Michael, JECKS - The Tournament of Blood

Hugh Despenser the Younger had a long memory for those who had thwarted his appalling ambition. When Hugh the Younger was not given what he wanted, he imprisoned those who stood in his path – or killed them – and Sir Peregrine of Barnstaple was known to be implacably opposed to him. That was why Sir Peregrine wanted Lord Hugh’s men fully prepared for war.

His attention moved on to the strange knight who had appeared in the castle at Tiverton with his squire and archer. They were a very unsettling trio. Wandering knights were common, especially since the Earl of Lancaster’s men had been so fearfully cut about and dispersed, but Sir Edmund of Gloucester looked more dangerous than most. It was there in his grim, intelligent features, in his quick, assured movements and curious stillness when he stood silently observing others. He warranted watching. Sir Peregrine didn’t trust him, which was why he had sent the man and his companions on ahead with Lord Hugh’s harbingers and heralds.

Looking up, Sir Peregrine saw that they were almost at the castle and he looked about him, all senses alert. If someone wanted to harm him or his lord, it would be an ideal place for an ambush, here in the river’s cutting before the road took them all up to the castle’s barbican. Sir Edmund had an archer with him, Sir Peregrine reminded himself.

He glanced to either side, his tension growing. The townspeople didn’t look cheerful; they should have been happy to see their lord, yet there was a pall of anxiety or worse hanging over the place.

As Lord Hugh clattered over the timber bridge to the barbican, Sir Peregrine gazed up at the walls above. A short Welshman with a cruel scar from one ear almost to his nose, one of Sir Peregrine’s own men, nodded cheerily from the battlements and Sir Peregrine relaxed a little. If he thought all was safe, Sir Peregrine was content.

Men had been sent on with the harbingers to ensure that the place was prepared for Lord Hugh and the others. All told, Lord Hugh and his household were almost sixty men and that many required a goodly number of barrels of ale and of wine to be prepared, let alone the grain that must be put by for breadmaking. Oats must be stored for the horses, meats bought, the hall cleaned, the yard cleared, tapestries hung to stop the draughts from behind the shutters once the place was closed up for the night, and the portable altars set out.

Oakhampton might be small compared with other castles, but it offered Sir Peregrine a sense of safety as he entered the tunnel to the bailey, and he smiled to see his men at their posts. The main gates opened, and he trotted in behind Lord Hugh, their hooves ringing and striking sparks from the moorstone that paved the courtyard.

While the lord and his men ensconced themselves in Oakhampton Castle, Baldwin went with Margaret and Edith to watch some of the pre-tournament displays and to seek Simon.

‘I thought he’d be here when we arrived,’ Margaret said. She sounded a little disappointed.

‘There is much to be organised still,’ Baldwin said. He cast her a quick look. ‘And someone was murdered here last night so he has extra work.’

The shadows were growing and people lounged at rails watching a succession of hopeful squires exercising their masters’ horses through the lists, galloping the great mounts to warm them, turning and charging back again.

There were other entertainments as well. A juggler was sending an endless succession of balls up into the air, while idlers watched and unemotionally chewed pies or slurped from jugs of ale. Boys shot arrows at targets while farther on, a pair of men were circling warily, bare-chested, both holding small riding swords, fighting for God knew what reason – perhaps merely for money. Sometimes fights were staged to resolve arguments, sometimes just for display, but either way these combatants were winning a good reward. Every time the two backed away from each other, spectators threw coins.

It was an unequal battle, for one of the men was taller and had a longer reach, while the other had short arms. The shorter fellow was already wearing a pattern of bloody slashes across his chest while the other had only a couple of cuts on the palm of his left hand where he had defended himself. Baldwin, Margaret and Edith watched the two for some little while, having sent Hugh for a jug of wine, but soon it became obvious who would win and they lost interest. Edith professed a desire to see the weaker man prevail, but it was a forlorn hope; he had no chance, especially a moment later when the taller man ran him through the shoulder.

It was good for Baldwin to forget the murder, if only for a little while. The affair was an issue for Simon, certainly, and the Coroner, but not Baldwin, Keeper of the King’s Peace from faraway Crediton. Yet Baldwin was concerned. He couldn’t get the idea out of his mind that Wymond’s body was left specifically to convey a message to Hal.

He tried to put such thoughts from him as he walked with Margaret, but he was keenly sensitive to the mood of the place. Everyone had heard of Wymond’s death by now, and many of the townspeople were gossiping about the murder, but to Baldwin’s relief there was little fear. The townspeople were not going to let the death of an unpopular carpenter stop them enjoying themselves.

With Simon busy, Baldwin felt a duty to keep Simon’s wife entertained and he was determined to do so with as light a manner as possible. Although Edith was a young woman now, she could forget herself occasionally and fall into childish ways. Seeing a man selling sweetmeats, she ran on ahead and Baldwin took the opportunity of asking Margaret how she was.

‘I despair,’ Margaret said when the girl was out of earshot, rocking gently to soothe the child in her arms.

‘Is she that difficult?’ Baldwin asked, smiling inanely as the infant opened his eyes and glowered at the world. Catching sight of Baldwin he frowned and then vomited.

‘More than you could imagine,’ Margaret sighed as she mopped up. ‘She exhausts me. One moment she declares she adores me, the next she shrieks that she loathes me. Naturally I am a saint if I have just given her a treat and an ogre if I’ve denied her one. At other times she is merely sullen and unhelpful.’

‘I presume preventing her riding with her friends makes her sullen?’ Baldwin guessed.

‘Just so. Last week she wanted to ride to Tavistock – on her own, I ask you! She said she was old enough to be wedded, so she was old enough to ride to see her friends. I soon corrected her.’

Hugh reappeared, scowling ferociously as he barged his way through the crowd, two jugs gripped carefully in one hand, while he held his staff in his clenched fist.

Baldwin nodded towards him. ‘It is good to see Hugh back.’

‘You think so? The miserable devil!’ she giggled. ‘But yes, I’m happy he’s returned.’

‘It has been about a year, hasn’t it, that he’s been living away? Has he married Constance?’

‘So he says.’

‘It’s hard to imagine a man leaving his wife behind.’

‘Servants grow accustomed to leaving their families for long periods.’

‘I know. Yet since I married Jeanne, I find it hard to imagine leaving her for weeks at a time. Is Hugh happy with his wife?’

‘I think so.’ She gave a slow nod in assent.

Baldwin knew that Margaret disapproved of the woman called Constance because of her background. Constance had once been a novice nun, and the thought that Hugh had slept with her offended Margaret, who was highly religious. She could not accept that a woman who had given her vows to God could later take up a new life and a secular husband. Tactfully, Baldwin chose to change the subject. ‘Simon must be highly considered if he is asked to organise events such as these. I think your husband may be destined for advancement.’