Simon carefully took him through the meeting with Bruther, how he and his men had left the young Beauscyr and his knight, jeering at them as they rode on to the inn. “And you saw no one else on the road after you left Bruther?”
“No, nobody.” Again his flat statement carried no room for any doubt.
“So, then, it comes to this,” said Simon, speaking loudly now for the benefit of the miners and Beauscyr men ranged all round. “Bruther went home from the inn. At his father’s house his men left him and he carried on alone over the moors. Some time later, Adam Coyt came along the road on his way home, and he heard a rider to the north of him on the moors. He didn’t look to see who it was.” There was a slight lightening of tension in the crowds, even a nervous ripple of laughter as he added dryly, “He thought it might be the Devil or Crockern at that time of night. Now, listen to me, all of you!” He stood and surveyed the watching crowd. “It’s certain that Thomas didn’t order his own son to be murdered. John Beauscyr was with his friend at the inn. His brother was with Alicia Smyth. None of these caused the killing. I don’t yet know who was responsible for Peter Bruther’s killing. But I will find out, and when I do, the man will be arrested and held for trial.”
There was a shout from the crowd behind him, a voice sneering, “You’re playing at this. Why should you care about a miner? You don’t care about Bruther. All you want is to help your friends the Beauscyrs.”
“Do you think I’m paid by the Beauscyrs?” Simon roared, his face flushing a dark red. “Do you think I’m held by Sir William’s purse? You might just as well suggest I’m paid by the miners. It was me stopped Sir William from riding out to bring Bruther back, it was me told his sons to leave the miners in peace, it was me who tried to stop this madness. I’ll not have it said I’m a hireling who’ll dishonor my position for bribes.” His furious gaze swept round the men in the crowd, and Baldwin saw with a small grin, quickly covered, that those who caught his eye immediately looked away. No one was keen to risk the bailiff’s wrath.
Simon calmed himself with an obvious effort. “This affair is sad and unpleasant, but fighting between the miners and the Beauscyr men must stop. There is no point in further loss of life. I don’t want to hear of any more killings. I’ll find the killer of Bruther, just as I’ll find the murderer of Samuel Hankyn and Ronald Taverner. Three men have died, and God only knows how many have been killed – and how many more will die – because of the fight here today. It must stop.” He looked at Sir William and Smyth. “Both of you must settle your differences. I can’t stop you trying to kill each other if that’s what you’re determined to do, but, by God, if I hear that there’s another battle here I’ll get the King to send troops and impose his peace on the moors! Now I’m going, and Sir William, I want you to take your men back to the Manor. I’ll see you there later. Thomas, I expect you to release Sir Robert immediately.”
Baldwin watched, still seated, as the miner and landlord agreed, and their men began to gather up their weapons. Gradually, the Beauscyr men set off away from the meeting place and up the hill, some collecting horses from those holding them, and mounting. The miners were sullen, staring and muttering among themselves as their enemies slowly departed, a few tending to the wounds of bleeding friends.
He sighed. There were so many murders nowadays that all too often the killer would escape. A merchant could be stabbed on the roads and the local people might never have seen his attacker, or even if they had, they might not know his name. Sometimes if a man was known and he was caught red-handed, he could avoid justice by running away. After all, if he was never captured he could not be made to pay. It would be down to the local people to pay taxes to the Crown for the breaking of the King’s peace.
The area was clearing quickly now, men on all sides gathering into small clumps and moving apart, the tinners starting to walk to their huts, the soldiers riding or slouching off. Baldwin watched Simon talking to Robert. The young man was pale and drawn, but Baldwin put that down to fear of his potential father-in-law. That he did not seem to have suffered at the hands of the miners was a relief.
John mounted his horse, snapped his reins and cantered away, and Baldwin’s eyes followed him until he was a small figure on the horizon. The boy was irritating, certainly, but that did not mean he was a murderer. Even so, he had been out that night, and though there was a witness of sorts in the person of the robbed man toward Chagford, it was possible that John could have killed Bruther earlier, then hurried east to create an alibi. Baldwin did not share Simon’s conviction of John’s innocence.
That brought Baldwin to thinking about the other men who had been abroad on the moors when Bruther was so brutally murdered. Adam Coyt, for instance. He could have invented the story about a man riding past near the road as night fell. The knight was inclined to believe him, but only from a liking for his type: strong and individualistic, working in a harsh environment to scrape some sort of a living. There was no other reason why he should trust his word.
Of the Beauscyrs, Sir William had been at the miner’s hall and Robert with Alicia Smyth on the afternoon Bruther died – but there was a period, though Simon had not mentioned it to the crowd, when, according to Alicia, she was away from Robert, between the time she returned home to meeting him again on the road again, later. What was he doing during those lost hours? And then Baldwin’s mind came back to John: always there was John… malevolently spreading rumors and lies for his own amusement, trying to undermine his brother from jealousy over the inheritance.
Deep in thought, Baldwin strolled back toward the main camp, where his horse was tethered. There were the others, too: Samuel Hankyn and Ronald Taverner. Their deaths were a mystery. The two appeared harmless enough, especially poor young Ronald. It was ridiculous to suggest that they could have been involved in some kind of fatal brawl over a game of dice. The way that Samuel had tried to look after his friend showed how nonsensical that idea was. If there had been a fight there must have been another man there, someone who murdered Samuel first presumably, since he was fit and healthy, and then stabbed poor Ronald while he lay on his bed.
He glanced at Simon. The bailiff was talking to Hugh now, giving instructions in a clipped monotone which showed how his anger was still bubbling. Hugh knew it too, from the way that he hung his head and listened, not daring to interrupt or argue. It was so unlike his usual truculent manner that Baldwin could not help a quick grin as he turned away.
So who could have been with the two men in the room, he wondered. Perhaps he could get an answer by questioning the guards, those who were out in the early morning, but somehow he doubted it. Something was wrong. There was something he had missed.
Looking out at the departing force, he saw where the small squares of turf had been trampled; their danger was visible to all now. It was a simple enough trick, he knew, to make horse warfare difficult. Yes, the miner was capable of defending his land. He had displayed the tactical skills of a warrior, and Baldwin recalled Sir William’s words that Thomas Smyth had been a soldier long ago in Wales. Surprise had been essential to Sir William’s success in not losing more of his men. All he had needed to do was divert attention from the miners’ front, making them fearful of heavily mounted troops with lances and spears behind, to allow the knight to charge safely. It was the same as the fire which had diverted attention from the two dead men.
Suddenly Baldwin’s frown intensified. So that was why the murders had not been heard, he realized – because of the sudden alarm about the fire. The tolling of the fire-bell had drowned all other noises.