“All of us are here to try to find out what really happened on the day that Peter Bruther died,” he began.

“You all know me. I am the bailiff of Lydford, and my duty is to find the murderer. I call on all here to witness the words of the men who come before us today. You must listen and see that we are fair to all.” He glanced round. “First, I want to see the three men who were sent to Henry Smalhobbe and beat him.”

It took a little time for the three to be fetched. Harold Magge stood resolutely defiant, the others looked cowed and nervous before all the men. Simon saw that their bruises had reduced, and nodded to himself while Thomas instructed them to tell the truth. Then he stirred. “You went to Henry Smalhobbe and attacked him on the day that Bruther died, didn’t you?”

Magge nodded. Quickly Simon took him through the evidence he had given before, how he had sat in wait for Smalhobbe, how the man had nearly taken him by surprise but had been bested, and how they had returned to the miners’ camp. Simon glanced at Thomas as he asked, “Who beat you afterward? Who caused your bruises?”

“Thomas Smyth did it. He thought we must have killed Bruther, and he had told us not to attack him. When news arrived about Bruther being found at Wistman’s Wood, he came straight to the camp and ordered us to be brought to him. He had us beaten to get us to admit to killing Bruther.”

“Had you killed Bruther?”

“No!”

“Had you seen Bruther that night?”

“No.”

“Who did you see that night?”

Magge hesitated, glancing at Thomas, and Baldwin saw the old tinner give a small nod. “George Harang and Thomas. We saw them riding back from the direction of Bruther’s place, after we had left Smalhobbe. They were heading southward to the road.”

“Thomas?”

“Yes, it’s true.” He looked up bleakly. “We went to see him but he wasn’t there. I waited some time, but when it began to grow dark it seemed better to get home again, to meet Sir William. There was no sign of Peter.”

“I see. Now, Harold Magge. Where did Henry Smalhobbe come from when you ambushed him?”

“From the south.”

“Could he have come from Wistman’s Wood?”

“Smalhobbe?” There was a sneer to his voice. “He’s only a smallholder. He’d hardly kill another miner.”

“He was nearly able to surprise you, wasn’t he? If his wife had not called out, you yourself told me that he might have overcome you, and if he had, he might have beaten off the others, mightn’t he? Now, please answer the question: could he have come from Wistman’s Wood?”

“He was coming from the south. Wistman’s is south and west from there, but he might have walked keeping to the lowlands rather than over the hills. And he was late that night, later than he usually was. I suppose he could have been to Wistman’s Wood.”

“You never told me this before,” said Thomas Smyth. His voice was tired, his visage pale, and he was staring at his man with a kind of hopeless sadness.

“You didn’t ask us about where Smalhobbe had been, sir,” Magge said shortly. “You asked us what we’d been doing – not about him. I didn’t know Bruther was your son. I just thought we’d done something to displease you…” He trailed off as the bailiff held up a hand.

“Harold, would you say it was possible?” He instinctively trusted this man’s opinion. Somehow the miner gave off an aura of wholesome stolidity, and Simon recalled how the first time he had seen Magge he had thought instantly of a farmer from the moors. Now, like a farmer, Magge paused and considered the question for some time in silence.

“I reckon it’d be possible but I don’t think it was him. Smalhobbe’s not a killer, no matter what others say.”

“In that case, I’d like to speak to Robert Beauscyr next,” said Simon. The young knight was soon standing before them. He did not appear to have been mistreated, which was a relief. Baldwin had wondered what might happen if he had turned up wounded. The Beauscyr men could easily be tempted to hurl themselves into a fresh attack if the boy had been harmed. After all, he was the reason why they had been commanded to fight.

Simon asked him to tell everyone what he had done on the night of the murder. Nervously, Robert told of his flight from the hall and how he had ridden to Chagford, where he had met Alicia, and of his subsequent agreement to meet her. This brought a wry smile to Thomas’ face. He had not realized how involved his daughter was with the boy. Looking at him now, he wondered about Robert Beauscyr as a son-in-law. To his faint surprise he found the idea less distasteful than he expected.

“But you saw two men on the road, didn’t you? Over toward Wistman’s Wood,” Simon prompted.

“Yes.”

“And nobody else?”

“No, bailiff.”

Simon glanced at the miner. “The two riders were men-at-arms from the Manor. It was they who found Bruther’s body shortly after.”

“Are they here?” Thomas asked, surveying the men ranged opposite.

“They are dead,” said Baldwin shortly, and a dangerous new wave of tension gripped the watching men.

“How? How did they die?”

It was Sir William who answered, sounding as tired as the miner. “They appear to have got into a fight over a game of dice. Both were stabbed.”

“When was this?” the miner demanded.

Simon told him. “Early this morning. When we found them, their bodies were still warm.”

Thomas Smyth turned to peer at John. “It was you, wasn’t it?” His voice shook with emotion. “The men could identify you somehow, and you killed them to conceal your guilt.”

“Be silent, Thomas!” Simon said, but John had gone white with fury.

Leaping out of his chair, he faced the miner, grabbing his sword’s hilt. But before he could draw it, Edgar slapped his hand away. There was an angry rumble from the Beauscyr men, met by a sudden movement from the miners at the other end of the space where the tinners sat and listened. Simon quickly stood, hands held high. “Be still!” he bellowed, and then looked from Thomas to Sir William. Both also stood, slowly and unwillingly, and calmed their men. Meanwhile, John stood glowering furiously at Edgar, who smiled back calmly, his eyes never moving from the boy.

Simon glared at the youngest Beauscyr. “Keep your hand from your sword, squire. I’ll have no more blood on the moors today.”

“You expect me, me, the son of an honorable knight to accept being accused of common murder? By a miner? By God, you have no right to…”

“Silence! I have every right, and every duty, to investigate a murder. Stand before us, and keep your hand from your sword. Do I have to remind you that this is a lawful investigation into murder? If you don’t obey I’ll have you arrested and kept at Lydford prison.”

For a moment, Baldwin thought John was going to argue. He glared fiercely at the bailiff, while he considered his position. Simon was red-faced with fury, his anger simmering, ready to boil up and scald the lad. At last, giving a scornful shrug, the boy strode off to stand beside his brother.

“John Beauscyr, you were out on the moors that day. Did you see anyone else? Someone who could have been involved in the murder of Peter Bruther?” His rage ebbing, Simon realized he must leave out the boy’s admission of robbery. In the present climate it would be too much to expect the miners to control their ire if they were to discover that John had been involved, on his own admission, in banditry. John spoke shortly about that evening, about the ride to Thomas Smyth’s house and the subsequent journey to the inn. When he talked of the meeting with Bruther on the road, a hush fell, and everyone seemed to be listening intently.

Baldwin thought he made a good witness, strong, upright, and speaking with a controlled certainty. His very stance implied conviction, his legs a short distance apart, his arms crossed over his chest. He was the image of all knightly virtues.