“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 sil
ent, 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.
The room was suddenly still. Everyone there was listening to John Beauscyr. Baldwin thought Simon looked as intent as a hunter studying his prey. Sir Ralph had a kind of sick fear on his face which added to his pallor; Sir William seemed to have shrunk, staring at his son with the anxious concern of a thief watching the jury deliberate over his guilt; Lady Matillida seemed stunned.
“He was walking back from the inn, cocksure as a young rooster, and just as arrogant.” He sneered at the memory. “We rode along without noticing him at first, but as we came close, he gave a sort of laugh, and that made me look up and I saw who it was.”
“He was alone?” said Simon, and the boy shook his head.
“Oh no, bailiff. He had some of his miner friends with him, otherwise we might have killed him ourselves. It would have been easy if he had been alone. But sorry to say, he wasn’t.”
“Did you see the men who were with him? Can you give me names?”
“No. I don’t normally associate with such vagabonds.”
“Sir Ralph? Can you confirm this?”
Baldwin glanced at the knight as Simon asked the question. Sir Ralph nodded. “Yes. It was embarrassing to have to submit again to his mocking, but we had little choice. We could have attacked, for we were on horseback and they were on foot, but we were not on fighting horses. My little mare would have been no good—at the first blow she would have shied and they could have pulled me from her while I tried to control her. If I had been on my warhorse I would not have hesitated.”
“Why? What did they say?”
“They made various comments about us, calling us foreigners and trespassers, telling us we should leave the moors before the tinners threw us off them. And more in a similar vein.”
“And he showed you your rope?” Simon guessed.
The knight nodded. “He did not miss the opportunity to remind me of my humiliation,” he said tightly.
Simon turned back to John. “And then you made your way to the inn?”
“Yes, for the love of God! What do you expect—that we followed them all the way to their camp? We weren’t that foolish,” John jeered, confident he held the upper hand.
“And you stayed there?”
The smile was a little too fixed, Baldwin felt. John was clearly unsettled by that question as well. “Well, of course. Why should we want to leave? It is a pleasant place to while away a few hours.”
“I don’t know why you wanted to leave, John, that’s why I asked. Where did you go when you left the inn? You returned there a long time later—so where had you been?”
All at once the color came back to his face, two red spots of anger flaring high on his cheeks. “So you have been enquiring about me? Asking the roughs in an inn about me as if I were an outlaw? How dare you—”
“Enough! I want to know where you went, and why. And who you saw. Who can confirm where you went and what you did, how long you were there for, and when you went back to meet your master?”
“I will not answer!” He stood, glaring at the bailiff, then made for the door.
“A moment, John!” Simon’s call made the boy halt, but he did not acknowledge the bailiff by word or movement, did not even turn to face him, simply stood as stiff as an oak while Simon spoke forcefully. “You may leave this hall now, John, but you cannot leave this Manor, I tell you that now. If you do, I shall declare you an outlaw and will demand a posse to capture you. I do not know what happened that night, but I do know that you are being obstructive, and that makes me suspicious. You are the only man who does not seem to be able to account for his actions that night, and therefore you are the man most to be suspected. There will be a coroner appointed to hear and record the events surrounding this miner’s death, and he will be a stannary coroner. You know what that means? A jury not only of Devon men, but one with tinners in it will be asked to judge whether they think you could have killed the boy. Think on that! Think on it long and hard, because if you don’t start to answer some of my questions, I’ll have you in irons at Lydford Castle. Now go! I will talk to you again in the morning.”
Without responding, the boy strode from the room, and as he left, Simon looked over at his mother and father. They sat rigid, like statues on a tomb, their faces set into masks of shock and horror. “Sir William, Lady Matillida, I am sorry that it has come to this. Please forgive me, but I can’t betray my duty. If you can, speak to your son and persuade him to tell me the truth.” He stood. Not wishing to be left alone with the parents, Baldwin swiftly rose too and followed his friend.
Matillida stared after them. She could not comprehend the enormity of the straits in which the family found itself. Her head moved from side to side in silent denial of her son’s guilt. It was impossible, incredible, that he could be an object of suspicion. John, her son, always so bright, so honorable…Her thoughts moved on swiftly to the implication of that. John had known of Bruther’s act, running from the Manor and bringing shame and embarrassment on the family, and had plainly heard of the insult offered to his master. If he had then been angered by another humiliation to Sir Ralph, it was possible he could have determined to avenge it and by so doing exorcise the spirit of evil that Bruther had imposed on Beauscyr. He was wild and headstrong, always had been, and surely he was capable of murder.
Only one man could shed some light on all this. She looked at Sir Ralph, who was gazing at the door with a perplexed frown. “What did the miners say to you both that night?”
Startled from his reverie, Sir Ralph scratched his head. “They were obscene, lady. Insulting us both, and our parentage. They made some comments about you, and it was that which angered your son most of all.” He stared at her bleakly.
“Did he kill Bruther?” she asked, her voice even, as if enquiring about the weather with no quaver to show her inner turmoil. Though he did not answer, his haunted eyes told her what he thought. She had to swallow hard before standing uns
teadily and walking out to the solar.
–18–
Hugh and Edgar had been waiting at their favorite place down by the kitchen, where they had set the bottler to filling jugs with his best strong ale. When Simon and Baldwin rejoined them, the bottler scurried for more drink. They took their seats at the bench, Simon resting his head in his hands and massaging his temples. When he looked up, he found a pot beside him on the ground, and he took a long draft.
“That’s a bit better,” he sighed and wiped his mouth with his hand. Burping, he glanced at his friend. “So what do you think?”
“Me? If the boy won’t answer, it will go badly for him,” said Baldwin quietly. Instantly their servants set themselves to finding out whom the two were discussing, and Baldwin explained what had happened in the hall. “John is keeping something back,” he concluded.
“From his behavior, it seems clear enough that he has at the very least had a hand in the murder,” Simon told them. “Why else would he go so quiet? But why did he not even invent a story, that’s what puzzles me.”
“What, no alibi?” Edgar set his pot down. “Didn’t he have any kind of explanation to offer?” he asked, surprised.
“No. Nothing at all. He refused to discuss where he had gone.” Simon shook his head, troubled. “It’s not as if he’s a fool. He must know what we’re bound to think. If he makes no effort to show his innocence, there can only be the one assumption.”
“That is strange,” mused Baldwin, so softly that the other three almost missed his words. When they turned to him with mystified faces, he went on: “I mean, it seems odd that John and Sir Ralph should go to the inn for Molly—the same girl whom Bruther apparently wanted. I wonder…” He frowned into the distance.
“What?” asked Simon after a minute, irritated by the pause.
“Hmm? Oh, I was just thinking: if John really wanted to annoy Bruther, surely the best way would have been to say that he was going to bed the miner’s woman. There would be nothing he could do about it, after all. Except maybe…offer a challenge!”
A Moorland Hanging Page 22