His loud voice had held the audience quiet, but as he reached the group about the body, Baldwin saw that he had not arrived alone. As he turned and faced the crowd, men-at-arms in Sir Peregrine’s livery appeared, all holding long polearms. Under their silent, threatening gaze, the people began to shuffle. It was one thing to intimidate a few men by strength of numbers, but quite another to risk fighting trained men. Muttering, the crowd began to thin.
‘Thank you, Odo,’ Sir Roger said as the people dispersed and Mark Tyler strode away angrily. ‘Could you arrange for a jury to be gathered and for a guard to be placed upon this body until we have fully recorded all injuries?’
‘Of course, Sir Roger,’ and Odo glanced about, reassuring himself that the crowd was dispersing, before returning to his duties. Sir Peregrine went with him.
Simon did not notice him leave. He stood with a feeling of bewilderment. Never before had he been accused of any serious crime. Once or twice men had inferred that he had taken bribes when they disliked his decisions, but never had anyone dared to suggest he could have been guilty of murder! The accusation had struck him like a shot from the King’s artillery. He was utterly stunned now he realised the enormity of the herald’s words; he couldn’t even trust his voice.
It was not anger. In an instant Tyler had hit Simon in a place he had always thought himself secure: in his pride. Simon valued his reputation for honesty, and the fact that a fellow official who was working for Lord Hugh could suggest such a thing had rocked him. When Hal accused him of killing Wymond, that was one thing: the architect had just lost a close friend and was lashing out at the first man he could – Simon hardly looked upon that as personal – but this, from Mark Tyler, was a studied insult. It showed Simon that he was vulnerable to attack, that accusations, unreasonable and unfair could be set against him.
And the accusation had not been withdrawn, he noted. If Tyler chose to continue to declare Simon’s guilt, the Bailiff would be hard-pressed to defend himself. Tyler was powerful enough, since he would likely have the ear of Lord Hugh.
Simon grimly set his shoulders. No matter who made unreasonable accusations against him, he would continue to perform his duty to the best of his ability. And that was all.
It was as he came to this resolution that a young urchin appeared in front of him. ‘Bailiff ?’
‘Yes? What is it?’ Simon barked.
‘A message,’ he said, holding out his grubby hand.
Simon pressed a small coin into it. The lad studied it, then nodded to himself. ‘It’s from your wife. She says your daughter has gone missing.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Baldwin and Simon hurriedly left Sir Roger with the body and set off to the stands. There they saw Sir Peregrine waiting for them.
‘Sir Peregrine, we have to go. Simon’s daughter has disappeared and—’ Baldwin began, but Sir Peregrine shook his head and looked at Simon apologetically.
‘Bailiff, I’m sorry, but these murders are causing a very great deal of alarm as you can imagine, and people are making all sorts of wild allegations.’
‘We agree,’ Baldwin said. ‘We must investigate this latest killing with great urgency. Two murders and we still have no idea who could have committed them, nor why! We must do all we can to find the culprit. After all, a man who has committed two murders may well commit another. We are fortunate that the Coroner is here.’
‘Quite right!’ shouted Mark Tyler.
Simon groaned as the King Herald appeared. ‘What now, Tyler? Why don’t you return to your duties here?’
The herald gave him a sour grin. ‘That’s just what you’d like, isn’t it, Bailiff ? Get rid of me so that your guilt can never be proved.’
‘That’s bollocks, as you well know!’ Simon flushed.
‘Really? Then you won’t mind proving your innocence in front of the jury, will you?’
‘There is no need for that,’ Baldwin said sharply. ‘No one seriously believes that Simon is guilty.’
‘That’s not strictly true,’ said Sir Peregrine. ‘Mark Tyler has come to me to officially declare his belief that the good Bailiff here is guilty.’ He glanced at Baldwin apologetically, then turned his attention back to Simon. ‘I have no desire to be involved, quite frankly, but I have little choice. Lord Hugh has no options either.’
Mark Tyler smirked as Sir Peregrine outlined the position. It was enough for Tyler to have accused this Bailiff, without having to worry about the consequences. He was content with the reflection that he himself had been able to point it out. That would surely weigh heavily in his favour in Lord Hugh’s mind.
The tournaments were continuing, with squires testing their courage in the yard. From duty Lord Hugh remained on his seat, toying with a large mazer of wine, while all about him the stands erupted in cheering or booing as one after another of the contestants tumbled to the ground, for these were the younger squires, the ones with least skill and expertise. It would be many a long month before they had the ability or the strength to challenge a real warrior, but at least they were getting their knocks and being winded, which was always a good experience for a man.
Mark Tyler noted the scene with only a part of his brain. Most of his attention was focused on Odo, the man brought in by Sir Peregrine, he felt sure, to replace him. Devious, lying churl that he was! He’d inveigled his way into Lord Hugh’s household like a slug, slithering in and leaving his slime over all that he touched. Well, he’d better watch out. Mark was too fly for him; he wasn’t going to give up his place at his lord’s side for anyone. No, this odious Odo must get his comeuppance. Mark was no fool and he’d see to the arse.
Odo had finished monitoring the latest joust and there was a short pause in the events while Lord Hugh left the stand to take a piss against one of the grandstand’s stanchions. While he was gone, Odo trotted on his pony towards the huddle of men, his expression bemused. ‘What’s happening?’ he asked.
‘I have accused the Bailiff of murder,’ Mark told him haughtily.
Odo glanced at Mark with an expression of surprise. ‘But the Bailiff is needed by Lord Hugh.’
Mark stiffened. ‘The man is a killer! Would you have him next to your own lord?’
‘I’ve killed no one here,’ Simon sputtered angrily. He would have liked to continue, but Odo cut him off.
‘There is no need to worry, Bailiff. I am sure that Mark has merely made an error. Isn’t that right, Mark?’
‘I’ve made no . . .’
‘Lord Hugh was very specific just now that he wishes the Bailiff back at his side as soon as possible.’
Mark stared at Odo. There was unsheathed steel in the other herald’s voice, a conviction and firmly threatening tone. Mark turned to Sir Peregrine and would have appealed to his better judgement, except he caught sight of a wink from Sir Peregrine to Odo: the two were in league! Mark felt his guts lurch, but then he managed to reply with hauteur. ‘Of course. We can’t have a murderer arrested, can we?’
‘Lord Hugh was sure you would retract your allegation,’ Odo said, with emphasis. ‘He is convinced that the good Bailiff is innocent.’
‘Then of course I withdraw,’ Mark agreed tightly. ‘If my lord tells me so, it must be true.’
He couldn’t wait and listen to their chatter; he had to get away. Being beaten like that by a man so new to the trade he could scarcely call out the colours of Lord Hugh’s own host was a proof, if he had needed it, that Lord Hugh’s patronage was gone. The writing was on the wall; Mark could see that. He had known for some little time that Sir Peregrine was disatisfied with him, but he hadn’t realised just how low was the esteem in which the banneret held him. It was a shock that Peregrine would side with a new herald and a Bailiff who was not even of Lord Hugh’s household in order to get rid of him, Mark Tyler, King Herald.
The Bailiff had been a thorn in his side from the moment they had first met. Big-headed shit! He thought he knew how to set out a tournament, how to lay out horse-lines, how to site stand
s, where to put lance-rests and equipment. As a mere Bailiff, Mark considered that Simon had managed reasonably well – but that didn’t alter his opinion that the Bailiff was a cocky old fool with little idea of how to perform the simplest task. And he had quarrelled with both Hal and Wymond. He was the obvious suspect! Mark had to wonder why on earth Lord Hugh should bother to protect him.
Then Mark recalled the disaster at Crukerne where folks had died, mainly because Hal and Wymond had scrimped on the timber. The stand had collapsed when that fool of a knight, Sir Richard Prouse, fell upon it, and spectators were crushed beneath his mount. Hal and Wymond had promised to erect suitable stands and then thieved Sir John’s money for their own purposes. That horrible accident had enraged Lord Hugh himself, for he had friends in the stands who could have been wounded.
Well, sod them! If Mark couldn’t accuse the Bailiff himself, he knew how to spread gossip.
Arriving at a wineseller, Mark sank a large pot. ‘It was the Bailiff.’
‘Eh?’ The wine-seller gazed at him blankly, already more than half-drunk himself.
‘That Bailiff killed Hal and Wymond,’ Mark said. ‘Probably thought Lord Hugh would reward him. After all, Lord Hugh hated the two sodomites.’
The wine-seller nodded knowingly, but Mark was sure he hadn’t taken it in. No matter. He could see another man listening intently, from a table in the corner. Mark knew the rumour would be all over the place by dark.
There was little or no satisfaction in it. Mark knew his position was gone. His thoughts became more and more gloomy. It was obvious that Sir Peregrine wanted him out of the way; that Odo coveted his position for himself. No one would support Mark. All were keen to see the back of him.
Perhaps he should leave. Go to France, to the south where it was warm, or to Bavaria. There were good opportunities for an experienced herald there, so he had heard. New tournaments were being arranged there all the time, with all the great families lining up to display their finery and bash the living daylights out of each other. A herald could pick up a patron with ease, if he had a good tongue and could sing new songs, and the English ones that filled much of Mark’s repertoire should be new enough for any Swabian or Bavarian count.
He squinted up at the sun as a wave of sadness washed over him. It was all very well talking about going to visit new countries, but Mark was happy here in Devon. The thought of packing his few belongings and traipsing over to Europe held no appeal.
Yet it could become necessary. If Sir Peregrine and Odo had their way, he would soon be forced from his position. And the Bailiff, too, wanted him gone. He was playing the same game as Sir Peregrine and Odo.
He purchased more wine and gazed glumly into the depths of the liquid. The trouble was, if they were all to gang up against him, he was powerless. The worm Odo must feel that he as good as had Mark’s job already.
Well, he hadn’t! The herald squared his shoulders. He would see off any man who tried to get him thrown from his master’s household.
Any man at all, he thought, as a picture of Odo appeared unbidden in his mind.
When Simon saw Edith, he felt an overwhelming relief that she was all right, but that was quickly washed away when he saw with whom she walked.
It was among the food stalls that he sighted her. He and Baldwin had hurried that way as soon as they had spoken to Margaret. The tearful woman was standing at the rear of the stand while Hugh glowered at the world, wanting to seek Edith but unwilling to leave his mistress. Margaret was consumed with dread for what might have happened to her daughter.
‘You were right to stay with Meg,’ Simon said when he’d heard the story. As he spoke he was jostled by a burly fellow, who looked the Bailiff up and down insolently before carrying on his way. If Simon had been less concerned about his daughter, he would have demanded an apology, but as it was, he let the incident pass. ‘Did either of you see where she went?’
‘Couldn’t,’ Hugh mumbled. He was prone to sulkily muttering towards the ground when he wasn’t sure of his actions, and today his black countenance showed his concern. ‘Had to help the mistress from the stand.’
‘Was it bad in there?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Everyone looked at us,’ Margaret sobbed. ‘Someone said Simon had been responsible for a murder – that he killed the designer.’
‘News travels fast,’ Baldwin commented. He looked up to find himself being stared at by a man. Catching Baldwin’s eye, the stranger gave a brief shake of his head and a grimace, then walked away.
It made Baldwin frown, and then he began to watch others about the place. With a chill he saw that many people in the immediate area were eyeing Simon, one or two fingering their belts as though they regretted the fact that their knives had been left behind in accordance with the ordinance against carrying weapons to a tournament. Men became tribal in their support of their own champions against others, and fights were all too common at such events, but never before had Baldwin felt so deeply grateful to the dead King Edward I for his far-sighted restrictions on the carrying of weapons among the public. Only knights and squires could walk armed.
‘She could be anywhere, Simon,’ Margaret declared tearfully.
‘We’ll find her, Meg,’ he said reassuringly.
‘Of course we shall,’ Baldwin soothed. ‘But there is no point in waiting here, Margaret. You should return to the castle and we will contact you there. After all, she may have returned there already.’
Simon gazed about him. ‘You think so? What if Edith should return here? Wouldn’t it be best for Meg to wait and—’
‘If she was to return here, she would surely have done so already. No! Far better that Margaret should wait in the castle,’ Baldwin said firmly, and Hugh nodded.
Simon was willing to be persuaded. ‘If you’re sure. Take her back, Hugh, and Baldwin and I’ll look for Edith. Silly imbecile!’ he added as the other two disappeared in the direction of the castle’s entrance. ‘Where could she have run to?’
Baldwin rested his hand on his friend’s shoulder. He could hear the anxiety in Simon’s voice, and no words were necessary. ‘Come!’
They walked from the stands to the river, and while Simon stayed on the northern bank, Baldwin crossed at his ford and checked the farther side. He found three men with their women concealed in the long grasses, and each time he hoped that one of them would be Edith – and each time he dreaded it. In the event he could not find her, and none of the boys or girls there could help. No one had seen her.
Disappointed, Baldwin continued on his way while Simon kept pace on the other bank. It was as they passed by the line of stalls run by the armourers that Simon suddenly gave a hoarse cry. Glancing towards him, Baldwin saw the direction of his gaze and, following it, found Edith. ‘Thank God,’ he breathed, for although he had not voiced his fear, he had been worried that she might have been captured by an errant lad or a drunk, and perhaps raped or worse. Seeing her chattering delightedly with the well-formed and good-looking man at her side, at least he could be sure that she was unharmed. If she had submitted to the fellow, it was not unwillingly. He eyed the water but decided against trying to cross it here. It was flowing too quickly for his taste, and instead he hurried back to the ford.
‘Edith! Where in God’s name have you been? Your mother has been worrying herself frantic!’ Simon had just about had enough – of everything!
The girl broke away from her lover and joined him. ‘I left the ber frois, Father, as Mother told me, and then she didn’t come out,’ Edith said coolly. ‘Then some men came over and would have molested me.’
Simon studied his daughter. She looked calm, if ratty at being accosted like this, but there was no trace of guilt on her countenance; no flush of shame. He was about to thank the lad at her side when he saw that from his belt the squire carried a woman’s token, and at the same moment he recognised Edith’s neck-scarf.
‘Father, Squire William rescued me,’ she said. ‘Even with his wounds, he came to protect me.
’
‘Yes, very good,’ Simon said coldly. ‘And now I shall take you to your mother so that she can see you’re well. She was petrified; didn’t know where you had got to or whether you’d been captured by some felon.’
‘I shall come along shortly,’ Edith said distantly.
‘You will come now!’
‘I can look after her, Bailiff,’ William said.
‘I thank you, but I can protect her well enough,’ Simon said with poisonous gratitude.
William’s face coloured. ‘I think you should trust the man who has saved her already.’
‘Do you? I think I should not trust the boy she has been seeing behind her parents’ backs.’
‘I haven’t,’ Edith declared hotly.
‘No? You mean that he found that token lying in the road?’ Simon exclaimed angrily, pointing at William’s belt. ‘Don’t lie to me, Edith!’
‘Bailiff, there’s no need to raise your voice,’ William said.
‘I shall speak to my own daughter as I wish, and I would be grateful if you would not interrupt.’
‘Father, William simply happened to be there and saved me from the peasants behind the ber frois. I don’t see why you can’t be thankful that . . .’
‘Some puppy took you away from your mother? Or that he met you clandestinely and has been carrying your token? Or that in order to conceal it from your parents, you chose to lie to me?’
Edith froze at his furious outburst. ‘I didn’t lie to you.’
‘No, you were careful to deceive us more subtly, weren’t you?’
‘Bailiff,’ William tried again, but Simon made a gesture with his hand.
Approaching them, Baldwin saw Simon step forward. He saw him reach for Edith, but at the same time William retreated a pace, his hand whipping to the long-bladed dagger that hung at his belt.
The Tournament of Blood Page 26