The Tournament of Blood aktm-11

by Michael Jecks

  Simon smiled thinly as the knight gave him a quick look up and down, but his smile hardened as the knight spun on his heel and made to walk away. ‘Sir John?’

  Pausing, the knight turned his head. ‘What?’ he snapped rudely.

  The sight of the man’s back made Simon’s hackles rise. He took a deep breath and stepped forward. ‘Sir John, I wouldn’t like to think that you could be bribing people to perjure themselves. If I was to think that, I’d have to inform the Coroner.’

  Sir John slowly turned to face him.

  Simon continued, ‘And if I find that your son was not telling the truth, Sir John, I will see to it that he is arrested and questioned. I hope that is equally clear.’

  The knight said nothing, merely sniffed and turned on his heel.

  Simon said sharply, ‘I’m not finished!’

  Sir John turned and gritted his teeth. ‘You are trying my patience, Bailiff. You have no jurisdiction over me.’

  ‘This land is Lord Hugh’s. I am his representative here.’

  ‘I don’t give a shit who you are.’

  ‘I want to know what you were doing last night after dark.’

  ‘Me?’ Sir John burst out. ‘You think I had something to do with Wymond’s death?’

  Simon held his stare, but then he was disconcerted to see a smile breaking out on the knight’s face.

  ‘Well, Bailiff. If you must know, I went to my tent and slept there. Alone.’

  ‘So you have no one to confirm you were there?’

  ‘Yes, I have. My ward, Lady Alice. She was there when I returned from the meal. She can confirm that I arrived shortly after dark. I gave her a good night.’

  Sir Peregrine of Barnstaple rode proudly at his lord’s side, sitting easily on his great bay stallion. The weather was fine and dry. He could feel the sun on his dark crimson velvet tunic and the dust rose in choking clouds, tickling his nostrils and throat.

  At his side his standard bearer carried his square banner on its long shaft and the sight of the cloth fluttering in the breeze warmed his heart. Barnacles on a yellow background, a play on the link between his family and Barnstaple, always made him happy, but today he felt honoured, for his arms were being displayed beside Lord Hugh’s.

  His lord was not of a mind to chat and their journey had been quiet, Lord Hugh speaking rarely except during their occasional breaks to rest the horses. Sir Peregrine knew that his master had much on his mind; also, with so many men-at-arms about them, he couldn’t talk because a man could never be too certain who might be willing to accept a fee for information about a magnate’s thinking – and the King’s friends had weighty purses filled with gold for those who helped them. The men were neccessary, because Lord Hugh’s household was travelling with him and he had need of protection for the carts with the chests filled with plate ready to be pawned to buy cloth, pay retainers, reward knights who showed particular prowess, and generally impress all who came to see his tournament. A knight needed to display many qualities: courtesy, humility, loyalty, hardiness, a love for the truth, but not least among them was largesse – spending freely to show his own disdain for cash.

  Not, Sir Peregrine noted, that many knights eschewed money. They couldn’t, not when their lives depended upon good armour, good horses and good weapons – none of which came cheaply. They must look to their manors to provide them with enough funds to maintain their lifestyles, yet it was not easy to squeeze the last pennies from reluctant and recalcitrant peasants.

  Lord Hugh with his household could devastate an area. They were forever in the saddle travelling from one manor to another, and it took little time for the meagre stores at each point to be consumed. Sir Peregrine was often involved in assessing the stores at different places, especially within Lord Hugh’s forts, and knew exactly how much the men needed. It was no surprise that many of the farm peasants looked upon the arrival of the lord and his retinue as a form of purgatory to be endured, rather than a cause for excitement and pleasure.

  At least this visit would be different, he reflected, looking about him. Everyone enjoyed watching the spectacle of a tournament and even the townsfolk would be happy with the profits they could make from the visitors to the market.

  On entering Oakhampton, people on either side came out from shops and houses to gawp, a few to cheer, knowing that Lord Hugh’s household meant increased sales of food and drink, and that the celebration of the tournament would soon begin. Shabby townspeople thronged the streets, while urchins ducked under arms and stood at the roadside to gape at the men-at-arms in their finery, with their caps on their heads, their mail chinking merrily like so many coins as they walked, the badges holding the enamelled insignia of Lord Hugh shining at the horses’ harnesses, the leatherwork squeaking and groaning, the weapons gleaming blue or silver, the edges well-honed, the polearms slung over men’s shoulders ready to be swung into play. Well might the townsfolk stare. This cavalcade of twenty horsemen, carts, wagons, thirty more men-at-arms on foot and all the supply horses, not to mention the great destriers eagerly skipping and occasionally lashing out at each other or at a bystander, was the largest that the town had seen in years.

  Sir Peregrine could see that Lord Hugh’s mind was not on the hordes waiting upon each side. His thoughts were still on the King and the recent death of Thomas of Lancaster.

  The suddenness of Thomas’s death had shocked men up and down the country. For the wealthiest man after the King to be dealt with so peremptorily was terrible. A short hearing, then justice: he was set upon a mule to be taken to the gallows, but at the last moment his punishment was changed to simple beheading rather than hanging and quartering as a traitor deserved. Wiser counsel had prevailed: his noble blood was acknowledged in his death.

  Lord Hugh had been a mover behind the scenes for some years, helping those who sought to obstruct the King’s foolish spend-thriftiness. Especially when Gaveston was created Earl of Cornwall and given rich estates. It was pathetic to see how the King doted on him. After Gaveston’s death he saw those who brought Gaveston to the block as traitors, and Lord Hugh knew that the King waited to hear of treason on his own part. As soon as that happened, Lord Hugh de Courtenay would be condemned.

  In part it was to distract him that Sir Peregrine had suggested a tournament. Lord Hugh was an enthusiastic supporter of martial arts and his wife eagerly seized upon the idea: she knew her husband needed to relax. However, there was an ulterior motive: if the King should take it into his head to attack the West Country, it would be far better that Lord Hugh’s knights should have had practice, and that as many of the youngsters who wanted to win their spurs should do so, receiving spurs and arms from Lord Hugh himself. A man would only rarely consider treachery against the lord who had given him the collée to dub him knight.

  Sir Peregrine knew King Edward II distrusted him. Last year Sir Peregrine had unsuccessfully advised his lord to join the Marcher lords standing against the King. For a time the alliance had been successful and the two Despensers, Hugh the Older and his son Hugh the Younger, had left the realm, the father to take up the idle life of an exile, his son to become a pirate thriving on the trade ships which passed along the Kent coast; but now the Despensers were back, and strengthened in pride and arrogance by the removal of their most bitter foe, Thomas of Lancaster.

  Hugh Despenser the Younger had a long memory for those who had thwarted his appalling ambition. When Hugh the Younger was not given what he wanted, he imprisoned those who stood in his path – or killed them – and Sir Peregrine of Barnstaple was known to be implacably opposed to him. That was why Sir Peregrine wanted Lord Hugh’s men fully prepared for war.

  His attention moved on to the strange knight who had appeared in the castle at Tiverton with his squire and archer. They were a very unsettling trio. Wandering knights were common, especially since the Earl of Lancaster’s men had been so fearfully cut about and dispersed, but Sir Edmund of Gloucester looked more dangerous than most. It was there in his grim, intel
ligent features, in his quick, assured movements and curious stillness when he stood silently observing others. He warranted watching. Sir Peregrine didn’t trust him, which was why he had sent the man and his companions on ahead with Lord Hugh’s harbingers and heralds.

  Looking up, Sir Peregrine saw that they were almost at the castle and he looked about him, all senses alert. If someone wanted to harm him or his lord, it would be an ideal place for an ambush, here in the river’s cutting before the road took them all up to the castle’s barbican. Sir Edmund had an archer with him, Sir Peregrine reminded himself.

  He glanced to either side, his tension growing. The townspeople didn’t look cheerful; they should have been happy to see their lord, yet there was a pall of anxiety or worse hanging over the place.

  As Lord Hugh clattered over the timber bridge to the barbican, Sir Peregrine gazed up at the walls above. A short Welshman with a cruel scar from one ear almost to his nose, one of Sir Peregrine’s own men, nodded cheerily from the battlements and Sir Peregrine relaxed a little. If he thought all was safe, Sir Peregrine was content.

  Men had been sent on with the harbingers to ensure that the place was prepared for Lord Hugh and the others. All told, Lord Hugh and his household were almost sixty men and that many required a goodly number of barrels of ale and of wine to be prepared, let alone the grain that must be put by for breadmaking. Oats must be stored for the horses, meats bought, the hall cleaned, the yard cleared, tapestries hung to stop the draughts from behind the shutters once the place was closed up for the night, and the portable altars set out.

  Oakhampton might be small compared with other castles, but it offered Sir Peregrine a sense of safety as he entered the tunnel to the bailey, and he smiled to see his men at their posts. The main gates opened, and he trotted in behind Lord Hugh, their hooves ringing and striking sparks from the moorstone that paved the courtyard.

  Chapter Fourteen

  While the lord and his men ensconced themselves in Oakhampton Castle, Baldwin went with Margaret and Edith to watch some of the pre-tournament displays and to seek Simon.

  ‘I thought he’d be here when we arrived,’ Margaret said. She sounded a little disappointed.

  ‘There is much to be organised still,’ Baldwin said. He cast her a quick look. ‘And someone was murdered here last night so he has extra work.’

  The shadows were growing and people lounged at rails watching a succession of hopeful squires exercising their masters’ horses through the lists, galloping the great mounts to warm them, turning and charging back again.

  There were other entertainments as well. A juggler was sending an endless succession of balls up into the air, while idlers watched and unemotionally chewed pies or slurped from jugs of ale. Boys shot arrows at targets while farther on, a pair of men were circling warily, bare-chested, both holding small riding swords, fighting for God knew what reason – perhaps merely for money. Sometimes fights were staged to resolve arguments, sometimes just for display, but either way these combatants were winning a good reward. Every time the two backed away from each other, spectators threw coins.

  It was an unequal battle, for one of the men was taller and had a longer reach, while the other had short arms. The shorter fellow was already wearing a pattern of bloody slashes across his chest while the other had only a couple of cuts on the palm of his left hand where he had defended himself. Baldwin, Margaret and Edith watched the two for some little while, having sent Hugh for a jug of wine, but soon it became obvious who would win and they lost interest. Edith professed a desire to see the weaker man prevail, but it was a forlorn hope; he had no chance, especially a moment later when the taller man ran him through the shoulder.

  It was good for Baldwin to forget the murder, if only for a little while. The affair was an issue for Simon, certainly, and the Coroner, but not Baldwin, Keeper of the King’s Peace from faraway Crediton. Yet Baldwin was concerned. He couldn’t get the idea out of his mind that Wymond’s body was left specifically to convey a message to Hal.

  He tried to put such thoughts from him as he walked with Margaret, but he was keenly sensitive to the mood of the place. Everyone had heard of Wymond’s death by now, and many of the townspeople were gossiping about the murder, but to Baldwin’s relief there was little fear. The townspeople were not going to let the death of an unpopular carpenter stop them enjoying themselves.

  With Simon busy, Baldwin felt a duty to keep Simon’s wife entertained and he was determined to do so with as light a manner as possible. Although Edith was a young woman now, she could forget herself occasionally and fall into childish ways. Seeing a man selling sweetmeats, she ran on ahead and Baldwin took the opportunity of asking Margaret how she was.

  ‘I despair,’ Margaret said when the girl was out of earshot, rocking gently to soothe the child in her arms.

  ‘Is she that difficult?’ Baldwin asked, smiling inanely as the infant opened his eyes and glowered at the world. Catching sight of Baldwin he frowned and then vomited.

  ‘More than you could imagine,’ Margaret sighed as she mopped up. ‘She exhausts me. One moment she declares she adores me, the next she shrieks that she loathes me. Naturally I am a saint if I have just given her a treat and an ogre if I’ve denied her one. At other times she is merely sullen and unhelpful.’

  ‘I presume preventing her riding with her friends makes her sullen?’ Baldwin guessed.

  ‘Just so. Last week she wanted to ride to Tavistock – on her own, I ask you! She said she was old enough to be wedded, so she was old enough to ride to see her friends. I soon corrected her.’

  Hugh reappeared, scowling ferociously as he barged his way through the crowd, two jugs gripped carefully in one hand, while he held his staff in his clenched fist.

  Baldwin nodded towards him. ‘It is good to see Hugh back.’

  ‘You think so? The miserable devil!’ she giggled. ‘But yes, I’m happy he’s returned.’

  ‘It has been about a year, hasn’t it, that he’s been living away? Has he married Constance?’

  ‘So he says.’

  ‘It’s hard to imagine a man leaving his wife behind.’

  ‘Servants grow accustomed to leaving their families for long periods.’

  ‘I know. Yet since I married Jeanne, I find it hard to imagine leaving her for weeks at a time. Is Hugh happy with his wife?’

  ‘I think so.’ She gave a slow nod in assent.

  Baldwin knew that Margaret disapproved of the woman called Constance because of her background. Constance had once been a novice nun, and the thought that Hugh had slept with her offended Margaret, who was highly religious. She could not accept that a woman who had given her vows to God could later take up a new life and a secular husband. Tactfully, Baldwin chose to change the subject. ‘Simon must be highly considered if he is asked to organise events such as these. I think your husband may be destined for advancement.’

  ‘You think so?’ Margaret responded eagerly. ‘He has certainly done very well for himself. When we first met, he was a mere gentleman with land out at Sandford, and now look at him! I feel quite nervous, thinking of the nobles who will be here.’

  He gave her a long, pensive look. ‘When you have met as many of the breed as I have, you will soon lose any nerves. You will learn to make allowances for them.’

  She blinked. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Margaret, most of the truly noble knights are mere vain, primping coxcombs. They have less brain in their heads than they were born with – those that have any at all. Look, there are two there.’

  Following his finger, she saw Sir John of Crukerne and his son walking to the combat area where they had seen the two swordsmen. They leaned on the rail, talking. ‘What of them?’

  ‘They have the knightly attributes, or so they think. Both, from what I have heard, can handle a horse with great skill; both can wield lance, sword or axe; both have great stamina – but there is more to knighthood than that. They show no courtesy, humility or pity. Many kn
ights like to demonstrate their courtesy by elaborate praise of beautiful women, and many would leave their attentions there, having made their target feel flattered as a lady should after such recognition, but there are some, like that squire,’ he jerked his head, ‘who would always try to take more. By force, if necessary.’

  ‘And the other?’

  ‘Sir John is no libertine. But a man like him, who has been in many jousts, must have lost much of his sense.’

  ‘You have been in several yourself, I am sure?’

  ‘And haven’t you noticed how my brains have been addled?’ he asked lightly. ‘When you are hit about the head by a madman wielding a sword which weighs at least five pounds, you naturally have to wear a helmet, and for all the padding about your brow and ears, the din is appalling.’

  She laughed aloud, but her eyes remained upon the two standing at the bars. The fighters had stopped, the shorter man being helped to a corner, blood streaming from the gash in his shoulder and other stab wounds. The victor, the taller man, was chatting to Sir John, but even as Margaret watched, Sir John turned and met her gaze. Although she tried to look away as if she had not observed him, she saw the knight’s sudden wolfish smile and the sight of it made her colour.

  Averting her face, she tried to put him from her mind, but she couldn’t. That man’s open stare had made her feel as though he had undressed and mounted her; if not in reality, she was convinced that he had in his mind. She felt as though she had been raped.

  Andrew, Sir Edmund of Gloucester’s squire, walked idly to the racks at the edge of the field. This was the starting-point for riders before charging at an opponent, and lances were fitted into their slots, ready for the first challenges.

  Lifting one from its rest, he held it at its centre and frowningly gauged its heft and balance. It felt a little top-heavy, but that was normal enough. Squinting along its length he saw that there was a definite curve to it. All the better for the rider who faced it, he thought, for the wood would shatter most spectacularly on impact, making the two riders appear all the more brave for their harsh collision with shards and splinters of wood flying in all directions. The coronal was a goodly lump of iron, with four blunt prongs projecting to disperse the force of the lance and protect the opponent. Otherwise a sharp point with the full mass of knight, horse and armour all riding on the tip could puncture even strong armour and pin a man inside his steel coat. Andrew had seen it happen.