Henry Smalhobbe watched as Simon crouched down beside the knight. The miner’s expression was reserved and suspicious, but Simon thought he could detect a degree of hope there, as if the man had been praying for some relief and now felt he could see the approach of rescue. Simon cleared his throat. “Could you tell us what happened last night? Maybe we can help you at the same time as clearing up the matter of who killed Peter Bruther.”

“Maybe,” said Henry Smalhobbe quietly, and sank back on to an elbow. His face was now in darkness, below the level of the candle in the wall, so that his expression was difficult to read; Simon wondered whether the move was intentional. He chewed his lip in concentration as the miner continued: “There’s not much to tell. I was out all day, same as normal, working the stream a little to the south of here. When I came back it was just before dark. Well, I was almost home when I saw a man hiding outside. He must have been waiting for me.” He spoke dispassionately, as though recounting another man’s misfortune. “After I heard Sarah call out, I had to look at her and make sure she was all right. Well, before I could turn round, something caught me across the back of my head.” He broke off and gingerly touched his scalp. “I fell down, and someone whispered in my ear, said that if I didn’t go and leave this land to the one it belonged to, I could die. And my wife…”

“I understand. Please, what happened then?” said Simon softly.

“They beat me. Someone was kicking me, another had a cudgel, I think, and hit me all over – my legs, back, head, everywhere. I passed out when they got to my head.” He spoke simply, not trying to embellish his tale, and Simon felt sure he could be believed.

It was Baldwin who leaned forward and asked: “Did you see any of these men?”

“I didn’t need to, sir. I know them all. There’s three of them: Thomas Horsho, Harold Magge and Stephen the Crocker.” He explained briefly about their previous visits, how they’d threatened him and his wife.

“Usually George Harang is there too, when these men go out to scare people, but last night it was Harold who spoke. If George had been there, it would have been him.”

“Did you hear them say anything about Peter Bruther? Any comments at all?”

“No, sir, not that I recall. I’d tell you if I did.” His voice carried conviction.

“Have you heard of anybody else being attacked recently? Do you know if anybody else was hurt last night?”

“No, sir,” said Smalhobbe, glancing at his wife for confirmation. She shook her head too, her eyes huge in her concern.

Baldwin subsided, and Simon stiffly rose to his feet, his knees cracking. “Thanks for all that. We’ll see what we can do. If you’re prepared to accuse these men, perhaps we can get them punished.”

“Oh no, sir!” Sarah Smalhobbe’s face was twisted with fear. “We can’t! What will happen to us if we do that? You can see what the men are prepared to do when we make only a little trouble for them…”

Simon cocked his head. “What do you mean by ‘a little trouble’? What have you done to deserve this beating?” he asked.

She stared at him for a moment, then her eyes dropped, flitting nervously, or so Simon thought, to her husband.

“Henry?” he prompted, and was sure that the man started nervously.

“When we came here, we did all legally, bounding our plot, marking it out and registering it. All we wanted was to be left alone to make some kind of living, and so far we have. But some tinners, all they want is to keep people off the land.”

“Tinners? Surely you mean the landowners? It is they who wish the miners to leave,” said Baldwin.

“No, sir. The landowners want us to leave them alone, it is true. Some miners damage their lands and pasture, but no, I did mean miners want us off this part.”

“Is it very wealthy, then? There is a lot of tin here and others want you to leave so that they can take it?”

To the knight’s surprise, the wounded man gave a harsh laugh. “Hardly! There might be enough for me and Sarah to live off, but not enough to become wealthy. No, it’s because another man has paid miners not to work this land so that he can keep it for his own pasture, and they are enforcing the agreement.”

“So these men, they beat you because they were paid to keep the land empty?”

“Yes, sir. They work for a powerful man, for Thomas Smyth, and he is paid not to mine this far into the moors. So he has told them to get rid of the likes of us.”

“Did you know of this, Simon?” asked Baldwin, glancing at his friend in astonishment.

“I’ve heard of it,” he admitted. “It’s hard to stop. When the Devon miners divided from the Cornishmen thirteen years ago and formed their own stannary parliament here in Dartmoor, they became more powerful locally, and this type of thing has happened a few times. But,” he stood and nodded to the Smalhobbes, “I’ll do what I can to stop it, now I know who’s responsible.”

Simon was quiet during their return to the Manor, and Baldwin too was content to hold his peace. Although the bailiff had warned him about the troubles caused by the tinners, he had not realized how the bands of men affected the people in the moors, terrorizing some in return for money from others. He was still frowning thoughtfully when they arrived at Beauscyr Manor. Dusk was approaching, and they were all relieved to drop from their saddles. Samuel Hankyn went off to the kitchen, while the two men and their servants made their way to the hall. Here Baldwin was pleased to see that food was laid out for them on a table before the fire, and he had filled a trencher and was eating before the others had seated themselves. But for them, the hall was empty.

After some minutes, Sir Robert Beauscyr twitched the curtains aside and strode in. He marched across the rush-covered floor to a bench opposite Simon and sat, staring at the bailiff. “Well? Have you discovered anything?” he demanded.

Simon regarded him silently while he chewed on some tough, dry beef. He had disliked the older of the two brothers since their first meeting. His arrogance was insulting, and Simon was unused to such treatment. Swallowing, he leaned back on his bench and picked up his pewter mug. Ignoring the question, he said, “How long has the Manor been paying money to Thomas Smyth to keep off the Manor’s lands?” and drank.

Robert Beauscyr was dumbfounded. The whole affair had only blown up over the last few days. Before that, even he had not known of the arrangement. He regained his composure with an effort and tried to pass the matter off with a shrug, aware that his shock had been visible. “What has that to do with this murder?” he snapped. “It is irrelevant.”

“No, not irrelevant. If, for example, you had paid a man to protect lands which were yours, and he tried to do that by killing a man, it would be the same as you paying for the murder.” The bailiff nonchalantly popped a crust of bread into his mouth, delighted by the young knight’s discomfort. “Wouldn’t it?”

“No… I mean, maybe. But that’s not important here.”

“Why? Do you consider yourself above the law?” asked Baldwin mildly.

Sir Robert glared at him. “No, of course not. But Wistman’s Wood is not part of the Manor. It falls outside our demesne. If it’s anyone’s, it’s Adam Coyt’s, a moorman. He has rights of pasturage there. Anyway, we wouldn’t pay to have a villein killed!”

“Even one who had run away and was proving a continuing embarrassment to the family?” said Simon with raised eyebrows.

Before Robert could answer, the outer door slammed and his father entered. Sir William was irritated to see that his son was already there. Noting how tense the men round the table looked, he hesitated and offered up a quick prayer. “What’s the fool said now?” he wondered under his breath. Nodding curtly to the visitors, he dropped down beside his son, feeling exhausted. He knew that his fatigue was visible. Baldwin’s suggestion that the miners could accuse him of Bruther’s murder had come as an appalling shock, and he found it hard to meet the knight’s gaze now. The past week had been hard enough, and he knew it would not get any easier until the bailiff had gone.