Can you imagine what the consequences would be? We wouldn’t have time to pack our bags!
{Robert looks back and surveys the birds.} I’ll hunt with Ajax. {Guy stops in front of a new bird, waiting for his master to catch up to him.} And you might as well bring Launcelot as well. {Robert gestures to this new bird as he walks past.}

The novel version ends a bit differently than the filmed scene, with the syrup-witted Gisburne comparing the Sheriff to a bird-of-prey:

“One of the hawks screeched and tore at a piece of raw, bloody meat with a razor-sharp beak. Gisburne glanced at it – at its black, beady eyes and clawed talons. Now it was his turn to smile. The creature reminded him of someone, really it did. But who?
The Sheriff was looking at him suspiciously. Wiping the smile from his face, Gisburne turned and followed his master back into the castle.”

So, we’ve two aspects of a hunting-bird presented here: vicious predator (the Sheriff) and tethered creature (Gisburne), and the birds’ unrest hints that Gisburne is stifling under the Sheriff’s artless mastery; “squawking in protest” is exactly what Guy starts doing this season, though he’s never spoken out against his treatment before. I’ll return to this concept later; for now, the Sheriff soothes Gisburne’s ruffled feathers by explaining that he isn’t dismissing his deputy’s thoughts completely and has taken some small action in response to Gisburne’s suspicions.

The names of the birds that Robert ultimately selects are amusing; the Greek warrior Ajax was a fierce and canny opponent, brought down only by his own brooding pride, and Launcelot of course was the infamous knight undone by love. And since female falcons are larger and generally acknowledged as fiercer and more tenacious in the hunt–

“The name falcon is confined to the female: for the male is much smaller, weaker, and less courageous than the female; and therefore is denominated tassle, or tircelet.”
–Good, Gregory, and Bosworth, from the Pantologia, 1819.

–it adds even more subtext, connoting both incompetence and desire, when Robert selects two aptly-named male birds to accompany himself and his deputy.

I write “desire” because metaphors of falconry and the hunt also appeared in medieval poetry of love and passion. The scene follows these two men as one selects birds for the hunt (2)—

–and chivalry itself idealised the romance of choosing a lover, particularly amongst the noble-born; in one contemporary verse, that wish is compared to a falcon freed, soaring and landing at will:

“‘How fortunate, falcon, you are!
You fly where you want,
you choose for yourself in the wood
any tree that pleases you.
I too have done that:
I have chosen myself a man
whom my eyes picked out…”
–Dietmar von Aist, mid to late 12th century.

In a literary sense, the bird could represent the object of desire, as in this excerpt from (Gottfried von Strassburg’s) Tristan and Isolde, where Isolde’s nobility, beauty, and bewitching gaze are described by way of references to the stately falcon:
“…exquisitely formed in every part, tall, well-molded, and slender, and shaped in her attire as if Love had formed her to be her own falcon, the fulfillment of every wish beyond which there is nothing…Rapacious feathered glances flew thick as falling snow, ranging from side to side in search of prey.”

Which man is the falcon here is hinted not only by the falcon’s “noble” status, but by the men’s clothing; Guy’s grey tunic mirrors the birds’ plumage so well that, at certain moments, the raptor almost disappears against him:

The bird also flaps its wings over the knight, as though reacting for both of them:

The identification of the ideal lover with a winged creature is reminiscent of various divine beings and even Eros Himself, and it’s a potent image that’s endured into modern times. Though I dislike this particular depiction, it’s a recent and famous example:

Some bond beyond fealty is also suggested by other visual elements of the scene. The fence where the birds stand is draped with Nottingham pennants – flags which disappear in the next scene – and for the first time, the men dress to match both each other and their shared home, wearing black velvet chaperons over capes of Nottingham’s blue. For all that Nottingham Castle is his, Robert has never worn its colour before, and he never will again.

However, as I’ve already mentioned, this scene establishes a difference in social standing between the pair, a disastrous difference. A 12th-century song by the troubadour Guillem de Saint Leidier describes a mismatched love affair as “a mountain falcon that makes its nest with a crow.” This metaphor persisted well into the 19th century, when a character’s anger was understandable as she exclaimed, “Mean you to say that there is no disgrace in the mal-alliance of kite and falcon — of Plantagenet and Woodville — of high-born and mud-descended?!” If Nottingham’s master does indeed harbour a passion for his servant, and/or vice versa, then it’s clearly a “mal-alliance” to be condemned. And yet, such is the nature of desire that – like the raptors struggling against the jesses in this scene, and like Guy who has tried to flee the castle several times already – the one ensnared cannot escape. Returning for a moment to Isolde:

“When she recognized the lime that bewitching Love had spread and saw that she was deep in it, she endeavoured to reach dry ground, she strove to be out and away. But the lime kept clinging to her and drew her back down…She made desperate attempts on many sides, she twisted and turned with hands and feet and immersed them ever deeper in the blind sweetness of Love, and of the man.”
–trans. A.T. Hatto, rev. Francis G. Gentry

Regardless of how you interpret the tie binding these two, however, it’s clear that Guy is becoming strangled by it. In the villains’ second scene, the falcon theme continues, and here’s how the novel phrases it:

“There is a certain technique to falconry. Loose the hawk when the quarry is too close and there will be little or no pleasure in the kill. But if you wait too long and give the bird too far to fly, then you may never see it again.
The Sheriff of Nottingham had a fine hawk. He had one of the most experienced falconers in the country. He had a crowd of grooms and a dozen austringers – foot-servants carrying small frames for the hawk to sit on. He had beaters with spaniels to stir up the game and he had a fast horse on which to pursue it. But he didn’t have the technique. He had given his hawk too many long chases and now he had lost it.”

De Rainault’s possessive, selfish, ultimately inept command of his creatures is emphasized here, and in the filmed version, both Gisburne’s words and the falcon’s actions suggest what the Sheriff risks if he doesn’t loosen his grip:

Robert: What’s happened to the wretched bird; where the devil has it got to?
Guy: {matter-of-fact, with a hint of “I told you so”} Flown off, my lord.

(“I brought up a falcon for more than a year.
When I had him tamed as I wanted
And when I had adorned his feathers with gold,
He raised himself up high and flew to another land…”)

Robert: Rubbish! He’ll come to the lure.
(In the book, Robert offers the lure – a piece of flesh – from his own gloved hand.)
Guy: {more softly, shaking his head reproachfully} You’ve made him do too much.
(This mirrors Gisburne’s feeling about the Sheriff and himself; it also shows the knowledge which he – as a nobleman – has of falconry, that de Rainault does not.)

Robert: ‘Made him do too much?’ Don’t be absurd, Gisburne! That’s the finest falcon in the country! He’s perched up there somewhere, I know he is! Gorging himself on some–listen! Can you hear his bells?

(“My hawk, whom I had nurtured,
I made you wear a bell of gold
so you’d be the keener in hunting.

Now you’ve risen like the sea.
You tore your jesses and flew away,
once you were confident in your hunting.”
–Anonymous verse, 13th century.)

Guy: No, my lord.
Robert: Well, I can….there! You deaf idiot!

(“…since then I have seen the falcon flying:
He wore silken jesses on his feet,
And his feathers were all red-gold.
God bring together those who want to love each other!”
–Der von Kürenberg, mid-12th century.)

Hunting-birds are trained neither by loyalty nor fear, but through appetite, taught to regard the falconer as the sole source of food, and Gisburne – a knight without wealth, wife, or self-worth – is ruled by appetites of gluttony, envy, lust, and wrath. Up until now he’s performed quite well, obeying orders as the Sheriff’s creature must. But if a trained falcon is ever allowed to hunt for himself, then the falconer will lose control of the bird; likewise, ever since the Sheriff’s order to “do as you wish” last episode, Guy is lashing out against the Sheriff instead of giving him unquestioning obedience.

In their third scene, the villains eat while the Sheriff feeds his bird, finally allowing the creature meat now that the hunt has ended. Robert takes no flesh himself (3), but Guy’s meal of chicken further identifies knight with falcon, as chickens – both the flesh and the live birds – were used in training falcons to the hunt. (This is one reason falconry was a costly pursuit: it required flocks of chickens and all of their associated expenses.) Then Guy lifts Albion and begins examining it, while Robert holds out pieces of flesh to Ajax on a knife-tip.

Visually the foil is superb, as the entire scene is framed in pairs, with everything coupled and artfully arranged: goblets, plates, servants, pennants, foreground candles, background candelabra, and of course, the two seated men. That the villains are at cross-purposes is shown by their contrasting moods and actions: Gisburne grumpily devours dead flesh and handles a sword, while the gloating Sheriff feeds a live raptor with a dagger. Then the liege notices his vassal’s interest in Albion, and though de Rainault could have just ordered Gisburne to put the sword down, he instead smashes the sword from Guy’s hand with his dagger:

This startling overreaction can play into the “power” or “desire” aspect of the falcon metaphor, as the gesture – in which the shorter man wields the shorter blade – identifies the men themselves with their weapons. That de Rainault’s knife snaps down Gisburne’s sword underscores the Sheriff’s obsessive need for control, and whether the blade symbolises martial and social power (as weapon and symbol of rank) or virile power (as phallus)–

–and I wouldn’t be the first person to suggest the latter idea–

–the gesture works either way. In my opinion, both sorts of power are intended, and they’re matched to the men who seek them, by the only visual elements which are not paired up: the Sheriff wears red and sits next to the falcon, while Gisburne is dressed in blue and placed nearer the guardsman.

This scene’s all about dominance: the Sheriff gives food to the bird, crows over his triumph, reaffirms Albion as his possession, and asserts control over Gisburne. Meanwhile, Gisburne sits placidly, just chomping on chicken while the Sheriff interrogates the prisoners, showing that he’s still kept docile and subservient by his appetites – that, like the bird, he’ll never be free as long as he calmly accepts whatever the Sheriff chooses to give. The Sheriff, for his part, allows both Ajax and Guy to eat their fill only when they’re quiet and obedient, demonstrating just what sort of master he is. His abuses are further suggested by the dagger he wields; despite Hollywood depictions of medieval folks as grubby savages, to eat with a weapon then was about as bizarre as carving a roast with a wood-axe would be today (which is why Guy usually tackles his meals with a little historically-accurate eating knife). And by that time, the art of falconry was so respected that some hardcore devotees kept separate utensils, trappings, and dishes for their birds. That the Sheriff feeds both himself and his pet with a dagger – the same knife he later uses to threaten a peasant – is quite boorish and shocking, implying a disrespect for nobility that’s certainly proven out by his jibes at Gisburne.

Figuratively, the falcon could be the object of desire or could represent love in the abstraction; either way, the one depicted holding the falcon was the one who had control–

–yet this episode never shows either Gisburne or the Sheriff to have the upper hand. The bird doesn’t take food from the Sheriff’s fingers – which had the same meaning in medieval art as the expression “eating out of your hand” does today – but from the tip of his knife. Neither man ever walks with a bird on the glove, and anytime the Sheriff reaches for one of the creatures, it startles and flutters. It’s certain that the Sheriff wants absolute and unquestioned control, but it’s also implied that he isn’t worthy of the power he seeks, by either breeding or behaviour. This theme, of the waning Sheriff and his suffocated creatures, will recur in season 3, and Gisburne will always be present when the metaphor is invoked. But whether you see power or passion (or both) in the Sheriff’s words and deeds, the Faustian bargain he offers his underling is quite clear:

“I ask for so little. Just let me rule you, and you can have everything that you want.”

Robin of Sherwood promotes two grand ideals: that of individual liberty and self-determination (as opposed to the controlling relationship of vassal and liege), and that of love and human-kindness (contrasted with the cold-blooded self-service of the Normans). These falconry scenes show an unnatural, topsy-turvy order in which a young, strong, able-bodied man is held in thrall to an inept, iron-willed master whose powers are in decline. The two men are mismatched in every sense; really, Gisburne is limited only by his own subservient self-loathing, and de Rainault will lose the knight if he ever realises his own capability. This is made worse by the coldness and cruelty between the pair, as well as the social distance that might be transcended by genuine affection, if either man could learn to feel and show it – whether as a father-son dynamic such as neither man seems to have known, or a brother-love akin to what the Merries share, or even like the loyalty of falcons – who mate for life – to their own kind.

Of course, these scenes in The Power of Albion follow their own internal logic and don’t require any greater meaning: the Sheriff’s going hunting, so he’s looking over his birds. He’s taking Gisburne with him, because – well, hell if I know, because it’s like those Star Trek away teams where both captain and first officer beam down, but anyway, Guy’s going, so the men walk together in order to be doing something besides just standing around and yammering about Robin Hood. They walk and stop before each bird, both to examine the creature and because it’s a good, measured interval for them to stroll. But the falconry scenes are truly fantastic with a little more background and interpretation – or, in this case, lots and lots and lots of interpretation.

So, I’ll conclude this rant with a truly horrible pun, and inform you that, in the future, I’ll be referring to moments of angsty homoerotic subtext in Robin of Sherwood, as…wait for it….

Hawkward.

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Notes:
(1) You can even see a falcon hunt in the first 15 meters of the Bayeux Tapestry, and it establishes the Norman ruler’s righteousness by making him look all highbrow and manly.

(2) This is probably just how Grace points at stuff, but it amuses me to see the TOTALLY NOT A SORCERER Sheriff indicate the bird with a magical gesture:
“Jupiter (both the planet and the god) rules the forefinger. The middle finger is ruled by the god and planet Saturn…Many spells involve pointing with the Jupiter and Saturn fingers, usually at an object to be charged or imbued with magical energy.”
–Scott Cunningham, from Wicca: A Guide for the Solitary Practitioner.

(3) Having been vegetarian for many years, I tend to notice when others refuse meat, and it strikes me that the Sheriff never eats anything except fruit, cheese, and bread. “Pythagorean” seems a strangely austere character choice for the Sheriff of Nottingham, so if it’s deliberate, I can only surmise that either the actor is vegetarian, or the Sheriff is a closet sorcerer or Druid and avoids flesh for occult reasons. (But he’s TOTALLY NOT A SORCERER, y’all.)

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