Michael, JECKS - The Tournament of Blood

Sir Peregrine grunted in assent. ‘It wasn’t exactly a secret, was it? But who cares? The King himself… ’ Caution made him silent a moment. ‘The point is, the spectators may become unsettled. When that happens, they are likely to seek a new target for their anger. An English rabble roused is unpleasant. Ah well! Let’s just hope.’

They walked on in silence, Simon shooting small glances at the banneret, wondering whether he had his own suspicions – but it wasn’t something he could ask Sir Peregrine. Instead he chose an uncontentious topic. ‘Are any of your men to join in today?’

‘Not mine personally, not in the jousting,’ Sir Peregrine said, thinking of the whip-like Squire Andrew. He had been present at the feast last night, serving his master with the calm and unhurried elegance that showed both his breeding and his education. Yet all the while his precision spoke of his deadly skills. Sir Peregrine still had no doubt that the man was a killer, from his toes to his scalp. It was a relief when Andrew left the room. ‘There is one I should like to see fighting, though.’

Simon caught his tone but Sir Peregrine declined to comment further. In truth Simon had enough to consider himself. His daughter had been an unholy pest the whole of the previous evening, snapping at Margaret, being sarcastic to him. God’s teeth! He could sometimes wish he had never had any children; it was almost an attractive thought. Poor Baldwin had watched her during one of her tantrums with a faraway look in his eye, like a man who was realising that this might be served up to him soon, now he had his own daughter.

For the most part Edith was a well-behaved, responsible child, but just recently she had taken to outbursts whenever she was refused permission to do anything, although Simon had tried to point out to her that it was her very argumentativeness which tended to make him turn her down. Last night it had been a ridiculous demand that she should be allowed to go out to a tavern. Ludicrous in a town like this, with strangers on all sides, cut-purses, horse dealers, fakers and thieves of all measures, but Edith wouldn’t listen to reason. Margaret had just asked her where her scarf was, and Edith didn’t even seem to hear her, instead asking about going into town. Mad, absolutely mad!

‘I can take Hugh to guard me,’ she’d stated. ‘There’s little enough danger.’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s not safe.’

‘What will you do, fence me in an enclosure where no one can ever come to me?’ she’d demanded.

‘I will not have my daughter wandering the streets like a slut!’

‘You think me no better than a whore?’

Simon had drawn a breath to hold his temper. ‘Don’t twist my words.’

‘That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t trust me. You never have! You think I’d fall into the arms of the nearest smelly groom as soon as I was out of your sight.’

‘Edith, please,’ Margaret had pleaded. ‘Your father is only trying to protect you.’

‘ Protect me?’ she’d sneered. ‘He’s just making sure I’m not violated, that’s all. He wants me to remain unsullied by nasty groping servants. Well, I want to see Squire William. Hugh can chaperone me.’

‘Squire William? What, the son of Sir John?’ Simon gasped, recalling the lewd group at the fence.

‘Yes, why? What’s wrong with him?’

‘You are not to see him. Or talk to him,’ Simon stated flatly.

Immediately tears of frustration had sprung into her eyes. ‘But why? He’s–’

‘That’s enough. I have given you my decision. Don’t go near him,’ said Simon. His daughter’s face twisted a knife in his gut. He hated hurting her, and this news had made her face crumple like screwed-up parchment.

‘Father, please!’

He couldn’t tell her why. If he did, she would likely choose to disbelieve him, and if not she would be dreadfully hurt by the proof of her own foolishness in trusting William. Better that she should think it was an arbitrary decision from an autocratic father. ‘Edith, shut up or I’ll send you back with Hugh tomorrow at dawn.’

‘But… ’

‘I am not joking. One more word, and you’ll be gone.’

It took away any residual pleasure in the tournament. Now he would be glad to be leaving at the end of it all.

But not yet. Margaret had been looking forward to it for weeks, Simon knew. He sighed. If he could, he would leave now. But he couldn’t. Margaret had found a wetnurse to look after Peterkin, and she would want to remain and see the whole show.

Soon they heard the chapel bell tolling and Simon and Sir Peregrine parted. Simon wanted to attend the morning Mass to pray for a tournament free of fatal injuries.

Later, that innocent prayer would strike him as ironic.

In her little room curtained off from Sir John’s in the knight’s pavilion, Alice finished brushing her hair and nodded to her maid to help pin the long tresses into position.

Today, if all went well, should mark the end of her long-confined life. No more listening to Sir John, for as soon as Geoffrey had earned his spurs, he could claim her. Their vows had been exchanged legally, and there was nothing her guardian could do to alter that.

And yet…

The dream had repeated itself to her. That vision of blood and gore tore at her like the claws of a wildcat, springing into her mind even during the daytime, striking her dumb with fear. She couldn’t bear to think of losing her Geoffrey, for he was the stone foundation upon which her life was built, but the mornings found her progressively more gloomy. Somehow she had the feeling that her dream was a premonition, that she was being given a warning.

Alice winced as the comb pulled, and looked sharply at her maid, but the girl rolled her eyes in apology and Alice couldn’t be cross, not today. She sighed and bent her head so that the maid could work more easily.

When could she declaim her love for Geoffrey? Perhaps he would ride to her and demand one of her favours. That was what knights did in the romances – but she and Geoffrey had agreed on silence, so perhaps he wouldn’t. Not until he had his spurs. Then he could wear her tokens publicly without fear of Sir John or his horrible son William.

Praying that he would be safe in the lists, Alice closed her eyes fervently.

She was considering how pleasant it would be to tell William that she was already married, when her maid leaned forward. ‘Have you heard of the dreadful murder?’

Alice threw her an intrigued look and the maid carried on breathlessly. ‘They say that some ordinary churl was found dead near the castle, out on the hill behind, that his head was all broken… you know, all smashed.’

‘Ugh!’ Alice pulled a face squeamishly, but looked back at her maid with interest.

‘Someone told me it was an evil witch who wanted his blood or something, but another man said that was rubbish and he was attacked by an outlaw for his purse.’

Alice considered. There was more romantic merit in the ghoulish tale, she felt, and gave a luxurious shudder at the idea of blood-drinking vampires. ‘An old witch, hiding up in the woods, probably,’ she said.

‘Probably, yes, and waiting to steal the heart and lungs of any youth who wanders too close to her haunts, so that she can eat them and make herself look young again… Yuk!’

Alice ignored her servant. Her mind was back on her husband and she gazed into the distance in a pleasant daydream. Some time soon she would be able to proclaim her marriage. It was a wonderful thought.

‘We must hurry, Dame!’

Alice tutted, but knew she must go through with the pageant. She had been chosen to be ‘Dame Courtesy’ – the virgin who would open the tournament, the woman who epitomised the virtues of the tournament and chivalry generally. She must lead the procession to Lord Hugh. It made her want to cringe. Especially since she was no virgin and was married!