she used to be when she has a weight to carry, so I was late coming home. I was near the Smalhobbe place just as dusk fell. Young Henry, he was game, I’ll say that for him. He tried to get one of the men waiting, but there were two others got him first.”
“Did you try to get help?”
“Help? Up there? Where would you expect me to go? The nearest place was that miner’s, Bruther’s, about a mile or so north, and how was I to know that one miner would want to help another? It was miners attacking Henry, and what good would bringing another do? And what difference would one more make? Even if I ran all the way there, the three would have been gone by the time I got back.”
“How was his wife?”
“She was making a row – screaming and such. But the men didn’t hear her. They just kept beating her man.”
“Was anyone else out there?”
“I saw a couple of riders before, while I was cutting peat.”
“Did you see who they were?” asked Baldwin sharply.
Coyt glanced at him in faint surprise. “I think it was that miner, Smyth, and his man. They were off north of Smalhobbe’s.”
“What, heading up toward Bruther’s?” Simon demanded.
“Yes, up that way, I suppose,” Coyt said disinterestedly.
“You’re sure it was them?”
“They passed me later on the road, just as it was getting really dark. I recognized their horses. It was them.”
“I see.” Simon and Baldwin exchanged a glance. If the men were coming along the road, they were coming from the direction of Wistman’s Wood. Baldwin continued, “And you kept going southeast?”
“Yes, down to the road, then over and east. There’s a path there which brings me to my door. It took some time with my poor old pony.”
“And you saw nobody else on the road? No one else passed you?”
“No. At least…” He frowned again.
“It could be important,” Baldwin prompted.
“I don’t know, but someone did overtake me, just about when I got to the road to Chagford. It was dark by then, but there was someone north of me, riding quietly. I didn’t see who.”
“How long after you saw the pair of riders would that have been, do you think?”
“Not very long. I had to cross the Cherry Brook, and the pony was slow, but not more than a few minutes.”
“He was far off?”
“I didn’t look.” The farmer’s voice had fallen to a sullen mutter, and his axe rose and fell only sluggishly as he was pressed.
“Why? Surely it was strange to hear a rider at that time of night, especially off the road?”
Face reddening, the farmer struck again at the log and made no answer.
“Coyt? I said, why didn’t you look?”
Suddenly the farmer whirled and faced him, not aggressively, but with belligerent shame. “Because I thought it could be Old Nick. That’s why!”
“Old…”
Simon quickly interjected. “The Devil, Baldwin. The Devil.” And Adam Coyt turned and walked away from them.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Baldwin threw up his hands in despair. “The Devil! In God’s name! Why do these people still insist on such ridiculous beliefs? If he’d only glanced round, he could have seen who it was. It could have been Robert, John – or neither! But because of a stupid…”
“Not so stupid, Baldwin,” said Simon shortly. “He had no idea that someone had been killed, had no idea that the rider so near could have been involved. These moorland farms are so remote, far from anyone. Have you not felt the loneliness of the moors? It is easy for a man’s mind to turn to things like this out here. And there are many stories about the Devil.”
“Simon, really! That’s no excuse. If this man had just taken a quick look, he might have…”
“I might have what?” Adam Coyt had returned unnoticed. “You don’t know these moors, you haven’t been out here. You don’t live here all year like I do, and you haven’t seen the things the moors can do to a man. You just can’t understand like we do. Take that man Bruther. Yes, the horse riding past me might have been carrying his murderer – but so what?”
“What do you mean?” Baldwin’s face was screwed into a mask of irritated confusion.
“Bruther brought it on himself. He was far out into the moors, and the moors look after themselves, that’s all I’m saying. This area is all different when you live here. You might think I’m foolish to believe in Old Nick or Crockern. It’s easy for you. You’ll leave here and go back to your own village. Me, I’ve got to stay and live here. And I can’t do that if the land won’t let me. Bruther didn’t believe either, he thought it was all superstition. I heard him once, laughing at the thought that Crockern might decide to have revenge on miners living too far out on his moor. He said he didn’t mind Crockern, he said he’d offer a fair price. It doesn’t do to make fun of the spirits on their own land.”
“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
