Baked to Death

by Dean James

  Striding across the rough ground of the meadow, I thought about what I would say to de Montfort about what I had seen and heard. As I approached, I could hear voices, raised slightly in anger, coming from within. Nearing the side of the pavilion, I slowed my steps and moved cautiously around the side until I was a couple of paces from the opening at the front

  “Don’t be so hasty, Tris,” Luke de Montfort was saying. “Did I threaten you? Surely you can’t think that.”

  “How else,” Tris’s voice was low and deep, indicating his fury, “am I to interpret your remark just now?”

  Luke laughed. “Dear Tris, always expecting the worst. Could it be because you have such a guilty conscience over your own behavior? You treat others badly, and naturally you assume they will act badly as well.”

  “Stop playing these little games with me,” Tris said. “I warn you, Luke, you will regret ever crossing me if you follow through with your little threat.”

  “Dear, dear Tris,” Luke said, his tone mocking, “you really do think I’m afraid of you, don’t you? Despite your rather special... abilities, shall we say, I’m not frightened of you in the least. You won’t dare do anything. You’re the one who would lose.”

  Should I intervene? I wondered. Tris had quite a temper when roused, and he might easily hurt de Montfort if he were goaded enough. Before I could decide, however, I heard a crash as something heavy hit the ground.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  That seemed as good a cue as any. I rounded the side of the tent just in time for Tristan Lovelace to barrel into me. Had I been mortal he would have knocked me onto the ground, such was the force with which we collided. Instead we bounced apart, both still on our feet.

  “Get the bloody hell out of my way!” Tris snarled at me, his face clouded with anger. He started to brush me aside, but then he realized who I was.

  “What are you doing in that bloody get-up, Simon?”

  “So kind of you to notice, Tris,” I said coolly. “Don’t you think it flatters me?”

  “If you want to waste your time playing dress-up, that’s your choice,” Tris said, “but I find the whole thing utterly ridiculous.”

  I looked past Tris to see Luke de Montfort surveying the damage Tris had wrought in his pavilion. A large wooden table lay top down on the ground. Some of the crockery and pewter drinking vessels that had been atop it were now shattered or bent out of shape from the force of the table’s falling on them.

  “I should think you’re the one who’s ridiculous,” I said, waving my hand toward the mess, “if you’re responsible for that. You still have your nasty temper, I see, Tris.”

  Luke de Montfort guffawed, and Tris spun around. “Be glad it’s not you under that table, Luke.”

  De Montfort shook his head. “Oh, Tris, you are priceless. Luckily I can afford to replace what you’ve destroyed by your childish outburst.”

  Tris made a step in Luke’s direction, but I placed a restraining hand on his arm. He shook it off, but he stopped. “You’d best keep out of this, Simon.” He turned back to glare at me.

  “And I think you had better calm down,” I said in a low voice, “and consider very carefully what it is you’re doing here.”

  Tris blinked at me. I could feel him struggling to control his rage at Luke, and as I watched him with concern, I saw that he was quickly getting his temper under control. After a moment he turned back to Luke.

  “Let me know how much the damage is,” Tris said gruffly, “and I shall reimburse you. Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I have other things to do.” He pushed past me and strode off across the meadow, disappearing into the encampment.

  I watched him for a moment. What had set him off like that? I had rarely seen him so angry.

  “Would you mind lending me a hand, Simon?” Luke’s voice recalled me from my reverie.

  “Not at all, Luke,” I said, stepping over to help him right the heavy oaken table. Once the table was again in place, we both stared down at the mess of pottery shards and dented pewter. “How much will it cost to replace all this?”

  Luke shrugged. “A hundred pounds or so. It’s really not that important I can easily replace them.”

  “Shall I help you clear it away?”

  “No,” Luke said, “I’ll have one of my servants take care of it. They’ll be returning soon from their errands. Just ignore it for the nonce.” He gestured toward the other side of the tent, where several chairs stood around a small table. “Might I offer you some mead?”

  “None for me, thanks, but go right ahead.” I sat down in one of the chairs, a heavy oak affair with a broad seat and low back and arms. Luke sat across the table from me and poured himself a beaker of mead from a pitcher he had placed on the table.

  “Now, Simon, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Luke regarded me quizzically as he sipped at his mead.

  I decided for the moment to pretend no interest in Luke’s little altercation with Tris. I would come back to that when he seemed more relaxed, less on guard.

  “I have come across some information today that I thought might be of interest to you,” I said. “Goodwife Alysoun escorted Giles and me to the tent of Master Webster where, as you can see, I purchased some of his wares.”

  “A most excellent choice,” Luke said. His eyes expressed an even warmer sentiment, but I pretended not to notice.

  “Thank you. As I was standing in the opening of the tent,” I explained, “I happened to witness Knutson speaking with two scruffy-looking soldier types.” I repeated what I had heard.

  De Montfort did not appear in the least troubled by my report Instead, he laughed. That’s good King Harald for you, Simon. He loves his grubby little plots, and he’s always getting someone else to do his dirty work for him.”

  Then I gather this is not the first time he has done such a thing.”

  “No,” Luke said. “At our past two gatherings he has done his best to make my participation as uncomfortable as possible. My servants are harried needlessly by his minions, things disappear from my pavilion, and such. All petty irritations, but nothing I and my retinue cannot withstand.” He grinned. “Besides, I have a spy in the king’s camp, and the king doesn’t know it.”

  “A bit of medieval espionage, as it were?” I smiled. “Is there no recourse to justice within the rules of your society, without having to resort to such tactics?”

  “Certainly,” Luke said, “and the king will be facing the consequences of his little campaign against me this very week. When the heads of all the fiefdoms gather in a few days’ time at our banquet, Harald will find himself handing over his crown.” He drank deeply from his mead. “Most of the society are aware of the shabby little games Harald plays, and his popularity has eroded drastically as a result. I have nothing to fear from him, particularly since I will have a witness from within his own little coterie who can corroborate my charges.”

  “It seems a particularly unintelligent thing for him to do,” I said.

  Luke shrugged. “Once upon a time, Harald wasn’t so bad. But that was before he decided he wanted to be king. Do you know, I really think sometimes he believes he is a king. He’s become quite potty in the last two years.”

  “I wouldn’t argue that with you,” I said. “But there’s something else I perhaps ought to mention. While we were in Master Webster’s tent, we also had the great misfortune of meeting Sir Reginald Bolingbroke.”

  Luke barked with laughter. “And no doubt Sir Reginald was fussing and flapping on about his own campaign to be elected king.”

  “More or less,” I said.

  “The man’s a cretin,” Luke said. “And a homophobe to boot. He is beside himself with rage because I am far more popular than he is, not to mention the fact that he is nobly born and I am not. He quite fancies himself as a ladies’ man, you know.” Luke shuddered in distaste. “Though what woman would so demean herself as to have anything to do with him, I cannot imagine.”

  “He is rather an unprepos
sessing specimen, I grant you,” I said. “But how serious a threat is he to your bid to be elected king?”

  Rolling his eyes, Luke said, “Oh, Reggie has a few followers in his camp, but they’re just as demented as he is. Fortunately for the rest of us they are a very small minority.” He slapped his hand against the table, and the pitcher of mead skittered slightly. “I have nothing to fear from the likes of him either. No, I am fairly certain the results of the election are a foregone conclusion.”

  “Then might I offer my congratulations, Your Majesty?” I tried to keep any note of sarcasm out of my voice.

  De Montfort inclined his head in a gesture of graciousness. “Thank you, Simon. Now, have you given any thought to joining our society? The duchy of Wessex would welcome you, I can assure you of that, and no doubt I could find you a suitable tide.”

  “That is most kind of you, Your Grace,” I said, playing along with him. I wondered just what I might have to do to gain that “suitable tide.” “I will give your kind invitation all due consideration. I must admit that, when I first heard of your society, I was rather dubious about what you are doing.” I shrugged. “But now that I have had a chance to see the group in action, I do admit that what you’re doing is of some interest. Living history, as it were.”

  “Exactly,” Luke said. “I know there are many who believe we are crackpots, but we are all brought together by a sincere interest in the Middle Ages.” He grinned, and he was really most attractive when he did so. “I grant you, there are those among us who are crackpots, most notably our king, but the vast majority of us are quite sane, I can assure you.”

  “And would weeding out the crackpots, as you call them,” I said, “be one of the goals of your kingship?”

  “Exactly,” Luke said. “We have procedures for dealing with those who violate the rules of the society, and from time to time we have had to expel a few members. I don’t say that we will actually come to the point of throwing Harald out altogether, but if he doesn’t accept his defeat graciously, he might just find himself kicked out.”

  “He might be a bit on the barmy side,” I observed mildly, “but that doesn’t mean he’s stupid. He might be a tougher opponent than you credit him.”

  Luke scoffed at that. “Harald is mostly blather rather than action. He might resort to a few underhanded tricks, but he doesn’t have what it takes to challenge me effectively. He’s a piss-poor fighter. If I wanted to end this quickly, I would simply challenge him on the battlefield, but there’s no need. The election at the banquet will suffice.”

  “Then perhaps you really have nothing to fear from that quarter. Or from Sir Reginald.” I paused. “But I must admit, when I was nearing your tent, I couldn’t help but overhear some of your argument with Tris.”

  “So?” Luke said, his eyes wary.

  “I gather you know Tris pretty well,” I said, “so you know that he can be an implacable enemy. Are you entirely certain you want to be on his bad side?” Luke waved his hand in the air, as if to dismiss the whole matter. “Nothing but the proverbial tempest in the teapot,” he said. “We had a disagreement, nothing more. Tris will come round, I’ve little doubt.” I regarded him for a moment. He seemed completely confident

  “I haven’t seen Tris quite that angry before,” I said. “I would be very careful, if I were you. If you push him too far, you might not like the consequences.”

  “Tris will do nothing to harm me,” Luke said. “He wouldn’t dare. He knows that trying to do so will only result in problems for himself. Problems that he would not want to have to deal with.”

  “Whatever it is you’re trying to blackmail him over,” I said bluntly, “I hope you understand just what you’re dealing with yourself.”

  “All this concern on your part is quite touching, Simon,” Luke said mockingly, “but quite unnecessary, I do assure you. Apparently you know Tris as well as I do, and thus you know that there are things he would not wish brought to the attention of his university colleagues.”

  “Then, if I may be so bold as to ask,” I said, “what the bloody hell do you want from Tris? What is it you want so badly that you’re willing to blackmail him for it?”

  Luke laughed. “Oh, Simon, surely you can’t be that dense!” He laughed again, and I could feel my own temper beginning to flare.

  “I want to be a vampire, just like you and Tris.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  There seemed little point in pretending ignorance. Luke apparently knew too much for me to offer a convincing denial.

  “Why are you so eager to become a vampire?” I asked, ignoring his taunt.

  “Why not?” he returned flippantly. “I spent enough time with Tris when I was at university and he was my tutor to see just what it was all about. I know it’s not like the old days.” He bared his teeth in a menacing grin. “Though I wouldn’t have minded the old ways all that much.”

  I didn’t attempt to hide my distaste, but he appeared not the least fazed by my reaction.

  “I’ve no doubt that Tris made it all seem glamorous and thrilling,” I said.

  “And sexy,” Luke added. “Don’t forget that part.” He leered at me. “Though I surely don’t have to remind you of that.”

  “That really is none of your business.”

  Luke threw back his head and laughed. “My, my, Simon, you are quite prim and proper, aren’t you? Whatever did Tris see in you in the first place?”

  I refused to be drawn into a catfight I stood up. “I rather think you should ask Tris that, if you really want to know.”

  “Now, now, Simon,” Luke said, “don’t go away angry with me. I apologize for being so bitchy. Please, sit down.”

  What did he want from me? I wondered as I resumed my seat. Why was he attempting to be conciliatory after being quite offensive?

  “I suppose I got a bit carried away with myself, Simon,” Luke said earnestly. At least, I believe he hoped I would think he was sincere. I rather doubted he was. “Please don’t hold it against me. What I said was inappropriate, and I do apologize.”

  “Accepted,” I lied.

  Thank you,” he said, affecting not to notice the brusqueness of my response. “Tris told me he is staying with you while he’s in England, Simon. I would be most grateful if you would consider putting in a good word for me, try to make Tris see he’s really being unreasonable in resisting me.”

  “What makes you so certain that I disagree with Tris and agree with you?”

  “But why could you possibly object, Simon?” Luke said. He appeared truly puzzled. Then his face cleared. “Oh, I see. You must be jealous. You think I want Tris back. But I can assure you that is not the case.”

  I bit back the first retort that sprang to my lips, and then it hit me. Luke had hit the nail on the head, at least partially. I was a bit jealous, I had to admit. How bloody silly, I told myself. Why should I be jealous of Tris’s relationship with Luke? Even if Tris did decide to accede to Luke’s request, what business was it of mine?

  “Tris and I no longer have that kind of relationship, Luke,” I said.

  Luke grinned. “Yes, I know. Tris told me. He also told me that he’s not happy about that. He made it perfectly clear that he’s not the least bit interested in me. The only man he wants is you.”

  I said nothing, and Luke regarded me with amusement for a moment.

  “I see, Simon,” he said. “You can’t quite make up your mind what you want, is that it?”

  I stood again. “At the risk of being boringly repetitive, Luke, that really is none of your business. Now, if you will excuse me, I have things I must attend to.”

  His mocking laughter followed me out of the tent I strode a few paces away, furious that I had allowed him to get to me. Then I stopped and fumbled for my sunglasses. The clouds had disappeared, and the sun was once again radiant and hot in the summer sky.

  With my eyes protected, I resumed my progress back into the encampment. Time to find Giles and see what he had managed to find
out. Judging by the sun’s position, it was a bit past the noon hour. No doubt I would find Giles near the cook tents or in the pub.

  Reaching the main lane of the encampment where all the various shops were located, I turned toward the end where the oven and The Happy Destrier both stood.

  I found Giles at the pub, just finishing up some sort of stew. He mopped out his pewter trencher with a bit of coarse bread, then looked blearily up at me. I could tell from the expression on his face that he had drunk a bit more mead than was good for him.

  He grinned tipsily at me. “H’lo, Simon. How are you?” He burped, then reached for his tankard. He drank noisily, then set the tankard down with a thump.

  “Quite well, thank you,” I said, stepping into the shade inside the tent “No need to ask how you are, Giles, I can see for myself.”

  He burped again. “ ’Scuse me, Simon. Have some of the stew. I c’n recommend it.” He burped once more. “The mead, too. Damn good.”

  Giles was not much of a drinker, so I reckoned it hadn’t taken much of the powerful mead to get him quite happily drunk. His face was flushed, and his eyes had a bit of a glassy stare to them. I thought I had better get him home so he could sleep it off.

  “Come on, Giles,” I said. I grabbed hold of his arms and pulled him up out of his chair.

  “Wanna dance, Simon?” he said.

  “No, Giles, I don’t,” I said as patiently as I could. “I think it’s time for you to have a bit of a rest. Come with me.” I turned to the man who seemed to be in charge of the pub. “Have you been paid yet?”

  “Yes, sir,” he said, grinning. “The young lordling paid me straightaway. I warned him about the mead, sir, but he quite liked it.”

  “I can see that,” I said, putting one arm around Giles and beginning to lead him away.