saving grace was that he was setting a precedent of safety for others? I cannot believe this!”
“I don’t know why it was, all I know is, that’s what happened.”
“I see. In that case, there’s only one other point: who bribed you to keep your silence about Bruther?”
“Sir, I…”
“His name, Smalhobbe! You have caused enough delay already. Who was it? ”
“I can’t tell you. He’d kill me!”
“So it was Thomas Smyth, then.”
The expression of shock on the miner’s face was almost comical. “But… How did you know that?” he gasped.
“You have spent the last few minutes telling us how he is the most powerful man here on the moors, and we know he has had you beaten to enforce that power. It is obvious. There is one thing, though,” Baldwin said, frowning and leaning forward. “Why did he pay you to keep silent about Bruther?”
This time the shrug was helpless, but Smalhobbe’s eyes were lidded with resentment and he refused to answer.
“Very well,” Baldwin continued at last. “But you can tell us this: is it true you used to be an outlaw?”
Sarah felt her breath catch. Henry’s truculence fell away, and she saw the outright panic in his eyes. After so long, she knew that their attempts to begin a new life were finally failing, and with that realization she could not help the thickening in her throat as the sobbing began. Her belly churned and she had to put both hands to the ground as she stared at the knight. “Sir, it’s not true,” she said, her voice broken with emotion.
Baldwin gave her a comforting smile as she knelt defenseless before him. “Tell us the truth, then. We care more for a murder than someone’s past misdeeds.”
Ignoring her husband’s desperate cry of “Sarah!” she said, “Sir, I trust you. Do you swear that we will be left alone if we had no part in Peter Bruther’s death?”
Throwing a quick glance at Simon for confirmation, Baldwin gave a slow nod. “Yes, unless your past includes other murders.”
“That’s fair. Well, then, sir. My husband used to work for a fair and decent master, a burgess in Bristol,” she began. “Henry was his bottler, and we lived with him happily until two years ago.”
“The Rebellion?” Baldwin prompted.
“Yes,” she nodded. “Our master was Robert Martyn. The King imposed huge taxes on Bristol in 1316, and ignored the city’s pleas to reduce them. We sent men all the way to London to explain how they were too high, but he wouldn’t listen. In the end he sent the Sheriff of Gloucester with the posse of the county, and laid siege. They drained the ditch, broke the castle mill and set up siege engines, hurling rocks at us until they took the city.”
“Robert Martyn was outlawed, wasn’t he?” asked Simon.
“Yes, sir. And he has left the realm. But what could we do? We had no home, no money, no master. We were thrown from the city at the height of the famine, and if it was not for some people we met…”
Henry spoke at last, his voice dull and heavy. “They were outlaws, but they took mercy on us and fed us. One man came from the moors here and we decided to see if his stories of tinning were true. He taught me how to hunt and fight, but on my word, I never robbed or stole anything, and I’ve never killed anyone.”
His eyes held Simon’s defiantly, and the bailiff believed him.
15
On their way to the Fighting Cock they rode past the front of Thomas Smyth’s house, and Hugh could not help craning his neck to stare long after they had passed by. The hall looked quiet, with only a few ostlers and a cowherd wandering in the yard, shovelling old hay and muck on to the pile in the corner up close to the entrance. From here it would be collected by cart and taken down to the hall’s strip-fields behind the village for rotting down to manure.
After hearing all that the miner had said, Hugh was intrigued. He had assumed that the death of the miner was a simple killing, a hanging by someone with a grudge against him. He would have placed money on one of the Beauscyr family being responsible. Now, though, he felt sure that it must be something to do with the master tinner in his great hall. Why else would he have paid the Smalhobbes to keep quiet?
It was with a degree of reluctance that he turned to face the road ahead once more, but soon his mood lightened. Hugh was not a man given to long introspection. Before him was an inn, and there he would be given food and good, strong ale. He sighed happily.
Simon found the inn a little less busy than the last time they had visited it. Now there were several tables free, and he strode to a large one under a window away from the hearth, where there was a chance of uninterrupted conversation. Sitting at a bench, he gazed round the room. Two girls were circulating with drinks, but he could see that this was not their best time of day. He caught sight of them yawning extravagantly, and spotted another asleep on a bench at the far wall: their lives were more skewed to the evening than lunch.
Baldwin and the others joined him, the knight taking his seat opposite his friend, and soon they had ordered. The girl whom they had spoken to before was nowhere to be seen, and Simon decided to wait until they had eaten before they asked for her. Their food was a thick, rich stew, with the meat minced so small that it was impossible to identify. Baldwin prodded at it suspiciously with his wooden spoon before looking up at Simon questioningly. “What do you think this is?”
The bailiff gave him a bland smile. “I don’t think you should ask that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it could be anything. Out here,” his hand waved airily, encompassing the whole of the moors around, “there’s not much in the way of food, and a man must survive as best he can. There are wolves, of course, but the main animals here are the forest venison: deer, boar and so on. They are all the King’s, and nobody here would dare to break the forest laws by hunting them, of course. I suppose this meat must have come from Chagford.”
“Ah!” Baldwin smiled, and dipped bread into the bowl. As he had expected it had a strong gamey flavor, and the wine he had ordered combined with the food to give him a feeling of comfortable well-being. Finished, he sat back and studied the other people in the room while the others ate in silence.
The girls were working hard to keep tankards and pots filled. One caught his eye. Slight, dark-haired, with an almost boyish figure, she moved with a cool assurance between benches and tables, often carrying several pots and jugs at the same time with a calm efficiency. She did not look like other moor women. Most of the girls in this area were pale-skinned with dark hair, but this one appeared quite dark-complexioned. He beckoned her.
Simon was wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as she drew near, her expression pleasant, but reserved. When Baldwin asked if there was a girl here called Molly, she gave a cautious nod. “I am,” she said.
The men quickly introduced themselves, and when she declared herself nervous of upsetting her master by not carrying on working, Baldwin called the innkeeper over. Hearing who his guests were, he glanced guiltily at their empty bowls, gave a sickly smile and speedily offered Molly for as long as the men wanted to speak to her. The knight thanked him graciously, then persuaded the girl to sit.
In age she could only be a little older than Alicia, Thomas Smyth’s daughter, but born to a harsher life with none of the pampering that Alicia expected. Gray eyes stared at him without curiosity. She was not dimwitted, but she had no interest in any of the men at the table.
When Simon began, he could see her boredom. “We’re trying to find out what happened on the night Peter Bruther died,” he said. “We’ve been told by John Beauscyr that he came here with a friend that night. Do you remember it?”
She nodded. “Yes, they were both here about two hours before dark.”
“You were with Sir Ralph for some time?”
“He wanted me. I stayed with him for some hours, until late in the evening. Then he left me and returned to the Manor with John.”
“We know John was not here all the time his friend was with you, but I understand he was back by the time Sir Ralph left?”
