Michael, JECKS - The Tournament of Blood

‘Don’t worry, Hugh,’ she gasped as he shoved a hand through her armpit and quickly pulled her upright. ‘I am fine, honestly. My own clumsiness, that’s all.’

Hugh nodded, but his eyes were on the other men in the stand. One or two were openly curling their lips. He saw one man bite his thumb in contempt, and Hugh felt his jaw clench even as he turned the end of his staff in the fellow’s direction, but then Margaret was gently pushing him back towards the exit and they made their way through the gap in the wall and down the stairs.

It was only when they reached the bottom and could stare about them that Margaret felt the clutching of terrible fear. ‘Hugh! Where did Edith go?’

Baldwin could have laughed at Simon’s face if the matter were not so serious. Simon gaped, staring at Mark Tyler while the latter eyed him back severely. The herald was pompous, certainly, a fool in many ways, but in this case Baldwin wondered whether he was an accurate gauge as to the feelings of the mob.

Sometimes it was hard for Baldwin to appreciate the level of anger and resentment that the public could feel. He had spent so many years abroad, studying the martial arts and living the ascetic existence of a warrior monk in Paris and other centres of learning, that he occasionally found it difficult to understand how his own compatriots thought or felt about matters.

This was a perfect example. He had known Simon for some six years; the most honourable officer he had met, a man of integrity and decency, and yet a fool was accusing him of murder.

‘You did it, didn’t you?’ Mark repeated.

To Baldwin’s astonishment he saw that others nearby had heard the accusation and were running off to spread the rumours; even now men were setting their features into hard masks, as if preparing themselves for a lynching.

‘Wait, Tyler!’ Baldwin declared loudly, raising a hand. ‘There will be no accusations. Not here. And it is insane to suggest that the good Bailiff could have killed Hal Sachevyll. He had no reason to kill the builder.’

‘Hal accused him of murder; I think he battered Hal to shut him up.’

‘There is nothing to suggest that Simon was guilty of killing Hal, just as there was nothing to suggest that Simon hurt Wymond. No one saw him hurting them, no one heard him… ’ Baldwin glanced back at the body wonderingly. ‘Why should he have been thrust among the vegetation?’

Sir Roger said, ‘I wonder none of us saw him here this morning when we searched the grounds.’

‘It was concealed well enough,’ Baldwin said pensively.

‘The Bailiff concealed the body,’ Mark Tyler said.

Simon ignored the man. The first shock of being accused was wearing off and now his mind was racing. ‘It must have been the drunk we found here, Baldwin! He must have been feigning drunkenness to distract us.’

‘What drunk?’ Baldwin demanded.

‘Some fellow… the watchmen and I found him out here. We thought he was in a stupor, but it’s easy to pretend to be hammered. He could have killed Hal, thrown him down here and then… ’

Mark Tyler pulled a face. ‘A nice story, Bailiff. Coroner, this man murdered Hal and Wymond before him. I demand that he be arrested.’

‘When do you suggest he killed Hal, exactly?’ Sir Roger asked mildly. ‘I doubt he has had five minutes to himself since this tournament began. Anyone could have pushed the body here.’

‘I would never have seen it, had there not been those two rooks fighting over it,’ Sir Edmund put in.

‘Yes, we would still be wondering where on earth Hal had got to,’ Baldwin murmured. ‘What of this feckless squire of yours? Has he often gone missing like this?’

‘I am here, Sir Baldwin.’ Baldwin found himself confronted by Andrew.

‘And where the devil have you been?’ Sir Edmund asked crossly.

‘I was talking to an old friend. Odo, the herald.’

Tyler looked like a man who had bitten into a lemon. ‘I suppose you are old friends?’

‘We met at tournaments in France. Yes, I have known Odo for many years.’

‘I suppose men abroad can’t be too fussy about their friends.’

Andrew looked at him with a slight smile at his mouth. ‘Do you mean to insult me, King Herald? Because if you do, I should be delighted to stand against you in a battle.’

Baldwin grinned to himself as he noticed Mark Tyler’s sudden embarrassment. The King Herald stammered, ‘I didn’t intend any insult… ’

Baldwin said, ‘Did you know this man Hal?’

Andrew cast a dismissive look down at the body. ‘Yes. I saw him in the north. I was at Boroughbridge and was taken by Squire William. Hal was in the King’s entourage up there. I assumed he was a spy, for he had been helping Earl Thomas beforehand. Or perhaps he was able to change allegiance very quickly.’

‘What of Dudenay?’

‘Who?’

‘A banker in Exeter.’

Andrew shrugged. ‘I avoid such men. I have no interest in such fellows.’

‘This is a waste of time. It was Puttock killed the man,’ Tyler spat. ‘Have him arrested!’

Baldwin eyed him coldly. ‘It is impossible that Simon could have done this. Bailiff Puttock slept in the castle last night and the gates were locked.’

‘I don’t care what you say!’ Tyler declared hotly. ‘It’s obvious to me that the Bailiff held a grudge against these two, Wymond and Hal Sachevyll, and I accuse him of murder. If no one else will appeal him, I shall.’

‘Oh, this is insane!’ Simon snapped. His temper was wearing thin. ‘How the hell could I have got here and done for the poor bastard? I was in the castle, as Baldwin said. And it’s hardly likely, is it, you cretin, that I’d get rid of the architect? Anyway, I told a man to guard him.’

‘And perhaps paid him to kill poor Hal for you? There’s no end of scum would murder for a suitable fee,’ Tyler said scathingly.

‘We must speak to the watchman,’ Baldwin agreed calmly, although his fingers itched to pick up the contentious herald and dump him in the river.

Tyler turned to the Coroner again. ‘I saw Wymond arguing with him – both were very angry. If Bailiff Puttock had drawn his sword then, I suppose it could have been justified as defence or a hot-blooded killing – but he didn’t! No, he clearly set about to kill both men with malice, planning their deaths in a peculiarly evil manner.’

Sir Roger smiled thinly. ‘I don’t doubt your conviction, but I don’t believe Bailiff Puttock to be guilty. It’s rubbish. Now, Sir Baldwin, why don’t we look over the body and see what we can discern?’

Nothing loath, Baldwin crouched at Hal’s side and studied his ruined skull. From the look of the wounds it seemed that he had been struck many times with a blunt weapon, possibly a staff or a simple cudgel. A sword or metal implement would have left gashes with defined edges, but Hal’s head showed the typical signs of a bludgeoning. Not far away was a large stack of logs and boughs coppiced from the woods behind the castle, and Baldwin was confident that one would have blood and gore staining it.

Roger untied the man’s belt and undressed him while Baldwin peered over his shoulder. There were no stab marks on Hal’s pale chest and thighs, but when Roger tugged him over, Baldwin saw that high on Hal’s back, a little below his neck, was a large lump.

At last he stood, grunting as his knee objected once more. His joints were becoming ever more fractious, he considered. ‘If I had to guess, I would say that this man was lured here, or perhaps followed here, and then struck down from behind. This blow here,’ he pointed to a deep gash, ‘was probably the first. I believe that Hal was knocked unconscious and then beaten to death.’

‘How can you tell that?’ Tyler asked scathingly. ‘He’s a mass of blood and pus. You can’t tell which blow was given first. It’s impossible.’