Then Mark recalled the disaster at Crukerne where folks had died, mainly because Hal and Wymond had scrimped on the timber. The stand had collapsed when that fool of a knight, Sir Richard Prouse, fell upon it, and spectators were crushed beneath his mount. Hal and Wymond had promised to erect suitable stands and then thieved Sir John’s money for their own purposes. That horrible accident had enraged Lord Hugh himself, for he had friends in the stands who could have been wounded.
Well, sod them! If Mark couldn’t accuse the Bailiff himself, he knew how to spread gossip.
Arriving at a wineseller, Mark sank a large pot. ‘It was the Bailiff.’
‘Eh?’ The wine-seller gazed at him blankly, already more than half-drunk himself.
‘That Bailiff killed Hal and Wymond,’ Mark said. ‘Probably thought Lord Hugh would reward him. After all, Lord Hugh hated the two sodomites.’
The wine-seller nodded knowingly, but Mark was sure he hadn’t taken it in. No matter. He could see another man listening intently, from a table in the corner. Mark knew the rumour would be all over the place by dark.
There was little or no satisfaction in it. Mark knew his position was gone. His thoughts became more and more gloomy. It was obvious that Sir Peregrine wanted him out of the way; that Odo coveted his position for himself. No one would support Mark. All were keen to see the back of him.
Perhaps he should leave. Go to France, to the south where it was warm, or to Bavaria. There were good opportunities for an experienced herald there, so he had heard. New tournaments were being arranged there all the time, with all the great families lining up to display their finery and bash the living daylights out of each other. A herald could pick up a patron with ease, if he had a good tongue and could sing new songs, and the English ones that filled much of Mark’s repertoire should be new enough for any Swabian or Bavarian count.
He squinted up at the sun as a wave of sadness washed over him. It was all very well talking about going to visit new countries, but Mark was happy here in Devon. The thought of packing his few belongings and traipsing over to Europe held no appeal.
Yet it could become necessary. If Sir Peregrine and Odo had their way, he would soon be forced from his position. And the Bailiff, too, wanted him gone. He was playing the same game as Sir Peregrine and Odo.
He purchased more wine and gazed glumly into the depths of the liquid. The trouble was, if they were all to gang up against him, he was powerless. The worm Odo must feel that he as good as had Mark’s job already.
Well, he hadn’t! The herald squared his shoulders. He would see off any man who tried to get him thrown from his master’s household.
Any man at all, he thought, as a picture of Odo appeared unbidden in his mind.
When Simon saw Edith, he felt an overwhelming relief that she was all right, but that was quickly washed away when he saw with whom she walked.
It was among the food stalls that he sighted her. He and Baldwin had hurried that way as soon as they had spoken to Margaret. The tearful woman was standing at the rear of the stand while Hugh glowered at the world, wanting to seek Edith but unwilling to leave his mistress. Margaret was consumed with dread for what might have happened to her daughter.
‘You were right to stay with Meg,’ Simon said when he’d heard the story. As he spoke he was jostled by a burly fellow, who looked the Bailiff up and down insolently before carrying on his way. If Simon had been less concerned about his daughter, he would have demanded an apology, but as it was, he let the incident pass. ‘Did either of you see where she went?’
‘Couldn’t,’ Hugh mumbled. He was prone to sulkily muttering towards the ground when he wasn’t sure of his actions, and today his black countenance showed his concern. ‘Had to help the mistress from the stand.’
‘Was it bad in there?’ Baldwin asked.
‘Everyone looked at us,’ Margaret sobbed. ‘Someone said Simon had been responsible for a murder – that he killed the designer.’
‘News travels fast,’ Baldwin commented. He looked up to find himself being stared at by a man. Catching Baldwin’s eye, the stranger gave a brief shake of his head and a grimace, then walked away.
It made Baldwin frown, and then he began to watch others about the place. With a chill he saw that many people in the immediate area were eyeing Simon, one or two fingering their belts as though they regretted the fact that their knives had been left behind in accordance with the ordinance against carrying weapons to a tournament. Men became tribal in their support of their own champions against others, and fights were all too common at such events, but never before had Baldwin felt so deeply grateful to the dead King Edward I for his far-sighted restrictions on the carrying of weapons among the public. Only knights and squires could walk armed.
‘She could be anywhere, Simon,’ Margaret declared tearfully.
‘We’ll find her, Meg,’ he said reassuringly.
‘Of course we shall,’ Baldwin soothed. ‘But there is no point in waiting here, Margaret. You should return to the castle and we will contact you there. After all, she may have returned there already.’
Simon gazed about him. ‘You think so? What if Edith should return here? Wouldn’t it be best for Meg to wait and–’
‘If she was to return here, she would surely have done so already. No! Far better that Margaret should wait in the castle,’ Baldwin said firmly, and Hugh nodded.
Simon was willing to be persuaded. ‘If you’re sure. Take her back, Hugh, and Baldwin and I’ll look for Edith. Silly imbecile!’ he added as the other two disappeared in the direction of the castle’s entrance. ‘Where could she have run to?’
Baldwin rested his hand on his friend’s shoulder. He could hear the anxiety in Simon’s voice, and no words were necessary. ‘Come!’
They walked from the stands to the river, and while Simon stayed on the northern bank, Baldwin crossed at his ford and checked the farther side. He found three men with their women concealed in the long grasses, and each time he hoped that one of them would be Edith – and each time he dreaded it. In the event he could not find her, and none of the boys or girls there could help. No one had seen her.
Disappointed, Baldwin continued on his way while Simon kept pace on the other bank. It was as they passed by the line of stalls run by the armourers that Simon suddenly gave a hoarse cry. Glancing towards him, Baldwin saw the direction of his gaze and, following it, found Edith. ‘Thank God,’ he breathed, for although he had not voiced his fear, he had been worried that she might have been captured by an errant lad or a drunk, and perhaps raped or worse. Seeing her chattering delightedly with the well-formed and good-looking man at her side, at least he could be sure that she was unharmed. If she had submitted to the fellow, it was not unwillingly. He eyed the water but decided against trying to cross it here. It was flowing too quickly for his taste, and instead he hurried back to the ford.
‘Edith! Where in God’s name have you been? Your mother has been worrying herself frantic!’ Simon had just about had enough – of everything!
The girl broke away from her lover and joined him. ‘I left the ber frois, Father, as Mother told me, and then she didn’t come out,’ Edith said coolly. ‘Then some men came over and would have molested me.’