The Tournament of Blood

by Michael Jecks

‘I expect he was up here at the castle with Odo. If you want to confirm it, ask your own servant, Bailiff, he was there too. I could not have killed Sir William.’

  Simon nodded. He would trust Hugh’s word. ‘Did you see anything else?’

  ‘One thing. I saw Odo return to the hall a while later. I know it was not long after, for I had only just grabbed a pot of wine from the bar. In that time Odo came back in.’

  ‘A herald could walk about the field with ease,’ Simon noted, looking at Baldwin.

  Baldwin nodded. ‘And if he needed to conceal himself, all he need do would be to pull off his tabard and pull on a scruffy tunic. Do you remember saying you thought Sir Walter was a villein because he was dressed in so shabby a manner? Well, Odo could hide his identity swiftly.’

  ‘Why should he wish to kill, though?’ Simon asked. ‘What was his motive?’

  Baldwin turned to Sir Edmund again. ‘You said you first met Odo in Europe?’

  ‘Yes. He was there as herald at various places. I learned to trust him.’

  ‘I recall you told me you met him again in Exeter. Was that while the King’s Justices held their court?’

  ‘Yes. It was good to see a familiar face down here. He was delivering the first of the invitations to this tournament. I met him in a tavern and asked him to ensure that I was invited here.’

  ‘I see. When you first met abroad, did he say why he had left England?’

  ‘He wanted to forget a terrible experience, he said. In fact, he said he almost had. He joked about it. Said that when he left England he had been a great portly fellow, but with every pound in weight he lost, he felt as if he was shedding memories as well.’

  ‘And when did you meet him?’

  ‘When?’ The knight thought for a moment. ‘Before I met Andrew, I suppose, so it would have been during my first year abroad. Yes, it must have been 1317.’

  ‘And he had himself only recently arrived just then?’

  Sir Edmund drew his brows together. ‘I don’t know who told you that. I recall him saying he’d been there for some years already. Ye s – that was why he spoke about his weight. He said that it was dropping each year while he lived in France.’

  ‘I thank you for your help,’ Baldwin said and walked with Simon back to the hall’s doorway with a faint smile of understanding illuminating his features.

  Lord Hugh was back in his stand at the lists with Sir Peregrine at his side when Baldwin and Simon arrived at the foot of the stage. Neither the Lord nor the banneret looked at them.

  It was fine. Baldwin could wait. The rumbling warned him of another encounter, and he looked up in time to see two knights meet. There was a shattering of lances, and the two rode apart, each waving their broken weapons.

  Baldwin sometimes wished life could be as simple. You chose a course and charged, and the stronger man would win. That was how life should be, he thought. And yet it so often wasn’t, for politics always got in the way. Politics soured everything and politicians were the lowest slugs Baldwin could think of.

  And one of the lowest, he privately maintained, was Sir Peregrine of Barnstaple. He almost groaned aloud when the latter caught his eye and started towards him. Baldwin was suddenly struck with a sense of irresolution. He knew what he should do, he should ignore Sir Peregrine, but right now he was tired of fighting and mendaciousness. It was tempting to simply leave.

  ‘Sir Baldwin. You look like a man who has a desire to speak to someone?’

  ‘I wanted a word with Lord Hugh.’

  ‘Yes, I thought you did,’ Sir Peregrine said.

  ‘It is about the dead spies,’ Baldwin began tiredly.

  ‘And you think he’ll want to hear about them?’

  ‘I am not sure. Perhaps he already knew what they were doing.’

  ‘Oh, he knew. I told you: that’s why they were here.’

  Simon nodded. ‘They were here so that Lord Hugh could keep an eye on them.’

  Sir Peregrine led them out of earshot of the stands. ‘We’ve known for some time that the King had spies in our household and we guessed who they were when Benjamin tried to bribe a groom – fortunately loyal to us – to report to him. It was but a short leap to see that his friends were probably helpers too. So then we identified Hal and Wymond.’

  ‘So Lord Hugh had them brought here to have them assassinated?’ Simon asked hotly.

  ‘No, Simon,’ Baldwin said. ‘That wasn’t in his interests. Now that the trio are dead, the King will send more. If the others had survived, Lord Hugh could have carried on feeding them with the information he wanted the King to hear. Edward learned only that which was good for Lord Hugh.’

  ‘And good for the King,’ Sir Peregrine said imperturbably. ‘Naturally Lord Hugh and I want only what’s in the King’s interests.’

  ‘Whereas now the King will send more people and you won’t know who they are.’

  ‘It doesn’t worry us. We have nothing to hide from our monarch,’ said Sir Peregrine silkily.

  ‘I do not blame Lord Hugh for stopping the enquiry into Sir Walter’s death,’ said Baldwin. ‘It could have been embarrassing, having the motives of a man who had killed the King’s own spies investigated.’

  ‘Of course there was no indication that anyone else could have destroyed Hal or Wymond,’ Sir Peregrine countered.

  ‘No, but Lord Hugh must have suspected someone else, someone who was on his side,’ Baldwin said and glanced up at the impassive-faced baron above him. ‘Lord Hugh made his decision and acted upon it. He obviously believes someone else killed the three, and has chosen to protect the man. If he had not, the King would have wondered why his spies should have died while under Lord Hugh’s protection. When an easier solution was offered by Sir Roger, suggesting that Sir Walter was the guilty man, Lord Hugh grasped it with both hands.’

  Sir Peregrine smiled but made no comment. He walked back to the stand. At the stairs, he turned again and faced Baldwin. ‘You know, I didn’t touch them – for the simple reason that you have already mentioned: I wanted to know who the enemies were in my camp. Now I’ll have to start all over again.’

  ‘Did you owe money to Benjamin as well, Sir Peregrine?’ Baldwin rasped.

  The man laughed aloud. ‘I owe no one money. I serve my lord and all my wants are supplied by him. No, I have no interest in money.’ He turned and climbed aloft to rejoin his master.

  ‘Do you think he did it?’ Simon said.

  ‘Him?’ Baldwin appeared surprised that Simon should have asked. ‘No! As he said, he stood to gain nothing. The man who did it was one who had every reason to go through with his crimes.’

  ‘Odo?’

  ‘Yes. All the knights and squires would have been dressed in their richest clothing. They would have stood out wherever they went, but Odo? He would only have to change one garment – and even you would mistake him. The drunk you saw on the day we found Sachevyll’s body – could that have been Odo?’

  ‘Surely I couldn’t mistake him,’ Simon said doubtfully.

  ‘You managed to mistake Sir Walter when he walked with his wife. If Odo was out of his uniform it would be easy to think him a mere churl.’

  ‘It’s not proof, though. A knight could doff his tunic.’

  ‘We know that Sir Edmund said Odo reappeared shortly after, leaving with William following him. That is what made me wonder. Who else could have changed so swiftly? These murders surely happened quickly – yet all the knights are wearing their finery. They have on their best shirts, cloaks, coats. Even if one of them discarded his clean, best outer garments, surely a watchman would see the clean linen of a shirt, or the shine of silk? Yet Odo has only cheap shirts and hose. He would fit in with the tattiest fair-goer.’

  ‘You have more evidence, don’t you?’

  Baldwin gave a dry chuckle. ‘Yes. Andrew used to be a Templar. I spoke to him after the hastilude.’

  ‘Oh,’ Simon said doubtfully. He knew of Baldwin’s past. ‘You’re sure you’re not being swayed
by the words of a comrade-in-arms?’

  ‘No, Simon. I never knew Andrew in the Order. But I do know that I can trust the word of a man who served in the Templars.’

  ‘He was there at the river with his master and Lady Helen?’

  ‘Yes, on the night when Sir William died and the night before. More: Andrew knows no reason why Sir Edmund should wish to harm Hal or Wymond. And one last thing, we still do not know who could have harmed Benjamin. You recall Coroner Roger telling us that there was a court, and that the knights were all there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Andrew saw Odo there, at Exeter. To my shame I never considered the herald as a possible culprit, but now I know that he was there when Benjamin was murdered.’

  ‘Why should he want to kill Dudenay?’

  ‘It’s no secret that the banker was in business with Wymond and Hal, is it? Tyrel would have known who funded the stands and stood to make money from the use of shoddy materials, just as he would have known who built them and who designed them.’

  ‘Who is this Tyrel? Does Odo have another name?’

  Simon shot his friend a puzzled glance.

  Baldwin gave a quiet smile. ‘Let us talk to him. I shall explain then.’

  Baldwin walked along the line of the stand and at the first opportunity, he gestured to Odo. The herald trotted over to them.

  ‘So it was Odo all along,’ Simon breathed. Yet he had liked the man – still did.

  ‘You are wrong, Simon,’ Baldwin said forcefully as Odo dropped from his horse and tethered it to the stand. ‘Our friend the herald has no reason to want to hurt anyone. Odo is an honourable servant of Lord Hugh. Calm, decent and a good diseur. He simply could not commit murder.’

  Simon burst out with frustration, ‘Then, by Saint Paul, who the hell did?’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Odo was tired of the continual deception. His head ached as though it did in reality contain the thoughts of two souls. Noticing the two grim-faced men walking towards him, he set his jaw, but without truculence. It would almost be a relief to confess at last. ‘Do you mean to accuse me?’ he said immediately.

  Baldwin studied his pale and drawn features for a while. ‘No, my friend,’ he said gently. ‘I wish you to hear a story – and please do not comment until I am done. It is a long tale, but a good one for a herald to consider. It may have merit and deserve to be retold.’

  ‘What is this tale?’

  Baldwin considered the ground at his feet, then put his arms behind his back and strolled slowly away from the crowds and any others who might overhear. Odo was grateful. It could have been embarrassing for him if someone like Tyler was to eavesdrop. He was so taken up in his reflections that he hardly heard Baldwin begin to talk.

  ‘In 1306 there was a great tournament at Exeter. It was a marvellous show, with people coming from all about. Many of those who came to watch would normally have led quite workaday lives, and seeing the pageantry and excess would be an occasion of great excitement. Among those present was a merchant who had decided to bring his young family to watch. A certain Master Tyrel.’

  ‘Yes. And a stand collapsed while Sir Richard’s mother watched her husband fight with Sir John,’ Simon said officiously, breaking the flow of Baldwin’s story.

  ‘No. Lady Alice’s mother watched her husband fight and die.’

  ‘But Sir Richard told me . . .’ Simon frowned. ‘You mean Sir Richard was illegitimate?’

  ‘Yes. Sir Godwin was a cheery fellow, very keen on exercising his skills in courtly love. You recall Sir John accused him of cuckolding him? He was not without reason. But be that as it may, the stand collapsed and many died. In particular, one family perished called Tyrel. A mother, daughter, son – but not the father.

  ‘He was a large, bearded man – strong and powerful. And when the stand collapsed, I imagine that he tore his great sinews as he tried to free his loved ones. Tried to save them. He probably has a faint humped back even now. Not that he could achieve much. They, along with others, were all dead.

  ‘So he lost his mind. He left England and sought death, in whatever way he could find it. He travelled widely and learned songs, and because of them he became a herald. Lords are always looking out for a man who can recognise arms and who can sing or play instruments. Someone who was also an educated man who had skills as a merchant would be a godsend.’

  ‘But since he was no longer Tyrel the family man, he became Odo the herald,’ Simon breathed.

  Odo dropped his head. All the protestations that he had intended to use to assert his innocence were stifled. He was sick of lies and inventions. If Sir Baldwin wished to accuse him, he would accept God’s fate.

  But Baldwin looked at Simon pointedly. ‘No, no. I am sure that this man Tyrel remains in France – if he is still alive, of course, which I strongly doubt. I was simply telling you the background to the events here. The Coroner has made his conclusion. There is no point in having him alter it, is there?’

  Odo shot him a stunned look. If he had suddenly been struck by a bowl of pottage he could not have been more surprised. ‘I . . .’ He snapped his mouth closed again, deciding to obey Baldwin’s instruction and listen.

  Simon growled, ‘You mean you’d let him go free? He’s murdered four people!’

  ‘Odo the herald has killed no one, Simon,’ Baldwin said. ‘Odo has no interest in something that happened so long ago. But if Tyrel were to come back and avenge his family, I would not condemn him – would you? If someone had killed Margaret and Edith and the baby in front of you, Simon, would you rest? Ever? Or would you seek out the murderer and execute him?’

  Simon considered. In his mind he could see his wife, Meg, laughing in the sun with their children, a competent and beautiful mother; he could see her in bed, writhing against him as they made love; he could see his daughter running happily, giggling, through the long grasses of a meadow. Then he was silent a long while, thinking. At last he cast a look back towards the stands, seeking his wife’s face in the crowd. ‘I think I am glad that Odo is not related to Tyrel,’ he said gruffly.

  ‘So am I,’ Baldwin said, his voice hard. ‘I hate to think what I would do if I were in his position. Bludgeoning men to death in payment for crushing his family to death so long ago seems strangely kind compared to what I would have done . . . What do you think, Odo?’

  ‘Me, sir?’

  ‘What do you think has happened to this Tyrel? Is he alive and nursing his desire for revenge – or is he now dead at last?’

  Odo felt a heaviness leave him. It was as if sixteen years of bitterness and torment had sloughed from his shoulders. Suddenly he felt lighter, free. ‘Sir Baldwin, I think Tyrel is dead. I think he died recently and will never return.’

  ‘May he rest in peace.’

  The next day was the finale of the tournament – a massive mêlée in which all the knights not already too wounded to take part, rode into the fighting area and fought to a standstill through a sweltering sunny day.

  Simon watched unimpressed as knights and senior squires traded blows in a rising mist of dust. Every so often there would be a louder ringing sound as a hollow piece of steel was struck, and then the noise was deafening, but he could see that Baldwin was as bored as he was. It was tedious after the excitement of the last days. The only man worth watching was Squire Andrew, who darted about with flashing weapons like a man half his age.

  When he looked at his daughter, he could see that she was uninterested, too. Since the death of her lover, Edith had been overcome with mourning, and she had no desire to witness another brawl.

  ‘Simon?’ Baldwin whispered in his ear. ‘Could I borrow Hugh for a minute or two?’

  ‘Yes, of course. And try to send him back in a better frame of mind. If Edith’s pissed off, Hugh thinks his world has fallen apart.’

  Baldwin grinned. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  He stood at the back of the stand while Hugh came down the steps, and then Baldwin led the way out to the
river. He sat on a fallen tree-trunk and motioned to Hugh to sit. There was a jug of ale and one of watered wine waiting and Baldwin passed Hugh the ale.

  ‘The murderer was not Sir Walter, Hugh. Sir Walter was a lunatic who decided to kill himself because he was consumed by jealousy, but he had no need to kill Sir William.’

  ‘Maybe he heard what I saw – Sir William with his wife?’ Hugh tried hopefully.

  ‘Do you think so?’ Baldwin asked pointedly.

  Hugh stared morosely at the ground and said nothing.

  Eyeing him, Baldwin took a deep swig of wine and swilled it about his mouth. ‘The man who killed William was more likely someone who wanted to protect somebody. Now who could that be? I consider it from this way. If someone was to threaten to hurt my daughter, I would stop them. If they tried to molest or rape her, I would kill them and I would have no compunction whatsoever about doing so. Any father who would not kill to protect his daughter would be no father. And if I was not there, Edgar would do so in my place, and I would protect him in the courts and elsewhere if he was put to trial because he would be looking after my family as my servant should. Any servant who loves his master would do the same.’

  Hugh looked up. For once he met Baldwin’s gaze. ‘You know?’

  ‘That the fellow threatened to ruin Edith, threatened to make her unmarriageable, and you heard it? Yes. I think you sought to protect her the only way you knew.’

  ‘Not only that. I saw him pawing that Lady Helen, too. I thought of my wife. She was messed about by her man. If I hadn’t been there, what might have become of her? I couldn’t let that happen to Edith, oh no – but here he was, making her go all wobbly over him while he was planning to marry one woman and then trying it on with another.’

  ‘I understand,’ Baldwin nodded. ‘It was as I thought.’

  Hugh sank his head lower. ‘What will you do?’

  ‘Me? There have been enough deaths already, Hugh. I shall do nothing.’

  ‘You mean it, sir?’

  ‘Finish your ale, Master Hugh. You are a good, loyal servant. My own concern is, should I tell Simon? You risked your life for his daughter. He would be grateful.’