Michael JECKS - A Moorland Hanging

Out of the corner of his eye Simon saw Baldwin leaving Robert. There was no point, he decided, in carrying on trying to interrogate the squire. John was clearly unworried by his questions. If he was concerned, he had learned how to hide it, the bailiff thought, staring at his openly amused expression.

“Don’t worry, bailiff, I’m sure you’ll find the murderer,” John said, a mocking tone in his voice.

Simon nodded impassively, then walked away and joined Baldwin.

“How was John?” the knight asked, peering over his shoulder at the squire.

“Insufferable, in short. If he’d made it any more obvious he thought I was a fool, I’d have had the right to strike him. As it was, I got the impression he was mocking our attempt to find out who was responsible for Bruther’s death. How about the older Beauscyr?”

“Oh, calm and reasonable for once. He didn’t even lose his temper with me,” Baldwin said, amused by the bitterness in Simon’s voice. “But he has no alibi for that evening. He was out on his own for most of the day.” He explained what Robert had told him, and then Simon summarized his conversation with John.

Finishing, the bailiff said, “So at least John has some sort of witness to the facts. Sir Ralph was with him, so he says. That means that if he can confirm what John told me, I suppose the most suspicious character must be Robert, eh, Baldwin?”

The knight was staring after the brothers. “I suppose so,” he said meditatively. “But I think I would like to confirm John’s words too. Perhaps it would be worthwhile for us to ride to this inn and try their ale.”

“Brother?”

In the blackness of night the soft, low call made Sir Robert spin, his hand gripping his sword. There was a dry chuckle, then a shadow detached itself from the wall near the stables. In the faint light from a sconce he saw that it was his brother. “What do you want?” he hissed.

John’s face was anxious. “Did the bailiff or that damned knight question you as well today?”

“Yes. So what?”

“I think you should be careful, that’s all. The bailiff seems to think you or I could be the murderer.”

Robert felt the strength drain from him. “And?” he said, experiencing a quick stab of fear.

“We may disagree about many things, brother, but this is important. Those miners killed Bruther, there’s no doubt about that in my mind, but it looks as though they’ve either bribed the bailiff – he is responsible for the tinners, after all – or have succeeded in making it look as if it was someone here, at the Manor. We can’t allow that.”

“What do you suggest?”

“This murder – it must have been the same three men who attacked Smalhobbe. What can we do to find them? Thomas Smyth is a devious old devil. I’ve no doubt he’ll have hidden them well enough. Of course, if only we could get hold of one of them, and make him admit what they did to Smalhobbe and Bruther, it would go a long way to showing the bailiff that we’re all innocent.”

“Where could he hide three men, though?” Robert said thoughtfully. “There aren’t that many places on the moors. Unless he hid them in the miners’ camp itself…”

Sir Ralph was keen to leave. The Manor held nothing but danger, and he felt that whatever he did was open to scrutiny. His only option was to get away and carry on with his journey. The enforced delay was making him fretful.

It was just after dark, and up here on the battlements near the gate the countryside seemed to have disappeared, hidden by the relative brightness of the sconces and braziers which lighted the wall and walkway. He wrapped himself up in his cloak and stared glumly to the south. Though his heart was still in the north where he had been born, he knew he had to go, and that as quickly as possible.

Hearing a noise, he peered down. In the courtyard, he could see John, his squire, and Robert, huddled together by the stables. When the door to the hall opened, he saw the brothers quickly retreat into the darkness of the stables, and raised an eyebrow in surprise. Why should they be so surreptitious, he wondered.

In the open doorway he saw the tall knight standing alone, and began to understand the pair’s desire for obscurity. The very sight of the bailiff or his friend was becoming tedious – and worrying. To be so near the coast and escape, and yet cut off here on the moors, was as frustrating as being caught in a siege, and he was nervous of speaking to the knight after his quiet hints earlier that day. Baldwin of Furnshill, he was sure, guessed more than he had let on.

There was a guard in the courtyard, and Baldwin walked down the steps and over to him. Their voices rose to Sir Ralph as a soft murmur in the still night air, and then the guard pointed up to him. Sir Ralph stared down as Baldwin glanced in his direction, and he felt the blood stop in his veins as the knight made his way to the stairs and climbed up to join him.

“Sir Ralph, I’m glad to find you.”

“I was about to go indoors. It is cold up here,” he said, pulling his cloak tighter round his shoulders.

“This will not take long. Come, let’s walk along here a little farther.”

It was impossible to refuse the calm, grave voice, and Sir Ralph soon found himself unwillingly pacing with the knight by his side. All he wanted was peace and solitude so that he could plan his future, not a continuation of the oblique conversation of earlier in the day. To his surprise, Baldwin did not want him to talk.

“I used to serve with an honorable army, you know,” he began. Smiling, he stared out over the hill before the Manor. “I fought in the last battle for Acre, back in 1291. A long time ago now, of course. All I wanted then was a chance to win renown, which is right for a young knight, isn’t it? But afterward I found myself in a position where my allegiances were called into question. It is hard, when you have taken an oath from the most honorable motives, to discover that you have been betrayed. That happened to me.”

Pausing above the main gate, Baldwin sighed. Thinking back and recalling his past had seemed a good idea earlier, but now he could sense Sir Ralph’s nervousness and distrust. When he continued, he spoke wistfully. “It still happens a lot, of course. Men swear loyalty, and then find out that their master is not honorable. And what should a man do then? Go away and find another master? Or wait until he is released from his oath? It is very difficult.”

Listening, Sir Ralph felt trapped. He would like to be able to trust this stranger. There was integrity and understanding in his dark brown eyes, a kindness he usually associated with priests which conspired with his own feelings of loneliness and danger to make him want to blurt out the truth, to share his secret. But he did not dare.

He looked lifeless, pale and sickly in the flickering light. Baldwin stood with his hands resting calmly on the wall as he peered out remembering, as though he was lost in his own thoughts and unaware of Sir Ralph’s presence.

“In any case,” Baldwin continued, “whatever may happen in the north is none of our concern down here. The marches are always in turmoil, and if the Scottish attack, men must defend themselves.” He turned, facing Sir Ralph with an eyebrow raised as he subjected the knight to a dubious stare. “But if a man was to murder, I could not condone that. If I found that a man had murdered, I would have to make sure he was held. And if I thought I knew who had killed this villein Bruther, it would not matter whether he was the son of a serf or a lord, I would hold him in jail until his trial.”

“Do you accuse me of killing the boy? What reason could I have?”

“A good question. I too wonder what reason you could have,” Baldwin said, seeing the tautness of the man’s stance. “But no, I do not accuse you, Sir Ralph. I think you know something of the affair, though, and I would like you to trust me. Perhaps you will, in time.”