The Tournament of Blood

Chapter One

Benjamin Dudenay, known to most people as ‘Ben the money-lender’, was not popular, so his murder caused no distress except to his three outstanding creditors, whose demands for compensation were stolidly rejected by his widow, Maud. She was content to live on the proceeds of his wealth, feeling no need to maintain his business, and steadfastly claimed impoverishment whenever bailiff or beadle asked that she settle the dead man’s debts.

Fortunately Benjamin’s death was much easier to arrange than his murderer had anticipated. And it was equally fortunate that the killer was unknown, that he had been away from the city of Exeter for so long that his victim could not anticipate an attack.

It had been such a shock to see the banker after so many years, that Philip Tyrel dropped his cudgel.

His life had altered so much. Even his name had been changed now, though he still thought of himself as Philip, but to see Benjamin again made the years fall away.

Somehow Philip had expected the fellow to be dead. Benjamin wasn’t a young man when he’d killed his victims and Philip had momentarily thought he must be mistaken – it must be a trick of the light that made this fellow look like Benjamin. Yet he followed him all the same, wondering if his memory was playing games with him after so many years. Then, when the money-lender entered a hall, Philip heard him accosted by name – Benjamin Dudenay – and he had to lean against a wall to prevent his falling. This was the devil who had ruined Philip’s life in the pursuit of his own profit. This was the fiend who made money from the deaths of men, women and children.

Philip could have walked away from Exeter and put the place from his mind if he had not seen Benjamin, but now he felt revulsion fill his soul.

He had never before harmed a man, let alone killed one, yet when he saw Benjamin later, strutting down the street and smiling suavely at other leading citizens, saw him arrogantly dropping coins into the alms bowls which the beggars thrust towards him, Philip felt his anger rising. As he stood staring at the rich building that proclaimed Benjamin’s importance, his blood called out for vengeance.

That night, Benjamin haunted his dreams, alongside the faces of Benjamin’s victims, who cried out for justice – as they had every night in the years since they had perished. Philip shot awake, sweating as they called to him, searing his soul with their pitiful pleadings. Each time he dozed they returned to him, tortured, shrieking faces, until another traveller at the inn grew so irritable at his restlessness that he heaved a boot at Philip’s head and demanded tersely why he didn’t go and seek his mother among the whores at the river and let other people sleep.

Philip went out. Before light he found himself outside Benjamin’s hall again as if his feet had themselves instinctively made the decision to take him there. The usurer left his house as the sky was changing from violet to gold and the sun was beginning to lift above the horizon. As if in a trance, Philip set off after him.

The streets were quiet at this time of day. A few people scuffed to church, an apprentice ran to his work after spending the night with his girl, a cat arched its back and spat at a lean and expectant-looking terrier.

Benjamin strolled past them all, ignoring both people and animals. Philip was torn between excitement and terror. Walking swiftly, he overtook the man and then stopped at the entrance to an alley, bending to retie his hose. The light from the waxing sun caught Benjamin’s face and Philip felt his anxiety slip away. There could be no mistake: it was definitely him. The money-lender still wore that same supercilious smile of yore. He glanced down his nose at Philip and in that moment his fate was decided.

The cudgel dangled from his belt. Ben took one last, fateful step and Philip snatched it up, cracking Benjamin over the head. The banker fell like an axed hog, flat on his belly. Working speedily, Philip dragged him into the alley. A short way in he found a low doorway leading to a tiny cell-like room, a storehouse, and he hauled the dead man inside. Then Benjamin moaned.

Philip nearly dropped him and bolted, he was that close to panic. He’d hoped the blow had slain Benjamin, yet now the man was feebly moving, grunting to himself. Swallowing hard, Philip gripped his cudgel. He lifted it again even as Benjamin’s hand began to move towards his battered skull. Then Ben’s eyes opened and he squinted up.

‘Take my purse, you whoreson, if that’s what you want,’ he croaked.

‘Money? You killed my family for money! Do you think a few coins can save you?’

‘I killed who? You’re raving, man. I’ve never seen you before in my life.’

‘I am Philip Tyrel!’

‘Philip? Philip Tyrel? Oh, my God!’

Gritting his teeth, Philip brought his cudgel down, not once but five, six, seven times. He felt a spatter strike his cheek and his belly rebelled as he saw the result of his actions, but he couldn’t stop. At first he knew the fear of a man who dare not leave a witness to his crime, but then it was overtaken by anger in the memory of the people this banker had slaughtered. Their broken, ruined bodies, their gaping mouths begged for retribution.

Then it was over. Philip looked down, panting. The ghastly sight gave him a spasm of horror, and he went out to the alley and threw up. Reluctantly going back inside, he could see that there was no possibility of Benjamin ever being able to accuse him.

Philip squatted at the side of the body, tears welling. He had become what the banker had been, a murderer. He had himself broken one of God’s Ten Commandments and taken life. If he was discovered, he would hang.

Yet soon his despondency began to fade. Even if he was discovered he had done his duty. Justice had been visited upon the banker. Benjamin Dudenay was dead, and that was an end to the matter.

In the main road at the top of the alley was a stream and Philip went to it and dropped his cudgel in, watching the blood as it was washed away by the flow, creating a stain like a massive red feather in the water. He dipped his hands in and wiped his face, then rinsed out his mouth.

Standing, he felt as if he had been freshly baptised, free of sin or any guilt. Benjamin had deserved his end. Even the manner of his death had been somehow suitable, his head smashed and destroyed. His own wife would find it hard to recognise him now, just as Philip and the others had struggled to identify their own loved ones.

There was a tavern nearby and Philip made his way to it. At last, he thought, the terrible dreams could end. He had done his part and the deaths were avenged.

Of course, that was before he met the other men responsible for the deaths.

One day later, when Benjamin’s body was already chill on the earthen floor, in a field not far from Crukerne, Alice Lavandar walked with her lover, holding his hand as they passed through the long grasses up the hill. When they reached the top, the land before them was smothered in a light covering of frost, making all look grey in the shadows, although where the sun touched the grass and woods there was a salmon tinge as if the land itself was heated from within by its own health and fecundity.

Alice could see that Geoffrey was proud but tongue-tied. She squeezed his hand, smiling at him, and he returned the pressure. If he agreed, this would be a huge step for both of them – dangerous, even – not that he would believe her warnings, she thought.

‘Are you well?’ she asked when he winced.

‘Oh, yes.’ His return from the Battle of Boroughbridge, where his master had been killed, had accorded him high honour in her eyes. It was fortunate, he thought, that she would never know the truth of his campaign.

‘See that?’ she said, pointing at the fields ahead of them. ‘It’s all mine; my dowry.’

‘With my eyes, I am lucky to be able to see you here at my side,’ Geoffrey smiled thinly. ‘Anyway, it’s only yours if Sir John allows you to have it.’

‘He has to; he can’t stop me.’

‘I think he’d rather it remained under his control. You’re not old enough to look after it as far as he’s concerned, are you?’

‘I am old enough to marry.’

‘Yes, but he can keep your dowry for as long as he wishes.’

‘I am sixteen. He has no right.’

‘He has every right, Alice, you know that.’

She was silent. Alice knew she was old enough, according to the Church, to contract her own marriage now she was over sixteen, but that didn’t matter in legal terms. She was still the chattel of whichever man controlled her life: her guardian – or her husband. ‘He wouldn’t keep all my dowry for no reason,’ she said.

‘Sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself,’ he said with a grin.

She shrugged. ‘I hate him. I hate his son as well. Why should I reward him for murdering my father?’

Geoffrey was a solid youth and well-muscled, with thick arms and legs made sturdy by exercise. A sandy-coloured thatch of hair lay thickly over his brow, almost as far as his clear grey eyes, reminding her of a sleepy puppy peering out from beneath a blanket. She knew he wanted her to hold him – but they still had too much to discuss.

‘He will try to marry me,’ she said.

‘That is what I am most scared of,’ he agreed.

‘He wants me to marry his son.’

Geoffrey shot her a quick look. ‘Then there’s only one way to prevent him.’

‘Yes.’

He stopped. A cloud had passed before the sun as they spoke but now it was gone and they could both feel the warmth. Alice turned to him and he took her other hand, surveying her seriously. ‘Alice, will you marry me?’

Her heart lurched. She had expected it, had tried to tease him into this for weeks, but it was a thrill to hear his words. All of a sudden her legs felt a little weak, but her heart fluttered as if it was about to break free from her breast. It was impossible to stop the smile that pulled at her lips. ‘Yes.’

‘Even a clandestine marriage?’

In answer she took his hands and stared into his face. ‘I will be your wife. I swear to be yours for all my life and no other man’s.’

‘Then I will be your husband,’ he smiled, and pulled her to him. The ceremony was now complete – and binding. ‘Who needs a church door? We’ll tell the priest when we have time.’

She responded eagerly to his kiss, pulling him down to the grass beside her, and there, with the cool spring air washing over them, the two made love, sealing their wedding contract. They had given their oaths; they were married before God and Alice knew only relief, even if they must keep their promises secret for a short while.

Sir Roger of Gidleigh, a thickset man with heavy shoulders and shrewd dark eyes, approached the alley with a scowling visage, regretting the merry gathering he had been forced to leave in order to perform his legal duties. As Coroner in the busy and prosperous city of Exeter, he must often desert his friends during their drinking parties, but he had been looking forward to this session, and learning that a corpse had been found was a source of grave irritation. Why did people choose such damnably inconvenient times to be killed?

‘In here, Sir Roger.’

Following the watchman, he ducked beneath the lintel into the small chamber. It was lighted by a smoking tallow candle that gave off a thick and noisome stench, as if a pig was being slowly burned in the room. At least it provided enough light for him to see the body.

The corpse was lying face uppermost, his hands at his side, and the head appeared to be lying on a shining halo. In the candlelight it looked like a sheet of bronze, and Sir Roger grimaced. ‘Bloody hell!’

‘A right evil bastard did this, sir,’ the watchman wheezed. He was an old man, much older than Sir Roger, and he had to lean upon his staff as he surveyed the body. ‘Stabbed?’

‘No. Beaten till his head was a pulp.’

‘Jesus save us!’ Sir Roger squatted. ‘Any weapon?’

‘Nothing. I suppose the killer took it with him.’

Sir Roger reached out and prodded at the skull, thickly crusted with blood. ‘Christ, what a mess.’ Standing, he eyed the corpse thoughtfully. There was something about the brutality of this murder that gave him pause.

Then he shrugged. He’d think about that later. ‘Gather the neighbours and we’ll hold the inquest immediately.’ The people who lived nearest to this place had to be fined to guarantee that they would appear at the next session of the court and present their evidence. He shook his head as the old man limped outside to begin gathering the jury and muttered to the corpse: ‘So who the hell killed you, Dudenay? And why, in God’s name?’