Текст книги "A Moorland Hanging"

Автор книги: Michael Jecks

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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

9

Sir Ralph of Warton rode back slowly, his mind on the argument between Robert and John. He was fully aware how easily brothers could come close to blows. Not many years before, he had drawn sword against his own older brother, and that was over a bet on the price of a falcon. It was hardly a shock to see Robert and John so much at loggerheads – they were merely acting like brothers the world over – but he did find the degree of mutual animosity surprising in its virulence. There were undercurrents whenever either of them opened his mouth. Robert, slim, pale, weak-looking, and as a result obnoxious to the knight’s way of thinking, was still at least loyal and honorable, whereas John was openly flippant and insulting, with no regard for any man.

Today it had been Sir Ralph’s idea to go out hunting. He felt it would be good to get away from the claustrophobic atmosphere of the Manor, away from the gray eyes of the bailiff and the astute questions of his friend from Furnshill. Sir Ralph had anticipated a pleasant ride out to a quiet part of the Beauscyrs’ private park where they could set the hounds at a deer. It was some time since he had been able to enjoy hunting as a pastime rather than a necessary chore, and the prospect was attractive.

The reality had been very different. They had ridden eastward, away from the moors themselves, and out into some thick woods, and almost immediately the two brothers had started at each other. One – and he was not sure now who it was – had passed comment on the other’s choice of area for the hunt, and suddenly he was in the middle of a battle. It was a matter of pure self-defense to drop back as the insults and curses flowed, and all peace was gone. They had found a small buck and chased him for a mile or more, but then lost the scent, and of course each brother said it was the fault of the other. After biting back his rising anger for a further mile, Sir Ralph had lost any desire to be with the two and had announced his intention of returning. Hastily refusing any company, he turned his horse to the west and left, ignoring the pleading look from a man-at-arms who clearly wished to avoid any more bickering and also wanted to get back to the castle and a pint of ale.

There was some tension between the two young men that he did not understand. It seemed to go beyond the normal rivalry. Maybe it was simply the jealousy of the younger. In most families John would have been sent to a convent instead of into training as a knight. All too often, the second son was diverted to the religious life while the older carried on his education and training as heir. In this case, though, it should have been the other way around. Robert, for all his posturing and prideful behavior, was more suited to a cloistered life, while John was the resolute, strong and willful one. He would, the knight thought, have made a very good master of the Manor.

At the gate he called to the doorkeeper, dropping from his horse and walking into the courtyard. There he saw the other knight, the bailiff’s friend, and he stiffened. Squaring his shoulders he led his horse through to the stables.

“A good mount,” he heard Baldwin say, and nodded, avoiding the man’s gaze. He would have turned and made off, but the dark-haired knight was too close for him to pass, and so he stood dumbly, tugging off his gauntlets.

His indecision was painful to watch, Baldwin decided, and he smiled, trying to appear as friendly as possible. It only served to heighten the man’s anxiety. Baldwin patted the black horse’s rump, and then his eyes caught sight of the mark, visible on the left outer thigh although partly concealed by dirt – a large capital M. When he glanced back at the knight, he could see the sudden stillness in his face, the tautness in the way he held himself.

“Sir Ralph, don’t worry,” he said, so softly that the ostler could not hear. “Matters up at the Warbeck are not important down here.” And he turned and left. But he could feel the knight’s eyes on his back all the way across the yard.

Simon was at the entrance to the kitchen, Hugh and Edgar beside him. The bailiff and his man were drinking from large pots of ale, served by the old bottler.

“Drinking again, Simon? The beer will addle your brains.”

“Too late,” Simon said, and took another long draft.

“My brain feels addled enough already. Miners, knights, squires, villeins… pah! We’re wasting our time here! I have no idea who might have killed Bruther, I don’t even have any idea what the man was like. How can we find out who did it when all we have to go on is a series of vague dislikes about him?”

“You are right,” said Baldwin, taking a pot from the servant and holding it out to be filled, then placing his hand over the top when it was only half-full. “Thank you. Yes, Simon, you could be right. We know that he was a sore embarrassment to his master, to old Sir William, and to Robert Beauscyr. He was disliked by Thomas Smyth for being a foreigner, and not bowing to the miner’s will, so it is possible he was killed by Smyth…”

“Or by the gang who beat up Smalhobbe,” Simon interjected. “And then there’s that knight too,” he said, pointing with his chin at the tall figure by the stables. “I don’t trust him. He’s too aloof.”

“I know what you mean, but I think I might be able to clear up a few points about him soon. Leave him to me.”

“What about the other brother?”

“Who, John? He’s hardly been here in three years or more. What possible reason could he have for murder?”

“There are many reasons for murder, Baldwin. Maybe he wanted to remove a problem from his father and brother.”

Sir Ralph had just emerged from the stables. He stood staring across at the small group of men, as if undecided, but then strode off to the hall. Baldwin cocked an eyebrow at the bailiff. “Did you see that? I think if I had been alone here, he would have come over to speak to me.”

“Why on earth do you say that?”

“I was looking at his horse just now, and there was a brand-mark on its rump.”

“Really? Well, now so many lords need to hire additional warriors, they often do that, don’t they? Brand the horses, so if they’re stolen they can be found. And it’s not uncommon for a man to say his mount was stolen when he bartered it for money, if he feels his master doesn’t pay enough – and if he knows his lord will replace it for him. And if mercenaries decide to run away before their contract is up, it’s an easy way to find them again. It’s not very pleasant, I know, but many do it. It’s another foreign habit we’ve been lumbered with, and…”

“Simon, please! You must never travel, old friend, you would surely be lynched within a few yards of the coast in any foreign country. What is important is, do you know of any place which brands horses with a capital M?”

“Moretonhampstead?” Simon’s face screwed up as he tried to think of places far away.

Laughing, Baldwin clapped him on the back, spilling much of his beer and making the bailiff give a low growl of disgust. “Simon, you’re priceless as a guide to these parts, but you’re hopeless as a man of the world. Who in that little town would care about hirelings? I’ll give you a hint: try far, far to the north. Near Scotland, where John and Sir Ralph were living.”

Just then, a cry came from the gates. Immediately there was a bustle of men in the yard. The haughty figure of Robert Beauscyr rode in; his brother, grinning broadly, followed with three hounds trailing along behind him.

“While you’re congratulating yourself on how much more knowledgeable than me you are, Baldwin, why don’t you go and speak to Robert?” Simon murmured.

“And I’ll have a word with the other brother. We should try to discover whether they know anything.”

When the knight nodded, the bailiff wandered idly toward the squire, who was rubbing down his horse, while Baldwin followed Robert to the far side of the stables.

Hugh glanced at Edgar. “Are we supposed to go too, do you think?”

The man-at-arms was watching his master. “I don’t think we can help them – we’d probably only get in the way.”

“That’s what I thought.” Hugh belched happily and held out his pot once more to the bottler.

Robert Beauscyr was critically observing a groom remove the saddle and bridle from his horse and making dry comments about the man’s abilities when Baldwin approached. He looked up quickly on hearing the knight’s step, and seemed relieved to see who it was – or who it was not.

“A good ride?” Baldwin asked pleasantly.

“The ride was fine, but the conversation was dull. Very dull.”

Leaning on a trestle, Baldwin crossed his arms comfortably. “It’s very difficult with brothers. You feel you should like them – but sometimes they can be impossible.”

“He’s so superior sometimes – he was never like this before he went off to the north. Then we used to be able to talk about things and enjoy each other’s company, but now it’s ‘Oh, you still do that here…’ or ‘Well, of course, in the north we didn’t have all these luxuries…’ and ‘I suppose living out in the middle of nowhere you have to do this sort of thing, but in decent company…’ It makes me want to knock some sense into him.”

The knight smiled. “You can choose friends, but you’re stuck with your family,” he agreed.

“Not for long, thank God! He leaves soon with Sir Ralph, and I’ll be glad when they’ve gone.”

“Don’t be too hard on him, Robert. He is very young, and he will grow out of it in time. The trouble is, he has been fighting with other men he respects. Once he has won his spurs, he will begin to understand that life is not so straightforward. Right now, all he knows is that he has been tested in battle and has won – or at least hasn’t been killed, but as a knight, he’ll discover that it’s not so easy to be in command. He will have to send men to their deaths, and that is a sobering responsibility.”

Robert glanced at him, and saw the faraway look in his eyes. “You have fought, and led men?” he asked.

Stirring himself, Baldwin gave a wry smile. “Oh yes, my friend. And seen them die. And I was very much like your brother, full of hellfire and gallantry and a constant source of embarrassment and pain to my older brother. He had the responsibility to protect the family and the Manor, while I could go and enjoy my freedom, and I do not think I ever realized how hard his task was. It took the death of a city to show me what real duty meant, and by then it was too late to say anything. I was too far away. Don’t worry, John will calm down. He will improve, and you will be proud and happy to call him your brother again, once he has got the lust for power and money out of his system.”

“If he ever does,” Robert said, throwing a surly glance over his shoulder at his brother. “It’s not as if a knight going to the Continent nowadays returns wealthy, not like the old times when there were estates to be won.”

“There are still some who succeed,” Baldwin said mildly. “I think while he is in the service of Sir Ralph he will be well looked after; that man is very astute.”

“Possibly.”

“Robert.” Baldwin’s tone was reflective. “I know this is annoying to you, but I must ask it: what were you doing on the night Peter Bruther died?”

The man whirled to face him. “Me? I… Do you mean to accuse me?”

Baldwin’s eyes held his in silence, and Sir Robert had to drop his gaze. He frowned and shrugged. “I suppose you’re right. After all, I did have cause to hate him after he ran away and made the family look foolish.” He stared down at his boots. “You already know about that devil’s bastard, Thomas Smyth, and how he demanded that we should pay him money to keep off our lands. That was the afternoon he came to see us. We had the rest of the day to think about it. He made it sound reasonable, said he had a need for more water, and it would cost a lot of money to bring it from the moors. His alternative, he said, was to divert our streams – it would be much cheaper for him that way. But then he said that if we agreed to pay him the difference, he could tell the miners to leave our water alone and get it from farther off. It was sheer blackmail, nothing else.”

“How did your father react?”

“My father’s an old man. Old and tired. In his life he’s fought hard and long in many battles and yet he still has to contend with the likes of Smyth. He thought we had no choice. I… I’m afraid I lost my temper. Bargaining with Smyth was like haggling with a thief for the return of your own purse! That was what made me mad, the way that the thief was going to get what he wanted. I left them to it, I wanted no part of a discussion of that sort, and rode to Chagford, to the tavern.”

“Did you go near Bruther’s place?”

He did not hesitate. “Yes. In the afternoon I went past Bruther’s holding. But I didn’t see him, nor anyone else nearby.”

“When did you get back?”

“A little after dark. I was furious. It took me that long to calm myself. The thought that my father was giving away my birthright, first in letting that villein get away, and then in paying off the miners – well, it was better that I was away for a while, that was all.”

“How did John react to the miner’s offer?”

“How should he react? When he heard about it he was amused. It’s my estate, not his, when my father dies. To him, anything that reduces the Manor makes me look foolish, and that appeals to him.” His voice was bitter.

“You say you saw no one near Bruther’s place. What about elsewhere?”

Frowning, Robert thought for a minute. “I saw Adam Coyt, a moorman, north of Crockern Tor in the afternoon. He was cutting peat, I think. Apart from him I saw no one except miners.”

“Where? And at what time of the day?”

“They were heading north, a little after I saw Coyt, walking up to the road.”

“How many were there?” asked Baldwin, trying to keep his voice casual to hide his sudden tension.

“Three. They were making their way up from their camp to the moors. They weren’t far from Coyt at the time.”

“I see.” Baldwin nodded, considering. There was something shifty about Sir Robert’s manner, he thought. He asked casually, “And you were alone all this time?”

“Oh, yes. All the time.”

And Baldwin knew he was lying.

Seeing Simon walk toward him, John’s smile broadened. He stood with his hands in his belt, waiting for him. “So, bailiff, have you found the men who killed poor Peter yet?” he said cheerily.

Simon regarded him sourly. The youth’s hectoring manner was as annoying as his older brother’s. “Not yet, but we will,” he said sourly.

“Yes?” His eyes drifted off to where Baldwin was talking to Robert. “And you will do it by talking to us individually, I suppose. Is that so we cannot concoct a story between us? If so, you’re too late; we’ve just been completely alone for some time – since Sir Ralph became bored, I think, with our conversation. Ah well. What can I do for you, anyway?”

“Peter Bruther was surely killed for a reason. Who could have hated him enough to want to hang him?”

“A good question. I suppose you already know the obvious ones: Thomas Smyth and his merry men, my father, and, of course, my brother. It’s for you to take your choice between them.”

“What about you?”

“Me?” For a split second Simon could see his surprise. “But… ah, bailiff, I think you’re playing games. What reason could I have? It’s not as if I stand to gain anything from Bruther’s death. He was an annoyance to the family, but that’s none of my concern now. The whole estate will go to Robert, and I have no wish to help him by removing obstacles to his happiness. Why should I?”

“You really are angry about Robert inheriting the Manor, aren’t you?”

“You are most observant, bailiff,” John said dryly. Then his lip curled, and when he continued his voice was scornful. “My beloved brother is a clerk. He is good with books and accounts, which is, I suppose, what the place needs for most of the time, but for the rest it needs a strong grip. He’s not capable of providing that; I am.”

“To keep the peasants under control?”

“There is that,” he nodded. “With trailbaston becoming a serious problem, with outlaws attacking outlying places, it’s time we got hard on the people who foment discord. They are prepared to upset the balance of the kingdom, and they must be destroyed.”

Simon watched him. He was smiling as he pronounced his cures for the nation as if there was a joke the bailiff could not understand. “So you think all outlaws should be hunted down and killed,” he said.

“Oh yes, bailiff. Anyone who wishes to create disharmony: common peasants who become outlaws, thieves, cut-purses, draw-latches, brewers who water down their ale, tinners who mix impurities with their metal… and men who cannot keep their estates in order. All need the rope, don’t you think?”

“Including knights?”

“Oh, no.” Now his expression became serious. “You can’t lump a well-born knight into the same category as the rest. A knight is the holder of all the prime virtues, no matter what. He is the highest order of the land, fighting for what is good. After all, of the three levels in society, the knights, the clergy and the people, it is the knights who are the most important; for they are the men who must keep order.”

“Many would say that the clergy should be the highest order.”

“They can give direction, but little more. The crusades proved that; the bishops and their men showed that we should take back the Holy Land, but could they have taken it without the knights? Of course not.”

“But,” Simon’s Christian soul was aghast, “it was the knights who lost the Holy Land, by consorting with the heathens there! If they’d…”

“If they had not been misled by others, you mean. The Pope and his bishops began to fall into bad habits, didn’t they? The Popes have been too interested in their own wealth for too long. Look at Boniface, and all the rumors about him being a Devil – worshipper and a sodomist. It is no wonder that God decided the Holy Land should be taken from us after all that.”

“That has nothing to do with it! Boniface was not Pope until years after the Fall of Acre!”

“And you think he was the first to be so debauched and heretical? No, it has been going on for years. And the knights have always been pure, because a knight’s only duty is to look for honor and glory in battle. Courtesy, honor, largesse… these are the main principles by which a knight must live. All a bishop need do is profess a love of God to increase his wealth a hundredfold; as soon as he’s considered a holy man people will flock like sheep to give him their money.”

“You have a very cynical view of the world, John.”

“Perhaps. But at least I will not be disappointed by it. I’ve seen too much already to trust anyone or anything more than I trust myself and my sword.”

“If you feel this way, do you think a runaway villein is of no importance compared to a knight, and should be punished for bringing shame to a knight’s family?”

“Very good, bailiff!” he said delightedly. “So you bring us back to the point at the same time as suggesting I have a motive to murder him. But no, I fear you must look elsewhere. I would not trouble myself over someone who was a cause of pain to my brother. Why should I? Bruther was merely a thorn in Robert’s flesh, and as such he gave me pleasure.”

“Even so, where were you on the day Bruther was murdered?”

“Ha! I wondered how long it would take you to get back to that. Well, now. I was here almost all day, with Sir Ralph and my mother or father. I saw, for example, the row between Robert and Thomas Smyth – so embarrassing to see one’s elder brother running out of a meeting like a whipped brat. After the evening meal I joined my father to ride over to Smyth’s place. Sir Ralph came too. My father paid the tinner the money he demanded, by the way. Shocking, I know, but there it is.”

“And you stayed with your father?”

John stifled a yawn. “No. Sir Ralph and I did not want to get involved in such a sordid matter. We left my father there and went to the inn – the Fighting Cock. It was some time later that we returned home.”

“And which way did you come back?”

“We didn’t come past Bruther’s place, if that’s what you mean, bailiff. We came straight home again.” He smiled, waiting for the next question.

Out of the corner of his eye Simon saw Baldwin leaving Robert. There was no point, he decided, in carrying on trying to interrogate the squire. John was clearly unworried by his questions. If he was concerned, he had learned how to hide it, the bailiff thought, staring at his openly amused expression.

“Don’t worry, bailiff, I’m sure you’ll find the murderer,” John said, a mocking tone in his voice.

Simon nodded impassively, then walked away and joined Baldwin.

“How was John?” the knight asked, peering over his shoulder at the squire.

“Insufferable, in short. If he’d made it any more obvious he thought I was a fool, I’d have had the right to strike him. As it was, I got the impression he was mocking our attempt to find out who was responsible for Bruther’s death. How about the older Beauscyr?”

“Oh, calm and reasonable for once. He didn’t even lose his temper with me,” Baldwin said, amused by the bitterness in Simon’s voice. “But he has no alibi for that evening. He was out on his own for most of the day.” He explained what Robert had told him, and then Simon summarized his conversation with John.

Finishing, the bailiff said, “So at least John has some sort of witness to the facts. Sir Ralph was with him, so he says. That means that if he can confirm what John told me, I suppose the most suspicious character must be Robert, eh, Baldwin?”

The knight was staring after the brothers. “I suppose so,” he said meditatively. “But I think I would like to confirm John’s words too. Perhaps it would be worthwhile for us to ride to this inn and try their ale.”

“Brother?”

In the blackness of night the soft, low call made Sir Robert spin, his hand gripping his sword. There was a dry chuckle, then a shadow detached itself from the wall near the stables. In the faint light from a sconce he saw that it was his brother. “What do you want?” he hissed.

John’s face was anxious. “Did the bailiff or that damned knight question you as well today?”

“Yes. So what?”

“I think you should be careful, that’s all. The bailiff seems to think you or I could be the murderer.”

Robert felt the strength drain from him. “And?” he said, experiencing a quick stab of fear.

“We may disagree about many things, brother, but this is important. Those miners killed Bruther, there’s no doubt about that in my mind, but it looks as though they’ve either bribed the bailiff – he is responsible for the tinners, after all – or have succeeded in making it look as if it was someone here, at the Manor. We can’t allow that.”

“What do you suggest?”

“This murder – it must have been the same three men who attacked Smalhobbe. What can we do to find them? Thomas Smyth is a devious old devil. I’ve no doubt he’ll have hidden them well enough. Of course, if only we could get hold of one of them, and make him admit what they did to Smalhobbe and Bruther, it would go a long way to showing the bailiff that we’re all innocent.”

“Where could he hide three men, though?” Robert said thoughtfully. “There aren’t that many places on the moors. Unless he hid them in the miners’ camp itself…”

Sir Ralph was keen to leave. The Manor held nothing but danger, and he felt that whatever he did was open to scrutiny. His only option was to get away and carry on with his journey. The enforced delay was making him fretful.

It was just after dark, and up here on the battlements near the gate the countryside seemed to have disappeared, hidden by the relative brightness of the sconces and braziers which lighted the wall and walkway. He wrapped himself up in his cloak and stared glumly to the south. Though his heart was still in the north where he had been born, he knew he had to go, and that as quickly as possible.

Hearing a noise, he peered down. In the courtyard, he could see John, his squire, and Robert, huddled together by the stables. When the door to the hall opened, he saw the brothers quickly retreat into the darkness of the stables, and raised an eyebrow in surprise. Why should they be so surreptitious, he wondered.

In the open doorway he saw the tall knight standing alone, and began to understand the pair’s desire for obscurity. The very sight of the bailiff or his friend was becoming tedious – and worrying. To be so near the coast and escape, and yet cut off here on the moors, was as frustrating as being caught in a siege, and he was nervous of speaking to the knight after his quiet hints earlier that day. Baldwin of Furnshill, he was sure, guessed more than he had let on.

There was a guard in the courtyard, and Baldwin walked down the steps and over to him. Their voices rose to Sir Ralph as a soft murmur in the still night air, and then the guard pointed up to him. Sir Ralph stared down as Baldwin glanced in his direction, and he felt the blood stop in his veins as the knight made his way to the stairs and climbed up to join him.

“Sir Ralph, I’m glad to find you.”

“I was about to go indoors. It is cold up here,” he said, pulling his cloak tighter round his shoulders.

“This will not take long. Come, let’s walk along here a little farther.”

It was impossible to refuse the calm, grave voice, and Sir Ralph soon found himself unwillingly pacing with the knight by his side. All he wanted was peace and solitude so that he could plan his future, not a continuation of the oblique conversation of earlier in the day. To his surprise, Baldwin did not want him to talk.

“I used to serve with an honorable army, you know,” he began. Smiling, he stared out over the hill before the Manor. “I fought in the last battle for Acre, back in 1291. A long time ago now, of course. All I wanted then was a chance to win renown, which is right for a young knight, isn’t it? But afterward I found myself in a position where my allegiances were called into question. It is hard, when you have taken an oath from the most honorable motives, to discover that you have been betrayed. That happened to me.”

Pausing above the main gate, Baldwin sighed. Thinking back and recalling his past had seemed a good idea earlier, but now he could sense Sir Ralph’s nervousness and distrust. When he continued, he spoke wistfully. “It still happens a lot, of course. Men swear loyalty, and then find out that their master is not honorable. And what should a man do then? Go away and find another master? Or wait until he is released from his oath? It is very difficult.”

Listening, Sir Ralph felt trapped. He would like to be able to trust this stranger. There was integrity and understanding in his dark brown eyes, a kindness he usually associated with priests which conspired with his own feelings of loneliness and danger to make him want to blurt out the truth, to share his secret. But he did not dare.

He looked lifeless, pale and sickly in the flickering light. Baldwin stood with his hands resting calmly on the wall as he peered out remembering, as though he was lost in his own thoughts and unaware of Sir Ralph’s presence.

“In any case,” Baldwin continued, “whatever may happen in the north is none of our concern down here. The marches are always in turmoil, and if the Scottish attack, men must defend themselves.” He turned, facing Sir Ralph with an eyebrow raised as he subjected the knight to a dubious stare. “But if a man was to murder, I could not condone that. If I found that a man had murdered, I would have to make sure he was held. And if I thought I knew who had killed this villein Bruther, it would not matter whether he was the son of a serf or a lord, I would hold him in jail until his trial.”

“Do you accuse me of killing the boy? What reason could I have?”

“A good question. I too wonder what reason you could have,” Baldwin said, seeing the tautness of the man’s stance. “But no, I do not accuse you, Sir Ralph. I think you know something of the affair, though, and I would like you to trust me. Perhaps you will, in time.”

Sir Ralph glanced away. He wanted to believe the knight’s words, but he could not speak. It was too dangerous. He was not from this area, and he had no family or friends on whom he could count for protection. Suddenly he felt very alone.

After a moment Baldwin sighed. There was nothing more he could say, and the determined glower on Sir Ralph’s face spoke of his resolution to maintain his silence. Baldwin turned to leave, pausing when he faced the inner courtyard. Now what were they talking about? he wondered. Sir Ralph followed the direction of his glance and saw John and Robert standing near a wall sconce.

Alone once more, Sir Ralph gazed out to the south. Whether it was guesswork or not was irrelevant to him – all that mattered was that Sir Baldwin evidently knew about his past. How he had found out was unimportant. The fact was, he did know. And that could mean the bailiff knew as well…

That thought made him shudder.