Bernard Knight - Figure of Hate

Builders and carpenters erected all the booths and the fencing for the tourney ground. Arrangements had to be made with the sheriff and the castle constable for men-at-arms to patrol the fairground and attempt 'to keep some order. Though the substantial ecclesiastical community had no direct part to play — and officially the Church disapproved of jousting activities — they were not reluctant to accept the extra donations and alms from the many visitors who came to gape at their grand new cathedral and leave offerings at the many altars and shrines, as well as paying for Masses to be said for the souls of their relatives.

As the coroner pushed his way through the throng at the South Gate, he appreciated anew the massive increase in population that this week had brought. He hoped that there would not be a similar increase in crime during the next three days. Drunkenness, fights, brawls and assaults were inevitable, but he prayed that there would not be too many deaths for him to deal with, though yesterday's corpse was a poor beginning.

Outside the gate was a straggle of timber houses, where the thriving city overflowed its old boundaries.

To the right, the ground dropped away steeply towards the quay-side, and to the left gardens and meadows stretched around the city wall, forming the acres known as Southernhay.

Just beyond the gate the road forked, one branch going straight on, marching above the river towards Topsham and the sea. The left branch struck off at an angle to form Magdalen Street, a country road that headed out past the gallows to become the main highway east to Honiton, Yeovil and eventually Winchester and London, though these places were too remote for most people even to contemplate. In the angle between the two roads was Bull Mead, common land that was the venue for tomorrow's tournament.

As de Wolfe stepped out towards the mead, he looked to his left and saw that almost the whole of Southernhay was now covered by stalls and booths, mostly flimsy structures under gaily coloured awnings. The majority were little more than a trestle table with four poles supporting a sagging roof of striped cloth, though a few were more substantial with Wattle or planked walls.

The stalls were arranged in lines parallel to the city wall behind them, and stretched outwards for a hundred paces, the rows running for most of the distance between Exeter's south and east gates. As John looked at them, he was reminded of an ant-hill or a hive of bees, for although it was early in the morning the fair was already crowded with people. Many were the traders and their families, but visitors, both local and from far afield, were ambling up and down the rows, hoping for an early bargain. He stopped to watch for a moment, and saw that in the centre of the fairground the rows of stalls had been interrupted to leave a wide space around a raised platform, which had high screens at the back. At the moment it was empty, but he knew that this was where various entertainments would be staged, from jugglers and tumblers to musicians and the miracle plays, which the Church insisted on as an antidote to the otherwise totally mercenary nature of the fair.

De Wolfe was brought back to earth from his contemplation by a sudden snarling and had to yell at Brutus, who was involved in a nose-to-nose confrontation with a skinny cur that was helping a shepherd to drive a score of sheep along the road towards Southgate and the slaughtermen beyond. Reluctantly, his own hound lowered the bristling fur on the back of its neck and slunk after him, as he strode on to get Brutus away from further temptation. Another few hundred yards along the crowded road brought him to the gap in the rough fence of hazel pa4ings that fronted the twenty acres of Bull Mead. Turning in, he entered the undulating common land and made for the centre, where a scattering of workmen were hammering in posts and rigging up a rope barrier to mark out a large square where the actual contests would take place. At one end was a crude stand for privileged spectators, little more than three levels of planking nailed to some stout posts.

At each side were some small circular tents that did service as pavilions for the contestants, and at the other end of the enclosure were a few more, together with some open-sided booths, similar to the stalls in the fairground. Though the whole set-up was flimsy and obviously designed to survive for no more than a day or two, a brave effort had been made to brighten it up, with flags flying from poles and coloured pennants streaming above the tents.

The coroner walked towards the front of the stand, where a small group of men were huddled in discussion. He could see at a distance from the bright colours of his clothing and the gaudy floppy hat that one was Hugh de Relaga. Next to him was a much more sombre man, fellow portreeve Henry Rifford, older, heavily built and almost totally bald. When John joined the group, he found that two of the other men were burgesses' clerks, together with the master of works, who clutched a parchment roll bearing details of the tourney field.

After greetings all round, Henry Rifford asked de Wolfe about the organisation of the jousting the next day.

'I know that de Courcy has taken charge of the arrangements for us,' he said in his mournful voice.

'But is everything going smoothly, de Wolfe?' John shrugged. 'I've only been foolish enough to agree to be a referee, so I know little of the organisation. But from what I know of Reginald de Courcy, he'll have everything under control.'

De Courcy was a wealthy knight and landowner in the county and a staunch King's man, like Guy Ferrars, a greater baron who was also a patron of the tournament. In fact, it was these two who had suggested its addition to the fair, and Ferrar's prominence in the affairs of state would deflect any official disapproval of the tourney, which strictly speaking was illegal, because it was not being held at one of the King's authorised sites and no licence had been obtained from Winchester to hold it. It was well known that there were many such small events across, England, however, and as long as they did not degenerate into uproarious mélées, a blind eye was turned, especially if the palms of senior Treasury clerks were crossed with sufficient silver. The influx of so many contestants and visitors was a major financial boost for Exeter, as well as satisfying the growing enthusiasm — indeed obsession — of so many knights for the jousting field.

After a few moments' conversation, John made off to walk around the enclosure, looking at the tents that the contestants could use to don their armour and take a rest — and, if needs be, be treated by their squires for injuries. He inspected the wooden troughs for watering the horses, the hitching rails and the ox-cart filled with hay and another with sacks of oats for the sustenance of the large destriers that would throng the place the following day.

A few knights and their servants were already on the scene, doing exactly the same as the coroner, making sure that the venue for their bouts was in good condition. De Wolfe spoke to several and sensed their eagerness and impatience to get on with the clash of arms the next day. One of them, a young man with a wispy blond beard, recognised the coroner and was enthusiastic about his chances of winning.

'This means much to me, Sir John,' he declared, 'I am but the third son of the lord of a small manor near Okehampton. I have little chance of support from my father and even less of inheriting anything from him.

If I can vanquish one or two men tomorrow, the value of their horses and armour will provide me with funds enough to travel to France and join the King's campaigns, with the glorious prospect of loot and ransom before me!'

De Wolfe smiled at the lad's fervent hopes — he recognised himself in the young man, exactly as he had been twenty years earlier when he rode off. to Ireland with Gwyn at his side, determined to make his fortune.