Michael, JECKS - The Tournament of Blood

‘If anything goes wrong, I’ll blame you,’ the carpenter stated. ‘It’s not my fault if the thing’s unsafe.’

‘Yes, it is,’ Simon insisted. ‘It’s the responsibility of you both to make the stands safe.’

‘I don’t see what I’m supposed to do with this crap. If there was some decent timber it’d be different, but–’

Simon cut through the carpenter’s grumbling monotone. ‘God’s teeth! Just get back to your work, you lazy, whining whoreson, or I’ll have the Lord Hugh’s Bailiff arrest you as soon as he arrives.’

‘You can’t do that without a reason,’ the carpenter sneered and was about to add something to his words when Simon took a short step forward. Immediately Wymond drew his hammer and hefted it menacingly. ‘You want to attack me, eh? You want some of this?’

‘Put that thing down, you misbegotten shit of a Plymouth alewife!’ Simon roared.

‘Make me!’

Baldwin stepped between the two. ‘Simon, there is no point in fighting. He’s beneath you.’

‘Oh, yes?’ the carpenter screeched, enraged. ‘I’ll have his fucking head off, and we’ll see who’s beneath who, then, eh?’

Baldwin said nothing, but his hand went to his sword.

Hal put a hand on the carpenter’s arm. ‘Come on, dear,’ he soothed. ‘He’s not worth it.’

‘Try anything and you will be arrested,’ Baldwin said flatly.

‘Come now, Bailiff – squabbling with the hired help?’

Hearing the amused, laconic tone, Simon tensed. While they had been arguing, the King Herald, Mark Tyler, had lounged over. He stood watching their argument with ill-concealed distaste, like a nobleman who was above any such grubby disputes. Two heralds stood with him, both looking on with frank interest. Baldwin recognised one as Odo, the messenger who had given him his invitation. Odo was wincing as though pained by the King Herald’s tone.

Simon privately considered Lord Hugh’s King Herald to be a fat, obnoxious fool. Tyler had an easy time of it; he took over when all the hard work was done. And what then? Maybe he’d adjudicate occasionally, sing a few songs, praise some knights for their courage, and then retire to a tavern or Lord Hugh’s bar with some cronies while other men did all the serious work.

The dark-haired man, with the double chin and expanding paunch beneath his multi-coloured tabard covered with Lord Hugh’s insignia, wore an expression of resignation, as if he had expected no better of Simon than that he should quarrel publicly with a carpenter. It made Simon realise what a spectacle he was making of himself and the thought that he had done so before the King Herald made him recover his poise instantly.

‘Touch me, and you’ll be arrested or dead in a moment,’ he said to the carpenter. ‘Get back to your work or I shall demand the King Herald arrests you in Lord Hugh’s name.’

Seeing a mutinous light in the carpenter’s eyes, Baldwin pulled an inch or two of his sword blade from the scabbard, but Wymond had stood his ground long enough. He hawked and spat and lumbered away.

Sachevyll threw his hands in the air.

‘This is wonderful! Quite astonishing! You realise you’re going to ruin the whole show? Now you’ve upset my friend, what’s next? I ask you, can we possibly get things completed if you molest my people? What Lord Hugh will have to say when he sees all this mess, I shudder to think. You need to find more wood, Bailiff, because otherwise I refuse to accept any responsibility. I’ll tell Lord Hugh whose fault it was when he comes storming over the place. And I’ll tell him I warned you the stands are dangerous, that they might collapse. The ber frois could be filled with his friends and their women – you want to see Lord Hugh’s friends falling and breaking their legs and arms, even dying?’

‘Master Sachevyll,’ Simon said with an icy calmness, ‘you are quite right to be concerned. You are Lord Hugh’s servant, while I, a humble bailiff, am a servant of Abbot Champeaux. I have nothing to answer to Lord Hugh about. I owe him no homage, I seek no patronage.’

‘You are as much Lord Hugh’s man as I am, myself. We both take his money to make this tournament work.’

‘No, I do not take his money. I am no mercenary. I repeat, I am Bailiff to Abbot Champeaux, an officer. I take nothing from Lord Hugh. If you have concerns, raise them with your lord. For my part, I have other business to attend to.’

‘You can’t leave me here! You have to help me find more wood!’

‘Get your own damned wood, you feeble-minded sodomite! I’ve been trying to help you all this long day, but now I’ve had enough. You were given the money to buy whatever you needed, but you’ve bought rubbish. Either buy more or make do. Either way, leave me in peace. I have a tournament to organise.’

‘Where can I go?’ Sachevyll wailed.

‘To hell and back – I don’t give a shit, so long as it’s far from me,’ Simon ground out unsympathetically and turned on his heel.

Sachevyll was close to tears as the Bailiff walked away. He could have screamed with frustration, but that wouldn’t get things sorted, and that was what Hal Sachevyll was going to do: get this event successfully completed in the manner which Lord Hugh would expect.

But he couldn’t achieve anything in this mood. First he must calm down. That was what dear Wymond had told him, that he must calm down. He’d be no use to man nor beast if he didn’t, and there was so much to plan, so much to organise still. Hal had every intention of succeeding – with or without the Bailiff’s assistance. And afterwards he could point out to the Lord just how unhelpful – indeed obstructive – this nasty fellow Puttock had been. That thought was soothing. It needed to be developed. The idea of shaming the Bailiff before Lord Hugh was most attractive, but Hal hankered after more dramatic detail: perhaps the Bailiff would beg him for forgiveness, and Hal would spurn him, averting his head from the pitiful creature even as Lord Hugh demanded an explanation and apology for his rudeness and lack of respect to Hal.

Feeling much better now, Hal set off towards the tented market and bought himself a pint of good quality red wine. About to sit down, he changed his mind as a boisterous tipsy youth joined him on his bench. Instead Hal took his wine and walked to the riverside, where he sat on a fallen trunk.

Coming from a city (he had been born in London) Sachevyll viewed these rustic villeins with contempt and mistrust. Peasants were all the same. The Bailiff was clearly of the same stock: untutored, no doubt, mean and unpleasant. A man of taste and courtesy would have treated Hal with more respect. After all, he was the leading designer of lists and stands in the country, not some peasant begging alms at a lord’s door.

He would have to acquire more wood. The stuff he had bought was not up to the standard, and he’d have to get more. That would cut into his profits, and his master carpenter’s, too. Silly Wymond, making the Bailiff angry like that when there was still a chance he might agree to let them have wood from the castle’s own stocks or something. That had been their plan – to buy cheaper quality in the expectation that Simon would cave in and give them better material. It had worked before. But Wymond had seen how annoyed Hal was growing. Heyho! Now they’d had to buy more themselves with the money they had saved from the job. There were few enough perks to jobs like this one, but taking the money and buying fewer planks or beams than necessary, or getting only cheap stuff which wasn’t worth half the amount paid, was one way of making profit. It was all accepted and understood, a means by which talent could be rewarded, like the dairyman who carefully warmed cream and took off a few clotted lumps for his own breakfast; except now it looked as though Hal was going to have to use the money he had skimmed from the deal.