Michael JECKS - A Moorland Hanging

Back at Beauscyr, Simon and Baldwin sat on chairs close to the unlit fire. Sir William was not there yet. John, anxiously tossing a dagger in the air and catching it, stood near them and looked disapprovingly at Edgar as he lazily leaned against a pillar. Sir Ralph was there too, standing with his back to a wall, arms crossed negligently. For all his appearance of indolence, Baldwin could see the watchfulness flickering in his eyes. Both looked surprised to see Thomas Smyth enter after the others.

Some moments later, Sir Robert Beauscyr and his mother entered. As always, Lady Matillida swept in regally, ignoring her guests as she walked lightly to the table on the dais and seated herself at her chair. After a moment’s thought, her elder son followed, sitting at her side and staring at Simon. At last the door was thrown open and in walked Sir William.

To Simon he seemed to have regained his youth. He marched in with one hand resting on his sword hilt as he moved to his wife’s side. There he touched her shoulder briefly, then sat down, leaning forward on his elbows. Acknowledging Thomas Smyth, who stood tensely behind Simon, the old knight confronted Baldwin and Simon.

“Well, what do you have to report? I want an enquiry into the affairs of the miners. That is crucial now, after their taking of my son.”

“Sir William, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” said Simon gently.

“Why not?” cried Robert, leaping to his feet and staring at the bailiff. Simon sighed, but stiffened as the boy continued, “I suppose they offered you too much money to refuse, did they? Do you have any idea what it is like, to be taken like a common felon? To be dragged away like that, and…”

“Yes,” mused Baldwin. “It must be difficult for someone to be carried off like that. I mean, a merchant might be able to forget it in time, but a noble knight? Someone who wants to impose his will on his demesne? That must be very hard.” And he smiled winningly at the youth.

Robert opened his mouth to speak, but then caught sight of the dangerous glint in Baldwin’s eye, and suddenly snapped it shut. There was something about the knight which had changed over the last few hours, he saw. All diffidence and softness had fled, leaving in their place a strange harshness. It was as if he had made a decision and intended to carry it through, no matter what.

“Yes,” Baldwin said again, standing and strolling toward Sir Ralph. “It would be difficult for a knight to take such an embarrassment, wouldn’t it?” The northern knight’s eyes met his for a moment, then he looked away. Not from nervousness, Baldwin could see, but from a kind of ennui.

“What is all this about, Sir Baldwin? You may feel that this is a good time to insult your hosts, but I do not find your attitude at all impressive, let alone amusing.” Lady Beauscyr was white-faced, but whether from anger or fear he could not tell.

“Very well, lady. My apologies for upsetting you, but I am afraid there is nothing else for it.” He remained beside Sir Ralph, but now his gaze was fixed on Thomas, as if he was explaining the whole matter to the tinner, and the others in the room were merely an audience to the drama.

“These murders have been confusing. At first, when it was only Bruther, there seemed no end of people who wanted to kill him and who could have done it. Another miner – we wondered about you yourself – perhaps even a moorman. And many could have benefited from his death.

“But when the two men-at-arms died, it became clear that the killer must be someone from inside the Manor. The gate is closed and barred at night, and it is too much to think that an assassin could enter. No, the killer was inside.

“At first we thought it had to be Sir Ralph. He came down from the north, where killing is commonplace and the coroners have a hard time keeping track of the dead. Would it be so surprising if he was involved? But he was with a woman that night, at the inn. Unless she and the others there were lying, he was never away for long enough.”

The tinner nodded, watching as Baldwin ambled to John, who stood with his eyes downcast, flicking his dagger up and down. “And John?” Baldwin said, contemplating the boy with his arms crossed. “He was a problem, too. He was with Sir Ralph all the way to the inn, but once there, he left. Of course there was his brother, too, we thought. Robert, who ran from the hall that day and spent it riding over the moors. But we find that he was with his lover almost all the time, and certainly when Bruther was killed. It was not him.”

Simon observed John, who had slowed his knife-throwing and had now stopped. The boy’s jaw jutted aggressively, and his voice was dangerously low as he said, “Are you accusing me of the murder, Sir Baldwin?”

The knight surveyed him silently for a minute. Simon answered for him. “No. And for several reasons. For one, we can’t believe you could have ridden from Wistman’s Wood to Chagford in time. Bruther was at the inn just before you, and you saw him on the road. He had men with him, so you could not have killed him then – there were too many witnesses. After your slanging contest, you carried on to the inn and stayed there for a while before riding off. To have gone to Wistman’s and killed Bruther, then hanged him, and made your way to Chagford would have been impossible. Oh, and there’s another thing in your favor: you thought Bruther had a load of men with him. You weren’t to know he left them at his father’s hall. No, you didn’t do it.”

Robert rose, stuttering in his astonishment. “Are… are you suggesting it was me?”

Sir Ralph glanced anxiously at Baldwin as he said, “No. You did not kill Bruther. You were with Alicia, like you said. And from what she has told us, you could not have had time. You left her late, she says, and I believe her.

“No, whoever did commit the murder had to have had a great hatred for Bruther, and reason to think he would profit by the young miner’s death – or perhaps that his family would profit, I do not know which. In any case, as far as I can tell, this is what happened:

“Bruther was drinking at the inn that night. He went there as often as possible to meet the girl he loved. It was sad that she was the one he chose, for she could not keep herself for one man. Even when she heard of Bruther’s death, she was only sad for herself, saying that he was one of the few who seemed to want her seriously. All others only wanted their brief pleasures of her. Anyway, he left to return home, and on the way he met you, John, and taunted you. I expect he insulted you and your master. Did he dangle the rope in front of you? And then, I daresay, he started talking about your father, how Sir William had been a hell-raiser in his youth, and your father was no better than any common outlaw. He told you about a certain convent in Wales where your father had besmirched the family name, or so I would guess. And you replied in kind, saying you were going to have your fun with his woman.”

Thomas Smyth groaned in understanding. The events fitted together as neatly as a bolt on a crossbow as Simon took up the story. “You carried on, but you were furious with him, weren’t you? Angry to hear about your father’s past, and mad to think the bugger could get away with humiliating you,” he said, looking at John. “You knew Bruther was probably right, your father had been involved in the sack of the nunnery in his youth, and you decided you might as well use his example to help you get money, especially after Sir William had declared that you were low in his esteem after news of your doings in the north. That was why you were so angry when you attacked Meavy, and why you muttered about your father as you stole the poor man’s purse. You knew Sir William had done worse when he’d been young. Much, much worse.”