The Tournament of Blood by Michael Jecks Read Free Book Online

Odo.’
    ‘Perhaps. A fellow learns to duck, doesn’t he?’ Odo agreed. ‘But I prefer an easy life. Let me escape from danger and I’ll be happy.’
    He was a slender man in his forties, with an intelligent ruddy-coloured face and mild grey eyes. In some ways he reminded Baldwin of a slimmer, shorter version of his friend Simon Puttock.
Near-white hair framed a gleaming pate, and his head was thrust forward, giving him a permanent stoop. He wasn’t a true hunchback, but somehow gave the impression that he carried a weight
upon his shoulders, a suggestion which was given the lie by his cheerful visage.
    ‘Have you often been in danger?’ Baldwin asked.
    A serious set came to Odo’s face. ‘I have avoided it wherever I could, Sir Baldwin, but I have committed my sins like all us poor folk.’
    ‘I am sure you could find a Pardoner willing to forgive them in exchange for money,’ Baldwin said lightly.
    ‘I have no doubt. There are always thieves prepared to gull the gormless,’ Odo said. ‘But for my part, I doubt whether God would be impressed. No, I’ll make my own peace
with God, if He wills it, without the intervention of a conman.’
    ‘How did you come to be in Devonshire?’
    Odo shrugged. ‘I have no home. I’ve wandered widely all my life, about the continent, travelling from Guyenne to Paris, for a herald must learn new songs – what is he without
his songs of chivalry? – but I grew to miss my own language.’
    ‘I suppose a herald can travel easily. He will be welcomed in any great household.’
    ‘Oh, yes,’ Odo smiled. ‘Although sometimes I wonder whether lords should enquire more carefully about some of their newer staff. Even I have committed my sins.’
    ‘So you said,’ Baldwin nodded, glancing at him. ‘But you wouldn’t hurt my lord Hugh?’
    ‘Ah no! My most heinous crime I still feel was venial. I found a man who was hiding from justice, a man with fear stamped upon his face. I have no idea what made me do it, probably mere
sympathy, but I gave him food and helped him escape.’
    ‘Was he a felon, then?’
    ‘He was a renegade, Sir Baldwin – a sergeant from the Knights Templar.’
    ‘How did you find him?’ Baldwin asked sharply.
    ‘I was at a town with my master when we heard the Hue and Cry and were told that a fugitive had been seen, a fellow who had been born in the town but who had joined the Templars. You know
what happened to them. All the knights were imprisoned and tortured. Many were executed. A terrible injustice, I always felt. Well, we set off with hounds and men-at-arms to seek this fellow and a
short way from the town, I twisted my ankle and had to return. And when I got there, I saw a fellow with stubble, a filthy tunic with a faded mark like a Templar cross on his breast, and a
pronounced limp. He didn’t even deny it; he told me he was so tired I could kill him on the spot as far as he was concerned.’
    ‘What did you do?’
    Odo gratefully took the large pot of ale proffered by Baldwin’s grim-faced servant Edgar and said with quiet conviction, ‘Do? Nothing! He seemed to me to be a fair, reasonable man, a
fellow of integrity and honour, who had been betrayed or lied about. And I don’t believe all this bollocks about the Templars being evil. They were the Pope’s own army, and protected
pilgrims all over the world. How could they be evil? No, I think they were destroyed for other reasons. Anyway, I wouldn’t willingly see him killed, so I gave him food and showed him a path
which should avoid the men seeking him.’
    ‘Did you learn his name?’
    Odo grinned. ‘If I had learned it, I ensured that I speedily forgot it, Sir Baldwin. The man was a renegade. It could do me no good to remember him.’
    Baldwin eased his grip on his cup. He had tensed to hear the name Knight Templar, for although this Odo obviously had no idea, Baldwin had been a ‘Poor Fellow Soldier of Christ and the
Temple of Solomon’, a Templar, and he too had