– squabbling with the hired help?’
Hearing the amused, laconic tone, Simon tensed. While they had been arguing, the King Herald, Mark Tyler, had lounged over. He stood watching their argument with ill-concealed distaste, like a
nobleman who was above any such grubby disputes. Two heralds stood with him, both looking on with frank interest. Baldwin recognised one as Odo, the messenger who had given him his invitation. Odo
was wincing as though pained by the King Herald’s tone.
Simon privately considered Lord Hugh’s King Herald to be a fat, obnoxious fool. Tyler had an easy time of it; he took over when all the hard work was done. And what then? Maybe he’d
adjudicate occasionally, sing a few songs, praise some knights for their courage, and then retire to a tavern or Lord Hugh’s bar with some cronies while other men did all the serious
work.
The dark-haired man, with the double chin and expanding paunch beneath his multi-coloured tabard covered with Lord Hugh’s insignia, wore an expression of resignation, as if he had expected
no better of Simon than that he should quarrel publicly with a carpenter. It made Simon realise what a spectacle he was making of himself and the thought that he had done so before the King Herald
made him recover his poise instantly.
‘Touch me, and you’ll be arrested or dead in a moment,’ he said to the carpenter. ‘Get back to your work or I shall demand the King Herald arrests you in Lord
Hugh’s name.’
Seeing a mutinous light in the carpenter’s eyes, Baldwin pulled an inch or two of his sword blade from the scabbard, but Wymond had stood his ground long enough. He hawked and spat and
lumbered away.
Sachevyll threw his hands in the air.
‘This is wonderful!
Quite
astonishing! You realise you’re going to ruin the whole show? Now you’ve upset my friend, what’s next? I ask you, can we possibly get
things completed if you molest my people? What Lord Hugh will have to say when he sees all this mess, I shudder to think. You need to find more wood, Bailiff, because otherwise I refuse to accept
any responsibility. I’ll tell Lord Hugh whose fault it was when he comes storming over the place. And I’ll tell him I warned you the stands are dangerous, that they might collapse. The
ber frois
could be filled with his friends and their women – you want to see Lord Hugh’s friends falling and breaking their legs and arms, even dying?’
‘Master Sachevyll,’ Simon said with an icy calmness, ‘you are quite right to be concerned.
You
are Lord Hugh’s servant, while I, a humble bailiff, am a servant
of Abbot Champeaux. I have nothing to answer to Lord Hugh about. I owe him no homage, I seek no patronage.’
‘You are as much Lord Hugh’s man as I am, myself. We both take his money to make this tournament work.’
‘No, I do
not
take his money. I am no mercenary. I repeat, I am Bailiff to Abbot Champeaux, an officer. I take nothing from Lord Hugh. If you have concerns, raise them with your
lord. For my part, I have other business to attend to.’
‘You can’t leave me here! You have to help me find more wood!’
‘Get your own damned wood, you feeble-minded sodomite! I’ve been trying to help you all this long day, but now I’ve had enough. You were given the money to buy whatever you
needed, but you’ve bought rubbish. Either buy more or make do. Either way, leave me in peace. I have a tournament to organise.’
‘Where can I go?’ Sachevyll wailed.
‘To hell and back – I don’t give a shit, so long as it’s far from me,’ Simon ground out unsympathetically and turned on his heel.
Chapter Seven
Sachevyll was close to tears as the Bailiff walked away. He could have screamed with frustration, but that wouldn’t get things sorted, and that was what Hal Sachevyll was
going to do: get this event successfully completed in the manner which Lord Hugh would expect.
But he couldn’t achieve anything in this mood. First he must calm down.
Hearing the amused, laconic tone, Simon tensed. While they had been arguing, the King Herald, Mark Tyler, had lounged over. He stood watching their argument with ill-concealed distaste, like a
nobleman who was above any such grubby disputes. Two heralds stood with him, both looking on with frank interest. Baldwin recognised one as Odo, the messenger who had given him his invitation. Odo
was wincing as though pained by the King Herald’s tone.
Simon privately considered Lord Hugh’s King Herald to be a fat, obnoxious fool. Tyler had an easy time of it; he took over when all the hard work was done. And what then? Maybe he’d
adjudicate occasionally, sing a few songs, praise some knights for their courage, and then retire to a tavern or Lord Hugh’s bar with some cronies while other men did all the serious
work.
The dark-haired man, with the double chin and expanding paunch beneath his multi-coloured tabard covered with Lord Hugh’s insignia, wore an expression of resignation, as if he had expected
no better of Simon than that he should quarrel publicly with a carpenter. It made Simon realise what a spectacle he was making of himself and the thought that he had done so before the King Herald
made him recover his poise instantly.
‘Touch me, and you’ll be arrested or dead in a moment,’ he said to the carpenter. ‘Get back to your work or I shall demand the King Herald arrests you in Lord
Hugh’s name.’
Seeing a mutinous light in the carpenter’s eyes, Baldwin pulled an inch or two of his sword blade from the scabbard, but Wymond had stood his ground long enough. He hawked and spat and
lumbered away.
Sachevyll threw his hands in the air.
‘This is wonderful!
Quite
astonishing! You realise you’re going to ruin the whole show? Now you’ve upset my friend, what’s next? I ask you, can we possibly get
things completed if you molest my people? What Lord Hugh will have to say when he sees all this mess, I shudder to think. You need to find more wood, Bailiff, because otherwise I refuse to accept
any responsibility. I’ll tell Lord Hugh whose fault it was when he comes storming over the place. And I’ll tell him I warned you the stands are dangerous, that they might collapse. The
ber frois
could be filled with his friends and their women – you want to see Lord Hugh’s friends falling and breaking their legs and arms, even dying?’
‘Master Sachevyll,’ Simon said with an icy calmness, ‘you are quite right to be concerned.
You
are Lord Hugh’s servant, while I, a humble bailiff, am a servant
of Abbot Champeaux. I have nothing to answer to Lord Hugh about. I owe him no homage, I seek no patronage.’
‘You are as much Lord Hugh’s man as I am, myself. We both take his money to make this tournament work.’
‘No, I do
not
take his money. I am no mercenary. I repeat, I am Bailiff to Abbot Champeaux, an officer. I take nothing from Lord Hugh. If you have concerns, raise them with your
lord. For my part, I have other business to attend to.’
‘You can’t leave me here! You have to help me find more wood!’
‘Get your own damned wood, you feeble-minded sodomite! I’ve been trying to help you all this long day, but now I’ve had enough. You were given the money to buy whatever you
needed, but you’ve bought rubbish. Either buy more or make do. Either way, leave me in peace. I have a tournament to organise.’
‘Where can I go?’ Sachevyll wailed.
‘To hell and back – I don’t give a shit, so long as it’s far from me,’ Simon ground out unsympathetically and turned on his heel.
Chapter Seven
Sachevyll was close to tears as the Bailiff walked away. He could have screamed with frustration, but that wouldn’t get things sorted, and that was what Hal Sachevyll was
going to do: get this event successfully completed in the manner which Lord Hugh would expect.
But he couldn’t achieve anything in this mood. First he must calm down.
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