The Tournament of Blood (7 page)

Hearing the note of alarm in his voice, his dog walked over to him and thrust his nose into Baldwin’s hand. ‘Good boy, Aylmer,’ he said absent-mindedly, watching his wife go to
the door which led to the privyhouse. She had lost her cheerful smile and now all he ever saw in her features was a stolid fortitude, as if all she could concentrate on was giving birth and ridding
her body of this extra weight.

She disappeared and he patted the dog’s head. ‘What do you think, Aylmer? She’ll be all right, won’t she?’

It was hard for him to come to terms with his impending change in status. Other men he knew accepted fatherhood as easily as buying a new horse or dog, but Baldwin had mixed feelings. Although
he was desperately keen to have his own children, when he had been a Knight Templar he had taken the threefold oaths of obedience, poverty and
chastity
. His wife’s present shape was
all too obvious proof of his failure and Baldwin still found that his vow haunted him, reminding him whenever he thought of it that he had broken an oath sworn before God. It was futile to try to
exorcise the demon. He knew that he would die with the weight of his failure dragging at his soul, no matter how much he hoped and prayed he might find peace before death.

There was another facet to the destruction of his Order, and that was that he had a deep and abiding loathing for any form of injustice. His Order had been destroyed as a matter of politics and
greed, the King and Pope taking all they could from the Templar treasuries while burning any Templars who could not be forced to confess to sins which any reasonable man would have known to be
false. It was this which had fired his determination to prevent injustices and led to his position as Keeper of the King’s Peace in Crediton. Wherever possible he tried to save men from
conviction and punishment for crimes of which they were innocent; it was a novel approach in an age when most Coroners and Sheriffs were happy to imprison those people whom the local jury accused,
but Baldwin preferred to investigate methodically. When possible he tried to free the innocent and only convict the guilty – a trait which had led him and his friend Simon to some surprising
discoveries in the last six years; occasionally to horrific ones.

He was learning to relax somewhat at home now he was married. Since first meeting Jeanne, he had become aware of a sense of ease, a general relaxation of spirit. He was less driven, he told
himself with more than a hint of smugness; less bitter, more tranquil generally.

‘What are you smirking about?’

He started at his wife’s voice but laughed when he saw how her head was tilted, her eyebrow lifted in sardonic enquiry. ‘Considering fate and marriage, my Lady.’

‘I suppose I should be glad, then, to see you wearing that hound-like expression of devotion,’ she said, returning to her chair.

‘And I should be glad too, to see how such a magnificent lady could bear to tolerate such a mean and disreputable fellow as me,’ he responded with a bow.

‘That’s all very well,’ she said, sitting slowly with a hand on her belly. ‘Ooh! That’s better.’

‘About this tournament. I hardly think it is necessary for me to attend,’ Baldwin said. ‘And I have no desire to go and display myself in shining robes at ridiculous expense
just to prove my vanity.’

‘I am delighted to hear it – I wouldn’t wish to see you wasting good money in a frivolous manner. You must have taken part in many
hastiludes
, my love, but from what
you said, you are glad to be able to avoid this one?’

‘I certainly have a dislike for being beaten about the head and body by ape-like drunks who occasionally lose their tempers and flail about them with an mace or axe. I should have thought
that you would be nervous about seeing me enter the fray.’

‘As for that, I expect you would be a match for competitors half your age.’

‘Perhaps, except this would not involve only one or two single combats,’ Baldwin said, slapping the message with the back of his hand. ‘Simon says that the events will take
place over three days: the first for the opening and some early jousts, the second with more individual challenges, and then a finish with a grand
mêlée
in which two opposing
teams will try their fortune.’ He winced. ‘Think of it: two teams of knights at it hammer and tongs. Entering the ring on horseback until they are brought to the ground, then stumbling
about, many of them blinded by dust and dirt and stunned by the blows raining down on them from all sides. Those who are captured will lose their horse, armour, weapons – and have to pay a
ransom besides for their freedom. My God! It’s such a waste! And you want me to enter this?’

‘It always looks so spectacular,’ she told him honestly. Like many women, she enjoyed watching knights practising.

‘You want to be a widow so soon?’ he growled but then he remembered and could have kicked himself. ‘My darling, I am sorry. I wasn’t thinking.’

Jeanne was not upset. ‘I lost my first husband when he died young, Baldwin, but you know I do not regret it. I cannot lie: I hated him. It was a relief when he became ill and succumbed.
You mustn’t treat everything so seriously. And I wasn’t pulling a face because I was hurt by your words; I had a twinge, that’s all.’

Baldwin felt as if the world had suddenly jolted beneath him. ‘A “twinge”? What do you mean, a “twinge”? What sort of a “twinge”?’ he gabbled.

She eyed him with amusement. ‘Baldwin, you have seen plenty of hounds give birth to their whelps, and mares deliver themselves of foals. You know what sort of twinge.’

Baldwin threw a glance over his shoulder at the door. ‘I . . .’

‘Shall sit and amuse me. You don’t expect me to explode in a moment, do you? How long does a birth usually take? Sit here, hold my hand, and keep talking.’

‘You’re sure you won’t, um . . .’

‘It’s the beginning, but that may mean I have another thirty hours. It doesn’t feel very urgent yet,’ she assured him. ‘
Sit!
’

Reluctantly he obeyed her, still gripping the message. His dog, hearing the sharp command, simultaneously squatted behind him.

‘Stop staring at my belly like that! Now, tell me what Simon plans. Why is he organising this tournament, anyway? What has it got to do with the tin miners, with the Stannaries?’

‘It is not his responsibility to arrange such events,’ Baldwin admitted, ‘but Lord de Courtenay has asked him to help. He wrote to Abbot Champeaux to enquire whether Simon
could be released from his duties for a while. You may recall that Simon’s father used to be a steward in the pay of Lord de Courtenay’s father until old Lord Hugh’s death in
1292. Apparently Simon’s father was most adept at setting out the grounds and siting the
ber frois
, the stands. So our Lord Hugh asked that the former steward’s son should be
allowed to help with
his
latest tournament. It is a matter of tradition – and an honour for Simon.’

‘But surely the Pope has only recently removed his ban upon all tournaments?’

‘And the King has imposed his own,’ Baldwin agreed.

‘May the Sheriff prevent it?’

Baldwin laughed aloud. ‘The good Sheriff is one of Lord Hugh’s men. If I know him at all, he’ll be chafing at the bit to be there himself ! No, there is no likelihood that the
King would stop it.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘If the good Lord Hugh de Courtenay considers that he can arrange to hold a spectacle, I see no reason to think he is wrong,’ Baldwin said. ‘Perhaps he has a dispensation from
the King. In any case, Lord Hugh has requested and the good Abbot has enthusiastically agreed. Even now Simon is travelling to Oakhampton, I expect.’

‘Why is the Lord de Courtenay so keen to hold a tournament, I wonder?’

‘It’s probably something to do with that primping coxcomb Sir Peregrine of Barnstaple, Lord Hugh’s banneret. He is always scheming and playing political games. It is just the
sort of vain, pointless affair he would think diverting.’

‘You still do not like Sir Peregrine?’ Jeanne said lightly, her hand moving back to her belly. It felt as if her pelvis was preparing to explode.

Baldwin had not noticed her wince. ‘I do not. Give me a plain enemy with a sword in his hand any day in preference to a subtle, devious courtier like Sir Peregrine.’

‘He was always polite and courteous to me.’

‘He would be,’ Baldwin grunted.

She continued musingly, ‘And I felt very sorry for him over that woman of his.’

‘Yes, he was plainly upset when she died,’ Baldwin said, and then his attention flew back to his wife as he recalled that Sir Peregrine’s woman had died in childbirth. ‘I
am sorry,’ he added wretchedly. ‘I didn’t mean to remind you that—’

‘Stop blathering, Baldwin,’ she snorted. ‘I am not going to die. I’m going to have a perfectly normal delivery – unless, of course, you unbalance my humours by
interrupting me every few minutes with apologies for what you may or may not have done!’

He saw that she had gone pale, and now both her hands were at her belly. ‘Are you all right?’

‘It’s like cramps, but it’s not coming fast enough yet,’ she murmured half to herself. ‘Still . . . Oh, wipe that look off your face, Baldwin, and pour me some more
wine!’

Later that same day Sir Peregrine of Barnstaple was seated in the small hall over the gatehouse warming his hands about a pot of spiced wine.

‘Did it take long to get here from Sir Baldwin’s house, Odo?’

‘No, Sir Peregrine. Only the afternoon. It’s downhill from Furnshill to Tiverton,’ the herald replied, sipping at his wine.

‘How was the good knight? Did he seem reluctant?’

Odo laughed. ‘Sir Peregrine, he’s much more concerned about his wife’s pregnancy. It’s his first child.’

Sir Peregrine grunted. Over the last year his woman and their child had died in childbirth. ‘What of the others?’

While Odo spoke about the people he had visited, Sir Peregrine’s mind wandered. It was hard to concentrate on so many different matters at once. The main thing, he knew, was that the
tournament must go to plan, without embarrassment and without alarming the King. For the King would have his spies there to see that there was no risk of treason among his subjects.

Sir Peregrine knew he was fortunate to have professional heralds. Lord de Courtenay’s own man, his ‘King Herald’ Mark Tyler, was incompetent and lazy. It was fortunate that
they had found Odo, a man who had served in other large households. He had experience of continental jousting, and was a much better musician than Tyler.

‘What do you think of Mark Tyler?’ he asked abruptly.

Odo hesitated. ‘You want me to slander him?’

‘Your answer already does!’

‘His playing can be good, but he does have a problem.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Why do you value me?’

Sir Peregrine was ready to snap that he had his reasons, but then he caught sight of Odo’s expression. Odo was no fool, and Sir Peregrine did value his opinion. ‘Because you have
travelled. You can tell us of the honourable customs which exist in foreign lands and relate highly prized deeds of valour.’

‘That’s right. I have seen the world and I have officiated at tournaments from Bordeaux to Paris. It’s the first duty of a herald to find new tales of courage – but Tyler
has no idea. He has once, I hear, been to Guyenne with his lord and that was many years ago.’

‘If he is so provincial and dull, why are you here?’ Sir Peregrine asked sharply.

‘He is so provincial and dull that I should soon be able to take his position,’ Odo said frankly.

Peregrine had to grin and shake his head. Ambition was no sin. ‘Well, if this tournament goes smoothly, I might help you,’ he said at last. He didn’t need to explain why. Tyler
was one of the least popular members of the household, universally disliked for his rudeness and overbearing manner.

‘I thank you. I shall not let you down.’

‘Do not,’ said Sir Peregrine, but then his attention flew outside: he could hear horses’ hooves. It was so late the gates would shortly be locked for the night, and the arrival
of a traveller at this time of day was so unusual that he cocked his head to listen. Sure enough there was the sound of running feet and a sharp call of enquiry as a man-at-arms demanded the
stranger’s business.

Sir Peregrine motioned to Odo to remain where he was – the poor fellow had ridden twenty miles or more that day – and pulled on a thick cloak. No matter how often you tried to drum
these things into the heads of the dim-witted bastards at the gates, they would still treat all visitors as enemies. That was the problem with hired guards, they had no idea of courtesy or
hospitality.

As he left the hall and stood at the stairs leading down to the yard, he reflected that it probably wasn’t surprising, since many of the mercenaries who were employed in the castle had in
fact been disinherited or deprived of their livings by men such as this visitor. Many of the fighters who protected the place had once been squires or men-at-arms, but had lost their masters in
battle and were now forced to eke out a living by offering their services to others. They were not tied to Lord Hugh de Courtenay by feudal loyalty, only by necessity.

Lord Hugh had little need of additional vassals: they were an expensive resource, after all. Men whom he accepted into his ranks cost him their food and lodging, their spending money, their
arms, their mounts, their clothing – everything. Whereas a mercenary was cheap; he expected a wage, supplemented with bread and ale, but would clothe and arm himself.

This visitor looked just the sort of man who could have caused mayhem to many. That he was a knight was obvious from his golden spurs and enamelled belt. Long in the body, with square, heavy
shoulders, he had the build of an athlete. He sat on his horse like a man born to the saddle, moving easily with the animal as it skipped and pranced, blowing loudly through its nostrils. The man
wore a brimmed felt hat against the chill, a heavy red riding-cloak and a warm-looking tunic of green wool over a greying linen shirt while his boots looked like best Cordova leather.

‘Good evening, sir,’ Sir Peregrine called.