Michael JECKS - A Moorland Hanging

“Why did you tell him all this now? You have kept it hidden for years, so why bring it up now, so long afterward?”

“I wanted my son to take on more responsibility for the mines. I didn’t tell Sir William he was my son, of course. I just let him know that I wanted young Bruther to be able to live free of attack. And I told him that if there was an attack on Peter, I would revenge him by telling my story. After all, the situation was different now. Before, I had been a worthless crossbowman, whose word could be doubted. Now, I was a powerful man in the area, with money and men to back up my words. He knew he could not deny it, and he went white with anger.”

Baldwin’s face was serious. “I see. And that was why you thought Peter did not need his guards anymore?”

“It was nothing to do with me. If I’d been here, I’d have made sure he kept the men with him. But he felt safe, I assume,” said Thomas Smyth, sighing sadly and staring down. “I’d told him the whole story the day before – and that I was going to confront Sir William. I thought then it could be useful for him to know what sort of a man Sir William was, but I’d no idea he’d leave his guard behind that night.”

“I presume he felt he would be safe since you had told Sir William what you knew about him,” said Simon.

“Perhaps,” said the tinner sadly. “It’s all the same now, anyway. My Peter is dead.”

“There is one thing I still do not understand,” said Baldwin gently. “You say that Peter came past here and his guards left him here before he made his way back over the moors, but why should he come past here in the first place? It surely is not on his way back to his hut – that would take him over the moors from the inn. Was it only to leave the men that he came over here?”

“He usually came this way on his journeys back from the inn. The path from here is safer, with fewer bogs.”

“But you did not see him?”

“No. I was out with George that afternoon, over at the encampment, then up at Peter’s hut.”

“And Sir William was here when you returned?”

“Yes.”

“I see. Very well!” Baldwin slapped his hands together decisively. “In that case, I think we can leave you alone now. I am sorry to have had to ask you about these matters which are, I am sure, painful to remember, but you have cleared some points.”

“Good,” said the tinner with frank astonishment. “But I don’t see how.”

“It is nothing much, just some things I was unsure of. For now, good day to you.”

As he shook himself and tugged his hose back into place, Hugh noticed the old bottler glaring at him a short way off and emptying a bucket into the drain. Hugh gave him an apologetic grimace as the old man said, casting an offended eye over the damp patch on the wall: “It’s not a privy, you know.”

Hugh felt his embarrassment mount. “I’m sorry, I thought…”

“I suppose it’s too far for a bailiff’s servant to walk another six yards to the drain?”

“Look – I didn’t think it’d matter…”

“Matter!” The bottler’s tired old eyes stared at Hugh with distaste, then back at the stain. Shaking his head, he turned away. Hugh scampered to walk with him, feeling guilt at causing his disgust. In the face of his mumbled apologies the servant unbent a little, and by the time they reached the hall door, he was almost sorry for his words. “Forget it. We’re all on edge here, since Bruther got killed. Our master has not been himself since then, and now there are all these wounded men too.”

Hugh nodded. From the doorway, they could clearly hear the cries and calls from within the hall, and Hugh hesitated before entering. “They’re all in there?”

“Yes,” the old bottler sighed. “First poor Bruther, and now this.”

“This was because of Bruther, you know. Your master wanted to catch his killer.”

“Bruther’s dead. It’s unfair to blame him for all this, even if it was done in his name,” the bottler said with asperity. He could see the trepidation on Hugh’s face and took sympathy. “Come here into the buttery and have some ale,” he said more kindly.

Recognizing the olive branch, Hugh traipsed after him. In the room with the casks and boxes he sat on a wine barrel while the older man rested carefully on an old stool, settling slowly with a grunt before filling two pewter pots with ale. He paused at a high shriek from the hall, and Hugh stiffened, but then took the proffered drink gratefully and drank deeply.

Nodding toward the door, the bottler said, “There’s a surgeon and his assistants in there. They don’t need you or me to get in their way.”

“You knew Bruther?” Hugh asked, trying to change the subject.

“Yes. He was a good young man to me, very polite, and always had time to share a quart of ale.”

“It’s very good,” Hugh nodded, and the bottler refreshed his pot.

“Bruther always said so. Mind, he liked his drink anyway. It never mattered much what sort it was, but he did say mine was the best ale in Dartmoor.” There was no need for Hugh to speak. The old man wanted company, not talk, and they sat quietly for some minutes. Stirring, the bottler continued, “He was brave, too. Did you hear about him and that knight? He didn’t just send the fool on his way, he took the rope too.”

Frowning, Hugh glanced up at him. “Where did you hear that?”

“He told me, when he came here the day he died. Not for long, he was hoping to see my master, but Thomas was at the camp. Still, he shared a cup or two of ale with me, while his old master bellowed for more wine in the hall.”

“Sir William was here too?”

“Yes. The old bastard was stomping round the hall in a high old mood at being kept waiting for my master. When he wasn’t howling for wine he was cursing and muttering enough to raise the dead. Bruther thought it was funny.”

“Did they speak to each other?”

“No, of course not. Bruther stayed out here with me until he left.”

“So he never went into the hall?”

“Not that I saw. Mind, I wasn’t here all the time.”

“Eh?”

“I had to go out. There was a problem with the fire in the kitchen and I went to help the cook.”

“You left Bruther here?”

“Only long enough to finish his ale. He came and gave me his farewell in the kitchen. Poor devil. He seemed happy again.”

“He was happier when he left than when he arrived?” Hugh asked carefully.

“Yes. He was in a miserable state when he got here, something about a girl, I think. But he always had said that my ale cooled his brain and settled his temper. After a few pints he was happy enough. I watched him go. He turned and waved, down there by the fields near the stream, really cheerful, he was, the rope coiled over his shoulder.”

“But Sir William was still here?”

“Oh yes. I saw him when I got back from the kitchen. He was cooler than before. Not as wrathful, thank God! He just asked where I’d been, didn’t even shout at me. Then requested more wine.”

Hugh scratched at a bite on his scalp. “You were away for some time, then?” he hazarded.

“As long as I could be,” the bottler shrugged. “I didn’t want to be there with him shouting at me. I stayed with the cook for a good time, until I heard my master’s horses.”

“Oh,” said Hugh, deflated. “So you would have heard Sir William ride off if he had gone somewhere, if you could hear your master in the yard.”

“Eh?” Shrewd old eyes glanced up quickly. “Why? What are you…? No, I couldn’t. The kitchen’s out back. I heard my master on the road.”

“Would you have heard a man mounting his horse in the yard and riding off if he went over the moors?” Hugh asked slowly and carefully, suddenly feeling a hollowness of expectation in his belly. He did not need to hear the answer.