Sucking at his teeth to extract a fragment of meat, Baldwin said, “They confirmed it was they who attacked Smalhobbe, though they deny absolutely having anything to do with the death of Bruther.”
“Did… did they see the two riders noticed by Samuel?”
A revealing question, Baldwin considered. “Why such interest in the riders? Do you think it was they who committed the murder now? This morning you were convinced that it must be the miners.”
“I… well, they would hardly admit it themselves, would they? They will surely have tried to put the blame on to someone else. I just wondered if they had tried to accuse the two riders they saw. Did they say?”
Baldwin smiled and nodded. Now he was sure that at least one of the riders was known to him.
The next morning was dry but overcast as the four men set off from Beauscyr Manor, and Baldwin found the difference in the weather daunting. In the gloomy light the rolling plains and hills appeared more threatening on either side, their flanks invaded by dark-colored heather, the higher points malevolent with their variously-shaped moorstone tors. Some looked like fantastic creatures waiting to spring, others like giants towering over the land seeking smaller creatures to crush. Although he was not usually given to unwarranted fears or superstitions, the sight of the massive shapes looming on all sides made him aware of how remote this place was from any town.
To his vague irritation, Simon was unaffected by the malign feel of the area. He rode on steadily, whistling tunelessly, and apparently unaware of the menace which the knight felt. In a strange way, his very lack of interest in the views was reassuring to Baldwin. His very unconcern seemed to keep the monsters Baldwin could sense at bay, as though they needed belief to make them whole. But it piqued his pride to find that for once it was he who was being superstitious.
They made their way west, then north by west until they came to a small group of trees – not like Wistman’s Wood, Baldwin noticed, but ordinary, straight and tall oaks and chestnuts. Here they had to encircle a wide area of marshland, and to make a broad sweep before they could continue riding along well-trodden tracks of packed earth up and down the gentle slopes of the moorland hills until they came to a brook. Trailing along its banks, they continued northward, Simon leading the way. A scattering of trees rose around them. At last the sun broke free of the silvery clouds above, and they were enclosed in a verdant glow as it glimmered through the leaves.
Coming to a clapper bridge, where a massive block of stone had been laid over the stream, Simon turned right. Here there was a track leading east, and they were soon out of the trees, climbing a slight hill. At the top Simon slowed, and here Baldwin caught his first sight of Adam Coyt’s farm.
It was a well-cared-for barton, lying a scant half-mile from the road in the lee of a wooded hill which protected it from the worst of the winter storms. The long house was sturdy and strong, built of moorstone which was hidden under the white lime render. A few yards away was a byre, with three outbuildings leaning close by as if for warmth. From the roof of the house came a thin ribbon of smoke which was immediately wafted away by the gusting wind.
From the barn where he was axing branches from a series of tree trunks, preparing them for cutting into manageable planks, Adam Coyt watched them approach with slitted, suspicious eyes. Strangers out here were a rarity, and letting the axe fall from his hand, he walked out to meet them.
Hugh was relieved to fall from his horse. He knew full well that today his master wished to travel widely and see several people, and was determined to take his rest when he could. Seeing Adam walk up, he nodded. From his youth in Drewsteignton he recognized the sort of man he was. Hard as the elements, as much formed of the land around him as any of the trees in his little wood, this was one of the old Dartmoor men.
Simon dropped from his mount and smiled reassuringly. “Good morning. I…” As he spoke, two sheep dogs suddenly bolted from the barn and stood snarling before him.
Giving a whistle, Adam commanded them to be silent without even glancing in their direction, and Simon was relieved to see them obey. Both immediately sat, and one began to scratch, changing in an instant from wild animals with slavering jaws into friendly companions with wide smiling mouths. At home with dogs, Baldwin ambled over to them, let them smell his hands briefly, and began to stroke them, and soon was engulfed as they ecstatically panted and slobbered over and around him, almost knocking him from his knees in their enthusiasm.
“He likes dogs,” Simon said, more by way of apology than explanation, and Adam nodded again, this time in frank astonishment that any man could wish to coddle a working animal. To his way of thinking it was a certain sign of lunacy, the same as petting a cow or a lamb. There was no profit in behaving that way with farm animals.
After Simon’s introductions, the farmer grunted his assent to answering the bailiff’s questions and led the way to the log-pile. Foreigners were welcome, his actions showed, to pass their time any way they wished, but he still had a living to earn and work to do. Their enquiry was conducted to the steady chop of his hatchet.
Regretfully leaving the dogs, Baldwin squatted on a thick trunk while Simon stood nearby. It was Simon who began.
“Adam, you’ve lived here all your life. Have things changed much over the years?”
Without looking up, the farmer considered for a moment. “No. The moors are the moors. They change with the seasons, but that’s all.”
“Have the miners made a difference?”
“They’ve got more greedy. Before, there was only a small number. Now there’s lots, and a few own all the mines. Used to be that all tinners were like that Bruther or Smalhobbe, just one or two men with a little place. Now there’re lots all covering the same bit for the likes of Thomas Smyth.”
“I suppose at least you’re safe up here, anyway. There aren’t many come all this way to trouble you.”
The axe paused, then fell again. “If you’ve got rights of pasturage, they come close enough. They dig all over the place, and leave their holes in the ground for animals to hurt themselves in. I had a heifer break her leg last year, but I can’t get money from the miners, they claim stannary privileges. I lost my cow, but I’ll get no help from them even though it was their fault.”
“And it’s worse than it used to be?”
“Ah, yes. Time was, they used to come no closer than five miles from here. Now they’re only a mile away, and right where I lead the herd.”
“And you think they’re being greedy?”
“We have ancient rights here, bailiff, we who live in the common land of the moors. We’ve been here since time out of mind, my family and a few others, but now our lives are being made hard by some few foreigners. There are robberies done by some – there was one on the night Bruther died. They demand money not to take our land, and if they aren’t paid, they dig it and take the water so we can’t use it. But we can do nothing. Who’s going to protect us who live out here if the miners choose to attack us or steal what’s ours?”
“You say there was a robbery? Who was attacked?”
Adam Coyt jerked his head in the direction of Widecombe in the Moor. “Old Wat Meavy at Henway. He was knocked down and had his purse taken.”
“I wasn’t told,” said Simon with a frown.
“When these things happen, we can’t run to Lydford every time. Anyway, one minute he was riding into Chagford, and the next he was on his bum in the middle of the road and lighter by some pennies. There are too many miners out here to worry about just another robbery, bailiff. It happens all the time.”