Michael, JECKS - The Tournament of Blood

Simon watched Alice advance towards Lord Hugh. The girl was beautiful, he thought, pale, serene and elegant, and it looked as though the Baron felt the same. He stood with his wife on his arm, smiling graciously at the girl as she passed him the gifts to welcome him to his castle and thank him for the tournament.

When she was done, Lord Hugh’s Almoner appeared, ceremoniously holding a large leather money bag and, while the Baron and his lady looked on, money was given to the poor of Oakhampton who had been waiting at the castle’s gate. Once they had all been given some money they were directed to the kitchen door where bread and all the leavings from the previous day’s meals were set out.

Only when the poor had left the area did Lord Hugh and his wife proceed down the long corridor and out beneath the bailey. Turning right they led the way to the field of combat, with their guests processing along in their train.

Simon took his place behind Lord Hugh and followed him to the field, but he could not help peering about to find Hal. ‘Where is he?’

Hal was nowhere to be seen. Simon had a shrewd guess that the architect would not willingly miss being around to welcome Lord Hugh to his seat, so his absence came as a surprise.

Lord Hugh apparently felt the same. He looked about him with evident dissatisfaction. It was a matter of courtesy that the builder should appear. Seeing him, Simon could appreciate how much of an honour Hal would have been granted by being here. It seemed strange that a man so committed to show and flamboyance should have missed his moment of glory.

That thought set a worm of unease squirming in Simon’s belly but he forced himself to ignore it. There couldn’t be anything wrong. He had checked the field himself with two watchmen, and Hal had been guarded all night.

Even so, not until Simon stood at Lord Hugh’s side and watched the other stands fill did he feel the concern slip away, together with the weight of the last week’s work. He had done his best, and now he could relax. If there were any problems it would be the fault and responsibility of someone else, he thought thankfully. Probably Hal’s – and since the fool wasn’t here to defend himself, if anything were to happen, he would be bound to be forced to shoulder the full blame.

There was to be less ceremony to this tournament. Often in the past, participants would first compete to earn respect from the overblown praise of their lord. Thank God, Simon thought, there would be none of that nonsense here. Lord Hugh had one aim with this tournament, which was to see to it that all his men had a chance to exercise their skills. On this first day, the competitors would be the squires – especially those who wished to be knighted.

The heralds appeared, riding in on their great mounts, batons of office held by all three of them, the King Herald, Mark Tyler, who was Lord Hugh’s own man, and the two others. Simon knew Odo, of course. Like Mark Tyler, Odo seemed to have a high opinion of himself, but then heralds often did. They were little better than actors, to Simon’s mind. Invariably overpaid, their duties mostly consisted of playing musical instruments and singing. And every so often they would disappear around the world to seek out new songs, new stories of imagined prowess and overblown pride.

Simon didn’t like heralds.

However, today he couldn’t help but feel happy to see them. They were proof that the tournament was going off without a hitch, and he couldn’t get himself worked up over them. They had their uses, he supposed.

The King Herald edged his horse forward a little. ‘My Lord Hugh, my Lady. We are here to begin the tournament held in your names, and I and these heralds have registered the names and arms of all the knights who wish to display their prowess and courage before you. May I beg leave of your lordship to continue?’

Lord Hugh waved a hand with imperous dignity. ‘Carry on.’

The King Herald jerked at his horse’s reins and turned the mount around. His chest expanded until he resembled a barrel set atop his horse. Opening his mouth, he roared in a voice that could surely have been heard in Oakhampton itself:

‘Now HEAR ME, HEAR ME! The tournament proper will open tomorrow, with individual knights jousting with their lances, each charging together to see who can survive the clash of arms. There will be three courses run by each pair, and afterwards the knights will fight with sword and axe. The jousting will take three days, but on the last day there shall be a full mêlée so that all knights can demonstrate their skills. I and my two heralds shall be diseurs and our word will be final unless the Lord himself overrides us.

‘The laws are as our great King Edward, our King’s father, laid down in his Statuta Armorum ,’ the King Herald continued, glancing at a roll of paper in his hand. ‘All men are hereby adjured to hold the King’s peace. Only rebated weapons are to be used à plaisance and no weapons of war are to be allowed in the ring. Knights are only permitted to have three men to support them. Any knight or baron participating in the tournament who has more than this must tell the excess men to leave the field.’ At this point he glowered at the crowds as if daring them to bring in more men.

‘Grooms and footmen are not permitted to wear pointed swords, daggers, long knives, clubs or other offensive weapons of any sort. If a knight falls, only his own men may help him up again. Spectators are not at any time to interfere! And at any feasts the Lord decides to host, only a knight’s personal squire may enter the hall in order to serve his lord. All others must remain outside.’

He went on to dwell at length on the punishments and fines which would inevitably fall on the head of any man who sought to infringe the rules, sternly reading each and staring at particular knights or men-at-arms as he did so. Simon wondered after a while whether each of these men had been guilty at some time of infringing these rules and was being reminded not to repeat the offence. At last the apparently interminable list was done and the King Herald sniffed and cleared his throat.

‘But today, to open the celebrations, we have a special béhourd to warm us all up. Certain squires shall show their skills and run against each other.’

There were many more details, but Simon’s attention had wandered and the words flowed over and past him.

Opposite, he noticed, his wife sat with Baldwin. Edith was between them. Edith looked quite lovely, he thought with a pang. Much as her mother had when he had first met her in her father’s farmyard, a slim girl with a lazy smile and laughing eyes. He could remember her as she had been still more clearly whenever he looked at his daughter. Their faces were similar, if Edith’s was a little wider, their eyes the same shape, their mouths and chins identical. If he was twenty years younger, he would make the same choice again.

The thought made him give a cynical grin. God help the man who chose Edith as his wife, though.

At that moment, the first pair of squires appeared before the stand and the heralds departed to the ends of the lists, apart from the King Herald, who remained before the Lord to witness the meeting of the two.

At a signal from the King Herald, there was a sudden pounding of hooves, and the two squires, both unrecognisable under mail and their coats-of-arms, charged headlong. Simon felt his heart thunder as if in time to the hoofbeats, which almost, but not quite, drowned out the din of metal clashing against metal. It was like listening to a kitchen in which every pot, pan and plate was being systematically beaten while chains were rattled unceasingly. From here he could see the whole tilt area, and as the two men came together, he almost felt the crash.