Michael, JECKS - The Tournament of Blood

‘That’s because John Crukerne is a murderous bastard.’

‘Don’t you take that attitude wi’ me, Bob Miller, or I’ll push that quart pot down your throat so far you’ll have to drink it out your arse.’

There was a loud crash at this point, which Baldwin suspected, correctly, was due to a man tripping and taking a table with him, but it was closely followed by guffaws of laughter and Baldwin was inclined to the view that the two had settled their differences in the easiest manner, by sharing another pot of ale.

In the end he and his servant Edgar had exchanged a long-suffering look before rising. They had travelled many thousands of miles in each other’s company, both having served together as Knights Templar in God’s service, and each was used to lack of sleep due to noise. They had whiled away the night playing dice while the arguments outside continued at a muted level, not finishing until a little before dawn.

Simon would usually have noticed the knight’s red-rimmed eyes and yawns, but today he was more taken up with his own concerns. ‘Lord Hugh arrives today, and God only knows what that gibbering fool Hal Sachevyll has managed to do. He’ll complain, of course. At least,’ he added, brightening, ‘Meg and Edith will arrive as well.’

‘I had not realised they would attend,’ Baldwin said with genuine pleasure.

‘Try to keep them away! I shall be tied up with Sachevyll and others… could you look after them?’

‘I should be glad to. It is months since I saw either of them.’

‘I’m afraid neither of them thought of you when they asked to come here,’ Simon said frankly. ‘All they had on their minds was seeing lunatic deeds of courage – and the cloths on sale too, of course.’

‘You mean that they would not expect to see courage on my part?’

Simon laughed at his mock-offended expression. ‘Let’s just say, Baldwin, that both know exactly what to expect of you.’

‘And I have to remain contented with that, do I?’ Baldwin said. He glanced over his shoulder on hearing hooves approaching.

‘The King Herald, Mark Tyler,’ Simon muttered.

‘I recognised his chins,’ Baldwin agreed affably.

It was true; he recognised Tyler from the day before. As Baldwin watched, the herald rode past Baldwin’s own tent. Edgar was outside, and as the herald passed by, he and Baldwin’s armour were spattered with mud. Baldwin saw Edgar look at the man’s back long and hard, but then he shrugged. Such accidents could happen even when a man took great care. However, that didn’t prevent Edgar feeling resentment at the extra work. He bent and set about cleaning Sir Baldwin’s shield again.

The herald cantered on, his nose in the air as if he was trying to keep it away from the smell of the common folk all about him. He was a proud man, very self-important. Not a youngster, Baldwin noted: the fellow was almost Baldwin’s own age, certainly over forty. Yet for all his apparent haughtiness, his eyes looked anxious, like a man fearful for his future. Interesting, Baldwin thought.

‘Bloody Tyler,’ fumed Simon at his side. ‘He’ll be looking for Hal Sachevyll to pester. He’ll want confirmation that all is ready.’

‘He was there yesterday.’

‘I know, but if he sees more of a mess today he’ll not be impressed. I should go straight there and find out what that ninny-hammer managed to screw up after I left last night.’

‘There is little enough to do here. Let us both go and see.’

They walked slowly, for Simon was unenthusiastic about seeing Sachevyll. He meandered, buying a cup of ale and draining it before continuing. At the gate they saw the herald again. He was staring about him in a peevish manner, as if he had been expecting to be met by someone of rank.

When Simon and Baldwin came nearer he recognised them, snapping rudely, ‘Bailiff Puttock, where have you been? How are things progressing? It is crucial that we have the whole field prepared well in advance. Lord Hugh will not want excuses when he arrives.’

‘I’m sure that the builder will have it all in hand,’ Simon said soothingly. As he looked about him he could see that things were well advanced and suddenly he was conscious of a sense of relief. The show would be a success, a huge success, and he would be well rewarded by Lord Hugh for his efforts.

Mark Tyler met the sights about him with a grimace of discontent. ‘That mincing fool Sachevyll, you mean? I’d be surprised if he has everything ready. Never has before, to my knowledge. The silly arse was almost a day late with the final details at Crukerne six years ago. Christ, but we had to scare the idle bugger to get things done!’

Simon was about to speak when they all heard a scream. Hal Sachevyll burst from the stands, his face white, and tripped, falling in the mud and dung. He wailed, scrabbling as if panicked, trying to lever himself up to escape something.

‘You seriously believe that cretin can have all ready on time?’ the herald asked scathingly. ‘Look at him! I daresay he’s hit his thumbkin with a hammer – if he was stupid enough to try to use a real tool.’

But his sneers were silenced when Hal screamed out in a piercing voice: ‘Help! Help! God help us! Murder! ’

Baldwin and Simon were almost at his side when he dropped to his hands and knees and vomited onto the grass.

The carpenter was dead. No one could doubt that as soon as they peered inside Wymond’s tent out near the hill in the tilting field.

It was a small pavilion with two cheap palliasses on the floor at the rear of the tent. All about was mess. Leather gloves and aprons lay where the carpenter had dropped them, while pots and a small barrel leaked wine. The place reeked of it, quite concealing the other odours until Simon drew near the mattress on which Wymond lay.

Wymond lay face uppermost, his body part-wrapped in a dirty blanket. Simon took one look at the filthy red-brown stains on the palliasse and covering and looked away, his belly rebelling.

‘I thought he was asleep. He often overslept if he’d been drinking, and when I woke I could smell all the wine. I just thought I’d leave him to lie in a while. It never occurred to me that he wasn’t all right, not until just now when I came in and shouted at him to get up, pulled the blanket from him… My God, and I slept here all night! I slept beside his corpse!’ Hal broke off and shoved his fist in his mouth. ‘Holy Mother Mary, help me!’

Baldwin pushed Hal out of the way and strode in, crouching at the side of the corpse. Gazing about him, he barked, ‘This is your tent as well, Hal?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Hal said. He turned away from the corpse, weeping silently. ‘I slept here last night. My Christ! I was on my palliasse and I thought he was fine. He was fine! God’s bollocks, who could have done this?’

‘Calm down and shut up,’ Simon snapped. ‘How do we know it wasn’t you !’

‘Me?’ Hal sobbed. ‘How could I kill him?’

‘Simon,’ Baldwin called, ‘there is no sign of a weapon, but this man was savagely attacked. His head is broken.’

Simon was silent a moment. ‘His hammer?’

‘Is not here,’ Baldwin said, standing. ‘As far as I can see, there’s no stab wound. He was killed by having his head viciously smashed – but I can’t see clearly in here.’ He pointed to three interested men who were loitering nearby. ‘Bring him out and place him on the grass.’

The men reluctantly approached and dragged the body out on its palliasse.

‘My heavens!’ Mark Tyler declared. ‘The poor devil.’

Baldwin remained inside for some minutes, crouched to study the trampled grass minutely, seeking any clue as to the murderer.