Michael JECKS - A Moorland Hanging

“Did you go near Bruther’s place?”

He did not hesitate. “Yes. In the afternoon I went past Bruther’s holding. But I didn’t see him, nor anyone else nearby.”

“When did you get back?”

“A little after dark. I was furious. It took me that long to calm myself. The thought that my father was giving away my birthright, first in letting that villein get away, and then in paying off the miners – well, it was better that I was away for a while, that was all.”

“How did John react to the miner’s offer?”

“How should he react? When he heard about it he was amused. It’s my estate, not his, when my father dies. To him, anything that reduces the Manor makes me look foolish, and that appeals to him.” His voice was bitter.

“You say you saw no one near Bruther’s place. What about elsewhere?”

Frowning, Robert thought for a minute. “I saw Adam Coyt, a moorman, north of Crockern Tor in the afternoon. He was cutting peat, I think. Apart from him I saw no one except miners.”

“Where? And at what time of the day?”

“They were heading north, a little after I saw Coyt, walking up to the road.”

“How many were there?” asked Baldwin, trying to keep his voice casual to hide his sudden tension.

“Three. They were making their way up from their camp to the moors. They weren’t far from Coyt at the time.”

“I see.” Baldwin nodded, considering. There was something shifty about Sir Robert’s manner, he thought. He asked casually, “And you were alone all this time?”

“Oh, yes. All the time.”

And Baldwin knew he was lying.

Seeing Simon walk toward him, John’s smile broadened. He stood with his hands in his belt, waiting for him. “So, bailiff, have you found the men who killed poor Peter yet?” he said cheerily.

Simon regarded him sourly. The youth’s hectoring manner was as annoying as his older brother’s. “Not yet, but we will,” he said sourly.

“Yes?” His eyes drifted off to where Baldwin was talking to Robert. “And you will do it by talking to us individually, I suppose. Is that so we cannot concoct a story between us? If so, you’re too late; we’ve just been completely alone for some time – since Sir Ralph became bored, I think, with our conversation. Ah well. What can I do for you, anyway?”

“Peter Bruther was surely killed for a reason. Who could have hated him enough to want to hang him?”

“A good question. I suppose you already know the obvious ones: Thomas Smyth and his merry men, my father, and, of course, my brother. It’s for you to take your choice between them.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” For a split second Simon could see his surprise. “But… ah, bailiff, I think you’re playing games. What reason could I have? It’s not as if I stand to gain anything from Bruther’s death. He was an annoyance to the family, but that’s none of my concern now. The whole estate will go to Robert, and I have no wish to help him by removing obstacles to his happiness. Why should I?”

“You really are angry about Robert inheriting the Manor, aren’t you?”

“You are most observant, bailiff,” John said dryly. Then his lip curled, and when he continued his voice was scornful. “My beloved brother is a clerk. He is good with books and accounts, which is, I suppose, what the place needs for most of the time, but for the rest it needs a strong grip. He’s not capable of providing that; I am.”

“To keep the peasants under control?”

“There is that,” he nodded. “With trailbaston becoming a serious problem, with outlaws attacking outlying places, it’s time we got hard on the people who foment discord. They are prepared to upset the balance of the kingdom, and they must be destroyed.”

Simon watched him. He was smiling as he pronounced his cures for the nation as if there was a joke the bailiff could not understand. “So you think all outlaws should be hunted down and killed,” he said.

“Oh yes, bailiff. Anyone who wishes to create disharmony: common peasants who become outlaws, thieves, cut-purses, draw-latches, brewers who water down their ale, tinners who mix impurities with their metal… and men who cannot keep their estates in order. All need the rope, don’t you think?”

“Including knights?”

“Oh, no.” Now his expression became serious. “You can’t lump a well-born knight into the same category as the rest. A knight is the holder of all the prime virtues, no matter what. He is the highest order of the land, fighting for what is good. After all, of the three levels in society, the knights, the clergy and the people, it is the knights who are the most important; for they are the men who must keep order.”

“Many would say that the clergy should be the highest order.”

“They can give direction, but little more. The crusades proved that; the bishops and their men showed that we should take back the Holy Land, but could they have taken it without the knights? Of course not.”

“But,” Simon’s Christian soul was aghast, “it was the knights who lost the Holy Land, by consorting with the heathens there! If they’d…”

“If they had not been misled by others, you mean. The Pope and his bishops began to fall into bad habits, didn’t they? The Popes have been too interested in their own wealth for too long. Look at Boniface, and all the rumors about him being a Devil – worshipper and a sodomist. It is no wonder that God decided the Holy Land should be taken from us after all that.”

“That has nothing to do with it! Boniface was not Pope until years after the Fall of Acre!”

“And you think he was the first to be so debauched and heretical? No, it has been going on for years. And the knights have always been pure, because a knight’s only duty is to look for honor and glory in battle. Courtesy, honor, largesse… these are the main principles by which a knight must live. All a bishop need do is profess a love of God to increase his wealth a hundredfold; as soon as he’s considered a holy man people will flock like sheep to give him their money.”

“You have a very cynical view of the world, John.”

“Perhaps. But at least I will not be disappointed by it. I’ve seen too much already to trust anyone or anything more than I trust myself and my sword.”

“If you feel this way, do you think a runaway villein is of no importance compared to a knight, and should be punished for bringing shame to a knight’s family?”

“Very good, bailiff!” he said delightedly. “So you bring us back to the point at the same time as suggesting I have a motive to murder him. But no, I fear you must look elsewhere. I would not trouble myself over someone who was a cause of pain to my brother. Why should I? Bruther was merely a thorn in Robert’s flesh, and as such he gave me pleasure.”

“Even so, where were you on the day Bruther was murdered?”

“Ha! I wondered how long it would take you to get back to that. Well, now. I was here almost all day, with Sir Ralph and my mother or father. I saw, for example, the row between Robert and Thomas Smyth – so embarrassing to see one’s elder brother running out of a meeting like a whipped brat. After the evening meal I joined my father to ride over to Smyth’s place. Sir Ralph came too. My father paid the tinner the money he demanded, by the way. Shocking, I know, but there it is.”

“And you stayed with your father?”

John stifled a yawn. “No. Sir Ralph and I did not want to get involved in such a sordid matter. We left my father there and went to the inn – the Fighting Cock. It was some time later that we returned home.”

“And which way did you come back?”

“We didn’t come past Bruther’s place, if that’s what you mean, bailiff. We came straight home again.” He smiled, waiting for the next question.