A Moorland Hanging

by Michael Jecks

  Simon glared at the youngest Beauscyr. “Keep your hand from your sword, squire. I’ll have no more blood on the moors today.”

  “You expect me, me, the son of an honorable knight to accept being accused of common murder? By a miner? By God, you have no right to—”

  “Silence! I have every right, and every duty, to investigate a murder. Stand before us, and keep your hand from your sword. Do I have to remind you that this is a lawful investigation into murder? If you don’t obey I’ll have you arrested and kept at Lydford prison.”

  For a moment, Baldwin thought John was going to argue. He glared fiercely at the bailiff, while he considered his position. Simon was red-faced with fury, his anger simmering, ready to boil up and scald the lad. At last, giving a scornful shrug, the boy strode off to stand beside his brother.

  “John Beauscyr, you were out on the moors that day. Did you see anyone else? Someone who could have been involved in the murder of Peter Bruther?” His rage ebbing, Simon realized he must leave out the boy’s admission of robbery. In the present climate it would be too much to expect the miners to control their ire if they were to discover that John had been involved, on his own admission, in banditry. John spoke shortly about that evening, about the ride to Thomas Smyth’s house and the subsequent journey to the inn. When he talked of the meeting with Bruther on the road, a hush fell, and everyone seemed to be listening intently.

  Baldwin thought he made a good witness, strong, upright, and speaking with a controlled certainty. His very stance implied conviction, his legs a short distance apart, his arms crossed over his chest. He was the image of all knightly virtues.

  Simon carefully took him through the meeting with Bruther, how he and his men had left the young Beauscyr and his knight, jeering at them as they rode on to the inn. “And you saw no one else on the road after you left Bruther?”

  “No, nobody.” Again his flat statement carried no room for any doubt.

  “So, then, it comes to this,” said Simon, speaking loudly now for the benefit of the miners and Beauscyr men ranged all round. “Bruther went home from the inn. At his father’s house his men left him and he carried on alone over the moors. Some time later, Adam Coyt came along the road on his way home, and he heard a rider to the north of him on the moors. He didn’t look to see who it was.” There was a slight lightening of tension in the crowds, even a nervous ripple of laughter as he added dryly, “He thought it might be the Devil or Crockern at that time of night. Now, listen to me, all of you!” He stood and surveyed the watching crowd. “It’s certain that Thomas didn’t order his own son to be murdered. John Beauscyr was with his friend at the inn. His brother was with Alicia Smyth. None of these caused the killing. I don’t yet know who was responsible for Peter Bruther’s killing. But I will find out, and when I do, the man will be arrested and held for trial.”

  There was a shout from the crowd behind him, a voice sneering, “You’re playing at this. Why should you care about a miner? You don’t care about Bruther. All you want is to help your friends the Beauscyrs.”

  “Do you think I’m paid by the Beauscyrs?” Simon roared, his face flushing a dark red. “Do you think I’m held by Sir William’s purse? You might just as well suggest I’m paid by the miners. It was me stopped Sir William from riding out to bring Bruther back, it was me told his sons to leave the miners in peace, it was me who tried to stop this madness. I’ll not have it said I’m a hireling who’ll dishonor my position for bribes.” His furious gaze swept round the men in the crowd, and Baldwin saw with a small grin, quickly covered, that those who caught his eye immediately looked away. No one was keen to risk the bailiff’s wrath.

  Simon calmed himself with an obvious effort. “This affair is sad and unpleasant, but fighting between the miners and the Beauscyr men must stop. There is no point in further loss of life. I don’t want to hear of any more killings. I’ll find the killer of Bruther, just as I’ll find the murderer of Samuel Hankyn and Ronald Taverner. Three men have died, and God only knows how many have been killed—and how many more will die—because of the fight here today. It must stop.” He looked at Sir William and Smyth. “Both of you must settle your differences. I can’t stop you trying to kill each other if that’s what you’re determined to do, but, by God, if I hear that there’s another battle here I’ll get the King to send troops and impose his peace on the moors! Now I’m going, and Sir William, I want you to take your men back to the Manor. I’ll see you there later. Thomas, I expect you to release Sir Robert immediately.”

  Baldwin watched, still seated, as the miner and landlord agreed, and their men began to gather up their weapons. Gradually, the Beauscyr men set off away from the meeting place and up the hill, some collecting horses from those holding them, and mounting. The miners were sullen, staring and muttering among themselves as their enemies slowly departed, a few tending to the wounds of bleeding friends.

  He sighed. There were so many murders nowadays that all too often the killer would escape. A merchant could be stabbed on the roads and the local people might never have seen his attacker, or even if they had, they might not know his name. Sometimes if a man was known and he was caught red-handed, he could avoid justice by running away. After all, if he was never captured he could not be made to pay. It would be down to the local people to pay taxes to the Crown for the breaking of the King’s peace.

  The area was clearing quickly now, men on all sides gathering into small clumps and moving apart, the tinners starting to walk to their huts, the soldiers riding or slouching off. Baldwin watched Simon talking to Robert. The young man was pale and drawn, but Baldwin put that down to fear of his potential father-in-law. That he did not seem to have suffered at the hands of the miners was a relief.

  John mounted his horse, snapped his reins and cantered away, and Baldwin’s eyes followed him until he was a small figure on the horizon. The boy was irritating, certainly, but that did not mean he was a murderer. Even so, he had been out that night, and though there was a witness of sorts in the person of the robbed man toward Chagford, it was possible that John could have killed Bruther earlier, then hurried east to create an alibi. Baldwin did not share Simon’s conviction of John’s innocence.

  That brought Baldwin to thinking about the other men who had been abroad on the moors when Bruther was so brutally murdered. Adam Coyt, for instance. He could have invented the story about a man riding past near the road as night fell. The knight was inclined to believe him, but only from a liking for his type: strong and individualistic, working in a harsh environment to scrape some sort of a living. There was no other reason why he should trust his word.

  Of the Beauscyrs, Sir William had been at the miner’s hall and Robert with Alicia Smyth on the afternoon Bruther died—but there was a period, though Simon had not mentioned it to the crowd, when, according to Alicia, she was away from Robert, between the time she returned home to meeting him again on the road again, later. What was he doing during those lost hours? And then Baldwin’s mind came back to John: always there was John…malevolently spreading rumors and lies for his own amusement, trying to undermine his brother from jealousy over the inheritance.

  Deep in thought, Baldwin strolled back toward the main camp, where his horse was tethered. There were the others, too: Samuel Hankyn and Ronald Taverner. Their deaths were a mystery. The two appeared harmless enough, especially poor young Ronald. It was ridiculous to suggest that they could have been involved in some kind of fatal brawl over a game of dice. The way that Samuel had tried to look after his friend showed how nonsensical that idea was. If there had been a fight there must have been another man there, someone who murdered Samuel first presumably, since he was fit and healthy, and then stabbed poor Ronald while he lay on his bed.

  He glanced at Simon. The bailiff was talking to Hugh now, giving instructions in a clipped monotone which showed how his anger was still bubbling. Hugh knew it too, from the way that he hung his head and listened, not daring to interrupt or argue. It was so u
nlike his usual truculent manner that Baldwin could not help a quick grin as he turned away.

  So who could have been with the two men in the room, he wondered. Perhaps he could get an answer by questioning the guards, those who were out in the early morning, but somehow he doubted it. Something was wrong. There was something he had missed.

  Looking out at the departing force, he saw where the small squares of turf had been trampled; their danger was visible to all now. It was a simple enough trick, he knew, to make horse warfare difficult. Yes, the miner was capable of defending his land. He had displayed the tactical skills of a warrior, and Baldwin recalled Sir William’s words that Thomas Smyth had been a soldier long ago in Wales. Surprise had been essential to Sir William’s success in not losing more of his men. All he had needed to do was divert attention from the miners’ front, making them fearful of heavily mounted troops with lances and spears behind, to allow the knight to charge safely. It was the same as the fire which had diverted attention from the two dead men.

  Suddenly Baldwin’s frown intensified. So that was why the murders had not been heard, he realized—because of the sudden alarm about the fire. The tolling of the fire-bell had drowned all other noises.

  Simon finished giving instructions to Hugh and looked round the camp. The miners were returning to their work and the Beauscyr men had almost disappeared over the brow of the hill, transporting their dead and wounded with them. Nearby was a small pile of bodies, five tinners who had died, and Simon eyed them sourly. For a bailiff to fail in preventing a single murder was bad enough, he knew…but a full-scale battle in the King’s forest was a major event. He would be called to account for this! Sighing, he suddenly felt exhausted. The events of the morning had taken their toll, from fighting the fire to stopping a battle, and all he wanted now was a chance to sit meditatively and drink a long refreshing draft of ale. Seeing Baldwin, he stretched, and grimaced as a bone clicked. Then he strolled over to him.

  “So, Baldwin. At least that’s over for now,” he murmured, and Baldwin’s head snapped round. “Baldwin? What is it?”

  The knight explained about his new insight about the two dead men and the attention-distracting fire. Simon listened, but could not help glancing at the small and pathetic bundles of the dead. “I know,” said Baldwin, following his gaze, “but that’s the way of warfare. I feel the fate of Samuel and Ronald is worse, somehow. Their deaths were premeditated, and they were killed before they could defend themselves—just like Peter Bruther. He was grabbed from behind and garotted, while Samuel was stabbed in the back and Ronald was slaughtered while he lay helpless in his bed.”

  “If what you say is right,” Simon mused, “the killer must have begun the fire, then slipped into the room to murder Hankyn and Taverner.”

  “Yes, but I still cannot understand why he should have enticed Samuel into the storeroom. At that time of day, surely he would have found both asleep—in which case, all he needed to do was stab Samuel first where he lay.”

  “Oh, that’s easy. Whoever this killer was, I think he started the fire, then entered the storeroom from the courtyard itself. He waited there until the alarm was raised, and when it was, he kicked over the barrels to make a noise. It woke the good Samuel, who walked in to see what the row was, and he was grabbed round the mouth to stop him screaming as he was stabbed. After that, all the murderer needed to do was walk back into the room beyond and finish off poor Ronald where he lay.”

  “Yes, but why, Simon? That’s what I don’t understand. Why kill them?”

  “That’s something we can only find out by asking the killer, but I expect whoever did it thought the two men had seen him on the moors when Bruther died. It would explain the matter rather well, wouldn’t it? He thought they had seen him, so he made sure they could not tell anyone.”

  “If that is correct,” Baldwin said, his voice low,

  “then it must have been somebody in the fort. The fire began before the gates were opened. Adam Coyt, Thomas Smyth and his men…everyone who was outside the fort must be innocent. Whoever killed Bruther and then the other two must have been inside last night.”

  “Oh yes, Baldwin. I’ve got no doubt about that,” said Simon grimly, and he led the way to where Hugh and Edgar held their horses.

  Quickly swinging himself up, the bailiff glanced round the camp. Almost all the signs of the fighting were gone now. The bodies, the evidence of the battle, had been covered and would soon, no doubt, be taken to the little church at Widecombe. Two men were shovelling earth into the traps and stamping on top to level the ground, while others were walking over the terrain collecting arrows. These would be put back in the armory in case of another attack. Apart from that, the camp had regained a little of its calm atmosphere, slumbering in the warm summer sunlight.

  Kicking his horse up the slope, Simon said, “It’s as if nothing has happened here, it’s so quiet.”

  The knight nodded in agreement. “Indeed. You could hardly imagine what carnage was here only a few hours ago. The grass is flatter, but that is all. The moors seem good at hiding their secrets.”

  “Yes. Whether it’s a single man like Bruther, or a group like the ones here, all soon disappear.”

  They were at the farthest fringe of buildings now, and Hugh looked back pensively. “I wonder where Bruther did die.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Baldwin, staring at Simon’s servant.

  “Well, we don’t know where he died, do we? He might’ve been killed where he was found, only it seems a bit odd for him to be up at Wistman’s Wood, so far out of his way. All we know is, he died somewhere between Thomas Smyth’s hall and his own place.”

  “Well done, Hugh. So all we have to do is hunt over all the moors between those two places and we’ll find where he was killed. That should be easy enough.” Simon’s tone was witheringly sarcastic.

  But Baldwin was thoughtful as he stared at the servant. “It shouldn’t be too hard, really. After all, we know that Bruther was careful and wary. If he was walking over the moors and heard someone behind him, he’d turn to see who it was. And if somebody was lying in wait, Bruther must surely spot him. These moors are so flat, even a beetle is visible a mile away.”

  They were almost at the top of the hill above the plain now, and Baldwin turned to survey the landscape. “If a man was going to ambush someone, he would want to do it far out in the moors, surely? Even if he had men with him, he would prefer a quiet place with no chance of a witness overhearing, wouldn’t he? Now where could a man do that on the moors?”

  “At a tor, I suppose. Or a group of other rocks.”

  “That is right! There are rocks behind which a man could hide, but would John have been able to get to them to ambush Bruther, unseen by his victim?”

  Simon considered a moment. “It would depend on which route he took from the tinner’s house. The killer must have been in place when Bruther passed, then gone on to Wistman’s Wood with the body, had time to hang it, and then escaped. I wonder how long that would have taken him?”

  “A good while,” Baldwin judged. “And that is what I do not understand. Everyone seems to be able to explain where they were, apart from Sir Robert and his brother. Of course, John might not have had time if he rode immediately to Chagford to rob this farmer.”

  “Which means it was Sir Robert.”

  “Yes.” But Baldwin’s expression was doubtful.

  Simon sighed. “We still don’t know where or exactly when Bruther was killed. It must have been some time before dark.” He stopped. When he spoke again he was deep in thought. “I never thought of that before. He was dead some time before the two Beauscyr men passed by, so he would surely have been killed in daylight.”

  “Let us assume he was killed in daylight, then,” Baldwin said. “His body must have been carried over to the woods, because if he was going straight home, his route went nowhere near Wistman’s Wood. The wood is over a mile distant from any point on the path, so he must have been taken there on h
orseback. He would have been too bulky to carry.”

  “Yes,” Simon nodded, thinking hard.

  “If John had too little time, could it have been his brother?” Baldwin mused.

  “Didn’t Alicia say she met Sir Robert when it was getting dark? He would have had time to kill Bruther between leaving Alicia and seeing her again later.”

  “True, but I find it hard to believe it was him.”

  Hearing this, Edgar whirled in his saddle to stare at his master. “Could it not have been Adam Coyt, then? He had a packhorse there.”

  For once Baldwin was sharp with his servant. “Don’t be ridiculous! Coyt admitted being there, otherwise we would not have known. Why should he confess to being there if he was the killer and had no need to admit to being even remotely close? And another thing: Coyt dislikes miners generally, it is true, but he had no real dislike of Bruther except insofar as Bruther damaged the moors, to his mind, and for that he expected…um…Crockern to protect the land. Anyway, Coyt was not in the Manor last night. He could not have killed the other two.”

  Simon shrugged. “The murders could be unrelated. It’s not something we should ignore, anyway.”

  “It is too unlikely, Simon. Think about it: a man is killed; two men find the body and may have seen something; shortly afterward, these two are also murdered. It would be too much of a coincidence for them to have died for different reasons. No, they must have been linked in some way.”

  “So you think it was definitely one of the Beauscyrs, then?”

  “Yes.”

  Hugh screwed up his face and glanced at Simon.

  “What about Sir Ralph? We don’t know when Bruther was killed, like you say, so Sir Ralph could have done it.”

  “No, Hugh. He was with Sir William and John on the way to the tinner’s house. They all said they were together then, and I believe them.”

  “Then it must have been the other one,” announced Hugh. “I never trusted that Sir Robert. He always looked too arrogant.”