A Moorland Hanging (20 page)

“What do you want to—”

“Don’t be stupid!” Smyth spat the words jeeringly.

“I want his
head,
here, now, on my lap! That pathetic little worm killed my Peter, and probably thinks he can get away with it. The bailiff’s incompetent—or is being paid to be so by Sir William. I don’t know and I don’t care which it is; all I do know is, John murdered Peter, and he must be made to pay.”

“So you want me to tell the bailiff, then?”

“Didn’t you hear me? The bailiff is
no use
!
We
have to get him and bring him to justice. Peter was a miner, a tinner, and he came under the stannary laws. We, as miners, can obtain justice. We can’t rely on officials, they have their hands in the Beauscyrs’ purses, and have no need to see to our compensation. What does this bailiff care for our hardships? He’s no use to us, we have to catch this Beauscyr on our own. I want a force of men, all armed, to take John Beauscyr prisoner tomorrow. He’s a murderer—and he shall pay.”

George rushed from the room, his brain churning. He hadn’t had time to tell his master about his conversation with Molly at the inn, and he hesitated a moment, undecided whether to return to the hall and tell Thomas. But then he shook his head. His master had new proofs. Anything George had heard from the girl was unimportant now. He ran out to his horse.

Alone once more, Thomas Smyth turned back to his solitary vigil by the fire. Strange, he thought abstractedly, that the flames did not warm him anymore. Since Peter’s killing he had felt no rest or peace of soul, and the tiredness of inaction had eaten into his bones. Shuddering, he grinned wryly to himself. This, then, was old age, this exhaustion which sapped the will and eroded the hunger for money and power. It was not like before, when each day had been a new opportunity, a new chance to expand his mining area and enhance his wealth. Now nothing seemed to hold any interest for him.

His wife Christine opened the solar door. She saw his strained, taut features and hurried over to him, feeling as if her heart would burst. When she put her arms round him and held him, she felt the same as she had when she had rocked her children, offering protection and security; performing this little service to her man made the breath stick in her throat like the stone from a plum, and tears of sympathy sprang into her eyes. Of her children, six all told, only the one had lived. All the others had succumbed to the cold and the illnesses which assailed the young of wealthy and poor alike.

Thomas finally pulled away and looked into her tear-stained face with a sort of wonder, slowly reaching up with a hand to touch the heavy drops at either cheek; then he sighed and pulled her down on his lap in a snug embrace. While she sobbed in her own turn, gulping and moaning, he rocked her, and felt himself gain strength from her weakness. The abstraction and despair left him, and he was filled instead with a rigid determination. Come what may, he would avenge Peter Bruther.

Christine Smyth slowly felt her abject misery subsiding and the grip of her man increase as his strength returned. When she eased herself away from his embrace, in his now black eyes she saw firm purpose, and she sighed as she wiped the tears away with a hand, feeling her inadequacy anew. Taking a deep breath, she managed to say, “So you will go with the men to find his killer?” before the tears welled up once more.

“You heard us?”

“I did not eavesdrop; you spoke loud enough for the miners at the camp to hear.”

His face was serious. “We will go tomorrow.” He hated to see her vexation, but there was nothing he could do. She must understand that; he had a duty to Peter Bruther.

She gave him a brittle smile. “And you will catch John Beauscyr and hang him—lynch him like a common killer?”

“Did he treat Peter any better? Beauscyr throttled him from behind like any outlaw. What do you expect?”

“I expect him at least to be able to defend himself.”

“Why, so he can brief a lawyer for himself? What good would that do? We know he did it; no one else was there.”

“But Thomas, what if it wasn’t him?”

“It was,” he said harshly, and putting her from his lap he stood and strode from the room.

Her eyes sorrowfully followed his figure as he went. Though she dared not speak out loud, her lips framed the words again:
“But what if it wasn’t him?”

–17–

S
imon and the others arrived back at Beauscyr just as Sir William was returning from a hunt, tired and frustrated after a long day in the saddle with nothing to show for it. All the animals seemed to have disappeared. Those areas which usually guaranteed food were empty: the rabbits in the warrens had suffered from a predator; the wood pigeons appeared to have moved to another site; the fishpond was free of herons. He had finally decided to get back home and tell the cooks to kill some doves from the cotes for his guests.

Seeing the four men did nothing for his humor. To his eye they were always there whenever something was wrong, as if they brought misfortune with them. Had they helped him earlier on, when Peter Bruther had first run away, he would feel different, but the bailiff’s ineffectual response to the crisis—or, as Sir William felt, his complete lack of understanding and unwillingness to assist—had left him with a sour opinion of the man. As for his friend, he had appeared to derive amusement from the Manor’s predicament. So it was with a jutting jaw that the elderly man nodded to Baldwin and Simon. His anger was not dissipated when the bailiff immediately asked for an interview.

“Now?” he snapped. Surely the bailiff could understand that he wanted to get changed, then wash and relax for a moment before any more questions, but the bailiff was insistent, and eventually the knight agreed, but with a bad grace. Hugh and Edgar went to see to the horses while the three trooped up to the hall. Here they discovered a number of guards playing dice before the fire; they showed little desire to move to the guardrooms, which were draftier. In the end it took a furious bellow from their master to persuade them that he was not of a mood to be trifled with, and they moodily took their things and left.

“Right. What is it?”

Simon sat, and, realizing after a minute that the meeting could take some time, Sir William also dropped into a chair. Baldwin sat some feet away, watching the knight with interest. His anger was clear, and Baldwin could understand how he felt. As far as Sir William was concerned, the death of Bruther was none of his business. The murderer had saved him considerable trouble, and that was all. Conversely the law, represented by this bailiff to whom he had turned at the outset, had been of little help. He had behaved properly, calling on the King’s official when he had seen the problem, but it had given him no comfort. What had appeared to be a simple, straightforward case of a runaway snubbing the estate had become a tangled web of political maneuvering between him as the landowner, and the miners—and the bailiff had, in his eyes, taken the part of the miners in preference to his own claims. And the bailiff was still trying to find the man who had cleared away his problems like snow swept from a path. For all Sir William cared, Simon could search until kingdom come. Yet he could still be summoned to speak to the bailiff whenever the damned official wanted.

And the worst of it for the old knight was, the bailiff could do so when he wanted, Baldwin knew. Old he might be, but Sir William was no fool. Though he had an alibi, he knew full well that his sons did not, and any reticence on his part could be considered suspicious, especially since Sir Robert thought Peter Bruther’s death could benefit his inheritance. Even so, to be called to discuss the affair immediately after a day in the saddle was at best discourteous from a guest.

So now he sat regally, his brows beetling as he tried to hold his temper at bay, and his mood was not improved by the long, measuring stare to which Simon subjected him. “Sir William,” he said at last, “we too have spent many hours on horseback today, and have been to see several people…”

“Get to the point, bailiff,” Sir William growled.

“Very well. On the day Peter Bruther died, you rode out from here with your son John, your guest Sir Ralph, and two men-at-arms. Is that right?”

“You know it is.”

“Yes. On your way to Thomas Smyth’s hall, did you see anybody else on the roads?”

There was an edge to Simon’s voice which seemed to indicate that the question was important; Sir William considered for a moment, his face fixed into a scowl of concentration. “We went up past Coyt’s farm,” he said at last. “There was no one on the road there, that I know.”

“How about the rest of the way? Was there anyone else on the road between there and the hall?”

“No. I’m sure there wasn’t.”

“Good. Now, when you got to the hall, what exactly happened?”

“I dismounted and John and Sir Ralph decided to leave me there. They preferred to ride on to the inn rather than wait with me.”

“What of the men-at-arms?”

“I had told them to leave me beforehand, shortly after quitting Coyt’s road. I didn’t want them to hear what I was to discuss with Smyth, but I had to tell John. It was hardly an impressive position to be in, was it? Why should I let my men hear of such things? Anyway, I told you all this before; why do you need to hear it all again?”

“It’s important, Sir William. Now, did you see anyone on the road ahead when you left your son? Was there someone approaching the hall from the east?”

“No, of course not!”

“From there the moors roll away and you can see for a great distance. Did you see anyone on the moors?”

He glared at Simon, then at Baldwin, irritation sharpening his voice. “No! Why? What are you suggesting now, bailiff? Who should I have seen?”

Simon remained silent, but Baldwin eyed the knight tentatively. “We know that Peter Bruther was at the inn that night, and that he left shortly before your son got there. It seems likely that they must have met on the road, but if they did, why does your son not tell us?”

“Who says John saw the man? Bruther must have hidden from view when he saw my son approach.”

“Not out there, Sir William. You know the land as well as we do. There are no places for a man to hide, not near the road. And we already know that Bruther was accustomed to passing on to the moors near the hall. He did not leave the road until he got to Smyth’s place. That would seem to indicate that your son could have met him.”

“What if he did? Are you saying he killed the man, dragged the body all the way to Wistman’s Wood, then raced back to the inn? I assume he was at the inn that night?”

Simon sighed. “Well, yes, but…”

“And did he arrive with Sir Ralph? Or was he later than his master?”

The bailiff squinted at the fire. “They arrived together,” he admitted.

“And yet you dare to insult my son’s name in front of me, in my own house!” Sir William’s eyes were wide in rage. “You suggest that my son is a murderer, a man who would strangle another and then hang him from a tree, when you have no evidence whatever?”

“Sir William, please!” Speaking slowly and keeping his voice level and calm, Simon said, “I have no wish to insult you or your son, Sir William. You know that. But it seems clear that John was in the area, just at the time that young Bruther was there, and must very likely have seen him. I do not say that your son alone saw him. Obviously Sir Ralph was there too, and it is possible that Sir Ralph remembered his humiliation at this Bruther’s hands. He would not be the first soldier to kill someone who offered him an insult. As far as I can see, there is no real reason for John to have murdered the young man, but Sir Ralph had cause, didn’t he? In any case, you have confirmed that you did not see Bruther on the road. The people at the inn were certain that he left only a short time before John and Sir Ralph got there, so I assume that they must have passed him on their way to the inn.”

The old knight stared, aghast. His shock was plain to both men. “But…But…Surely he must already have passed, before we got to the hall,” he stammered.

“As I said, Sir William, if he had passed already, you would surely have seen him up on the moors. From the road to Beauscyr, you can see for miles, and it’s the same all the way to the inn. If he was on the moors, you must have seen him.”

“We weren’t looking for him, though,” he was pleading. “He could have been up there, but we weren’t looking. Maybe he hid behind a rock? There are plenty of them up there, and it would take only a moment to duck behind one. That must be it! He saw us, realized who we were and dropped out of sight—he would know that Sir Ralph would want to exact vengeance for the insult he offered when they last met.”

“No. It will not do, Sir William,” said Baldwin. His manner was precise, leaving no opportunity for misunderstanding. “We have ridden past there several times over the last couple of days. If Bruther was there, then you must have seen him. You did not, and neither did your men. You had the men-at-arms with you, and they would have been looking for miners or anyone else who could have posed a threat. Likewise, your son and his master would have kept an eye open. They are men-of-war, and unused to peace. Even if you were concentrating on your meeting with Smyth, I find it hard to believe that your company were so careless as to forget to keep a lookout. Of course, Bruther could already have passed, but if he had, he would surely have been seen by Samuel and Ronald after you dismissed them.”

“Why? They would have gone in the opposite direction to get back here.”

“But they went to the Dart, to the alehouse. That’s how they found the body—they left the road because of two men they thought could be miners. So that means Bruther had not yet passed by. And
that
means that your son and Sir Ralph must have met him later.”

The old man gazed from one to the other, his face suddenly pale and waxen. His eyes, large and almost luminous with fear, seemed to betray his own doubts about his son, but then they fixed on Simon with desperation. “But there’s nothing to suggest that John would kill, like you say. It must have been his master, Sir Ralph. Why would John kill the man? They had nothing to do with each other.”

Simon glanced at Baldwin, trying to avoid the pitiful spectacle of the disintegration of the knight. Sighing, he looked at his hands resting in his lap as he said, “I am sorry, Sir William, but there is more. Both men arrived at the tavern together, but a short while later your son left, and did not return for a long time. He could have dragged the body over the moors to the woods and hung it there before returning.” He forced himself to meet the gaze of the old knight. “I am truly sorry,” he said simply.

Sir William raised a hand, making a curious, futile little gesture as if slapping at a fly, knocking away the suggestion that his son could have been involved. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, the door opened and his wife walked in.

She appeared surprised to see the little congregation, halting as she took in the mood of the room, but then her brows drew together, and she paced slowly and menacingly toward them, her eyes glued accusingly on the bailiff. “I heard that my husband had returned, bailiff. I had not realized that you had monopolized his company since then. Usually a guest will leave his host to be welcomed by his wife after a day apart.” Her voice was cold as she stood by Sir William.

Simon sighed. Matillida Beauscyr was almost shaking with fury, and he had no desire to suffer the lash of her tongue, but that was his fate, he knew, if he raised even a suspicion about her youngest son. Already the presence of his woman had instilled a new strength into Sir William, and the bailiff could see that she was not of a mood to let the interview continue without her.

He said, “My apologies, lady. I did not mean to detain your husband any longer than necessary, and did not wish to annoy you, but there are still some points to talk through.”

“Please do not let me stop you,” she said with icy politeness, and sat. “I will wait here until you are done, and then I can welcome my husband. In peace.”

Her arrival acted like a tonic on her husband, and Sir William sat more upright in his seat. Glancing at him, Baldwin saw that the old man’s eyes were steady again; they had lost their wavering anxiety. Baldwin coughed lightly, a mild clearing of his throat which made the Beauscyrs turn to him. “If you wish to stay, madam, please take a seat. In the meantime, Sir William, would you mind sending a servant to fetch your son?”

She flashed a look of rage at him at having her desire for solitude rebuffed, but before she could speak her husband gave a small sigh and nodded. When he remained seated and silent, Simon bellowed suddenly for the bottler. The gray-haired man bustled in nervously hopping from foot to foot like a frightened rabbit, and soon John was with them, a sardonic smile fixed to his face. Sir Ralph followed. The knight, Baldwin noticed, looked pensive, as if expecting to be accused of something himself.

John grinned at the assembled group, then sauntered to a bench and straddled it easily, folding his arms and staring at Simon with an eyebrow raised in enquiry. “And what can I do for you today, bailiff?”

“On the day that Peter Bruther died, when you left your father at Thomas Smyth’s hall, you rode straight to the inn, didn’t you?”

“Yes. As you know.”

“Did you meet anyone on the way there?” Simon asked, and Baldwin saw that he did not meet the young squire’s eyes as he asked the question; it seemed as if he was listening intently to the phrasing of the answer and did not want to be diverted by the youth’s expression or gestures.

John reacted well, Baldwin thought. He was startled, that much was obvious from the way he took a sharp breath and shot a glance at his father, but he swiftly recovered and eyed Simon thoughtfully. “I might have done,” he said unconcernedly. “I can’t really recall.”

“You can’t recall,” said Simon heavily, then spun round and stared at him. “You’re wasting my time and that of my friend,
Beauscyr
! You saw Peter Bruther walking back from the inn, didn’t you? We’ve heard about your arrival at the inn already, and about Bruther’s departure. What happened when you saw him?”

The contempt in Simon’s voice sliced through the boy’s arrogance like a hot axe through lard and John recoiled from his anger, a hand rising as if to ward off a blow. “No! I didn’t kill him, and you can’t say I did.”

“What happened on the road that day?”
Simon was half up from his chair now, glaring at him, and Sir William made ready to protect his son. It was this which made the boy regain his calm. He saw his father lean forward to lever himself up, and sighed. His face showed his nervousness, but he met Simon’s eyes with resignation. “We did meet Bruther,” he admitted.