The Tournament of Blood (28 page)

‘But you escaped.’

‘Yes, Sir Baldwin. When those people were turned off the stand like so many felons pushed off a cart, others ran to help them. I managed to get to my horse and leave the field.’

Margaret was smiling in a brittle, insincere manner. ‘You must have been terribly upset. To have killed a popular knight and thus cause the death of innocents . . .’

‘I was pleased, Lady.
Pleased
! Godwin had cuckolded me!’ Sir John burst out. He was suddenly silent, staring away into the distance. ‘Godwin was known for it. He was
useless as a fighter, but he loved to dally with women. Well, I heard he’d been dallying with mine. She’s long dead now, I fear, but then I wouldn’t have it! If I ’d had the
chance, I’d have challenged him formally and killed him in legal combat before God, damn him!’

The rush of words was embarrassing. Baldwin met Margaret’s eye. Sir John saw their look and quickly changed the subject.

‘It is rare to kill men now. And one shouldn’t wish to. Not with the rewards of ransom. In Crukerne in 1316 I captured several.’

‘Any we know?’ Margaret asked brightly.

‘You may know some. One was Sir Edmund – I think he hales from Gloucester. I was not actually a combatant at the time of the
mêlée
, but I was watching from an
inn, and disgusted with most of what I saw. Youths who hardly knew how to hold a blade were trying their luck against older, more honourable fellows and beating them through sheer strength of
numbers.’

‘Isn’t that always the way?’ Baldwin asked with some surprise.

‘I suppose it is sometimes, but it’s hardly right, is it? One of the only decent fighters was Sir Walter Basset. Now there was a man who could fight! Stormed from one combat to
another, winning horses and armour on all sides. Wonderful work! He pushed Sir Richard Prouse through a wall.’

He smiled at the memory. The sight of the clumsy fool tottering sideways through the wooden stand had been hilarious.

‘And this arrogant young puppy Sir Edmund stormed in to attack Sir Walter. Christ! Oh, forgive me, my apologies, my Lady, but what can you say about a fool like that? What did he think he
was doing? Sir Walter is trained and experienced, as well as having a very short temper. It was predictable. Sir Edmund tried to fight, but kept being pressed back, his horse suffering as many
buffets as Sir Edmund himself, until he had to break and ride off. Sir Walter had the choice of chasing him or returning to his already fallen prey and like a cat he went back to Sir Richard,
except now his blood was well and truly up, which is how he came to half kill poor old Prouse.

‘I was drinking ale and saw all this. As it happened, my horse was saddled, and I was armoured. I thought, Well, here’s an opportunity for some money! I climbed up into the saddle,
took a lance, and hurtled off after Sir Edmund. I caught him completely unawares, the damned fool, and in a moment he was out of the saddle and sprawling in the dirt. So, I captured him and took
him back to the diseur who confirmed I had won him legally.’

‘Did no one try to stop you?’ Margaret asked.

‘No, the other folks had seen how badly hurt Sir Richard was, so they were all busy fetching leeches and suchlike. No, no one tried to stop me. They were making sure that Sir Walter
escaped the mob. So many of the folks grow angry to see a man win his bout; they try to catch the man who stopped their own favourite win. I recall Benjamin was happy to see me – he had a
large bet on Sir Edmund losing his armour and I helped him win the gamble.’

‘What happened to Sir Richard?’ Margaret enquired. ‘He didn’t die, did he?’

‘He lives yet,’ Sir John said thoughtfully. The thought of living like that, unable to walk or run, without the use of an arm or the sight in one eye, and with those scars! Terrible!
Every fighter’s nightmare. ‘Better perhaps that he had died,’ he said heavily, with the faintest touch of compassion. ‘He was badly crushed when the
ber frois
collapsed on him. And not only him. Several people were killed when he fell, especially since his horse was flailing about with its hooves and killed some folks before it, too, died. It’s
unfair, of course, but some bystanders blamed Sir Walter at the time.’

‘Why?’

‘Because when Sir Richard fell through the barriers many people were crushed. Most were villeins, though. No one significant.’

Baldwin was frowning. ‘Do you know who was responsible for the
ber frois
that collapsed?’

‘Of course I do. It was at my manor – I’d arranged it,’ Sir John said impatiently. ‘The stands were designed by Hal Sachevyll, and constructed by Carpenter Wymond.
Who else builds tournaments in Devonshire?’

‘Didn’t their failure cost you dearly?’

‘I don’t think that’s any of your business.’

‘I am surprised that after that, Hal and Wymond were used again,’ Margaret said.

‘Hal has a good eye for spectacle. He’s always in demand.’

‘Not recently, surely,’ Baldwin murmured. ‘While the King has his ban.’

‘Hal was with the King himself until recently,’ Sir John said. ‘I know he was at court until the end of last year. And then I believe he helped Earl Thomas. Before the Earl was
executed, of course,’ he added with a chuckle.

‘They could travel from one side to another so easily?’ Baldwin asked.

Sir John grinned. ‘Everyone likes to see a tournament. And the King would have liked to know what was happening in his uncle’s camp.’

‘You think they were spying?’ Baldwin shot out.

‘At Crukerne, Hal was very friendly with Despenser’s allies. What would
you
think?’ Sir John laughed and left them.

As soon as he had gone out of earshot, Odo apologetically cleared his throat from behind them. ‘Sir Baldwin? Might I have a word?’

‘Of course, my friend. What is it?’

Odo shot a look at Margaret, and she smiled graciously and left them, walking a few feet away.

‘It’s confidential, Sir Baldwin, but I thought you should know. I am taking messages between Squire Geoffrey and Lady Alice. They are married.’

‘I had heard that,’ Baldwin said loftily. He disliked gossip and had no wish to see their affair becoming common knowledge until they were ready.

‘But were you aware that Sir John is heavily in debt and seeks to have Alice marry his son so that he can use her estates to support his own? If he learns she is married to Geoffrey, he
could become dangerous.’

‘I see,’ Baldwin said. He mused a while. ‘What of Sir Edmund? What do you know of him?’

‘He’s a very a good man. Honourable, a renowned fighter on the continent. Why do you ask?’

‘He is one of the men who was in Exeter at the time Benjamin Dudenay was murdered. I merely wondered about him.’

‘You need have no concerns about him,’ Odo said.

‘You sound very convinced.’

‘Sir Baldwin, I know many knights and squires. I may be less than a competent squire in Mark Tyler’s eyes, but I know my job. Sir Edmund is an honourable man.’

‘Yes. It is sad, isn’t it?’ Baldwin said quietly. ‘All the squires and knights here should be decent, honourable, chivalrous folk – yet someone is a
murderer.’

Seeing Sir Peregrine, Simon bent his steps towards the banneret. Although Baldwin professed an intense dislike for the man, Simon was ambivalent. Sir Peregrine was no more
fearsome than many other men he had known. ‘Morning, Sir Peregrine.’

‘Ah, Bailiff Puttock! I am glad to see you again. How are you this fine morning?’

‘It is very clear, isn’t it, thanks to God!’ Simon agreed fervently. ‘I feared normal Dartmoor weather.’

‘Aye. Mizzle, drizzle, rain or howling gale. It’s rare enough you see sun for more than a few days,’ the knight said, his teeth showing briefly. He could never entirely trust
the Bailiff, for Simon and Baldwin had once suspected him of murder, but Sir Peregrine was a fair man and he could see that his behaviour had been suspicious, so he tried not to hold a grudge.
‘Any news of the murdered man?’ he asked quietly.

‘Nothing, I fear. There is no clue as to who the killer could be. Perhaps he was a mindless fool who has since run away.’

‘Stranger tales have come to my attention before now,’ Sir Peregrine nodded. ‘But if I were you, I should tell the watchmen to keep a wary eye open. I suppose you have heard
that people are joking about Hal and his lover . . . you knew that Wymond and Hal were bed-fellows?’

‘Was anyone not aware?’

Sir Peregrine grunted in assent. ‘It wasn’t exactly a secret, was it? But who cares? The King himself . . .’ Caution made him silent a moment. ‘The point is, the
spectators may become unsettled. When that happens, they are likely to seek a new target for their anger. An English rabble roused is unpleasant. Ah well! Let’s just hope.’

They walked on in silence, Simon shooting small glances at the banneret, wondering whether he had his own suspicions – but it wasn’t something he could ask Sir Peregrine. Instead he
chose an uncontentious topic. ‘Are any of your men to join in today?’

‘Not mine personally, not in the jousting,’ Sir Peregrine said, thinking of the whip-like Squire Andrew. He had been present at the feast last night, serving his master with the calm
and unhurried elegance that showed both his breeding and his education. Yet all the while his precision spoke of his deadly skills. Sir Peregrine still had no doubt that the man was a killer, from
his toes to his scalp. It was a relief when Andrew left the room. ‘There is one I should like to see fighting, though.’

Simon caught his tone but Sir Peregrine declined to comment further. In truth Simon had enough to consider himself. His daughter had been an unholy pest the whole of the previous evening,
snapping at Margaret, being sarcastic to him. God’s teeth! He could sometimes wish he had never had any children; it was almost an attractive thought. Poor Baldwin had watched her during one
of her tantrums with a faraway look in his eye, like a man who was realising that this might be served up to him soon, now he had his own daughter.

For the most part Edith was a well-behaved, responsible child, but just recently she had taken to outbursts whenever she was refused permission to do anything, although Simon had tried to point
out to her that it was her very argumentativeness which tended to make him turn her down. Last night it had been a ridiculous demand that she should be allowed to go out to a tavern. Ludicrous in a
town like this, with strangers on all sides, cut-purses, horse dealers, fakers and thieves of all measures, but Edith wouldn’t listen to reason. Margaret had just asked her where her scarf
was, and Edith didn’t even seem to hear her, instead asking about going into town. Mad, absolutely mad!

‘I can take Hugh to guard me,’ she’d stated. ‘There’s little enough danger.’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s not safe.’

‘What will you do, fence me in an enclosure where no one can ever come to me?’ she’d demanded.

‘I will not have my daughter wandering the streets like a slut!’

‘You think me no better than a whore?’

Simon had drawn a breath to hold his temper. ‘Don’t twist my words.’

‘That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t trust me. You never have! You think I’d fall into the arms of the nearest smelly groom as soon as I was out of your
sight.’

‘Edith, please,’ Margaret had pleaded. ‘Your father is only trying to protect you.’

‘
Protect
me?’ she’d sneered. ‘He’s just making sure I’m not violated, that’s all. He wants me to remain unsullied by nasty groping servants.
Well, I want to see Squire William. Hugh can chaperone me.’

‘Squire William? What, the son of Sir John?’ Simon gasped, recalling the lewd group at the fence.

‘Yes, why? What’s wrong with him?’

‘You are
not
to see him. Or talk to him,’ Simon stated flatly.

Immediately tears of frustration had sprung into her eyes. ‘But why? He’s—’

‘That’s enough. I have given you my decision. Don’t go near him,’ said Simon. His daughter’s face twisted a knife in his gut. He hated hurting her, and this news
had made her face crumple like screwed-up parchment.

‘Father, please!’

He couldn’t tell her why. If he did, she would likely choose to disbelieve him, and if not she would be dreadfully hurt by the proof of her own foolishness in trusting William. Better that
she should think it was an arbitrary decision from an autocratic father. ‘Edith, shut up or I’ll send you back with Hugh tomorrow at dawn.’

‘But . . .’

‘I am not joking. One more word, and you’ll be gone.’

It took away any residual pleasure in the tournament. Now he would be glad to be leaving at the end of it all.

But not yet. Margaret had been looking forward to it for weeks, Simon knew. He sighed. If he could, he would leave now. But he couldn’t. Margaret had found a wetnurse to look after
Peterkin, and she would want to remain and see the whole show.

Soon they heard the chapel bell tolling and Simon and Sir Peregrine parted. Simon wanted to attend the morning Mass to pray for a tournament free of fatal injuries.

Later, that innocent prayer would strike him as ironic.

In her little room curtained off from Sir John’s in the knight’s pavilion, Alice finished brushing her hair and nodded to her maid to help pin the long tresses into
position.

Today, if all went well, should mark the end of her long-confined life. No more listening to Sir John, for as soon as Geoffrey had earned his spurs, he could claim her. Their vows had been
exchanged legally, and there was nothing her guardian could do to alter that.

And yet . . .

The dream had repeated itself to her. That vision of blood and gore tore at her like the claws of a wildcat, springing into her mind even during the daytime, striking her dumb with fear. She
couldn’t bear to think of losing her Geoffrey, for he was the stone foundation upon which her life was built, but the mornings found her progressively more gloomy. Somehow she had the feeling
that her dream was a premonition, that she was being given a warning.

Alice winced as the comb pulled, and looked sharply at her maid, but the girl rolled her eyes in apology and Alice couldn’t be cross, not today. She sighed and bent her head so that the
maid could work more easily.