The Tournament of Blood

Chapter Thirteen

Baldwin carried the hammer with him as he investigated the area, but there seemed nothing more to be found and soon he set off back towards the castle, swinging the murder weapon with a speculative air. It was heavy – weighed at least four pounds. Enough to crush a skull.

When he came to the gap in the hedge, he tried to guess the direction that the killer would have taken to get back to the jousting field. There was no sign of dragging grass, so he assumed that the body had been carried down towards the river.

He was beginning to feel a reluctant admiration for the murderer: a man who could persuade Wymond to walk all the way up here to look at a tree for timber, perhaps proposing a share in the profit; a man who could strike down even so ferocious a foe as Wymond, and drag or carry him back to his own bed and brazenly tuck him in. That spoke of someone with courage, mental resources and physical strength. Wymond was not tall, but he was solid.

Why put him back in his bed? Most people would surely have left the corpse up in the woods to be eaten by wild animals, concealing the evidence. Baldwin was convinced that the deed was done so as to leave a message. But was it for Hal – or someone else? And if so, who?

Baldwin set to wondering how the murderer had returned to the camp. He might have turned right, following the line of the old hedge. Working on this conviction that no sensible man would walk in the open carrying a dead body, Baldwin strolled near the trees, his eyes fixed upon the ground. It took little time to find tracks: boots sunk deep into the ground.

He walked faster now. The trail took him down to the ford where he himself had earlier crossed the river, and he nodded to himself with satisfaction. His guesswork had proved to be accurate.

But now he was unsure what to do. He still carried the hammer, and that would have to be given to the Coroner when he arrived; he could pass it to Simon for safekeeping in the meantime. Baldwin felt a pang at his belly and realised it was time he ate. He walked thoughtfully to the stalls and drank a pint of watered wine. At another stall he bought a pie and munched on it, sitting on a bench with a fresh pint of wine before him while he contemplated the people passing, wondering whether one of them was the killer. It was an unsettling thought.

He found his attention caught by a large knight.

Tall, strong, and with an expression that could melt moorstone, Baldwin thought that the stranger was an ideal suspect. If he was inclined to arresting people on sight based solely on their manner, this man would be the perfect candidate for a cell. Before long the knight looked about him and noticed Baldwin watching him. Baldwin found himself being surveyed with minute detail. He motioned to the jug of wine and the stranger gave a shrug and joined him.

‘Please allow me to serve you, sir,’ Baldwin said respectfully.

‘I am grateful.’

Both raised their pots and drank. There was a ritual to their slow introductions, for knights meeting at a tournament could well find themselves fighting and perhaps even dying at the other’s hand in a few hours.

Baldwin bowed his head and introduced himself. ‘Sir Baldwin de Furnshill.’

‘I am Sir Edmund of Gloucester. You will be challenging?’

‘I fear I am too old to be a tenant or venant,’ Baldwin chuckled. ‘No, I am here to watch.’

‘I see.’ Sir Edmund appeared to lose interest in Baldwin, his attention flying back to the people walking by. He was still furious at Sir John’s slighting words to him about winning back his wealth, and confused by the sight of Lady Helen.

‘I do not remember seeing you at other tournaments,’ Baldwin said, breaking into his thoughts.

‘I have been abroad.’

‘Ah.’ It was not easy to talk to this man, Baldwin considered. He caught sight of Odo and waved a hand in recognition. The herald inclined his head, but hurried on his way.

‘Was that Odo?’ Sir Edmund asked.

‘Yes. You know him?’

‘I have met him in Exeter – and France.’

Baldwin saw how his mouth snapped shut after saying that, as though Sir Edmund regretted saying so much, and Baldwin suddenly remembered the herald’s tale of his saving a Templar. Sir Edmund was not familiar to him, but it was possible that he had been a Knight Templar. He was old enough.

‘I scarcely know Odo. He is Lord Hugh’s man and I don’t see much of our lord, I am afraid.’

‘He is a good man,’ Sir Edmund said. ‘Have you heard about the murder?’

Baldwin, who had been hoping to bring their conversation round to Wymond, settled back more easily in his seat. ‘You mean the carpenter?’

‘Yes. Do you know anything about his death?’

‘A little,’ Baldwin admitted. ‘He was found in his own tent.’

‘I see. And is anyone suspected?’

‘We shall have to wait until the Coroner completes his inquest. Were you up last night?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘It seems that the murder happened after the curfew. The only people who should have been about were knights or squires. I merely wondered if you might have seen anyone.’

‘No, I didn’t. After eating I walked a little to clear my lungs. The room was very smoky and I felt the need for some fresh air. My squire was with me.’

‘But you saw no one?’

‘No. There were some servants about, but only few.’

‘Did you and your squire return to your tent together?’

‘No, he came after me. Why? You seem very interested.’

‘I am a Keeper of the King’s Peace and I like to solve little problems like this.’

‘Well, I am afraid I can’t help you,’ Sir Edmund said, standing abruptly. ‘My thanks for the wine, but I must go.’

‘Of course,’ Baldwin murmured graciously. ‘It was pleasant to meet you,’ he added as Sir Edmund stalked away.

Seeing a watchman, Baldwin stood and spoke to him. He gave the man the hammer, telling him to take it to Simon in the castle because it might be the murder weapon. Then, before he could buy another drink, he heard his name called. Turning, he saw a tall, slim woman with fair features, holding a swaddled child in her arms.

‘Margaret! It is good to see you again! And how is young Peterkin?’ He tentatively prised a scrap of material away from an ancient-looking face, which blinked and glared at him.

‘Careful, don’t put your finger too close; he’s teething,’ Margaret laughed. ‘Baldwin, it is good to see you too. Peterkin is fine, he’s growing heavier daily and occasionally, just occasionally, he allows me to sleep through the night. How is Jeanne – is she here with you? I hope you are enjoying fatherhood.’ She cast a quizzical look up at him. ‘Are you quite well? You haven’t had bad news?’

‘No, I have been considering a murder, that is all,’ he laughed. ‘Jeanne is fine, if tired, and young Richalda is loud. Good lungs! How is Edith?’

Hugh stood at Margaret’s shoulder. Taciturn, narrow-featured, and with the slim build of a moorman, his gaze remained fixed upon the ground, his thin mouth drawn into a prim line. ‘Edith’s fine,’ he said sulkily.

As he spoke, Edith herself appeared from behind him and pushed past him to Baldwin. ‘Out of the way, Hugh. Just because you’ve been enjoying yourself lazing about in the north is no reason to hide me. Hello, Sir Baldwin,’ she said, and curtseyed graciously. ‘I am well, I thank you.’

He eyed her with amusement. She might only be thirteen or fourteen years old but she already had the carriage of a lady. Like her mother her hair was of fine gold and she had been graced by Margaret Puttock’s expression of gentle calmness. Baldwin thought her features would not have looked out of place on an angel, but having heard so many stories of her disruptive behaviour from Simon over the last years, he knew that appearances could be deceptive.

‘I hear you’re setting the hearts of all the young men about Lydford and Tavistock a-flutter.’

‘Me?’ she enquired as if startled, her blue eyes widening. ‘Oh, I shouldn’t think so. They must all think me very dull. A young maid who isn’t allowed to visit or ride with her friends or–’

Margaret hurriedly cleared her throat and put a hand in front of her daughter. ‘I am sure she is setting as many hearts alight as she could wish, Sir Baldwin. Sadly she has no desire to do so with her own parents.’

‘That’s not fair!’ Edith declared and in a moment her gentle expression became a glower. ‘If only you were reasonable, I’d not have to complain and–’

‘I am sure the good knight has many other things to consider without listening to your ranting, Edith,’ Margaret said tiredly.

‘I think he would be more interested to hear how my mother treats me than listen to your tales of sowing seeds and lambing,’ Edith said scornfully. ‘Your conversation is, I fear, rather dull to educated people, Mother.’

Baldwin glanced away. He couldn’t bear the look of hurt and sadness that sprang into Margaret’s eyes.

Simon breathed a sigh of relief. It was good to be at a loose end for a few moments. Now, he reckoned, was as good a time as any to find himself a pot of ale and swill the grit from his mouth.

Accordingly he steered his path to the market area. There was a brewer there who was known to him, and he grudgingly passed Simon a quart of ale free. Simon leaned against a post while he drank. It tasted good; very good.

The show had taken weeks to prepare and Simon would be pleased when it was all over. He dreaded telling Lord Hugh about the carpenter’s murder, although he was glad that Sir Roger was there to take responsibility for the investigation. Lord Hugh would arrive later that day, but there was nothing Simon could do to make the news any more palatable and he was essentially a pragmatist. If something couldn’t be changed, he wouldn’t keep fretting about it.

He had come to the conclusion that since the first quart had gone down so well a second might be an improvement, and had turned to ask for another pot, when a large man appeared at his side.

‘Are you the Bailiff?’

Simon groaned inwardly, but nodded.

‘I am Sir John of Crukerne. My son tells me you questioned him about where he was last night. Well, he was with other squires. All right? There are plenty of people to confirm his alibi.’

‘And if I need more, you will pay for extra witnesses, eh?’

‘You catch on quickly. I congratulate you.’

Simon smiled thinly as the knight gave him a quick look up and down, but his smile hardened as the knight spun on his heel and made to walk away. ‘Sir John?’

Pausing, the knight turned his head. ‘What?’ he snapped rudely.

The sight of the man’s back made Simon’s hackles rise. He took a deep breath and stepped forward. ‘Sir John, I wouldn’t like to think that you could be bribing people to perjure themselves. If I was to think that, I’d have to inform the Coroner.’

Sir John slowly turned to face him.

Simon continued, ‘And if I find that your son was not telling the truth, Sir John, I will see to it that he is arrested and questioned. I hope that is equally clear.’

The knight said nothing, merely sniffed and turned on his heel.

Simon said sharply, ‘I’m not finished!’

Sir John turned and gritted his teeth. ‘You are trying my patience, Bailiff. You have no jurisdiction over me.’

‘This land is Lord Hugh’s. I am his representative here.’

‘I don’t give a shit who you are.’

‘I want to know what you were doing last night after dark.’

‘Me?’ Sir John burst out. ‘You think I had something to do with Wymond’s death?’

Simon held his stare, but then he was disconcerted to see a smile breaking out on the knight’s face.

‘Well, Bailiff. If you must know, I went to my tent and slept there. Alone.’

‘So you have no one to confirm you were there?’

‘Yes, I have. My ward, Lady Alice. She was there when I returned from the meal. She can confirm that I arrived shortly after dark. I gave her a good night.’

Sir Peregrine of Barnstaple rode proudly at his lord’s side, sitting easily on his great bay stallion. The weather was fine and dry. He could feel the sun on his dark crimson velvet tunic and the dust rose in choking clouds, tickling his nostrils and throat.

At his side his standard bearer carried his square banner on its long shaft and the sight of the cloth fluttering in the breeze warmed his heart. Barnacles on a yellow background, a play on the link between his family and Barnstaple, always made him happy, but today he felt honoured, for his arms were being displayed beside Lord Hugh’s.

His lord was not of a mind to chat and their journey had been quiet, Lord Hugh speaking rarely except during their occasional breaks to rest the horses. Sir Peregrine knew that his master had much on his mind; also, with so many men-at-arms about them, he couldn’t talk because a man could never be too certain who might be willing to accept a fee for information about a magnate’s thinking – and the King’s friends had weighty purses filled with gold for those who helped them. The men were neccessary, because Lord Hugh’s household was travelling with him and he had need of protection for the carts with the chests filled with plate ready to be pawned to buy cloth, pay retainers, reward knights who showed particular prowess, and generally impress all who came to see his tournament. A knight needed to display many qualities: courtesy, humility, loyalty, hardiness, a love for the truth, but not least among them was largesse – spending freely to show his own disdain for cash.

Not, Sir Peregrine noted, that many knights eschewed money. They couldn’t, not when their lives depended upon good armour, good horses and good weapons – none of which came cheaply. They must look to their manors to provide them with enough funds to maintain their lifestyles, yet it was not easy to squeeze the last pennies from reluctant and recalcitrant peasants.

Lord Hugh with his household could devastate an area. They were forever in the saddle travelling from one manor to another, and it took little time for the meagre stores at each point to be consumed. Sir Peregrine was often involved in assessing the stores at different places, especially within Lord Hugh’s forts, and knew exactly how much the men needed. It was no surprise that many of the farm peasants looked upon the arrival of the lord and his retinue as a form of purgatory to be endured, rather than a cause for excitement and pleasure.

At least this visit would be different, he reflected, looking about him. Everyone enjoyed watching the spectacle of a tournament and even the townsfolk would be happy with the profits they could make from the visitors to the market.

On entering Oakhampton, people on either side came out from shops and houses to gawp, a few to cheer, knowing that Lord Hugh’s household meant increased sales of food and drink, and that the celebration of the tournament would soon begin. Shabby townspeople thronged the streets, while urchins ducked under arms and stood at the roadside to gape at the men-at-arms in their finery, with their caps on their heads, their mail chinking merrily like so many coins as they walked, the badges holding the enamelled insignia of Lord Hugh shining at the horses’ harnesses, the leatherwork squeaking and groaning, the weapons gleaming blue or silver, the edges well-honed, the polearms slung over men’s shoulders ready to be swung into play. Well might the townsfolk stare. This cavalcade of twenty horsemen, carts, wagons, thirty more men-at-arms on foot and all the supply horses, not to mention the great destriers eagerly skipping and occasionally lashing out at each other or at a bystander, was the largest that the town had seen in years.

Sir Peregrine could see that Lord Hugh’s mind was not on the hordes waiting upon each side. His thoughts were still on the King and the recent death of Thomas of Lancaster.

The suddenness of Thomas’s death had shocked men up and down the country. For the wealthiest man after the King to be dealt with so peremptorily was terrible. A short hearing, then justice: he was set upon a mule to be taken to the gallows, but at the last moment his punishment was changed to simple beheading rather than hanging and quartering as a traitor deserved. Wiser counsel had prevailed: his noble blood was acknowledged in his death.

Lord Hugh had been a mover behind the scenes for some years, helping those who sought to obstruct the King’s foolish spend-thriftiness. Especially when Gaveston was created Earl of Cornwall and given rich estates. It was pathetic to see how the King doted on him. After Gaveston’s death he saw those who brought Gaveston to the block as traitors, and Lord Hugh knew that the King waited to hear of treason on his own part. As soon as that happened, Lord Hugh de Courtenay would be condemned.

In part it was to distract him that Sir Peregrine had suggested a tournament. Lord Hugh was an enthusiastic supporter of martial arts and his wife eagerly seized upon the idea: she knew her husband needed to relax. However, there was an ulterior motive: if the King should take it into his head to attack the West Country, it would be far better that Lord Hugh’s knights should have had practice, and that as many of the youngsters who wanted to win their spurs should do so, receiving spurs and arms from Lord Hugh himself. A man would only rarely consider treachery against the lord who had given him the collée to dub him knight.

Sir Peregrine knew King Edward II distrusted him. Last year Sir Peregrine had unsuccessfully advised his lord to join the Marcher lords standing against the King. For a time the alliance had been successful and the two Despensers, Hugh the Older and his son Hugh the Younger, had left the realm, the father to take up the idle life of an exile, his son to become a pirate thriving on the trade ships which passed along the Kent coast; but now the Despensers were back, and strengthened in pride and arrogance by the removal of their most bitter foe, Thomas of Lancaster.

Hugh Despenser the Younger had a long memory for those who had thwarted his appalling ambition. When Hugh the Younger was not given what he wanted, he imprisoned those who stood in his path – or killed them – and Sir Peregrine of Barnstaple was known to be implacably opposed to him. That was why Sir Peregrine wanted Lord Hugh’s men fully prepared for war.

His attention moved on to the strange knight who had appeared in the castle at Tiverton with his squire and archer. They were a very unsettling trio. Wandering knights were common, especially since the Earl of Lancaster’s men had been so fearfully cut about and dispersed, but Sir Edmund of Gloucester looked more dangerous than most. It was there in his grim, intelligent features, in his quick, assured movements and curious stillness when he stood silently observing others. He warranted watching. Sir Peregrine didn’t trust him, which was why he had sent the man and his companions on ahead with Lord Hugh’s harbingers and heralds.

Looking up, Sir Peregrine saw that they were almost at the castle and he looked about him, all senses alert. If someone wanted to harm him or his lord, it would be an ideal place for an ambush, here in the river’s cutting before the road took them all up to the castle’s barbican. Sir Edmund had an archer with him, Sir Peregrine reminded himself.

He glanced to either side, his tension growing. The townspeople didn’t look cheerful; they should have been happy to see their lord, yet there was a pall of anxiety or worse hanging over the place.

As Lord Hugh clattered over the timber bridge to the barbican, Sir Peregrine gazed up at the walls above. A short Welshman with a cruel scar from one ear almost to his nose, one of Sir Peregrine’s own men, nodded cheerily from the battlements and Sir Peregrine relaxed a little. If he thought all was safe, Sir Peregrine was content.

Men had been sent on with the harbingers to ensure that the place was prepared for Lord Hugh and the others. All told, Lord Hugh and his household were almost sixty men and that many required a goodly number of barrels of ale and of wine to be prepared, let alone the grain that must be put by for breadmaking. Oats must be stored for the horses, meats bought, the hall cleaned, the yard cleared, tapestries hung to stop the draughts from behind the shutters once the place was closed up for the night, and the portable altars set out.

Oakhampton might be small compared with other castles, but it offered Sir Peregrine a sense of safety as he entered the tunnel to the bailey, and he smiled to see his men at their posts. The main gates opened, and he trotted in behind Lord Hugh, their hooves ringing and striking sparks from the moorstone that paved the courtyard.