Текст книги "A Moorland Hanging"

Автор книги: Michael Jecks

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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

“Please do not let me stop you,” she said with icy politeness, and sat. “I will wait here until you are done, and then I can welcome my husband. In peace.”

Her arrival acted like a tonic on her husband, and Sir William sat more upright in his seat. Glancing at him, Baldwin saw that the old man’s eyes were steady again; they had lost their wavering anxiety. Baldwin coughed lightly, a mild clearing of his throat which made the Beauscyrs turn to him. “If you wish to stay, madam, please take a seat. In the meantime, Sir William, would you mind sending a servant to fetch your son?”

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.

Only one man could shed some light on all this. She looked at Sir Ralph, who was gazing at the door with a perplexed frown. “What did the miners say to you both that night?”

Startled from his reverie, Sir Ralph scratched his head. “They were obscene, lady. Insulting us both, and our parentage. They made some comments about you, and it was that which angered your son most of all.” He stared at her bleakly.

“Did he kill Bruther?” she asked, her voice even, as if enquiring about the weather with no quaver to show her inner turmoil. Though he did not answer, his haunted eyes told her what he thought. She had to swallow hard before standing unsteadily and walking out to the solar.

18

Hugh and Edgar had been waiting at their favorite place down by the kitchen, where they had set the bottler to filling jugs with his best strong ale. When Simon and Baldwin rejoined them, the bottler scurried for more drink. They took their seats at the bench, Simon resting his head in his hands and massaging his temples. When he looked up, he found a pot beside him on the ground, and he took a long draft.

“That’s a bit better,” he sighed and wiped his mouth with his hand. Burping, he glanced at his friend. “So what do you think?”

“Me? If the boy won’t answer, it will go badly for him,” said Baldwin quietly. Instantly their servants set themselves to finding out whom the two were discussing, and Baldwin explained what had happened in the hall. “John is keeping something back,” he concluded.

“From his behavior, it seems clear enough that he has at the very least had a hand in the murder,” Simon told them. “Why else would he go so quiet? But why did he not even invent a story, that’s what puzzles me.”

“What, no alibi?” Edgar set his pot down. “Didn’t he have any kind of explanation to offer?” he asked, surprised.

“No. Nothing at all. He refused to discuss where he had gone.” Simon shook his head, troubled. “It’s not as if he’s a fool. He must know what we’re bound to think. If he makes no effort to show his innocence, there can only be the one assumption.”

“That is strange,” mused Baldwin, so softly that the other three almost missed his words. When they turned to him with mystified faces, he went on: “I mean, it seems odd that John and Sir Ralph should go to the inn for Molly – the same girl whom Bruther apparently wanted. I wonder…” He frowned into the distance.

“What?” asked Simon after a minute, irritated by the pause.

“Hmm? Oh, I was just thinking: if John really wanted to annoy Bruther, surely the best way would have been to say that he was going to bed the miner’s woman. There would be nothing he could do about it, after all. Except maybe… offer a challenge!”

Simon stared at him open-mouthed. “He could have, couldn’t he?”

“It would explain the facts: Sir Ralph and John see the miner, words are exchanged, the squire threatens to go and see Molly, the miner promises a fight if he does, the knight and his man go to the inn, meet the girl, the miner returns in their wake, sees her going with the knight and waits outside. A little later the squire goes out, they agree to fight, meet out on the moors, fight to the death, and…”

“And the boy dies. John takes the body to Wistman’s Wood and hangs it, then…”

“Yes, that’s the trouble, isn’t it?” said Baldwin as Simon faltered.

Hugh stared from one to the other. “Surely that explains it, doesn’t it?”

“No, Hugh,” sighed Baldwin. “It doesn’t. Firstly, John would not be afraid to admit it. The challenge issued in front of the miners would give him witnesses and make it self-defense, clearing him from a charge of murder. Secondly, the whole inn would have been aware that there was going to be a fight. And thirdly…”

Simon leapt in, “And thirdly, since when did men fight to the death with only thin cords to strangle each other?”

Glaring at the ground truculently, Hugh said, “Maybe they fought with knives or swords and you didn’t see his wounds?”

Baldwin glanced at him. “No, Hugh. There was no stab – I would have seen it. Bruther died from the cord round his neck. It bruised, and bruises only appear on a live body. The mark was thin, and the cord which killed cannot have been any thicker. If someone lives, their bruises smudge and diminish with time. The more clear the outline, the more recent the wound; but if someone dies shortly after a blow or, in this case, strangling, then the changes in the marks don’t happen. It is as if they are frozen. I was told it was God’s way of helping us to find how a man died.”

The servant looked amazed. “How can that be?” he frowned. “Are you sure?”

“I have seen many dead men, Hugh,” said Baldwin, and his voice was sober. “Too many, maybe. But I have lived through wars and seen their effects on the victims. That is how I know.”

They were all silent for a moment. Simon could see that his friend was sunk into a gloomy reverie, but could not think of a way of pulling him back. To his relief, Edgar did it for him. The servant contemplated his master quickly, then, with a motion as if of disinterest, said, “So, where did these miners go to?”

Simon suppressed a grin as Baldwin turned distractedly to look at his servant. “Eh?”

“I was just thinking – there were miners with Bruther on his way back from the inn that night, but they can’t have been with him when he died. Where did they go?”

Baldwin mused, “We only have the word of John and Sir Ralph that there were any men there at all.”

“If you’re right,” Hugh broke in suddenly, his face still holding his doubtful scowl, “couldn’t John have offered a fight anyway?”

“What?” sighed Simon, throwing his servant a look of long-suffering exasperation.

“Well, if John agreed to meet Bruther alone and fight, maybe he went out early, before Bruther expected him, and got him by the neck. That would explain it, wouldn’t it?”

Simon stared, then turned to Baldwin. The knight nodded. “If, as you say, John had agreed to fight him, had left for the inn and then sneaked off to ambush Bruther, it would make sense. It could also explain why Sir Ralph would keep his silence, for the knight could feel that blame could attach to him, after the way that Bruther had insulted him before. And he might feel guilt for the behavior of his squire, because it would be bound to reflect poorly on him. But,” he sighed, “I find it hard to believe that Bruther or John would have trusted the other enough to agree to meet alone.”

Edgar poured more ale, then topped up the other pots. Setting the jug down, he said, “One moment. Surely there are no other witnesses to say that there were any miners there, only Sir Ralph and John? What if the whole roadside meeting was an invention? Could it not be that the two came across Bruther, throttled him and hid his body, and then went on to the inn for an alibi? Afterward John slipped out, took the body again and rode over to Wistman’s, where he hanged it?”

“His guards were there – or so Molly said,” Baldwin insisted.

“And yet they must have gone before Bruther was killed.”

“Yes,” said Simon. “Where did they go? And why?”

“And when?” muttered Baldwin.

Hearing a door slam, Simon glanced up to see John and his father standing at the top of the stairs. Sir William half-raised a hand as if to beckon him, but then grimaced and let his hand fall.

“Baldwin,” the bailiff said softly, “unless I am much mistaken, our young friend has been persuaded to give us more information.” He stood, finished his ale and set his pot down, and Baldwin rose to join him. They strode together over the yard to the steps and stood at the bottom, gazing up expectantly.

John’s eyes were downcast, but the flaming color of his face showed more humiliation than anger. It was his father, Baldwin noticed, who wore the cloak of absolute rage, his eyes unblinking in the white face. When he spoke, it was with a strangled voice, as if the very act of speaking was intensely difficult.

“Come with us, please, bailiff. And you too, Sir Baldwin. My son has much to tell you. Much! Come on, you cretin!” This was to John, and as he spoke the old man knocked his son on the back. John looked up and met Simon’s steady gaze. There was no fear there, the bailiff saw, just defiance. Walking jerkily, like a prisoner going to the gallows, John descended the stairs, went past the stables and made for the flight of steps that gave on to the wall. These he climbed with every appearance of infinite tiredness.

Simon was astonished at the sight. He trailed after the boy in a state of confusion, glancing every now and again at the lad’s father, who seemed consumed by his temper. If it was full night, the bailiff thought, Sir William would be incandescent.

Up at the wall, Sir William motioned curtly to the guard, and ordered him to leave them alone. Then he led the way to the barbican. “This is the most private place in the Manor. Anywhere in the hall we could be overheard, and this wastrel has done enough already to bring shame on our house.” He cast a bitter eye over his son. “Tell them.”

John had his hands on the wall, staring out over the land before him with a kind of wonder, as though he had not seen the view before. “We did see Bruther,” he said. “And he was with his friends, like I said. They jeered and catcalled, insulting us both and holding up Sir Ralph’s rope, but we could do nothing against so many, not while we were on our riding horses. We had to swallow our pride and carry on.”

“Tell them the rest! Tell them what sort of son I’ve raised – tell them how you have dishonored my name! Go on! ” As Sir William shouted, the spittle flew from his mouth, and the boy flinched at the white face so close to his own.

“I have been a soldier for years now, up in the north. We never suffered such humiliation there; if a man gave us offense, he died. That was the rule – and why not?” His eyes met Baldwin’s, and challenged him. “That’s the way of a soldier, after all. When we fought for Sir Gilbert, we would think nothing of killing, for that was our duty – until Sir Ralph forgot his honor when he heard about robbing the cardinals. He decided we must leave Sir Gilbert’s service, just when Sir Gilbert needed our help. We had to scurry down here like rats running from a burning house, to our shame. Well, it seemed to me that being insulted by Bruther was as bad. The villeins here have forgotten their duty of service and respect to their betters, that is clear. I was ashamed when we got to the inn that night. Sir Gilbert would not have allowed such rabble to escape unpunished. But Sir Ralph said we should forget it, said we should leave them, leave Bruther, and carry on with our plan to run from the country. I said to him, ‘But they will think they can insult a knight and escape justice!’ but he just gave that dry little smirk of his and said we would be alive, though. Honor means nothing to him!”

“So what did you do?” prompted Simon quietly.

“I had a pot or two of wine, but the air smelled foul to me in there. Everyone was trying to enjoy themselves, but no one took any notice of me. Sir Ralph went off with a girl, and I was alone. I decided to go out and clear my head. It was a still evening, and I wanted to avoid any trouble, like Sir Ralph had told me, so I headed away from the moors and the mines and went off toward Chagford. I don’t know exactly which way I went, but after some time I found myself near a wagon. There was a man on it, and when I ordered him to tell me where I was, he made some comment about fools who should know better than to ride out with no idea where they were. So, I… I hit him. And then I saw his purse. It seemed stupid not to take it, and he had been so insulting, I thought it would teach him…”

“So it was you robbed Wat Meavy!” Simon gasped.

“Is that who it was? I didn’t know. Anyway, yes, it was me. And then I rode back to the inn. I was a little confused in my mind, but I didn’t want anyone to hear about my encounter.”

His father turned from him in disgust. John raised a hand as if to touch his shoulder, but hesitated, then let it drop, his head hanging dejectedly. Baldwin thought he looked as miserable as a whipped hound. “You did not see Bruther again after the meeting on the road?” he asked. John did not look up, merely shook his head.

After a moment, Simon sighed heavily. “Very well. You may go for now.”

“But I…” He looked at his father, who suddenly spun round.

“You heard the bailiff. Go!” he shouted tersely, and with a cowed air, John slowly turned from them and walked to the steps.

“So you see, bailiff,” said Sir William, once his son was out of earshot, “he had nothing to do with the murder. He’s only a thief!” He spat the word contemptuously.

Baldwin contemplated him for a moment. Then, speaking calmly, he said, “There are many men who do foolish things when young, Sir William.” The old knight’s head shot round to stare at him. “I do not say this to offer you unfounded hope. Many learn the pleasure of power while young but grow into honor later. Your son has started badly, but if he joins an honorable company of mercenaries in Italy, he can still redeem himself. Do not be too hard on him.”

The old knight nodded thoughtfully with a strangely suspicious expression that also showed a stirring hope. He turned to Simon. “That depends on you, bailiff. Will my son be held as a robber? Or will you let him carry on to go to Italy?”

Simon did not answer immediately. He was mulling over the boy’s story. It certainly fitted the facts as they knew them… but it left him with the same problem as before: who was the rider heard by Coyt on the moor?

“If you will make good Wat Meavy’s losses, I see no reason why I should trouble myself over the matter. He has not yet reported the affair to me, so if you reach him quickly and refund his stolen money, I may never hear more of it. And if I don’t, there’s little point in my getting involved, is there?” Sir William nodded, relieved. “But I would ask that you don’t tell John yet. Let him suffer his feelings of guilt for a while, because it may make him realize just how serious his behavior has been. Let him stew, and we will talk again about him later.”

Sir William nodded again. Uttering a deep sigh, he walked off in the same direction as his son. Baldwin crossed to his friend’s side, staring after the bent figure of the old knight.

“It is hard to believe that he was once a great and feared man, isn’t it?” he mused.

Simon was faintly surprised at the sympathy in his voice. “Yes,” he agreed. “It’s easy to forget that someone like him was once young and full of fire.”

“Oh, I do not know about that! He was full enough of fire earlier on, when he had just learned what sort of man his son was.”

“Yes – but look at him now.” Their eyes followed the knight as he went to the stairs to his hall. At one point, he stumbled and nearly fell. In the shadows near the stables stood a man-at-arms, and he stepped forward quickly to help the old knight. As he moved into the light, Simon saw it was Samuel Hankyn. Sir William stood suddenly still as if shocked at his own lack of coordination, a man forced to recognize his own old age. Simon felt his heart lurch in sympathy at the sight. Sir William Beauscyr was old and worn down by too many crises – a man who had lived overlong and seen his son turn to dishonor, a man waiting for death. The bailiff turned away from the miserable sight as Hankyn escorted his noble employer to the comfort of his chamber.

“Poor old man.” Simon felt Baldwin’s keen eyes on him even as he spoke.

“Perhaps. I wonder if Bruther would feel the same compassion for his old master, though.”