Michael, JECKS - The Tournament of Blood

He found his attention caught by a large knight.

Tall, strong, and with an expression that could melt moorstone, Baldwin thought that the stranger was an ideal suspect. If he was inclined to arresting people on sight based solely on their manner, this man would be the perfect candidate for a cell. Before long the knight looked about him and noticed Baldwin watching him. Baldwin found himself being surveyed with minute detail. He motioned to the jug of wine and the stranger gave a shrug and joined him.

‘Please allow me to serve you, sir,’ Baldwin said respectfully.

‘I am grateful.’

Both raised their pots and drank. There was a ritual to their slow introductions, for knights meeting at a tournament could well find themselves fighting and perhaps even dying at the other’s hand in a few hours.

Baldwin bowed his head and introduced himself. ‘Sir Baldwin de Furnshill.’

‘I am Sir Edmund of Gloucester. You will be challenging?’

‘I fear I am too old to be a tenant or venant ,’ Baldwin chuckled. ‘No, I am here to watch.’

‘I see.’ Sir Edmund appeared to lose interest in Baldwin, his attention flying back to the people walking by. He was still furious at Sir John’s slighting words to him about winning back his wealth, and confused by the sight of Lady Helen.

‘I do not remember seeing you at other tournaments,’ Baldwin said, breaking into his thoughts.

‘I have been abroad.’

‘Ah.’ It was not easy to talk to this man, Baldwin considered. He caught sight of Odo and waved a hand in recognition. The herald inclined his head, but hurried on his way.

‘Was that Odo?’ Sir Edmund asked.

‘Yes. You know him?’

‘I have met him in Exeter – and France.’

Baldwin saw how his mouth snapped shut after saying that, as though Sir Edmund regretted saying so much, and Baldwin suddenly remembered the herald’s tale of his saving a Templar. Sir Edmund was not familiar to him, but it was possible that he had been a Knight Templar. He was old enough.

‘I scarcely know Odo. He is Lord Hugh’s man and I don’t see much of our lord, I am afraid.’

‘He is a good man,’ Sir Edmund said. ‘Have you heard about the murder?’

Baldwin, who had been hoping to bring their conversation round to Wymond, settled back more easily in his seat. ‘You mean the carpenter?’

‘Yes. Do you know anything about his death?’

‘A little,’ Baldwin admitted. ‘He was found in his own tent.’

‘I see. And is anyone suspected?’

‘We shall have to wait until the Coroner completes his inquest. Were you up last night?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘It seems that the murder happened after the curfew. The only people who should have been about were knights or squires. I merely wondered if you might have seen anyone.’

‘No, I didn’t. After eating I walked a little to clear my lungs. The room was very smoky and I felt the need for some fresh air. My squire was with me.’

‘But you saw no one?’

‘No. There were some servants about, but only few.’

‘Did you and your squire return to your tent together?’

‘No, he came after me. Why? You seem very interested.’

‘I am a Keeper of the King’s Peace and I like to solve little problems like this.’

‘Well, I am afraid I can’t help you,’ Sir Edmund said, standing abruptly. ‘My thanks for the wine, but I must go.’

‘Of course,’ Baldwin murmured graciously. ‘It was pleasant to meet you,’ he added as Sir Edmund stalked away.

Seeing a watchman, Baldwin stood and spoke to him. He gave the man the hammer, telling him to take it to Simon in the castle because it might be the murder weapon. Then, before he could buy another drink, he heard his name called. Turning, he saw a tall, slim woman with fair features, holding a swaddled child in her arms.

‘Margaret! It is good to see you again! And how is young Peterkin?’ He tentatively prised a scrap of material away from an ancient-looking face, which blinked and glared at him.

‘Careful, don’t put your finger too close; he’s teething,’ Margaret laughed. ‘Baldwin, it is good to see you too. Peterkin is fine, he’s growing heavier daily and occasionally, just occasionally, he allows me to sleep through the night. How is Jeanne – is she here with you? I hope you are enjoying fatherhood.’ She cast a quizzical look up at him. ‘Are you quite well? You haven’t had bad news?’

‘No, I have been considering a murder, that is all,’ he laughed. ‘Jeanne is fine, if tired, and young Richalda is loud. Good lungs! How is Edith?’

Hugh stood at Margaret’s shoulder. Taciturn, narrow-featured, and with the slim build of a moorman, his gaze remained fixed upon the ground, his thin mouth drawn into a prim line. ‘Edith’s fine,’ he said sulkily.

As he spoke, Edith herself appeared from behind him and pushed past him to Baldwin. ‘Out of the way, Hugh. Just because you’ve been enjoying yourself lazing about in the north is no reason to hide me. Hello, Sir Baldwin,’ she said, and curtseyed graciously. ‘I am well, I thank you.’

He eyed her with amusement. She might only be thirteen or fourteen years old but she already had the carriage of a lady. Like her mother her hair was of fine gold and she had been graced by Margaret Puttock’s expression of gentle calmness. Baldwin thought her features would not have looked out of place on an angel, but having heard so many stories of her disruptive behaviour from Simon over the last years, he knew that appearances could be deceptive.

‘I hear you’re setting the hearts of all the young men about Lydford and Tavistock a-flutter.’

‘Me?’ she enquired as if startled, her blue eyes widening. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so. They must all think me very dull. A young maid who isn’t allowed to visit or ride with her friends or–’

Margaret hurriedly cleared her throat and put a hand in front of her daughter. ‘I am sure she is setting as many hearts alight as she could wish, Sir Baldwin. Sadly she has no desire to do so with her own parents.’

‘That’s not fair!’ Edith declared and in a moment her gentle expression became a glower. ‘If only you were reasonable, I’d not have to complain and–’

‘I am sure the good knight has many other things to consider without listening to your ranting, Edith,’ Margaret said tiredly.

‘I think he would be more interested to hear how my mother treats me than listen to your tales of sowing seeds and lambing,’ Edith said scornfully. ‘Your conversation is, I fear, rather dull to educated people, Mother.’

Baldwin glanced away. He couldn’t bear the look of hurt and sadness that sprang into Margaret’s eyes.

Simon breathed a sigh of relief. It was good to be at a loose end for a few moments. Now, he reckoned, was as good a time as any to find himself a pot of ale and swill the grit from his mouth.

Accordingly he steered his path to the market area. There was a brewer there who was known to him, and he grudgingly passed Simon a quart of ale free. Simon leaned against a post while he drank. It tasted good; very good.

The show had taken weeks to prepare and Simon would be pleased when it was all over. He dreaded telling Lord Hugh about the carpenter’s murder, although he was glad that Sir Roger was there to take responsibility for the investigation. Lord Hugh would arrive later that day, but there was nothing Simon could do to make the news any more palatable and he was essentially a pragmatist. If something couldn’t be changed, he wouldn’t keep fretting about it.

He had come to the conclusion that since the first quart had gone down so well a second might be an improvement, and had turned to ask for another pot, when a large man appeared at his side.