Theirs was a distinct island of calm in the middle of the battle, fringed by men hacking and stabbing at each other. Their allegiance was a mystery, for in the height of battle all were reduced to a bland uniformity, faces set, wielding their weapons with the fixed and fearful determination to kill before they could be harmed. Thomas found it difficult to distinguish between his own men and those of the Beauscyrs. The men were all involved in their own private battles, small groups of three or four with various weapons, some clinched together in a mortal fight for control of a single dagger, some slipping and sliding at the bank of the stream, faces and clothes streaked with mud and soil, others standing and making slashing arcs in the air with steel and iron. Here and there men stood warily glaring at each other, panting as they rested, too exhausted already to continue, snatching rest in the midst of the killing. And all over the ground were the bodies. Some writhing, some rolling, some screaming, and more just still, features fixed, with stabs or great marks in their skulls where a mace or pick had dashed out their brains.
Simon saw the miner’s face change. A look of understanding came into his eyes, and with it an infinity of sadness. He nodded, his sword dropping, and stood up from his crouch, and Simon knew that the fight must soon end.
“STOP THIS NOW!” he roared, and Simon was surprised at the power in his voice. “ALL OF YOU, STOP!”
Some of those nearest paused and turned to stare. Baldwin saw one man try to look to Thomas, and as he did, his opponent sprang forward, ready to stab, but before he could strike Baldwin had knocked his falchion aside. Immediately the other faced back and tried to swing his axe at the Beauscyr man, and Baldwin had to knock that away too. “Stop this now!” he snarled. “If one of you tries again I will take your arm off!”
Simon strode through the mass to Sir William. He was standing white-faced while a man tied a dirty cloth round his head. A flap of skin on his cheek hung loose where a slash from a dagger had caught him. Now he stared dumbly as the bailiff approached. “Tell your men to stop. Now!” Simon rapped out. “The miners will stop if you men do. Order them to lay down their arms, Sir William.”
“What of Robert?”
“If you tell your men to stop, we can ask, can’t we?” bellowed Simon nastily. “Is having all the Beauscyr men killed going to help? Tell your men to CEASE FIGHTING.” To his immense relief he saw the old knight sigh and nod.
22
The fighting had spread to cover almost a square mile, and it took several minutes of bellowing to halt the battle. Gradually, uncertainly, and in all cases with their eyes fixed cautiously on their enemies, men pulled apart, fingering weapons newly notched or snapped. They backed together, forming small sullen circles, gasping for breath, here three miners, there four Beauscyr men. Several peasants stood and tried to calm a youth who sobbed and clutched his smashed wrist. All were taut, expecting a sudden renewal of the fight; all were scared of being surprised, and no one trusted their opponents.
Baldwin saw this, and took Thomas by the arm, pulling him to where Sir William and Simon stood. “Thomas, you must order your men to pull back a little. Sir William, you too. Your men must stand back and leave you two here, so they can all see that there is no deception. Tell them to form a ring around us.”
With a slow shuffling the two companies separated when the leaders gave the order. One scuffle broke out when a man saw a friend lying dead, but his companions pulled him away. Simon could not even see what side he was on. There was a slowly increasing space as the two sides paced backward, all scowling at their enemies. Now and again they stumbled over a body. Fortunately, few had died. Those who were hurt were collected and taken away to have their wounds seen to, and soon there were clumps of men ferrying those who could not walk over to the bank of the stream where they had their limbs washed and bound. Fires were lighted to heat the irons that would cauterize the worst of the injuries.
Simon forced himself to look away, ignoring the angry mutters that came from all sides, and faced Beauscyr and the miner. John was there as well, standing beside his father and peering round with haughty amusement. Edgar and Hugh were with Baldwin, and although Hugh had blood spattered on his tunic, he seemed well enough.
“Right, Sir William, and Thomas. This nonsense has to stop,” Simon said as he marched toward them, then stood with his hands in his belt. “First, Thomas, I want you to order that Robert Beauscyr is released. There is no profit in keeping him here.”
“Why should I? I think this miserable cur killed Peter, and I want to keep his brother until I see what will happen to him.”
Simon spoke loudly, so that all could hear. “John Beauscyr has told me what he was doing on the night that your son was killed, and I am content for now with his word. He was not the man who murdered your son.”
As his words sank in there was a complete silence. The old knight was the first to speak, his voice low and shocked. “Your son?”
“Peter Bruther was my son. I knew his mother before I married, and it was for my wife’s sake that I never admitted to him, but he knew he was my flesh and blood. That was why he came to the moors. I told him to, so that he could learn the ways of farming tin and make himself wealthy. It was why I made sure he always had a guard to protect him from you and your men.”
John, too, was gaping. “Peter was your son?” he said, shaking his head from side to side in disbelief. “But none of us knew that!”
“Is that why you killed him? Because you thought he was unprotected?” roared the miner, taking a quick step toward him. Baldwin moved to stand between them.
“Wait, Thomas.” The deep brown of his eyes held and quieted the glinting black flint of the miner’s.
“Look around you! There has been enough harm done already. Let us listen for a time and talk before you decide to cause more deaths.”
“I didn’t cause the deaths here, it was the Beauscyrs who attacked the camp.” But his voice was toneless, and he looked away. After a moment, he nodded.
Simon addressed the old knight. “Sir William, I want to prevent further bloodshed. I am sure that you and your men don’t want any more killing either. We are not a court here, we have no coroner to conduct an enquiry or clerk to record it, but we can investigate here and now, while there are all these men to witness it. I can report later to the chief warden at Lydford. Will you be content to continue?”
The old man nodded, still staring at the miner, and Simon felt that he was wondering how he would feel if he had been Thomas Smyth, if he had lost his son, a young man he could not recognize publicly, and whom he had tried to help by bringing him out from villeinage to a new life where he could be protected, only to find that he had been murdered. Sir William’s face dis played his horror and compassion. The sight gave Simon some relief. The knight would be compliant.
“Thomas?” the bailiff prompted, glancing at the miner. Thomas Smyth nodded slowly. “Good. In that case, we should have chairs brought. There’s no need for us to stand when we can sit.”
The bailiff sat in the middle, flanked by Baldwin and Hugh. Edgar stood nearby, while Sir William and his son sat to Simon’s left, Thomas to his right. The miners and the Manor’s men crouched or sat all around, reminding Simon of the stannary courts he had attended. It was strange to be in control of a meeting like this; usually it would be the chief warden or a judge who would sit at the throne to listen to evidence in an inquest or court session, but the bailiff had no time to feel anxious about his lack of experience. This matter was too serious to be left alone, as the battle had shown. He was determined to resolve the argument between the miners and the Beauscyrs.