The Tournament of Blood (38 page)

No, he corrected himself. Not all were discussing the events: several were talking about the murders.

It had been odd to see the Bailiff turn pale and then redden yesterday when Mark had accused him of murder. True, Bailiff Puttock
had
threatened the two dead men – but only in the
same way that others could have done. In fact, even as Mark Tyler accused Simon of murder, Odo had thought that of the two men, the red, porcine features of the King Herald looked infinitely more
likely to be those of a murderer than the tall and pleasant-featured Bailiff. Odo wondered whether Sir Peregrine had also thought that. In any case, it was plain that Lord Hugh did not intend to
have his hired Bailiff accused during his tournament. He had stepped in sharply enough when Odo had pointed at the confrontation.

Odo would be interested to know why Lord Hugh was so keen to protect Simon. But it was probably for no special reason.

He carried on to the stands and stood with arms akimbo, considering the watchmen as they strolled about the place, thrusting their heavy staffs into the longer grasses in a lacklustre manner.
They might have been told to look about for possible assassins or dead bodies, but their every movement showed that they would prefer to be in their rooms with jugs of ale.

Yes, it would be interesting to be a member of Lord Hugh’s household, he reckoned. And as this reflection occurred to him, he caught sight of a slim, frail-looking figure walking along the
riverbank. ‘Thank God,’ he breathed with real pleasure. ‘I’m glad you’ve recovered a little, Lady Alice.’

Edith had been determined to give her parents the slip for at least one hour in the day to see her squire, and yet it proved almost impossible. Even Hugh, who had been her ally
in her last attempts to see William, had grown reticent, mumbling about how angry her father, his master, would be if Hugh were to help her.

After breaking their fast, Simon had hurried away, his face set into an anxious mask, and Margaret had chewed fretfully at her lip as she watched him leave the hall. Edith knew that her parents
were both concerned after Simon had been accused, but it was too stupid as far as she was concerned. No one could seriously believe that her father might have had anything to do with the murders;
Lord Hugh himself had squashed the rumours, telling everyone that Simon was guiltless. In her youth and innocence, Edith found it impossible to believe that a man so plainly honourable could be a
serious suspect.

Margaret had seen men accused on less evidence and hanged. She knew, from what Simon and Baldwin had let slip over the years, that it was easy enough for a vindictive or foolish man to persuade
a gullible jury to condemn an innocent man and, having felt the waves of hatred at the
ber frois
yesterday, she had no wish to see her husband set before a local jury or the county’s
grand jury. He had enough enemies among the families of those whom he had sent to the gallows who would be happy to pay others to perjure themselves or bribe a jury to find him guilty.

‘If only we could leave here now,’ she said.

‘Mother, it’ll all be fine,’ Edith said dispassionately.

‘Don’t be a fool, Edith. You were there yesterday – you must see your father’s in danger,’ Margaret snapped.

‘He’ll be safe. Lord Hugh won’t want to embarrass the Abbot of Tavistock.’

Margaret bit back a sharp rejoinder. ‘The Abbot is a long way away.’

‘Don’t be angry with me, Mother.’

‘How can I not be angry after the way you deceived your father and me?’

‘I didn’t deceive you, I just—’

‘You deliberately concealed your behaviour with that youth.’

‘He’s not a “youth”, he’s a knight. Wouldn’t you like me to marry the son of a nobleman? He’ll inherit his father’s manor some day.’

Margaret felt a headache begin to throb dully behind her temples. ‘Edith, I don’t want to argue with you. You are not to see that boy again yet. I need time to bring your father
round to agree to let you see him. Then you can decide whether you seriously want to marry him.’

‘Very well, Mother,’ Edith said meekly. ‘I love him. I could tell that when I saw him fall from his horse, but I won’t see him secretly if you don’t want me to.
Still, I’d like to watch the jousting. There can’t be any harm in that.’

‘I suppose not,’ Margaret said wearily as a figure appeared in the doorway.

It was Sir Peregrine and he peered about the room as he walked inside.

‘Good day,’ Margaret said. When he stepped into the shaft of light from the hall’s window, she saw how exhausted he was. His face was lined and pale. ‘Are you
well?’

‘Just tired,’ he said, smiling. ‘While there is a murderer about, I serve my lord by keeping guard outside his door. I didn’t sleep.’

‘I’m sure my father and Sir Baldwin will catch the man soon,’ Edith said.

‘I hope you are right. I’ve seen enough death with Hal and Wymond. And it’s not good for Lord Hugh to have these things going on at his tournament.’

‘I wouldn’t like to have to pull about dead bodies like theirs,’ Edith said, curling her lip.

Sir Peregine gave her a dry but indulgent smile. ‘I’m not surprised.’ It was true. She was a lovely young thing, and it would have been unthinkable to Sir Peregrine, who had no
children, that such a fragile beauty should attend an inquest. Especially one with two such hideously ruined bodies. ‘You are suited to love and life,’ he added quietly, ‘not to
mayhem and murder.’ He bade them a good morning and hastened away.

She tossed her head spiritedly. ‘Love?’

‘Edith!’ her mother said warningly.

‘Oh, I can’t even talk to other men, now, Mother?’

‘Not if you are going to be rude, no.’

‘Rude? I see no—’

‘Enough! Edith, you will remain here in the castle until you learn to be civil.’

Edith gaped at the injustice. ‘What? But then I’m miss all the jousting . . . You can’t mean it?’

‘I do mean it. You will remain here until you learn to be polite. I can’t trust you, not even when you are with me and Hugh. You proved that when you went off with that boy
yesterday.’

‘Very well, Mother,’ Edith said, and bowed her head. ‘I shall go and walk on the walls, then. At least I can see a little from there.’

She turned and was about to leave the room when she heard her mother command Hugh to accompany her. ‘Don’t you trust me?’ she flashed out.

‘No.’

After asking another watchman near the castle’s gate, Baldwin, Simon and Coroner Roger were given directions to find a man called Fletcher, the watchman set to protect
Hal on the night of his murder. He was sitting at a bench nursing a jug of ale.

Coroner Roger stood squarely before him. ‘Are you Fletcher?’ On seeing the man nod, he continued, ‘And were you the man sent to guard Hal Sachevyll’s tent the night
before last?’

Baldwin watched as Fletcher set his mug down with a sigh and inclined his head again. The watchman was a lean, rangy man, probably in his late forties, from the look of him. His hair was
bleached white from long days in the open, and his eyes had the dark intensity of a Celt, but he was a shrivelled man, worn and broken by too many disasters. He had the same appearance of
desperation in his eyes that Baldwin had seen in the faces of peasants during the famine.

Giving the Coroner a significant look, Baldwin was pleased to see Roger shrug and allow Baldwin to continue. Unsure how best to proceed, Baldwin took a seat beside the man, contemplating the
dusty, baked soil at his feet. ‘You were chosen to protect Hal – why was that? There were many other watchmen about.’

‘It is because I live alone. The other men about here have wives and children to return to at night, but my family is dead.’

‘I am sorry. The famine?’

‘No, sir. I was working in my lord’s fields when my house caught fire. The thatch. My family was inside and they perished. I could hear them.’ He shivered, his eyes focused on
something far away.

Baldwin was silent a moment. The thought of losing a family in such a way was hideous. ‘So you are often selected for duties like this?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Did you see anyone that night?’

‘No, sir. I went there as soon as I was ordered. I had nothing better to do. I don’t sleep well. I . . . I can hear my wife’s screams when I dream, and I prefer not to. So when
I was called, I rose immediately. I was there outside his tent a little after nightfall.’

‘And there was no one near?’

‘No. I saw the girl, Alice, but no one else. In fact, I was surprised that there was no sign of Hal himself. I assumed he must be asleep, for there was no sound from his tent, and when I
scratched at a guy rope, there was no response. I just thought he was dead to the world, exhausted by all his work.’

‘What time did you leave?’

‘It was daylight. I was very tired by then.’

‘I can imagine. After staying up all night.’

Fletcher turned his gaze upon Baldwin. ‘I haven’t slept properly for two years or more, Sir Baldwin. It’s nothing new.’

Simon interrupted with some impatience. ‘Your life is sad, no doubt, man, but we need to know who was out and about that night. There was someone lying in the grass next morning pretending
to be pissed out of his mind. Did you see him?’

‘No.’

‘
Think!
There must have been something,’ Simon pressed him irascibly. ‘In Christ’s name, you must have seen or heard
somebody
!’

Baldwin glanced at his friend. Simon sounded as though he was close to the end of his tether. The last two days, especially with that fat fool Tyler accusing him of murder, had taken their toll.
Now the Bailiff was out of patience, and his attitude was putting Fletcher on edge.

‘Fletcher, look at me,’ Baldwin said softly, holding up a hand to silence Simon. ‘Now, think back. When you were standing there outside the tent, was there any noise, any
disturbance at all?’

Fletcher sipped at his ale thoughtfully, then he remembered: ‘Yes, there
was
something. I reckoned it was a badger or a fox – the buggers are all over the place at night.
But it stopped and I thought it must have gone.’

‘Where was this?’

‘In the bushes near the river.’

‘You know where Hal was found?’ Baldwin asked.

‘Yes – and it would have been about there.’

Simon would have spoken but Baldwin shot him a look, then said, ‘It strikes you as strange now, does it? Why?’

‘I heard something in there, rustling, but it stopped.’

Coroner Roger couldn’t hold himself back. ‘That’s not unusual. Noises happen all night.’

‘Yes, Sir Roger,’ Baldwin explained mildly, ‘but a fox or badger would have made more noise in running away again as soon as it smelled a man.’

‘That’s right.’ Fletcher was frowning now. ‘It never ran.’

‘That’s because our murderer saw no need to. He wanted to dump his body – but you prevented him,’ Baldwin said.

‘Why’d he want to put Hal back in the tent?’ Simon demanded. ‘You thought Wymond was there as a message – perhaps to Hal. Well, it looks like you could have been
right, but why leave Hal there?’

‘It would show that the two murders were connected,’ Baldwin hazarded. ‘Perhaps there was a message in that?’

Coroner Roger frowned at him. ‘You mean this killer could be planning to murder again?’

Baldwin was silent a moment. When he spoke he had been thinking aloud, he hadn’t considered the consequences of his words – but now he slowly moved his head in agreement. ‘I am
afraid so,’ he said heavily.

‘And that means there may be another body out there waiting for us,’ the Coroner grunted. ‘Jesus! What a disaster!’

Baldwin turned back to the watchman. He spoke soothingly. ‘You see how important all this is? Fletcher, you said that you saw Alice. Where was she, and how late was this?’

‘It was at the darkest hour. I saw her walking among the trees at the bank of the river.’

‘Was this before or after the rustling?’

‘Oh, some time before.’

‘Then we can ignore her,’ Baldwin said. ‘If she was seen by you, she would have seen you as well. A murderer wouldn’t bring a body to a place where a witness stood. It is
only people you saw
after
the rustling with whom we need concern ourselves.’

‘The drunk in the field wasn’t a woman, either,’ Simon said.

‘The drunk could have been an innocent,’ Baldwin said. ‘We do not know for sure that he was involved.’

‘The only man I saw was late,’ Fletcher said, frowning. ‘It was as dawn was breaking and the camp was coming alive. All the folks were waking and I saw the squire.’

‘Which?’ Baldwin asked.

‘The one with that knight from Gloucester. Sir Edmund.’

‘Squire Andrew?’ Simon said.

‘That’s the one. He had been in the trees and as the light came I saw him walking back from the stands. He’d been there a while, I reckon.’

They asked more questions but Fletcher either wouldn’t or couldn’t help them, and soon he rose, saying he had duties. Baldwin waved him away.

‘This is mad!’ Coroner Roger declared. ‘We hear that the man was likely in the bushes with his dead victim, and now we hear that another man was walking about the
place.’

‘Andrew, yes,’ Baldwin said. He was watching Fletcher as he walked away. ‘What was the girl doing out at that time of night?’

‘And this Andrew,’ Simon pointed out.

‘Yes,’ Baldwin agreed. Fletcher was swallowed up by the crowds, but Baldwin remained staring after him a while. The watchman’s story had touched him. Fletcher’s life had
lost meaning and sense, that was clear, and yet he continued to perform his duties like any honourable vassal. Baldwin wasn’t sure that he would have been able to carry on so stoically if he
had heard his own wife and daughter dying in a fire. The thought was enough to make him feel faintly queasy.

Andrew had been near the stands. Why? Then another thought struck him and he drew in his breath sharply.

‘What, Sir Baldwin?’ the Coroner asked.

‘We have heard of the stands collapsing during a tournament. What if a man saw his family die there? Wouldn’t he want revenge against those who killed them?’