There was silence for a moment, then Baldwin stirred. “And you?” he asked softly.

“Me? I was there, but I didn’t rape or kill or steal. How could any man be so barbaric toward women who have dedicated themselves to God? These weren’t tavern sluts, they were holy. I couldn’t touch them if I’d wanted to. No, I turned my horse for Anglesey, and a good thing too. If I hadn’t, I might have said something to Sir William, and that would have earned me a slow death and no honor.

“No, I returned, but by then the battle was lost and de Tany dead, drowned in the Menai Strait. The men had been routed, and I had a hard time of it winning my way back to the camp. There seemed little point in telling of Sir William and his exploits. The situation was bad enough, and most men were talking about getting back on to the ships and sailing for Rhuddlan or Neston, but the ships refused to take anyone. I think they were scared of what the King might say and do to them. So we were stuck there, until we were lucky enough to have Otto de Grandison arrive to take over. And that was when I had my shock, for suddenly, here was Sir William again, but now apparently covered in glory and wealthy to boot.

“He had taken all he could carry, him and his men, and run away, riding as fast as they could to avoid the Welsh, for I suppose by now they had heard of the defeat of the army. So it was Sir William who brought news of the battle to the King, and it was Sir William who was rewarded by the King for acting so bravely as a messenger!”

Falling silent, he frowned darkly at the water in the stream. “Of course, I was only a poor trooper, a mounted crossbowman. I could not accuse a great man like Sir William of outlawry. If I had, I would likely have been killed for my presumption. So I tried to forget it. I was with the soldiers when Otto de Grandison led us over the Strait again, this time successfully, and was with his army when it closed in on Snowdonia and took Caernarvon and Harlech. There was no great booty, but at least I came out of it alive, though bitter to see how easily a knight could win renown, wealth, and the King’s favor. Afterward, I travelled around the country. The war had left me feeling unsettled, and it was some time before I recalled what other men in Sir William’s retinue had said of tin mining and how a man could live on the moors free of anyone, making his own money from his work. The idea sounded good to me, so I came here.”

Simon puffed out his cheeks as he sighed. The tinner’s story was all too common, he knew. He had met other soldiers and seen their bitterness at how they had been betrayed, their disgust with the rewards given to some who least deserved honor, while others who should have been feted were forgotten. It was the way of war. “And it was definitely Sir William who led the attack on the nunnery?” he asked.

Thomas Smyth grunted assent without looking up.

“Tell me, Thomas,” said Baldwin, “when did you mention this to Sir William?”

Now the tinner looked up with a smile playing at his lips. “How did you guess that?” he asked. “No matter! I told him on the day Peter was killed – when I saw Sir William.”

“What, when you saw him that morning at Beauscyr?” asked Baldwin, suddenly intense.

“No, that evening, when he came here.”

“What did you say to him?”

“I had asked him to come to my hall to discuss what I should do about the tin on his land,” said Thomas, and gave a quick grin. “I think you know what I mean. He brought money with him, and he thought that was all… but then as he was about to leave, I told him that I remembered the convent, and he was quiet, like a dog is quiet when it sees a peril and crouches ready to spring. I told him all that I have just told you, all about the campaign, how he took men away from the battle to further his own fortune, and how he gained favor with the King. I think he was shocked.”

“Why did you tell him all this now? You have kept it hidden for years, so why bring it up now, so long afterward?”

“I wanted my son to take on more responsibility for the mines. I didn’t tell Sir William he was my son, of course. I just let him know that I wanted young Bruther to be able to live free of attack. And I told him that if there was an attack on Peter, I would revenge him by telling my story. After all, the situation was different now. Before, I had been a worthless crossbowman, whose word could be doubted. Now, I was a powerful man in the area, with money and men to back up my words. He knew he could not deny it, and he went white with anger.”

Baldwin’s face was serious. “I see. And that was why you thought Peter did not need his guards anymore?”

“It was nothing to do with me. If I’d been here, I’d have made sure he kept the men with him. But he felt safe, I assume,” said Thomas Smyth, sighing sadly and staring down. “I’d told him the whole story the day before – and that I was going to confront Sir William. I thought then it could be useful for him to know what sort of a man Sir William was, but I’d no idea he’d leave his guard behind that night.”

“I presume he felt he would be safe since you had told Sir William what you knew about him,” said Simon.

“Perhaps,” said the tinner sadly. “It’s all the same now, anyway. My Peter is dead.”

“There is one thing I still do not understand,” said Baldwin gently. “You say that Peter came past here and his guards left him here before he made his way back over the moors, but why should he come past here in the first place? It surely is not on his way back to his hut – that would take him over the moors from the inn. Was it only to leave the men that he came over here?”

“He usually came this way on his journeys back from the inn. The path from here is safer, with fewer bogs.”

“But you did not see him?”

“No. I was out with George that afternoon, over at the encampment, then up at Peter’s hut.”

“And Sir William was here when you returned?”

“Yes.”

“I see. Very well!” Baldwin slapped his hands together decisively. “In that case, I think we can leave you alone now. I am sorry to have had to ask you about these matters which are, I am sure, painful to remember, but you have cleared some points.”

“Good,” said the tinner with frank astonishment. “But I don’t see how.”

“It is nothing much, just some things I was unsure of. For now, good day to you.”

As he shook himself and tugged his hose back into place, Hugh noticed the old bottler glaring at him a short way off and emptying a bucket into the drain. Hugh gave him an apologetic grimace as the old man said, casting an offended eye over the damp patch on the wall: “It’s not a privy, you know.”

Hugh felt his embarrassment mount. “I’m sorry, I thought…”

“I suppose it’s too far for a bailiff’s servant to walk another six yards to the drain?”

“Look – I didn’t think it’d matter…”

“Matter!” The bottler’s tired old eyes stared at Hugh with distaste, then back at the stain. Shaking his head, he turned away. Hugh scampered to walk with him, feeling guilt at causing his disgust. In the face of his mumbled apologies the servant unbent a little, and by the time they reached the hall door, he was almost sorry for his words. “Forget it. We’re all on edge here, since Bruther got killed. Our master has not been himself since then, and now there are all these wounded men too.”

Hugh nodded. From the doorway, they could clearly hear the cries and calls from within the hall, and Hugh hesitated before entering. “They’re all in there?”

“Yes,” the old bottler sighed. “First poor Bruther, and now this.”

“This was because of Bruther, you know. Your master wanted to catch his killer.”

“Bruther’s dead. It’s unfair to blame him for all this, even if it was done in his name,” the bottler said with asperity. He could see the trepidation on Hugh’s face and took sympathy. “Come here into the buttery and have some ale,” he said more kindly.