The Tournament of Blood

by Michael Jecks

  Edith had no wish to see Hugh in trouble, but this was her chance to escape. She had but two choices: go to Hugh’s aid, in which case he would no doubt take her straight back to the castle and her mother, or disappear from this place as quickly as possible.

  She made her choice. The river gave her an escape, but she must be careful and avoid getting her feet wet. If she were to turn westwards, she would follow the loop of the river around the back of the jousting field away from most prying eyes, but surely that was the direction Hugh would expect her to take. No, she would go eastwards, back towards the market area.

  Resolved, she lifted her skirts and went to the water’s edge. She removed her shoes and stepped reluctantly into the water. ‘Oh!’ It felt freezing. A few short feet away there was a small island in the midst of the river, and she made for it, then crossed to the other side, where she put on her shoes once more and hurried from tree to tree, feeling more and more like a felon avoiding the reeve’s men.

  She had gone a matter of twenty yards when she came across a lad scowling over his shoulder at her. His shirt up over his naked buttocks, he was kneeling between the plump thighs of a grinning girl whose skirts were thrown up over her breast.

  ‘Oh – I . . . I’m sorry,’ she said, flushing bright crimson.

  ‘Haven’t you seen a man and woman together before?’ the youth demanded scathingly.

  Edith left them to their rutting, circling around them in a wide sweep, averting her eyes, but aware of a warm feeling of jealousy. She wanted to be the one lying there on her back, getting leaves and brambles in her hair and clothing, while William knelt above her.

  The thought held her spellbound, and she felt the familiar tremble of desire in her belly. Realising she had come far enough, she looked at the riverbank once more. There was a thick mess of brambles, but a short distance from her was a gap. She pulled her skirts closer to her legs and trod carefully between the thorns, then stepped down into the shingle. Removing her shoes, she warily crossed the river and stood slipping them on again before raising her eyes to the riverbank.

  And screamed.

  Simon had a premonition of disaster as the shrill cry broke out. He turned and his eyes met Baldwin’s, and then he was moving towards the river as fast as his legs would take him, closely followed by Baldwin and Coroner Roger.

  Edith’s scream had come from near the horse-lines, at the riverbank where the pavilion field met the market, and many squires and archers who were not needed by their knights, as well as several knights who would not be jousting for some time, were also hurrying to see what was going on. Simon saw several faces he recognised, including Sir John, Odo the Herald, the King Herald Mark Tyler, and Sir Peregrine.

  Simon forced his way to the front of the crowds as the screams came with redoubled force, and then he saw her: Edith, her mouth wide with horror, her hands clenched at her sides as she stood, petrified, uttering scream after scream.

  His heart felt as though it would burst to see her so desolate – but he was also filled with dread. Whatever could have so terrified his daughter like this? Perhaps Hugh was hurt – or Margaret?

  He ran to her side, pulling her stiff body to him, murmuring soothing noises, patting her head and rocking her slightly from side to side. He felt her head gradually sink into the angle between his shoulder and neck, until he could sense that she was relaxing, and could gently turn her away from the awful sight that had so shocked her.

  Baldwin was already at the body, and he gave Simon a look of sympathy. Simon couldn’t understand what it meant, but then he saw the bloody face of Squire William lying among the grasses and brambles.

  ‘Dead?’ he mouthed, although the question was unnecessary.

  Baldwin nodded without speaking. The Coroner was already standing over the corpse while bystanders shuffled and glared at Simon suspiciously.

  ‘Who is it this time?’ Mark Tyler demanded, swaggering over with his thumbs in his belt. ‘Another carpenter? Or is it someone more . . .’ He broke off as he took in the face. ‘Gracious God in heaven, Sir William of Crukerne!’

  Sir John had followed in the King Herald’s wake and now he stood dumbly staring down at his dead son. He gave a single choking sob, sinking to his knees, his features twisting in despair and desolation.

  Baldwin put a hand to his shoulder, but the knight shrugged it away. ‘Who did this?’

  Nobody answered him. Coroner Roger cleared his throat, then bellowed, ‘Back, you whoresons! Stand back, in Christ’s name! Jesus, God and Holy Mother Mary, if you don’t give me room I’ll have Lord Hugh find space for you in his worst dungeons. Back, you misbegotten sons of a worm-infested mongrel!’

  He stood a while staring down and Simon could see that he was reluctant to get between Sir John and the corpse. ‘Sir John, you recognise this boy?’

  ‘It’s my son,’ the man said dully.

  ‘I know who killed him!’

  ‘Who was that?’ Sir Roger called, scanning the crowd which stood so thickly at the bankside. ‘Who can tell us who the murderer was?’

  Simon too was staring at the figures on the bank. Edith was quivering and sobbing in his arms, and he was trying to pull her away from the scene when the voice called out again.

  ‘It was the Bailiff ! He was arguing with the lad yester’ even, because young William fancied his daughter. That’s who killed your boy – it was Bailiff Puttock!’

  Sir John slowly turned to face Simon. ‘Is this true?’

  Edith suddenly went rigid in his arms. She pulled away, her eyes staring into his with an expression of revulsion. ‘Did you, Father?’ she said brokenly. ‘Did you kill him to keep him from me?’

  Simon felt his heart shrivel within him at her accusation. ‘By Christ’s bones, by the life I hope to win in heaven: NO!’ he declared, but even as he said the words he heard Tyler’s snide voice.

  ‘I said he was the murderer, didn’t I? I accused him only yesterday, because he murdered Hal and Wymond. Now he’s slaughtered this honourable lad as well. Is there no end to his lust for blood?’

  Sir John stood and walked to Simon. Baldwin automatically stepped between them. ‘Sir John, this is only an unsubstantiated accusation, nothing more. I do not believe it, and you shouldn’t either.’

  ‘Bailiff, I accuse you of the murder of my son and I demand trial by battle to prove your guilt or innocence.’

  ‘Trial by . . .’ Simon stuttered. ‘But I’ve done nothing. I can’t fight you, a knight!’

  ‘Name your champion, Bailiff. I challenge you to trial by battle, and if I kill him and win, you will hang. I swear it!’

  Margaret sent Hugh to fetch them wine, but then sat with Edith cradled in her lap, sobbing. She had given her son to Petronilla and now rocked her daughter as she listened to the men talking.

  Sir Roger was shaking with emotion. ‘Bailiff, you can’t accept the challenge. It would be insane. The man’s a killer, he’s often killed his foe. Prove your innocence in court, it’s much safer.’

  ‘He challenged me before all those people,’ Simon said dully. ‘Even my own daughter thinks I am guilty. If I refuse, many will assume I did do it, that I don’t dare to throw my fate into God’s hands, that I prefer to bribe officials, jurors and lawyers to find for me.’

  ‘Let people believe what they want,’ Baldwin said earnestly. ‘Do not risk yourself in this way.’

  Simon met his eye a moment, but then looked back to Edith and his wife. ‘Meg, I am so sorry. I should never have come here. It was a matter of pride. Stupid pride. I thought that if my father could organise tournaments, I could do it as well. I never thought I’d be risking everything.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault, Simon,’ Baldwin said.

  A servant thrust his head through the doorway. ‘Bailiff ? Oh, good.’

  Behind him was the herald Odo and Sir Peregrine, both with grim features as they entered. Simon wasn’t interested in their sympathy. All he wanted at this moment was some private moments with his w
ife and daughter, to try to soothe them and persuade Edith he was innocent.

  Baldwin said to the Coroner, ‘Have you completed the study of the body?’

  ‘Yes, and I am afraid that there is nothing to show who could have killed the fellow. He was stabbed twice in the back, then his throat was cut. Blood everywhere.’

  ‘So he died there,’ Baldwin noted. ‘And was not beaten to death like Benjamin and the others. Is there any suggestion that someone other than the Bailiff might have been responsible?’

  ‘Only Simon has been accused.’

  Simon nodded. ‘Everyone thinks I did it, don’t they? Even my own daughter.’

  Baldwin frowned. ‘Never mind what everyone thinks, Simon. You did not kill the lad, so we must show you are innocent.’

  ‘If you think so,’ Simon said wearily. He walked to his wife and dropped onto the bench at her side, putting a hand on Edith’s back. ‘But how I can prove that? I know nothing about the boy.’

  ‘Then we shall have to find out about him, won’t we?’ Coroner Roger declared.

  Odo cleared his throat. ‘I think I might be able to help a little, Sir Roger. I knew the lad. He was in the host at Boroughbridge, serving under Harclay. He captured Andrew, squire to Sir Edmund of Gloucester.’

  ‘Is Andrew the kind of man to take offence?’ Baldwin asked, recalling that the watchman had seen him the night Hal died.

  ‘I would say not,’ Odo said firmly. ‘He always struck me as honourable.’

  ‘Did Squire – sorry – Sir William have enemies?’

  ‘I only know of one. Geoffrey, who died last night. Geoffrey had married Alice Lavandar and would have declared their matrimony after being knighted.’

  ‘Ah, but William had intended marrying her.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Except since Geoffrey is dead, he can hardly be the murderer,’ Baldwin said. He sighed and closed his eyes. He had a headache. It was painful to see Simon and his family suffering like this. If he could, he was determined to prove who was the real murderer.

  ‘I daresay this was the random act of an evil man,’ Sir Roger said with distaste. ‘You often find murderers are like that. How else can you explain their behaviour? Murdering an architect and carpenter, and a banker, and now this fellow – it’s madness.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Baldwin said, his attention fixed on the dejected figure of Simon. ‘However, I have usually found that there was an understandable explanation for any murder when I sought it.’ He faced Odo again. ‘What else can you tell me about this fellow?’

  ‘I am not sure I know much more.’

  ‘You mix with the squires, don’t you? Heralds always do. You must know their secrets.’

  ‘Perhaps a few,’ Odo said easily, allowing himself a small smile. ‘But I confess I have no idea who could have killed Sir William. He appeared to have many friends.’

  Coroner Roger clapped his hands together. ‘It is plain enough that I must discover first where William went last night. What did he do and whom did he see? Once we know that, we can begin to form an impression as to who could have done this foul thing.’

  Odo gestured to Simon. ‘What of you? If you were with other people . . .’

  ‘I was exhausted after the strain of the last weeks,’ Simon said. ‘I went to my bed early.’

  ‘Oh,’ Sir Roger sighed.

  Baldwin nodded. ‘If I may make a suggestion, Sir Roger, why don’t you speak to the other squires and get an idea from them as to whether there could be any other people with a grudge against Sir William.’

  The Coroner nodded and was about to leave the room when another herald appeared in the doorway, peering in nervously. ‘Bailiff ? I have been sent by Sir John of Crukerne – he asks whether you have chosen your champion yet.’

  Baldwin glowered and stated loudly, ‘The Bailiff will refute this ridiculous accusation in court. There is no question of his being foolish enough to respond to a grieving parent’s very natural misery.’

  ‘If the Bailiff will not give Sir John satisfaction to resolve this matter speedily,’ the herald said hesitantly, ‘Sir John says he will assume the guilt and cowardice of the Bailiff. He will come and whip the Bailiff over the whole length of the tilt-yard.’

  ‘Tell Sir John that he can do no such thing and that should he attempt it, he would be arrested,’ Baldwin grated.

  ‘Tell him that the Coroner will have him arrested if he so much as thinks of it,’ Roger blustered furiously.

  ‘Sir,’ the herald turned to Baldwin, ‘I fear Sir John is determined, and the mood of the crowd is growing ugly. There are too many who are prepared to declare the Bailiff guilty, and there is a clamouring for his blood. If he doesn’t accept the challenge, hotheads could demand the Bailiff’s head.’

  Baldwin glanced at the Coroner.

  Sir Roger set his jaw. ‘I’ll go and reason with the miserable churls. I’ll have no lynchings here.’

  ‘No!’ Simon declared. ‘Damn the bastard, but I’ll find me a champion. I’ll not have any man declaring me a coward. I will venture God’s judgement because as I stand here, I swear I am innocent.’

  ‘Who will you employ as champion, Bailiff ? You can’t fight him yourself,’ Coroner Roger asked.

  Simon looked at him. ‘Who could I ask?’

  Baldwin sighed. ‘I shall fight for you, Simon. God help us both!’

  Simon gave his farewell to Meg and tried to kiss his daughter, but Edith buried her face in her mother’s neck and wouldn’t look at him. ‘Look after them, Hugh,’ he said stiffly as he withdrew his hand from his daughter’s back.

  ‘I will, sir.’

  ‘Simon – Baldwin, be careful, won’t you?’ Meg suddenly cried out. ‘No, Baldwin, you can’t go like this. Wait!’ She deposited her daughter on the bench and ran from the room, returning a few minutes later with a scarf which she thrust into Baldwin’s hands. ‘Wear this, my dear old friend, as a token.’ She reached up and kissed him, resting her warm palm for a moment against his cheek.

  He took her hand. His features were stern and composed, but he managed to give her a gentle smile as he gazed into her weeping eyes. ‘I will wear it, Lady, and I will bring your husband back to you, safe and unharmed, I swear. For as God is my witness, I reject the accusations against him,’ he added in a louder voice, gazing sternly at the herald.

  Odo was still in the room, standing near to Sir Peregrine. ‘Sir Baldwin, I entirely agree with you that the good Bailiff is innocent – but how can one prove another man was guilty?’

  ‘Herald, I do not know,’ Baldwin said. ‘All I can ask is that Coroner Roger questions all those he can, and if you could help him, I would be most grateful.’

  ‘I shall help in any way I may,’ Odo said sincerely.

  ‘And as soon as this mess is sorted out, I’ll have that dog’s turd Tyler out of my Lord’s household,’ Sir Peregrine said savagely. ‘I’ll not have his vicious tongue spreading villeinous rumours like this again. Cretin!’

  Simon nodded in gratitude, but he could find no words as he walked from the hall behind Baldwin.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The Bailiff’s thoughts were disjointed as he wandered along the castle’s corridor towards the entrance and out into the sunlight. The sun was high now and the air was still, so Simon could feel the heat scorching his bare arms. One moment he was seeing his daughter screaming in horror, the next he saw Sir John’s pale, shocked features as he took in the sight of his murdered son. And now Sir John intended to kill Baldwin in order to prove Simon’s guilt.

  Simon felt himself jostled but ignored it. His mind was too set on other matters. He allowed his head to droop, disconsolate.

  ‘Stand up straight!’ Baldwin muttered at his side. ‘Don’t walk like a felon. Remind them who you are.’

  ‘I don’t know . . . I . . .’

  ‘Simon!’ Baldwin turned and eyed him with glittering eyes. ‘You are innocent. If you look like this, everyone will want to convict you out of hand
even if I win. Would you like Edith to go through the rest of her life accusing you? Then stand straight and look these bastard sons of whores in the eyes.’

  ‘I don’t think I can,’ Simon confessed.

  Baldwin grabbed his shoulder. ‘Then think of this! If you didn’t kill the lad, the murderer is out there, in that crowd. If you don’t care about being accused, that’s one thing, but you might see the guilty man and meet his eye. When you do, you may just see something there that makes you recognise his guilt. You may recognise the stare of the murderer!’

  Simon gaped. He had been so entirely bound up in his own misery that the fact that another man was guilty had slipped from his mind. Now he felt a return of his anger, and with the resentment of being forced to endure the punishment that another man deserved, a flame of rage consumed him. He gritted his teeth. ‘I shall watch all the men.’

  ‘Good,’ Baldwin said, ‘because I need your support, Simon.’ He looked up at the castle, at the flags hanging limply from the poles. ‘God knows, I need all the help I can get,’ he murmured almost to himself. ‘It is many years since my last joust.’

  Simon felt as though a rock had materialised in his belly. ‘When did you last fight like this?’

  ‘Me?’ Baldwin considered. ‘About 1306 I practised with friends in the lists in Paris.’

  ‘1306? That’s sixteen years ago!’

  ‘Your arithmetic does you credit.’

  ‘Baldwin, Sir John has fought in all the tournaments he could. This is madness – you’ll be killed. Can’t I find another man to challenge him?’

  ‘I don’t think so. Not now, Simon. This is a judicial fight and I accepted his challenge.’

  Simon looked at him despairingly.

  ‘Do not fear for me. The matter is in God’s hands, old friend. And I shall fight confidently, knowing that the cause is just.’