Текст книги "A Moorland Hanging"

Автор книги: Michael Jecks

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Текущая страница: 22 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

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 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.”

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.

“No more!” Baldwin bellowed, whirling to face the dais. “No more deaths in this accursed Manor! Why did you decide to kill Taverner and Hankyn, Sir William? Was it because they saw you on their way back from the wood that night, and that made you anxious in case they might speak of it?”

Sir William gave another tired nod, his eyes firmly fixed on his youngest son. “Yes,” he admitted heavily. “Samuel saw me, and put two and two together. He told me yesterday. I knew it was only a matter of time before his story got out. They wouldn’t’ve been a problem if it wasn’t for that.”

“So you began a fire to make a diversion,” said Simon incredulously, “then slipped back and stabbed Samuel when he walked into the storeroom, before going over to Taverner’s bed and slaying the sick man while he slept?”

The tired old eyes turned to him, but now there was a degree of contempt in Sir William’s voice. “And what would you have done, master bailiff? Left them to blackmail you? You can be sure that’s what the weasel-faced little devil was planning to do to me. Oh, yes. And, I suppose,” his voice dripped with sarcasm now, “I suppose you would not have raised a finger to protect your name and that of your family?”

To Simon’s surprise, it was Robert who answered. He stared, open-mouthed in his shock. “Of course, Father! Why did they have to die? All you were protecting was yourself, your misdeeds of years ago. There was no need to kill two men who had served you loyally for years. Your honor was false, unreal – so why was it worth three men’s lives? All you managed to do was heap injustice upon dishonor!”

“Shut up, idiot!” Matillida snapped. When she looked at Baldwin, her face was a mask of cold indifference. “Well, Sir Baldwin, this has been very interesting, but not very relevant. It is nearly dark outside, and the gates will be closed already. Tell me, why do you feel we should listen to anymore of this?”

“Because, my lady, Sir William here has committed three murders, and we have to produce evidence of this at the next court at Lydford. I am sorry, but there is nothing we can do about it.”

“But surely,” she said softly, “you do not want to ruin us? Will it profit the men who are dead? There is little proof that my husband has done anything wrong, after all.”

“Lady, he admits it!” said Simon hotly, but she held up her hand.

“No one has yet tried to accuse my husband of anything. We could easily forget this unpleasant affair. We are not so very wealthy, but we can offer land and money to our friends.”

Baldwin stared at her with his brows drawn. “You are suggesting an accommodation?” he said at last, and she nodded. “I see.” He turned to the miner and motioned him forward.

“In that case I should make my opinion plain,” said Thomas heavily. He pointed a shaking finger. “Sir William, I accuse you of the murder of Peter Bruther, of the murder of Samuel Hankyn, and of the murder of Ronald Taverner.”

“I think that says it all,” said Simon calmly. “Sir William, you are under attachment to come with us to Lydford. Lady, I hope that makes our view plain.”

She glared at him with soaring rage, and then opened her mouth to scream for the guards, but before she could speak, Robert put a hand to her shoulder. When she attempted to slap it away, he held her hand. While she stared at him in horror, he said, “Mother, be silent. The knight is right – Father is guilty by his own mouth. I’ll not have more honest men killed to protect the guilty. Sir Baldwin, you have my support.”

His father had a wild fear in his eyes. “Robert? What do you mean? You don’t expect me to go to the castle at Lydford, do you, because I’ll kill anyone who tries to take me there, and I don’t care who it is! The guards in this Manor are…”

“Mine, and when they hear that you are a murderer, who has confessed to killing two of their friends, condemned from your own mouth, they will obey my orders. Do you want me to have you bound to prove it?”

26

Sitting once more in the sun outside Simon’s house at Lydford, watching the villeins working the fields behind the village, Baldwin was relaxed and drowsy. It was a more or less satisfactory end to the enquiry, he felt. Sir William had been held by the court, an event which caused some initial disquiet to the burgesses of the village who would never have expected to keep a knight in the chilly and damp cell under the ground. But they had quickly become used to the idea, and now some relished the depths to which the knight had sunk – metaphorically and physically. Fighting between Beauscyr men and the miners had all but stopped. Now the only recorded fighting was the normal fisticuffs outside the inns and an occasional dispute on the moors about who had bounded a particular parcel of land for mining.

Hearing a shrill scream and the thunder of small feet in the screens behind him, Baldwin smiled and groaned, slowly rising to his feet. In a few moments Simon was with him, his daughter clinging to one arm. “Fetch your poor father some wine, Edith,” he said, carefully depositing her on the grass, and giggling, the eight year old ran back into the house. His eyes followed her slight form until she disappeared, then he slumped into his seat with a contented sigh, casting a baleful eye at his friend. “I trust there is a little wine left?”

Author’s Note

For those readers unfamiliar with my two earlier novels featuring Sir Baldwin Furnshill and Simon Puttock, a quick guide to early fourteenth-century history may be useful.

The late 1200s and early 1300s were years of massive change for Europe’s population. Conflict over the papacy in Rome had led to the Pope moving his court to Avignon in France; thus the French King, Philip IV, became the most powerful man in Christendom, directly influencing God’s vicar on earth.

As proof of the French King’s new authority one need look no further than the “Poor Fellow-Soldiers of Christ and the Temple of Solomon” – the Templar Knights. They had been the leading institution in Europe for almost two hundred years, reporting only to the Pope himself. Considering themselves warriors for God, the monks fought for the defense of the Kingdom of Jerusalem, often recklessly throwing their lives away in battle, so strong was their faith in the Order’s mission to protect Christ’s country from invasion by pagans. These men were knights in their own right, but gave up secular pleasures and personal wealth in order to take the oaths of their monastic order: poverty, chastity and obedience.

The Templars flourished with the Crusades, earning vast sums from their ventures in banking and commerce; indeed they could be described as being the first retail bankers, issuing notes to confirm deposits which could then be redeemed in other countries. Massive estates were given to them by supporters, providing rich sources of income to help maintain their army. By the end of the 1200s the Templars were a force to be reckoned with.

However, Philip IV was in dire need of funds. In 1306 he moved against a rich but disliked and unprotected group. In one day, every Jew in France was arrested. All their records and assets were seized and auctioned to the benefit of the Crown. Meanwhile, Jewish citizens were thrown out of the kingdom with nothing. Conveniently, all notes confirming royal debts to the Jews were destroyed, though monies owed by subjects were now payable to the King – and he required prompt payment. All in all, this proved a thoroughly successful venture, and soon Philip began to cast around for other similarly wealthy groups to fleece.

The Templars were hardly an easy target, but they were certainly rich – although as a religious Order, they were protected by the Pope. How could the King gain access to their money while the Pope was nominally responsible for them?

Fortunately, Pope Clement V was a man with a thoroughly modern attitude. He was absolutely committed to his own wealth. Usefully, he was also close to hand, now that he lived in France. Still, even he would have balked at the idea of robbing the Templars, so the King moved without telling him.

The Templars’ fate was really sealed earlier, in 1291, when the last significant holding in Palestine was captured, because their whole reason for existence disappeared with it. Acre was the sole remaining possession of the old Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem. It was attacked in April 1291, and on May 28 it fell under the massive Muslim onslaught. With it died the hopes of the whole of Christendom for the old Kingdom. Much of the respect for the Templars died at this time, too. Other Orders were similarly held in some disdain after the fall of Acre, but only the Templars had their headquarters in France, and this was their downfall.

On Friday, October 13, 1307 – a date which has given us the popular superstition – every member of the Order in France was arrested. Many wild conspiracy theories have been proposed about their destruction, but only one fact is absolute and inescapable: beforehand the Templars were wealthy; afterward their wealth disappeared. Philip was the prime mover in accusing them of various crimes, at a time when he sorely needed money. The Pope soon came round to agreeing to the charges pressed by the King. It seems likely that Clement V enjoyed some financial benefit from the Order’s destruction, and this helped him to believe the allegations.

The Order was disbanded. Some of the knights were already dead. Others, especially the more prominent, were burned publicly. Of the rest, many were allowed to disappear into monasteries, a few faded away and joined the Teutonic Knights or the Knights Hospitaller, or one of the other Orders fighting pagans at the fringes of Christianity.

In England and Scotland there was never much faith in the accusations against the Templars. The English King, Edward II, trusted them, for they had helped his father in battles against the Scots and their Master had died in the war against William Wallace. When Edward received a papal communication ordering him to arrest his old friends, he dithered for some weeks. He was a weak man (who was later to be ousted by his wife and her lover), and he already had too many enemies to want to lose the Templars and their support. By the time he made a move the majority of the Templars had disappeared – as had their treasure.

Most of the Templars were never found; some almost certainly made their way to Scotland. In that miserable event for Edward II, the Battle of Bannockburn, it was said that the Templars’ standard was seen. The Scottish King, Robert I (“the Bruce”), had no fear of upsetting the Pope – he was already excommunicated and his country under Papal Anathema: no holy rites could be performed by the priesthood.

In 1315 and 1316, the whole of Europe suffered from a devastating famine. Fragile economies were disrupted, especially those of England and France, and hundreds of thousands died. Floods destroyed crops and entire flocks of sheep. Bands of outlaws took to the roads, robbing and killing to try to survive, and there were rumors of cannibalism.

This was a bleak and brutal time, when warlords bickered and fought. King Edward was ineffectual and considered a fool. Arguments between him and the French were soon to flare, which led a few years later to the Hundred Years War. Theologians battled among themselves, disputing such fine points of Christianity as whether humor was blasphemous. Yet at the same time, men like Bacon were inventing spectacles and gunpowder, classical learning was being taught in the new universities, and trade was booming. Only some seventy years later, Chaucer would write his Canterbury Tales and Froissart his Chronicles. Gradually, English Common Law was developing, and litigation made lawyers wealthy – and objects of disgust!

In the midst of the hardship, some areas were still relatively calm and ordered. While the coastal towns were raided by pirates, and English possessions on the Continent were taken over by the French King, and while the border regions were overrun by Scottish reivers, and Ireland was invaded, the West Country stayed peaceful.

This was the time of Sir Baldwin Furnshill, who had been a Knight Templar, and his friend, the Bailiff of Lydford Castle, Simon Puttock.