“So you think it was this Crockern who killed Bruther? Not the Devil?” Baldwin’s tone was derisive.

“I don’t know. And I don’t care. Whoever killed him was keeping Crockern happy, that’s all I know.”

14

“Myths and superstitions!” Baldwin muttered frustratedly as the four left Coyt’s house and began to follow the road into the moors. If the man had only looked, they might now have a fresh witness, or at least the name of someone who could have seen who the two riders were. It was possible that this man could have been Bruther’s murderer, too.

“If men behaved normally and ignored the old wives’ tales,” he said bitterly, “not only would they be less scared all the time, they would probably manage to work better and be happier in their lives. Crockern and Old Nick!”

Simon smiled faintly at the knight’s disgust. “There’s not much else here for people, though, Baldwin. Anyway, the question is, who was on that horse?”

“If we take the word of that farmer, it was the Devil.”

Simon knew how little regard his friend had for the old stories – Baldwin had ridiculed them often enough before. The knight was a well-travelled man, with more experience of the world, and Simon found it hard to argue the case with him. Even so, he found the knight’s irascible outbursts against deeply held local beliefs very insulting.

“Simon?” Baldwin gave him a shame-faced grin. “I am sorry – but I have seen too many people harmed by rumors and stories to want to have any truck with them. You are right, old friend. We need to discover who the single rider was. It could have been one of the Beauscyr sons, of course. Robert can give us little account of where he went that night, and John was away from the inn, although he has not admitted this to us yet.”

The bailiff was mollified by his change in mood. “So now we must try to find out about three men, not two,” he mused. “The pair of riders seen by Samuel and Ronald, and the single one heard by Coyt.”

“Yes. It is odd, though.” Baldwin’s face was pensive. “After talking to Sir Robert, I could have sworn he was one of the two riders – he looked so guilty. Perhaps he was the lone rider who later overtook Coyt?”

“But if he was, did he kill Bruther? Or were Smyth and his man responsible? And if it was Smyth who killed Bruther, what was Sir Robert doing out there?”

“If it truly was him,” Baldwin murmured. “Anyway, the killer must belong to one of the two groups, surely? Miners or men of the Beauscyr demesne.”

“I think so, yes. Unless…” Baldwin glanced at him. Simon chewed his lip and shrugged. “There is another group, I suppose, Baldwin. Farmers, like Coyt himself, have been affected as well. Their moors are being dug, the water in their streams diverted, their pastures ruined.”

“Is that reason enough to kill?”

They had arrived at the clapper bridge again, and Simon let his horse pause to drink. “I don’t know. It depends on what people thought of Bruther, doesn’t it? What sort of person was he? From Sir Ralph’s story he would appear to have been a bold enough fellow, at least when he had other people with him he was. And he was rude to Robert, too, just before we first came here.”

“Yes. Most say he was a rash young man, always making enemies,” Baldwin admitted. “Though Smyth spoke well enough of him.”

“It’s not like olden times when villeins were always subservient. This man seems to have taken willfulness to an extreme. I mean, how many runaways would dare to insult two men like Sir Robert, his master until recently, and Sir Ralph, a man who is well-versed in battle and clearly prepared to defend his name?”

“He did not, though, did he?”

“No, but only because there were a number of miners there and it would have been foolish.”

“The same goes for when Sir Robert was insulted by Bruther. The fellow must have had a death-wish to have been so forthright.”

Simon stared at his friend. “Baldwin, how often have you seen people behave that way?”

“A villein, you mean? Never.”

“What about other men?”

Shrugging, Baldwin drew his mouth into a glum crescent. “For someone to be rude to a knight is mad, and…”

“You miss my point. The only time I’ve seen people intentionally demean a knight or a man-at-arms is when they knew themselves to be the more powerful!”

“Well, yes, but you are surely not suggesting that a mere serf could feel himself more powerful than, say, Sir Robert? One only has to look at them to see how different they are. One is poor and lives in a rude hovel, while the other is wealthy, the heir to a great hall and money, with a rich estate, and born into the King’s highest esteem. How on earth could a miserable peasant like Bruther think he was the equal of such a man – let alone superior.”

“But he did, didn’t he?” His horse was watered, and Simon kicked its flanks to cross the stream. “He did think he was at least equal, to have dared to speak so forwardly. He knew how he was considered by the Manor: as a runaway. And yet he faced them and bested them.”

“Only because of the men with him,” Baldwin protested.

“And why did he feel safe with them?”

“Well, because they were miners like himself, I would imagine. You yourself told me that the miners have their own laws and rules down here. No doubt he knew that with others of his kind he would be safe enough.”

“No, Baldwin. We know that Thomas Smyth is a harsh master, and he’s enforcing his will on the miners round here, that’s why Smalhobbe was beaten, wasn’t it?”

“Well, yes, but perhaps Bruther banded together with other small miners in the area for protection from Smyth?”

“If there was such a group, they failed pretty miserably, didn’t they? If you were going to organize men, and then insulted your enemies, would you leave the others and go home alone in the evenings? I doubt it! After making your mark with an enemy you’d all want to stick together for defense.”

“Yes, I suppose you are right,” said Baldwin musingly.

“So, if Bruther had so many men with him, why was he apparently alone and defenseless on the night he died? Where had the others gone, and why? Why had they left him there?”

“Perhaps they had a disagreement with him? Maybe they wanted to do something which he disapproved of, and…”

“No, no, no – do you remember how Sir Ralph described his meeting with Bruther? It was like the younger man was in charge, wasn’t it? He was the only one who spoke – none of the others did. And it was the same when he insulted Sir Robert. Bruther spoke, the others simply observed and fingered their weapons. No, I think he was in charge, but why was he left all alone? If a leader disagrees with his company, some may leave, but others will stay, even if it’s only a few.”

“Perhaps they did. There might have been others with him when Bruther was killed, but they escaped before they too could be hurt.”

“I don’t think so. Look at it like this: we are working on the assumption that there were three people on the moors nearby that night. If Bruther had even one other man there with him it would have been hard for three to take him on without one of them getting hurt or killed.”

“Well, then. Maybe they did. Maybe they killed the other and threw his body into a bog. And even if they didn’t, if it was one of the knights, they might have been happy to have simply got the man they hated and not cared about the others. You are building bricks without straw, old friend. All of this is guesswork, nothing more.”

Simon shook his head. “I don’t think so. Let’s visit Smalhobbe. Maybe he can shed some light.”

Following the trail, they were retracing the steps of Adam Coyt on the night of the murder, and Baldwin found himself glancing around with interest. The road ran reasonably straight, keeping to the lower ground. Stunted shrubs lined the roads, with occasional clumps of heather. After a short way, a small copse appeared, with hills rising on either side. When he asked, Simon told him that this area was called Believer. The main east-west road was only another mile away, and they should be able to quickly cover the ground beyond to where the outlying miners lived.