Bernard Knight - The Tinner's corpse

The coroner looked from one man to the other. ‘What’s going on between you two? Why are you at loggerheads all the time?’

Acland stayed sullenly silent, but Walter Knapman was only too willing to explain. ‘This upstart is jealous of my position in the Stannaries. Because I have more than twice the number of stream-works and far more tinners labouring for me, his avarice wishes to deny me what my family has built up over these past thirty years.’

Richard de Revelle stroked his pointed beard ruminatively. ‘Why should that make such a violent feud between you?’

‘Because he wants to displace me as the chief tin-master,’ snapped Knapman. ‘He’s bought out a couple of the small independent workings and has tried to persuade me to sell him some of mine. When I refused, he became vicious and abusive.’

Red-faced, Acland denied this hotly and began to push forward towards Knapman, but was restrained by the sergeant. ‘What’s wrong with a fair offer by way of trade?’ he demanded.

‘Nothing — apart from the way you made it,’ snarled Walter, pushing his face aggressively towards the other man’s. ‘And when I refused, no less than three times, maybe you thought to intimidate me, by smashing my sluices and killing one of my best men!’

This started another shouting match between the two tin-masters, and the sheriff motioned the soldiers to pull them apart and lead them back to the main group of jurates, where they stood surrounded by their supporters.

‘This is a waste of time,’ grated de Wolfe. ‘Their petty squabble is none of our concern. I fail to believe that Acland would have a man beheaded just to further his chances of buying another stream-works.’

William de Wrotham, a rather corpulent man in middle age, with a classic Norman haircut — trimmed up to a shelf all round his head — uttered a caution: ‘Don’t underestimate these tinners, Crowner. Passions run high amongst them. They are all jealous of their independence and their status in the Stannary community.’

Geoffrey Fitz-Peters nodded agreement. ‘Competition between them is a matter of honour rather than commerce. If it were not for their belligerence and quick tempers, my new gaol at Lydford would be empty.’

De Wolfe was still unconvinced that a decapitation could be laid at the door of a frustrated business deal. He was quite prepared to include Stephen Acland in any list of suspects, but that applied to most of the population of Devon.

The court clerk was whispering into de Revelle’s ear and pointing up at the sun, seen erratically through gaps in the heavy cloud. ‘It’s long past noon, we must finish our business, as most will want to get on their road home,’ the sheriff announced, and led the way back to their places along the craggy ridge.

De Wolfe and Gwyn went back to the outer line to listen to the final items. After a dispute about labourers’ rates of pay, Walter Knapman again stepped forward and raised the most controversial issue of the day. In an eloquent and increasingly passionate manner, he demanded a halt to the increasing taxes on the tin they produced and, linked to this, repeated their desire for a warden elected by the tinners themselves and not one who was automatically the King’s own representative in the county, the sheriff. With no attempt to defer to Richard de Revelle, who sat as chairman behind him, he pointed out the conflict of interests. ‘How can we press for a stay or even lowering in the crippling coinage we pay to the Crown when the leader of this assembly is the very man who must collect it?’ he demanded in strident tones.

De Revelle glared down at the back of Walter’s head, but the leading tin-master was in full flow, to the accompaniment of shouts of support for him and jeers at the sheriff.

‘Each year, the coinage increases, the cost of wresting tin from the streams increases — but our profit shrinks! We need a strong leader, an advocate to protest to the Royal Council, to the chief ministers, to the King himself. The sheriff cannot continue to have a foot in both camps. He has a divided loyalty. We need someone who knows about tinning, who knows our problems and knows how to solve them.’

The shouting from the back grew louder and the name ‘Knapman, Knapman’ began to be chanted, but then came the first challenge to Walter’s words.

‘And this new leader, the tinner Messiah, no doubt that’s going to be you, Knapman!’

It came from the throat of Stephen Acland, and the half-dozen men around him began yelling for him. This provoked the more numerous Knapman supporters and the yells rose to a crescendo. De Wolfe saw a ground-surge of movement and the tinners thrust reddened faces towards their opponents and began to shove at each other.

As the wily old soldier Gabriel motioned to his few men to move into the crowd, Richard de Revelle stood up in front of his granite throne and threw up his arms, fists clenched. ‘Be still, all of you!’ he screamed.

The sudden shout echoed down the slope and the unruly tinners subsided as quickly as they had become inflamed, turning away from their quarrels to see who had spoken.

As the sheriff glowered around the assembly, John felt a twinge of admiration for him, a sensation foreign to him as his usual feelings for de Revelle were of dislike, distaste and contempt. But now, the little jutting beard and cold eyes had imposed his will on a hundred and more tough men, who fell silent to listen to him.

‘Have a care as to what you say, Knapman!’ the sheriff carried on. ‘I am appointed Lord Warden of the Stannaries by order of the King and his Council. To claim that I should be removed from this office comes dangerously near treason.’

Knapman was not intimidated by this open threat. ‘Sheriff, how do we know what coinage has been fixed by that Council — if any has been fixed at all? You pay a large sum to Winchester as part of the county farm and much of that comes from the tin taxes. But how do we know how much that should be?’

‘And how much of it actually reaches Winchester?’ yelled a voice from the crowd, wisely letting his voice come from behind the shelter of another’s back.

‘Am I being accused of embezzlement, damn you?’ shouted back an infuriated de Revelle.

There were several calls of ‘Yes, yes’, but again the owners of the voices could not be identified, and Gabriel certainly made no effort to grab any culprits.

De Wolfe’s momentary spasm of admiration for the sheriff had faded and his face cracked into a rare grin as the bolder tinners gave vent to their opinion of the sheriff’s honesty.

Then Acland’s voice rose above the cat-calls and shouts. ‘Treason be damned! We tinners equal the woolmen in bringing wealth to Devon and taxes into the King’s coffers. I agree that we need a Warden who will speak for us, fight for us. But it doesn’t have to mean yet more fawning to Walter Knapman. It must be a free election, the choice of a majority of all tinners, through their jurates.’

This started another round of yelling and it was again apparent to the coroner that Knapman would easily win any vote, if it ever came to that. Richard de Revelle was also well aware of who was likely to succeed him if he was ousted, and he marked down Knapman as a serious threat to what he creamed off the coinage fees destined for the iron-bound Treasury chest in Winchester Castle. From this point on, the assembly became disordered and confused, with yells, shouts and hotly-contested arguments all over the rocky arena.

The sheriff’s remonstrations now had little effect and, at a sign from him, Gabriel reluctantly took his men into the throng and half-heartedly began laying about them with their staves. De Revelle watched for a few moments, then, with an angry shrug, got up and walked away. Fitz-Peters and de Wrotham accompanied him to their tethered horses.