The Tournament of Blood aktm-11

by Michael Jecks

  As he approached Alice, she began to shake her head in frantic denial, and gave a shriek of horror.

  The next morning, Simon was in a filthy temper after a poor night’s sleep. Although Lord Hugh had celebrated the knighting of so many youths along with everyone else, the discovery of the second body had made him thoughtful, while whenever Simon caught the eye of the King Herald, the man’s manner left no ambiguity about his opinion of the Bailiff.

  As if that was not sufficient, he also had the matter of his daughter’s deception and apparent love affair with the insolent, overbearing heir of Sir John of Crukerne. It was not a match Simon could sanction, not after the way that Edith and William had deceived him. Edith’s behaviour had hurt him – although William’s was no surprise. He was his father’s son.

  Edith might not be quite the apple of Simon’s eye as once she had been, but she was still his daughter, and Simon was convinced that a father-in-law like Sir John would make her life miserable. Also there was another factor to be measured: Simon had always felt that a man’s son often grew to be like his father, and he had a fear that, should Edith marry William, the latter would, in years to come, be more rough, more casually violent and cruel. Especially when given a focus for his bile – the daughter of a Bailiff. Simon could almost hear the scorn in his voice: ‘And your father was little better than a peasant, was he? No wonder you don’t know how to behave among the nobility!’ In his mind’s eye he could see Edith weeping herself to sleep after he had taken her roughly and unkindly, too filled with wine to care about her feelings.

  Simon was certain that she would have a miserable time of it should she wed the boy, but that didn’t stop her proudly declaring her love for him. The Bailiff only prayed that she hadn’t been stupid enough to spread her legs for him.

  He walked out of the castle and down to the tented area, and here he saw Baldwin. The knight was resting on a low stool with a cup in his hand, while to his side sat a very hungover-looking Coroner Roger. ‘Wine, Simon?’ Baldwin said heartily. ‘I hear it takes away sour tastes from too much food the night before.’

  ‘A jug would be better,’ Simon said, noticing how Roger winced and swallowed on hearing wine mentioned. ‘Ale for you, Coroner?’

  ‘Bailiff, you are a cruel and vicious man. Has anyone told you that before?’

  Baldwin jerked his head to his servant, but it was unnecessary. Edgar had already marched into the tent to fetch the men their drink.

  ‘How is Margaret this fine morning?’ he enquired once Simon had taken his ease on the trestle table holding Baldwin’s armour.

  ‘She’s all right – if you ignore her tiredness and annoyance at Edith’s attitude.’

  ‘So there has been no truce?’

  ‘Truce be buggered! There’ll be no peace until I take a belt to her backside. Even Hugh has given up. He left Edith to my tender care last evening. Usually he would guard her to her chamber, but not in her present mood!’

  Baldwin shrugged. Sometimes young creatures had to be punished, but he wasn’t sure that a beating would achieve much in Edith’s case. ‘What of the murders? Is there anything new?’ he asked, trying to delay the moment when he would have to impart the unpalatable information Squire Andrew had given to him about William’s behaviour and intentions.

  ‘Christ’s bones! I am baffled,’ Simon grunted into his jug. ‘What do you think?’

  Baldwin glanced up at his servant’s face. ‘You’ve heard the gossips talk, Edgar. What do they say?’

  Edgar spoke reluctantly. ‘Many here still seem to believe that the Bailiff killed the two men, because they heard the King Herald accuse him; and there is a belief that Lord Hugh only protected him because Lord Hugh himself told you to kill them, sir.’

  ‘Me! Me!’ Simon exclaimed. ‘Why should I agree to murder that pair of galloping sodomites?’

  Edgar coughed. ‘They say you were paid exceedingly well, Bailiff.’

  ‘But that is ridiculous! Why should Lord Hugh want to punish them? Has anyone an explanation for that?’

  ‘They say that the collapse of the stands reflects badly upon him personally. Even the failure at Crukerne, which was paid for by Sir John, enraged Lord Hugh because he had guests of his own in the stand. And any man who insults or steals from Lord Hugh’s vassal is stealing from Lord Hugh himself. He is proud of his status.’

  ‘You see how these things get about?’ Baldwin grumbled. ‘We must solve the matter as swiftly as possible – not only as a matter of justice to the two dead men, but also to wipe the dirt from your name, old friend.’

  ‘I have paid a fellow to ask questions at the taverns and alehouses, and one innkeeper says he saw Hal in his inn, drinking with another man. He didn’t get a good look at the man that Hal was with, but the pair of ’em left late at night. Where could they have gone?’ Coroner Roger asked, adding thoughtfully, ‘We haven’t yet spoken to the watchman who guarded Hal’s tent.’

  ‘A good point, Coroner,’ Baldwin said. ‘What facts do we have? We know the killer must be fit and healthy. Anyone who could carry Wymond down from the hill and back inside his tent must have a certain amount of strength.’

  ‘Wonderful! So almost anyone among all the contestants here could be the man,’ Simon said sarcastically. ‘And the servants, and most of the local farmers – and many of the townspeople. That makes our task so much easier.’

  ‘Simon, calm yourself. We shall prove your innocence,’ Baldwin said seriously.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ve never felt like this before,’ Simon muttered, passing a hand over his brow. He felt fractious and peppery from lack of sleep and a surfeit of worry.

  Baldwin said patiently, ‘Let us just whittle the possible culprits down a little, shall we? We know that Hal and Wymond could have been at the site at any hour of the day or night. Who else could have been there? At night there is a nominal curfew, and no one but Lord Hugh’s men should be in the area.’

  ‘So?’ Simon demanded.

  ‘The watchmen may have seen someone. Surely if there was a stranger about, they’d know.’

  ‘And what if they didn’t?’ Coroner Roger scoffed.

  ‘We have a number of possible motives for these murders,’ Baldwin said slowly. ‘We know that the three were thought of as spies, which would have made them enemies; we know that people reckon Lord Hugh could have wanted them dead… ’

  ‘That’s rubbish!’ Simon protested.

  ‘Possibly,’ Baldwin agreed, ‘but we have to consider it nonetheless. Then there is the point that these men have all in their time been involved with building stands which have collapsed.’

  ‘What of it?’ Coroner Roger said.

  ‘I cannot stop myself from returning to the idea that there could be a desire for revenge, and that it is that which is causing these murders.’

  Odo saw them leave Baldwin’s tent and was tempted to join them, but decided against it. He had passed a cold, lonely night, wishing that he had a warm, comforting woman in his bed with him.

  When he had told Baldwin that he needed only a tune, his ready wit, some poetry and a purse of money, he hadn’t counted on having all four thwarted by a malicious King Herald. Most of the diseurs were living up at the castle, but not Odo. Mark had set him to stay in the field in his inadequate tent, keeping an eye on the people to stop fights while Mark himself took full advantage of Lord Hugh’s hospitality and wine.

  No, Odo had woken up, shivering and lonely. He wouldn’t be good company for anyone. Besides, Simon and Baldwin had the appearance of men who were about to perform an unpleasant duty – especially since they were joined by the Coroner – and Odo was happy to leave them to it. He already had enough on his mind from the previous night.

  Poor Alice had been overwhelmed when she heard of Geoffrey’s death. She had fallen to the floor and had to be carried out and taken to a chamber in the bailey, which had necessarily dampened the festivities. People whispered that she would be unlikely to survive her young husband’s dea
th by many days. Odo, who had acted as the couple’s go-between, was upset to see such beauty devastated by so great a sorrow.

  Still, the sun was already warm, even this early, and he had bought a pot of warmed wine and a hot pastry to break his fast. To Odo there was nothing more delightful than a good breakfast, with the knowledge that the day held little in the way of work. After all, no one in their right mind could call the job of diseur strenuous.

  It was pleasant here near the river. The water rushing past was noisy but comforting. Even at night it was soothing, although Odo would have preferred to sleep at the castle, which he would have done, had it not been for that fool, King Herald.

  ‘Talk of the devil,’ Odo murmured to himself as a shadow fell over his open tent-flap.

  ‘Still eating?’ Mark Tyler snapped. ‘You’ve got work to get on with.’

  ‘I am just finishing my meal,’ Odo said calmly.

  ‘Didn’t you eat enough last night?’

  ‘No, I didn’t have time. As you well know.’ Odo had been ordered by Mark to play music to Lord Hugh and his guests, and when he had finished there was practically no food left. Another of Tyler’s little jokes. Mark himself had retired early.

  ‘Oh, I was thinking that perhaps you didn’t sleep well, and that gave you an appetite!’

  Odo smiled. ‘It was very quiet here, King Herald. All the knights and their squires were tired and slept soundly, and so did I. Any noise was drowned by that lovely river. It smothers even the loudest snores.’

  As he had expected, a tremor of annoyance passed over Tyler’s face on hearing this, and with a stern command to finish his food and get to the field ready for the day’s jousting, Tyler whirled around and – well, if he had been a woman, Odo would have said he flounced off. Tyler wanted Odo to sleep badly. That was why he had installed him here, in the midst of the squires and knights.

  Mark Tyler had instinctively disliked Odo from the first moment they had met. He had let his eyes run slowly down the other herald’s tabard, taking in the rich cloth before sneeringly asking how long he had been a herald, as if its freshness was proof of his incompetence. His words to Odo had been insulting, sly digs at his background and training. Mark Tyler had been in the Courtenay service for many long years, whereas Odo had learned his trade in the King’s continental lands, wandering from one lord to another.

  Yet for all Mark’s apparent contempt for Odo, his fear of him was almost palpable. He was petrified that he could lose his position, and saw Odo as the threat that could topple him from his perch.

  This privately amused Odo. He had not taken any interest in Mark’s position when he first arrived. He was happier wandering, as so many heralds and diseurs did, learning new songs, new tunes, and constantly looking out for deeds to record, new coats-of-arms to memorise. Every so often he would hear of a tournament and ride to it, offering his services to the lord who was patronising the event. He would remain there a while, partaking of the lord’s generosity, but always happy to be moving on again.

  Mark’s antipathy towards him had made him react, and once having sensed the possibility of taking over the post of King Herald, he was tempted. Lord Hugh looked after his men, and those in his household lacked nothing: good food, new suits of clothing each year, quantities of wine or ale each day… and wherever the Lord stayed, warm rooms and even palliasses. As King Herald, Odo could even expect a decent bed on occasion. The prospect was appealing.

  Of course Mark Tyler would have to leave first, but that was no problem. From the little that Odo had heard from Sir Peregrine, the knight banneret clearly considered the King Herald to be incompetent and thought Mark Tyler should be replaced. He had said as much only yesterday. When Simon and Baldwin had rushed away to seek Edith, Sir Peregrine had muttered to Odo, ‘That cretin Tyler will have to go. He’s a liability – useless and an embarrassment. After your efforts, I’ll be happy to drop a good word in Lord Hugh’s ear for you.’

  ‘That is very kind of you,’ he had replied, ‘but I am content.’

  ‘Content to wander for the rest of your life? Don’t be a fool. Here you’d have an easy life, and with your singing and playing, you’d please Lord Hugh. Take my advice: when you’re asked, accept the post with gratitude.’

  Odo stood and stretched. His future was all very well, but right now he was a mere herald set to control knights and squires during their jousting and here, in the tented area afterwards, he was a watchman responsible for preventing fights escalating into pitched battles.

  Setting his mazer on a small table, he left his tent, nodding to a servant at the tent opposite and making for the fighting area.

  Everyone was awake now and the noise was all-but deafening. Hawkers bellowed their wares, girls cried out about the quality of their bread or fruits, dogs barked and horses whinnied. As he progressed towards the jousting field, Odo could hear the snarling from a ring in which two dogs fought, the hoarse calls of cocks fighting, men cursing and swearing, cart-wheels creaking and groaning under the weight of cloth or food. And all about was the chatter of people discussing the coming events.

  No, he corrected himself. Not all were discussing the events: several were talking about the murders.

  It had been odd to see the Bailiff turn pale and then redden yesterday when Mark had accused him of murder. True, Bailiff Puttock had threatened the two dead men – but only in the same way that others could have done. In fact, even as Mark Tyler accused Simon of murder, Odo had thought that of the two men, the red, porcine features of the King Herald looked infinitely more likely to be those of a murderer than the tall and pleasant-featured Bailiff. Odo wondered whether Sir Peregrine had also thought that. In any case, it was plain that Lord Hugh did not intend to have his hired Bailiff accused during his tournament. He had stepped in sharply enough when Odo had pointed at the confrontation.

  Odo would be interested to know why Lord Hugh was so keen to protect Simon. But it was probably for no special reason.

  He carried on to the stands and stood with arms akimbo, considering the watchmen as they strolled about the place, thrusting their heavy staffs into the longer grasses in a lacklustre manner. They might have been told to look about for possible assassins or dead bodies, but their every movement showed that they would prefer to be in their rooms with jugs of ale.

  Yes, it would be interesting to be a member of Lord Hugh’s household, he reckoned. And as this reflection occurred to him, he caught sight of a slim, frail-looking figure walking along the riverbank. ‘Thank God,’ he breathed with real pleasure. ‘I’m glad you’ve recovered a little, Lady Alice.’

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Edith had been determined to give her parents the slip for at least one hour in the day to see her squire, and yet it proved almost impossible. Even Hugh, who had been her ally in her last attempts to see William, had grown reticent, mumbling about how angry her father, his master, would be if Hugh were to help her.

  After breaking their fast, Simon had hurried away, his face set into an anxious mask, and Margaret had chewed fretfully at her lip as she watched him leave the hall. Edith knew that her parents were both concerned after Simon had been accused, but it was too stupid as far as she was concerned. No one could seriously believe that her father might have had anything to do with the murders; Lord Hugh himself had squashed the rumours, telling everyone that Simon was guiltless. In her youth and innocence, Edith found it impossible to believe that a man so plainly honourable could be a serious suspect.

  Margaret had seen men accused on less evidence and hanged. She knew, from what Simon and Baldwin had let slip over the years, that it was easy enough for a vindictive or foolish man to persuade a gullible jury to condemn an innocent man and, having felt the waves of hatred at the ber frois yesterday, she had no wish to see her husband set before a local jury or the county’s grand jury. He had enough enemies among the families of those whom he had sent to the gallows who would be happy to pay others to perjure themselves or bribe a jury to find
him guilty.

  ‘If only we could leave here now,’ she said.

  ‘Mother, it’ll all be fine,’ Edith said dispassionately.

  ‘Don’t be a fool, Edith. You were there yesterday – you must see your father’s in danger,’ Margaret snapped.

  ‘He’ll be safe. Lord Hugh won’t want to embarrass the Abbot of Tavistock.’

  Margaret bit back a sharp rejoinder. ‘The Abbot is a long way away.’

  ‘Don’t be angry with me, Mother.’

  ‘How can I not be angry after the way you deceived your father and me?’

  ‘I didn’t deceive you, I just–’

  ‘You deliberately concealed your behaviour with that youth.’

  ‘He’s not a “youth”, he’s a knight. Wouldn’t you like me to marry the son of a nobleman? He’ll inherit his father’s manor some day.’

  Margaret felt a headache begin to throb dully behind her temples. ‘Edith, I don’t want to argue with you. You are not to see that boy again yet. I need time to bring your father round to agree to let you see him. Then you can decide whether you seriously want to marry him.’

  ‘Very well, Mother,’ Edith said meekly. ‘I love him. I could tell that when I saw him fall from his horse, but I won’t see him secretly if you don’t want me to. Still, I’d like to watch the jousting. There can’t be any harm in that.’

  ‘I suppose not,’ Margaret said wearily as a figure appeared in the doorway.

  It was Sir Peregrine and he peered about the room as he walked inside.

  ‘Good day,’ Margaret said. When he stepped into the shaft of light from the hall’s window, she saw how exhausted he was. His face was lined and pale. ‘Are you well?’

  ‘Just tired,’ he said, smiling. ‘While there is a murderer about, I serve my lord by keeping guard outside his door. I didn’t sleep.’