Michael, JECKS - The Tournament of Blood

Baldwin spoke reflectively before Simon could respond. ‘I recall Nefyn. Many were hurt there.’

‘That’s right,’ Hal agreed. ‘There were so many in the dancing room that the floor collapsed; I fear one of my own stands has fallen before now.’

‘Shoddy workmanship, I expect,’ Simon said dismissively.

‘ No , Bailiff. It was when Sir John killed Sir Godwin back in the Exeter tournament. As Sir Godwin fell, the crowds were appalled. They all adored him. An extremely popular, courteous knight, he was. Especially among the ladies. In the rush to the front of the stand, people were crushed at the fencing, and then the whole front gave way… ’

Hal broke off. He could see it all in his mind’s eye. The awnings and carpets red with blood; blood ran onto the grass, thick and viscous as oil. It had been terrible, a bloodbath. Hal saw a child, a little boy, whose body was almost cut in half by a large beam of wood. Next to him was a woman, then another, a little girl who looked like an angel, with a halo of blood, and a man…

‘I still have nightmares about it,’ he told them, his voice low and full of horror. ‘It was a scene of carnage. Knights, squires and heralds all tried to rescue the trapped people, but it was so difficult in the shifting mass of timber. Men, women and children were killed – eleven when it fell, and more later from their injuries. One family was extinguished, with only the father living, while many children survived orphaned. Lady Alice Lavandar was one: when her mother died, Sir John took her on in penitence. I could never wish to see such a disaster repeated. It was hideous.’

‘Sir John took her on, you say?’ Baldwin asked. ‘Why?’

‘Didn’t you know? She was Sir Godwin’s daughter.’

‘No, I didn’t know,’ Baldwin said.

Sachevyll cried mournfully ‘No, I could never wish to witness such a disaster again. Once was enough.’

‘And yet the same thing happened in 1316 at Crukerne,’ Baldwin said sternly.

‘That wasn’t my fault. Sir Richard was forced against the stand and his weight, with that of Sir Walter and their horses, was enough to break the stands. Most of the injuries were from the horse’s death throes as it thrashed. It was awful, but it was nothing to do with me.’

‘You don’t think Wymond made any enemies here?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Other than’, Hal said coldly, brought back to reality with a lurch, ‘the Bailiff here, you mean?’

William was determined to see Edith again. Although she was young, that was no barrier. She was attractive, fresh and desirable. If it hadn’t been for that miserable churl hanging around with her, he might have been able to take her off for a walk in the woods.

Not that he was set on a virgin. Inexperienced women ready to be deflowered were common enough, especially in a field of tournament. Christ’s blood! A man had to be careful to avoid wenches hot with lust when he’d enjoyed a good run at an opponent, for women would scream and throw themselves at the winner. He remembered the last tournament he had attended, when he was a mere boy. It was hard to move on the grass near the field because of all the successful knights covering the ladies who had given them the glad eye beforehand. Oh, one or two of the women played hard to get, but they were often all the hornier when they grappled beneath the sun.

He had met enough of them during his time as a squire, following his master from one tournament to another, and when his master had his hands full with one, occasionally William was able to help out with the next one in the queue. When he was younger he had been surprised that older women should fancy him, but he made full use of them. If he didn’t, others would, and at least with his fair good looks he had his choice of the more attractive ones. He soon learned that those women who were most proud in public would behave more lewdly than the commonest slut, given the right situation, and the right situation so often involved nothing more than a strong lusty youth.

And often the worst, most flagrant women, were those who were married and who should never have been anywhere near the tournaments.

He was musing pleasantly on such matters, recalling especially the wife of a knight from Somerset whose bawdy behaviour had exhausted him for almost an entire week, when he saw the brunette.

She was almost as tall as him, a leggy, full-breasted wench with enormous eyes which gave him a cursory once-over as her glance ranged over the crowds. When her gaze passed over him a second time, and lingered on him a moment longer than was entirely necessary, he instantly decided to try his luck.

It was the thing about a tournament. The women always expected a tumble, he reflected as he stepped along in her wake. Bugger the ideals of courtly love – the main thing was, it gave an excuse to any woman who wanted to fondle another man’s body rather than her own husband’s.

Of course some gave no thought for their danger, while others positively hankered after a fling with a lad like William because he represented danger; a few more simply didn’t care what their husbands thought of their affairs. It was as if some women thought that they had the right to emulate the debauched behaviour of Guinevere with Lancelot – but God help those who were found out.

Privately William often found them rather sad even as he tupped them. The idea that supposedly honourable women could behave in such a manner was disgraceful… but only a fool would refuse the sweet taste of their lips and bodies or turn down the exquisite pleasure they offered.

And this one was perfection. From the look of her heart-shaped face, she could have been the Madonna Herself. High brow, arched eyebrows and a mouth with a natural pout that gave her a come-hither, wanton look. With lips like hers she could suck the rivets off my helmet, he thought admiringly. Her attraction lay not only in her face: her body looked firm and taut, as sleek and fit as an Arab-bred pony, strong without being unfeminine, while her gait was as proud and smooth as a queen’s.

It was strange that her husband allowed her to walk about the place with only a scruffy-looking fellow to protect her. Astonishing. Some men could be incredibly carefree with their women. Well, William wasn’t going to let this beautiful filly slip through his grasp without a fair attempt to come to grips.

He caught up with her, bowing with his most appealing smile, a slight twist to one corner, an eyebrow raised. ‘My Lady, you eclipse the sun.’

‘Go bull your mother!’ the man at her side grated. He was shorter than William, heavy-set and strongly-built, but from closer to, an even more villainous-looking fellow. William felt sure that he was only some servant.

After his defeat at Edith’s hands, William was not going to accept a second refusal so easily. He gave the man a surprised glance, but he clearly was not wealthy: the cloak he wore was thin and worn, his tunic faded, his shirt threadbare, his hose of the roughest and cheapest fustian. The husband of this woman would surely be clad in similar finery to her own, velvet and rich fur trimming. No, this fellow was only a guard, William considered. Ignoring the servant, he returned to his open admiration of the woman. ‘My Lady, I have never beheld such perfection before. May I–’

‘Are you deaf, churl? You are asking for trouble – now shut up and clear off!’

William bridled. He drew himself up to his full height and met the man’s furious expression, but then he saw the other take a slow pace forward and reach for a small knife at his belt. His own hand moved, but he had scarcely gripped his hilt when he felt the sharp point at his throat.

‘If this was anywhere else, I’d have cut your balls off and fed them to you by now. Leave the lady alone, brat,’ the man hissed.