Michael, JECKS - The Tournament of Blood

Baldwin studied his pale and drawn features for a while. ‘No, my friend,’ he said gently. ‘I wish you to hear a story – and please do not comment until I am done. It is a long tale, but a good one for a herald to consider. It may have merit and deserve to be retold.’

‘What is this tale?’

Baldwin considered the ground at his feet, then put his arms behind his back and strolled slowly away from the crowds and any others who might overhear. Odo was grateful. It could have been embarrassing for him if someone like Tyler was to eavesdrop. He was so taken up in his reflections that he hardly heard Baldwin begin to talk.

‘In 1306 there was a great tournament at Exeter. It was a marvellous show, with people coming from all about. Many of those who came to watch would normally have led quite workaday lives, and seeing the pageantry and excess would be an occasion of great excitement. Among those present was a merchant who had decided to bring his young family to watch. A certain Master Tyrel.’

‘Yes. And a stand collapsed while Sir Richard’s mother watched her husband fight with Sir John,’ Simon said officiously, breaking the flow of Baldwin’s story.

‘No. Lady Alice’s mother watched her husband fight and die.’

‘But Sir Richard told me… ’ Simon frowned. ‘You mean Sir Richard was illegitimate?’

‘Yes. Sir Godwin was a cheery fellow, very keen on exercising his skills in courtly love. You recall Sir John accused him of cuckolding him? He was not without reason. But be that as it may, the stand collapsed and many died. In particular, one family perished called Tyrel. A mother, daughter, son – but not the father.

‘He was a large, bearded man – strong and powerful. And when the stand collapsed, I imagine that he tore his great sinews as he tried to free his loved ones. Tried to save them. He probably has a faint humped back even now. Not that he could achieve much. They, along with others, were all dead.

‘So he lost his mind. He left England and sought death, in whatever way he could find it. He travelled widely and learned songs, and because of them he became a herald. Lords are always looking out for a man who can recognise arms and who can sing or play instruments. Someone who was also an educated man who had skills as a merchant would be a godsend.’

‘But since he was no longer Tyrel the family man, he became Odo the herald,’ Simon breathed.

Odo dropped his head. All the protestations that he had intended to use to assert his innocence were stifled. He was sick of lies and inventions. If Sir Baldwin wished to accuse him, he would accept God’s fate.

But Baldwin looked at Simon pointedly. ‘No, no. I am sure that this man Tyrel remains in France – if he is still alive, of course, which I strongly doubt. I was simply telling you the background to the events here. The Coroner has made his conclusion. There is no point in having him alter it, is there?’

Odo shot him a stunned look. If he had suddenly been struck by a bowl of pottage he could not have been more surprised. ‘I…’ He snapped his mouth closed again, deciding to obey Baldwin’s instruction and listen.

Simon growled, ‘You mean you’d let him go free? He’s murdered four people!’

‘Odo the herald has killed no one, Simon,’ Baldwin said. ‘Odo has no interest in something that happened so long ago. But if Tyrel were to come back and avenge his family, I would not condemn him – would you? If someone had killed Margaret and Edith and the baby in front of you, Simon, would you rest? Ever? Or would you seek out the murderer and execute him?’

Simon considered. In his mind he could see his wife, Meg, laughing in the sun with their children, a competent and beautiful mother; he could see her in bed, writhing against him as they made love; he could see his daughter running happily, giggling, through the long grasses of a meadow. Then he was silent a long while, thinking. At last he cast a look back towards the stands, seeking his wife’s face in the crowd. ‘I think I am glad that Odo is not related to Tyrel,’ he said gruffly.

‘So am I,’ Baldwin said, his voice hard. ‘I hate to think what I would do if I were in his position. Bludgeoning men to death in payment for crushing his family to death so long ago seems strangely kind compared to what I would have done… What do you think, Odo?’

‘Me, sir?’

‘What do you think has happened to this Tyrel? Is he alive and nursing his desire for revenge – or is he now dead at last?’

Odo felt a heaviness leave him. It was as if sixteen years of bitterness and torment had sloughed from his shoulders. Suddenly he felt lighter, free . ‘Sir Baldwin, I think Tyrel is dead. I think he died recently and will never return.’

‘May he rest in peace.’

The next day was the finale of the tournament – a massive mêlée in which all the knights not already too wounded to take part, rode into the fighting area and fought to a standstill through a sweltering sunny day.

Simon watched unimpressed as knights and senior squires traded blows in a rising mist of dust. Every so often there would be a louder ringing sound as a hollow piece of steel was struck, and then the noise was deafening, but he could see that Baldwin was as bored as he was. It was tedious after the excitement of the last days. The only man worth watching was Squire Andrew, who darted about with flashing weapons like a man half his age.

When he looked at his daughter, he could see that she was uninterested, too. Since the death of her lover, Edith had been overcome with mourning, and she had no desire to witness another brawl.

‘Simon?’ Baldwin whispered in his ear. ‘Could I borrow Hugh for a minute or two?’

‘Yes, of course. And try to send him back in a better frame of mind. If Edith’s pissed off, Hugh thinks his world has fallen apart.’

Baldwin grinned. ‘I’ll do my best.’

He stood at the back of the stand while Hugh came down the steps, and then Baldwin led the way out to the river. He sat on a fallen tree-trunk and motioned to Hugh to sit. There was a jug of ale and one of watered wine waiting and Baldwin passed Hugh the ale.

‘The murderer was not Sir Walter, Hugh. Sir Walter was a lunatic who decided to kill himself because he was consumed by jealousy, but he had no need to kill Sir William.’

‘Maybe he heard what I saw – Sir William with his wife?’ Hugh tried hopefully.

‘Do you think so?’ Baldwin asked pointedly.

Hugh stared morosely at the ground and said nothing.

Eyeing him, Baldwin took a deep swig of wine and swilled it about his mouth. ‘The man who killed William was more likely someone who wanted to protect somebody. Now who could that be? I consider it from this way. If someone was to threaten to hurt my daughter, I would stop them. If they tried to molest or rape her, I would kill them and I would have no compunction whatsoever about doing so. Any father who would not kill to protect his daughter would be no father. And if I was not there, Edgar would do so in my place, and I would protect him in the courts and elsewhere if he was put to trial because he would be looking after my family as my servant should. Any servant who loves his master would do the same.’

Hugh looked up. For once he met Baldwin’s gaze. ‘You know?’

‘That the fellow threatened to ruin Edith, threatened to make her unmarriageable, and you heard it? Yes. I think you sought to protect her the only way you knew.’

‘Not only that. I saw him pawing that Lady Helen, too. I thought of my wife. She was messed about by her man. If I hadn’t been there, what might have become of her? I couldn’t let that happen to Edith, oh no – but here he was, making her go all wobbly over him while he was planning to marry one woman and then trying it on with another.’