Michael JECKS - A Moorland Hanging

She flashed a look of rage at him at having her desire for solitude rebuffed, but before she could speak her husband gave a small sigh and nodded. When he remained seated and silent, Simon bellowed suddenly for the bottler. The gray-haired man bustled in nervously hopping from foot to foot like a frightened rabbit, and soon John was with them, a sardonic smile fixed to his face. Sir Ralph followed. The knight, Baldwin noticed, looked pensive, as if expecting to be accused of something himself.

John grinned at the assembled group, then sauntered to a bench and straddled it easily, folding his arms and staring at Simon with an eyebrow raised in enquiry. “And what can I do for you today, bailiff?”

“On the day that Peter Bruther died, when you left your father at Thomas Smyth’s hall, you rode straight to the inn, didn’t you?”

“Yes. As you know.”

“Did you meet anyone on the way there?” Simon asked, and Baldwin saw that he did not meet the young squire’s eyes as he asked the question; it seemed as if he was listening intently to the phrasing of the answer and did not want to be diverted by the youth’s expression or gestures.

John reacted well, Baldwin thought. He was startled, that much was obvious from the way he took a sharp breath and shot a glance at his father, but he swiftly recovered and eyed Simon thoughtfully. “I might have done,” he said unconcernedly. “I can’t really recall.”

“You can’t recall,” said Simon heavily, then spun round and stared at him. “You’re wasting my time and that of my friend, Beauscyr! You saw Peter Bruther walking back from the inn, didn’t you? We’ve heard about your arrival at the inn already, and about Bruther’s departure. What happened when you saw him?”

The contempt in Simon’s voice sliced through the boy’s arrogance like a hot axe through lard and John recoiled from his anger, a hand rising as if to ward off a blow. “No! I didn’t kill him, and you can’t say I did.”

“What happened on the road that day?” Simon was half up from his chair now, glaring at him, and Sir William made ready to protect his son. It was this which made the boy regain his calm. He saw his father lean forward to lever himself up, and sighed. His face showed his nervousness, but he met Simon’s eyes with resignation. “We did meet Bruther,” he admitted.

The room was suddenly still. Everyone there was listening to John Beauscyr. Baldwin thought Simon looked as intent as a hunter studying his prey. Sir Ralph had a kind of sick fear on his face which added to his pallor; Sir William seemed to have shrunk, staring at his son with the anxious concern of a thief watching the jury deliberate over his guilt; Lady Matillida seemed stunned.

“He was walking back from the inn, cocksure as a young rooster, and just as arrogant.” He sneered at the memory. “We rode along without noticing him at first, but as we came close, he gave a sort of laugh, and that made me look up and I saw who it was.”

“He was alone?” said Simon, and the boy shook his head.

“Oh no, bailiff. He had some of his miner friends with him, otherwise we might have killed him ourselves. It would have been easy if he had been alone. But sorry to say, he wasn’t.”

“Did you see the men who were with him? Can you give me names?”

“No. I don’t normally associate with such vagabonds.”

“Sir Ralph? Can you confirm this?”

Baldwin glanced at the knight as Simon asked the question. Sir Ralph nodded. “Yes. It was embarrassing to have to submit again to his mocking, but we had little choice. We could have attacked, for we were on horseback and they were on foot, but we were not on fighting horses. My little mare would have been no good – at the first blow she would have shied and they could have pulled me from her while I tried to control her. If I had been on my warhorse I would not have hesitated.”

“Why? What did they say?”

“They made various comments about us, calling us foreigners and trespassers, telling us we should leave the moors before the tinners threw us off them. And more in a similar vein.”

“And he showed you your rope?” Simon guessed.

The knight nodded. “He did not miss the opportunity to remind me of my humiliation,” he said tightly.

Simon turned back to John. “And then you made your way to the inn?”

“Yes, for the love of God! What do you expect – that we followed them all the way to their camp? We weren’t that foolish,” John jeered, confident he held the upper hand.

“And you stayed there?”

The smile was a little too fixed, Baldwin felt. John was clearly unsettled by that question as well. “Well, of course. Why should we want to leave? It is a pleasant place to while away a few hours.”

“I don’t know why you wanted to leave, John, that’s why I asked. Where did you go when you left the inn? You returned there a long time later – so where had you been?”

All at once the color came back to his face, two red spots of anger flaring high on his cheeks. “So you have been enquiring about me? Asking the roughs in an inn about me as if I were an outlaw? How dare you…”

“Enough! I want to know where you went, and why. And who you saw. Who can confirm where you went and what you did, how long you were there for, and when you went back to meet your master?”

“I will not answer!” He stood, glaring at the bailiff, then made for the door.

“A moment, John!” Simon’s call made the boy halt, but he did not acknowledge the bailiff by word or movement, did not even turn to face him, simply stood as stiff as an oak while Simon spoke forcefully. “You may leave this hall now, John, but you cannot leave this Manor, I tell you that now. If you do, I shall declare you an outlaw and will demand a posse to capture you. I do not know what happened that night, but I do know that you are being obstructive, and that makes me suspicious. You are the only man who does not seem to be able to account for his actions that night, and therefore you are the man most to be suspected. There will be a coroner appointed to hear and record the events surrounding this miner’s death, and he will be a stannary coroner. You know what that means? A jury not only of Devon men, but one with tinners in it will be asked to judge whether they think you could have killed the boy. Think on that! Think on it long and hard, because if you don’t start to answer some of my questions, I’ll have you in irons at Lydford Castle. Now go! I will talk to you again in the morning.”

Without responding, the boy strode from the room, and as he left, Simon looked over at his mother and father. They sat rigid, like statues on a tomb, their faces set into masks of shock and horror. “Sir William, Lady Matillida, I am sorry that it has come to this. Please forgive me, but I can’t betray my duty. If you can, speak to your son and persuade him to tell me the truth.” He stood. Not wishing to be left alone with the parents, Baldwin swiftly rose too and followed his friend.

Matillida stared after them. She could not comprehend the enormity of the straits in which the family found itself. Her head moved from side to side in silent denial of her son’s guilt. It was impossible, incredible, that he could be an object of suspicion. John, her son, always so bright, so honorable… Her thoughts moved on swiftly to the implication of that. John had known of Bruther’s act, running from the Manor and bringing shame and embarrassment on the family, and had plainly heard of the insult offered to his master. If he had then been angered by another humiliation to Sir Ralph, it was possible he could have determined to avenge it and by so doing exorcise the spirit of evil that Bruther had imposed on Beauscyr. He was wild and headstrong, always had been, and surely he was capable of murder.