Michael, JECKS - The Tournament of Blood

He felt the shame colouring his cheeks, flaming them until he was certain that all about could see his embarrassment. When he heard his name called, he was tempted to turn away and avoid whomsoever it might be, but he had ridden into the press entering the next field and couldn’t escape. He set his shoulders and turned to face the man.

‘Well?’

‘Squire Geoffrey? I am called Odo, the Herald. I have been asked to give you a message.’

‘From whom?’ Geoffrey asked haughtily, but then his relief was profound when the messenger smiled lopsidedly.

‘From a Lady Alice, Squire, if you can spare me a moment.’

When Hal had gone, Baldwin threw Simon a frowning glance.

‘You realise the significant point?’

‘Of course,’ Simon grunted. ‘There’s a curfew. All the hawkers and tradespeople would be gone.’

‘So only knights and their servants could be about… ’ Baldwin said thoughtfully. ‘We should first seek the killer among them .’

Simon was quiet a while, staring back towards the market. This tournament was to have been an enjoyable event for him, a reminder of easier, quieter times. He could remember the hastiludes his father had organised, the rushing of destriers, the rattling crash as steel-tipped lances hit shields or armour, the flags flying gaily, the women watching and giving their tokens, promising their bodies to the knights who upheld their honour and unseated their opponents.

The memories were suffused with the warm, comfortable glow that a happy childhood affords. Simon had been a happy lad – and the tournaments in his youth had been wonderful affairs during the reign of the good King Edward I.

And now his opportunity to relive those wonderful times, to prove to himself that he could equal his father in managing such a grand affair, was to come to nought – all because of a confounded murderer.

‘You want me to make Lord Hugh’s most valued feudatories understand that I suspect them of murder?’ Simon said.

‘That could make your life short and interesting,’ Baldwin grinned. ‘No. The curfew is never that strong – but it means that strangers may have been noticed. We should ask whom they saw last night. And the watchmen, of course. If someone was wandering around the place, they should have spotted them.’

‘It’s asking rather a lot to think they’d have seen much in the dark,’ Simon grumbled.

‘Well, the murder happened in the dark. There cannot have been many people about,’ Baldwin said. ‘Come along, Simon. We have solved more confusing riddles before now.’

‘The Coroner must hold an inquest.’

‘By the time he arrives, maybe we shall have discovered the facts for him.’

Simon nodded doubtfully and called a watchman for help to remove the body of Wymond. ‘Do you believe Hal?’

Baldwin looked at him. ‘Why should I not?’

‘It seems odd. If they were so close, why was Hal content to go to bed and fall asleep while his chamber-mate was out? If Hal thought Wymond was only going for a piss, wouldn’t he have waited and raised the alarm when his friend didn’t return?’

‘Perhaps, and yet they had been working so late, is it not possible that Hal was so exhausted he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the hay? They weren’t new lovers, were they – keen to get into bed with each other and… well, you know what I mean. They were like an old married couple from that point of view.’

Simon scratched his head. ‘Hmm, I see your point. And I don’t really believe Hal would have murdered Wymond, and there’s no way he could have carried him back here.’

‘I doubt whether he could overcome Wymond in the first place anyway,’ Baldwin agreed. ‘No, I think it is more likely to be one of the tournament-folk – someone who… what? Wanted to rob? Or was looking for revenge. But why? And how to seek one killer among so many knights and squires?’

‘Good God! I don’t know,’ Simon said despairingly. ‘I am supposed to be organising the tournament, not searching for a murderer.’

‘Then you must leave it to me, old friend. I will see what I can discover by talking to the participants.’

The watchmen arrived and soon Simon had organised men to carry the body on a stretcher. Taking his leave of Baldwin, he went with them, leading the way on a path which wound up the hill behind the castle and back to the road.

As Simon had intended, few saw his procession, but he knew that soon the gossip would spread about the field and when it did, he would have to be present in person to calm the anxious, or those vengeful fools filled with self-righteous indignation and ale. But first Simon must go to the castle; he wanted a clerk to take down details of the body, the clothing and the purse so that Sir Roger of Gidleigh, the Coroner, would have a full report when he arrived. It was a great relief to Simon that Sir Baldwin was there to help investigate the murder.

Baldwin walked thoughtfully back to his tent and told Edgar to make sure that all his armour was in good condition, his mail undamaged, his undergarments well padded and comfortable to wear. A knight must always see that his equipment was gleaming, for the knight reflected his Lord’s importance. Shabbiness was shameful. And one never knew whether Baldwin would have to put it on at some stage of the tournament. Meanwhile, he would go among the workers at the stands to ask whether any had seen or heard any strange noises during the night; after that, he would consider which knights and servants should be questioned.

He spoke to many with singularly little result until he found a thin, tired-looking man near the main arena, who shook his head in response to Baldwin’s enquiries but then looked carefully about him and led the way behind a stand where they could speak without being observed.

‘Look, I don’t know who killed him or why, but I’ll tell you this: that Carpenter fellow was a nasty piece of work, he was. Always handy with his fists when he thought someone was slacking, but he never did much himself. Him and Sachevyll used Lord Hugh’s money, but kept back as much as they could, always buying cheap odds and sods. I’d bet Wymond was killed by someone he’d threatened, or beaten up or someone he’d stolen from.’

‘He wasn’t stabbed. Why smash his head in?’

‘One way of making sure the bastard was dead, wasn’t it?’ The man spat.

‘Did he have any friends here?’

‘You must be joking. Only Sachevyll. They’ve been going about together for some years, from what I’ve heard. Bloody queens! Makes you sick, doesn’t it?’

‘I don’t care about that. What of their work?’

‘Sachevyll designed layouts and decoration while Wymond put it all together. All the bigger tournaments, Sachevyll and Wymond were there. To be fair they could be good at their job.’

‘When did you last see the dead man?’

‘Wymond? After we’d knocked off work last night. It was evening time. I saw him talking to someone down near the river behind his tent – a slim fellow, taller than Wymond.’

‘You didn’t recognise him?’

‘No. It was late and I wasn’t that interested. I’d seen enough of Wymond for one day. The only reason I was out and about was because I’d left a wineskin and gone back to fetch it. You know what thieving bastards the watchmen are – I didn’t want one of them drinking it. The pair of ’em were standing under the trees. Couldn’t see the other one’s face.’

‘But you are sure he was with Wymond?’

‘Yes – I’d swear to it.’

‘What then?’

‘They walked off together.’ He snorted disgustedly. ‘Going for a shag, for all I know, dirty buggers! Then I left for my bed.’