The Tournament of Blood (33 page)

‘How can you tell that?’ Tyler asked scathingly. ‘He’s a mass of blood and pus. You can’t tell which blow was given first. It’s impossible.’

‘I cannot be certain, it is true,’ Baldwin admitted. ‘But the blow at his back is low, as if the murderer missed Hal’s head because he was trying to attack him in the
dark. Consider: a man stalks Hal and delivers the first blow from behind. Hal falls, wondering what hit him. Obviously he would cry out. This would not have disabled him, only hurt a lot.
Afterwards come a number of fresh blows, and these are rained down upon him with great violence and indiscrimination . . .’

‘How can you tell?’ Sir Peregrine asked.

‘This one hit his ear and took off a flap of skin, the weapon struck with such force. There are so many wounds, it could only have been done by someone who didn’t want to see Hal get
up again. The killer must have been driven by rage or hatred, which could explain the large number of wounds.’

It was a point which hadn’t been missed by Tyler. ‘So a coward struck him down from behind and then beat the life out of him as he lay helpless on the ground. The action of a real
hero! I hope you are proud, Bailiff.’

‘Why should Simon do that?’ Coroner Roger asked patiently.

‘Simon didn’t,’ Baldwin said shortly. He was about to speak again when he became aware that the crowd about them had visibly grown. They were at the centre of a thickening ring
of spectators. Baldwin had not realised that news of Tyler’s suspicions about Simon had spread so quickly.

Sir Roger was under no such illusions. Like Margaret, he had witnessed how peasants could swiftly turn violent, and now he glowered about him as voices muttered angrily. He looked for
men-at-arms, but they were back at the stands, protecting Lord Hugh.

When Baldwin saw his ferocious expression he realised Sir Roger’s concern. Lifting his hands over his head, Baldwin called out in a clear voice: ‘The body of Hal Sachevyll has been
found here. Does any man know of anyone who had reason to want Hal dead?’

‘The Bailiff ! Arrest
him
if you want the killer,’ came a voice.

‘Rubbish!’ another snapped, and Baldwin heard Sir Roger give a short sigh of relief as Odo the herald appeared, shouldering his way through the press. ‘Complete and utter
balls! Only the illegitimate son of a Breton pirate could believe that sort of shite! This Bailiff is known to be fair and incorruptible. If he needs to draw a weapon, he fights face-to-face. No
knife in the back from Bailiff Puttock!’

His loud voice had held the audience quiet, but as he reached the group about the body, Baldwin saw that he had not arrived alone. As he turned and faced the crowd, men-at-arms in Sir
Peregrine’s livery appeared, all holding long polearms. Under their silent, threatening gaze, the people began to shuffle. It was one thing to intimidate a few men by strength of numbers, but
quite another to risk fighting trained men. Muttering, the crowd began to thin.

‘Thank you, Odo,’ Sir Roger said as the people dispersed and Mark Tyler strode away angrily. ‘Could you arrange for a jury to be gathered and for a guard to be placed upon this
body until we have fully recorded all injuries?’

‘Of course, Sir Roger,’ and Odo glanced about, reassuring himself that the crowd was dispersing, before returning to his duties. Sir Peregrine went with him.

Simon did not notice him leave. He stood with a feeling of bewilderment. Never before had he been accused of any serious crime. Once or twice men had inferred that he had taken bribes when they
disliked his decisions, but never had anyone dared to suggest he could have been guilty of murder! The accusation had struck him like a shot from the King’s artillery. He was utterly stunned
now he realised the enormity of the herald’s words; he couldn’t even trust his voice.

It was not anger. In an instant Tyler had hit Simon in a place he had always thought himself secure: in his pride. Simon valued his reputation for honesty, and the fact that a fellow official
who was working for Lord Hugh could suggest such a thing had rocked him. When Hal accused him of killing Wymond, that was one thing: the architect had just lost a close friend and was lashing out
at the first man he could – Simon hardly looked upon that as personal – but this, from Mark Tyler, was a studied insult. It showed Simon that he was vulnerable to attack, that
accusations, unreasonable and unfair could be set against him.

And the accusation had not been withdrawn, he noted. If Tyler chose to continue to declare Simon’s guilt, the Bailiff would be hard-pressed to defend himself. Tyler was powerful enough,
since he would likely have the ear of Lord Hugh.

Simon grimly set his shoulders. No matter who made unreasonable accusations against him, he would continue to perform his duty to the best of his ability. And that was all.

It was as he came to this resolution that a young urchin appeared in front of him. ‘Bailiff ?’

‘Yes? What is it?’ Simon barked.

‘A message,’ he said, holding out his grubby hand.

Simon pressed a small coin into it. The lad studied it, then nodded to himself. ‘It’s from your wife. She says your daughter has gone missing.’

Baldwin and Simon hurriedly left Sir Roger with the body and set off to the stands. There they saw Sir Peregrine waiting for them.

‘Sir Peregrine, we have to go. Simon’s daughter has disappeared and—’ Baldwin began, but Sir Peregrine shook his head and looked at Simon apologetically.

‘Bailiff, I’m sorry, but these murders are causing a very great deal of alarm as you can imagine, and people are making all sorts of wild allegations.’

‘We agree,’ Baldwin said. ‘We must investigate this latest killing with great urgency. Two murders and we still have no idea who could have committed them, nor why! We must do
all we can to find the culprit. After all, a man who has committed two murders may well commit another. We are fortunate that the Coroner is here.’

‘Quite right!’ shouted Mark Tyler.

Simon groaned as the King Herald appeared. ‘What now, Tyler? Why don’t you return to your duties here?’

The herald gave him a sour grin. ‘That’s just what you’d like, isn’t it, Bailiff ? Get rid of me so that your guilt can never be proved.’

‘That’s bollocks, as you well know!’ Simon flushed.

‘Really? Then you won’t mind proving your innocence in front of the jury, will you?’

‘There is no need for that,’ Baldwin said sharply. ‘No one seriously believes that Simon is guilty.’

‘That’s not strictly true,’ said Sir Peregrine. ‘Mark Tyler has come to me to officially declare his belief that the good Bailiff here
is
guilty.’ He
glanced at Baldwin apologetically, then turned his attention back to Simon. ‘I have no desire to be involved, quite frankly, but I have little choice. Lord Hugh has no options
either.’

Mark Tyler smirked as Sir Peregrine outlined the position. It was enough for Tyler to have accused this Bailiff, without having to worry about the consequences. He was content with the
reflection that he himself had been able to point it out. That would surely weigh heavily in his favour in Lord Hugh’s mind.

The tournaments were continuing, with squires testing their courage in the yard. From duty Lord Hugh remained on his seat, toying with a large mazer of wine, while all about him the stands
erupted in cheering or booing as one after another of the contestants tumbled to the ground, for these were the younger squires, the ones with least skill and expertise. It would be many a long
month before they had the ability or the strength to challenge a real warrior, but at least they were getting their knocks and being winded, which was always a good experience for a man.

Mark Tyler noted the scene with only a part of his brain. Most of his attention was focused on Odo, the man brought in by Sir Peregrine, he felt sure, to replace him. Devious, lying churl that
he was! He’d inveigled his way into Lord Hugh’s household like a slug, slithering in and leaving his slime over all that he touched. Well, he’d better watch out. Mark was too fly
for him; he wasn’t going to give up his place at his lord’s side for anyone. No, this odious Odo must get his comeuppance. Mark was no fool and he’d see to the arse.

Odo had finished monitoring the latest joust and there was a short pause in the events while Lord Hugh left the stand to take a piss against one of the grandstand’s stanchions. While he
was gone, Odo trotted on his pony towards the huddle of men, his expression bemused. ‘What’s happening?’ he asked.

‘I have accused the Bailiff of murder,’ Mark told him haughtily.

Odo glanced at Mark with an expression of surprise. ‘But the Bailiff is needed by Lord Hugh.’

Mark stiffened. ‘The man is a killer! Would you have him next to your own lord?’

‘I’ve killed no one here,’ Simon sputtered angrily. He would have liked to continue, but Odo cut him off.

‘There is no need to worry, Bailiff. I am sure that Mark has merely made an error. Isn’t that right, Mark?’

‘I’ve made no . . .’

‘Lord Hugh was
very specific
just now that he wishes the Bailiff back at his side as soon as possible.’

Mark stared at Odo. There was unsheathed steel in the other herald’s voice, a conviction and firmly threatening tone. Mark turned to Sir Peregrine and would have appealed to his better
judgement, except he caught sight of a wink from Sir Peregrine to Odo: the two were in league! Mark felt his guts lurch, but then he managed to reply with hauteur. ‘Of course. We can’t
have a murderer
arrested
, can we?’

‘Lord Hugh was sure you would retract your allegation,’ Odo said, with emphasis. ‘He is convinced that the good Bailiff is innocent.’

‘Then of course I withdraw,’ Mark agreed tightly. ‘If my lord tells me so, it must be true.’

He couldn’t wait and listen to their chatter; he had to get away. Being beaten like that by a man so new to the trade he could scarcely call out the colours of Lord Hugh’s own host
was a proof, if he had needed it, that Lord Hugh’s patronage was gone. The writing was on the wall; Mark could see that. He had known for some little time that Sir Peregrine was disatisfied
with him, but he hadn’t realised just how low was the esteem in which the banneret held him. It was a shock that Peregrine would side with a new herald and a Bailiff who was not even of Lord
Hugh’s household in order to get rid of
him
, Mark Tyler, King Herald.

The Bailiff had been a thorn in his side from the moment they had first met. Big-headed shit! He thought he knew how to set out a tournament, how to lay out horse-lines, how to site stands,
where to put lance-rests and equipment. As a mere Bailiff, Mark considered that Simon had managed reasonably well – but that didn’t alter his opinion that the Bailiff was a cocky old
fool with little idea of how to perform the simplest task. And he had quarrelled with both Hal
and
Wymond. He was the obvious suspect! Mark had to wonder why on earth Lord Hugh should
bother to protect him.

Then Mark recalled the disaster at Crukerne where folks had died, mainly because Hal and Wymond had scrimped on the timber. The stand had collapsed when that fool of a knight, Sir Richard
Prouse, fell upon it, and spectators were crushed beneath his mount. Hal and Wymond had promised to erect suitable stands and then thieved Sir John’s money for their own purposes. That
horrible accident had enraged Lord Hugh himself, for he had friends in the stands who could have been wounded.

Well, sod them! If Mark couldn’t accuse the Bailiff himself, he knew how to spread gossip.

Arriving at a wineseller, Mark sank a large pot. ‘It was the Bailiff.’

‘Eh?’ The wine-seller gazed at him blankly, already more than half-drunk himself.

‘That Bailiff killed Hal and Wymond,’ Mark said. ‘Probably thought Lord Hugh would reward him. After all, Lord Hugh hated the two sodomites.’

The wine-seller nodded knowingly, but Mark was sure he hadn’t taken it in. No matter. He could see another man listening intently, from a table in the corner. Mark knew the rumour would be
all over the place by dark.

There was little or no satisfaction in it. Mark knew his position was gone. His thoughts became more and more gloomy. It was obvious that Sir Peregrine wanted him out of the way; that Odo
coveted his position for himself. No one would support Mark. All were keen to see the back of him.

Perhaps he should leave. Go to France, to the south where it was warm, or to Bavaria. There were good opportunities for an experienced herald there, so he had heard. New tournaments were being
arranged there all the time, with all the great families lining up to display their finery and bash the living daylights out of each other. A herald could pick up a patron with ease, if he had a
good tongue and could sing new songs, and the English ones that filled much of Mark’s repertoire should be new enough for any Swabian or Bavarian count.

He squinted up at the sun as a wave of sadness washed over him. It was all very well talking about going to visit new countries, but Mark was happy here in Devon. The thought of packing his few
belongings and traipsing over to Europe held no appeal.

Yet it could become necessary. If Sir Peregrine and Odo had their way, he would soon be forced from his position. And the Bailiff, too, wanted him gone. He was playing the same game as Sir
Peregrine and Odo.

He purchased more wine and gazed glumly into the depths of the liquid. The trouble was, if they were all to gang up against him, he was powerless. The worm Odo must feel that he as good as had
Mark’s job already.

Well, he
hadn’t
! The herald squared his shoulders. He would see off any man who tried to get him thrown from his master’s household.

Any man at all, he thought, as a picture of Odo appeared unbidden in his mind.

When Simon saw Edith, he felt an overwhelming relief that she was all right, but that was quickly washed away when he saw with whom she walked.

It was among the food stalls that he sighted her. He and Baldwin had hurried that way as soon as they had spoken to Margaret. The tearful woman was standing at the rear of the stand while Hugh
glowered at the world, wanting to seek Edith but unwilling to leave his mistress. Margaret was consumed with dread for what might have happened to her daughter.