Michael, JECKS - The Tournament of Blood

‘True. So you think he was murdered here?’

‘Yes.’ Odo looked at the ground. ‘If that’s true, though, why didn’t anyone notice? It’s very close to the tents.’

‘It’s rare enough that a man dies without making a sound,’ Sir Roger agreed, ‘but here, with the water rushing past and the noise from people singing and dancing, drunks snoring, and others screwing, or dreaming that they were, it’s hardly surprising no one heard anything.’

Odo nodded, but then sprang lightly onto the bank and gazed about him. To left and right the river curved around the field, enclosing the tents. Pavilions and rougher tents lay all about, while to his right, some forty yards away, were the lines where the horses stood. Most were in paddocks and fields at the opposite bank of the river, but some of the more expensive mounts had been installed nearer their owners’ tents. Two bored-looking grooms idled about, brushing and rubbing down the horses which would be used later that day.

His attention returned to the pavilions. ‘Surely someone should have heard something? Shouldn’t we speak to all the people who slept here last night?’

Before Sir Roger could answer, a young messenger came hurrying. ‘Odo? The King Herald asks that you attend to the jousting.’

‘Tell him I’ll be along shortly.’

‘The King Herald was insistent.’

Odo swore softly. ‘I’ll be along as soon as I can.’

The lad looked worried. ‘You should. The Lord Hugh is in a foul mood; he’s furious that Simon the Bailiff must suffer trial by battle.’

Baldwin and Simon stood before the small portable altar in Lord Hugh’s chapel.

Like so many smaller places of worship, it had no glass in the windows, and while the priest intoned his prayers and sang his psalms, noises wafted up to them from the tented field at the foot of the castle’s hill: voices raised in dispute, a shrieking, bawdy laugh from a woman, sudden rattling as a cart rumbled past.

It made Simon feel curiously detached. Here he was, his life at risk, and yet outside all was continuing as normal. People were living their lives naturally, while in this little church, he and his friend were preparing for their deaths.

The priest broke bread and tipped a little wine into their mouths, uttering the soothing Latin words which Simon remembered so distinctly from his youth as a student in the Canonical church at Crediton. Simon had witnessed many deaths in his life, from those who died of disease or hunger during the famine, to seeing those whom he had captured dangling by their necks. Never before had he wondered about the different ways of dying. Would it be very painful, or would it be a sharp crack and instant peace until he found himself – where? Reviewing his life he was aware of several occasions when he had not behaved as God would have liked.

His despondency grew. It was a relief when the service ended and he and Baldwin could walk away, leaving the priest mumbling his way through some final prayers. Baldwin stopped a moment and gazed back at the man, then strode out.

‘What is it?’ Simon asked.

‘The bastard is being as quick as possible so he can come and watch the fight,’ Baldwin said.

He walked out into the sunshine and the two were blinded. It was some little while before they noticed Margaret and Edith. Margaret gave Baldwin a curtsey.

‘Sir Baldwin, my dear, dear friend, my prayers will go with you. Please be careful, be valiant, and come back safely. Simon, be strong. Have faith.’

Her voice had grown softer and softer and now it tailed off altogether while her eyes closed as if to shut off the flood that threatened.

Simon felt his heart lurch and he went to her, hugging her and kissing her brow. ‘Be strong, Meg. I can’t be if you’re not.’

‘Father!’ Edith cried. ‘I didn’t mean it when I said I blamed you. Please be careful!’ Sir Baldwin, look after him, won’t you?’

The knight gave her a sombre look, taking in the over-bright eyes, the thin trickling of tears, the drawn, pale visage. ‘Edith, your father is innocent, and while there is a God in Heaven, I cannot lose trial by combat on his behalf.’

It was pleasing to see her demeanour alter, as an expression of relief and gratitude slowly suffused her features. She sniffed and then reached up and kissed him full on the lips before walking to her father and kissing him too.

Ridiculously, Baldwin felt a thrill run through his body. It was as if a liquid fire had filled him, converting his occasionally melancholic humour to a sanguine one. As he and Simon walked from the castle, he felt more alive than he had for many years. This was responsibility, he thought: when a friend’s life hung in the balance. As did his own, he knew, for Sir John would kill him if he could. The combat would be to the death.

The two men walked silently along the path to the jousting field. All about them, people pointed and fell quiet. Baldwin ignored them. It was important to keep his mind clear, he knew. That was one of the things he had learned while fighting with the Templars: a man should empty his mind and enter the lists calmly. All fighters knew that a cool head was the first essential if you wished to win. And Baldwin had every intention of winning. That was why he refused to let himself think of his own wife and daughter. Distractions were dangerous.

He prayed as he entered the field. There was a corridor of other knights and squires leading to the area before Lord Hugh’s stand, and although some called out his name, Baldwin didn’t hear.

Simon often found his beliefs difficult to comprehend, he knew, but to Baldwin it was very simple. He knew that God was the heavenly creator, and that He would listen to the prayers of any man who called out in need. The fact that Baldwin thought the Church a milch cow for the Pope and that while the Pope lived at Avignon under the direct control of the French King he would be flawed and open to corruption, did not affect his own belief in God. The Templars had been destroyed by the greed of the French King, who saw the Templars as an easy means to wealth. Now there were other forms of corruption appearing, with pardoners selling their scraps of paper to promise full remission of sins, provided that the money was right, and priests buying their own advancement.

But whether or not the Catholic Church was falling into corruption, Baldwin knew that God would protect His faithful followers, and although Baldwin had endured a crisis of confidence after the destruction of the Templars, wondering why God did not save His most loyal army, he had come to realise that probably not all the Templars were honourable.

It was only as he approached the main stand that he became aware of his surroundings. He saw Edgar with his destrier and walked to the horse, pulling at the girth straps, patting the creature’s neck as he checked the positioning of the bridle, feeling the saddle and making sure it was firm and the wooden frame had not been damaged.

Satisfied, he stood and waited, breathing easily. It was odd, but standing here, before all these fascinated people, he could appreciate the scene. Somehow there was more clarity to the air, for when he looked along the valley and to the hill at the opposite bank, it looked nearer than before, as if the very hills were edging closer to witness the fight. Flowers appeared brighter, more colourful; birds sang with more crystalline purity, making their songs achingly beautiful, while the gurgle and chuckle of the water was a constant but ever-changing backdrop which served to highlight the relative silence all about.

High overhead a lark sang and his attention rose to where the bird soared trilling with a liquid purity. When his gaze returned to earth, he found himself staring at Sir John.