The Tournament of Blood

by Michael Jecks

  Baldwin felt a slight tremor as of the early onset of nausea but he swallowed it. The pall of the battle of the previous day had not left him yet. The death of Sir John gave him no satisfaction, for in some ways it seemed unnecessary – but then he had to remind himself that it was entirely necessary. Sir John had challenged Simon and called Baldwin to fight. Baldwin had to kill him. It was God’s will.

  He took the proffered cup and sipped as Sir Richard held his own aloft.

  ‘Here’s to the bold Sir Baldwin, who defeated Sir John, the killer of my father.’ He drank deeply and with gusto. ‘Sir Baldwin, thank you for finally avenging my father – something I couldn’t do myself.’

  ‘Are you sure you couldn’t?’ Baldwin said.

  Sir Richard smiled uncomprehendingly. ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Did you murder Hal and Wymond and Benjamin as well as Sir William?’ Coroner Roger barked.

  ‘Me?’ There was surprise on the ruined face, but Baldwin was sure that there was a faint amused smile as well. ‘How could I have done that?’

  Baldwin reached forward and topped up his cup. There was silence as he filled it. Then he set the jug down again. ‘This is ridiculous. We have three dead because of their part in building stands. Another man has died – Sir William – and his father perished because he tested himself in battle before God. How many more will die in this tourney?’

  ‘Are you accusing me?’ Sir Richard said.

  ‘Do you have an alibi for any of the evenings when these men died?’ Coroner Roger asked.

  ‘Of course I do. I was here.’

  ‘Who was with you? Who will confirm that?’

  ‘Not many like to share their evenings with a cripple who looks like this,’ Sir Richard said sadly. He stood and limped towards a wine barrel. Setting the jug on the floor, he turned the tap. His right hand remained in his belt.

  Simon looked at Baldwin, who caught his glance and nodded. ‘How could a man pick up a corpse with only one arm? And yet sometimes a man with one arm will be as strong as another with two.’

  ‘And how do I show you to be wrong?’ Sir Richard enquired. ‘If I demonstrate that I cannot even pick up a sack of grain, you will simply say that I was deliberately trying to conceal my strength.’

  Simon shook his head. ‘I am sorry to have troubled you, Sir Richard. We thought we had the perfect suspect, but you are not the right man.’

  Sir Roger was about to protest that he was not so convinced, when the mournful bell began to toll in the castle.

  ‘What in God’s name?’ he burst out.

  Baldwin stood, wine slopping unnoticed from his cup. ‘Good God, not another death!’ He stared miserably at Simon. ‘Will there never be an end to all this?’ He felt he could endure no more.

  Sir Roger was already out of the tent and haring up the well-trodden track to the castle.

  ‘Who now?’ Simon said. He, too, had had more than enough.

  ‘Perhaps the murderer has murdered himself,’ Sir Richard said, settling himself comfortably on his chair. ‘But in the meantime, Sir Baldwin, I shall sit here in contemplation and drink your health again. Godspeed!’

  Two new corpses were already outside the chapel by the time Simon and Baldwin appeared. Margaret was in the doorway to the hall and Simon and Baldwin went to her side. When he looked up, Simon saw Lord Hugh standing on the path that gave up to the keep. He appeared to be listening carefully.

  ‘Was your master the kind of man to commit suicide?’ Coroner Roger said to the first witness, Sir Walter’s bottler, beckoning a clerk to take notes.

  ‘No, sir. He would have rejected such a dishonourable way out. However, he had just learned about his wife.’

  ‘What of her?’

  ‘He believed she had taken a lover. That she was adulterous.’

  ‘Lady Helen?’ Coroner Roger said doubtfully, and looked at Simon.’

  Simon stepped forward. ‘Yesterday, while I investigated the death of Sir William, I questioned a groom. He told me that Lady Helen had been walking with Sir Edmund. Sir Walter overheard us. He may have jumped to the wrong conclusion.’

  ‘I see. Is Sir Edmund here?’ Coroner Roger asked the assembled jury.

  ‘I am here,’ said Sir Edmund. For once his manner was subdued. He looked to be in a state of shock.

  ‘What do you have to say about this?’ Coroner Roger demanded, waving at the two bodies on the ground before him.

  ‘I know nothing of it.’

  ‘Were you involved in adulterous congress with this man’s wife?’

  ‘No, I was not.’

  ‘You didn’t decide that if she wouldn’t allow you to seduce her, no other man would enjoy her? You didn’t kill her, and then slaughter her husband?’

  ‘No, I did not! As God is my witness, I would never have harmed a hair of her head. I loved her. I was engaged to be married to Lady Helen when I lost a bout against Sir Walter and Sir John six years ago. Afterwards I was forced to flee and attempt to rebuild my fortunes. While I was abroad, she lost faith in me, thinking I would not return, and wedded Sir Walter. I met her to try to persuade her to join me, but she wouldn’t. She insisted that she had legally given her vows to this monster and wouldn’t consider breaking them.’

  Baldwin could see that his bloodshot eyes were fixed upon the woman now lying naked upon a cloak. The cruel sword-thrusts in her breast and flank showed all the more distinctly on her pale flesh. Next to her, the body of her husband was almost an anti-climax. The single broad puncture just under his ribs, where the sword blade had entered and pushed up through his lungs and heart, had ended his life as effectively as all the blows rained upon his wife. Baldwin had seen other men throw themselves upon their swords after losing a battle. He had never, so far as he could recollect, seen such a wound when murder had been committed.

  Coroner Roger scowled at Sir Edmund. ‘You deny murdering them?’

  ‘I told you: I could never have harmed a hair of her head. I loved her more than I love myself.’

  ‘Yet you were prepared to risk her honour by persuading her to leave her husband?’

  ‘No. By persuading her to return to her real husband. Me.’

  ‘It’s too late to talk her round now,’ Coroner Roger said, dragging a cloak over the dead woman’s face. ‘Your behaviour has been deplorable. This sort of hankering after another man’s wife may be acceptable in France and other such places, but in this country it’s not what we expect.’

  Sir Edmund said nothing, staring as though transfixed by the sight of Lady Helen’s corpse.

  Baldwin cleared his throat. ‘Surely, Coroner, the wounds are consistent with the husband killing his wife and then committing suicide?’

  ‘Yes,’ the Coroner grudgingly agreed. ‘But what of the others?’

  Baldwin drew his brows together before speaking. ‘We know that Sir Walter owed money to Benjamin Dudenay. I think he might have become enraged with Benjamin and his accomplices.’

  ‘Accomplices? What do you mean?’

  ‘We have been told,’ Baldwin said, speaking slowly so that the clerk could keep up as he took his notes, ‘that Benjamin collaborated with the others in building their stands and tournaments. He provided the money, Hal the vision, and Wymond the building skills. In return, we have heard, Benjamin was often accorded the best positions for his money-lending stall. Most people thought it was so that unhorsed knights would go to him first – but I think that there was another reason.’

  ‘Are you sure you are well, Sir Baldwin?’ Lord Hugh called enquiringly. ‘You had a severe fall yesterday.’

  ‘I am fine, I thank you, my Lord,’ Baldwin said irritably, continuing, ‘The other reason was this: that Benjamin also arranged bets on the outcome of the courses. To know which man he would back, he wanted a good view of the course.’

  ‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Coroner Roger said.

  ‘No. What was wrong was that Wymond and Hal had damaged some contestants’ lances. They arranged the
betting so that Benjamin could win almost every time.’

  ‘How?’ Coroner Roger grated. His face was growing darker with anger.

  ‘Simple. When I arrived here, I noticed that Wymond was at the lances. Others we have spoken to saw him there. The night he died, he was there again. Why? I wondered. Yesterday I was in the tilt, riding against Sir John. My first lance was fine, but the second felt odd, as though there was a weakness in it. I could do nothing about it, for then I was in the tilt, but that impression stayed with me.

  ‘After the tilt, I found parts of my lance. It had been sawn through a short distance from the point. Whenever it touched a shield, it must shiver to pieces. That was what Benjamin was looking for. I think that Wymond used to mark certain lances so that Benjamin knew that the holder was at a disadvantage. He could find his mark, but the lance would break. Then his opponent’s lance could unseat him. Benjamin would take bets and win.’

  ‘But you say Wymond was at the lances even after Benjamin was dead?’

  ‘Yes. Wymond was a devious character and a greedy one. I think he decided he’d not let an opportunity to make some money pass him by. He was going to run some bets for himself. He died before he could.’

  ‘So at least that is ended.’

  ‘Provided Mark Tyler is not allowed to continue,’ Baldwin said.

  ‘Explain!’

  In answer, Baldwin looked over the crowds. He saw Tyler towards the back, slowly edging away. ‘Tyler, come here.’

  The King Herald reluctantly obeyed the command. There were too many people for him to be able to escape to safety. He walked stiff-backed to the front of the crowd and stood gazing about him with an air of superiority. ‘Well?’

  ‘Why did you command the pages and squires at the lance-rests to give me a lance with a red-painted mark at the handgrip?’

  ‘Who says I did?’

  ‘I do,’ said Andrew, stepping forward. ‘I was there at the rests and heard the order.’

  ‘It was only that I thought the lances were straighter and more fair,’ Tyler said quickly.

  ‘Did you place bets on who would win the fight yesterday?’ Baldwin guessed.

  ‘I had no bets!’

  ‘You ordered that I should be given a damaged lance. That could have been an act of murder.’

  ‘I didn’t think . . .’ Tyler looked away, then past Baldwin to the Coroner. ‘It has nothing to do with this. I will not answer any more questions.’

  Baldwin eyed him with a sadness. ‘The worst thing is that I couldn’t understand before why Tyler here was so keen on accusing Simon and protecting Hal and Wymond. Now it is clear: Tyler was making money with them. How else could the position of Benjamin’s stand be confirmed? Tyler confirmed it. Why? So that his own profits could be guaranteed. At every stage Tyler sought to ensure his own profit.’

  ‘That’s a lie!’

  Coroner Roger nodded, then slowly and disdainfully turned his back on the herald. Facing Baldwin, he asked, ‘What would this have to do with Sir Walter?’

  ‘How would an honourable man feel if he has lost bets and later learns that it was entirely due to a usurer’s double-dealing? Probably Sir Walter learned that Benjamin had won money by giving him damaged lances. Perhaps Benjamin bet against him himself and thus caused many of his debts? Either way, how would Sir Walter be likely to react? Naturally he killed first Benjamin, then Wymond and Hal.’

  ‘And Sir William?’

  Baldwin was silent, but at this point Andrew spoke up. ‘I can answer that, Coroner. I knew Sir William. He tried to molest this woman Lady Helen in this very courtyard shortly after she had been seeing my master, Sir Edmund. No doubt she told her husband of her shame and horror at being so horribly grasped, and that was why he killed Sir William.’

  ‘Do you have any witness to this?’ Coroner Roger asked.

  ‘Yes, Sir Roger. That servant there.’

  Reluctantly Hugh nodded as Andrew pointed him out. ‘Mmm. I saw it.’

  ‘Was it a shameful ambush as Andrew implies?’

  ‘That Sir William, he grappled with Lady Helen, told her to kiss him. Wouldn’t leave her alone. I went to help her, ‘cos she was a lady, and then she kneed him in the cods. That stopped him.’

  ‘I see.’ Coroner Roger passed a hand over his eyes. ‘So it sounds as though the man had reason to want to murder them all. And he finished his rampage by slaughtering himself and his wife.’

  At Baldwin’s side, Simon had listened with astonishment. He had thought that there was nothing which could surprise him about the events at this tournament, but now he heard his own servant talk, he realised how little he had actually seen. Glancing away from the scene, he saw that Lord Hugh and Sir Peregrine were talking quietly. Sir Peregrine soon walked down the slope to the Coroner’s side. Sir Roger looked at him irritably, then down at Sir Walter’s body as the banneret muttered in his ear, and Simon saw the Coroner’s eyes rise to meet Lord Hugh’s wooden stare.

  ‘I find that Sir Walter killed Benjamin Dudenay, Wymond Carpenter, Hal Sachevyll and Sir William of Crukerne before killing his wife and himself.’

  While the Coroner declared his findings and began to itemise the taxes that would be levied upon the local people for harbouring the killer and seeing the King’s Peace broken, Baldwin watched Lord Hugh up on the slope. He was aware of Simon behind him, but didn’t move.

  ‘Lord Hugh wants no more discussion or deliberation,’ Simon said.

  ‘No. He wants the whole affair ended. And Christ save the poor devil who tries to find out more – or who accidentally forces Lord Hugh to consider the murders again.’

  ‘Why has he done this, do you think? Just because of the shame of seeing his tournament ruined?’

  Baldwin sighed. ‘Politics, that is why. Lord Hugh cannot afford to leave the King with the impression that his spies died because of their spying. No, Lord Hugh does not know why they died, but this explanation is convenient. The Coroner has recorded that Sir Walter killed them because of their gambling which stole some of his wealth. That suits Lord Hugh.’

  His mood appeared gloomy – and oddly, Simon had the impression that he was holding something back. Possibly it was just because of the bruising from his fight. ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Battered, but all right apart from that,’ Baldwin said shortly. He glanced about the courtyard. Seeing Sir Edmund, he said, ‘Come with me a moment, Simon.’

  Sir Edmund was still kneeling at Lady Helen’s side, but as Simon and Baldwin approached, he had got to his feet and was beginning to turn away.

  ‘May we speak to you, Sir Edmund?’ Baldwin called.

  ‘If you must.’ The knight’s face was ravaged with grief and regret.

  ‘I was sorry to hear of your love for the lady,’ Baldwin said quietly ‘It must have been a terrible shock to find that she had married while you were away.’

  ‘What business is that of yours?’ said Sir Edmund, passing a hand over his eyes.

  ‘Sir Edmund, be easy,’ Baldwin told him. ‘I do not wish to offend.’

  ‘Then be more careful with your words!’

  ‘Naturally you are unhappy.’

  ‘How would you feel? The only woman I ever loved is dead.’

  ‘It is natural to be sad. It must have been an appalling shock.’

  ‘She told me she had married Sir Walter and she wouldn’t break her vows. I don’t think she loved me any more!’

  ‘You met her here, didn’t you?’

  ‘It was not easy, but yes, we met a couple of times. I persuaded her to meet me. First on the night that Hal was killed, and then on the night that Sir William died. I used Andrew as my emissary, and he looked after her, made sure no one else saw her with me.’

  ‘How did you arrange that?’

  ‘Easily enough. We waited until the bulk of the men in the hall were drunk, when the noise from the musicians and dancers had grown loud. Then we could wander in the dark outside.’

  ‘Didn’t Sir Walter n
otice his wife’s absence?’ Baldwin asked with surprise. Sir Walter had not seemed the sort of man to be tolerant of a wife’s nocturnal meanderings.

  ‘He drank heavily. She left him when he was largely pissed, but she said he always remained at table while other knights stayed. He wouldn’t get up in case others thought him weak with wine. She could judge how much more he would drink and made sure she was in the tent before he returned from the hall.’

  Baldwin nodded. ‘Andrew brought her to you.’

  ‘Yes. Both nights.’

  ‘To ensure your privacy?’

  ‘I didn’t want some scruffy churl turning up and interrupting us.’

  ‘Like her husband?’ Baldwin said wryly.

  After a moment Sir Edmund burst out, ‘I could have made her happy – I could! That braggart, that swaggering swine, was no good for her. How could he be? She was constantly on her guard. She couldn’t love him. Jesu! A filthy moron like him? Whereas I would have wrestled a dragon barehanded to prove my love for her. What more could a knight do? Yet I have lost her, this time for ever. Now I am lost.’

  ‘There is always hope, my friend,’ Baldwin said compassionately. ‘I lost a lord when I was younger, and thought my life was over, but now I have a wife and child and a new lord. There is always hope.’

  ‘Perhaps for you.’

  ‘And for Andrew.’

  ‘Yes, for him too.’

  Baldwin paused. ‘Did Andrew tell you about Squire William’s attack on Lady Helen?’

  ‘No. If I had heard, that young man would have regretted his foul impertinence.’

  Simon was peering at him in concentration. ‘Sir Edmund, on the night William died, what of him? Did you see him?’

  ‘He walked off after the singer. That was the last I saw of him.’

  ‘Odo the Herald, you mean?’ Baldwin asked, surprised.

  ‘Him, yes.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘I returned to the hall. If I am honest, I’d have liked to have met Sir Walter so I could kill him and win her back. But I didn’t.’

  ‘And William?’