A Moorland Hanging

by Michael Jecks

  There was no shout from the crowd to welcome him. At a hanging, even the victim would get cheery applause, but not Sir William. The men stared up at him, and he stared back, and a strange stillness slowly settled on them all, curiously out of place for such a sizeable group. It was no surprise, Baldwin reflected. After all, these men had seen the steady decline of the head of the Beauscyr family. They all knew that he had few enough years left. His walk had gradually slowed, he tired more easily, and the strength which had marked him out as a great warrior had begun to fail him.

  For several minutes there was no sound but for the whip and crackle of clothes drying in the gusting breeze on the lines by the kitchen. The sun peered between some clouds and added a tinge of warmth, but still Sir William stared. Some men began to shuffle, their feet restlessly slapping in the little puddles of sloshed water from the buckets.

  “You all know what’s happened to my son.” His tone was pensive, almost sad, but carried clearly. “He’s been captured by miners and taken away. I don’t know why. It could be that the tinners want to hold him to ransom. They’ve done it to others before, though they’ve never dared do it to me in the past. It’s probably because I agreed to pay them not to damage the Manor’s lands. Now they feel so powerful, they think they can threaten even me. It’s my fault, if they think that. I should have realized. But I could do nothing, because they threatened other things if I tried to use force to keep them from here. I had to pay. I am sorry, because it means that you all must now fight to help me free my son.”

  Now he stood upright, and there was no sign of his age as he glowered down. “But understand this, all of you. This is not just for me and my family. It is to save you! If the miners get away with this, they’ll know they’ve beaten the strongest in the moors. They can’t be permitted to take hostages freely whenever they wish. If they do that, no man will be free anymore, not just knights, but farmers and merchants, villeins, even the men in the tenements—all will have to submit to the miners. Do you want that? They will feel able to go anywhere, into your fields, ruining your families’ crops. That is what will happen if we allow them to win now. They will know they have the power to order.”

  His voice grew, swelling until it filled the square yard, and the men stopped shuffling and listened closely, many with frowns of understanding darkening their faces. One or two glanced at friends, nodding with a new conviction. Sir William carried on. “I don’t ask any of you to follow me to free my son. Few if any of you feel the need to defend him, beyond your duty to the Manor and to the land’s heir. But you have to come with me today. Not for me or for him, but for yourselves and for the other people of the moors, to protect yourselves and to keep the land free for all. We have to break the arrogance of these miners and make them understand that they cannot continue to threaten and extort, steal and harry. They have to learn that we will stand our ground and defend ourselves. And the way to do this is to free my son. I do not want to fight, I’m old and my time for war has passed, but I will not let robbers and outlaws take my land without holding a sword to them and saying, ‘No more!’ No, I do not want to fight—but I will if I must, and now, today, I may have to. So may you. Not for me, not for my son, but for yourselves.”

  Suddenly he grasped his sword and whipped it from its scabbard, holding it over his head. “Is any man among you not prepared to fight for your land?”

  The yard erupted in a great bellow of denial, the shouts echoing round the buildings and making the horses stamp and snort. A hound barked, deep and mournful.

  “Then mount your horses and follow me!”

  Baldwin cast an eye over the men, now cheering and waving their arms. It was a good effort, he admitted to himself. Men who a few minutes before had been muttering blackly about standing up for the son of a knight who should have seen his peril, or who had nervously fingered weapons while thinking about the miners’ own, men who had wondered how much the tinners would ask for Sir Robert’s life and whether it would be too much, who flinched at the thought of injury—for in the heat of summer a wound could fester, and that spelled a slow and tortured death…all now raised swords, daggers and polearms over their heads and ap plauded. The first lesson that a warrior captain has to learn, he thought dryly, is how to persuade the men fighting for him that they are fighting for themselves. Sir William had been a soldier for many years, and that lesson was one he had not forgotten. One man, he saw, had his arm slashed by a carelessly handled knife; he stared dumbly at the dripping blood for a moment before waving and cheering again. The sight made Baldwin sigh. It was strange how men could decide to throw in their lot with someone just because of a pretty speech.

  “Impressive.” Sir Ralph had walked up unseen by the others, and Baldwin glanced at him with a question in his dark eyes. He had not seen the knight all day, not during the panicked rush to put out the fire, nor when the bodies were found. Now he stood surveying the men in the square with a kind of sad recognition. “I used to be like them,” he said musingly. “Full of fire and honor. Keen to defend my rights and privileges, come what may and the Devil take my enemies. Now it’s just for money I fight, and money doesn’t last as long as a cause. Nor does it flame the belly as well.”

  “At least it keeps your belly filled for a while,” said Simon lightly from behind.

  Sir Ralph did not meet the bailiff’s gaze, staring instead at Baldwin. “Only for a while. Only for a while. And when the money’s gone, there’s nothing else. No cause, no honor, no great freedoms. Just a search for more money.” He glanced at the crowd. “At least they have their cause today, even if it won’t last.”

  Baldwin mulled over his words as they fetched their horses and prepared to ride out. The man’s face had held an infinite sadness, as if he sorely missed times past when he had honorable battles to fight, one loyal and chivalrous man in a company of similarly motivated warriors. Baldwin could understand his feelings of loss and the sense of missing purpose: it was the same lack of direction he had known when his Order had been destroyed, which had consumed him until he had undertaken his search for the man he felt must be responsible. Yes, Baldwin could easily comprehend his feelings.

  Simon was on his horse and waiting long before Baldwin. In the melee which was the yard, simply keeping the horses calm enough to be saddled was taxing Hugh and Edgar, and thus it was that Simon was the first to see the younger Beauscyr brother. From his vantage point, looking over the heads of the crowd, he could see the boy clearly at the foot of the steps, his thumbs in his belt as he cast a sullen glance over the milling people. Sir William spoke to him, then looked around for Simon. A moment later he strode over to the bailiff’s side.

  “Bailiff, I want John to join us today.”

  “I don’t think well need him,” Simon said, gesturing at the men-at-arms all round. “I think we have a strong enough force.”

  “That’s not the point and you know it,” said the old knight firmly. “Robert is his brother. John has a right to aid us in freeing him.”

  “Perhaps. Wouldn’t it be better to leave him here, though? He can see to the Manor’s defenses.”

  “My wife is more than capable of doing that. No, his place is with us.”

  Simon paused for a moment. Both were aware that there was no need for Sir William to ask—if he wished, he could have the bailiff bound and kept under guard while he took his men. “If you tell me why, I will agree.”

  Sir William gave a terse nod. “Very well. The two of them argued this morning. John thinks that it was because of their quarrel that Robert rode into the ambush in such a headstrong manner. If they had not fallen out Robert would have been more careful, and at the very least would not have ridden so far in front of the hunting-party and thus have been captured so easily. John feels very bad about it, bailiff. He wants to help free Robert.”

  Simon shrugged, then nodded. “That is just cause. Bring him.”

  All the men were ready now. Baldwin was up on his heavy rounsey, and their servants were
mounted too, Edgar still wearing his excited air. The courtyard went quiet as Sir William and his son climbed on to their horses, and then the mounted men rode out through the gates and off up the slope before the fort. Others would follow on foot.

  At the trees on top of the hill they were met by a messenger, red-faced and panting after his mad dash over the moors.

  “Thank God I caught you, Sir William! The miners who hold your son are at the tin workers’ camp out on the moors.”

  “Good. Get a fresh horse and follow.”

  Sir William kicked his horse and rode on, vaguely aware of Simon and Baldwin behind. At his side was his son and Sir Ralph, but the old knight kept his eyes fixed ahead, in case his face betrayed his doubts and fears. He simply could not understand what Thomas Smyth hoped to achieve by taking Robert.

  It was not as if they had constantly argued and fought. The Manor had long accepted the unpalatable fact that the miners had rights on the moors, and had not molested them like many other landowners. Some men took a tax on all tin mined on their estates, but Sir William had early come to the opinion that it would be better to leave them to their work. There were other ways to make money that would not involve upsetting the King’s officials and bringing ruin on the family. By and large the miners and he had managed to coexist. That was what made this hostage-taking so incomprehensible. If there had been a long-established grievance, he would have been able to understand, but as far as he knew there was no reason.

  He cast a surreptitious glance at his other son. John rode hunched up, as if nursing a private grief. Sir William would not be surprised if his younger son were responsible somehow for this debacle. He clenched his jaw angrily as he enumerated the problems caused by the squire: his constant bickering with Robert, his arrogance and rudeness, his stupidity in robbing that man over toward Chagford, all now seemed to have led to this latest disaster. Somehow, the old knight felt, it was all John’s fault.

  That led him to wonder what the bailiff thought of his son. Simon had made it more than clear that he doubted John’s word, and considered him at best unreliable. Sir William would not have been surprised if the bailiff thought that the lad had killed Bruther—and probably stabbed the two men-at-arms as well. There was no clear motive for him to have committed the three murders but John simply appeared to have a lust for mischief and crime—he himself had confirmed that when he confessed to the robbery. And again, that was an offense with no good reason. If John had needed money, he could have asked his father for it. There was no need to take to the road. His only saving grace, Sir William knew, was in his youth. Many men, he acknowledged ruefully, took to the robber bands, to the marauding companies which roamed widely wherever the rule of law had fallen down. John’s crimes, whatever they might have been while he was a shavaldore in the north, were surely not so heinous compared with some others.

  There was only one thing that mattered right now, though, and that was gaining Robert’s release. He must free his older son, no matter what.

  Baldwin was still thinking about the two dead men. So much had happened already this morning that he felt as exhausted as if he had been up all night. The fire, then the deaths, the ambush and taking of Sir Robert…all merged and blurred together in his mind, and he was trying to set them into a logical sequence. It was offensive, he knew, to drop the murder investigation like this, but while Robert was alive it was the duty of anyone who could help to try to get him freed. And if it was possible, the bailiff must attempt to stop any fighting, though after Sir William’s speech that would be harder. Now all the men from the Manor were anticipating a battle. The blood of a western man was always slow to be warmed, God knew, but once stirred, he would fight to the death for what he thought was right.

  Baldwin thought again about the two dead men, his mind casting around for a logical explanation. Who could have wanted them dead? It was a mystery, for both seemed pleasant-enough men. True, fights often broke out among garrison troops who were bored when posted far from the nearest town, that was why modern castles were built with separate quarters for loyal men compared with hirelings: so that arguments among the troops could be contained, and the lord and his loyal men could bar their doors and keep out any fighting. In such cases, the fighting was commonly due to gambling arguments. Perhaps that was what had caused the murders here, too. Somebody could have been in the room with Samuel playing at dice, and an argument might have developed. Whoever it was might have walked from the room into the stores, knocked over the barrels to make a disturbance, and when Samuel followed to find out what was the matter, stabbed him in the back. Ronald could have heard the scuffle and woken, so he too was killed…

  Baldwin frowned. No, that did not feel right. There were too many little details which niggled at him. Such as, when the barrels were knocked over, why had Baldwin himself not heard it? Any soldier would know to put a hand over his victim’s mouth when stabbing him in the back—that would be common sense to prevent any hue and cry—but the row of the barrels falling must surely have been loud. Why was it not heard in the hall above? Baldwin and Edgar were both light sleepers after so many years of living as travellers and soldiers, and any such sudden noise during the night must have awakened them.

  No, such a row could not have happened while they were asleep; it must have occurred while they were outside the hall. What is more, both bodies were still warm, which meant that the men had died later in the morning, probably while he and Simon were awake and in the yard…With all the noise of the bell and the fire-fighting, nobody would have noticed the dull thud of barrels falling. Nor could it have been connected with a gambling argument. Soldiers would play dice at any time of day, but so early in the morning?

  “There it is!”

  The call from the rider in front woke him from his reverie. Time enough later to go through the details again. Right now, there was a boy to rescue and, if possible, a fight to avoid. Sighing, he felt for his sword and loosened it in the scabbard, praying that there might be no more deaths this day.

  Before them, the camp had an air of calm sleepiness. The little cottages lay dotted with smoke rising from their hearths like a peaceful village, and the lack of a stockade gave it an aura of confidence and stolidity, as if it had no need to fear nature or other men—and indeed, few would attempt to rob a miners’ camp. Anyone so foolhardy as to try would discover how attached a tinner was to his profit. There had been an occasion Baldwin had heard about down in Cornwall, when an abbot had decided to levy his own tax on the metal mined in his lands and had sent a force to demand payment. The abbot had soon learned that under provocation, men can swarm like bees and sting—and he was forced to reduce his demands.

  A few paces away, Sir Ralph was half-expecting Sir William to ride in like a warrior of old, razing the place to the ground in a wild orgy of destruction, horses thundering down the plain, the men reaching out with their swords and lances, slashing and stabbing at all in their path. That was the old way, the chevauchée, the riding out of chivalry.

  But Sir William had learned his warfare among men like these miners and he disdained a mad rush. From what he had heard, his adversaries understood how to site archers, the same as the Welsh, against whom he had struggled with the old King Edward. Back in those days, he and others had been impressed by the skills of their enemies, especially their ability to use the land to funnel horsemen into small areas where the horses could be slowed and their riders pulled down. He had no wish to be tricked like this, nor to lose any lives unnecessarily, especially that of his son.

  Sir William carefully scrutinized the lie of the land. It dropped from here down to the stream, with the little buildings dotted around like pebbles scattered on a board. There was no apparent defense, no barricades or walls behind which archers could hide, just the close-positioned huts. It was these which would offer protection. The alleys and lanes between would allow ropes to be strung to knock riders from the saddle. Men could be lying in wait behind the cottages, ready to spring out
and club or stab. There could be little doubt that the miners already knew that he and his force were here. They must have had a lookout watching from on high. He glanced to either side. To the left was a small cluster of rocks—the ideal site for a guard, commanding a good view all over the land to the east. It would have taken no time to leap down, climb on to a pony and gallop for the camp.

  Sir Ralph and Baldwin joined him. The mercenary jerked his head down toward the vill. “Where do you think they’ll have put him?”

  “I have no idea. He could be in any of those huts.” Sir William suddenly felt exhausted. Slumping in his saddle he turned a tired face to Baldwin. “What do you think, Sir Baldwin?”

  Studying the area, Baldwin did not answer for a moment, then pointed. “There, in the blowing-house. It’s the safest, most secure place. That’s why the three miners were kept hidden there. The storeroom has only the one door and no window. However, the other buildings all around make it hard to get to.”

  “I think you’re right,” the old knight nodded.

  “Let’s go and find out,” said Sir Ralph, his gaze going from one to the other in some confusion. “Why are you waiting?”

  “Because I know this tin-mining bastard,” said Sir William heavily. “He was a soldier with me many years ago in Wales. He’s no knight, maybe, but he was a good warrior nonetheless, and crafty.”

  Simon moved up to their side. “If it’s a trap, he’s baited it well. It’s a tempting morsel he’s put down. May I suggest we draw its teeth before we stand on it?”

  “Speak plainly, man! What do you mean?” asked Sir William tetchily.

  “I’ll go down and try to speak to him. There’s no sense in running in there at full tilt. Like you say, if he’s had any experience of warfare, he’ll have placed his men where we won’t be able to get to them but where they can pour arrows into us. It makes no sense for us to run into that. He’s unlikely to harm me, anyway. I’ve got nothing to do with this and he’s not going to want to upset the warden and the King by hurting me.”