Michael, JECKS - The Tournament of Blood

Yet some subtle change had taken place. He was less deferential than before, less prepared to accept orders. There was a new independence in his manner.

‘I thought you wanted to talk to him.’

‘An overdressed popinjay like him?’ she demanded scornfully.

‘You looked happy enough.’

‘Oh, nonsense.’

‘You kept sort of smiling at him, like you wanted him to chat.’

‘Rubbish!’ she declared with some little alarm. It was true that he had a pleasant enough face, square and rugged without the lines, which all too often denoted cruelty, at his forehead. ‘I was just being polite.’

‘I thought you wanted company, that’s all. You’re always saying you do,’ Hugh reminded her.

‘Well… ’ She was torn. There was something about the man which had attracted her. She was still inexperienced in the rules of courtly lovemaking. At home in Lydford she knew all the boys and had kissed a few, but there was little need for professions of love. She wouldn’t dream of marrying Bill or Soll or any of the others, for they were all like brothers, but sometimes it was good to sit on top of a hay rick and cuddle a youth, allowing him to kiss her, perhaps, but never going too far, for that was a sin. But this lad with his charm and obvious admiration was different. ‘Well, perhaps I wouldn’t mind seeing him again,’ she amended.

At that moment she heard her mother calling for her. ‘But don’t tell Mother or Father,’ she hissed.

Hugh shook his head slowly. ‘I wouldn’t.’

‘Good. And now I suppose we should see if we can find Father in this madhouse.’

‘Why should someone do that to him?’ Simon demanded as Baldwin peered down at the naked corpse.

The herald grinned nastily at Simon’s pale face. ‘Bit of a coincidence, isn’t it, Bailiff? Dead within a day of his picking a fight with you.’

‘Shut up!’ Simon snarled. ‘If you haven’t anything useful to say, keep quiet.’

‘Calm yourself, Bailiff. I was only joking! But never mind. I shall leave you to it. Do you wish me to send for the Coroner?’

Baldwin nodded. ‘I suppose so. You will have to send a messenger to Exeter. In the meantime, where were you last night?’

Tyler gaped. ‘Me?’

‘It was as likely to be you as Simon here,’ Baldwin said.

‘But the Bailiff must have seen me in the hall. We ate our meal there.’

‘So you confirm Simon’s innocence.’

‘He left a little after dark.’

‘What did you do then?’

‘Me?’ Tyler repeated, with a rising note of disbelief.

‘Yes – You ! What did you do when Simon wasn’t there to give you an alibi?’ Baldwin pressed him.

Tyler set his jaw. ‘I remained in the hall and drank with Odo, another herald, until I slept. All right? Now what did the Bailiff do after leaving the hall?’

‘I went to my bed in the bailey,’ Simon grated. ‘And I was seen by the sentry walking from the hall, I expect, so for Christ’s sake stop accusing me!’

Tyler curled his lip and did not answer. He turned on his heel and walked away.

Baldwin gave a grunt of relief. ‘Cretin!’ he said and led the way behind the tent.

There was a steep bank leading down to the river, which flowed swiftly here. Baldwin stood with an arm wrapped about his chest, his chin cupped in his other hand. Hal Sachevyll wandered slowly after them, looking lost and in a state of shock.

‘What is it, Baldwin?’ Simon asked. He was breathing more easily now that the shattered corpse was out of sight, but still the sour taste remained at the back of his throat.

‘Someone must have persuaded Wymond to meet him. They walked… somewhere, and there Wymond was killed, beaten to death, then somehow taken back to the tent and dumped there,’ Baldwin mused. ‘But surely a fellow like him would be cautious? How was he lured away? What was the murder weapon, and where is it? We have a duty to find it so that the Coroner can confiscate it.’

Simon nodded. Any weapon used to kill was deodand , forfeit to the Church in order to expiate the sin of murder. ‘Surely it was Wymond’s own hammer that was used?’

‘Perhaps, but if so, where is it? Was it tossed in here?’

Simon bent and peered at the river. ‘Possibly, but with the water flowing so fast it’s hard to see.’

‘It won’t be here,’ Baldwin decided. ‘Wymond wouldn’t have been killed so close to his friend. The hammer was used somewhere else and left there. Why bring it here? Or was it kept as a trophy? This is no ordinary felonious murder. The violence used was brutal – quite extreme. Yet I don’t see a madman planning such a killing. The brutality points to a man who sought revenge.’

‘Revenge?’ Hal squeaked.

‘How well did you know him?’ Simon asked.

‘As well as you can know a companion. Wymond and I have often worked together,’ Hal added evasively. He dropped to the ground and wrapped his arms about his thin legs, chin on his knees.

‘Was he always so argumentative?’ Simon said.

Hal took a shivering intake of breath. ‘He was determined to see things done properly, Bailiff. And before you get on your high horse, remember you argued as much with him as the other way about. Just because you’re a Bailiff doesn’t mean you’re better than everyone else.’

Baldwin grinned at Simon’s discomfort. ‘Enough, Sachevyll. We’re trying to make sense of this foul killing, and you should wish to help us.’

‘I do.’

‘Then answer our questions. He was the sort of man who’d resort to his fists rather than use words, wasn’t he?’

‘I suppose so.’

‘How long have you known him? Please answer properly.’

‘A good fifteen years, I would say. No, more. I met him when I was constructing a marvellous scene for King Edward I, back in 1304. It was a great Arthurian pageant, and no expense was spared!’ His eyes shone with pride at the recollection.

‘You have worked with him ever since?’ Simon asked. He had no wish to be sidetracked into the architect’s reminiscences.

‘Yes. We worked together again when King Edward II took the throne, and joined forces on the tournament at Exeter in 1306. That was where we met Benjamin Dudenay.’

‘Who?’ Simon queried.

‘He helped finance us,’ Hal said quickly. ‘Then we went to Wallingford.’

Baldwin was interested. ‘Wallingford? That was the encounter Piers Gaveston won, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes. Piers was wonderful! So tall and graceful! All the nobles were jealous, you know. No one would fight with him.’

‘He must have been quite a warrior,’ Simon said grudgingly. Like Baldwin, he had heard that Gaveston was a sodomite. Unnatural men like him repelled Simon.

Hal grinned slyly. ‘He was young. All the nobles felt he was a cuckoo in their midst, that he was going to keep on taking whatever honours or glory he could, so they united against him.’

‘How did he win?’ Simon asked.

Hal gave a low chuckle. ‘It was easy. The only folk Gaveston could trust were the unimportant: squires and knights with no fortune; all the strong, young bucks with nothing to lose and everything to gain. Opposing them were middle-aged men who would tire and wouldn’t recover so speedily from buffets. Gaveston and his accomplices ran rings around them.’

‘I have often seen the same happen. When a team of youths attack older men, the younger will win. Bear that in mind before gambling here, Simon,’ Baldwin said. ‘Hal, did Wymond have many enemies?’

‘He was apt to fight, but as head carpenter he often had to. Someone has to keep workers at their jobs.’

‘He could be over-zealous in his chastisement?’

‘Perhaps. Some may think so, but you can’t be too careful. Stands collapse when they are badly built.’ Hal cast a sidelong look at Simon. ‘Or if the timber’s shite.’