The Tournament of Blood

by Michael Jecks

  Knighthood, he felt, was given less than its due respect. Probably it was the fault of the kings who had insisted that base-born men should be permitted to join the knighthood – indeed should be forced to join if they earned enough money. This distraint was no doubt good for the Treasury, but it meant that men who could scarcely lift an axe with both hands were now being received into the ranks of the knights.

  William had no qualms about joining it himself. He knew that he was different; he had been born to the nobility. All his youth he had been educated in weapons, in handling swords and knives, maces, axes and lances. His honour was beyond doubt, for it was his birthright.

  Even a knight requires leisure, though, and today William wandered among the tents of knights and tradesmen, standing a while to watch the youths of the town playing with their bows and arrows, wrestling, or gambling on two dogs fighting. Children were stoning chickens, and William paused to watch until one child, angry at a competitor’s use of a heavy stone, went to the maimed cock and broke its neck with one easy flick of his wrist. That led to a short flurry of fists as both boys tried to determine whose bird it was, a tussle that was cut short by a large forester who picked up one boy in each huge hand and held them apart with a bemused expression, then clouted them both over the head once he had set them back on the ground.

  William grinned at the sight and was about to move away when he saw her.

  She was a good height, slim, with slanted green eyes that looked on the brink of laughter. Young, certainly, but with a fiery temperament, he fancied. With her complexion he guessed she must be fair-haired beneath her wimple, and when the sun caught her face she seemed to glow from within. At her side was a thin, scowling man dressed like a servant. He must be her chaperone. William saw the two join the gamblers at the fight, saw them pause to egg on the dogs. The chaperone stayed watching when she wandered a few feet to a stall selling wine. William observed her, feeling the stirrings of excitement.

  The young squire never willingly lost an opportunity to prove his worth in the battle of the sexes. He walked slowly towards her, and as he approached and she noticed his intent gaze fixed upon her, he bowed, low and reverent. ‘My Lady,’ he breathed.

  ‘Sir.’

  Her tone was not welcoming, but often a woman would try to conceal her true feelings, he knew. She was younger than he had thought – perhaps not yet fifteen. Probably a virgin. William had enjoyed virgins before, among the peasants on his father’s lands, but this girl was no rough and uneducated wench to be easily persuaded to take a tumble with her lord’s son. She was so well-dressed and graceful in her movements, she must be the daughter of a wealthy man; that would make taking her maidenhead all the more pleasurable. He would enjoy snatching her from under the eyes of a rich parent or guardian, he considered, smiling wolfishly.

  Taking a quick look about him to see that his father was nowhere near, he continued with his attack.

  ‘Lady, I am blinded. Your beauty outshines the sun herself. Your radiance burns me. Your smile could cure a thousand ills and put to flight a legion of devils, for while a perfection such as you exists upon this earth, all ugliness is doomed.’

  ‘Your attention is not wanted,’ she stated with calm precision, like a much older woman. ‘Please leave me.’

  ‘Never!’ he declared, swiftly moving to block her retreat. ‘All I offer is my service as a knight. I —

  ‘You? A knight?’ she asked in a rush as though she was at once overtaken with enthusiasm, but then she sniffed and said more warily, ‘I don’t see your arms or sword.’

  He grinned. ‘I anticipate myself. I shall be dubbed during this festival, and then my arms will be your arms, my sword yours; my heart is yours already.’

  As he spoke he realised that they were no longer alone. The servant had approached and stood at his shoulder.

  She too had noticed, and now she smiled as she sipped her wine.

  The servant said gruffly, ‘Are you all right, miss?’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Hugh. I think the good squire is about to leave.’

  ‘I would prefer to wait and talk, Lady.’

  ‘And I would prefer to be alone. So please leave me – otherwise I might have to ask my servant, Hugh here, to keep you from me,’ she said.

  ‘I doubt a servant could keep me from you,’ William said bravely, but he didn’t like the look of the large stick this Hugh carried. It looked well-used.

  She frowned. ‘You shouldn’t judge Hugh by his dress. He is a good fighter – but more to the point, if you were to be seen attacking him while I called for help, you would be condemned for molesting me. And a squire found brawling with a servant while attempting to shame a woman, would hardly be looked upon as chivalrous, would he?’

  Defeated, William bowed low to her. ‘But my Lady, I shall never attempt to shame you. How could any man look at such loveliness and think of harming it? I shall look to talk to you at the first opportunity,’ he smiled. ‘I can hardly be expected to see such radiant beauty without wishing to enjoy a smile from it. I look forward to seeing you again soon.’

  As soon as he had gone, Edith Puttock, Simon’s daughter, gave Hugh a fierce glower. ‘So what were you doing while I was being insulted by that arrogant twerp?’

  ‘You didn’t look too upset,’ Hugh shrugged.

  Edith surveyed him irritably. ‘That’s a bit rich, Hugh. And don’t put on that frown for my benefit. It may work with Mother, but it doesn’t with me. I know you too well.’

  It was true. Hugh had been her devoted servant ever since she was born; when she wanted a companion or playmate it was always to Hugh that she turned. Her father was too often away from their home for her to consider him in the same light, and in any case Simon was always the stern master of the household. Hugh, on the other hand, was always ready and willing to drop his chores and join her in her games.

  If anything he was even more hound-like in his treatment of her since he had come back to the Puttock household. For the last year or more he had been living with a woman up near Iddesleigh, with Simon’s grudging approval since Hugh had made his oaths at the church door with her. ‘More than I did with you, eh?’ Simon had said to his wife when Hugh told them. Simon and Margaret, Edith’s mother, had made their vows before witnesses in a field during harvest.

  For Edith, who was accustomed to Hugh’s constant presence, it had been odd to see him go. Living without him for a year had been strange, as if an adored brother had died. Worse, somehow, was the discovery that a woman could not only attract him, but could tempt him away from the household where he had made his home, especially since she already carried a child who was not Hugh’s. It intrigued Edith to know what this wife of his was like, but that was not the sort of question she could ask him. The differences in her position and age compared with Hugh’s were too great.

  Yet some subtle change had taken place. He was less deferential than before, less prepared to accept orders. There was a new independence in his manner.

  ‘I thought you wanted to talk to him.’

  ‘An overdressed popinjay like him?’ she demanded scornfully.

  ‘You looked happy enough.’

  ‘Oh, nonsense.’

  ‘You kept sort of smiling at him, like you wanted him to chat.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ she declared with some little alarm. It was true that he had a pleasant enough face, square and rugged without the lines, which all too often denoted cruelty, at his forehead. ‘I was just being polite.’

  ‘I thought you wanted company, that’s all. You’re always saying you do,’ Hugh reminded her.

  ‘Well . . .’ She was torn. There was something about the man which had attracted her. She was still inexperienced in the rules of courtly lovemaking. At home in Lydford she knew all the boys and had kissed a few, but there was little need for professions of love. She wouldn’t dream of marrying Bill or Soll or any of the others, for they were all like brothers, but sometimes it was good to sit on top of a hay rick and cud
dle a youth, allowing him to kiss her, perhaps, but never going too far, for that was a sin. But this lad with his charm and obvious admiration was different. ‘Well, perhaps I wouldn’t mind seeing him again,’ she amended.

  At that moment she heard her mother calling for her. ‘But don’t tell Mother or Father,’ she hissed.

  Hugh shook his head slowly. ‘I wouldn’t.’

  ‘Good. And now I suppose we should see if we can find Father in this madhouse.’

  ‘Why should someone do that to him?’ Simon demanded as Baldwin peered down at the naked corpse.

  The herald grinned nastily at Simon’s pale face. ‘Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it, Bailiff ? Dead within a day of his picking a fight with you.’

  ‘Shut up!’ Simon snarled. ‘If you haven’t anything useful to say, keep quiet.’

  ‘Calm yourself, Bailiff. I was only joking! But never mind. I shall leave you to it. Do you wish me to send for the Coroner?’

  Baldwin nodded. ‘I suppose so. You will have to send a messenger to Exeter. In the meantime, where were you last night?’

  Tyler gaped. ‘Me?’

  ‘It was as likely to be you as Simon here,’ Baldwin said.

  ‘But the Bailiff must have seen me in the hall. We ate our meal there.’

  ‘So you confirm Simon’s innocence.’

  ‘He left a little after dark.’

  ‘What did you do then?’

  ‘Me?’ Tyler repeated, with a rising note of disbelief.

  ‘Yes – You ! What did you do when Simon wasn’t there to give you an alibi?’ Baldwin pressed him.

  Tyler set his jaw. ‘I remained in the hall and drank with Odo, another herald, until I slept. All right? Now what did the Bailiff do after leaving the hall?’

  ‘I went to my bed in the bailey,’ Simon grated. ‘And I was seen by the sentry walking from the hall, I expect, so for Christ’s sake stop accusing me!’

  Tyler curled his lip and did not answer. He turned on his heel and walked away.

  Baldwin gave a grunt of relief. ‘Cretin!’ he said and led the way behind the tent.

  There was a steep bank leading down to the river, which flowed swiftly here. Baldwin stood with an arm wrapped about his chest, his chin cupped in his other hand. Hal Sachevyll wandered slowly after them, looking lost and in a state of shock.

  ‘What is it, Baldwin?’ Simon asked. He was breathing more easily now that the shattered corpse was out of sight, but still the sour taste remained at the back of his throat.

  ‘Someone must have persuaded Wymond to meet him. They walked . . . somewhere, and there Wymond was killed, beaten to death, then somehow taken back to the tent and dumped there,’ Baldwin mused. ‘But surely a fellow like him would be cautious? How was he lured away? What was the murder weapon, and where is it? We have a duty to find it so that the Coroner can confiscate it.’

  Simon nodded. Any weapon used to kill was deodand, forfeit to the Church in order to expiate the sin of murder. ‘Surely it was Wymond’s own hammer that was used?’

  ‘Perhaps, but if so, where is it? Was it tossed in here?’

  Simon bent and peered at the river. ‘Possibly, but with the water flowing so fast it’s hard to see.’

  ‘It won’t be here,’ Baldwin decided. ‘Wymond wouldn’t have been killed so close to his friend. The hammer was used somewhere else and left there. Why bring it here? Or was it kept as a trophy? This is no ordinary felonious murder. The violence used was brutal – quite extreme. Yet I don’t see a madman planning such a killing. The brutality points to a man who sought revenge.’

  ‘Revenge?’ Hal squeaked.

  ‘How well did you know him?’ Simon asked.

  ‘As well as you can know a companion. Wymond and I have often worked together,’ Hal added evasively. He dropped to the ground and wrapped his arms about his thin legs, chin on his knees.

  ‘Was he always so argumentative?’ Simon said.

  Hal took a shivering intake of breath. ‘He was determined to see things done properly, Bailiff. And before you get on your high horse, remember you argued as much with him as the other way about. Just because you’re a Bailiff doesn’t mean you’re better than everyone else.’

  Baldwin grinned at Simon’s discomfort. ‘Enough, Sachevyll. We’re trying to make sense of this foul killing, and you should wish to help us.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then answer our questions. He was the sort of man who’d resort to his fists rather than use words, wasn’t he?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘How long have you known him? Please answer properly.’

  ‘A good fifteen years, I would say. No, more. I met him when I was constructing a marvellous scene for King Edward I, back in 1304. It was a great Arthurian pageant, and no expense was spared!’ His eyes shone with pride at the recollection.

  ‘You have worked with him ever since?’ Simon asked. He had no wish to be sidetracked into the architect’s reminiscences.

  ‘Yes. We worked together again when King Edward II took the throne, and joined forces on the tournament at Exeter in 1306. That was where we met Benjamin Dudenay.’

  ‘Who?’ Simon queried.

  ‘He helped finance us,’ Hal said quickly. ‘Then we went to Wallingford.’

  Baldwin was interested. ‘Wallingford? That was the encounter Piers Gaveston won, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. Piers was wonderful! So tall and graceful! All the nobles were jealous, you know. No one would fight with him.’

  ‘He must have been quite a warrior,’ Simon said grudgingly. Like Baldwin, he had heard that Gaveston was a sodomite. Unnatural men like him repelled Simon.

  Hal grinned slyly. ‘He was young. All the nobles felt he was a cuckoo in their midst, that he was going to keep on taking whatever honours or glory he could, so they united against him.’

  ‘How did he win?’ Simon asked.

  Hal gave a low chuckle. ‘It was easy. The only folk Gaveston could trust were the unimportant: squires and knights with no fortune; all the strong, young bucks with nothing to lose and everything to gain. Opposing them were middle-aged men who would tire and wouldn’t recover so speedily from buffets. Gaveston and his accomplices ran rings around them.’

  ‘I have often seen the same happen. When a team of youths attack older men, the younger will win. Bear that in mind before gambling here, Simon,’ Baldwin said. ‘Hal, did Wymond have many enemies?’

  ‘He was apt to fight, but as head carpenter he often had to. Someone has to keep workers at their jobs.’

  ‘He could be over-zealous in his chastisement?’

  ‘Perhaps. Some may think so, but you can’t be too careful. Stands collapse when they are badly built.’ Hal cast a sidelong look at Simon. ‘Or if the timber’s shite.’

  Baldwin spoke reflectively before Simon could respond. ‘I recall Nefyn. Many were hurt there.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Hal agreed. ‘There were so many in the dancing room that the floor collapsed; I fear one of my own stands has fallen before now.’

  ‘Shoddy workmanship, I expect,’ Simon said dismissively.

  ‘No, Bailiff. It was when Sir John killed Sir Godwin back in the Exeter tournament. As Sir Godwin fell, the crowds were appalled. They all adored him. An extremely popular, courteous knight, he was. Especially among the ladies. In the rush to the front of the stand, people were crushed at the fencing, and then the whole front gave way . . .’

  Hal broke off. He could see it all in his mind’s eye. The awnings and carpets red with blood; blood ran onto the grass, thick and viscous as oil. It had been terrible, a bloodbath. Hal saw a child, a little boy, whose body was almost cut in half by a large beam of wood. Next to him was a woman, then another, a little girl who looked like an angel, with a halo of blood, and a man . . .

  ‘I still have nightmares about it,’ he told them, his voice low and full of horror. ‘It was a scene of carnage. Knights, squires and heralds all tried to rescue the trapped people, but it was so diff
icult in the shifting mass of timber. Men, women and children were killed – eleven when it fell, and more later from their injuries. One family was extinguished, with only the father living, while many children survived orphaned. Lady Alice Lavandar was one: When her mother died, Sir John took her on in penitence. I could never wish to see such a disaster repeated. It was hideous.’

  ‘Sir John took her on, you say?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Why?’

  ‘Didn’t you know? She was Sir Godwin’s daughter.’

  ‘No, I didn’t know,’ Baldwin said.

  Sachevyll cried mournfully ‘No, I could never wish to witness such a disaster again. Once was enough.’

  ‘And yet the same thing happened in 1316 at Crukerne,’ Baldwin said sternly.

  ‘That wasn’t my fault. Sir Richard was forced against the stand and his weight, with that of Sir Walter and their horses, was enough to break the stands. Most of the injuries were from the horse’s death throes as it thrashed. It was awful, but it was nothing to do with me.’

  ‘You don’t think Wymond made any enemies here?’ Baldwin asked.

  ‘Other than’, Hal said coldly, brought back to reality with a lurch, ‘the Bailiff here, you mean?’

  Chapter Ten

  William was determined to see Edith again. Although she was young, that was no barrier. She was attractive, fresh and desirable. If it hadn’t been for that miserable churl hanging around with her, he might have been able to take her off for a walk in the woods.

  Not that he was set on a virgin. Inexperienced women ready to be deflowered were common enough, especially in a field of tournament. Christ’s blood! A man had to be careful to avoid wenches hot with lust when he’d enjoyed a good run at an opponent, for women would scream and throw themselves at the winner. He remembered the last tournament he had attended, when he was a mere boy. It was hard to move on the grass near the field because of all the successful knights covering the ladies who had given them the glad eye beforehand. Oh, one or two of the women played hard to get, but they were often all the hornier when they grappled beneath the sun.