Michael, JECKS - The Tournament of Blood

‘I am ward to his father.’

‘Perhaps he would make a good husband,’ Odo ventured tentatively.

‘William? Never!’ she spat. ‘I need Geoffrey. If he dies, I shall have no other husband. God, that this should have happened! Tomorrow, once he was knighted, he was going to declare our marriage. One day more and I would have been safe. Now I can’t even declare my love, for Lord Hugh must listen to Sir John if he denies me. Sir John is a man ,’ she added with vitriolic emphasis that quite unnerved Odo.

Then she realised how her words might have upset him. ‘My friend, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you any concern. You have been a good and loyal accomplice to my husband and I.’

‘I am a herald and wish only to serve honourable men and their wives.’

‘Thank you. I only wish you could serve us now.’

Those words rang in his ears now as he watched the knighting of William and five of his friends.

All had bathed in scented water and eaten liquorice to cleanse their breath, before visiting the chapel to confess their sins ready for this ceremony.

Now they stood arrayed before Lord Hugh in fine clothes, all of which held deep symbolic importance, for Lord Hugh wanted all to witness that he sought to ensure that knights dubbed by him would recognise their responsibilities. As a herald Odo could note each stage and its importance.

The selection of clothing came first. The six wore white robes to remined them of the cleanliness of their bodies; crimson cloaks because they must shed their blood when God commanded it; stockings as brown as the earth in which they would be buried, to remind them to prepare for their own deaths.

Servants bound pure white belts about their waists to show that they must exercise restraint and chastity. Then there was a short delay and a few moments later a line of squires entered the hall with pillows in their hands. On the pillows were their new spurs, all gleaming gold in the candlelight. They flashed and shone as they were fixed to the boots of the waiting men, each of them looking a little awed as the significance of the moment caught at their imagination.

More squires moved forward now, with the swords. They went to the respective owners and tied the belts about their waists. As all knew, the sword was the most important symbol of all: the two edges showed that justice and loyalty should always go together, that a knight must always protect a poor or weakly man from a bully, while the cross of the quillons showed that all served Christ.

It was at this moment that Lord Hugh moved forward. His sword was sheathed at his side and he stood a moment contemplating the six. When the room had fallen absolutely silent, Lord Hugh stepped up to the men and struck each on the shoulder with his clenched fist. Each bowed his head while the blow was given, and when they looked up again, each truly did appear to have been reborn. Pride and the knowledge of the honour done to them shone in their eyes.

Odo nodded to himself. All were knights. Each had been dubbed. It was a day none of them would ever forget.

Nor would the others, he decided as he took in the faces around him. Most of the audience was composed of families or friends of the new knights, with one or two women watching, thrilled, as their betrothed men became marriageable. Among the remaining squires he saw boredom, amusement and yes, some envy, but little else until he came to Andrew’s face and saw the naked hatred there as the older squire stared straight at William.

That was enough to depress Odo. What had begun as a powerful display of chivalry and honour had been spoiled by that expression on Andrew’s face, but just as he thought that, any remaining pleasure was shattered as the physician entered the hall and peered about the place.

As he approached Alice, she began to shake her head in frantic denial, and gave a shriek of horror.

The next morning, Simon was in a filthy temper after a poor night’s sleep. Although Lord Hugh had celebrated the knighting of so many youths along with everyone else, the discovery of the second body had made him thoughtful, while whenever Simon caught the eye of the King Herald, the man’s manner left no ambiguity about his opinion of the Bailiff.

As if that was not sufficient, he also had the matter of his daughter’s deception and apparent love affair with the insolent, overbearing heir of Sir John of Crukerne. It was not a match Simon could sanction, not after the way that Edith and William had deceived him. Edith’s behaviour had hurt him – although William’s was no surprise. He was his father’s son.

Edith might not be quite the apple of Simon’s eye as once she had been, but she was still his daughter, and Simon was convinced that a father-in-law like Sir John would make her life miserable. Also there was another factor to be measured: Simon had always felt that a man’s son often grew to be like his father, and he had a fear that, should Edith marry William, the latter would, in years to come, be more rough, more casually violent and cruel. Especially when given a focus for his bile – the daughter of a Bailiff. Simon could almost hear the scorn in his voice: ‘And your father was little better than a peasant, was he? No wonder you don’t know how to behave among the nobility!’ In his mind’s eye he could see Edith weeping herself to sleep after he had taken her roughly and unkindly, too filled with wine to care about her feelings.

Simon was certain that she would have a miserable time of it should she wed the boy, but that didn’t stop her proudly declaring her love for him. The Bailiff only prayed that she hadn’t been stupid enough to spread her legs for him.

He walked out of the castle and down to the tented area, and here he saw Baldwin. The knight was resting on a low stool with a cup in his hand, while to his side sat a very hungover-looking Coroner Roger. ‘Wine, Simon?’ Baldwin said heartily. ‘I hear it takes away sour tastes from too much food the night before.’

‘A jug would be better,’ Simon said, noticing how Roger winced and swallowed on hearing wine mentioned. ‘Ale for you, Coroner?’

‘Bailiff, you are a cruel and vicious man. Has anyone told you that before?’

Baldwin jerked his head to his servant, but it was unnecessary. Edgar had already marched into the tent to fetch the men their drink.

‘How is Margaret this fine morning?’ he enquired once Simon had taken his ease on the trestle table holding Baldwin’s armour.

‘She’s all right – if you ignore her tiredness and annoyance at Edith’s attitude.’

‘So there has been no truce?’

‘Truce be buggered! There’ll be no peace until I take a belt to her backside. Even Hugh has given up. He left Edith to my tender care last evening. Usually he would guard her to her chamber, but not in her present mood!’

Baldwin shrugged. Sometimes young creatures had to be punished, but he wasn’t sure that a beating would achieve much in Edith’s case. ‘What of the murders? Is there anything new?’ he asked, trying to delay the moment when he would have to impart the unpalatable information Squire Andrew had given to him about William’s behaviour and intentions.

‘Christ’s bones! I am baffled,’ Simon grunted into his jug. ‘What do you think?’

Baldwin glanced up at his servant’s face. ‘You’ve heard the gossips talk, Edgar. What do they say?’

Edgar spoke reluctantly. ‘Many here still seem to believe that the Bailiff killed the two men, because they heard the King Herald accuse him; and there is a belief that Lord Hugh only protected him because Lord Hugh himself told you to kill them, sir.’

‘Me! Me! ’ Simon exclaimed. ‘Why should I agree to murder that pair of galloping sodomites?’