Michael JECKS - A Moorland Hanging

“You are right,” said Baldwin, taking a pot from the servant and holding it out to be filled, then placing his hand over the top when it was only half-full. “Thank you. Yes, Simon, you could be right. We know that he was a sore embarrassment to his master, to old Sir William, and to Robert Beauscyr. He was disliked by Thomas Smyth for being a foreigner, and not bowing to the miner’s will, so it is possible he was killed by Smyth…”

“Or by the gang who beat up Smalhobbe,” Simon interjected. “And then there’s that knight too,” he said, pointing with his chin at the tall figure by the stables. “I don’t trust him. He’s too aloof.”

“I know what you mean, but I think I might be able to clear up a few points about him soon. Leave him to me.”

“What about the other brother?”

“Who, John? He’s hardly been here in three years or more. What possible reason could he have for murder?”

“There are many reasons for murder, Baldwin. Maybe he wanted to remove a problem from his father and brother.”

Sir Ralph had just emerged from the stables. He stood staring across at the small group of men, as if undecided, but then strode off to the hall. Baldwin cocked an eyebrow at the bailiff. “Did you see that? I think if I had been alone here, he would have come over to speak to me.”

“Why on earth do you say that?”

“I was looking at his horse just now, and there was a brand-mark on its rump.”

“Really? Well, now so many lords need to hire additional warriors, they often do that, don’t they? Brand the horses, so if they’re stolen they can be found. And it’s not uncommon for a man to say his mount was stolen when he bartered it for money, if he feels his master doesn’t pay enough – and if he knows his lord will replace it for him. And if mercenaries decide to run away before their contract is up, it’s an easy way to find them again. It’s not very pleasant, I know, but many do it. It’s another foreign habit we’ve been lumbered with, and…”

“Simon, please! You must never travel, old friend, you would surely be lynched within a few yards of the coast in any foreign country. What is important is, do you know of any place which brands horses with a capital M?”

“Moretonhampstead?” Simon’s face screwed up as he tried to think of places far away.

Laughing, Baldwin clapped him on the back, spilling much of his beer and making the bailiff give a low growl of disgust. “Simon, you’re priceless as a guide to these parts, but you’re hopeless as a man of the world. Who in that little town would care about hirelings? I’ll give you a hint: try far, far to the north. Near Scotland, where John and Sir Ralph were living.”

Just then, a cry came from the gates. Immediately there was a bustle of men in the yard. The haughty figure of Robert Beauscyr rode in; his brother, grinning broadly, followed with three hounds trailing along behind him.

“While you’re congratulating yourself on how much more knowledgeable than me you are, Baldwin, why don’t you go and speak to Robert?” Simon murmured.

“And I’ll have a word with the other brother. We should try to discover whether they know anything.”

When the knight nodded, the bailiff wandered idly toward the squire, who was rubbing down his horse, while Baldwin followed Robert to the far side of the stables.

Hugh glanced at Edgar. “Are we supposed to go too, do you think?”

The man-at-arms was watching his master. “I don’t think we can help them – we’d probably only get in the way.”

“That’s what I thought.” Hugh belched happily and held out his pot once more to the bottler.

Robert Beauscyr was critically observing a groom remove the saddle and bridle from his horse and making dry comments about the man’s abilities when Baldwin approached. He looked up quickly on hearing the knight’s step, and seemed relieved to see who it was – or who it was not.

“A good ride?” Baldwin asked pleasantly.

“The ride was fine, but the conversation was dull. Very dull.”

Leaning on a trestle, Baldwin crossed his arms comfortably. “It’s very difficult with brothers. You feel you should like them – but sometimes they can be impossible.”

“He’s so superior sometimes – he was never like this before he went off to the north. Then we used to be able to talk about things and enjoy each other’s company, but now it’s ‘Oh, you still do that here…’ or ‘Well, of course, in the north we didn’t have all these luxuries…’ and ‘I suppose living out in the middle of nowhere you have to do this sort of thing, but in decent company…’ It makes me want to knock some sense into him.”

The knight smiled. “You can choose friends, but you’re stuck with your family,” he agreed.

“Not for long, thank God! He leaves soon with Sir Ralph, and I’ll be glad when they’ve gone.”

“Don’t be too hard on him, Robert. He is very young, and he will grow out of it in time. The trouble is, he has been fighting with other men he respects. Once he has won his spurs, he will begin to understand that life is not so straightforward. Right now, all he knows is that he has been tested in battle and has won – or at least hasn’t been killed, but as a knight, he’ll discover that it’s not so easy to be in command. He will have to send men to their deaths, and that is a sobering responsibility.”

Robert glanced at him, and saw the faraway look in his eyes. “You have fought, and led men?” he asked.

Stirring himself, Baldwin gave a wry smile. “Oh yes, my friend. And seen them die. And I was very much like your brother, full of hellfire and gallantry and a constant source of embarrassment and pain to my older brother. He had the responsibility to protect the family and the Manor, while I could go and enjoy my freedom, and I do not think I ever realized how hard his task was. It took the death of a city to show me what real duty meant, and by then it was too late to say anything. I was too far away. Don’t worry, John will calm down. He will improve, and you will be proud and happy to call him your brother again, once he has got the lust for power and money out of his system.”

“If he ever does,” Robert said, throwing a surly glance over his shoulder at his brother. “It’s not as if a knight going to the Continent nowadays returns wealthy, not like the old times when there were estates to be won.”

“There are still some who succeed,” Baldwin said mildly. “I think while he is in the service of Sir Ralph he will be well looked after; that man is very astute.”

“Possibly.”

“Robert.” Baldwin’s tone was reflective. “I know this is annoying to you, but I must ask it: what were you doing on the night Peter Bruther died?”

The man whirled to face him. “Me? I… Do you mean to accuse me?”

Baldwin’s eyes held his in silence, and Sir Robert had to drop his gaze. He frowned and shrugged. “I suppose you’re right. After all, I did have cause to hate him after he ran away and made the family look foolish.” He stared down at his boots. “You already know about that devil’s bastard, Thomas Smyth, and how he demanded that we should pay him money to keep off our lands. That was the afternoon he came to see us. We had the rest of the day to think about it. He made it sound reasonable, said he had a need for more water, and it would cost a lot of money to bring it from the moors. His alternative, he said, was to divert our streams – it would be much cheaper for him that way. But then he said that if we agreed to pay him the difference, he could tell the miners to leave our water alone and get it from farther off. It was sheer blackmail, nothing else.”

“How did your father react?”

“My father’s an old man. Old and tired. In his life he’s fought hard and long in many battles and yet he still has to contend with the likes of Smyth. He thought we had no choice. I… I’m afraid I lost my temper. Bargaining with Smyth was like haggling with a thief for the return of your own purse! That was what made me mad, the way that the thief was going to get what he wanted. I left them to it, I wanted no part of a discussion of that sort, and rode to Chagford, to the tavern.”