A Moorland Hanging aktm-3

by Michael Jecks

  “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.

  25

  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 Br
uther, 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.”

  Baldwin nodded appreciatively and smiled. “And Bruther carried on his way. He arrived at the hall where his father lived, as he always did, but that day was different. That day he knew about Sir William’s past, and he thought Sir William had been told to leave him alone and make sure that his men did too. He was free of any fears about the Beauscyr family and friends. Before it had been because of the security of the guards round him, but not now: now he left the guards at the hall’s doors. Why should he have done that if he did not think he was safe?”

  Simon leaned back and sighed, folding his arms. He took up the tale. “Because, of course, he thought Sir William had already, that morning, been given the threat. He thought he was free of serfdom, because his father had said that after this day he need not be worried about the Beauscyr family. The good knight’s horse was outside the hall, and so Bruther went in. He insulted you in there, didn’t he, Sir William? Feeling safe from you, I imagine he taunted you too, passing comments about you and your son. And then he walked back toward his works, confident he was in no danger.”

  “He was not to know that his father had not yet spoken to Sir William, was he?” said Baldwin. “Thomas Smyth did not return until it was almost dark. It took him some time to get to Bruther’s hut and back, and he arrived a little after you, didn’t he, Sir William?”

  “Yes,” said the older knight. His face was pale, and it was almost as if, Baldwin thought, he would be able to see the stones of the wall through the older man’s parchment – like skin.

  Simon leaned forward, frowning, but Baldwin held up a hand for silence. “Yes, he was there a little after you, but it was a little after your second arrival, wasn’t it? Bruther came into the hall while you were there and… well, let us say you were unhappy about his attitude. When he realized his father was not there, he walked out again, and you were left there brooding on his words. He knew your past and you did not want that to come out, so you went after him, and lay in ambush. There was no need to let him go too far, you had plenty of time. When he appeared, you jumped on him, strangling him with the first thing that came to hand – what was it?”

  “A thong from my saddle. It had been loose for days. I pulled it free when I left my horse up in the rocks and settled to wait for him.”

  “I see. And then you thought it would be a good idea to leave a permanent message to any other villeins who thought escape to the moors might be a good thing – so you carried his body on your horse to Wistman’s, and left him hanging there.”

  “It’s true,” Sir William said quietly, his face terrible in its pallor. “I hauled him to that cursed wood and hanged him, then made my way back. I swear I never knew he was Thomas Smyth’s son. I thought he was interested in Bruther because it would embarrass me.”

  “Will.” Matillida put a hand to his forearm but he shook it off.

  “I did kill him. But the law is on my side. He was my villein, damn him, and he had no right to run away and then taunt me and mine. He was my villein, and I owned him. I tried to persuade him to come back, but he rejected my offers, and then, when he began to insult me… me!.. in Smyth’s hall, and threatened me, telling me to keep my son away from his whore or he would tell of my past, I saw red. I had to do something. I chased after him and ambushed him out on the moor, and then I thought that his body would be the ideal symbol to keep others from trying the same thing. Once I had done that, I rode back as quickly as I could to the miner’s hall and waited for Thomas Smyth to arrive.”

  “The bottler did not even know you had gone out, you were so quick,” said Baldwin.

  “How did you know, then?”

  “You were the only person who was alone and without an alibi.
We had thought you were with Thomas, but he only got back around dark. Samuel and Ronald finished drinking about dusk and were leaving the alehouse, so you must have been at the hall for ages. They had time to ride to their inn, drink, and then leave again and yet we had been told you arrived at Thomas’ hall a little before him. It was only today, when we heard the bottler had left you alone for a long time that we realized. If it was not for that, we might never have guessed.”

  Robert was staring at his father. “But why did you kill him, Father? There was no need to murder him!”

  “Brother, I think there is a lot you need to know about being a strong knight,” sneered John. “A strong knight does as he wishes, and ignores the weak.”

  “Are you that much of a fool?” Sir Ralph strode to his side, quivering in suppressed rage. “Do you really think that’s all there is to being a knight? Have you understood nothing about chivalry? It doesn’t mean stealing and murder. How can you expect your name to live on in honor if all you’re known for is killing and raping? That’s not what a knight is; a knight is the leader of the flock, the enforcer of God’s will.”

  “He may be to you, Sir Ralph,” the boy returned. “You who were always so honest and pure! But not here, not when there are weak serfs to control. You call me a fool, but you deserted your master when he needed you, and…”

  The swinging fist caught the boy on the point of his chin, and his head snapped back under the force of the blow, hitting the wall behind him with a loud smack. He was quickly up again, eyes glittering with animal fury and his knife was in his hand. It scythed upward in a silvery arc, flashing wickedly. Simon watched in startled horror, incapable of moving, as it rose straight toward Sir Ralph’s chest.

  Not so Edgar. As soon as he’d seen Sir Ralph’s hand forming a fist, he’d grasped his sword, ready to intervene. Now, as the dagger rose, he brought his sword down on the boy’s wrist, using the flat of the blade. He was trying to be gentle, but all in the room heard the bone snap as the two met and John was left staring blankly at his loosely dangling hand while his blade tinkled on the stone floor.